Journal of a Cartographer

Zephyr 19, 1276 DR

Beautiful people met us at the edges of the Mirror, wearing costumes of vibrant colors, embracing us and kissing our cheeks in what I found to be creepy gestures of welcome. The women, it seemed, pressed their bodies a little too invitingly to mine, and the men’s gazes and touches lingered a little too long on the women in our party. Wez gave more than one of them a dark, threatening look and took Kandra by the hand—the first time I have seen him do that. They assured us that we were welcome there, and that we could stay as long as we’d like. They led us over the bridges, along the tiled paths and into Grand Court, where a striking woman—a Mesmer named Lysstranna—greeted us with deep bows.

“Welcome!” she said, stretching her arms wide. She stood at the top of a small flight of stairs, her endless red hair curling down around her waist. “You are our honored guests, and we invite you to stay as long as you like!” Her eyes shone like a woman in her element a she looked us over. “We have bath-houses where you can ease your muscles and cleanse your bodies. We will wash your clothes and provide you with fresh raiment. Tonight you will feast with us!”

We stood there in silence, looking at her and at each other. I half expected Bruck to not let us, but he stared at Lystranna with practically vacant eyes, as if remembering something or someone from long ago. I wish he’d not chosen to abandon his usual suspicion at that particular point.

“This is quite a different welcome than I’m used to,” Sileman said to me. “It’s almost eerie.”

I was inclined to agree with him, but a hot bath, strong soap, and clean clothes appealed to me. I ignored a whispering in my heart to flee, to leave immediately. Now, in retrospect, I imagine the voice must have spoken to me, but don’t remember hearing anything specific; fragrances coming in the area made my stomach rumble, and my head light.

They took us men into one room, and led the ladies out into another. Half a dozen steaming tubs of ivory-colored porcelain waited for us, overflowing with bubbles. Heady, sweet smells filled my nose; I don’t remember taking off my clothes or leaving my things anywhere. I can only really remember sitting there in the scorching water, feeling the grime wash away. I was finally able to unknot a rat of something in the back of my hair. I sat there soaking, just smiling and leaning back with my eyes closed. The bubbles tickled my chin, and I wriggled my toes through the water. I imagine I made same indulging sounds as my companions as we sat in those tubs, just enjoying it all.

While we bathed, figures moved gracefully through the misty air, leaving clothing and towels behind for us. The towers were plush and soft. I wrapped myself in one and sat on a bench. It made me think of home, of my mother. Eventually, Bruck came over to me wearing all-white pants, slippers, socks, and shirt. He still had that empty look in his eyes. Now, looking back, I realize that he must have been under some kind of spell. You’ve got to be careful of Mesmers. They can do stuff like that to you.

“Get dressed—they won’t let us out until everyone is ready,” he said.

The clothes provided for us were freshly pressed and spotless, and fit perfectly. At the bottom of the pile I was surprised to find a necklace and two bracelets of gold and diamonds, and a small folded piece of paper which read, “In welcome to our honored guests.” Upon reading it, I again had that feeling that we should leave. But as I slid into the slippers, I dismissed it, and wondered what we’d be eating for dinner. A short, bald, ever-grinning man led us into a banquet hall where a table sat decorated with silver platters piled with pastries, meats, and any other kind of dandy you can think of. My mind couldn’t process all of the smell. The ladies were already sitting, with Lystranna at the table’s head. Their hair glistened with precious stones, and they wore flowing dresses of white.

We laughed and talked as we dined—gorged, really. The food never ended, and servants brought more and more. I don’t know that I’ve ever had such a generous, tasty dinner. Eventually, Lystranna announced that she would perform for us, and launched into a series of monologues and poetry—some sad, some comical, some touching. Her voice soothed our tired minds like the bubbling of slow-flowing rivers over rocks. Late into the night I leaned back in my chair, ready to burst, and closed my eyes to listen to her musical tones. I don’t know if I was one of the first or last to fall asleep, but I know I was the first—and only—to wake.

I vividly remember the dreams I had during that sleep in the intervening time. I would have predicted that after such a pleasant evening they would have been good dreams. But instead they tormented me. Demons flashed continually before me. From the round-headed one I killed with my spear, to Crathlav back in Gandara, to the one that attacked me on the balcony—they all assaulted me continuously. I ran and ran, sometimes through endless corroders, at other times between great, towering cliffs. Always they cried for vengeance against the demon-slayer. Always I ran. And always they pursued me.

And then there was Shenan running with me, yelling at me to get away. To wake up. His voice grow louder with each moment, so that eventually I could not even hear the slathering and growling of the demons at my heals. I knew, then, that I was dreaming, and that I needed to awake. I struggled to open my eyes, but could not.

“Run, you fool!” Shenan would shout. “Wake up and run!” He must have repeated twenty times. And then Bruck was there, running by my side and shouting the same thing. Wez joined them, and then Sileman and Kandra. As if the demons nipping at me were not enough to inspire fear, their words, shouted in unison, did. “Wake up and run!” Then Haillia joined them, and Threnon. Last came Guel his face urgent and pleading. Each time they shouted I tried to wake myself, to rouse my body from the disturbing slumber. “Wake up! Flee!”

And finally, I did just that. My eyes popped open. I found myself lying on my back, looking up into the face of that ever-smiling, bald man that had led us from the baths to the dining room. He held a knife, and was lowering it steadily toward me. As a reflex, I deflected the blow and with a flick of my wrist twisted the blade away and tossed him to the side. With a grunt he landed on the floor. Rolling, I stood, and quickly surveyed the situation.

I was still in the dining room. Food and plates still covered the table, and the torches burned as brightly as when I’d fallen asleep. Each of my companions lay side-by-side, next to where I had been on the floor near the table. They must have laid me down last, the final victim in that row. Blood pooled around my companions’ heads, still gushing from the ghastly, deep wounds at their throats and staining their pure white clothes. They all lay still, breathless, dead. Six men and women—servants who had helped us during dinner—stood throughout the room, their faces painted with shock at my awakening. Lysstranna sat once again at the head of the table, a drumstick half raised to her mouth, which hung open in surprise. Her eyes gaped wide.

“How can you have awakened?” she said, beginning to stand.

I did not respond, but gave her an even, level look. I heard someone moving behind me and turned, stepping to the side. I swung the dagger in a wide arch. Its blade sliced the chest of the bald man as he fell forward, plunging a dagger into the space my chest had occupied only a moment before. My blade was a good blade. Very sharp. I can’t imagine it took him long to die.

As the other servants sprung into action, I used my resurrection signet. The blinding white pillar of light lifted Bruck from his spot on the ground, closing up the wound in his neck. As his feet splashed in his own blood, he gave me a grim look, and then started to cast Rebirth on Guel. I turned my knife on an advancing female who stood head shorter than me, opening up her neck like her fellow servant had opened my companions’. She practically walked into the blow. As a second woman darted toward me with, also with as short knife, I knew that these were not trained soldiers. That is why they lulled us into sleep—perhaps even drugged us. They could not hurt us while we were alert. I dispatched another woman, and then my part of the slaughter ended quickly in two more swipes of my blade. A moment later, the last servant fell dead, neck broken by Guel, just as Kandra landed alive on her feet.

Lysstranna had risen from her place at the table, and was almost to the door. I threw the knife. It was so light compared to a spear. It flew quickly, landed in her back with a squish, and she crumpled in the threshold with a thump, face down.

“Oh hell,” Wez said. He’d just been brought back by Bruck. “You couldn’t keep her alive so we could question her?”

“What did you plan on asking her?” I said.

He frowned. “Something good, if you’d have given me the chance.”

“You’re just bitter that you didn’t get to kill her,” Guel said. “We’ve got to find our stuff and get out of here.”

“Let’ stay together,” Bruck said as he finished bringing Sileman back. “Let me bring the other two back, and we’ll go.”

The halls were empty and dark. We stayed quiet as we moved back through them, to the bath houses. There we found our clothes plied in the corners.

“The stinking liars!” Sileman said. “They said they would wash them!”

Changing from our bloodied whites and back into our armor was like waking up from a nightmare. As we dressed, we wondered quietly amongst ourselves how we could be so stupid as to let our guard down.

Bruck shook his head. “Magic. That’s the only explanation.”

“No,” Haillia said. “Well, not just magic. Also very potent incense.”

Outside, the dawn was just beginning to touch the Eastern sky. It was then, out in the open, that I really noticed the whispering and the fear, as potent as I have ever felt it. I imagine it had been there all along, but I suspect the Grand Court had somehow concealed it. We headed Southward at a steady jog, with me in the lead. Almost as soon as I had lifted my feet from the Mirror’s tiles and planted them in the dirt, I heard Bruck swearing from the rear of the party.

“Run!” he hissed. “Stay quiet, and run!”

“What’s going—” Kandra started to say, also from behind me. Her words were cut short by a sharp gasp.

Other quick breaths and quiet swearing made me turn to see what was going on, what had them so worked up. There, to the West, rotating slowly in the gray morning sky, circled several winged figures. Below them, moving steadily down the gradual slope, and almost invisible in the half-light, were more figures. Hundreds of them, many carrying torches.

“I knew we were too close to Chokhin,” Bruck said.

“What?” I asked.

“The next area over,” Wez said. “It’s Chokhin.”

“Then that army,” I said. “That army . . . .”

Sileman clapped me on the shoulder, and in a grim voice said, “That’ army is Kitten’s.”

“Run!” Bruck hissed again. “Run!”

And we did.

Zephyr 19, 1276 DR, continued

We fled southward, away from the Mirror. The generally barren land offered us little hope of concealment, and when the terrain allowed, we stayed close by cliffs or rocks. The occasional glance back in the growing light showed that the army made its way westward into the Grand Court. We speculated that the army mostly consisted of humans, but in the darkness we did see many other shapes—of animals and other races. Centaur. Heket. Harpiess—although some of the winged creatures flying above were far too large to be harpies. But we soon rounded a bend lost sight of the force.

“I didn’t see anything the size of a mountain,” Wez said as we ran. “Didn’t that man all those days ago say he saw Kitten, and it was big enough to wipe out an army with its tail?”

“That’s what he said,” I agreed.

By the time we reached the Southern edge of the Mirror, the sun had risen well above the horizon. Bruck signaled for us to halt at the shrine, and we stood or sat around the stonework panting heavily. My lungs burned from the running. I looked with concern at the nearby complex of colorful tents as people moved about and beneath the canopies, heedless of the deadly army not ten miles from their location.

“I imagine,” Bruck said, “that they’ve found the mess we left behind. There were probably more of the damned there, as well, who can tell about our arrival. It think it’s safe to bet that they know we were there, and that they will pursue.” Bruck said. “We need to get as far away as we can from the Mirror. We’ve got the Kodash Bazaar right to our South, but we can’t stop there. We’ve got to go further.”

“The Garden of Seborhin is to the West,” Guel suggested. “Through the Forum Highlands.”

“I don’t want to go there,” Bruck said. “It’s too obvious.” He sat at the edge of the shrine, his feet in the dirt and his back toward most of us.

“What is that?” I asked. I sat at the back of the shrine, at the feet of Melandru wrapped in thorns.

“The largest city in Vabbi,” Sileman said.

“Why don’t you want to go there,” I asked Bruck.

He gave me an annoyed look over his shoulder. “I said—it’s too obvious. They will expect us to go somewhere like that.”

“If it’s obvious, won’t the army go there? ”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

“Shouldn’t they be warned?”

“Stop!” he shouted, standing and taking a step toward me. His face boiled with anger. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his staff and shook it slightly in my direction. “I lead this party. I make the decisions. If I had listened to my gut back at the mirror, we wouldn’t have come so close to perishing. My gut tells me that we should go back into Vehtendi Valley, and South from there. That is where we will go!” He ended practically shouting.

I stood there, stunned, for a moment. I had a brief flashback of the time he’d threatened to boot me from the party. My other party members also stood or sat in silence, looking at Bruck and I. Only the wind passed between us. I sensed that they were waiting for something, perhaps for me to challenge him. There were a hundred things I could have said—no one ever suggested that we not go into the Grand Court. No one ever suggested that we not dine with Lysstranna. No one pressured him. He never made a decision or suggested that we should not.

He just feels guilty, that voice said to me, quietly in my mind. And he is threatened by you.

The voice had never spoken so plainly to me, in so many words, and it brought a distinct warmth into my chest. The feeling spread down into my body, arms, and legs. Comfort etched my mind. It made sense. He is our party leader; he felt responsible for leading us into that trap, perhaps because he had not played the role a leader should have played and suggested that we do otherwise. Now, to compensate, he was not willing to endure any kind of affront to his authority. Especially from me.

