Darkness Rising Pages 151-200

               Relic nodded at his companions words, and went on.  “There are vampires too, wild ones that don’t have the intelligence nor the control over their powers that the more widely accepted ones do.”  Blaze snorted derisively, though she didn’t look up.  She had been a very outspoken opponent of the law that had passed a few years before granting vampires the same rights on Kyzanthia as mortals.  This had led to the establishing of vampire kingdoms like Shadowveil and Necropolis, though the latter had been responsible for the start of the vampire war.  Talia was old enough to remember that war and it still gave her chills to think of those dark times.  She realized that the people in the crypt with her were all heroes of that war.  It humbled her slightly to think of the caliber of company she was now in.  “Middle tier undead are those who possess intelligence and cunning, like your run of the mill vampires.”  Again Blaze snorted and Relic ignored her.  She didn’t believe there was such a thing as a run of the mill vampire.  “Necroknights fall into this category as well, but up near the higher end of things.  The upper tier is where such creatures as elder vampires, liches and revenants are located.”  He said that last part with an almost reverence in his voice, a respect born of a lifetime having battled the very creatures he spoke of.

                “It’s kind of scary how much you people know about those creatures.”  Talia commented softly.

                Now Blaze did look up at her, sadness reflected in her violet eyes.  “What’s scarier child, how much we know or what we’ve had to go through to learn it?”  At those words Talia’s gaze inadvertently dipped down to the ample cleavage visible over Blaze’s neckline.  On the left breast, near the leather border she could just make out the top portion of the necromark, a brand that had been placed upon the undead hunter during a time when she had been held captive by a necromancer in her youth.  The mark, it was said, alerted undead to her presence, not a fact that troubled the warrior mage much as it just brought the monsters closer for her to kill.  The troubling aspect of the mark was that any undead who were close enough to feel its effects also became sexually attracted to the elf, all undead, regardless of type or tier or anything else.  It had been the necromancers idea of an ideal mental torture, knowing that if she were ever taken alive again she would be subjected to a fate worse than nine deaths.  Talia swallowed slightly, raised her eyes to meet those of the elf and nodded, understanding what the woman had meant.  “If we mean to track them,” Blaze said then, returning to her job, “we’ll have to follow them down there.”

                “Not without me you won’t.” Came a man’s voice from the stairs leading up to the surface.  Everyone turned to see Cyrrik Eaglehart standing at the base of the staircase, his blue eyes sweeping the room.  They settled for longer than was appropriate on both Blaze and Talia, then he locked eyes with his father.  “What’s up old man?” 

                Galon stared at his son for three heartbeats, his expression inscrutable, then he turned his back on him and said, “We have work to do, let’s get on with it.”  Talia looked from Galon to Cyrrik and back again.  She knew that her brothers friends were trouble, but in her mind Cyrrik had always been the lesser of the trouble makers.  In fact, when left to his own devices, away from Rellik, Talon and Huntyr he was fairly nice and easy going.  He was built the same as his father, broad of shoulder with muscular arms and legs.  His hair was blonde and his eyes blue, like his mother, and he had a fair complexion that she thought might burn easily under the sun.  He was wearing chainmail armor, standard issue for Sentinels and had a long sword strapped to his hip and a shield on his back.  Stealing a glance at Galon, she realized that the two men carried their weapons exactly the same way.  She sighed, she had never understood what came between father and son, but she hoped that it wouldn’t make the journey to come too uncomfortable.  For his part, Cyrrik just smiled at his fathers back and moved further into the room.

                All but ignoring the arrival of their last teammate, Blaze glanced around at the others.  “Are we ready?”

                “Let’s do it.”  Lance said with a nod.  Shifting around so that she sat on the edge of the shaft that lead out of the crypt, Blaze let herself drop out of sight.  One by one, the others followed.

                “So, how’re we getting to Trey’Elden?”  Gar asked the paladin as they led their small procession through the streets of Peacehope. 

                “The only way available to us.”  Ariana replied, “We sail.  There’s no mage’s guild near there with a teleportation circle we can link to, at least none that we know of.  The closest zeppelin tower is in Milligant on the coast of Errgaunt, and that’s a two week ride from the border.”  She sighed as she turned onto a busy street, leading the way toward the docks.  “So we catch a ship and take a three week voyage to Drunost, a small coastal orc settlement on the shore of Trey’Elden.”

                The dwarf scowled, “Never did take too much to ocean travel.” He grumbled, “Done my share of it over the years though.”

                “No worries Gar, no one will ever mistake you for a fish.”  Magnus said from where he walked along a step or two behind them.  Beside the mage was Rachnid and behind them the three children of Rolfe moved along, heads swiveling to and fro as they tried to see everything they could of this wondrous city before they had to leave.

                The dwarf grunted softly and Ariana had to smile.  She was glad to be traveling with the surly old dwarf, who really had a heart of gold.  She had had few opportunities to share the road with her fathers old friend and she hoped to learn more about her father, as he was in his youth.  She knew the man he had become, the father, the knight… but Gar and Galon had known him when he was younger, though Galon had known him the longest.  Glancing over her shoulder to make certain that everyone was still with her, Ariana was struck by the diversity of the group she was leading.  A dwarf, a goblin, three barbarians and two humans.  She doubted it had ever happened this way before and she couldn’t help wondering what sort of adventure awaited her.  As she moved her gaze back toward the front she caught the eye of Devlin who had been staring unabashedly at the sway of her buttocks as she walked.  He grinned at her and she simply turned her head, not acknowledging him.  She had a feeling that the barbarian prince was going to be a problem.  He struck her as the kind of man that was used to getting what… and who he wanted.  She knew enough about the customs of his people to know that she was going to have to stay alert, otherwise he might try to lay a claim on her.  She wished that Avalon were not laid up, recuperating from the assassins attack.  She could make it clear to Devlin that she was spoken for then, but in his mind if her man wasn’t with her… that made her available.

                “Will young Rylan by joining us?”  Magnus asked her suddenly and Ariana had to fight not to sigh.  She had taken on Galon’s youngest boy as a squire almost two years prior, against her better judgment, and while he was a fine lad, he certainly didn’t seem to have any warrior or knightly qualities she could see.  Still, she had made his father a promise and she kept her promises.

                “He’s meeting us at the ship.”  She said by way of answer.

                “We’ve already got a ship?”  Gar asked, surprised.  “I thought we’d have to still find one.  Who’ll we be traveling with then?”

                “I’ve chartered the Shorerunner to take us to the mainland.”  She responded.

                As one, Magnus, Gar and Rachnid grinned and said, “Felicity!”  Kelvan and Devlin exchanged curious glances but said nothing as the group approached the docks.  The Shorerunner was in the third berth down on the right hand side, a stout but speedy looking little corsair. 

                “Nice boat.”  Devlin commented as they started up the gangway. 

                “Boat?” said a woman’s voice from the deck above them, “You’d better watch that tongue barbarian or I’ll rip it from that pretty face!”  As they stepped onto the deck of the ship she came into view, Felicity Murkwood, Captain of the Shorerunner. The story went that Felicity, an amazon by birth, had heard the sirens call of the sea shortly after the Gods saw fit to lift the protections from her island home.  She had abandoned her sisters and taken to the sea, eventually making her way as a rather successful privateer, though she steered clear of ships flying the flag of Algeron, mostly out of friendship and loyalty to Ariana, who had once helped her out of a tight fix.  It was because of that friendship and loyalty that Ariana had never mentioned to anyone the true origins of the beautiful pirate, which she thought she was one of about three people in the world who actually knew.  Felicity had been the captain of the ship that brought former queen Hippolyte to the mainland following the fateful raid by the barbarians of Trey’Elden when the Amazon’s princess had been kidnapped.  Felicity had been charged with the delivery of the queen and her escort, and with the job of keeping them safe.  Anyone familiar with the start of the war between the barbarians and the amazons knows how that struggle began, and it was with that fateful voyage.  The queen had been captured, raped and subsequently killed by the barbarians, which had in turn dishonored Felicity.  Rather than facing her sisters back on the island, she had fled to the sea, recruiting a crew of pirates to help her sail the amazon corsair she still retained today, though she had renamed it Shorerunner.  “This is a ship!”

                Devlin raised an eyebrow slightly at the way he was being addressed and Ariana could see by his expression when he first set eyes on Felicity that he recognized her as an amazon.  It was almost comical to the paladin to watch the emotions raging within the prince, for his people were at war with hers and he disliked her on principal, but it was also obvious that he found her extremely attractive.  Understandable, since Felicity was a stunning beauty, like most amazon women.  She stood a couple of inches over Ariana’s six foot frame with long, reddish brown hair and a full figured body that was till firm and hard from a life of combat and seafaring.  Her eyes flashed with defiance at the barbarians, for whom she still harbored a grudge, their liquid blue color a sharp contrast to the sun bronzed skin of her face.  Her breasts were larger than Ariana’s and the pirate had no qualms about displaying them, wearing the skimpiest possible leather halter she could find and an equally skimpy bottom that was little more than a triangle over her crotch, with strings of pearls encircling her hips to connect the corners together.  She had thigh high boots and gloves that rose to the middle of her upper arms.  About her waist hung a sash and from it a scabbard in which rested a scimitar, her weapon of choice.  Felicity smiled at Ariana, her cheeks dimpling deeply beneath her high cheekbones, her full lips spreading across her face.

                “Always a pleasure to have you aboard, Lady Moonstone!”  She said, embracing the woman tenderly.  Ariana thought she heard the men with her swallow audibly at the sight, but she ignored them.  “And I see you’ve brought Magnus, Lord Wolfgar and the little goblin as well!”  Ariana had never quite understood it, but Felicity had always had a bit of a soft spot for Rachnid, maybe it was because he kept the spider population on her ship under control.

                “Indeed, they’re accompanying me on this voyage.  My squire, Rylan Eaglehart is supposed to be here as well, have you seen him?”  Ariana asked the captain.

                Felicity was eyeing the barbarian trio with barely hidden contempt, but she nodded in response to the paladin’s question.  “Aye, he’s below getting your cabin ready.”  Ariana nodded, the boy was nothing if not diligent about his duties, now if only she could teach him to fight as well as he cooked and cleaned!  “As is your… I believe he is your brother?  He arrived earlier and was assigned a cabin as well, though I must warn you Lady Moonstone, should he keep eyeing me the way he was I will have to forcibly remove his manhood.”

                Ariana shrugged, “Don’t let me stop you.”  Then, figuring that it had to get done sooner or later, Ariana turned and introduced the pirate amazon to her barbarian guests.  “Felicity Murkwood, may I present the children of Warlord Rolfe of the Thunder Hammer tribe.  Prince Kelvan, Prince Devlin and Princess Shayla.”  Ariana knew that it was the custom among the barbarians to introduce the males in the family first as they were granted a higher status in the tribe.  Typically, she would have introduced Devlin first, as the eldest, but since it was actually Kelvan who had been chosen to rule, he technically came first in introductions.

                Shayla, ever the diplomat of the family, stepped forward.  Felicity eyed her warily, sizing the woman up and Ariana couldn’t help but wonder how a fight between the two women would end, they were very similar body styles though she thought perhaps Shayla would have the edge in skill.  “Forgive my brothers their rudeness, Captain.”  Shayla said, extending a hand to her, “I for one am grateful for your help.”

                Seeming taken aback by the apparently genuine words, Felicity paused a moment before taking the other womans hand.  Then she turned to Ariana, “Her I could grow to like.”  With that she cast a withering glance at the princes and then turned on her heel and stalked away.  Ariana fought hard to stifle her laugh.

                A crewman that Ariana recognized from past voyages but whose name she couldn’t remember stepped forward, “I’ll show you all to your cabins, if you like.”

                “Thank you.”  Ariana said with a nod.

                “I thought you said they had him jailed.”  Tasha said to Vance Falcone as they and the others of their group made their way up a busy street toward the towering mages guild visible a few blocks up.

                Vance nodded.  “They do, but a standard jail cell won’t hold someone as powerful as a mage like this, so the guild tends to handle their own.”  He was looking up at the guild hall as he spoke so he didn’t see the three Dragons exchange glances. 

                “Are we certain that this is a person we want to be traveling with?”  Shadow Walker asked, one hand resting on the dagger at his belt as he moved along with the others.  It was evident that he was uncomfortable here in the open, and indeed he would more typically be moving through the shadows around them were he to have his way.  But Vance had insisted on the group approaching the mages guild in the open, claiming that mages were a prickly sort and would frown on anyone lurking in the shadows. 

                “Absolutely not.”  Vance said emphatically, “And I’d advise everyone to watch their steps with him around, but without him the assassin will have a two day head start on us.  With Arkayne, we can get to Milligant quickly and be waiting for Shadow Stalker when he arrives.  It’s much neater, much quicker, and with any luck we can have this dark mage back in a cell before too long.”

                “You intend to return him to custody?”  Strut, who was moving along at the back of the group, asked.

                “Oh yes.  He’s far too dangerous to just release into the general population. Once he’s outlived his usefulness, we’ll put him back.”  Vance assured them and this seemed to mollify most of them.  The Dragons weren’t used to operating under the guidance of anyone but Ariana and while they knew she trusted this man implicitly, they had to learn his leadership style and whether or not they even liked him.  Vance had to learn the same things about them, but the first hurdle they had encountered was his desire to use the traitor Arkayne on the team.  Now that they understood that Vance had no intentions of letting the man retain his freedom, they felt better about it.

                A few minutes later they arrived at the entrance to the mages guild and started up the stairs leading toward it.  A steady stream of people were coming and going, but they noticed that everyone entering was pausing at the door and mumbling something.  “What are they saying?”  Bryant asked curiously.

                Vance answered, “You must speak your true name for the spells protecting the guild hall to permit you to pass.  It’s a way of ensuring that you have no secrets from them while you’re within the hall.”

                Shadow Walker stopped abruptly and Tasha, noticing, turned to look at him.  She realized at once the he wouldn’t be comfortable speaking his true name to anyone or anything.  Secrets were what his world was all about.  She knew the sacrifice it had been for him to sign his true name to the charter, thus confiding in everyone on his team what his true name was.  Trusting them with it was one thing, but trusting what could be the entirety of a guild of mages with it was another thing entirely.  She met the young rogues’ eyes for a moment, then said, as if suggesting it at random, “Shadow Walker, why don’t you stay out here and hold the fort?”

                Vance paused and glanced back with a frown.  He saw the look on Bryant’s face and then that in Tasha’s eyes as she turned her gaze on him.  Understanding, he nodded and smiled, “Sounds like a good idea to me.  We’ll be back shortly.” 

                Strut had paused as well and while Tasha knew him better than she knew the rogue, had even shared his bed once, she didn’t know why he would have difficulty with sharing his true name, yet it seemed he did.  “I’ll keep the kid company, if that’s all right with you.”  Vance frowned slightly but nodded, choosing not to argue.

                “Are you coming with me at least?”  Vance asked the shapely elf.

                Tasha smiled charmingly at him and nodded, then when the templar had turned toward the entrance she cast a curious look over her shoulder at her barbarian friend.  He simply shrugged and moved over to join the thief leaning against a wall that ran up the side of the guild stairs.  Shaking her head, Tasha moved forward with the templar. 

                “Vance Falcone.”  He said as he stepped through the door, and though she knew what he had said, to her ears the words came out wrong somehow, as though he had spoken them in a language she understood but the spell protecting the guild translated it into something else.

                “Natashiana Tulaetin Grasamere.”  She said as she stepped through and heard her words warped the same as his had been.  As she passed through the portal into the guild halls dimly lit, cool interior she felt pins and needles pass through her from head to toe and she shivered slightly, coming to a stop right beside the handsome templar.  She glanced around, having never actually been in the Peacehope mages guild before.

                A young man in soft green robes approached them.  He was of average height and build, with a slightly freckled complexion and looked to be in his late thirties.  Tasha realized that this was an initiate of the guild who had never managed to find a master to teach him more advanced magic.  The guild hall had put him to work as an employee so that he might feel more useful, but at his age it was unlikely that he would ever progress pass the initiate level.  “Can I help you folks?”  He asked with an attempt at a pleasant smile, but it looked and sounded forced.

                Vance regarded the initiate for a moment, then said, “I’d like to speak to someone with authority over the guild halls prisoners?  Perhaps Purge?”

                The man frowned slightly, taking in the templar’s armor and obviously recognizing him for what, and who, he was answering, “The senior Arcanist is busy at the moment, but if you’ll wait here I’ll see if there is anyone that can help you.”

                Vance and Tasha busied themselves for the next few minutes strolling around the entry hall of the mages guild.  There was plenty of interest to see, not the least of which were the occasional displays of magic that erupted here and there.  Tasha had never seen magic so lavishly displayed, for most people the procurement of magical aid was very expensive and guilds tended to guard their secrets jealously, but within the confines of their own guild hall it appeared that all the different types of spell casters had a tendency to show off.  She watched, wide eyed as a mage with a bald head tattooed with a pattern of orange flames conjured a figure out of mid-air that was itself made of flame.  The figure had a distinctly feminine shape to it and danced through the air across the hall from her.  Several people were watching this display, some of them frowning as though the man were being indecent somehow.  She also saw what looked like a group of school aged children being entertained by a wizened old man in a star spangled robe. He was literally doing prestidigitation type tricks, pulling a rabbit out of his hat and gold coins out the children’s ears, but Tasha had the impression that this was more than smoke and mirrors where he was concerned.  It took about twenty minutes but finally the initiate returned with another mage.  When Tasha saw him her eyes widened and she subconsciously adjusted her hair, he was one of the handsomest elves she’d seen in a good while.  He was tall and broad, obviously well built beneath his mages robes, which were white with gold trim.  He had a handsome, broad face with high cheekbones and a straight nose, generous lips and long black hair currently pulled back into a ponytail.  He carried a staff that clicked against the paving stones with his every other step.  He was smiling pleasantly and Tasha thought perhaps that his eyes lingered on her a little longer than was strictly proper, not that she minded in this case, she was certainly getting an eyeful of him as well.