The thought startled me. I had never considered myself a threat to him. I had thought many times that I might simply leave the party, and than one or two party members might join me. But it had never occurred to me that I might simply wrest the leadership position from him. I imagine he would leave the party if anything like that happened.

I wondered and half-asked that voice if I should confront him now, argue with his plan.

No.

It was the first time the voice had responded to me. A chill ran down my spine.

Not yet.

So, I raised my hands defensively in front of me, and said, “That’s fine. You make the choices. We’ll follow.”

He lowered his staff, some of the anger draining from his red face.

“Watch out!” Gueal shouted, standing suddenly and pointing to the sky. “Up there!”

As if we’d practiced it a thousand times, our party stood in unison and looked to where he pointed. A winged creature flew in tight circles several hundred feet above us. But that wasn’t what alarmed us—we had seen many of them throughout the morning, and always sought cover when we did. What alarmed us was that two more had their wings tucked back, and their arms—at least four each—stretched downward as they dove at a blistering speed toward us.

“Those aren’t harpies!” Wez called. He drew an arrow, and took aim. My other party members all readied their weapons and used pre-battle skills.

The whispering dread, while always present that morning, was stronger than ever. While I am used to the sensation, I am not numb to it; it is no less potent. All sensations of warmth and comfort had fled from my body and mind, and as those two blurry figures sped toward us, it took all of my nerves to not flee.

In only a matter of moments they had reached us.

This is the best thing I have read in a long time - Love it-Want more!!!!

all i can say is that is people like you that make this game the best ever, jut hope half of anet team have half of your imagination on creation of GW:EN and GW2

keep it coming and by the way why dont stick this post guru team

Zephyr 19, 1276 DR, continued

Most encounters with enemies pass through a practically standard process. Scope out the enemy. Approach cautiously. Use preparatory skills. Melee party members engage enemies first and draw agro. Targets called. Enemies picked off one by one with focused attacks. It’s all very methodical. But our encounter with those demons was anything but standardized.

They swooped down onto to shrine, their wings creating vortexes of hot air all around us. We scattered in every direction to avoid their claws and talons and teeth. I rolled through the dust and to my feet, and as I took a stance near Guel fought the urge to flee. The demons howled as they floated there a few feet above the shrine’s stones, their wings beating rapidly, almost in a blur. They towered above us, easily twice our height. I found it difficult to look at them, not because of their hideous form, but because they seemed darkly hidden, shrouded in a mist of blackness. I could make out only general details: their skin, colored like burned flesh, boiled and pulsed; their two legs curled up beneath them, talons flexing outward at us; their four arms tensed as they prepared to lash out at us; their flat, wide faces twisted in rage, the multiple sets of eyes looking in every direction, and one of two mouths moving constantly, spewing that powerful, deadly whispering I am so thankful I don’t understand. But that darkness surrounded them—blurred their movements.

I am not sure I am capable of chronicling the details of the battle—and not simply from a literary standpoint, although that is a very real limitation of mine. Simply too much was going on: seven people besides myself, and two demons that seemed to attack and cast as if there were six of them—all acting at the same time. Attacking, using skills, calling out instructions or responses, repositioning, parrying. Couple that with the endless, dreadful whispering, and the growls and roars of the demons, and the chaos was practically unbearable.

I know that Kandra engaged first, and Guel was not far behind. Wez stood back, along with Haillia, Bruck, and Threnon. Sileman started to bind spirits. Each of them performed their respective roles as best they could in the midst of such chaos, trying to get organized and stay alive at the same time. I could not keep track of everything everyone did. That skill lies with truly the best party leaders—probably Bruck could recount every instant of the battle, and who was doing what at what point. I cannot not—not even in the best circumstances with the most standard of battles. Besides that, in that moment, I had another distraction that occupied a great deal of my attention.

Give me control, the voice said.

I cast Finale of Restoration. Confused at the command, I said “What?” unintentionally aloud. A deep, black mist started to rise up out of the ground adjacent to the demons. Curling black tendrils oozed up Kandra’s and Guel’s legs. They continued to slash and cut, and defend against blows from the demons. Meteors began to rain down on them.

You have to let me take control of your body.

Kandra went down to one knee, her face turning toward me for a moment as blood sprayed out and away from a wide gash across her face. A black tendril of mist wrapped around her neck, and started to pull her downward.

“I don’t know how to do that!” I said. I recalled Shenan’s mentioning of a ritual that allowed a demon to take control of the body of a damned—a complex, bloody ceremony involving the death of a pregnant woman and the occupation of her fetus by the demon. I didn’t want to experience anything like that.

Kandra had not arisen from the black mists, and now the demons had turned their attention to Guel. Shackled spirits summoned by Sileman wailed as they hurled their ethereal bolts at the demons. Arrows pricked the demon closest to me—the one Guel was attacking. I continued to cast healing skills as quickly as possible.

You know what I am.

“You’re an angel,” I said, still speaking aloud.

Kandra rose from the black mists within a pillar of white, tinkling light, and after an instant of disorientation turned her blade to the demon nearest her. Bruck called out a target, instructing her to attack the other demon, the one most of the others were focusing on.

And do you trust me?

I did not know how to answer the question. I knew I should. I had faith that angels were good, and that they would not harm me. But I didn’t know what the result would be. The angel seemed so fickle, seemed to come only when it benefitted it most. How could I know what would happen if I gave up control of my body? How could I, anyway? “I don’t know!”

With roars of anger the demons lifted into the air simultaneously, the black mists swirling up after them. They landed away from the shrine, the ground shaking beneath their feet, one on each side of Bruck. Threnon and Sileman scrambled away. I cast Angelic Protection on Bruck, but as he tried to flee one of the demons lashed out with an arm. A whip of blackness emerged from its hand and wrapped around Bruck’s head, and then yanked him backward. He flew through the air and landed on his back. Once again, the black mists began to lift out of the ground.

You have to trust me! It’ almost too late!

Bruck’s hands lifted for a moment out of the mist, but under the flaying of the demons, it quickly disappeared, and the demons again levitated into the air. This time one of them came down on top of Haillia’s head, snapping her head awkwardly to the side and bending her back backwards. Her back bones broke with loud cracks and she crumpled the ground. The other landed next to her, put claws from its four hands deep into her torso, and with a screech that made my hair stand on end, tore in multiple directions.

“I don’t know how!” I cried.

The demons turned back to Kandra and Guel, who had been slashing at them from behind. Bruck rose from the fog where he’d fallen—lifted by Wez’s signet—but by the time he was casting spells again, Kandra flew through the air from a blow by the demon, and landed limply in the dirt a good thirty feet from anyone else in the party, and then lay still.

You just let me. You just have to give permission.

“Then you’ve got it!” I said. “Get in!”

Everything went all wobbly for a moment as the air rippled around me. I felt vibrations from all directions, against in my flesh.

You don’t mean it. I can’t get in until you mean it!

Threnon cried out as a whip of blackness, one from each demon, took hold of each arm and lifted her off the ground, her arms spread wide. The demons cackled with laughter as they pulled the whips in opposite directions. With sickening pops and a ripping noise like nothing I have ever heard, her arms detached from her body with gushes of blood. The whips disappeared, and she fell convulsing to the ground.

I am your only chance! You have to mean it!

And then the demons focused on me. First their heads turned, looking over their shoulders and past those wings, their black, fly-like eyes focusing on me. For the first time I saw that those eyes simmered with an eerie glow. Their mouths—the ones not issuing the venomous whispering—turned up in vicious grins, baring crooked, black teeth as long and sharp as any dagger. Then their bodies turned toward me, blurry and red and charred, and with a series of flaps they floated toward me.

Fear consumed me. It was not the fear inspired of the whispering gibberish—although that certainly did not help my situation. It was the fear of knowing I was hopelessly out-matched and had no way of escaping. I knew I could not stand against the creatures.

Not on my own, at least.

“Get in!” I shouted. “Get in me!”

Again, that ripple shivered against my body. The demons shimmered for a moment as they advanced toward me. A sensation like warm air invading every pour of my body consumed my skin. Fear and panic fled from my senses, seeming to take my autonomy with them.

And then the angel took over.

I am sure I stayed in my body—I watched the next few minutes out of my own eyes—but my body seemed to move with its own accord, and I said and did things I did not really say and do. I used skills I have never used.

Sorry for this, but I will have no updates this week. Going on a little trip. In case anyone is interested, the next entry is up on my site (it is always one entry ahead of what I post here). Also, I posted another piece of short fiction, which I wrote a number of years ago during my undergraduate work. The site is: www.gwcartographer.com.

Thanks for the heads up dude. Enjoy your trip!

Thanks--the trip was a lot of fun. If you have a chance to go to Yellowstone, I'd recommend taking it.
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Zephyr 19, 1276 DR, continued

My party members would later tell me that my body shook violently for an instant, and then my skin burst with a yellow glow. The light struck the demons like a blast of sudden air, and they halted in their advance toward me, faces grimacing as they raised their arms to cover their eyes.

“You are banished!” The words boomed from my mouth—I heard myself say them. But they were not mine. It was as if my body was not my own. My arms and legs moved of their own accord, independent of anything I willed. My lips were not mine. My heartbeat was not mine. I was a disconnected mind, spirit, being, trapped in a form I could not control. I watched from the eyes, but could feel and do nothing. “Return to the nether-realm!” My arms raised rapidly over my head—it surprised me that my spear lay discarded on the ground before me—and before the demons could react, the angel brought my hands quickly down in a swooping motion.

A deafening rush of air extended out in all directions, in a circle, from my body, toward the demons and the other pools of dark mist. When the air hit the blackness, the mists swirled for a moment before disappearing with a hiss. Their acrid odor disappeared. The creatures’ bodies shook, and their wings convulsed in a flutter of agony. My party members—the ones still alive—continued to pound the demons with their attacks.

But the demons could not be stopped so easily: they recovered quickly from the sudden surprise of the angel’s light and spell. One of them lifted into the air with powerful batting of its wings. The other howled in rage, spread its wings and arms wide, and rounded on the nearest person: Guel. When its four arms struck the assassin—one in the face, two in the chest, and one in the legs—there were four flash of red light, and a sound like a boulder cracking after a mighty tumble from a cliff. The assassin flew sideways through the air, landing with a cry against a pillar of the shrine. He struggled to rise, fell to a knee, found his feet, and then fell flat on his face. That left only Bruck, Sileman, Kandra, me, and Wez.

“Take courage!” the angel cried with my voice. The fear and dread supplied by the demons lessened at the words, seemed less potent. “These beasts have no power in this realm!” He used another skill I have never seen, and the arrow set in Wez’s bow turned into a shaft of burning white light. Those in his quiver glowed with glorious brilliance.

But he did not have a chance to benefit from the shafts in his quiver. Just as he loosed the glowing arrow, the first demon landed on top of the ranger, crushing his body into the ground. The arrow found place in the back of the second demon, the one that had struck Guel. The shaft sliced clean through the creature’s back, emerging from its chest and arcing unnaturally upward, pulsing now with a hint of pink and pulling behind it a thread of red light. The demon turned its head to the sky, in the direction the arrow now flew with increasing speed, howling and shaking its fists, and then lashing out with its claws at the lengthening string still connected to the now-distant arrow. With a snap the string broke, and the arrow fizzled into nothing; the string dissipated like smoke, with a “puff!” The first demon took flight again, picking up Wez in its talons and ripping through his armor before flinging his limp body to the side.

Now it was only Bruck, Sileman, Kandra, and me.

But the demon wounded by Wez was weakened. Sileman’s handful shackled spirits, spread around the battlefield, focused their attacks on him, and Kandra screamed like an amazon as she slashed at it with her blade, drawing blood in its legs with each swipe. The demon staggered, swinging its arms wildly at Kandra. The air wooshed with each blow that missed, and rang with each blow that landed against her armor. The angel cast its spell again, and the warrior’s sword took upon itself that potent white illumination.

In the meantime, Sileman leapt out of the way as the demon that had killed Wez landed once again, the ground shaking beneath its weight. The demon battered the ground with its clenched hands, pushing clouds of dust into the air repeatedly as Sileman dodged the blows by rolling away. When Sileman was out of range of the demon, he jumped to his feet—but the demon lifted its legs and beat its wings, and arrived at Sileman in only a moment, slashing with its claws. With each blow a red flash passed between the assailant and the victim. Coupled with the white glow of Bruck’s healing, the air glowed bright pink.

Kandra’s blade sang like salvation, and with its next blow sliced clean through the demon’s leg, severing it just above the knee. The demon fell to the side, catching itself with two arms—but not before its wing bent awkwardly backwards with a snap. The beast roared as dark blood spurted from its wound. The next blow removed its other leg, and it fell backwards, onto its back and flailing.

Sileman, not equipped for heave assault from a demon, fell backwards to the ground, his chest, neck, and face sliced open in many places despite Bruck’s best efforts. The demon, in one last contemptible gesture, stomped on the ritualist’s head, grasped with its talons, and tossed my party member back toward the center of the fight, where Karndra was leaping onto her fallen foe’s chest, dropping her shield as she did so. She shifted her blade in her hands so that she held it with both, pointing downward, and thrust the glowing steel into the creature’s chest.

The form of the demon shrunk rapidly inward, as if imploding. A strange force seemed to bend the air, and everything within twenty feet moved inexorably toward the creature. The angel took a few involuntary steps toward her, even as it activated another skill. Sileman’s corpse slid across the ground, leaving bloodstains in the dirt. The chains of his spirits rattled as they stressed against the force. Kandra fell to her knees on the demon’s body. And then with a roaring “CRACK!” and flash of white, the demon disappeared. Kandra rolled to the ground, onto her back, and in a swift movement to her knee just as the remaining demon came to her.

A white bar of light, eight feet long and as thick as child’s arm appeared in the angel’s hands. The air sang with a high-pitched chorus, as if a thousand angelic voices were holding a piercing, saving note.

A whip of black appeared in the demon’s hand, and it lashed at Kandra. She held up her blade to deflect the blow. When the whip and the blade touched, sparks cascaded down around the warrior, and with a cry she dropped her weapon and fell backwards. The blade returned to its normal state, and the whip fizzled into nothingness, but another appeared on another of the demon’s hand. He snapped the whip at her, and it struck her square forehead with a “crack!” Her body arched backward, so that only her head and her heels touched the ground. She cried out in agony, and as the demon raised the whip again, the angel arrived behind him, stabbing upward with that bar of light, plunging it deeply into the lower back of the demon at an upward angle, toward the heart.

The demon roared again, stretching its arms and wings wide. The bar of white—the few inches not inside the demon—turned an intense shade of red. It pulsed brighter and brighter for the several moments as the angel twisted it there in the body. The demon convulsed, its wings shaking like great canvases and its arms jerking randomly. In only a moment its roar fell silent as the last of its breath was spent—but it kept its mouth wide in a silent howl, and its other mouth continued to move, whispering its poison. And then the angel withdrew the heavenly weapon, and the demon fell forward, its body shrinking in that unexpalinable way, drawing everything into it for several moments until with that ear-splitting “CRACK!” its form disappeared along with the bar of red.

And for several moments there was silence. No dread. No whispering. No roaring or screaming.

That was amazing I said—thought, since I could not control my body.

“Thank you,” the angel said through my voice.

The air rippled, and then I could feel myself again, standing there and looking down at Kandra as she lay looking at me with an expression of utter disbelief. My hands burned with the memory of that bar of pallid, angelic deliverance.

Zephyr 19, 1276 DR, continued

Bruck and Kandra stood there, in the midst of our party’s carnage, and gaped at me in silence. A soft breeze blew. The people in the nearby tents and canopies had disappeared during the short fray. I hadn’t seen where they’d gone. As my party members stared at me, the burning sensation on my hands faded, but they remained red. Not wanting to meet their gazes, I stepped to where my shield and spear lay discarded near the shrine.

“Well,” Bruck said, “that was certainly . . . timely.” I could not read the tone in his voice, could not tell whether it was angry, surprised, or accusing.

Kandra snorted. “Timely! Ha!”

I gave them a solemn look, wondering what I was going to say. What am I going to tell them? I asked the angel. What am I supposed to say?

“Do you mind filling us in on what just happened?” Bruck asked. “Do you mind telling us who, exactly, you are?”

I sat down on the edge of the shrine’s stone, suddenly feeling very tired. I didn’t look at them, and lay my shield and spear across my thighs. “I’m me. I’m the same person you’ve known for months.”

“With a few notable exceptions.”

I shook my head and spread my hands in a helpless gesture.

Kandra said, “Don’t you think we should get the others back, and be off. May I remind you—there were three demons. One headed back North, no doubt to snitch on our location. We’ll probably want to be moving along as soon as possible.”

“You’re right,” Bruck said. “Hez can answer our questions later.”

In a matter of minutes, through the miracle of modern magic, everyone was back alive. They gave me long, cautious looks. Wez swore a good deal and demanded immediate answers. Guel thanked me for saving the party.

“I think that skill would be useful in an arena,” Sileman said. “What’s it called?”

“Which skill?” I asked.

“The one that enchanted Wez’s arrow and Kandra’s sword. The one that created that staff of light you used.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what it’s called.”

He gave me a confused look. It was not unique in the group that faced me.

“I wish I could tell you,” I said. “But I don’t know what it was.”

“Let’s get moving,” Bruck said. “Hezekiah can fill us in as we go.”

But I didn’t have a chance to tell them anything before we left the area and entered the Kodash Bazaar, where chaos reigned. We stopped just inside the city entrance, at the mouth of a wide courtyard, and watched the scene. As we did so a sense of urgency rose in my stomach. People ran through the courtyards in every direction, flailing their arms about and screaming, their eyes wild and afraid. Others carried sacks of clothing or food, faces intent as they hurried toward the South, some with their frightened families huddled around them. Soldiers scattered throughout the courtyard fought with each other or civilians. A handful of gangs roamed about, beating down anyone that looked at them wrong. Several domed buildings burned; clouds of dark smoke plumed into the otherwise cloudless sky and made the air stink of burnt dreams.

“What’s going on here?” Sileman shouted over the roar of the mob.

“It’s the demons,” Bruck said. “We weren’t three hundred yards away when those demons attacked us. The people here heard that whispering and felt that dread. To you and me, it has become old-hat. But for them it is new and terrifying.”

“Well, let’s get out of here,” Wez said. “Let’s get going.”

Bruck started forward, but I stopped him with my voice. I knew with no uncertainty that I had work to do in this city. “We have to warn them,” I said. “We have to tell them about the army that’s coming.”

“I’m not staying here for any length of time,” Bruck said.

“It will only take a second,” I said. With a strange nervousness, and wondering what I was going to say, or if anyone would listen, I looked for a high place to stand, where I could get the attention of the people in the square. I spotted a balcony on a nearby building, with stairs leading up to it from the courtyard; judging by the number of tables and chairs in front of it, it must have been some kind of eating establishment. I sprinted through the mob to the stairs, and then up them. Taking a deep breath, I leapt up onto the thick railing and raised my hands.

The space around me rippled, and there was that feeling of warm air rushing into my pores. For the second time in less than fifteen minutes I found myself unable to control my body.

“Listen up!” my voice called. “Vabbians of Kodash—listen to me!”

What are you doing? I demanded.

You can’t do this without me, the angel thought. You can talk, but no one will listen to you. They will listen to me.

And strangely, miraculously, the confusion in the courtyard stilled at the angel’s voice. The people stopped their running about. Many of them halted in the middle of a fight. Every eye—including my party members’—trained itself on me. Every voice fell silent.

What am I going to tell my party members? I asked the angel.

“You have all heard of the rumors of demons to the Northwest,” the angel said. “They are not rumors, but are true. And today the army led by those demons will descend upon this fair city. There will be nothing left. If you wish to survive, you must flee.”

Do you have something to hide? it responded.

“Where will we go?” a woman shouted out. Two small children hugged her legs, and she held a third. My heart went out to her, and I wondered if she had anyone to help her in her flight.

No, I thought.

Actually, you do. Tell them about everything except for the Signet of Amplification. And Tell Bruck I know he capped my skill.

That came as quite a shock—Bruck captured that skill, whatever it was. Certainly he could tell Sileman what the spell’s name was.

“It does not matter where you go,” the angel said aloud. “To the South, to Vehtendi Valley, or to the Southwest, to the Forum Highlands. Either place will provide you with more refuge than this place, and with safety. If you are able, help the women and the children and the elderly—do not leave them behind to suffer. Anyone who does not wish to die or join an army of demons must leave right now. Take no thought for your precious things, for they will not be precious to you when they weigh you down, and slow your flight. Take only food to eat in your flight. Go, now, in order and in haste!”

The air rippled around me, and the warmth seeped out of my skin. I stood there again able to control my body, and feeling somewhat shocked at the speed with which the angel took over and released my body. Nevertheless, my heart felt lighter, and my spirit anxious to be on my way, to obey the angel. I felt compelled to do as it had counseled.

Apparently the people below me felt the same way—at least, many of them. They sprung into action, heading Southward. But even those who had been fighting seemed subdued. They did not return to their skirmishes, and the bands of thugs dissipated into the crowds. The buzz of the crowd returned, but it was no longer angry. If anything, it was hopeful.

I jumped down to my party members, and they again looked at me in confusion, as if noticing a gigantic mole on by face for the first time.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“By what power did you do that?” Wez said.

“Do what?” I asked.

“Inspire me,” he said. “When you spoke, I wanted to do exactly as you said. I wanted to do everything you told me to do. I still want to. There was no question in my mind that I needed to do that.” The others I the party nodded their agreement. Even Bruck.

“It wasn’t me,” I said. “I will explain when we get out of the city.”

We headed off through the crowd, moving with hope and purpose.

Zephyr 19, 1276 DR, continued

It was then—as we moved through the crowded streets of Kodash—that things got nasty. The whispering gibberish rose slowly through the air, and then rapidly grew louder and louder. The looks in people’s faces, and the tones of their voices became increasingly panicked. They moved with greater haste, and became more and more aggressive in how they pushed to get past others.

“Up there!” someone shouted, and an arm a little way in front of our group raised up, its hand pointing straight into the sky. Dozens of harpies—and a handful of demons, judging by their size—speckled the sky, and were already descending into the town and onto our street. The area filled with screaming as a handful of harpies landed in various spots along the street behind and before us. People wailed and scattered as the creatures lashed out with blades and claws.

“Keep going!” Bruck shouted to us. “We can’t help them, there are too many!”

He’s wrong, the angel told me, startling me a little. The people have to fight, to band together and fight these creatures.

Quit doing that, I told it.

What?

Quit coming and going so fast. Either stay or go.

I can’t. Too busy. Too many places to be at once.

And with that it possessed my body again. “Fear not these foul creatures!” it shouted. “Do not fall before them, but unite and take them down! Fear not for your own life, for if you do not fight them as a group, you will fall as individuals! Fight them!”

The people heard the voice, and acted on it, as if without choice. A mob of weaponless people leapt on the nearest harpy, hitting and kicking and diving at it. The creature fought back, and several people fell away bleeding or dead, but in only a few moments, the sheer numbers of the people had overcome it—the arrows and spells of my party members did not hurt the effort. Bruck’s healing saved one or two people. Squawking, the harpy succumbed and perished in a flurry of feathers and blood.

Similar things were happening in other parts of the street—the raw numbers of the people were attacking the nearby harpies, and despite the numerous casualties, were taking them down.

A demon appeared standing on the roof of a nearby building, spreading its wings wide and roaring, drowning out the whispering of its second mouth. Terror again erupted in the street; people ran in every direction as black mists began to rise from the ground in multiple places. The demon swooped down over the heads of the crowd, swiping with its claws and lashing with its tail and a black whip as it headed right toward us.

“Bruck!” the angel shouted. “Use Angelic Deliverance on Wez!” Even as he spoke, he cast that same skill, and my spear turned to shimmering white. Bruck cast the skill, and Wez’s arrows glowed blindingly in his bow and quiver. A pair of arrows flew in rapid succession, penetrating the demon in its shoulders and emerging out of its back. They arched upward, each drawing that string of red behind them. My spear whistled through the air at the demon, striking it right in its open, roaring mouth. The white light turned a deep red, and the roar turned into a series of chokes. My party members dove in every direction as the demon crashed to the ground where we had stood, rolling and tumbling in a flurry of arms and wings, smashing a dozen hapless victims. The two strings attached to the arrows snapped, and then dissipated with a puff. As the demon rolled the shaft of the spear broke, and red light spilled down onto the cobblestone, bouncing and hissing for a moment before disappearing.

The demon flailed and convulsed for a moment, red light spilling out of the broken end of the spear shaft. Then it lay still, and the people surrounding it were sucked magically toward him, and then flung backwards as the demon disappeared with a crack.

“That was too easy,” Kandra said.

“He was careless,” the angel spoke through me. “Others will not be.” He looked at Bruck, and pointed at him with my finger. “Do not fear to use that skill—use it liberally on all your party members. Cast as often as it recharges. It is your only chance to survive. The rest of you,” he said, sweeping his gaze in a circle, around the rest of the party, “do not try to capture that skill. The fewer hands it is in, the better.”

My party members nodded their ascent.

Then the angel turned my face and voice to the crowd around us. “Fear not! Continue to flee! Let your numbers be your strength when an enemy attacks, and good shall overcome the evil!”

The crowd cheered, raising their fists into the air. My party members joined them. I would have, had I been able to control my body. As it was, my soul soared at the voice.