                The newcomer addressed himself to the templar with a pleasant smile, “I’m Ayden Grohl, one of the guild officers.  Hayes here tells me that you were asking for someone with authority over the guilds prisoners?  Why?”

                It looked as though Vance had heard of this mage and Tasha thought he shifted slightly in discomfort, but he forged on bravely.  “I’m Vance Falcone, templar of the local temple of Light.”  He introduced himself and Ayden nodded, still smiling pleasantly.  “I’ve been placed in charge of a mission of some import and… delicacy.”  He glanced at the initiate that was still standing next to the senior mage.  “Perhaps we could speak of this in private?”

                The only hint of the mages interest in their mission was a very slight narrowing of his eyes, but he turned to the initiate and dismissed him with a nod.  He then mumbled a quick, indecipherable phrase under his breath and Tasha thought for a moment that she had gone deaf as all the noise in the hall suddenly blanked.  But when Ayden spoke she could hear him quite clearly.  “You may speak freely now, rest assured, we will not be overheard.”

                Vance glanced around himself, a little disconcerted by the sudden quiet, but he nodded and continued.  “The mission we’re on has not yet been made general knowledge to the public.”  Ayden nodded his understanding of the situation.  “Countess Shroude, and her sister Ishara Wodan have been kidnapped and taken off the island, we believe to the city of Milligant on the coast of Errgaunt.”

                “Most distressing,” Ayden said softly, “but what has this to do with our prisoners?”

                “I have need of one of them.”  Vance licked suddenly dry lips as the mages brows shot up toward his hairline.  “The man called Arkayne, a former Dragon, has ties to the empire… in particular Milligant.  The kidnapper has a two day head start on us, unless I can get to the city ahead of him and lay a trap.  Arkayne is just the man I need to arrange the teleportation, no one in Errgaunt will do it for anyone else here, you know that’s true.  We’re not on the friendliest of terms with them.”

                Ayden Grohl frowned, troubled.  “You wish to exercise the temples right to Custodial Release?”  Vance nodded slightly.  “Well, obviously we will not go against the law, if you require us to free him we shall, but I must ask you if you are aware of the risk you are taking.  This man has a reputation for practicing dark and forbidden arts.”

                “We’re aware, and I’ll take the risk… and the responsibility.  May we please get him released?  We’re a little pressed for time.”  Vance informed him.

                Ayden glanced from the templar to the archer and back again.  “Very well,” he said with a sigh, “come with me.”

                Vance and Tasha followed the dark haired mage across the crowded hall then down a long, narrow passage.  They made several turns, then several more and before long both of them were completely lost.  Both Vance and Tasha thought the mage might be making some unnecessary turns in order to keep them from memorizing the route to their holding cells, which would make sense as a security precaution.  Mages were a notoriously untrustworthy lot when it came to protecting their secrets, especially one like the layout of their guild headquarters.  Finally they came to a narrow staircase that led down into inky blackness, and Ayden led the way down them.  Oddly, as he descended, the stairway lit up around them but stayed dark below and above.

                “If you weren’t with us,” Vance asked curiously, “would the blackness lift as it is now?”

                Ayden smiled slightly.  “No, it would not.  You would have to be with myself or another member of the guild council as we are the only ones authorized to come up here.”

                “What about Purge? Isn’t he the senior Arcanist?  But he’s not a member of the council is he?”  Asked Tasha, who had spoken at length with Magnus about his former master over the years.

                Ayden didn’t make any physical reaction to the fact that she knew this information, but in his voice she could hear an underlying tension that made her wonder.  “No, he’s not on the council and yes, he is permitted to come up here alone.  Many of our cells only have occupants because of him.”

                Tasha scowled slightly, “You keep saying up here, yet aren’t we going downstairs?”

                Ayden smiled ever so slightly.  “Are we?  You will find milady that not everything within these walls adheres to the laws of nature, especially not so mundane an idea as up and down.” 

                Her expression bewildered, Tasha thought that there wasn’t much of anything mundane about up and down, to her it seemed pretty straightforward.  And yet when they came out of the staircase and she found herself in a long hallway that curved gradually around the side of the guild hall she glanced to her right out of a window that should not have been there and found herself looking out over Peacehope from a height of several stories.  “Incredible!”  She gasped.

                Ayden smiled at the reaction. “After so many years practicing the arts, I forget that even the small things like this can seem wondrous to the uninformed.”

                “I confess, I don’t know much about magic… though it is handy to have around in a fight.”  Tasha said, thinking of the number of times that Magnus, or other mages she has met over the years, had bailed her out of trouble.

                “Indeed it is.”  Ayden responded, leading his guests to wonder whether he had ever spent any time as an adventuring mage.  “Here we are.”  He gestured blandly at a plain steel door with no visible means of opening.  It seemed to be a part of the wall without hinges or handle, nor was there any sort of opening by which to insert food.

                “He’s in there?”  Tasha asked, frowning.  “How does he get food?”

                Ayden smiled that patient smile, one likely reserved for inquisitive initiates striving to learn all they can about their chosen art.  “Where magic is concerned, such trivialities as doors are no hindrance.  What he needs we send him by means of teleportation… or other similar tricks.  Also, while he is in this cell, he is cut off from the flow of mana, that source of energy that empowers all magic and flows through those of us able to feel it and manipulate it.”  That felt for all the world like a well rehearsed line from a lecture he had probably given hundreds of times.

                Turning to the door he mumbled a few words under his breath, again careful to disguise it from them, then reached out and knocked once upon the door, right at its center.  Tasha watched in wonder as it seemed to simply fade from view, one second it was there, the next it was gone.  She glanced at Vance and saw a look of disinterest on his face.  She wondered how much contact or training a templar had with magic.  Was he versed in casting spells himself?  She had known a few templars over the years, her father being a priest had necessitated interacting with temple workers from time to time.  But she had never really gotten all that involved in the more intricate aspects of their work.  Even her young friend, Dameon Nyte hadn’t spoken much about his training… of course they hadn’t had a whole lot of time to talk before he had succumbed to possession by a powerful demon and turned on her and her allies at the time.  She shuddered at the memory, remembering Dameon as the teen who had spent the last few of his formative years in her orphanage.  The man he had become, a templar to the church of justice, had been someone she hadn’t know and wasn’t certain she particularly liked.  He had had a rather unhealthy interest in her, for one thing, and she believed that her unwillingness to return that interest had been part of what led to his possession.

                “Prisoner!”  Ayden barked into the dark interior of the cell.  “Step out!”

                Vance was standing at the mages side, so Tasha had to crane her neck to the side to see around the men.  The person that emerged from the cell seemed more a shadow of a man than a man himself.  He was tall and beyond being just gaunt, he seemed emaciated, his pale skin stretched across the bones of his skull.  His collar bone, visible above the plain gray tunic he was wearing, stood out in sharp relief and she was certain that were he shirtless his ribcage would protrude as sharply.  She felt a stab of pity for the man, which was her nature, but she remembered that he had supposedly committed atrocities to get locked up in there and she pushed the pity down.  Ariana Moonstone was not the sort of woman to allow a man to be imprisoned in such a way unless his crimes had been truly heinous, Tasha resolved to remember that this person was said to be about as dangerous as they come.

                “Tobias Kress,” Ayden said and the mage winced, leading Tasha to realize that his true name had just been used, it was Ayden’s way of giving them that information should they ever have to use it against him, “this is Commander Vance Falcone of the temple of light and his associate, Natashiana Grasamere of the Dragons.”  She saw something in his gaze flicker slightly at the mention of her teams name, but it was gone too quickly for her to place.  “You are being released into Commander Falcone’s custody, it seems the Dragons have need of your services once more.”

                Tobias Kress, the man Tasha had heard referred to as Arkayne, licked dry and cracked lips, his pale gray eyes flicking over Vance and Tasha.  When he spoke it sounded like dry paper crackling on a fire, “Do I… get my freedom… in exchange for this service?”

                Vance considered those words for a moment, “We’ll decide that after your service to us is finished.  Should you perform adequately, I may be convinced to grant you that amnesty.”  Aydens’ eyes narrowed somewhat, but he said nothing.  Tasha knew enough about the temples “right of custody” to know that it didn’t grant them the means by which to release a prisoner.  Once they were done with him, Arkayne was to be returned to custody… those were the rules.  But it seemed that Ayden understood that Vance had to tell the man what he wanted to hear in order to assure his cooperation.  When the imprisoned mage said nothing more, but stood swaying slightly and gazing at Vance, the templar looked suddenly uncomfortable and turned instead to Ayden. “Does he have any personal effects?  Robes… a staff perhaps?” 

                Ayden nodded.  “I’ll have them returned to him and our healers will do what they can to make him more ready for travel.”  He cocked his head slightly, as though sensing there was something more they needed.  “Is there another service I can provide you Commander?”

                “I believe that this man has… or had… a membership with a mages guild in Errgaunt, is that correct?”  Vance asked and the dark haired mage nodded, “I need him, once he is well enough, to arrange for a teleportation to whatever guild hall is closest to Milligant.  That is where we believe the assassin to be going and the only way to beat him there is to use magical transport.  Can you help us with that?”

                “We’ll see what can be arranged, I’m sure Tobias has contacts in that part of the world still.  He has not been our guest here for so long that they will have forgotten him.”  Ayden said.

                Vance nodded his thanks and started to turn away, but Tasha paused.  Ayden looked at her and smiled, “Milady?”

                Tasha glanced at Vance, wondering if she was over stepping her bounds, then plunged on, “We have a couple of members of our party that aren’t comfortable entering this building because of the requirement of sharing their true names.  If they must come in to use the circle of teleportation… is there something that can be done for them?”

                Ayden stared at her for a long while and she met his gaze levelly, aware that Vance had turned back and was watching the exchange.  She hoped he wasn’t angry, technically it should have been him that asked that question, but he hadn’t seemed to be focusing on problems the team was having.  “These men… they are on the Dragons charter?”  Tasha nodded, “Then their true names have already been recorded by the magic of this guild.  That should suffice for them to enter.”

                Tasha smiled, “Thank you for that.”  Then she turned and started to move off down the hall with Vance.  “I hope that I didn’t overstep with that.”  She said to him softly.

                The handsome young blonde man smiled, “No.  I hadn’t even thought of it… this whole leadership thing is still fairly new to me.”  He paused a moment as they continued up the hall side by side, “Feel free to overstep any time you feel it necessary if you see me slipping like that again.”  Tasha smiled, thinking that perhaps having him as the leader of their party might work out after all.  They had gone a few more yards and made a few more turns when Vance stopped, forcing her to do the same after she had gone on a few steps, turning back to stare at him questioningly.  “Do you have any idea how to get out of here?”  Tasha suddenly looked around and had to laugh, she had no idea.  Fortunately, the place was crawling with people who did know.

                After finding their way back to the main entrance, with a little help from an eager initiate, Vance and Tasha met back up with Strut and Shadow Walker on the entrance steps.  After that, it was a matter of waiting for Ayden… or someone, to come and tell them that arrangements had been made for them to get to Errgaunt.  They were standing in a loose cluster, exchanging small talk and getting to know Vance a little better, when they were approached by someone off the street.

                “Commnader Falcone.”  Vance turned, his blue eyes turning downright glacial when he saw Talon Rethbourne standing before him.  The templar had nearly forgotten that they were still short one person on their team, or perhaps he had been hoping that the Sentinel Officer wouldn’t be able to find them before they left.  It was a big city, after all.

                “Captain Rethbourne.”  Vance’s tone was civil enough, but his eyes held absolutely no welcome.  Tasha and the others realized that Vance, who they knew through Ariana was estranged from his father, probably held no love for this man, who was one of his fathers senior lackeys.  It was going to make for an interesting team dynamic having Talon along. 

                Captain Talon Rethbourne was tall and athletically built with short brown hair and eyes.  His cheeks and chin were covered in stubble, though it appeared to be a deliberate effect rather than just laziness.  He wore the chainmail armor that was standard among the city guard, though his tabard was black with red trim and he had captains stripes on his shoulders.  He was a good looking man, but there was something in his eyes that seemed… not quite human any longer.  Vance turned and introduced him to the other members of the team, but after introducing Tasha the officer seemed to lose interest in the others.

                He stepped forward and took her hand, bending over it and pressing his lips to her knuckles.  “Well now, this is a pleasure.”  Tasha rolled her eyes and retracted her hand from beneath his mouth, making a point of wiping her hand off on her leathers.  If Talon was bothered by this, he didn’t let it show as he feasted his eyes on the elf’s curves.  Strut cleared his throat pointedly and when the officer turned to meet his gaze the barbarian made it clear that he didn’t approve of the others behavior.  That glare, Tasha knew, had caused many a man to back down, but Talon Rethbourne merely smiled and turned toward Vance.  “I understand I am to accompany you on your mission to rescue the Countess and her sister?”

                “So I’ve been told, as well.”  Vance said, sizing the other man up.  “Tell me Captain, what were you told about who was in charge of this mission?”

                Talon smiled slightly, and the others watched with interest to see if Vance’s authority was about to be challenged.  “I was told to follow your orders, until such time as I think those orders are no longer viable.  I’ve been given authority to take over for you if I think it’s warranted.”

                Vance turned and exchanged looks with the Dragons and saw reflected in their gazes the same thing that he felt.  There was no way any of these three people was going to follow the orders of Talon Rethbourne.  To the captain, he simply said, “We’re waiting to see if magical transport to Milligant can be arranged.”

                Talon nodded. “I heard something about having a known criminal released into your custody because he was supposed to be able to arrange that?”  It was obvious from his tone that he didn’t seem to approve of this tactic.

                “Tobias Kress, otherwise known as Arkayne, has been released into my custody, yes.  He and Ayden Grohl are inside right now, trying to arrange that transportation for us.”  As if on cue the door to the guild hall opened and there stood Ayden beside the tall and emaciated form of Arkayne.  Their mage was still pale and sickly looking, but he was clean and wearing a pair of gray robes with light blue trim, a hood pulled up and shadowing his features.  In his hand was a staff, the top of which was shaped like a serpents head. 

                “It is arranged.”  Arkayne told them, his eyes flickering momentarily over the rest of the people accompanying him, lingering for a time on Talon, as though sizing up the guardsman.

                Tasha looked at Ayden, “And our other people?”

                Ayden looked and Bryant and Strut, “Their entry into the guild is being allowed… once… based on their status as members of the Dragons.”

                Tasha offered him her sincerest smile, “Thank you.”  The elven mage gave her a nod and then stood aside as the group moved into the building.  When Talon Rethbourne entered Tasha turned to Ayden with a frown, “Captain Rethbourne didn’t need to speak his true name?”

                Ayden frowned slightly, obviously this was not something that he was comfortable with either.  “Since we do hold prisoners in our building we were required to allow permanent passage to certain members of the Sentinels.  Major Falcone and his captains are on that list, they may come and go as they please provided they have official business in the guild hall.”  Talon smiled at them smugly, but Tasha said nothing as she turned and followed the others toward where the teleportation circle must have been located.  Ayden and Talon brought up the rear and Tasha was certain she could feel the humans eyes on her but resisted the urge to glare at him over her shoulder.  This was going to be a long journey.

                The group made their way to one of the guilds lower levels, though from their earlier experience, they were a little surprised not to find themselves on the top floor of the guild hall.  A long, narrow hallway, sporadically lit by flickering candles led to a circular room that was a good fifty by fifty feet wide in every direction.  Arkayne led the way to the side of the room farthest from the door, weaving his way between several circles of power that had been drawn on the floor.  He stood in the center of one of the circles and glanced around at the others. 

                “Well… let’s go then.”  He said impatiently.  “I had to draw this circle especially for us, and they will have to obliterate it when we’re gone. The mages of the Errgaunt guild don’t want any of them following us through.”  The gaunt mage moved his gaze toward Ayden.  “I’m sure you know that they will be aware if the circle is not destroyed on this side?”  The elf just nodded, seeming none too pleased to be reminded of proper magical etiquette by a known criminal. 

                The Dragons exchanged glances, each silently asking the others if they were ready to go.  The answer was yes, of course, the sooner the better.  But they couldn’t help wondering what sort of adventure lie ahead of them.  Vance moved first, stepping into the circle, followed by Tasha, then Strut and finally Shadow Walker, the young thief looking none too thrilled with the idea of this magical mode of travel.  Seeing his young friends frown, Strut elbowed him in the side and leaned over to say, “Hey, at least there aren’t any spiders.”  Bryant’s expression lightened at that and he nodded, happy to see a silver lining on what he had perceived as a dark cloud.

                Tasha, her face as deadpan as she could keep it, put in, “Of course, there is a temple of Rachnos in Milligant… the spider god is the only one that the Shayde family will let into their city.”  As Arkayne mumbled the spell that would whisk them away to a land on the other side of the Sea of Stars, Bryant’s face fell again.  Tasha and Strut exchanged glances and tried like hell not to laugh… Vance seemed tense, his fingers flexing by his sides as he watched the mage prepare the circle.  A moment later, though they detected nothing of the magic working upon them, they were standing in a room that was larger than the one they had just left.  Where the teleportation room in the Peacehope guild had been circular, this one was square and filled with even more circles than the one at their home had been.  The Dragons glanced around, seeing several men and women in black robes, lined in red, standing around the perimeter of the room, looking grim.

                Arkayne spoke, his voice soft, “The royal guard of the Shayde family, mage unit.  Don’t make any sudden movements.”  He stepped forward, slipping between Vance and Strut, both men looking warily around them at the darkly robed mages.  Arkayne moved forward, smiling slightly and extending his hands to his fellow magic users.  “My friends… it has been too long!”