“Go now!” the angel shouted, and pointed to the South.

And then it was gone. My body was my own. The people surged on, hardly seeming to give thought to the fallen, or to the danger all around them. The whispering gibberish continued, but weaker, less potent. My party members joined the crowd in their flight, giving me long, appraising looks as we ran. Bruck cast Angelic Song on Kandra. After a full minute of recharging he cast it again on Guel, and before he could cast it again, it expired on Kandra. As we ran, harpies periodically descended into our street, only to be to be quickly mobbed and ripped to shreds by the rabid, zealous crowd. By the time we reached the city’s southern gate, to the Vehtendi Valley, no more harpies were coming, no more demons had attacked, and the whispering gibberish grew quieter each moment.

By the way I don't know how those stars appeared on my post, on the thread index. But whoever put them there--thanks!

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Zephyr 20, 1276 DR

We emerged from the city in the midst of a river of people. Men, women, children. Old. young. Families. Individuals. Rich. Poor. It surprised me that despite the haste, the people performed their sudden exodus without trampling or leaving behind anyone else. The elderly were helped—sometimes carried. Those without children helped those with many. Despite the death and danger around us, and the fading whispering and fear, the buzz of the crowd seemed hopeful; at least, it did not seem foreboding. I marveled that the angel’s voice had such incredible power.

We moved with the endless flow of people into a narrow chasm that led south out of the city. We sometimes walked fast, sometimes trotted. I found myself tiring more quickly than usual. My muscled started to ache and my heart throbbed with a dull, pulsing pain. I thought nothing of it at the time—just tried to keep up with our group, which generally travelled at a faster pace than the crowd. After a half an hour found ourselves at the front of that throng.

“I think it’s time for some answers,” Bruck said to me.

“I could go for a few of those,” Wez said. The others looked at me expectantly.

“I don’t really know where to start,” I said—and truthfully, too, despite my thinking a little bit about it since we’d left the city. “But I guess this is as good a place as any: I am periodically possessed by an angel.” I ignored their skeptical, confused looks, and proceeded to tell them everything. I talked about what it was like, how it had been coming on gradually ever since Gandara. I told them everything I knew about Shenan. Wez, Kandra, and Bruck—the native Elonians—seemed to accept the whole affair better than the others, who received the information with understandable skepticism and raised eyebrows; I imagine I had looked the same at Shenan when he’d told me the crazy angel and demon storie.

“So today is the first time it has happened?” Guel asked.

“Yes. When we fought off those demons a few hours ago. And then a few times since then, although the angel has been talking to me in my mind for longer.”

“And your entire skill set changes when you are possessed?” Bruck asked.

I nodded, and from the thoughtful look on his face, I knew he was wondering about the Signet of Amplification. “I can’t see the skills, and what they change to,” I said. “They all go blank to me, so I can’t see what they are.”

“And it just comes and goes,” Wez said. “Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He sure is useful to have around,” Sileman said. “He should stay all of the time. No offense to present company.”

“None taken,” I said.

They asked me more questions as we continued on through the afternoon, and into evening, putting more and more distance between us and the city. The refugees continued on behind us, at a distance, but persistent and steady. We did not pull much more ahead of them, for not long after we had taken the lead, the aching in my body became even more pronounced. Bruck experienced the same thing, and we both began to slow. We’d fall to the back of the party, and then fifty feet behind, panting and complaining of burning in our chests and muscles. The others would have to wait for us before we continued on, only at a steady walk.

During the sunset, as we laboriously climbed a hill and looked back, we saw smoke rising far to the North, in great black plumes. The sunlight lit the smoke with bright tinges of yellow.

“Kodash is burning,” Bruck said. He leaned on a rock, breathing heavily.

“I wonder how many people did not get out,” I said. I could not help it. I sat down on the ground, heaving for breath. My chest ached. I wondered if my muscles would be able to lift me up when it was time to move on.

“The army will be coming this way, certainly,” Guel said. “The stragglers will perish.”

“I can’t decide if we should continue on through the night, or stop to rest,” Bruck said.

“I think we need to find a place to stop,” Kandra said. “Look at the two of you. You can hardly walk. It’s been a long day, but the rest of us are fine.”

“It’s that skill,” Bruck said. “Angelic Deliverance. It causes ‘delayed extreme exhaustion.’”

“Sounds made-up,” Guel said. “I have never heard of it.”

“Me neither,” I said. It seemed like weeks since that morning, when I had awakened in the Mirror of Lyss, all of my party members dead. So much had happened that day, but not enough to make me feel the way I did. It was certainly unnatural, and—as we’d found out—unable to be healed with any of Bruck’s skills. “But I am sure believing it. I don’t think the worst has hit, yet.”

I would find out just how right I was sometime in the middle of the night.

One of the unfortunate things about writing this story in the way I am, is that I periodically find that I want to go back and change things I have already written to match the direction the story has taken itself (because I certainly can't control these things). Until now, I have resisted this temptation. But today (July 26), I am making a few changes. Below I link to those changes, and the changes other than date changes are colored red in the document.

Changes are as follows:
I changed the orders of entries 61 and 62. That would be posts 119 and 120 in this thread. I revised the entirety of entry 61 (now post 119 in this thread; it is short, fortunately). I also changed the date from the evening of the 14th to the 18th. On entry 62 (post 120) I changed the date from the 15th to the 19th, and revised the first and last paragraphs I took the first few paragraphs out of entry 63 (post 121) , and placed them at the end of entry 62. I changed the date on entry 70 (the entry previous to this one) from the 19th to the 20th.
I am sorry for any disorientation or confusion this causes. I hope that it will not happen again. Thank you for your understanding. If you are interest in reading the changes, the easiest way may be to visit my site, where I have included links to the changes.

And, without further ado, tonight's entry:
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Zephyr 20, 1276 DR continued

We continued on. The sky darkened like an oracle of things to come. Every step came harder for me, and based on Bruck’s grunts and groans, the same was happening to him. Our party members offered every hundred feet to stop, and each time they asked Bruck became angrier. They must have seen the look on my face, the utter exhaustion and my desire to stop, because they offered to carry us. I accepted Guel and Sileman’s help, and placed my arms over their shoulders as they stood on either side and practically carried me along. Bruck, however denied their help and continued on for another few hundred yards until, finally, he just collapsed. He stumbled to his knees, and before anyone could reach him tried to crawl a few feet. By the time Kandra was there, reaching out to him, he fell flat on his face.

My last thought before passing out was a bitter musing as to why the angel had not warned us about this exhaustion. Our party members must have carried Bruck and I aside, to a safe place in the rocks and brush. I slept fitfully, waking frequently to aching in my joints and muscles, and fog in my vision. I don’t remember dreaming, although once I awoke to shaking and thought I must be dreaming.

Bruck knelt above me, his face illuminated to a pale orange by a fire I could not see. His countenance looked drawn and deathly, but his grip on my arms was tight as he shook me. Kandra and Wez stood above him, even pulled at him to get away from me, but he held fast to my arms, and when he saw that my eyes were open, his voice rasped in my ears.

“You must save me!” he said, his voice gravely and ghostly. “You and your angel! You can save me from my master’s clutches!”

“Bruck, let go!” Kandra ordered him.

“You need to lie back down!” Wez said.

But Bruck would not let go, and he would not pull his crazed eyes from mine. “You must promise me!”

In my confusion and half-waking, I did not know if I could promise him that. I stammered something unintelligible even to me.

Bruck grabbed the sides of my head and pulled my face up to his, so our noses practically touched. Fear seized my heart like a vice.

“You must free me!” he wailed. “Only you can!”

I was mostly awake then, although still in a fair amount of pain and still looking at the world through a mist. But I knew now I needed to get him off of me. “I will!” I shouted above the thumping in my chest. “I will free you!”

Bruck released my head. Kandra and Wez pulled him away as the back of my skull landed on something soft—a makeshift pillow, I guess. For only a moment I considered the promise I‘d made. Figures moved around and above me, blocked the dim light and spoke in hushed tones. Hands felt my body. My eyes closed, and I was out again.

I imagine that I was on the mend at that point, because each time I awoke from then on I felt a little better. By morning, it almost did not hurt to sit up and eat. Bruck and I sat in silence in the gray pre-dawn, eating bread, the others watching us with eagerness and urgency.

“Why are you looking at us like that?” I asked.

“We’re in danger, aren’t we?” Bruck said.

“Most of the refugees did not stop during the night,” Guel said. “They have long since passed us by. The ones that did stop have already started moving. The army is on the move again this morning, and will reach us in a matter of hours if we don’t get going.”

So, once the party was satisfied that Bruck and I were okay, we hurried on at a slow jog through the gently sloping territory, between chasms and past rivers, following the swath of footprints left by those who had gone before us. We passed a few, and gave them words of encouragement. As the sun rose into the sky, my body strengthened as the delayed extreme exhaustion passed fully from my frame.

At one point we crested a tall hill, out of any crevices or narrow gorges that dominated the countryside. A shadow of black covered the country behind us, no more than a half a dozen miles back. Specks moved through the air. I fancied I saw gigantic billowing banners of black, and heard the beating of endless drums, like the heartbeat of an enormous creature moving slowly over the land, consuming everything in its path in a gorging of destruction and filth.

I thought often during the day of my promise made to Bruck the night before. I wondered if he remembered it. He did not speak of it, but led on in a brooding silence, his expression dark and annoyed when anyone spoke to him. I found myself in no better mood. I thought much on the events of the day before, at the ease with which the angel had possessed my body and done so many miraculous things. A gnawing sense of being used gradually came upon me; the angel came and when it pleased, and rarely offered explanation. Yes, it gave aid. And yes, it had saved us multiple times from certain death. I do not discount that. Yet I still had the sensation that I was a tool, and nothing more, just as Shenan had been.

Before noon we reached a small, presently deserted town of white, slim buildings, in which was the entrance to the Forum Highlands. Bruck turned in that direction without a word to anyone.

You can’t go that way, the angel said to me.

I stopped, stunned at the sudden words. I had tried to talk with the angel all morning. A dozen times I’d sarcastically thanked it for warning Bruck and I about the exhaustion. A hundred times I’d asked him if there was a way to free Bruck. I’d even sought general direction from it during my musings. And now, suddenly, it wanted me to contradict my party leader. It seemed to confirm every heated thought I’d had.

You must head south, and meet Rhonan as he advances through the Canyon.

I stopped. Haillia and Sileman brushed past me, and I now stood in the rear of the party.

I can’t contradict him, I thought. You know how that will turn out.

You must try and convince him.

Can’t you just take over and tell him what to do? Won’t he obey?

Yes, and how long would he stay with you, if I used my power in that way? How long would he and the other party member trust you?

“Let’s go!” Bruck called back to me. He motioned with his hand that I should follow the party. “What are you waiting for! Get moving!”

“I think we should go the other way,” I replied, moving toward him. “We should go to the South, and meet Rhonan and his army in the Yahtendi Canyon.”

“I’m going this way,” Bruck said, pointing past the sign that read, “Forum Highlands.” He folded his arms across his chest. The way leveled his eyes on me had the equivalent effect of digging in his heals. “You’re coming with me, or you’re not.”

“It’ll be safer that way,” I said. I stood a dozen feet from him, my arms at my side. The others stood behind him in silence. “Once we join up with Rhonan and his army, it’ll be safer.”

“I am not interested in safety,” Bruck said. “I am interested in finding that signet. And I don’t care what you and your little angel companion want me to do. I am not so fortunate as to have the freedom to go to the safest place. I am not in the middle of a war, despite what you think. I am still here serving my master.”

“I thought we’d agreed to fight this war because it would benefit your master,” I said.

For a moment he did not respond. Hardly moving his lips, he said, “I’m done with it.”

I did not speak. I did not know how to convince him.

You cannot go that way, the angel said. It’s time to leave the party.

I am sure my pulse faltered for a moment at the instructions. What will happen if I do?

I can’t see the future. But I know there is greater danger that way.

What if I go? I asked. I could not believe I was saying it, thinking of disobeying an angel, but I could not bear the thought of defying Bruck, my leader through so much, even at the risk of alienating the angel. All it did was use me as a tool, a weapon in its arsenal. Bruck watched out for me, had done so many times.

I don’t recommend disobeying me, the angel said, its voice thick with warning.

What if I go with him? I repeated, my tone firm.

Then you risk losing the war.

But it is not certain?

Of course not.

“Very well,” I said aloud. “I’ll come with you.” I took several steps forward and reached my hand out to Bruck.

You’re only making victory more difficult, the angel said. The words were quieter, more distant than they’d been even moments before. It is unlikely enough, without you being so reckless.