                “We could have done with it being a bit longer Tobias.”  Said a man that strode into the room from the only visible doorway, to the right of the circle in which the Dragons stood.  “You’re not exactly the most welcome sight here,” he glanced over at the mans traveling companions, “fraternizing with the enemy.”

                Arkayne’s thick eyebrows shot up and his slight frame tensed, “Fraternizing with the enemy?  I’ve been cooling my heels in a cell in the Peacehope Mages guild while you’ve been here… what?  Experimenting with plants and animals?”

                The tension between the two men was palpable, and it seemed to all those present that it was only a matter of moments before lightning bolts and fireballs filled the air.  Tasha, uncertain what a magical battle might lead to in a room filled with magical circles, stepped forward, her most charming smile spreading across her face.  “Arkayne, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

                The newcomer glanced over at her, then did a double take, his eyes sliding over the shapely elf slowly from head to toe.  Tasha returned the gaze with equal measure, taking stock of the man.  The first thing she noticed about him was that he wore a medallion around his neck in the shape of a demonic skull with horns, vampire fangs and rubies for eyes.  She recognized this as the holy symbol of Noktyrne, God of the Undead and the sworn enemy of Roma, of the Pantheon of Justice and the deity her father had raised her to worship since birth.  The man himself was human with short black hair swept straight back, revealing a pronounced widow’s peak.  His forehead was lined as were the corners of his eyes and mouth.  This, along with the slight graying in his hair marked him as a man in his forties, though fit for his age.  He wore an open mages robe that matched those of the royal guard around the room, but underneath it he was well adorned in a snug fitting suit of imported satin, all of it black with red lining.  He was a darkly handsome man, though he radiated evil like a fully stoked wood stove radiates heat.  She felt an instant dislike for him, though she supposed that might well have been due to the medallion he wore, for she had never met the man before as far as she knew.

                Arkayne glanced back at her, then seemed to remember that he had not come alone into this place and made a conscious effort to relax his posture.  He gestured at her, then idly at the others, “Lady Natashiana Grasamere, Commander Vance Falcone, Captain Talon Rethbourne, Strut and Shadow Walker… meet Connor Shayde, head of the Milligant mages guild and younger brother to Lord Keiran Shayde, ruler of Milligant.”

                The archmage’s eyes swept the group and Tasha was glad she wasn’t in the habit of wearing a symbol of Roma as many of the followers of the justice pantheon did.  She saw the interest in the mans eyes quite plainly when he looked at her, but his smile seemed forced as he nodded to them all.  “Welcome to Milligant.  May I ask… what brings you to our city?”

                Vance, the leader of this party, stepped forward then and addressed the mage.  “We’re hoping to meet a zeppelin here that left Peacehope two days ago.  There is a rogue on board that has kidnapped people of some import among the populace of Algeron.”  He didn’t want to give away the identities of the kidnapped, for Errgaunt was not friendly to Algeron, and in fact was a warlike empire that would be likely to press an advantage like knowledge of the rulers of one of their bitter rivals being kidnapped.  “We thank you for allowing this use of your facilities.  We don’t wish to trouble you any longer, we’ll go.”

                He started toward the door and the others made to follow.  Connor Shayde, not moving from his spot at the center of the room, asked, “May I ask which zeppelin it is that you hope to intercept?”

                Vance paused by the door and glanced back over his shoulder at his team.  Tasha was the only one there that had actually seen the zeppelin.  “The Cloud Dancer, milord.”  She said, trying very hard to sound sincere when using his title, though it galled her to do so.

                He nodded and something like sadness passed across his face.  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

                Vance turned back to the man, “What is it?”

                “We just received word via magic messenger from one of our galleys that they passed what looked like the wreckage of a destroyed zeppelin.  From the location and time frame of the message we can deduce that it would only be the Cloud Dancer, lost with all hands.”  The words struck them like a physical blow and Vance actually staggered, the realization that he had failed his mistress nearly laying him low.  “I’m sorry.  You are welcome to stay here in the city until our investigation of this is complete, we’ll certainly keep you abreast of our findings.”

                “Thank you milord.”  Tasha said to the man, who glanced around at the others then nodded and left.  The other guards stayed, watching them alertly but none of them said anything.  Tasha stepped over to Vance and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “We need to go, we can find a place to stay and regroup… figure out what this means for the mission.”

                “What it means?” He said, his voice sounding empty, hollow.  “It means we’ve failed.”

                Tasha smiled encouragingly at him.  “Not necessarily.  That assassin was a tricky bastard, I wouldn’t put it past him to have arranged this whole thing.  We’ll know more when the Shayde’s have finished their investigation.”

                Strut snorted derisively at that.  “Like we can trust them.”  The guards around the room stiffened dangerously, but he ignored them.  “There are no less trustworthy people in all of Kyzanthia then the Shayde family.  We’ve had dealings with them in the past, remember?”

                Tasha nodded.  She did indeed remember many such encounters, including the ones between Strut and the man called Skull, a warrior in the employ of the Shayde family that had become something of a nemesis to her large friend.  She herself actually owed the price that had been placed on her head to the Shaydes, who had orchestrated the events that led to her beginning a life as an adventurer.  She had never actually come to blows with any of the family, but she had spent a few years tracking them across the planet, trying to retrieve dark magical items stolen from her parents church, where they had been kept safe for years.  She felt as though she had wandered into the nest of a particularly nasty den of vipers.  When Arkayne had introduced her by name to Connor Shayde she had nearly winced outwardly, wondering if the man would recognize her.  It had been several years since she was a problem for them, she hoped that her past would not come back to haunt this mission.  Of course, that would mean staying away from Skull, who was as much a part of her past as he was a part of Strut’s.

                “I agree they can’t be trusted.”  Tasha said to her friend, ignoring the angry glares of the Shayde family employees arrayed around them.  “But we have little choice here other than to await the outcome of their investigation.  We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves or our mission,” she added, soft enough so that only Strut and Vance could hear, “especially to them.”  The two men considered her words for a moment, then they nodded.   

                From over by the door Arkayne spoke, his tone impatient.  “Come on then, I haven’t been home in a long while and I intend to start enjoying this newfound freedom.”

                Vance turned toward the door and continued out, saying to the mage, “You aren’t free until I say you are mage, you’d do well to remember that.”  Arkayne glared at the templar’s back as the young holy warrior left the room, then he followed the man out.  Tasha and Strut exchanged glances, each realizing that the mage was going to need to be watched rather closely.  They followed the other two from the room, Bryant and Talon bringing up the rear.

Chapter Five

                Her gaze drifted from the quartet of zombies carrying the mummified remains of the knight to the largest of her minions, who kept looking back over his shoulder, down the tunnel behind them.  He feared pursuit, she knew, though in the case of her Necroknight she realized it might in fact be something more than a simple fear.  Turning to the large undead warrior she said, “Necrolon, you are tense and distracted, what troubles you?”

                All of seven feet tall, Necrolon wore a massive suit of plate armor, colored black with red highlights, the skull of his head distorted and inhuman.  Often she thought he looked to have the bone structure of a large orc, or perhaps Ogren.  The incisor teeth jutted out from the jaw and she knew that if he had any flesh left on his bones they would have overlapped the upper lip as those of an orc did.  Diagonally across his back hung his great sword while on one hip he sported a morningstar and on the other hung a battle axe.  For many years now he had been her most powerful minion, though if all went well that would soon change.  Still, she had never seen him act so outwardly troubled before.  In answer to her question, Necrolon said, “They follow.”

                Illya Crane nodded her head, “Aye, we suspected they would.  It’s not as though pursuit is unexpected, the knight meant a great deal to these people.”  Illya Crane was not an attractive woman, in fact just the opposite was true of her. She was human, short and stooped and far too scrawny.  She had long since left the middle years of her life behind her, her skin hung loosely from her diminutive frame and she had long, stringy white hair that fell across her face and over her shoulders.  She was a powerful necromancer to be sure, but her luck over the years had not allowed that she be all that well known for it.  In fact, she had been thwarted time and again in her plans of domination, though she felt that the plan she was enacting now could not possibly fail.  She intended to use one of her greatest enemies against the others, a man who knew them as well, if not better, than they knew themselves.

                Necrolon turned and looked at her and if his skull face had been able to display emotion she could tell by his body language that it would have been concern… or perhaps excitement, sometimes it was difficult to read an expressionless face.  “No milady,” he said earnestly, “it is more than that.  She is with them.”  He glanced back down the tunnel behind them, “The bearer of the mark.”

                Suddenly she understood and a smile spread slowly across her homely features, revealing the gapped teeth and receding gums within her mouth.  “Ah… the hunter.”  Illya had heard the stories about Blaze, the monster hunter who had specialized in undead.  Specifically her specialty was vampires, but she had garnered a reputation as a slayer of all types of undead over the last hundred years.  One of the more prominent stories regarding her was that she had once been captured by a necromancer who had used her for some of his more… imaginative experiments.  One such experiment had been to brand the high elf with what has come to be known as the necromark, a magical symbol that is burned into the flesh and thus radiates a type of magic that alerts any undead to the mark bearers presence.  Additionally, the mark caused any undead within its radius to become aroused sexually by the bearer of the mark.  Necrolon no longer had the ability to act on such cravings, but she could certainly understand him still being distracted by the feelings.  If it was true that Blaze was with the group that followed them, then it was perhaps in her best interests to try and slow down pursuit.  “I suppose I cannot count upon you to be focused on the task at hand while she is back there distracting you.”  Illya sighed, her nearly flat chest showing almost no sign of movement at the gesture.  “Very well then, take some of the others with you and see what you can do about… halting their progress.”

                Necrolon turned and regarded her a moment and she thought again that if he had flesh on his skull she would have seen some sign of emotion, in this case the slow smile that would have spread across his face.  “Thank you milady!”  He turned then and started barking orders to some of the other undead in their procession, his favorites among them.  Within moments he was leading a small but powerful band back along the tunnel the way they had come.  Illya didn’t watch them go, she was too concerned with what lay ahead to be worried about what was behind them.  But she did wonder if, considering the power of the woman he went to face, she would ever see her favored general again.  “Ah well,” she said to no one, “I will soon have  a general upon whom to lavish even more favor!”

                The group made their way slowly, cautiously down the narrow tunnel.  It was wide enough to go two abreast, but Blaze had ordered them into single file and to maintain a fifteen foot gap between the party members.  Being a soldier, Galon found this a prudent caution, since he knew that for most magical spells that effected a wide area, the blast radius would not be sufficient to incapacitate or kill more than one of their party if they maintained this rate.  As such, the order of their procession was Blaze in the lead with Talia Moonstone fifteen feet behind her.  Next in line was Galon himself followed by Lance Crowe and Commander Relic, the templar of Ra while bringing up the rear was his son, Cyrrik.  Cyrrik’s presence on this mission concerned Galon on a number of levels, first and foremost he didn’t want his son getting hurt… though for some reason he had never adequately conveyed that concern to the boy and he felt certain that that was what had led to the rift that had developed between them.  Also, he was afraid the Cyrrik’s presence here was nothing more than Major Falcone’s way of keeping tabs on the group, certainly he would debrief Cyrrik on their return.  He would occasionally glance over his shoulder at the young soldier, wondering if perhaps they might find the time to talk during this mission.  He knew that Cyrrik hated him, blamed him for the death of his mother and he also knew that he had done little to sway that opinion.  The fact was that Cyrrik was a little too much like his mother, and Galon knew that once he had an idea firmly entrenched in his mind, it was nearly impossible to dissuade him.  As such, he had decided to let the young mans bitterness toward him fester and had instead focused on his other two children, Ahslyn and Rylan, both of whom he felt he had a better understanding of.  Especially Ashlyn… his youngest boy was still a bit of a mystery to him, but he thought that Ariana’s influence would help to make a man of the lad yet.

                He had become so embroiled in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize the two women in front of him had stopped moving till he nearly ran into Talia from behind.  Stopping just shy of that he frowned, glancing up ahead at where the monster hunter had paused, her beautiful face set in a scowl.  “Blaze?  What is it?”  The shapely elf stood with her back to the rock wall of the tunnel, just prior to a turn that moved around to the left, keeping the tunnel ahead out of their sight.  A prime place for an ambush, he thought.  “Tanya?”

                Her hauntingly beautiful violet eyes flickered toward him a moment, her full red lips pursed thoughtfully.  He saw her hand rise up and lightly caress a dark spot on her abundant cleavage, a gesture that might have seemed erotic to anyone that didn’t know her better.  The necromark was alerting her to presence of undead, and if the sensation was enough to cause her discomfort then they had to have been very close indeed.  She met the old warriors eyes and understanding passed between them, just around the bend they waited.  “We go?” she asked softly.

                Talia glanced from the elf to her surrogate uncle, her confusion evident on her pretty face.  Galon, who already had his sword in hand and his shield on his opposite arm adjusted his grip on the former and smiled grimly.  “Of course we go.”

                The young rangers blue eyes suddenly widened as understanding dawned and she looked over at Blaze, who nodded confirmation.  “I don’t know how many there are,” she said softly as the others of their party crowded in behind Galon, “but we can expect a substantial force, I think.”  Faintly, Galon heard Relic utter a prayer to Ra and Lance swore softly, adjusting his grip on his spear.  “After me, I think.”  The warrior mage said, then stepped away from the wall and into the center of the tunnel.  Galon, who was not as knowledgeable as she about the ways of the undead, did not mention his instinct to hug the walls, for in a typical ambush the center of the tunnel would likely have filled with a hail of arrows.  This was not likely to be a typical ambush, and so he followed her example.  Moving back to their previous order, maintaining their fifteen foot gaps, the group rounded the corner and stopped, finding themselves at a place where the tunnel widened considerably.  There was a cavern here, nearly thirty feet wide and twelve feet tall and standing directly at its center was the Necroknight they had all known to be traveling with Illya Crane.  The eye sockets of his skull blazed with an unholy fire as he glared at them, his full plate armor looking shadowy in the dim light, its red highlights seeming to glow beneath the fire of his gaze.  In one hand, it point resting lightly on the ground, was a his sword while the other held a wicked looking battle axe propped on his massive shoulder.  As the others filed into the cavern and spread out to either side of her, the necro knight looked Blaze over, his head tilting noticeably as he ran his demonic gaze over the shapely elf slowly from head to toe and back again.  If the gesture had any effect on the stalwart undead hunter, she didn’t show it, she merely glared back at him, her red bladed sword gleaming as much as the highlights in his armor.  Galon realized all of a sudden that it was glowing faintly in the presence of this powerful undead.

                “I am Necrolon.”  The creature said, his voice rumbling like thunder from within the massive suit of armor.  “Destined to be a general in the largest undead army this world has ever known.”

                “Is that her plan then?”  Blaze asked, her full lips quirking in a half smile.  “Raise herself an army to use against the mortals of Kyzanthia?  And what… Donovan Moonstone is to be one of the army?”

                “He will lead the army against the forces of the world.”  Necrolon said, lifting his head slightly in a gesture that seemed almost haughty.

                “Wait,” Lance said suddenly, lowering his head to one hand, “I’m confused… I thought you just said that you were going to be the general?”

                Necrolon looked at the demon hunter and Blaze was certain that, had he any flesh on his skull, his expression would have been disdainful.  “I will share that great honor with the new Revenant.”

                Galon snorted derisively, “If you plan to be a general Necrolon, I think you should work on your tactical training.  Facing us like this was not smart… in case you didn’t notice, we outnumber you six to one.”

                Necrolons head turned so that he could gaze at the old warrior and as he spoke, a sudden shiver ran up Tanya’s spine, a shiver she had felt many times over. “Do you?”  Her eyes widened in horror as she realized the folly of their entering the cavern to face him but before she could shout a warning the wall behind them exploded outward and a dozen figures charged forth into the cavern.  Blaze, whose back had been to the tunnel, was the only one not attacked from behind as the monsters fell upon her party.  To her right Galon staggered as a ghoul slammed into him, one arm wrapping around his neck and yanking his chin back as the other hand, gruesome claw like fingers extended, circled around toward the old paladin’s throat.  To her left Talia too was staggered as she was hit from behind by not one, but two undead, a pair of zombies wrestling the young blonde woman to the ground.  One had slammed into the back of her knees, knocking her legs out from under her while the other planted its knees on her shoulders, pinning them to the ground.  She struggled and grimaced but they were far too strong.  Cyrrik staggered into a wall of the cavern, hit from behind by an animated skeleton that wore a suit of armor which resembled Necrolon’s, but the undead hunter could tell it was no necro knight.  The younger soldier spun to face it, his sword and shield at the ready as he snarled an invitation.  Then she saw Relic, stepping forward slightly to compensate for the weight of the three ghouls that had landed on his back.  As she watched though, the holy symbols on his armor suddenly flared brilliantly and the monsters fell away, shrieking as their grayish, slimy skin blistered and burned.  The three ghouls forgotten, Relic moved forward to take the fight to Necrolon and Blaze turned her attention to helping the others.

                Blaze saw that Galon had brought his sword up in time to parry away the claws that were aimed for his throat and so she twisted instead to her left, one shapely leg lashing out as she mumbled a quick spell.  Her body suddenly alive with magical energy her augmented kick sent the zombie atop Talia flying across the room where it slammed into a wall and slumped to the ground.  It was already starting to rise as she turned to deal with the undead that had wrapped its arms around the young rangers throat from behind and was squeezing.  Talia, her arms now free to move, was trying desperately to pry the arms away, her face draining of color as she was deprived of oxygen.  Blaze thrust her sword down at the zombies head, perhaps a little too close to Talia’s head for comfort, but the undead simply shifted its face to the other side of her blonde head and renewed its attempt to squeeze the life from the ranger.  Meeting the young woman’s gaze, Blaze extended her free hand to Talia and the woman, able to think in spite of her near panic at being strangled, reached up with one hand and grasped that offered by the elf.  Tanya, her strength still greatly augmented by her spell, jerked the young woman to her feet, then flung her backward against a wall, slamming the zombie between Talia and the wall.  The young ranger staggered forward, rebounding off the wall and gasping for breath, but the zombie had released her.  Blaze stepped forward and gave her magical sword a might swing, its blade becoming deeply imbedded in the wall behind the zombie as she cleaved it in two across its middle.  The two halves of the things body slumped to the ground, the upper half still moving, dragging itself forward with its arms.

                “Oh just die!”  Blaze growled, extending a gloved hand as a jet of flame shot forth, engulfing the half zombie which ignited immediately and ceased to move.  Talia, meanwhile, had fallen to one knee as she tried to catch her breath.  She glanced up to see Commander Relic and Necrolon exchanging blows, sparks flying as each of the warriors blades glanced off the others armor repeatedly.  As she watched, a movement from beyond the fighters drew her eye and she saw a pair of forms come hurtling out of the tunnel across the room.  When she had fallen amid the two zombies she had lost her grip on her spear, but it lay on the ground at her feet and as she saw the mouths of these two new monsters yawn open, revealing a pair of long fangs in each mouth she scooped up her spear and rolled forward, her lithe form slipping right between Relic and Necrolon.  She rolled nimbly to her feet and thrust her spear forward, impaling the first of the vampires on its silver blade.  There was sizzling sound as the blade pierced its flesh and it growled, swiping with claw like fingers at her, but the spear kept it too far away.  Grimacing, Talia planted the base of her spear in the ground behind her and leaned back, using her own weight to heft the vampire into the air, it’s weight acting as a counter balance, causing it to slide farther down the spear until the silver blade protruded from its back.  The undead monstrosity writhed and hissed but could do nothing to remove itself from her spear and the ranger, still grimacing with the effort, twisted her shapely hips and using them as a fulcrum and her spears shaft as the lever, she flung the impaled vampire into the other, which was streaking across the cavern toward Lance Crowe, who was busy dueling a pair of ghouls, his back to the vampire.

                As the two lesser vamps toppled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, Blaze smiled slightly and nodded, impressed with the young woman’s skill, then turned her attention to other matters.  Her gaze swept the cavern, dismissing the fights being undertaken by Cyrrik Eaglehart and Lance Crowe as each man seemed more than up to the task before them.  Relic was holding his own against Necrolon and that left only Galon, who was still struggling with the ghoul that had slammed into him as it erupted from the wall.  Her attempt to help Talia and his own struggles with the ghoul had placed several yards between them and as she moved to close that gap she saw the ghouls clawed fingers slip under Galon’s sword arm and the old man cried out as the claws sank deep into the unprotected flesh of his armpit, where his armor didn’t cover.  Blaze cried out, racing forward but already knowing she wouldn’t make it in time.  Galons injured arm must have gone dead because his sword fell from numb fingers and before it had hit the ground the ghoul had twisted and flung the paladin with savage force against the wall.  Galon slammed into the rocks, knocking dirt loose from the roof above him and all the air from his lungs and again the ghoul was on him, striking once, twice, thrice with claws that ripped the old mans face open to the bones, which gleamed white at his cheeks.  Galon staggered, dazed, as blood gushed from the wound under his arm and his face seemed to hang in tatters from his skull.  Then the ghoul struck a final time as the paladin bent double, weakened by his loss of blood.  As the old man doubled over the ghoul stepped forward and thrust its claws beneath Galon’s bearded chin.

                “No!”  Blaze cried as she saw the tips of those long, razor like claws erupt from the back of the paladins’ throat.  She stumbled to a stop, still several feet away, stunned to immobility as Galon Eaglehart, hero of Peacehope, slumped to the ground in a dead heap, blood pumping from his ravaged throat.  He lay on his back, blood spreading in a pool around him and Blaze heard Talia’s scream of horror as her violet eyes moved from the fallen warrior to the monster that had just slain him.  The ghoul stood over his kill, smiling wickedly and licking the humans blood from its talon like fingers with a long, serpentine tongue.  Suddenly her eyes narrowed as she examined the creature more closely, realizing that its flesh was too white, its bulbous eyes too intelligent and its emotions too… human for her original identification to stand.  This was not a ghoul at all, it was a “Wight!”

                The creature grinned wider, its yellow, bloodshot eyes sliding over Blaze with obvious lust burning in the pupils.  She felt the necromark twinge and actually flinched slightly, her heartbeat picking up its pace a bit.  She had never mentioned it to anyone, but one of the reasons that the necromark had been such a curse for her is that its most unfortunate side effect didn’t only work on the undead, it affected her as well.  Pushing the arousal aside with the forceful concentration born of years of practice, Blaze narrowed her eyes and regarded the monster with new respect.  It seemed that Illya Crane was a bigger threat than she had originally thought.  “I’ll take your head Creature!”

                She shifted her grip on the red bladed sword, called Oblivion and raised it into a ready stance.  The wight, still grinning maniacally reached out with one foot and hooked his toe beneath the hilt of Galon’s fallen sword, then kicked it up into his hand.  Raising the broadsword, crafted for the paladin by none other than Wolfgar Graybeard himself, he motioned her forward.  Before Tanya could take a single step, however, someone else lunged forward, long blonde hair flying behind her.  Talia thrust at the wight with her spear and Blaze called for her to stop, but the young ranger was too far gone, overcome with grief at seeing a man she had looked on as an uncle so easily killed.  The wight cackled, the broadsword flashing down and knocking the spear away.  Talia had put all her speed and strength into the charge, so when he parried the thrust her momentum carried her spear point past him and it got buried in the wall behind the wight.  With the sexy young ranger now in arms reach, the powerful undead backhanded her, sending Talia spinning through the air to crash to the ground behind Necrolon, who tripped over her sprawled form and staggered.  This gave Relic an opening and he lunged, his Claymore glowing brilliantly as it drove into a gap between the plates at shoulder and chest.  Necrolon bellowed in pain and rage as he slumped away from the blow, kicking savagely at Talia who managed to roll with the blow but was still knocked senseless by the force of it.

                As Relic and Necrolon again clashed sword to sword, Blaze launched her attack against the wight, her magically amplified strength fueling her initial swipe of Oblivion.  The wight, moving with a speed and grace only possessed by the truly powerful undead races, parried her strike and then spun away, his stolen blade flashing toward her exposed midriff, between her leather top and the belt.  Tanya danced backward, arching her back and felt the point of the sword scrape across her firm abdomen, leaving a white hot line in its wake.  She winced and stepped back further, putting some distance between them while she mumbled a spell.  Obviously increasing her strength wasn’t enough against this particular villain, she would need added swiftness of foot and limb as well.  The wight tried to attack before she could finish her casting, hoping to distract her from the spell, but Blaze was far too experienced to allow herself to be so easily distracted.  She parried his blow, feeling the strength of it vibrating all the way up her arm and into her shoulder, but when she brought Oblivion back up for another strike she was moving with a speed that was nearly the equal of her enemy.  Oblivion came sweeping in toward the wight’s neck but he weaved backward, then kicked out toward her stomach.  Blaze twisted at the hips, his foot grazing past her and scoring not the slightest hit but before he could lower the leg she lashed out with one of her own and swept his other foot out from under him.  The wight landed hard on his back and she thrust down with Oblivion but he rolled quickly away, cackling the whole time.

                The wight sprang to its feet and Blaze lunged, driving Oblivion toward its unprotected chest as the creature wore no armor.  Still cackling like a lunatic it parried her strike to the right and spun to the left, its talon like fingers raking down her upper arm, leaving a bloody trail from shoulder to elbow.  She hissed, then spun and slashed at his head, but the wight ducked beneath that, Galon’s sword slicing again across her stomach, leaving another thin red line just above the one it had scored before.  Blaze knew suddenly that it was toying with her, for that blow should by all rights have been fatal.  Of course she knew why, it was the necromark.  He didn’t want to kill her, he had other plans for her after he had bested her!

                Her discovery enraged her and that rage fueled her as she moved in, slashing with Oblivion, once across the face which he ducked, then bringing it back diagonally across the chest which he simply side stepped and then driving the point of the sword toward his knee which he avoided, cackling the whole way.  “Stand still you demonic hyena!” she shrieked at him, lunging forward and attempting to run him through.  She over extended though and as he twisted out of the way, her sword arm extended well past his waist. 

He reached out and closed his long, talon like fingers around her forearm, saying as he cackled, “Hyena!  Oh I like that!”  She tried to pull her arm from his grip but she discovered that he was stronger than she, even with her magically augmented strength.  Cackling all the louder, he stepped back and twisted her arm, utilizing his greater leverage to fling her face first against the wall.  Blaze turned her face at the last moment to save her smashing it into the rocks, grunting with the impact and thankful, perhaps for the first time, that she was so well endowed as her chest somewhat lessened the impact.  She groaned then as he stepped up behind her, twisting her arm painfully up between her shoulder blades.  Her fingers opened reflexively and Oblivion clattered to the ground, then she felt the wight pressed up against her from behind.  She struggled against him, but he was impossibly strong as he leaned in, burying his emaciated nose in her dark hair and inhaled heavily.  “You’re scent is… intoxicating!” he said.

“You’re vile!” she snarled.

                He laughed, that long prehensile tongue slithering from his mouth and sliding down over her shoulder, its pointed tip disappearing into her deep cleavage and squirming about before he slurped it back into his mouth.  “You’re delicious!”  Blaze screamed as he sunk his teeth into her shoulder while simultaneously slamming his body against hers, using the rock wall to batter her.  She felt his tongue sliding over the wound as her blood seeped forth and something within the warrior mage clicked, a switch that she had felt a few other times in the past.  It was as though her personality shifted, converting her from Tatyana Fyre, Undead Hunter to Blaze… force of nature.  Reacting more on instinct than anything else now Blaze suddenly drove her had back and to the side, slamming it into the side of his.  Hyena, as she was now subconsciously referring to him, grunted at the impact, his head jarring to one side, tearing a large chunk of flesh from her shoulder.  Snarling like an animal Blaze pushed against the wall with her free hand, using his momentary distraction to push him off balance.  When there was enough space between her and the wall she curled her long legs to her chest, planted her heels against the wall and pushed with all she had.  They flew backward, the wight roaring with surprise as he toppled to the ground, the shapely elf atop him.  As they fell he released her arm and she twisted, rolling away from him, grabbing Oblivion from where she glanced it laying in passing.  The elf came out of her roll on one knee, Oblivion in hand, blood coating her arm both from where he had scratched her earlier and where he had bit her a moment before.  Her violet eyes were leveled on him as he pushed himself up on his arms as though doing actual push ups and raised his head to meet her gaze.  He saw something in her eyes then that gave him pause, his eyes widening slightly and he had little time to react as she launched herself at him, sword raised high and swinging in an overhand blow.  Hyena, not cackling now by any means, rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow as he came up against the wall, his feet kicking the fallen form of Galon Eaglehart.  Blaze landed, catlike, and had barely had time to adjust her trajectory when she launched herself at him again, her whole body stretched taut, leading with Oblivion thrust out in front of her like the point of a flying spear.  Hyena saw her coming and his eyes widened as he realized he was staring his second death in the eye.

                Suddenly Relic came hurtling out of nowhere and slammed into Blaze, knocking her aside before she could complete her attack.  The undead hunter and the Templar tumbled against a wall, lying atop Galon in a tangle of arms and legs.  Relic, who had been flung aside by Necrolon, groaned feebly and Blaze realized he was barely conscious.  His armor was hellishly heavy, and her strength spell was fading, but she managed to heave him off her and sprang to her feet.  Oblivion in hand she glanced around, looking to take the fight to either the newly christened Hyena or Necrolon.  Neither was there, she saw after a moment.  They had fled down the tunnel, leaving behind a cavern littered with defeated undead and her comrades, all of them battered and bloody, with the exception of Cyrrik Eaglehart, she couldn’t help but notice.  He was covered in blood and had obviously been in the battle with a vengeance, but near as she could tell he had come out of it unscathed.  Say what you will about his attitude, she thought, impressed despite herself, but the man is every bit the fighter his father was.  Her unconscious use of the past tense in regards to Galon caused her to turn toward his body and her expression softened, her heart falling to see Talia seated with her back to the wall, cradling the old paladins dead body in her arms.  She was crying openly, her head lowered, her face buried in his hair.  She turned and glanced toward the tunnel where their enemies had fled and realized that she had to let them go.  Of the companions, only she and Cyrrik seemed in any shape to continue the fight, and the others all needed attention of some kind.  She looked to Cyrrik, who met her eyes levelly.  “Help me with them?”  He nodded and sheathed his sword, then bent to see to Commander Relic while Blaze herself moved to Talia’s side.

                The bed had been his fathers, and when he passed it had of course passed to his step-mother.  Huntyr himself had never slept in it, though he had fantasized about doing so, knowing that if it ever happened it would mean that the rooms in which the bed was located had become his, and that that in turn would mean he was the ruler of Peacehope.  He had even fantasized, though he would never admit it publicly, about sharing the bed with his step-mother, for there were few women in Peacehope, perhaps all of Kyzanthia, more desirable than Countess Penelope Wodan-Shroude.  When he had first slipped between the satin sheets of the bed it had been akin to heaven, or the closest he ever thought he was likely to get.  The mattress was soft, the bedding warm and the sheets smooth against his skin.  He had decided, this first night at least, to sleep in the nude.  It had taken him many hours to decide to actually use the bed, he wasn’t sure why, perhaps fear that the Countess would return and ruin his dream.  But now that he had, he knew he would never be able to sleep as well in anything else.  But then, if he had been sleeping so well, what had caused him to wake?

                Huntyr lay on his stomach, head resting on a goose down pillow, turned to the side with his arms tucked under the pillow.  He opened his eyes, seeing the star filled sky beyond the window, the light weight curtains billowing in the breeze.  So it was not yet morning, which meant he shouldn’t be awake.  Then he thought of those billowing curtains and tried to remember if he had left that window open when he had gone to bed.  He didn’t think he had, and that meant that he wasn’t alone… someone else had entered the bedchamber and was probably still there.  Slowly he started to move his right hand from beneath the pillow, inching it toward the dagger that was sheathed on the belt hanging from the corner post of the headboard.

                From somewhere outside his view a woman’s voice said, “There’s no cause for concern milord, I mean you no harm.”  He froze, his eyes narrowing slightly.  The voice was familiar, but it couldn’t be her, that wasn’t possible.  “I wish only to speak with you about a matter of mutual interest.”

                Continuing with his intent of drawing the blade, he slid it from its sheath as he rolled over and pushed himself up on his elbows.  The room was dimly lit and he scanned it quickly with his eyes, aware also of a light perfume on the air, something spicy and slightly sweet.  He saw her near the far corner of the bedchamber, leaning almost casually against a vast dresser with ten drawers and a mirror above it.  It still held the Countess’s clothing, though he had already begun to plan for their removal before he had retired for the night.  The sight of her standing there made his heart skip a beat, his eyes widening in stunned surprise.

                “You… you can’t be here… they told me you had been taken.  If you had been rescued I would have heard of it.”  He said, his eyes playing over her undeniably sensuous form, the long flowing black hair, the violet eyes, the full pink lips.  Her voluptuous body was clad in a dress that fit her like a second skin, the neckline cut so low as to be more wanton than daring, slits up both sides of the skirt, to her hips, revealing the sensuous lines of her long, perfect legs.

                She smiled slightly and just that slight movement of her lips caused a tightening in his groin.  He had always been attracted to his step-mother… physically… but he had never reacted to her like this before.  “I understand your confusion milord, I truly do.  I assure you, no one has been keeping secrets from you, well… no one you trust anyway.  Despite what your senses are telling you, I am not Countess Penelope Shroude.”

                “No?” he said, thinking even as he said it that there was something about this woman that didn’t feel like his step-mother, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  Penelope was a sensual woman as well, she practically oozed sex and just being in her presence could make the most stalwart of men uncomfortable.  But this woman, while she generated that same underlying tone, had something else as well.  She felt… dangerous.  “Then who are you?”

                Her smile widened and Huntyr felt something warm pass through him, something very pleasant.  ‘Careful.’  He told himself.  “My name is Daemonaya Wodan, though most people simply call me Demona.  The woman you know as Countess Shroude is my twin sister.”

                His eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger.  “Twins?”  She nodded slightly, still smiling, her eyes now openly playing over his bare chest.  Huntyr was not an overly large man, not like his friend Rellik, but he knew that many women liked his lean, hard build.  “Why is it that I’ve never heard of her having a twin?”  He wasn’t certain where she had come from or how she came to be here in this room, but the evidence of his eyes convinced him what she said was true.  She was identical to his step-mother in every way.

                “That’s by design, of course.”  She said, and seeing his quizzical expression she smiled again and pushed away from the dresser, moving toward him, letting her fingers trail slightly across the polished surface of the dresser.  There was something oddly erotic about that simple movement.  “Over the years, my sister has had occasions where she needed to be… elsewhere, but couldn’t afford to let the populace of this fair city know about it.  On such occasions, I would stand in for her, though always for short spells and always under the watchful eyes of the few people who actually knew of my existence.  Occasionally I would do it for security reasons as well, or perhaps I would travel overseas, posing as her when her presence was required at some political event.  But always I would be expected to return to my anonymity, hiding in the shadows and living in hers.”

                “Penelope and her advisors kept your existence a secret so that you could double for her?  Why are you here now?”  he demanded.

                She was crossing the foot of the bed now, her fingers trailing along the intricate woodwork there the same as they had done along the top of the dresser.  As she spoke she circled the corner of the bed and moved to sit beside him on the soft mattress, her hands folded somewhat demurely in her lap, though the pose did nothing to minimize her allure.  “I’ve come with a plan to help us both retain what we want.”