I cannot betray him, I said, thinking of Bruck’s pleas for help the night before, when he was probably delusional and at his weakest, his most vulnerable. In those anxious, desperate moments he must have let all his guard down, and done something he never could have born to do with his senses intact.

He took my hand, and shook it, but his eyes narrowed. “What is going on in that head of yours?” he asked.

“I am with you, Bruck. I am loyal to the party.”

You are a fool, the angel said, its voice even quieter. I followed Bruck into the Highlands, and as I walked, the angel spoke, its voice a little more distant and soft with each word. Do not shut me out! I need you! You need me!

Zephyr 20, 1276 DR, continued

Looking back, now, I naturally regret the decision to disobey the angel—it’s easy to recognize how foolishly I acted—but it surprises me how quickly that sentiment came upon me once we entered the Highlands.

The area begins with a lush valley of trees, grass, and water, surrounded on all sides by steep, towering cliffs. Two narrow canyons lead out of the grove, one to the north and the other to the west. Visibility beyond the valley is extremely limited, which nearly proved fatal to us. The air that afternoon was fresh, and moved with a soft breeze, which might have been refreshing had it not carried with it an unnatural stench, and the too-familiar fear of demons; I knew there must be some nearby. We stopped for just a few minutes to eat and to wash the dust from our faces and hand. The chill of the water shocked me as I knelt and splashed it over my face. As I stayed there for a moment, watching drops fall from my nose and ripple in the clear water, Guel knelt next to me, and cupped one hand in the pool. But he did not drink.

“Why didn’t you stand up to him?” he asked quietly. “Every one of us would have gone with you. And then what would he have done? Gone on alone?”

“Why didn’t you stand up to him?” I asked.

“I’m not the one receiving instructions from an angel,” he said.

I did not respond. I looked down at our reflections in the water, listened in my heart and mind for the voice, for instructions. But the voice had faded, and all that remained was simply a feeling, distinct and certain, that I needed to turn around and take the party with me, that it was not too late.

“Bruck isn’t the party leader, anymore,” Guel said.

“He is!” I whispered with energy.

“Why do you cling to that?” he asked. “It makes no sense.”

It didn’t. I knew he was right, especially with the danger we faced. But the thought of Bruck’s begging the night before, how vulnerable he’d been, pricked my soul. It was then I realized why.

“When I came to Elona, and was alone and not knowing where to go,” I said, “Bruck welcomed me to his party. He saved me when you would have killed me. I owe him my loyalty.”

“He only let you in the party because you were useful to him. He protected you only because you fit into the party. You are a tool to him. Nothing more.”

“No, that is not true.” I did not know if it was true, or not. “Perhaps it was, but no longer. We are a party, and that is the closest thing to a family we have. It’s like the guild. And there are issues at stake like loyalty and respect. Bruck is the party leader.”

“Only until the party decides otherwise. It has already done so, and only waits for you to take upon you your role.” He looked me square in the face, and nodded. “You have to do it, Hezekiah.”

My heart pounded. My head hurt from the pulsing. I knew he was right, and I knew I could no longer deny it, especially since the angel had given me such clear instructions, whereas the day before he had expressly forbidden that I should take over leadership of the party. But I also knew that I was right, that I owed Bruck a debt, and that I felt the only way to repay that debt was to do the impossible and free him from his slavery. Furthermore, I knew, that by making one rash, petty decision to be disobedient to the angel, I had lost my connection to it—it could no longer simply speak to my mind, and it could no longer take control of my body if it needed to. All it could do, as in the weeks before, was simply give me impressions, feelings. I’d not understood how tenuous my connection with the angel had been, and how easily that unity could be broken. But I had done it, and it would take time to rebuild. Regret whipped at my heart in those moments as Guel and I talked, kneeling by the water, only minutes after the fatal decision, minutes too late, simply because I’d felt petty and bitter about being a tool for the cause of good, for being used to combat evil.

“It seems,” I said, “that I am nothing but a tool. First to Bruck. Now to an angel.”

“What? I don’t understand,” Guel said.

I shook my head, and stood. Taking a deep breath, I wondered how this would turn out. The others would follow me, but they thought I had an angel giving me instructions and protecting the party. I did—we did—but now only to a degree. I did not know how long it would be before the angel could use my body again. I hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

I turned around to find Bruck standing off a little ways, watching Guel and I with hard eyes. He must have understood my expression, because he let out a bark of laughter. “Didn’t you tell me not five minutes ago that you are loyal to the party? And now—changing your mind so quickly?”

The others stood scattered around and between us, in silence, watching.

“No,” I said, and then it occurred to me that being loyal to the party and loyal to Bruck were two different things. Bruck was not the party. True, he was the leader and practically the organizer, but not everything was consumed in his wants and desires. There were six others besides Bruck and I, and I owed each of them—especially Wez and Kandra and Sileman. A great mathematical equation spread itself out in my head, with all of the debts I owed each party member being added together, then summed with each other, and then lessened by my distaste at being led about by an angel who wouldn’t or couldn’t warn me about a life-threatening side effect of a skill. That great total stood on one side of the equation, as if on balances, with the other side being what I felt I owed Bruck.

I regretted even more my decision to briefly disobey the angel.

“I am loyal to the party,” I said. “I do not know why not, but it is not in the best interests of the party to go into this area. I am loyal to the party, and I believe we should do what is best for the party.”

Rage boiled in his eyes. His fists clenched—one on his staff and the other on air. Beneath his loose pants, his legs trembled. “You are a traitor and an ingrate.”

“I’ll go back with you,” Guel said from behind me.

“Not if I say you won’t,” Bruck snapped, his eyes flitting for a moment to the assassin, and then back to me. “I brought you back from death—you are mine to command.”

Shock registered for a moment on Guel’s face. I felt the same emotion—I had forgotten about that.

With a cool expression, Guel said. “If you allow it, I will go back with him. He clearly has the best interests of the party in mind.” He turned to me. “Lead the way.”

With his words, the world slowed practically to a stop. Others throughout the shady grove murmured their assent or nodded. I saw from the corner of my eye, or heard as if through a fog, each of them. Kandra’s lips moved in a slow, “Lead on.” Wez’s head nodded solemnly. Sileman said, “Take us to safety.” Threnon bobbed her head, and it made me think of a person bowing. Haillia, too, simply nodded in an offering of her loyalty. With each word or nod, the control of the group shifted from Bruck to me. It was like strings that had previously been tied from each individual to Bruck unraveled, snaked across the ground, and tied themselves to me. I felt it like a buff from a shout or enchantment, infusing me more and more each moment with the light and power of leadership. But at the same time, I marveled at the sudden familiar weight on my shoulders. I had not felt it since the arenas of Cantha.

The party leadership had transferred to me.

Bruck said nothing more. He stood there. Still, now. No longer trembling or clenching his fists—as if before he’d been bracing himself against something, and now that the pain had passed he could relax somewhat. He breathed heavily, as if recovering from that trial. He did not blink. He seemed smaller, yet filled with a new and intense hatred. Although the leadership had transferred from him to me, he did not offer up his assent to the change.

“Back to Vehtendi,” I said. A an uneasy feeling of relief settled over me. I could not believe that Bruck had let it happen without more of a fight. I could not shake the dark thought that to him, the party leadership was not settled. The issue was not yet resolved. I wondered if I should boot him, but had the feeling I should not. “To Rhonan—and to safety.”

It was then that I realized how strong the demonic dread had become, and then that I noticed the army of men, harpies, and demons advancing into the valley.

Zephyr 20, 1276 DR, continued

But the army was not made up of just men, harpies, and demons. Heket, djinn, iboga, skree, margonites, beetles, brambles—every manner of creature I have seen here in Elona was represented in that diverse force not a quarter mile away from us. It moved toward us without order or care, and along with its nearly-debilitating aura came the din of an advancing army. We could do nothing but flee back into Vehtendi Valley. The mish-mash army pursued us into the area, but fell further behind as we headed southward at as great a speed as we have ever traveled with. I do not know why they did not send a large party out ahead, of demons or harpies, to slow and attack us. Perhaps they feared the angel and its powers. As we sped through the rest of the morning and into the afternoon and evening, I thought of the angel, sought for its guidance, feared that my party members had elected me as leader because they thought I had the angel with me. I wondered what would they do if they found out the angel could no longer take control of my body. I wondered how soon Bruck would make an effort to regain the leadership.

Of course, the main demon army was still there, further North in the Valley. The two armies combined several miles behind us, their black, decadent form stretching to the horizon to the North and as wide as the land permitted us to see. It gliding ominously forward, pushing ahead with that ever-present dread that made me want to lay down an die. I silently thanked Dwayna when we rounded a corner as we neared the canyons, and could no longer see the army behind us.

Not five minutes after we passed into the canyons, a group of no fewer than thirty soldiers advanced toward us, jogging through the shallow river and waving. Of course, our initial reaction was to stop and treat them warily, but the feeling in my stomach told me we had nothing to fear. And, in fact, as they approached, we heard a clear voice ringing out through the air.

“Fear not! We are friends!”

The words touched my heart with hope, and I knew immediately that an angel had found us. This came as a surprise to me; the thought had not occurred to me that there would be multiple angels. Relief flooded through me, and I could see and hear the same emotion in my companions’ faces and words. We pressed forward, and soon saw that the front-most warrior’s face glowed a soft yellow.

“Is that you?” I called out to her, my heart racing, my conscience wanting to explain.

“No,” the woman said, and she clasped my hand. When she did, a tongue of warmth leapt from her palm and up my arm, down into my body and appendages, calming me with reassurance. “But the one you seek is waiting further down the canyon. Time is short!”

We jogged with her and her group southward, along the banks of the river, and deeper into the canyon. Her words, as she told us of the assembled force ready to meet Kitten’s army, fed me with hope, reassurance, and courage. The army came into view gradually, and its steady murmuring grew louder with each yard we ran. I could not tell, immediately, how large the army was; the canyon is relatively flat, so I could only see the front line of soldiers, banners spread as wide as the canyon allowed.

By the time we reached the army, my heart felt light. I do not know if it was simply from the words of the angel, and the calming power of its voice, or from the fact that I no longer felt alone, that my party was facing this threat without aid. She led us quickly through the churning mass of people. Just as we our destination—a wide, white tent with blue banners at each corner and rising from the center—the sun was setting over the western edge of the canyon. She held the flap to the entrance open, and motioned for us to enter. Inside stood Rhonan, hands clasped behind his back as he paced. He smiled when he saw us, and moved forward to shake my hand.

The air around him shimmered, and his face took upon it that same golden glow. He stopped in mid-stride, and withdrew his hand as he looked over my party.

“My hell,” Wez said. “Is there anyone that isn’t possessed by angels?”

“We don’t have much time,” Rhonan spoke, but it was not the voice I remember him having. It was the voice I remember being in my head.”

“I’m sorry!” I blurted, taking several steps forward and holding my hands out helplessly. In that moment guilt consumed me, and I wondered under his stern gaze if I would be forgiven or banished.

He shook his head curtly at me. “Do not worry about it. You are mortal, and prone to err. The two go hand-in-hand.” And with that, I knew the angel held no grudge against me. The relief I felt, I imagined, must be what Guel had felt when I’d frankly forgiven him his trespasses against me. It was as sweet as my guilt had been bitter.

“We don’t have much time,” the angel repeated. “All of you listen up, and try not to interrupt me with your wit and banter.”

I could feel Wez and Sileman behind me, fighting the urge to speak.

“Kitten will be here soon with its army. You should know that it is the same with this as everything else with such a creature—whatever power it has over you, is the power you have given it. If you have obeyed its unheard whisperings, you will obey its audible instructions. Likewise, it will try to tell you what it looks like—and if you listen, you will see it exactly as it wants you to see it. If your mind and will are strong enough, you will see it as you want to see it,” Rhonan said.

“That’s why we’ve been calling it Kitten,” Sileman said. “Isn’t it? To give us power over it?”

“Indeed,” Rhonan said. “But many, even though we have taught them that it is nothing more than a pretty little pet, will listen to its words, and see it as it wants to be seen. They will flee in terror. They may even perish under unseen powers—and you will be tempted to see the demon as it wants to be seen. But you must remain firm. You must remain strong, and see it only as a kitten.”

“If we can,” I said, “it should be easy to destroy.” My confidence was growing, but Rhonan quickly mashed it.

He shook his head, his lips solemn. “No, it will not be easy, even if you find yourself fighting only a kitten. No matter what form it takes, it still has its demonic magic. Beware of the mists.”

“We saw those before—back before Kodash,” Guel said. “They did not seem to do anything.”

“It takes time for them to work—I dispelled them before they could have full effect.”

“What do they do?” Guel asked.

“If you are in them too long—and it is less and less time depending on the strength of the caster; with Kitten, it will not take long—then the fog attaches to your soul, tainting your spirit, and making you increasingly susceptible to the influence of the caster with each moment.”