                His thick black brows shot up at that, “Oh?  What might that be?”

                “Silly man,” she said with a girlish giggle, then she leaned toward him, the slight movement stretching the thin material of her dress taut over her burgeoning breasts so that he couldn’t help but look down the front of her dress, “the throne of course!”

                He scowled, lifting his gaze with difficulty to meet hers.  “You wish to help me keep the throne?  How?  Why?”

                She shook her head.  “I wish for us to keep it together!”  His perplexed expression brought a deep sigh from her, drawing his eyes back to her breasts as they rose and fell.  Huntyr knew on some deeper level that every movement this siren made was deliberate, she knew exactly what effect she was having on him and how to use it.  “Your hold on the crown is tenuous at best.  It’s no secret that the people of Peacehope don’t hold much love for you.  After all, when your father died they chose my sister to rule them instead of you!”  That had been his one major reason for hating his step-mother over the years, the fact that the people of Peacehope had chosen her over him.  “I can only imagine how that must have rankled!”  He was aware suddenly of her hand on his leg, the heat of her touch felt even through the blankets and sheets.  She continued to talk and her hand slowly moved up his leg, “I have similar feelings regarding my sister.  I’ve actually had a taste of what it is to rule this city… asked to sit in for her on multiple occasions only to have the power pulled away from me!  It was infuriating and I won’t lie… I’ve dreamed of a time when I might find a way to make it permanent.”

                “We have that in common.”  He admitted, his voice growing husky with desire as her hand slipped further upward and inward, stroking his manhood now through his bedding.  He closed his eyes and sighed, trying desperately to keep his wits about him, knowing that she was deliberately trying to distract him but finding it very difficult to care at the moment.  “What is it you propose?”

                “A union.”  She said seductively, leaning toward him again, her hand now moving up from his groin to slide over his toned stomach, inching up toward the top of the sheet that covered him from the waist down.  “Think how happy the people of this city would be if their Countess was suddenly returned to them!  Heroically rescued from her captors by the brave young man who so ably ruled while she was gone!”  He smiled slightly, then gasped as her fingertips suddenly found his pale skin above the sheet, her fingers tangling in his dark chest hair as she continued to move her hand slowly upward.  “Think how grateful they would be!  You’d be hailed as a hero!  And the Countess… well, she would suddenly see traits in you that she hadn’t ever noticed before, things that would remind her of your father.  It would be completely understandable if she were to fall in love with you after all that!  A wedding would then be logical of course… and we go on to rule Peacehope as husband and wife, till they day you die at least.”  The well manicured nail of her index finger was now circling his left nipple playfully and it was all Huntyr could do to concentrate through her touch.  He had been with a number of women over the years… but none of them had ever had such an effect on him!

                He had to swallow audibly before he could trust his voice to speak.  “The obvious flaw in your plan is what happens when your sister returns.”

                She smiled wider.  “Well, naturally we would have to take steps to ensure that that didn’t happen, wouldn’t we?”

                “You would turn on your own twin?”  he asked her, surprised enough to focus through the effect her touch was having on him, if only for a moment.

                Her smile became something cold and calculating, but still as sexy as ever.  “If you knew anything of our relationship, you wouldn’t find that surprising.”  She suddenly turned, bringing her legs up on the bed and rolled over so that she was lying on her side next to him, her luscious body pressed against his through the bedding.  “And remember, it wouldn’t only be Penny I’d be helping to eliminate… Ishara would have to go too, and that would hurt some for we are closer to what sisters should be than Penny and I are.  Still, in the grand scheme of things… I’d be gaining far more than I’d be losing.”  Her questing hand had worked its way beneath the sheet now and was slowly working its way back toward his groin, her smile widening when she realized he was wearing nothing under the sheets.  “Mmm, I do love a man that sleeps in the nude!”  When her fingers found his manhood it was like an electric jolt passed through him and he slumped back onto his pillows with a moan.  “Why don’t we continue this conversation later?”

                In answer, Huntyr reached out and pulled the shapely elf into his arms, then rolled her onto her back, kicking the bedding aside as he rolled on top of her.  Demona raised her face to his, her lips parting as he found them with his own.  The feel her mouth on his, soft and supple yet fiercely hungry, set his blood on fire and the dagger he had been holding clattered to the floor as he dropped it in favor of filling his hands with her curves, which were soft yet surprisingly firm at the same time.  He pushed his tongue into her mouth, his well trimmed goatee and mustache scratching against her soft skin but she didn’t utter a sound of complaint.  He felt her shiver as his hands slid up her sides, his palms caressing the sides of her magnificent breasts as he moved up to the thin straps of her dress, rising over her shoulders.  He pushed them down her arms and she started to squirm, helping him to remove the snug fitting garment….

                Some time later Huntyr rolled off the elf, his body and hers covered in sweat, breathing hard though Demona seemed unbothered with the physical stress.  Evidently she was in much better shape than she appeared, that or there was more to this sensual beauty than met the eye.  She rolled onto her side, draping one bare, shapely leg across his middle and laying her head on his shoulder as she trailed her fingers through his thick dark chest hair.  “This idea of yours… it would involve more of that?”  She had been far and away the best lover he had ever known, and that was a rather long list he was proud to admit, including one of the Moonstone girls.

                She laughed softly.  “Honey, I’ve only scratched the surface of what I intend to show you in this bed!”

                He nodded, thinking that he liked this woman and her plan for cementing their mutual control of Peacehope.  The populace didn’t like him very much, and it was true that the return of the Countess would be welcomed.  Her acceptance of and marriage to him would be met with surprise, but they trusted her and would accept her decision with time.  Still, there was another flaw he realized as he mulled it over.  “It wouldn’t just be your sisters we would have to eliminate, would it?”  She thought about that for a moment, then nodded silently.  “How many others know of your existence?”

                “A bare minimum as we were careful to guard the secret.  As it happens, none of those who know my secret and are still alive are in the city at the moment.  Galon Eaglehart, Wolfgar Graybeard and Ariana Moonstone are the only ones who know of my existence other than my sisters.”  She paused for a moment, then amended, “And Tanya… my niece knows about me as well of course.”  There was another too, though she had decided long ago to protect the knowledge of his existence for other reasons and she saw no reason to tell Huntyr about her son.  “So that’s four in addition to my sisters, but with any luck Penny and Ish will be dealt with before we have to worry about it.”

                “How do you propose we deal with the other three?”  Huntyr asked her.

                She smiled, “Huntyr my love, my primary role for Peacehope, outside impersonating my sister from time to time, was as the premiere spy and information gatherer for the crown.  I know people… we’ll set them on the trails of Ariana and the others.  Plus, don’t you have a friend that tagged along with each of their adventuring parties?  I’m sure they would be more than capable of handling them.”

                “You’ve thought this out a great deal, haven’t you?”  Huntyr said thoughtfully.

                “You could say it’s been a bit of an obsession for a good portion of my life.”  She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked up into his pale but handsome face.  “So what do you say?  Partners?”

                He couldn’t deny that it sounded like a solid plan, though he wondered what the Major would think of it.  Then he chided himself, realizing that if he was to be a true ruler he had to get himself out from under the boot of Major Falcone.  “Yes, I think we are.”  He smiled slightly, his mind already laying out plans for how to reveal the “Countess’s” rescue to the public.  “I’ll send word to Rellik, Talon and Cyrrik.  They’ll expect to be given positions on our court in exchange for their help… and their silence.”

                “I have no problem with that.”  She said with a shrug.

                “No?”  He glanced down at her, smiling wickedly.  “What about fellatio?  Do you have a problem with that?”

                She frowned thoughtfully.  “Who’s fellatio?”

                His eyes widened for a moment, till he saw the knowing smile that crossed her face.  “You vixen.”  He said in a soft voice.

                She laughed outright at that.  “Oh, you have no idea!”  Suddenly she was up on her knees and leaning over him, her face hovering above his groin.  She parted her lips slightly, about an inch above his flaccid manhood and gently exhaled across his groin.  Huntyr gasped and arched his back, his pelvis thrusting up toward her face reflexively as his penis suddenly swelled to painfully erect.  His eyes widened as he looked down at her, saw the devilish smile on her face as she turned her head to meet his gaze.  “You… you’re a spell whore!”

                He immediately dreaded his words, knowing that this woman was every bit the noble that he was and that he had just used a very derogatory term.  To his relief, she smiled coyly at him and shrugged, “We tend to prefer the term Allurimancer, or Carnal Mage.  But a spade is a spade, right?”

                He slumped back onto his pillows as she lightly raked her fingernails down his sides, causing all the nerve endings in his body to tingle delightfully.  “Gods!” He groaned.  The rest of the night was lost to Huntyr as he explored with his soon to be bride the finer arts of sex magic and realized that he did indeed still have a lot to learn!

                Talia crouched near where Galon’s head was located, though the rocks now piled on top of him were concealing his face from her view.  She was crying freely, tears running down her beautiful face and she had a hand resting on one of the rocks over his head.  Relic and Lance were retrieving the rocks from the tunnel they had come down and using them to create a makeshift tomb for the old paladin.  They had decided to press on, knowing it’s what he would have wanted, but they also knew they couldn’t just leave his body lying there like that.  They figured they might retrieve it and bury him properly back in Peacehope later, but for now this would do.

                As Lance gently placed the final stone on top of the pile he glanced over his shoulder to where Cyrrik Eaglehart leaned against the wall, absently running a whetstone across the blade of his dagger, seeming disinterested.  “Shouldn’t they be switching places?”  he said in a low voice to Relic.

                The heavily armored templar shrugged.  “I didn’t get the impression that there was much love shared between the two of them.”

                “Nor did I,” the demon hunter agreed, “but still, this was his father.”

                As though she had heard their words, Talia called across the cavern to the young soldier.  “Don’t you even care that your father is dead?” she demanded loudly.

                Cyrrik glanced up from his knife sharpening and shrugged.  “Not particularly.” He admitted, lowering his gaze back to the knife.  The scene in the cavern seemed to freeze for a moment, Talia staring angrily across at Cyrrik, him sharpening his dagger while Relic looked at Cyrrik and Lance looked at the blonde ranger.  Then she had launched herself across the room with a spiteful scream and Cyrrik, taken by surprise at her rage, was knocked to the ground as the shapely blonde tackled him.  Her knees landed on his upper arms, pinning his shoulders and arms down as she went for his eyes with her fingernails.  Cyrrik cried out, straining upward with his arms to try and throw her off.  He was strong and would have succeeded before long, but she would have scratched his eyes out first if Relic hadn’t stepped over and lifted her off him.  She kept trying to reach for the soldier as she was hauled bodily away, screaming and crying and trying to hurt him.  Cyrrik came quickly to his feet, raising his dagger, his face clouding with anger but suddenly Lance was there, blocking his view and the soldier had no real desire to tangle with the warrior mage.

                Blaze chose that moment to return from having scouted further up the tunnel.  “What the Hades is going on here?” she demanded.  The sound of her voice returned normalcy to the chaos and Talia stopped struggling in Relic’s arms to get back to Cyrrik and the soldier lowered his dagger and stepped away from Lance.  The templar set the ranger back on her feet and Talia had the good grace to look abashed at her loss of control.  Blaze glared around the room at them all, fists on her hips.  “I understand we’re all grieving, but if you can’t it put it aside we’re as good as dead against these creatures.”

                “Not all of us are grieving.”  Talia spat, glancing spitefully at Cyrrik who didn’t meet her gaze.

                Blaze frowned from one of the young fighters to the other and was suddenly struck by how much alike they looked.  Talia was a good bit shorter than Cyrrik, but they were both fit with fair skin, blonde hair and blue eyes.  They could have been related, she thought suddenly.  “Do either of you understand what we’re facing here?”  Blaze asked, her voice softening slightly.

                Talia glanced at her with a frown, but Cyrrik answered, “Undead monsters.”

                Blaze raised an eyebrow at him, then stepped further into the cavern and gestured around at the bodies of the undead that they had managed to kill earlier.  They had not yet been cleared from the cavern.  “These are standard undead,” Blaze said to him, “zombies and ghouls and animated skeletons.  What might be called run of the mill necromancer cannon fodder.”  She half turned and pointed down the tunnel from which she had just come.  “But the other two?  Those were upper level undead.  A necro knight and a wight.  There are only a handful of undead that are considered more powerful than those two!”

                “Necro knights I’ve heard of,” Talia said, “but what’s a wight exactly?”  Her curiosity had temporarily overridden her grief at Galon’s death and her anger and Cyrrik’s lack of a reaction to it.

                Blaze thought about her answer for a time.  She was used to explaining things like this to people.  Extensive knowledge of the undead was not something that most people knew, but it was her life and she was good at it.  “It’s well known that necromancers animate and control dead bodies, then use them against their enemies.”  Talia nodded, her bloodshot eyes watching Blaze as she absorbed the information for later use.  “A wight is a ghoul that has been animated by a necromancer, then the death mage forces a demon to possess the body and traps it within, bending the demon to its will.  A wight, therefore, is like a cross between a demon and ghoul.  Very strong, very fast and dangerously intelligent.”  She nodded back toward the tunnel.  “The one that killed Galon is still fairly new, it hadn’t even settled on what to call itself yet, though I think I inadvertently helped it with that.”  She shuddered at the memory of the wights teeth sinking into her shoulder.  The wound was still there, though Relic’s healing had already helped it a great deal.  That sort of wound resisted magical healing though and would now have to heal on its own, over time.  It wasn’t by any means her first scar and it certainly wouldn’t be her last.  “If Illya Crane has those two monsters under her control and is planning on raising a Revenant as well with Donovans corpse, then she is a great deal more powerful than I gave her credit for and is more of a danger then we thought.  That being said, whatever animosity there is between you two,” she motioned between Talia and Cyrrik, “leave it here till we finish this mission.  Once we’ve dealt with Crane, if you want to kill each other then that’s up to you.”

                Illya tried very hard to quell the anger rising within her.  “Not only did you fail to kill them, but you lost a sizable portion of my force?” she said, directing the words at Necrolon and the wight who had returned calling himself Hyena.  She had been waiting for his self awareness levels to mature to the point of selecting a name.  He was still young as far as the undead went, having been animated by her magic less than a month before.  The longer he was alive, the more his personality would develop and his need for personal distinction as well.  She wasn’t certain where this new name of his had come from, but she was willing to let him have it.

                “We did kill one of them mistress.”  Necrolon tried.

                Hyena cackled slightly and suddenly the name made sense to her, “I killed him you mean.”  Necrolon cast a hateful glance at the wight.

                “You killed one of their number, they killed six times that of ours.  And the one you killed, by all accounts, was an old man.”  The two undead had the good sense to seem ashamed of this.  “Now Blaze and the others will be coming all the faster, and they will be doing so with a great deal of anger to unleash upon us.”  She glanced toward the tunnel where the undead had come out of.  “I doubt we have much time before they are among us, and I have still have many preparations to make.”  She glanced over to where her zombies were preparing the body of Donovan Moonstone for the ritual that was to take place in this chamber.  It was an underground temple, something she had found by accident many years before.  A place of powerful magic which had allowed her to animate her current army, including the two powerful undead before her now.  She wasn’t certain what type of religion this temple had served, she didn’t recognize any of the symbols or statuary she saw, but the place was powerful, that much she knew for certainty.  “They must be slowed down until such time as I can wake the Revenant.  Adding his power to ours should be sufficient to deal with them.”

                “What would you have us do to slow them down mistress?”  Necrolon asked, his tone showing his eagerness to redeem himself in her eyes.

                Illya considered this a few moments, pursing her thin lips and brushing aside her thin, wispy hair where it had hung in her face.  “Retrace your steps as far as you dare without engaging them again.  Cave in the tunnel, it will force them to dig it out, or retrace their path and find another way to us. That should give me plenty of time to complete the ritual and awaken the Revenant.”

                Necrolon and Hyena glanced at each other, then they both bowed to her.  “At once milady.”  Necrolon said and Hyena cackled, wringing his hands together in anticipation.

                As the two undead turned to do her bidding, she called out, “Necrolon?”  The necro knight turned back to her, his eyes blazing with the familiar unholy fire that animated his massive form.  “Fail me again and I will return your soul to the abyss.”  The undead knight nodded his understanding and lead the way back down the tunnel.  She watched them go, then turned and watched as the zombies finished the preparation of Moonstone’s corpse.  She was surprised at how well preserved he was, for once the linen wrappings he had been entombed in were removed she could see that his body, while emaciated and blackened, was still recognizable.  His white hair was still in place, as was his beard and there was some hint of the great girth he had possessed in life.  She remembered him being a large, muscular and uniquely handsome man.  She wondered what he would look like when the magic was done working upon him.  Smiling slightly in anticipation of that she turned and moved to the small bookcase against a far wall. She had discovered it when she had stumbled upon this temple and found that the books upon the shelves were a necromancers dream.  It had been the knowledge she had gleaned from these books that had given her the power to create Necrolon and Hyena, and would now grant her the knowledge and power to create a Revenant, the third most powerful form of undead in the world and the most powerful one that a necromancer could safely control.  Taking one of the ancient tomes off the shelf she opened it and began to read, refreshing her memory about the ritual she was about to undertake.

                Blaze led the way again, having been the one to scout out the tunnel after their initial encounter.  She hadn’t gotten far up the tunnel, not wanting to get herself too far separated from the rest of her group, but she had determined at least that their enemy hadn’t decided to lay a trap and lie in wait for them within the first quarter mile of the surprisingly long tunnel.  They had gone twice the distance now and Blaze came to a stop, the others doing the same behind her as she found herself facing a fork in the tunnel.  “Talia.” She said softly and the blonde ranger came forward, scowling as she looked at the ground.

                “How is it,” the ranger asked softly as she looked for signs of which way their quarry went, “that there is more than one tunnel down here? “  She examined the walls of both tunnels carefully and shook her head. “Near as I can figure, the one on the left is older and I think they went that way.  But the one on the right seems to have fresher air than the other.”

                “So the one to the right must be the route to the surface.  Good to know for later.”  Lance commented from behind the women.

                “Left it is.”  Relic added and Blaze nodded, smiling grimly as she turned and led the way to the left.  Talia fell in behind her, her blue eyes sweeping the tunnel ahead as best she could with the monster hunter somewhat blocking her view.  She had wanted to take point, saying that her skill at detecting traps and ambushes would serve them best in the front of the column.  Blaze had overruled her though, saying that she needed to be in front in case the encountered the enemy.  Besides, according to Blaze undead weren’t very well versed in the laying of traps.

                They turned the second corner in this new branch of the tunnel, and then the third.  Blaze called a halt after several yards down this path, raising a hand to stop the others, tilting her head to the side with a quizzical expression.  Her keen elven hearing had detected something, but it didn’t repeat and so she shrugged and they continued forward, though moving now with decidedly more caution.  They crept forward slowly and Blaze could distinctly hear movement ahead of them in the tunnel, though it seemed to still be quite distant.  Talia moved along in her wake, keeping close to the left wall while Relic followed behind her.  Lance Crowe the demon hunter brought up the rear with Cyrrik, who hadn’t said much of anything to any of them since his father died.  Though in fairness, he hadn’t said much of anything before Galon’s death either.

                “Watch it!”  Relic suddenly called and Talia gasped as she was jerked backward, flung to the ground behind the armored templar just before the roof exploded downward.  She picked her head up and looked toward the front as Relic, arms thrown up to protect his head was suddenly blocked from sight as what looked like hundreds of pounds of rubble collapsed atop him.

                “Relic!”  Blaze cried, lunging toward the fallen rubble, which now completely blocked the tunnel back the way she had come.  “Talia!  Lance!”  She started to toss what rocks she could manage on her own away from the larger pile, frantic to get to her comrades, whom she feared buried under the stone and dirt.

                On the other side of the collapse Talia was wincing with pain, sitting up on the ground while massaging her knee, which she had wrenched pretty severely when Relic pulled her back out of the way of the explosion.  Lance was shifting rubble aside, trying to determine how thick the blockage was and whether or not Relic had survived.  Cyrrik crouched next to her, ostensibly to help her with her leg though the ranger noted this his gaze was more directed toward the low cut neckline of her leather bodice.  “Damn!” Lance swore, flinging a rock angrily back against the pile.  “There’s just too much of it.”

                Looking up at the rock pile, Talia asked, “Is there any way Relic could have survived that?”  The templar had sacrificed himself to save her, so now she had that guilt stacked on top of her grief for the loss of Galon.

                Lance shrugged, “I’m not certain.  That armor he wears is heavily enchanted, not to mention tricked out by a gnomish tinkerer he once knew.  I’m not really certain what it… or he are capable of.” 

                Cyrrik looked over at the blockage with a frown, “Do we even know if Blaze is under there?”

                Talia shook her head.  “She was well ahead of the forward edge of the blast that brought the roof down.  But there’s no way we can get to her from here.”

                Lance suddenly scowled, raising a hand toward them for quiet.  As the two humans fell silent he leaned closer to the rubble and pressed his ear to the rock.  He shook his head, straightening as he glanced back at them, his expression seeming to wonder whether he could trust them.  Deciding, apparently, that the current situation didn’t give him the luxury of a choice like that, he concentrated for a moment and Talia gasped as she saw his ears, once round and human looking, elongate and take on very elvish looking points.

                “You… you’re a….”  She couldn’t finish the statement, but Cyrrik had no such problem.

                “You’re a shifter!”  His hand had dropped toward the hilt of the sword on his belt and Lance glanced at him, his eyes suddenly cold and full of warning.

                “Yes, I am.  And if that’s a problem for you than we can take it up later, after we’ve survived this situation.  On the other hand, we may not survive it, in which case your prejudice is mute!”  Obviously Cyrrik wasn’t too keen on the idea of being teamed with a shapeshifter, but he saw the wisdom in the other mans words and cautiously released his hold on his sword.  Lance let his gaze linger on Cyrrik another moment, then turned and pressed his newly pointed ear to the rubble.  After a moment he nodded.  “She’s on the other side, shouting for us.  She doesn’t know whether we were buried with Relic or not.”

                “She’s yelling?”  Talia asked, her face flushed with the pain from her knee, which also caused her voice to sound strained.  Lance nodded and she glanced from one of the men to the other, “Doesn’t she realize that she’s isolated?  Separated from us… and closer to the bad guys!  She’s going to bring them right to her.”

                Lance shrugged.  “She would probably prefer it that way to chasing after them herself.”

                Talia shook her head.  “She’s only one woman.  Yes, she’s Blaze, the great monster slayer.  But the greatest of warriors can succumb to greater numbers.  My father taught me that.  If we can’t get through this rubble to help her… she’s a sitting duck up there!”

                Tanya’s fingers were bleeding from digging into the rubble and prying out stones, which she would then fling away.  She had already cast a spell to increase her strength and stamina, hoping it would be sufficient to dig the others out of the rock slide.  She was frantic, digging for all she was worth and with a single mindedness that was rather out of character for her.  She wasn’t paying any attention to the tunnel behind her, her need to get to the others, in particular Relic and Lance, her long time partners, was overriding everything else.  That is, until she felt a cold shiver run down her spine and she knew, without having to turn, that they were coming for her.  She straightened, the necromark starting to burn slightly now and she had learned long ago to be able to judge the power level of the monsters nearby by how hot that mark burned.  She knew then that the necro knight and the wight had come for her, and she reached up to draw Oblivion forth from the scabbard that hung diagonally across her back.  She turned slowly, her violet eyes narrowing as she saw them standing several yards up the tunnel, shoulder to shoulder, the wights eyes dancing hungrily over her body.  If the other monster had a face that could show such emotion she had no doubt his would be similarly contorted.

                The wight cackled softly, the sound coming out as more of a wheeze than an actual laugh.  “’Ello beau’iful!”  He said, his impossibly long tongue whipping out toward her as though tasting the air in her vicinity.  “We’re back!”

                “So eager to die are you?”  Blaze asked them, her fingers flexing around the hilt of Oblivion.  The sword seemed to hum in her hand, sensing the proximity of the undead and wanting to cleave them apart.

                Hyena laughed outright at that, high and piercing, the sound reverberating off the tunnel walls.  “Die?  We’ve been dead already luv!  Me…” he looked her up and down lasciviously and licked his lips, “…it be something else I’m eager for!”

                Her violet eyes narrowed dangerously and she stepped away from the rock fall, motioning them forward with her sword.  “Come and take it then!” she growled and Necrolon charged, a flaming sword and battle axe appearing in his hands.  Blaze neither increased nor slowed her pace, she only walked steadily toward them.  Necrolon was nearly in striking distance when Hyena suddenly moved with impossible speed, rushing forward and careening up the wall to the necro knight’s right then pushing off the wall toward her, his claw like fingers flashing toward her face.  Blaze, her mind peripherally aware that he must have augmented his speed somehow, barely lunged backward out of the way.  Hyena landed lightly and followed his first strike through with a swipe of his other finger claws, this time scoring a series of shallow gashes across her upper chest which made her hiss as they burned, blood starting to ooze from them down into her cleavage.  She staggered back and Hyena smiled at her, raising his hand to lick her blood from the tips of his claws.  Snarling like an animal she lunged for him, raising Oblivion for an overhead strike but Necrolon was there, his axe raised to catch her sword on the recessed top of the blade.  Before she could withdraw he thrust with his word toward her exposed abdomen and Tanya twisted to the side desperately, feeling the heat of his flaming sword sear the flesh of her firm stomach. 

                In twisting to avoid Necrolons stab she had inadvertently turned away from Hyena and the wight took full advantage of that, once again using the wall to push off and add momentum to his leap as he tackled her, wrapping his deceptively strong arms about her waist and bearing her to the ground.  Blaze grunted, maintaining her grip on Oblivion as she fell, the wight pinning her sword arm to the ground beneath his knee.  He cackled like the lunatic he was, leaning down till his face was inches from hers.  Tanya gasped and turned her head away in revulsion as his tongue slithered from his mouth and up the side of her face, leaving a slime trail like that of a snail or slug in its wake.

                “Watch out!” Necrolon bellowed, but too late.  He had seen her slip the silver bladed dagger from its concealment behind her belt and she drove it into his side with her free hand.  The wight screamed in pain and rage and she arched her back, twisting her hips at the same time and threw him off her.  The wight was flung to the side, slamming into the rocks, some of which were shaken free and tumbled down over him.  Necrolon backed away a step as the undead hunter sprang nimbly to her feet and turned to face him, raising one hand to try and wipe away the slime left by Hyena’s tongue.  Behind her Hyena was already moving, pushing himself up to his hands and knees, but he was dazed and shaking his head to clear it.  “Bitch!”  Necrolon bellowed and charged at her, raising both his weapons.

                Blaze hesitated long enough to utter another spell before she stepped forward to meet his charge.  Extending her free hand she sent a blast of frost into his face, staggering the necro knight who was thrown off his balance by the sudden blindness and staggered into the wall to his right.  Blaze continued her forward movement, driving Oblivion forward and piercing the undead knights armor, driving the scarlet blade into his side.  He threw his head back and screamed in rage and pain, then lashed out, the back of the fist carrying his sword connecting savagely with the side of her head.  She was flung through the air, spinning, her sword left jutting from Necrolon’s side as she slammed into the ground and felt the air leave her lungs in a rush.

                She tried to sit up, managed only to raise her head enough to see Necrolon wrap his fingers around Oblivons hilt and wrench it from his side.  He screamed again as the sword, enchanted so that it can never be held by a member of an undead race, sent waves of pain rolling up his arm and through the rest of his body.  With a shout of fury he flung the blade aside and Tanya watched her beloved sword spin out of sight, ricocheting off a wall and disappearing around a corner down the tunnel.  Groaning, she started to roll to her side, wanting desperately to push to her feet, knowing that her only chance of defending herself lay in being upright and mobile.  Rolling to her belly she started to push herself up and felt the vibrations beneath her palms as Necrolon started toward her.  But worse than that was the sudden ear splitting cackle that erupted from Hyena as he launched himself toward her from where he had finally regained his feet by the rock fall.  Necrolon halted his advance as the wight flew through the air, landing on Blaze’s back, his knees connecting between her shoulder blades and slamming her back to the ground.  Again all the air was forced from her lungs and her vision blurred around the edges.  She felt his claws scrape the back of her head as he grabbed a handful of her lustrous black hair and jerked her head up off the ground. She couldn’t keep herself from wincing at the pain and he leaned down, placing his dry, cracked lips next to her pointed ear.  When he spoke his foul, decayed breath buffeted her face.  “You’re mine now wench!”  Then he bashed her head savagely against the floor and she blacked out….

                “No, no, no, NO!”  cried Lance Crowe, his ear still pressed to the rocks.

                “What?”  Talia asked him, clearly concerned.  She had never witnessed such an emotional outburst from the demon hunter before. 

                “They took her!”  The warrior mage stepped back from the wall of fallen rubble, his gaze traveling over it, as though looking for some gap he might squeeze through.  “The bastards got her!”

                “Who did?”  Cyrrik asked him, still crouching by Talia.

                “Those two undead from the cavern fight earlier.  The wight and the necro knight!  They came upon her as she tried to dig through the rubble and they fought, but they overpowered her.”  Lance said, his voice rising, sounding near panic.

                Cyrrik glanced at Talia, realizing she had pretty much predicted that very event.  Talia was looking at the demon hunter, her blue eyes alight with sudden understanding.  “Lance.”  She said softly, but the word carried and he turned to her, his face stricken.  “We’ll get her back.”  The shifter nodded and then jumped, startled as part of the rubble wall exploded outward.  Talia screamed in fright and Cyrrik leapt up, drawing his sword as an armored hand extended out from the dirt. 

                It took a few heartbeats for them to recognize it, then Lance leapt forward.  “Relic!”  He started shifting the rubble around that extended arm, then glanced over his shoulder.  “Cyrrik, help me here!”  The soldier hesitated a moment, then sheathed his sword and moved forward.  Talia, her knee too wounded to support her weight, pushed herself back until she sat against the wall, feeling guilty that she could do nothing but watch them.  After about twenty minutes of frantic work the two men had cleared away a good deal of the rubble, though his arm was still all that was visible of Relic.  Lance grabbed hold of the armored hand and Talia felt a little thrill of relief when she saw the templars fingers close around his, then both men heaved backward on the armored holy warrior.  Cyrrik had grabbed Relic’s arm and between the two of them the rubble started to shift again and slowly, ever so slowly the armored form of the templar was pulled free of the rockslide. 

                As he was pulled to his feet, clear of the rubble, he staggered and glanced around.  The gap in his faceplate where his eyes shone through looked somehow darker than normal, making that green glow seem all the more brilliant.  When he spoke his voice seemed to echo from within the armor.  “Where’s Blaze?”

                Lance motioned toward the rock wall, his expression tortured.  “She was trapped on the other side… they took her.”

                The templar looked at him sharply, “You’re certain?”

                Lance nodded.  “I heard the whole thing.  That wight… he intends to….”

                Relic reached out and placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder.  “I know.  Don’t worry about her, she’s tougher than any of us.”  Then he noticed Talia sitting against the wall and stepped toward her.  “Did I do that?”  He crouched down, looking at the knee she was still cradling which was obviously badly swollen.

                She nodded, “You’re rather stronger than you look, not that I mind.”  She glanced at the fallen rocks, “This is better than the alternative.”

                He looked into her blue eyes for a moment, then he said, “You’re welcome.”  She smiled meekly and then he turned his attention back to her leg.  “Is it broken?”

                She shook her head.  “I don’t think so, but I can’t walk on it either.”

                He nodded.  “I can heal it, but I would rather reserve what magical strength I have left for what’s to come.”  He was looking into her face again, as though seeking guidance.

                ‘What is it about us Moonstone’s that make people look to us for leadership?’  She wondered.  She could understand it with Ariana, and even Krystel as they were both born to leadership.  She herself was not comfortable with that role however.  “Whatever you think is best.”

                He nodded, then turned and straightened, addressing the other two.  “Gentlemen, the only sure way to get to Blaze is through that wall.  There’s no guarantee that backtracking will reveal an alternate path.  Therefore… we have a lot of work to do.”  As Talia watched, again feeling guilty about not being able to help, the three men attacked the rock wall, clearing away the rubble.  The truly large rocks Relic handled, and the ranger wondered if his armor somehow augmented his strength or if he was just naturally that strong.  The templar intrigued her, for she knew very little about him.  To her knowledge, no one knew much about him, though she had to assume that Blaze did.  Tanya wasn’t the sort to let a man she knew nothing about travel with her.  As she watched him work, she found herself wondering about his background, what made him tick and most of all… what he looked like under that armor.  The glowing eyes hinted that he wasn’t human, might not even be mortal, though she also knew that that wasn’t necessarily a given.  There could be any number of explanations for glowing eyes, but she would like to know his.  She realized all of a sudden that she was attracted to Relic, even though she had never actually laid eyes upon him.  She almost laughed at that, realizing that it was more his mystique and power that drew her, but still… there it was.

                And then of course there was Lance Crowe, whom she had always regarded as a bit of a rake.  Always disheveled and seeming almost always… unclean somehow.  He was powerful and a fine warrior to be sure, not to mention a shifter… that revelation was still a shock.  But all of his apparent faults, she realized, his cavalier attitude and carefree spirit were a front.  She had read it clearly in his face when he heard the monsters take Blaze earlier… the man was head over heels in love with her.  She wondered how long that had been the case, for she knew that Lance and Blaze went back a long ways.  She had never heard any hints of anything romantic between them… indeed she could never remember hearing any hints of Blaze being romantically involved with anyone, though she was certain it must have happened.  Likely during her travels, since the famous monster hunter didn’t spend a lot of time at home.  There had been a few additions to their team over the years, some having died and others having moved on.  Relic was the most recent of those and had been with them the longest, but through it all was Blaze and Lance.  They had been partners from the beginning, she thought she had heard that they had trained together as warrior mages, her choosing to hunt monsters and specialize in undead while he chose to hunt demons and witches. The two classes complimented each other closely and they had made a good team.  But had Lance stayed with her all these years because he loved her… in spite of her apparently not reciprocating that love?  That, she decided, was loyalty.

                Her gaze then settled upon Cyrrik Eaglehart and she felt her anger rise within her yet again.  She had known him, quite literally, for her entire life.  His younger sister Ashlyn was the best friend Talia had in the world, the two had been inseparable in their youth, though admittedly as adults they had drifted apart.  She could remember a time, too, when Cyrrik had been a different person, before the death of their mother.  A death that he had felt could have been avoided if Galon hadn’t been out saving the world with her father.  She remembered the change that had come over him when she died, how bitter and resentful had had become.  He had blamed Galon for her death, which was ridiculous of course, she had died of cancer… but he had been young and in need of a father that wasn’t there.  On one level, having had a similar situation herself, Talia could understand the feeling.  But she had had her sisters, particularly Ariana and they had done well for themselves.  Cyrrik, the oldest of three, had had no one to turn to… accept her step-brother Rellik.  Another young man with similar feelings and thoughts because of his own mothers death.  The two had become very close and, as they had come of age, fell into alcohol, drugs and other friends of equally ill repute, like Huntyr Shroude and Talon Rethbourne.  It struck Talia suddenly that all of these men had grown bitter and spiteful at their lots in life, each of them perhaps feeling that the world owed them more than they had gotten.  It was no surprise then that the opportunistic and corrupt Major Ravishe Falcone had taken them in, given the positions of authority on his military force, the Sentinels, and become something of a father figure to them.  That had cemented their downfall in Talia’s eyes, when they had sided with Falcone, a man that her father and Galon and several others had been quietly battling against for years, it was the equivalent of turning their backs on their families.  Perhaps that was where the bitterness she felt toward Cyrrik came from, but she had not felt it so strongly in a long time as she did now, after seeing the absolute lack of remorse that he felt at the death of his father.  She had to blink back tears when her thoughts turned to Galon, knowing that it would have to be her that told her sisters of their surrogate uncles death and not sure how she would do it. 