“But you will be with us, right?” I asked. “You will join us and dispel the mists?”

“I will be, yes. In fact, there will be several of us.”

By this, I took that he meant angels.

“But I don’t know if my powers are strong enough to dispel Kitten’s magic. I am skeptical.” He gave me a long, tired look. “It really would have been much easier if I could be in your body, using your skills.”

I knew he was referring to the Signet of Amplification.

“You have it equipped?” he asked.

I nodded.

“You will need it. You will have to use it.”

I started to object, knowing that Kitten could capture the skill, and then use it against us. And Bruck . . . . I could not fathom what action he might take—even in the midst of a decisive conflict—upon learning I possessed his coveted skill. I looked quickly around the group, to see if they were catching on to our conversation; I could not tell from their expressions. “But—.”

“You will need it,” he repeated. “I promise you that. Chances are that you will only have time to cast it once or twice during the battle. Do not squander it, and do not fail, or all will be lost. It may be lost, anyway. I will be with you, in your group. After I cast Angelic Deliverance, you must capture it—”

“How does that work,” Bruck interjected. “I have never been able to capture a skill from a friendly party member before. But it worked when you were in him.”

“When I am inside a body, technically that person is not really there—they are not in control, and I am not technically in your party. The body is, but the spirit is not. You capture from the spirit, not the body.”

That didn’t make much sense to me, but Bruck nodded as if in understanding.

“I am glad, now, that you captured that skill,” he said. “I apologize that I failed to warn you about the delayed extreme exhaustion. Honestly, it was a combination of not having much time, and forgetting. You see, I don’t experience that effect. My host does, but I do not.”

“Naturally, easy for you to forget, then,” Bruck said, raising his eyebrows.

The angel either did not notice or care about his sarcastic tone. “I must ask you to use Angelic Deliverance again, as often as you can, in the coming battle. The more you cast the skill, and the more often, the more quickly you will feel its effects. I imagine that you will feel them sometime tonight, in the second watch or third. The battle should be long over by then, but be ready for it.”

“Of course.”

The angel turned back to me. I was still trying to process the information that the battle would be over within six hours—armies of such enormous size struggled for days, sometimes—but forced my attention back to him.

“When I cast Angelic Deliverance on you, you must capture it. Then. . . . .” He raised his eyebrows, and I understood that then would be time to use the Sigent of Amplification. “And then use Angelic Deliverance on me. Together, we will assault the demon.”

“You’re not leaving us behind,” Sileman said. “We’ll be with you.”

“You will be, yes,” the angel said. “But not everyone. I need Bruck to be elsewhere, with a party that will need the Angelic Deliverance. And with him gone, we have no healers, so I will pull in two more healers.”

“Guel comes with me,” Bruck said. “He stays with me.”

The angel waved his hands. “That is fine. It would have been either him or Kandra that went with you. And Threnon. You will go with them, too.” He stiffened for a moment, cocking his ear to one side. “One moment!” He closed his eyes and shivered as the air rippled, and the yellow glow left his skin.

“Rhonan?” Bruck said.

“Yes,” Rhonan said. “But I don’t think he’ll be gone very l—.” His words were interrupted as the air around him shimmered and the pallid glow returned to his form.

“The time is now,” the angel said, moving toward the tent flap. “Bruck, Guel, Threnon —come with me. The rest of you, head to the Northern edge of the army, where I will meet you.”

For a moment after he left the tent, no one moved. Everything had happened so quickly—the angel had given instructions so fast that we’d not had time to process everything. In those sudden quiet moments before the grave, tremendous danger, everything—the weight of what we were doing, and the severity of the peril—settled in on the party.. We stood in silence, looking at each other with wide eyes and uncertainty made all the worse by the recent change in party leadership.

Finally, I held out a hand to Bruck. “We’ll see you after the battle.”

The angel poked his head back into the tent, and shouted, “Let’s go! Get moving!”

Bruck grasped my hand. Along with his actual words, it was the only thing that that spoke of any friendliness. His clenched jaw, the anger in his eyes, and the tone of his voice emanated bile and reproach. “Best of luck to you.”

I quickly embraced Guel and Threnon, and there were other quick goodbyes, good lucks, and hugs between the party members. I hardly noticed them, too busy wondering why Bruck had bothered shaking my hand, and wondering if the handshake and the words, or the tone and other body language truly reflected his feelings.

And then they were gone, out of the tent, and everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to act.

“This should be interesting,” I said, and led them out.

Individuals and formations of soldiers hurried in every direction, calling out to each other or others above the dull roar and metallic ring of the army. Ranks were forming, with great flowing banners of blue at their heads. Warriors made adjustment to the position of their swords at their sides, and their helmets on their heads. Rangers stretched strings over their bows, and arranged arrows in their quivers. Monks and elementalists took a moment to meditate, to focus before the storm. Others of every profession and level made last-minute preparations, making changes to their their armor, weapons, foci, and mental states. Captains called out to their party-leaders of their ranks, ordering them into formation. Nervous energy—not anticipation, and not fear—filled the air; as we moved through that organized confusion, the energy filled my lungs. I breathed it in deeply through my mouth, as I had done so many times before a battle in an arena, or in the field. The sun had set below the western rim of the canyon, so shadows shrouded most of the riverbed and banks, making the golden light that kissed the eastern rim that much more brilliant and blinding. A line of archers stood at the lip of the cliffs, watching and ready.

After only a few minutes of winding through the ranks, we reached the front of the army, and stepped past the last of the soldiers and into the open. To our right and our left, the front lines of the ranks spread forward and out from us to each side of the canyon, so that we stood at the bottom inside of a wide, somewhat flat V. The angel stood there, just to our left, with two tall, female monks flanking him. Other groups of eight stood in front of the army’s line, all along the front—Bruck and the others were several groups to our right. Threnon waved to us. I recognized others that I had met in Vabbi. The prince from the Resplendent Makuun. A refugee from Yahnur Market. Lordeerthan, from the Citadel of Dzagon, whom we’d seen only a few days before.

But I hardly paid attention to most of that, giving it only a cursory glance. For there—perhaps a half a mile away—was the demon army, rolling inexorably toward us.

The time for Vabbi’s deliverance had arrived.

Zephyr 20, 1276 DR, continued

I imagine that ten thousand stories or more could be told of that battle. But I can only tell mine, and touch on others’ as they intersected with mine.

I know it would have been vastly different if I hosted an angel. It would have gone more smoothly. With the Signet of Amplification increasing the power of the angel’s voice—as far as I can tell, I was the only person with that skill in either army—as happened with Shenan back in Gandara, I believe that some—if not most—of Kitten’s army would have switched to our side. Or at the very least retreated or fought less ferociously. That would have weakened Kitten’s power, cost fewer lives. I also would have watched from inside my head, feeling nothing, able to do nothing, merely a passive participant in that legendary struggle of the ages as the angel used my body as a tool.

But due to a moment of weakness earlier that day, as the army approached I could feel my body tremble, whether from the anticipation, dread, or physical force of the enemy army sending tremors through the ground, I could not tell. I stood there in the midst of my party, trying to keep my face a picture of calm. We all stood in silence, and by we I mean not just my party, but the entire army. Not a person spoke or cheered as closer and closer the army came, a bubbling mass of creatures and humans, without formation and apparently without leader.

“I can’t see kitten,” I said.

“It is at the army’s head,” the angel said. “I see it clearly. Your mortal eyes will see it when it wants you to.”

“What form is it in?” I asked.

The angel turned to me, raising Rhonan’s eyebrows. “It is exactly what I think it is.”

“I feel surprisingly calm,” Wez said. “I don’t feel the fear that I have felt in the past when near demons. Are you doing that?”

“A little,” the angel said. He looked and sounded annoyed. “But you mostly feel that way because the demons are holding their power back. When they unleash it, you will feel it, and we will try to negate the effect.”

“Wha—” the ranger began to say.

“Quiet!” the angel said. “I need to concentrate.”

Wez snapped his mouth shut, and gave me a wide-eyed glance. We stood there, he and I, and Kandra and Sileman and Haillia, just listening and watching as the dark army closed the distance between us. Although a quarter of a mile out, we could hear the dull, constant rumble of thousands of feet falling, of wings flapping, of beasts roaring. The banners around us whipped in the brisk wind. Not a person in our army moved. The last of the light disappeared from the eastern canyon rim; clouds in the eastern sky began to purple.

While the army was yet an indistinguishable mass of forms and figures—except, perhaps, the largest demons circling in the sky—I thought suddenly of the assault that Rhonan had led all those weeks ago in Kourna, against a fortified citadel. I remembered the catapults and the flying stones, and the cheering and the banging of shields and weapons. I wondered why we weren’t doing that this time, to build our energy, and then remembered back at the Barbarous Shore, before the assault on Gandara, when my party and I had been sitting above a field, playing a game of Gambit, when fear and chaos erupted among the soldiers around us. Shenan—or, the angel through Shenan—had united the group and influenced us to cry out in unison against the demons. I wondered, again, why something like that was not happening.

As if by cue, sublime comfort and peace rushed into my body, mind, bones. Visions of victory, righteous justice, and unyielding courage consumed my thoughts. The words that sounded in my head were not mine, but I knew from whence they came. This army that advances toward you is born of sin and strife, of desolation and darkness. With each word, a sense of preordained triumph rose from my belly, into my heart and head. It cannot prevail. Ours cause is born of righteousness and power, of strength and light. We cannot fail.

Unable to stop myself, unable to resist the sudden urge, I cried out, “Victory to the just!” and jumped because I could not hear my voice for the sheer volume of those around me, who had shouted the exact same words at the exact same moment. My heart rate immediately hurried as the roar echoed from the canyon walls. Although the distance was still too great to be sure, I am confident that the army of evil faltered for a moment when our cry struck it.

Darkness and light cannot co-exist, for darkness cannot stand the light.

Spontaneously, I banged my spear against my shield. Again, I was not alone. I cannot imagine anyone in our force not participating. We cried out again. “Victory to the just!”

The time has come to prove your valor, to tell the story of your heroics with vigor and courage.

The individuals in the approaching army were beginning to grow distinguishable from one another. The ground shook from their numbers. I did not fear them. I did not fear for my life. I felt only hope and strength, power and anticipation.

“Victory to the just!” We clashed our shields and weapons. The voice in my head continued to speak of the inevitable victory of good over evil. It spoke of families and homes and the gods of the land. We started to chant the words, a deafening chorus of thousands united in a boisterous, confident song of liberation. We banged our weapons and armor in time with the words.

“Victory!”

Clash!

“To the just!”

Clash, clash!

Banish this darkness from the land!

“Victory!”

Clash!

“To the just!”

Clash, clash!

This evil cannot stand against your power!

I could see the foes clearly, now. Hundreds of them right before me. Thousands. Heket. Humans. Skree. Brambles. Harpies. Demons. Our chanting continued for nearly another minute.

“Victory!”

Clash!

“To the just!”

Clash, clash!

Your righteous indignation gives you power and strength you have never before known.

The front lines of the wicked force reached the first ranks of our army, at the top of the V, against the canyon walls. Arrows showered down from far above, a moving curtain of black that covered the black force.

“Victory!”

Clash!

“To the—.”

And then Kitten appeared, towering near the front of its army.

Extreme, potent powers clashed in my head and in my soul during the first moments after Kitten appeared. At first, the unintelligible whispering consumed my hearing and my thoughts. Complete, utter despair filled me. The deafening groan of defeat that rose from the army behind me echoed my own sentiments. I was ready to sit down and be taken. Kitten shimmered into view, as gigantic as any mountain and running with its army. Its shape was that of a dragon standing on its hind legs with its wings stretched as wide as the canyon, covering is army like a hen protecting her chicks. It had no scales, but was simply bones wrapped in skinless flesh, red and purple and splotchy. For a moment, its all-seeing eyes consumed my blood with fire, and its roar rattled my bones. My shield slipped from my grasp.

I thought, instantly, of the tales of the demon the first refugees in Vabbi had told of the demon—a hundred feet tall with a tail that destroyed armies at one swish—and realized that they had not been exaggerated.

But in the next moment, before my shield even hit the ground, my readiness to surrender disintegrated as thoughts and feelings of victory surged again. Do not surrender to this tiny foe! It is merely a little kitten! Your homeland and your people depend on you! I stood straighter at the words, and each one seemed to reduce the size of Kitten, shift its shape, so that in only another few seconds it had become a much more manageable foe; while it was not a kitten, it was nevertheless much less threatening. Its wings had transformed into long, slender arms and its head had become rounder and taller, more human. Its tail disappeared, sucking back into its body, which became even more upright as the legs transformed from bending forward to bending backward, like a human. Its flesh boiled and shifted, bulged in one spot and sunk in another. Its head changed shape, becoming fatter this moment, taller the next, cone-shaped after that, and then practically square. A darkness surrounded it, as if it captured the light that passed nearby, making its form blurry and almost unseeable.