                It was nearly two hours later before Relic finally grunted and said, “We’re through!”

                She came to slowly, her head throbbing where the wight had slammed it against the ground.  As her eyes blinked open she became aware of a couple of things, the first was that she was lying on a cold concrete slab and the second was that her hands were chained to the corners of that slab over her head.  She blinked several times, trying to clear blurry vision and turned her head to the side, toward some noises she had detected off to her right.  Her stomach lurched slightly when she realized that Hyena, the very wight who had knocked her unconscious, was standing next to her.  Judging by the fact that he was only visible from the waist up, Tanya discerned that this slab must be at least that high and its length told her that this was probably an altar of some kind.  Craning her head to the side as much as she could to get a look at the surface of the altar, she felt another lurch in her stomach to see the brownish stains on the surface of the altar.  The blood told her that this was in fact a sacrificial altar… which didn’t seem to bode well for her immediate future.  She thrashed suddenly, pulling against the bonds which rattled noisily.  That was when she realized that her ankles were chained as well, meaning she was spread eagled across the altar.  Hyena, hearing the movement, turned and grinned at her, his sharp teeth and black, receding gums making his leer seem demonic.

                “Oh look, my new girl is awake!”  He cackled that hideous, insane laugh of his and reached out to trail his clawed fingers lightly across her flat stomach where it was visible beneath her leather top.

                She squirmed, trying to twist away from his touch, which made her skin crawl with revulsion and yet, thanks to the necromark branded onto her breast was also oddly alluring.  “Don’t touch me!” she gasped out.

                He cackled again, then leaned over till his face was inches above hers.  “When the mistress is done with the ritual I’m going to do far more than simply touch you!  She’s promised you to me….”  His voice faded into a wheezing cackle, the palm of his hand now lightly caressing her stomach, the claws still scraping lightly.  Tanya spit in his face, her violet eyes glaring hatefully at him and he only grinned, then extended that repulsive, slimy tongue and licked up the side of her face, which she had turned quickly away from him, gasping her revulsion.  A womans voice breaking into a sudden chant caused him to straighten and turn away from her, which she was grateful for, though he kept his hand resting lightly, possessively on her abdomen.  He had shifted to the side enough so that when Tanya turned her head she could see Illya Crane across the room, kneeling in front of an upside down pentagram at the center of which the body of Donovan Moonstone rested.  She noted that he had been placed inside a suit of armor and that there was a large book lying open in front of Illya.  The undead hunter scowled, watching the woman’s movements as she weaved back and forth while chanting, her hands raised above her head as though calling to some higher power.  Blaze was struck by how wasted and emaciated the woman looked, her hip bones and spine plainly standing out beneath the too thin black dress she wore.  Rarely had Tanya seen a more pathetic specimen, but as she moved her gaze away from the necromancer she started to take in their surroundings.  She scowled as she began to recognize some of the features of the room, having an aunt who was a priestess helped her to recognize the ancient temple.  Apparently the necromancer and her minions had been utilizing an ancient, underground temple of some sort as a base of operations.  Blaze, well versed in religion lore thanks to Ishara, tried to identify the deity to whom the temple was dedicated.  She saw no statuary that would help to identify it, nor were there any obvious pictures.  The walls were black and she could see some silver writing inscribed into the concrete, there were no windows as the temple was obviously underground.  What little lighting there was came from a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling, hundreds of flickering candles casting deep shadows throughout the room.

                Her eyes narrowed and she looked around more sharply.  Black walls, silver writing in a runic language she couldn’t understand, deep shadows cast by a centrally hung chandelier.  She turned her head sharply, narrowing her eyes as she tried to focus on the book that Illya was reading from and saw that the cover appeared to be black as night, the pages some sort of gray material and the writing in a silvery substance that couldn’t be ink.  It dawned on her then as well that the pentagram they had placed Donovan in was not a part of the Revenant raising ceremony, a ceremony she was rather well versed in having had to have a good understanding of the powers of the people she spent her life battling.  Whatever this ceremony was, it was not designed to raise a Revenant… and this temple was not to any God or Goddess that Blaze had ever heard of!  She felt an odd, inexplicable panic rising within her at the same time that she felt a tingling sensation across her skin, a sensation that she recognized as a buildup of magical energies within the room.  Illya was drawing her power to her… the ritual was nearly complete!

                “Stop!” she cried suddenly, lifting her head, straining against the chains that bound her.  “You must stop… this isn’t a Revenant ritual!  You have no idea what you’re trying to awaken here… Illya you must….”  Her cry was cut off as Hyena lifted his hand from her stomach to clamp it across her mouth, then he turned his head and raised his other hand, pressing his index finger across his lips to silence her.  She strained against him, screaming into his palm but he simply turned back to witness the completion of the ritual which continued uninterrupted, the necromancer evidently oblivious to her cries… or not caring.

                Speaking in what Blaze assumed to be an ancient, arcane language, Illya Crane flung her hands as high as she could, her voice rising to a shout that echoed off the walls as she arched her back well over her heels, her shoulders nearly touching the ground.  For a few moments nothing happened and everyone fell quiet, their heads turning as they gazed around the room.  Even Blaze had ceased her struggles, her purple eyes flicking to and fro, hoping beyond hope that the ritual had failed.  Then she felt it, a creeping coldness that seemed to descend upon them, permeating the room and chilling her to the bones.  The candles flickered and dimmed, but didn’t go out, merely deepening the shadows around them, shadows that seemed suddenly to come to life!  Writhing and stretching across the room, moving toward the necromancer and the body lying in the pentagram.  Blazes’ eyes widened in fear at the sight of the dark matter swirling about them, the roof seeming to squirm with a life of its own.  Hyena was frowning, looking around at the oddly swirling darkness and now Tanya could see Necrolon across the room as well, standing with a group of other undead, zombies and ghouls and the like, also watching them.  She felt Hyena’s hand lift from her mouth as he was suddenly more concerned with the encroaching darkness, now moving toward him as much as toward his mistress.  Blaze was turning her head this and way and that, trying to watch in every direction at once and seeing that the shadowy energy was moving toward all of the undead in the room, but not just them, the mortals as well!  She started to struggle anew as the shadowy energy started to creep up the sides of the altar to which she was chained and when the first tendrils of it caressed her fingers, even through the gloves she felt the coldness of that touch.  She had her head turned to the side and tilted back, watching as the shadows crept farther up her arm and when they had reached the top of the glove and were starting to slide over the bare flesh of her upper arm it was like a cool, velvety fabric was being dragged lightly over her flesh.  But in its wake her skin tingled and gradually grew numb, that numbness sliding up her arm and to her shoulder as the shadowy force continued to engulf her. 

                Illya Crane screamed then and Tanya’s head twisted violently in that direction, her eyes widening still farther as she saw that the necromancer was almost fully engulfed in the shadow energy, tendrils of it having slid into her mouth and eyes, almost every inch of her body covered and the shadow was still moving so that in a few moments all that was visible of the decrepit necromancer was a silhouette of her form and then it was being lifted into the air by the shadow energy and beyond her the body of Donovan Moonstone was similarly elevated and engulfed.  Right beside her Hyena was cackling nervously, slapping at his arms and legs as the shadow crept up them, his yellow, bloodshot eyes wide in fear and confusion.

                “Go away!” he shouted, slapping at the darkness to no avail, “I don’t like this, go away!”  He continued to laugh nervously even as he backed away from the altar, but the shadow followed him, slowly covering him from head to toe.  Lifting her head she saw that the same thing was happening to Necrolon and the other undead, but the necro knight stood very still, one hand raised in front of his face as he watched the shadow engulf him and she thought that if he were capable of any expression it would be nothing but curiosity.  Could he even feel the cold, smooth texture of the shadows as they engulfed him?  The mindless undead gathered near to the necro knight were similarly disinterested in the shadow, but then Blaze had to direct her attention back to herself as she felt that smooth, satiny coolness starting to spread across her abdomen and up across her breasts and toward her face.  She lowered her head to the altar, feeling her entire body covered in those tingles and then grow numb, like the sensation one would get when an appendage like an arm or leg fell asleep.  She fought down her own rising panic, knowing that it would do her no good. This was like nothing she had ever seen before and she had no idea what was happening to them all, but she knew it couldn’t be good. 

                Unbidden, a prayer taught to her by her aunt when she was still very young sprang to her mind and Tanya, never an overly religious woman though she was a devout believer, heard her own voice reciting that prayer.  “Lord Ra, keeper of the flame and giver of the light, defend me from the darkness and all those who dwell within….”  Her voice was choked off as the shadow rose over her face and slipped into her mouth, gagging her and she thrashed once, briefly, then lay still, a blanket of darkness shrouding her shapely form.

                Relic led them now, his holy sword Challenger softly glowing in his hand.  It had begun glowing only minutes before and when asked why it had started he would say that it couldn’t be anything good.  Talia hobbled along behind him, her arm draped across Lance’s shoulders, his arm about her slender waist to support her while Cyrrik brought up the rear.  The tunnel around them was illuminated by Challengers glow and they moved forward guided by its light.  Suddenly Relic stopped, extending the blade out in front of him and as they came to a stop next to him Talia could understand why he had halted.  The glow emanating from the sword was receding, or rather the darkness it had been illuminating was growing toward them! 

                “What is it?”  Talia asked, her face set in a grimace of pain as her knee continued to throb.

                “I don’t know.”  Relic admitted and from his tone his own ignorance disturbed him.  He stepped forward slightly and made to move Challenger into the encroaching darkness, thrusting its point toward the shadow.  Talia realized then that it wasn’t just moving along the walls as it had first seemed, this was a solid… or rather an intangible wall of darkness that blocked the entire tunnel before them.

                “Is it a darkness spell?  Designed to slow us further?”  Cyrrik asked and Talia turned her head to look at him.  His voice had finally registered some misgiving and she realized that he was nervous to go on.

                Lance shook his head.  “Such spells encompass a set space, they don’t expand in this way.”      

                “It’s getting closer.”  Talia said, reflexively leaning away from it.  Relic, who had watched as the darkness engulfed the upper half of his sword now withdrew it and grunted in surprise.  The blades glow had ceased from the halfway point up to its tip as though the shadow had simply sucked that bit of magic out of it.  “Back away.”  Talia warned and Lance nodded, assisting her in doing just that.

                Relic took a hesitant step backward, obviously not keen on giving up ground to this… whatever it was.  “Blaze is on the other side of this darkness.” He reminded the others.

                “Or smack in the middle of it.”  Cyrrik commented, backing away with the others. 

                Relic was still only moving slowly back, still hesitant to let this shadowy substance take away what little ground they had gained since getting past the cave in.  He extended a gauntleted hand into the darkness and Talia sucked in a breath as Lance called, “Relic don’t!”  The templar pulled his hand back, retreating now a few steps from the slowly encroaching darkness.  He raised his armored hand in front of his face, waggling the fingers back and forth.                

                “It’s numb, as though it had gone to sleep, but I can still move it.”  The templar said, his voice registering nothing more than curiosity.

                “Fascinating, now let’s the get the Hells out of here!”  Cyrrik suggested.

                “I’ll not abandon Blaze to this… whatever this is!”  Relic commented and Lance glanced over at him, then turned his head to meet Talia’s gaze.

                She saw the turmoil in his eyes and she nodded, “Go.”  He scowled faintly at her and she smiled at him, then lifted her arm from his shoulders, knowing that she would only hinder them if she went on.  “You two are the only ones that might have what it takes to get in there and get back out.  We’re out of our league here!”  She nodded toward Cyrrik who nodded his agreement, seeming perfectly fine with that admission.  “Go!”  Talia insisted, then staggered back a couple of steps and fell into Cyrrik’s arms, the soldier catching her about the waist and lifting her to her feet. She moved an arm around his shoulders, broader than Lance’s and taller.  The demon hunter and the templar exchanged a glance and a nod and then they turned as one toward the darkness and plunged forward.

                Talia and Cyrrik staggered down the narrow tunnel, her arm about his shoulders, the young ranger casting an occasional panicked glance behind them.  Her knee slowed them down, and while the dark, shadowy substance filling the tunnel behind them was not moving fast, it looked to still be catching up to them.  They rounded a corner and Cyrrik grunted, causing Talia, who had again been looking behind her, to glance to the front and see that they were nearing the cavern where they had fought the undead… where Galon had died.

                “When we get to the cavern,” he panted as he half dragged and half carried her forward, “the stuff behind us will have to spread out to fill the room, that should cause it to move toward us more slowly.  Maybe we can get some space between us and it at that point.”

                “If we don’t move faster, we’ll never make the cavern!”  She gasped out, wincing as she inadvertently put too much weight on her bad knee.           

                Cyrrik glanced back then for the first time since parting with Relic and Lance.  When he saw how close the darkness had crept up on them his eyes widened and then Talia gasped as she suddenly felt herself hoisted into the air and unceremoniously slung over his shoulder.  He started to job forward, and while the ranger didn’t particularly appreciate being manhandled as she had been, she understood that if he hadn’t done it, they would never have made the cavern.  Now she had nothing to do but to watch the darkness, and to her delight he did seem to be increasing the distance between them and it.

                Then suddenly they were in cavern and racing across it toward the opening on the far side, the one that led back to the surface.  They had agreed that their best course of action at this point was to return to Peacehope and try to get help… to warn the city of what was coming.  Just as Cyrrik had said it would, when the shadow poured into the room its advance slowed as it expanded to fill the entire cavern.  She was a little disheartened by how little it slowed though, and she heard herself urging the blonde warrior on.  “Cyrrik, we need to go!”

                “I am going!” he growled, adjusting how she was draped over his shoulder, her flat stomach riding across his pauldron and she felt his opposite hand descend on her ass.  Normally she would have berated him for that, but under the circumstances she didn’t particularly care.  However, as he diverted his attention to shifting her position he missed the stray rock that lay on the ground in the middle of the cavern and with a shout of surprise he went down, Talia screaming as she was flung backward.  She hit the wall, the back of her head rebounding off of it and the world around her went dark for a moment.  When she finally lifted her head she was in time to see Cyrrik staggering to his feet, shaking his head to clear it, a sign that he too had struck his skull on the floor.  Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to cry a warning, but even as she did so she knew it was too late.

                The shadow was on him and though it was silent as death sweeping toward him, the warrior still seemed to sense it for he turned at the last moment and his eyes widened.  Her terrified shout died on her lips as Cyrrik Eaglehart was engulfed in the shadow and she glanced to her right, just in time to see Galon Eaglehart’s stone grave disappear into the shadow as well.  Her knee was throbbing and her head was spinning, but still she tried to stand, pulling herself upright against the wall and hobbling toward the door that was to her left, about fifteen feet away.  She knew, logically, that she would never make it but the stubborn streak in her forced her to try and she did, but she hadn’t gone more than three steps when she felt it.  She realized peripherally that this must have been what Cyrrik had felt right before it took him… a coldness like a stiff breeze only without wind.  She didn’t turn to face it, she couldn’t have done so in time, she merely closed her eyes and lowered her head as she felt the darkness engulf her.

                At first the sensation was almost pleasant, like a refreshing dip in a cool mountain stream.  Her skin prickled slightly at the touch of the dark energy, and she understood instinctively that this was energy of some kind.  She had seen electricity cause peoples hear to stand up and that was what it felt like hers was trying to do.  The actual feel of the shadow on her skin was not like electricity though, nor was it the refreshing, clean feeling of water.  It was oily… clinging to her, adhering to her skin and leathers and after a moment she felt as though it was seeping into her pores and she wanted to scream at the alien feel of it, but she knew that if she opened her mouth she would only be giving it a larger orifice through which to enter her body.  Not that it mattered, for as soon as she felt the shadow seeping through her skin she could feel other things as well… emotions boiling to the surface, thoughts and feelings that she had struggled her entire life to keep buried.  Nothing that most people on Kyzanthia didn’t have to deal with, but under the influence of the shadow energy these thoughts, normally considered petty, were enflamed.  Her jealousy over her older sisters, especially Ariana who was always so pretty and popular and had obviously been their fathers favorite.  Sasha, who could enthrall mens minds simply by moving her body… Talia had always wished she could dance like her gypsy sister.  Aribeth… the only person in the Moonstone family to ever show any aptitude for magic.  That made her special, that made her someone to be respected and maybe, someday, feared.  Then there was Krystel, who like their father had become a knight and that too made her special.  That too made her someone to be respected and feared.  But what did Talia have?  She had chosen to become a ranger and there was nothing unique or special about that.  She wasn’t the first ranger in the family, nor was she the greatest.  That had been her uncle Rolin, who had in turn trained Falcon, one of her eldest sisters closest friends.  When she had decided to follow the path of the ranger she had hoped that her uncle would train her as well, but by that time he had had his falling out with her father and disappeared.  Falcon had taken her on as an apprentice and she had done well with him, but she had always resented that he had been trained by her uncle, that he likely had a closer relationship to Rolin Moonstone than any of the sisters. 