“We have seen these before!” Kandra cried. “It’s just like the others!”

The angel turned to look at her, a rare smiling crossing its face. “You see it as it truly is, then! Do you all?”

I joined the others in nodding as I bent quickly to take up my shield. Before I had even straightened, the despair flooded me once again and Kitten’s shape began to shift back to the dragon. It only lasted a second, though, and then the dark thoughts were once again pushed back, making Kitten shrink again, until they became almost nothing and Kitten rose a mere thirty to forty feet above the battlefield.

But at the same time, while the fear and the desire to die had faded significantly, the hope and sense of inevitable victory was not there. All that remained from the pushing and pulling of the forces of other-worldly beings was a slight sense of alarm, of being outnumbered and out-matched. I understood that with each emotional swing I had experienced, the demons and the angels were battling it out, were fighting for the hearts of all of the creatures and men on the battlefield. In fact, a quick glance showed behind me that the men and women of our army were each being affected differently by the struggle. Some lay, knelt, or sat on the ground. Others stood tall and straight. A few had turned to flee.

The battle for our minds, I realized, was the most important part of the battle. It was not the casting of the skills and the clashing of blades that would determine the outcome of this struggle—although those would be important. It was the hearts and the dispositions of the players, and their ability to withstand the mental and emotional weapons that the angels and demons wielded.

“That is it,” the angel said, panting heavily, and leaning on his knees. He glanced back at us. “That is the balance—we can do no more, and neither can they.” He stood straight and looked back at the group with solemn determination. “Now is the time.” He drew his sword slowly, with a ringing I could hear even over the din of battle, which drew nearer with every second. “There is no point in waiting. Let us banish this evil from the world!”

He turned back toward our foes, which were now only a hundred yards away from us, and moving closer and closer toward us, down into the inner point of our army’s V. With each passing moment more of our army was engaged in battle. From the corner of my eye—for the main focus of my vision could not be pulled from the towering other worldly being—I saw Bruck and Guel engage a mob of Heket. With a cry, Rhonan—the angel—raised his sword over his head and started forward, directly toward Kitten. Readying my signet of capture, and reveling in the adrenaline rushing through my veins, I followed him towards either victory and glory, or defeat and oblivion.

Zephyr 20, 1276 DR, continued

I knew immediately that there was no point in spending time fighting the lesser evils that assailed our army. The humans, beasts, and even the demons were of minor importance, and others would only rise up in their places. Defeating a handful—or even a hundred—of them, would give our army only small advantage. But defeating Kitten—or being killed by it—would practically decide the battle in one gigantic blow.

It would not take long. Perhaps only minutes—maybe just one—and then winner of the battle would be clear.

Surely with that in mind, the angel, possessing Rhonan’s body, led us forward directly toward the other-worldly being. He ran in front, with me right behind. Kandra ran on my left, and Wez on my right, already releasing a flurry of arrows before us. Sileman and Haillia came behind us, and the monks brought up the rear. Our army followed us, cheering and shouting at the foes that raced toward us, a churning wall of blades, teeth, claws. The ground trembled. My heart pounded. Sweat beaded on my forehead and moistened my hands, endangering my grip on my shield on spear. A demon swooped from the air into our midst. It howled and lashed. We dove and darted to the side, scattering for a moment but quickly regrouping when the creature rose back into the air. To each of our sides, the battle continued on down the neck of the V, the inner point of which was now rising up to meet the opposing force.

Kitten raced forward with its army, perhaps two hundred feet deep in its ranks. The darkness around its body boiled and writhed, blurring its form and periodically revealing misshapen, stunted appendages I had not noticed before. Fire leapt up from the ground behind it as it ran. Its arms churned maddeningly, tossing flaming boulders over its army. They hissed and smoked black as they hurtled through the air, and crashed and rolled with numbing booms behind us, in the ranks of the army of light.

Everything happened so quickly. Just before we met the army, I cast Fall Back, speeding our party’s race. As we met the first ranks of the dark army, mists rose up around us. I immediately felt my resolve falter, felt my limbs start to weaken, but forced myself to run faster. We did not stop to engage our foes, but dodged in and out of the sea of swords, spears, arrows; ducked under their blows and past their raining fire, ever intent on our primary target.

“Do not falter!” the angel shouted back to us, still sprinting at full speed except when it had to stutter- or side-step to avoid prolonged contact with any one creature.

In just a few moments, we were a hundred and fifty feet from the demon.

“We’ve lost a monk!” Sileman shouted from behind. “He just stopped and sat down in the mists!”

“Do not falter!” the angel cried.

It took all of my strength to resist the oily temptation of the mists as they curled up my legs and around my torso. They whispered to me, hissed at me to simply sit down and die, or to even turn on my party members. The urge was powerful, but I resisted as I tried to ignore the eclectic army we penetrated, occasionally using my shield to deflect a blow or push a foe out of my way.

In another few moments we were a hundred feet from Kitten. A boulder crashed down in the horde just to our left—a poorly aimed attempt at smashing us.

Sileman cried out behind me. I looked back quickly as I spun around a skree to see the ritualist struggling against Haillia. She had succumbed to the mists. I knew I could not go back to help him, just as our remaining monk had known and continued on past them. When I turned back to face forward, my eyes landed on Kitten, who was watched us with that shifting, gory countenance. It turned its face upward and roared, and threw another stone as a whip of black appeared in one of his hands.

The angel cast Angelic Deliverance as it hopped to the side, avoiding a hammer blow from a Heket, which was promptly flattened beneath the boulder. The angel spun and sliced through the head of an attacking iboga. My spear—the recipient of the Angelic Deliverance—started to pulse bright white, its light shining through my fingers. As if in reflex, I used my Signet of Capture on the angel. Angelic Deliverance fell into place in my seventh skill slot as I stabbed a bramble in the chest with my spear; it burst into flames and with a croak fell dead behind me. I immediately cast the Signet of Amplification. Its ringing chime surrounded me, and was the only sign that I had done anything other than duck under a djinn’s scythe, take an arrow in the shoulder, and receive some healing all in the same moment.

But Kitten knew. He somehow sensed what I had cast, and turned its gaze on me. That great arm raised the whip, and lashed at me. Although we were still fifty feet from the towering monolith of evil, the whip lengthened and stretched, and I knew it could defeat us in one blow.

I flung myself forward, throwing my body against the nearest enemy—a beetle. The air above and behind me burned hot as the black thread whistled where I had been, missing me but striking Kandra and wrapping around her neck. As the demon pulled back on the whip, it lifted her into the air, and tossed her a good fifty feet high. It cast Signet of Capture on me.

“No!” Wez said.

“Keep going!” the angel shouted. It now had a second sword out, although I had not seen it discarded its shield. “Cast it on me!”

And I did. I cast Angelic Deliverance on the angel just as the whip came down again, snapping against my left arm and shattering the bones. Wailing in pain, I ducked again to the side to avoid a human warrior’s blade. Healing filled me; my arm mended in an instant, and I knew I needed to throw my spear.

I was a mere forty feet from Kitten. It towered above us. I now saw that a cushion of perhaps twenty feet surrounded it, in which none of its allies entered. I knew why—even at my distance, I could feel the heat from its body.

Gathering my balance as best I could—and miraculously avoiding the blows of the mob around me—I hurled my spear with all my might at the other-worldly being. As it left my fingers, Kandra landed on the ground on the right hand of Kitten. Something hard and heavy struck a blow to the back of my head, sending a dull pain down my spine and propelling me forward into the mists. My shield flew out and away from me as I struggled to catch myself, running for several seconds on all fours and watching my projectile as it soared through the air. I imagined I could hear it whistling above the din. It spun rapidly toward the other-worldly being, which again snapped its whip as it dodged nimbly to the side. The glowing shaft passed between its out-stretched arm and its body, completely missing its target just as the whip came down again on me, this time on my back. Unspeakable agony branched through my body and limbs, and I fell flat against the ground. For a single moment, as the last of the soldiers before Kitten ran over and around me, I could not move. They trampled on my outstretched arms and legs, stepped on my back, and kicked my face and head. Even the healing that coursed through my body, mending my bones and flesh, could not help me rise against that tide. It was almost as if I knew that as soon as I stood, there would be the other-worldly being right there in front of me, to smash me down once again.

All I could do was look up at the demon. The only thing between it and I was the angel, blades raised high and burning white as it approached the demon and prepared to sink Angelic Deliverance into our nemesis. I could not find the strength to rise, simply could not bring myself to stand.

But despair suddenly gave me that strength, gave me reason to get to my feet—for that is what I felt in the next moment. Complete, utter, abiding despair.

There was no mistaking why I felt that way, felt that overpowering, irresistible desolation. It was not that my spear had missed and that the angel was our last hope. It was not the mists that choked my breathing and infiltrated my lungs with bitter darkness. It was, without a doubt, the sudden deafening voice that conquered my mind and soul, that eliminated every good memory of anything positive I ever experienced, and gave me the desire to slay my family and friends and all of the little children everywhere simply because the other-worldly being wanted it.

It is over! the voice boomed. And I knew that it was right. It had captured the Signet of Amplification, and was harnessing its powers. Victory to darkness!

The newfound determination, the wickedness that penetrated every ounce of my soul, lifted me to my feet with a strength born of fresh resolve to eliminate all good things.

You cannot choose! I was told. Your strength and your mind and your soul are mine! Fight now for me!

And the first thing to fight, I knew, was Rhonan possessed by the angel. But even as I was to my feet and starting forward, I knew it was too late. I could not stop them. For there they were, not fifteen feet away from me, at Master’s feet, shining blades whirling and cutting through the darkness and into the writhing flesh. And there I was, weaponless. I could do nothing to save Master. The swords sung with each time they blurred, striking at the legs of my new master. Red light sprayed from the wounds, dancing and hissing in the air, the copious blood of a dying being. My master, still trying to issue commands, stumbled backward from the blows, periodically wailing at the agony and always flailing its whip in deadly abandon. With each staggering step the ground around Master sprouted flames, but the angel did not notice. It only wielded those two blades, which now glowed a deep, dark red..

My master fell to one knee, its wounded leg unable to support its weight. Then it fell backwards, and the angel leapt onto its chest. For a moment I saw those enchanted blades of red light poised in the air, against the purpling sky, and in the next, they were gone, plunged deep into the chest of Master. Liquid red light spouted like a fountain into the air, fifty feet high. Master roared, rolling to one side and struggling to stand. Somehow, miraculously, it found its feet, and there was the angel, clinging to one blade even as it withdrew the second and sunk it deep into the demon’s belly. More crimson showered down onto the flaming ground.

And then the despair left my soul, and I knew that we had won.

But I had no time to celebrate.

For several seconds a deafening roar like a hurricane’s wind covered all sound, rising rapidly in pitch. During the same moments everything for half a mile around Kitten slid toward it at five or six feet per second. Men stumbled to the ground and slid over bodies or through the dust. Flying beasts flapped yet drifted backwards. Arrows veered unnaturally. Kandra, lying motionless on the ground, scooted toward Kitten.

I dug my heels into the ground, straightened my legs, and leaned backward, yet my shoes left tracks in the soil behind me as I slid along the soil, until in the last seconds of the torrential roar, my face pressed against the other-worldly being’s quivering leg. Red light surrounded me, gushing from the wounds. The being and light was hot against my flesh. They smelled of fresh blood and meat, like a cow had just been slaughtered. As I pushed against the leg, trying to get my mouth and nose out of that flesh, my hands smoked as they cooked. I saw the angel above, holding onto the hilt of the one of the bright red swords. Light rained down around me, hissing and crackling. The angel pressed its legs against the chest of its victim and pushed, trying to jump straight out from Kitten’s body. It floated out a few feet, and then flew backwards into the creature’s chest, sticking just a few feet below where the sword protruded from the heart. Others—from our army of light and from Kitten’s force—also stuck to the being, like so many flies to paper. One of them struck in the back.

The pitch of the roaring wind grew and grew. My hands and face burned, and I struggled vainly to escape the force. Looking around desperately, I saw Bruck not forty feet away, running toward me, looking directly at me despite all of the confusion and bodies rapidly passing between his direct line to me. I could not believe the speed with which he moved. From the look on his face, I knew he knew what skill I had used.

And then, for just a moment, all sound disappeared, became engulfed in a deafening nothingness. It was almost as if Kitten were inhaling deeply, with such force that it absorbed all sound. Those in the middle of dying screamed in silence. Those chanting incantations spoke without making a noise. Swords cutting bones and flesh, or denting armor or shields, did so with no resonance. My searing hands and face did not sizzle, and my own shouts did not even sound in my own ears. Closing my eyes so I could exert myself that much more, I fought even more desperately to escape.