                None of them appreciated her, the baby sister, the one she was certain they mostly thought of as the nuisance.  She hadn’t actually thought that in some time, those sorts of thoughts and feelings were typically reserved for the young, and while Talia was not yet even twenty, she had matured beyond such things, at least for the most part.  But under the influence of the shadow energy, all her old fears and insecurities came rushing back, magnified a hundred fold.  It was too much, no one person could have endured that sort of trauma.  She did scream now, throwing her head back and wailing her anger, her despair and all the other negative emotions that were flooding her psyche.  She was aware then of the sound of footsteps in the darkness near her and she wanted to respond, wanted to turn and fight whatever threat was creeping toward her in the darkness.  But she was too far gone, her body wracked with sobs and she fell to her knees, covering her face in her hands as her shoulders shook with her crying.  She felt hand then, big hands and warm, fall on her shoulders and she sensed someone kneeling at her side.  Instinctively she leaned into him, felt his arms slip about her, one across her shoulders under her chin, the other circling around from the other side, a warm palm sliding across her bare, flat stomach.  She whimpered, comforted by his touch and suddenly another emotion welled up within her, the need for contact… the need for comfort… a carnal need.

                She felt his lips on her then, lightly brushing her ear and she shivered, then turned her head and sought his lips with her own in the darkness.  He growled deep in his chest as they kissed, the ranger twisting in his arms and melding against him, her incredible bosom pressed against his broad chest.  His arms tightened around her and she thrilled at the press of him, parting her lips to accept his tongue as it delved deep into her mouth.  When he started to push against her, using his own weight to bear her to the ground she didn’t resist, lying back and feeling his weight settle atop her.  His hands, no longer able to be about her waist, started up then, caressing her sides and making her shiver, his palms moving up the sides of her firm breasts, then down to her sides again where he started to pull at the leather ties that held the top together.  Talia explored him with her own hands, her fingers tracing the firm lines of his arms where they descended from beneath his pauldrons, the hair along them thick and soft.  She felt her bodice loosen and his hands slipped up inside it from underneath, his fingers inching up her massive breasts and she shivered in delight.

                “Cyrrik.” She sighed as she broke the kiss, her head rolling back and a smile playing across her face as his fingers found and tweaked one of her large nipples under the leather top.  Her started to kiss his way down her neck, moving slowly toward the impressive swell of her chest, his hands still loosening the ties that cinched the leather tight over them, wanting desperately to free the fleshy globes from their entrapment.  She felt his beard brush lightly across her soft skin and she smiled again….

                Beard?  She frowned, her eyes still closed, That’s not right, Cyrrik doesn’t have a beard!  Suddenly her senses came rushing back and her eyes snapped open.  The darkness had receded and as she turned her head to the side they widened to see Cyrrik, pinned against a far wall of the cavern with several zombies, the very ones they had killed earlier, tearing into the flesh of his arms with ravenous mouths.  One had a hand clamped over his mouth, keeping him from crying out as they ate him alive, but his blue eyes were open wide and full of horror.  She saw pain there as well, but whatever he was looking at horrified him even more than what was happening to him.  Considering that he was being eaten alive by zombies, that was saying something.  When she realized his gaze was directed at her, she looked around to see who her mysterious, comforting lover in the darkness had been.  Almost on cue, as she lifted her head and looked down at the top his head he lifted his face from her cleavage and grinned at her, an almost demonic leer that looked completely out of place on a face she had known since birth, a handsome face that she and her sisters had all confessed to having a massive crush on for most of their lives.  Galon.

                Several things welled up within Talia then.  Horror that her beloved “uncle” had evidently been reanimated by the power of the shadow energy.  Terror at what she had been so involved in doing with him in the darkness.  And revulsion at the fact that she had been making out quite passionately with a zombie… and had been fully intending to go all the way.  These things all manifested themselves in a scream that felt as though it was wrenched up from the darkest recesses of her chest.  She arched her back, bending her spine like and archers bow and kicked out hard with both legs, not even feeling the pain that shot through her knee.  Her adrenaline was pumping and as the zombie was knocked clear she staggered to her feet and put her back against the wall.  Zombie Galon rose to a crouch, his eyes locked with hers and Talia felt dread pass through her like a dark cloud.  There was nothing in that gaze that she recognized, nothing was left of her uncle at all.  That just made it easier to act when he finally lunged at her, the obvious lust burning in his eyes making it obvious he had every intention of picking up where they left off.  Talia dove to the side, and this time as she landed her knee smacked hard against the ground and she did wince, reminded of the damage that had been done to it earlier.  She rolled onto her back and looked toward the zombie, who was already turning toward her.

                Galon hadn’t been dead long, a few hours at most, but already he looked corpse like.  Was that the effect of the shadow energy?  His skin was gray and waxen looking, his hair limp and lifeless and his eyes… his eyes were different.  There was something else there now… something not human, but she couldn’t decide what it was.  Either way, this wasn’t Galon Eaglehart any more and she realized she was in a lot of trouble.  As he started toward her again she rolled away, realizing that rolling was the fastest method of movement available to her since she didn’t think her knee would support her weight enough to run.  She heard movement from across the cavern and was reminded that Cyrrik was over there, in more than a little trouble of his own.  She spared a glance in his direction and saw that there were three zombies eating him, had they been reanimated by the shadow too?  His arms were a bloody mess, since that was wear the most skin was revealed thanks to his armor, and the fact that one of the zombies was keeping him quiet with a hand across his mouth.  Did zombie do that?  She wondered, Did they care if their victims screamed?

                Galon lunged for her again and Talia rolled away, recognizing a predatory, intelligent gleam in his eyes.  He wasn’t your typical undead, that was certain, but what the hell was he?  She had rolled toward Cyrrik, having seen that he still had his sword on his hip.  The zombies were keeping his arms pinned under them so he couldn’t get to it, but right now that sword was their mutual best chance of survival.  As she came out of her roll she twisted on her back and lashed out with one long leg, kicking one of the three zombies away from him.  It was the one on his right hand side, that had also been covering his mouth.  He shouted in pain, rage and fright and reached across his body instantly, his hand plunging between the other two zombies, both of whom were so involved in their feast they didn’t notice his hand emerge carrying a blade.  The zombie she had kicked away leapt back, not eager to give up its warm meal.  Cyrrik snarled, thrusting his blade through it as it lunged at him and then Talia rolled forward again, avoiding another grab from Galon and kicking the skewered zombie away.  Suddenly the other two zombies understood that something was wrong and they lifted their heads, kissing like cats as they saw their meal was now armed and looking murderous.  Cyrrik swung and decapitated one, but the other scampered clear.

                Talia cried out, having not seen Galons most recent approach and he kicked her hard on her wounded knee.  She folded up, clutching at the damaged joint and he was on her again, his hands again moving toward the leather ties that moved up the sides of her top.  But it didn’t last long for Cyrrik was on his feet and kicked out at his dead father, sending the zombie sliding a few feet across the floor.  Talia, sobbing and frightened, forced herself to her hands and knees and moving through the pain this caused she crawled away, then rolled onto her side, putting her back to the same wall that Cyrrik had just been pinned against.  The zombie was getting to its feet, his murderous glare now riveted on his son and Cyrrik just stood staring, his face a mask of hatred and anger.  He was breathing so hard that his chest and shoulders were heaving and his bloody arms, with large chunks of flesh missing where the zombies had torn it away, added a grisly feeling of death to the scene.

                “I thought that that monster had deprived me of the pleasure of killing you!  I see now that I get to make up for that.”  The zombie seemed to have understood the words, a curious thing for a creature that was supposed to be mindless, and it glanced toward its recently vacated grave.  Talia remembered that they had buried Galon with his sword and shield.  They had offered them to Cyrrik, but he had declined and Blaze had said they could return for them later if necessary.  Talia had thought of offering the weapons to his daughter Ashlyn, but now she wished she had taken them along rather then thinking of coming back.

                As the zombie made to dash for the grave and the weapons concealed there she cried out, “His sword and shield are under the rocks!”  Cyrrik dashed after his undead father and Talia twisted around, craning her neck to watch.  With her gaze directed in that direction she didn’t see the two zombies creeping toward her until one of them grabbed her legs and pinned them to the ground.  She lifted her head and saw it there and she shouted in fright and revulsion, trying to kick it away but it held her with the strength of the damned and she couldn’t move her feet at all.  She started to sit up, thinking to strike it with a fist and wondering what in the hell had become of her own weapons when the second zombie, who had been skewered by Cyrrik but was far from done, dropped to its knees behind her and wrapped its arms about her shoulder, lowering its face to try and take a bite from her neck.

                “No!” She cried, driving her elbow back into the monster but to absolutely no effect.  She felt its teeth, flat and dull, sink into the pliant flesh at the base of her neck and she screamed, struggling against their inhumanly strong grip. The pain was horrendous and she thought of disease, which she knew these creatures were said to carry.  She felt the second one working its way up her trapped legs, its gaze on the flat expanse of her bare stomach.

                “Hungry fiend?” said a familiar voice and Talia’s heart leapt.  “Eat this!”  A blade suddenly appeared, slicing through the air directly in front of Talia.  She gasped and looked over, seeing a snarl of fury on her sister, Krystel’s face as she beheaded the zombie.  As it rolled off of the ranger, Lady Knight twisted and the sword, which Talia realized suddenly must have been Nightmare, flashed again and the second zombie fell away.  Talia collapsed backward, raising a hand to staunch the sudden flow of blood from her neck.  Krys crouched at her side, clad in her shining steel and mithron plate armor with the tabard in purple and gold, the colors of their family.  “You all right sis?”

                Talia winced but nodded.  “Cyrrik needs help.”

Krystel smiled grimly and glanced in that direction.  “He’s getting it.”

                Something in her tone caused Talia to glance around and her eyes widened to see a man in a long, flowing black cloak with a deep hood that cast most of his face in shadow dancing around the zombie, a silver bladed sword flashing in one hand while a mithron dagger twirled in the other.  He was grinning slightly and Cyrrik, his face still set in a furious mask, was working well in tandem with him.  “Reaper.” The young ranger breathed, slightly in awe of the famous… or infamous assassin.

                Reaper was still smiling slightly as he whirled and twirled, his blades flashing in the dimly lit cavern.  The zombie of Galon was not nearly the warrior that the man had been in life and thought it put up a good effort, the assassin quickly cut it down, with a little help from a profusely bleeding Cyrrik.  As Galon lunged toward the younger warrior, seeing him as the easier target than Reaper and thus hoping to slay him before he himself was cut down, Reaper danced in and drove his dagger deep into the zombies lower back, severing his spine just above the tail bone.  The zombies thrust went astray as it stumbled from that blow.  Cyrrik was able to avoid the clumsily attempted cut and his own sword flashed down, severing Galon’s arm at the elbow and sending his sword flying, lower arm still attached, to clatter against a wall.  Reaper, whirling to the opposite side of the body, severed the other arm at the shoulder even as the zombie toppled, its legs no longer working to support it.  When it had fallen, armless, the head still snarled up at them and Cyrrik, his face a mask of disgust and anger stepped forward and with one final, decisive slice severed his fathers head from its shoulders.

                Talia and Krystel both looked away, wincing, though they both understood that the thing that had just died had not been Galon Eaglehart.  They heard the distinctive sounds of metal sliding into leather and realized that both men had sheathed their weapons.  Turning back, they saw the warrior and the assassin moving toward them, though Cyrrik was eyeing Reaper suspiciously.  It occurred to Talia then that Reaper was a wanted man and Cyrrik, though certainly as corrupt as the rest of the Sentinels of Peacehope, was an enforcer of the law.  The mere thought of the huge bounty being offered for Reapers head must have been seriously tempting for the man, but he knew he was nowhere near to good enough to collect it.  The smile on Reapers face said that he knew all too well what the other man was thinking.

                Talia broke the silence that had fallen over them by asking her sister, “What are you doing here?  I thought that Ariana left you in the city?”

                “She did,” the older Moonstone replied with an affirmative nod, “along with Beth and Sasha.  It was Sasha that sent me down here, apparently she had some kind of vision that said you were in grave danger… something to do with a vast shadow that was threatening to consume you.”

                “It nearly did,” Cyrrik said softly, “to us both.”

                Talia looked at Reaper, hesitating before she addressed him.  She knew that he was the single most wanted assassin on all of Kyzanthia, but for some reason the man had a fondness for her family, specifically her sisters and he seemed quite often to show up when his help would be most appreciated.  “And you?”

                The assassin shrugged his narrow shoulders, though oddly the cloak he wore didn’t seem to move much at the motion.  “The same actually.  Sasha and I have long been… friends.”  Both Moonstone girls blushed slightly at this.  They were both aware of their sister’s promiscuous ways, and while neither of them would likely admit it aloud, they could both understand the appeal of this man.  Even Krystel, who was bisexual and liked women as well as men.  “She has known how to reach me for some time and asked that I help out.”

                “We’re not done yet.”  Cyrrik informed them.  “Blaze and her two men, Lance and Relic are further down the tunnels.  We got separated when that black… whatever it was started to spread toward us.  Relic and Lance went after Blaze who had been taken earlier while Talia and I attempted to go and get help.  She’s wounded, she didn’t want to slow the others down.”

                “Well, it appears that help has come to you.”  Reaper said with an enigmatic smile, and even when he wasn’t being overtly threatening his voice sent chills down the spines of those around him.  There was a certain quality about his voice, an implied threat in everything he said, the voice at once low and carrying, soft yet with a touch of gravel.  If it was so scary, why was it also so damned alluring?  Neither woman present could deny the draw of the man, his physical presence was palpable.

                “I’m afraid there’s not much we can do to help you heal though little sister.”  Krystel said to Talia, frowning at the woman’s knee, which was now badly swollen beneath her leathers.

                Talia shook her head, waving off her sisters concern.  “I had already come to terms with being out of this fight, you three should leave me here and go help the others.  They’re in much bigger danger than I am.”

                Cyrrik surprised them all at that point by saying, “I’m not comfortable with leaving her here by herself.  These zombies have already reawakened once, who’s to say they won’t do it again?”  Krystel and Talia both looked at him in surprise, wondering if his sudden concern for the welfare of a Moonstone had some ulterior motive.  Was he afraid?

                “He’s right.”  Reaper said in his soft, chilling voice.  “We shouldn’t just leave her here.”  He looked to Cyrrik with a slight, almost knowing smirk. “Will you assist her back to the surface?”

                The blonde man couldn’t quite keep the relief out of his voice, confirming for the others their suspicion that he was afraid to carry on.  “I can.”

                Krystel smiled at her younger sister.  “We’re going to go on then, see if we can help Blaze and the others.  You two go and warn the city what’s happened, and especially talk to our sisters.  They’ll be worried sick.”  Talia nodded, then the knight rose and turned toward Cyrrik.  “If anything happens to her between here and the surface, you’ll be answering to me.”

                Cyrrik scowled at that, but nodded his understanding.  Lady Knight turned and walked away, toward the tunnel that lead deeper into the complex.  Reaper smiled at Talia, chuckled softly at the look of anger Cyrrik was directing toward the retreating Krystel and said, “Don’t go there boy, it’s not worth the pain she can inflict on you.”

                “I’m capable of inflicting pain as well assassin.”  He spat the last word as though it were a curse.

                Reaper leaned toward him and Cyrrik couldn’t stop  himself from leaning back.  “Aye, but if you think you can withstand the wrath of a Moonstone, go ahead and let harm befall her.”  He nodded toward Talia, “See what happens to you then.”  Cyrrik understood what he meant.  If Talia was harmed, it wouldn’t just be Krystel he would have to contend with.  Though they didn’t always get along with each other, the Moonstone sisters were notorious for taking care of their own.  Hurt one, and they would all come hunting you.  Leaving that hanging between them, Reaper turned and followed the knight toward the tunnel.

                Relic had been spared the worst of the shadow energy, he assumed it was due to the enchantments on his armor, or perhaps it was just that his armor covered him from head to toe, except for the slot where his eyes glowed through the faceplate.  It was perhaps that very glow that kept the shadow energy from slithering inside his armor, a glow that cast no shadows within the armor and that no shadow could subdue since it came from within him.  His whole body had gone numb, but he had maintained control of his faculties.  Lance hadn’t been so lucky, they had only gone about fifteen feet into the darkness when the demon hunter had collapsed.  Relic hadn’t been able to hear him, but he had certainly heard the mans gasp and then the sound of his body striking the floor.

                “Lance?” he had said, crouching and feeling around in the darkness to try and check on the warrior mage.

                His voice had come from the shadows to Relic’s left, soft and weak, but there.  “It’s no good, I can’t go on.  You’ll have to see if you can find her in this….”  He had trailed off, unable to finish the thought.  It had taken several precious seconds, but Relic had finally found the man in the darkness and determined that he was alive… hopefully he would stay that way.  Reluctantly, the templar continued on alone.  It was about the same time as the shadows had receded that he staggered into the temple.  Suddenly the darkness was just gone and Relic, who had been relying on a wall to help guide himself down the tunnel staggered when the wall disappeared, the tunnel opening into the vast cavern that had, quite obviously to the templar, been converted ages ago into a temple.  But a temple to whom?  That he couldn’t determine, not from the evidence strewn about the cavern.  He saw black walls with silver writing and other telltale signs of a temple, but there was nothing here to identify what deity it had been to.  Blaze and their enemies were here as well, but as near as he could determine they were all unconscious.

                Rushing across the room to the altar where the beautiful elf was chained, spread eagle he paused and checked for a pulse.  Relic breathed a sigh of relief when he found one, then he started to move around the altar, looking for a way to release her from the chains.  He stumbled over the still form of the wight she had inadvertently named Hyena.  Glancing down at the creature he dismissed an urge to kick it, knowing that would do nothing but wake it up, and likely do the same for the others.    The manacles on her wrists and ankles were securely locked, and Relic was no rogue so he started to look around, wondering who might have a key.  He thought of Crane, but as he turned to look for her he didn’t see her anywhere, the only woman in the room other than Blaze was a tall and very shapely lady with lily white skin and hair, clad in a tight black dress that seemed several sizes too small for her.