And then Kitten exploded.

I only heard the boom for a moment before my ears started to ring, but I felt its vibration in every bone of my body, in my chest and skull. With the thunderous bang came an enormous white flash that burned my eyes even through my closed eyelids. I dared not look to see what was happening, but could feel myself hurtling through the air, a hot wind whipping at my skin as I tumbled and rolled. Other objects struck me—bodies or shields or rocks. I imagine I was screaming, but could hear nothing but the ringing.

Eventually I landed on something relatively soft and rolled backwards several times before coming to a stop, lying on my back on a hard, cold object. I opened my eyes, but I could see nothing because of the white light that concealed everything. That high-pitched ring still echoed in my head; I could hear nothing else. Knowing I should feel triumph and victory—if Kitten were dead, the balance of power should have shifted in favor of the angels, and I should have felt a corresponding rise in hope—and wondering why I was not, a grim panic rose within me. I tried to stand, but lost my balance on whatever I was on, and fell forward to all fours. Although my hands ached from the burning, I crawled forward over a mass of moving, bobbing forms I knew to be people or beasts. This was confirmed as my vision began to return slowly, allowing me to see shapes at first, and then more and more details with each passing second. My ears continued to ring, even after I managed to reach a spot of ground and stand.

I stood there for several seconds, dazed, turning in circles and just trying to avoid the shapes moving around me in confusion. I could not tell who was friend or enemy. The battle seemed forgotten in the chaos, with figures running in every direction and only engaging others as if by accident. The ringing began to soften, and the sounds of anarchy met my ears, even as my vision became stronger and stronger. I did not know which way to go, or what to do. I yearned and searched for instructions from the angel. A whisper. A feeling. Anything. But nothing came. The only thing I could think of was Bruck, and that I could not let him find me.

With each moment my vision became clearer, and with each moment the battle became more organized, as if the generals and captains—the demons and angels—had regained composure after the explosion and were able to once again issue orders. I did not hear any angel instructions, and so my only thought was to get away from Bruck. I gradually made my way eastward through the battling throng. I quickly found myself a random spear—plucked it from a dead woman—and found myself fighting a flowing, ever-changing battle, one moment at the side of Vabbian troops, and another next to Kournan who had undoubtedly come with Rhonan.

It became clear in those minutes that while the battle was not finished, it was decided. The blue banners—knocked down by the force of the blast—were once again lifted, and they advanced steadily Northward as the army of light cut down the servants of the demons. As my vision cleared, I saw the faces of my army’s soldiers shining bright with victory and hope, and even saw many of the creatures in the dark army turn on their peers. Harpies and demons fell from the sky like hailstones. But the most obvious sign of my army’s victory—yet the most disturbing thing to me—was that the soldiers began to shout out that familiar, blessed chant in complete unison.

“Victory to the just!”

They shouted it as they advanced, repeating it several times a minute with such devotion and confidence that the wicked foes balked with each cry. It even drowned out the steady ringing in my head.

But I did not shout with them. I felt no thrills of righteous victory, no irresistible urge to cry out. I wanted to cry out with them, to not be able to help it, but I did not have that influence in my head and in my mind that told me when to shout, and how to feel. The only thoughts in my head were my own, and with each passing moment they became more and more dark as I realized that for some reason the angels were not talking to me anymore.

You should put this on mp3 forma t so We can listen to it!Great novel btw.

This is awesome! For some reason I couldn't open Guild Wars Guru for some a whole week. Now catching up on the story and reaching this far ... its amazing!

Thanks! Glad you're enjoying it!
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Zephyr 20, 1276 DR, continued

I became increasingly frantic as the battle continued. Not that it lasted very long. Without the domineering voice of Kitten to sway the less wicked humans, many of them abruptly threw down their weapons or surrendered. Others switched sides and fought the slathering masses of monsters and demons, whose resolution seemed weaker, whose fighting was less energetic. Scores at a time broke and fled, heading northward.

But as the energy in my army rose, as I fought alongside ever-changing groups that repeatedly declared their victory over evil, my own spirit sank. Something was not right with me, and I knew it was more than the ringing in my head. I felt empty and cold, isolated and alone. I did not sense that angelic thrill of triumph. I did not know when to shout out. It was as if the angels had abandoned me, and I did not know why. As we fought, I searched for an angel, for someone with glowing yellow skin. I looked in as many faces as I could, moved from group to group as quickly as possible, looking for someone who could answer my questions and ease my fears.

“What’s got you worked up, friend?” one soldier asked.

“I can’t hear the angels,” I said.

She gave me a confused look in the dim light. “Angels. Did the battle drive you mad?”

It was then that I realized that perhaps not everyone knew what I and my party had known. They did not know about the angels. Certainly they knew about the demons, but not the angels or how they were aiding us. They thought it was their own strength that had allowed them to defeat the army, and had no idea that other-worldly powers had protected them from the influence of the other-worldly being. To test out my theory, I asked the next group I encountered if they knew where an angel was. I was met with the same, half quizzical, half afraid looks.

As I turned away, hardly able to believe my misfortune, and wondering how long it would be before I could get answers, my vision fell on two figures running through the confusion: Bruck and Guel. The purpose with which they moved, and the resolution visible simply in how they ran, warned me that and I should not let them spot me. But they did. Before I could even turn to run, Guel came to a sudden stop and pointed directly at me.

I turned and fled, knowing that I could not allow Bruck to get to me. I headed South, opposite the tide of soldiers. Casting Fall Back, I wondered if I could stay out of reach of Guel’s shadow walking, and once again found myself dodging around and in-and-out of groups—no more than blurs in the darkness—not daring to waste time by looking back. I hoped desperately that I would find someone who could help me, or that I would lose my pursuers in the confusion. Perhaps, I thought, in the tents I would find the angels. Or at least an angel.

Before long the ranks of our army thinned and disappeared—they had moved on, Northward—and I found myself running alone through a relatively quiet field of darkness. The distant shouting and sounds of battle sounded ethereal, ghostly. Bodies of every sort of creature littered the ground. An occasional flame burned in the grass. A flap of tattered cloth or trampled banner snapped in the cool wind that blew against the sweat on my face. Finally, I looked back. Unable to see Bruck or Guel, and believing that I had lost them, I slowed to a jog. The tents were still a good hundred yards off.

“Is it happening to you, too?”

I spun at the voice, and searched for it source in that recent killing ground. A figure stood, separating itself from a pile of bodies not fifteen feet away from me.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Rhonan.”

Relief filled my heart. “I can’t hear the angels, anymore!” I said, rushing forward. “I can’t feel them.” I stopped immediately before him. In the dim light, he looked haggard.

“Me neither,” he said. “I don’t understand it, myself.”

“Where are the angels?”

He shrugged, his armor clinking in the quietness. “I was told to stay here and wait for them to return. I am just being obedient.”

“Who told you?”

“It did. The angel that moved between the two of us. After the explosion, when I couldn’t feel it anymore, it entered that monk that was with you, and told me to go back to the tents and wait.”

We stood there, staring at each other in silence for several moments. I shivered.

“It’s cold, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes.”

“We will wait together.”

And so we did.

Zephyr 21, 1276 DR

I am not sure how long Rhonan and I sat there in the moonlight, he on the corpse of a sizeable Heket, and me in the trodden grass. The sounds of battle faded. The moon rose. A flock of bats flew by.

Eventually, a person approached us, a dark silhouette in the night light, staggering under a heavy weight with each step. The figure appeared to be carrying another person, cradled in his arms in the way a baby is cradled. Its head was tucked down into the breast of the slain person, whose head tilted back. In the moonlight, I saw that it was a woman the person carried, from the long hair that swayed limply in the soft breeze. We watched in silence. I thought I heard the figure talking or sobbing—or both—quietly, and wondered distantly who had lost a loved one. The entire situation felt cold and foggy, as if I were watching something happen while possessed by an angel. It seemed ironic to me, yet sacred at the same time. This person was stumbling around and through a maze of desolation, heedless and careless of the lives spent all around. Yet one person—the one in his arms—had made the battle personal, had caused a different kind of desolation.

I fully intended on letting the person pass by us without noticing us, to let him mourn in peace, until he came close enough that I knew, suddenly, who it was.

“Wez!” I said, standing.

He did not seem to hear me.

“Wez!” I said again, taking several steps closer to him.

He stopped and looked up, lifting his head from the person’s chest. Tears glistened on his cheeks. His head turned back-and-forth as he looked for me.

Surprised that he could not see me, just a dozen feet away, I said, “I’m over here.” I stepped forward again. A sickness was rising in by belly.

“She’s gone!” he wailed. “She is gone!” The sound echoed hollowly in the canyon.

I stopped my advance, one hand held out, wanting to speak but not knowing what to say. My mouth was suddenly dry. A lump was clogging my throat.

“I’m taking her away,” he said. “I am burying her tonight, where no eyes will see, and where no one can disturb.”

I nodded dumbly, still unable to speak.

Wez tucked his head back into her breast, turned, and continued on. I watched him disappear into the darkness toward the tents and the few remaining banners that, for a moment, hung still. When he had passed, they breeze rustled them again.

I returned to my station to wait. Tears threatened to overtake my own eyes as I tallied the status of each party member insofar as I knew it. Kandra—dead. Wez—going off somewhere to bury her. Sileman—probably dead. Haillia—probably dead. Threnon—impossible to say. Bruck—ready to kill me. Guel—his servant. By all accounts, the party was broken. Even though Rhonan was there, and though I had been through much with him, I felt alone. Cold and alone. My ears were still ringing.

Not long later, another figure approached, moving with purpose through the field, and coming straight for us. As it approached, I saw it was a monk who wore all white stained with blood and dirt. I soon realized that she had been in my party during that attack on Kitten.

“Hezekiah! Rhonan!” she said, stepping up to us. “Thank Dwayna that you are both still okay!” She began to cast healing spells on us, although we did not need them.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why isn’t the angel communicating with us?”

“It’s so cold,” Rhonan said. “So cold without it inside me.”

She shook her head, and as she spoke she continued to mend wounds that weren’t there. “It doesn’t know why it can’t possess you. It thinks it has something to do with the fact that both of you were touching Kitten when it exploded. It thinks that something inside you was severed, disconnected from the other worlds. You are blocked from all evil and all good from outside our realm.”

“Can we be fixed?” Rhonan asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Is it permanent?”

“I don’t know.”

He stepped toward her, raising his fists just a little. His tone spoke of frustration and anger. “What can you tell us?” This was not the Rhonan that I knew. He was not one to anger quickly, or to express fear or discomfort. Being cut-off from the angels had already taken a toll on him—understandably, though. I did not feel like myself, either.

She did not falter under his aggressiveness, although she had finished healing us. “I have told you everything I know. For all I know, the angel knows nothing more. It did not tell me more, and it had plenty of opportunity.”

“Why isn’t it with you right now?” Rhonan said. “I want to talk to it!”

“It’s off hunting the remaining demons. They move very fast. But it will be back. We are to wait here.”

I started to sit, not knowing what else to do and somewhat shocked at the news that I was cut off from all other-worldly influences. What a curse to not feel the influence of the angels! What a blessing to not feel the fear and foreboding of the demons!

“No,” she said, grabbing my arm before I could settle down. “Let’s go back to the tents. I will make you something to drink, and you can sleep if you wish.”

She did not let go of my arm, but gently turned me in the direction of the tents. She took Rhonan by the elbow, and pointed him in the proper way. As we walked to the tents, I felt the first effects of delayed extreme exhaustion creeping into my body. My muscles began to ache, and my bones to grind. I almost did not hear her talking as we walked.

“The two of you have made all of the difference in this war. There are no greater heroes than you, and all the world shall know it—and all the other worlds and realms shall know it. Hezekiah Kidron and Rhonan Mastiffan—defenders of the realm, demon slayers, and warriors of light.”

“What is your name?” Rhonan asked.

“I am Breenian. Come, now. Step inside the tent. Rest your souls.”

Zephyr 22, 1276 DR

This morning I awoke to dust motes playing in the bar sunlight that angled through a crack in the tent door, and figured that it was simply the morning after the battle. I had slept restlessly at first, waking often, frequently drifting out of dreams and into vague awareness of pain. Once the exhaustion had passed, though, I slept very well. So, awake, I stood and dressed, amazed at how stiff I felt, and at how my clothes were already clean.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

I turned at the voice, and saw Breenian standing in the doorway, smiling at me.

“None of us thought you’d sleep this long.”

“This long?” I asked.

“You’ve been asleep for just over thirty hours. Can’t blame you, really, what with everything you’ve been through in the last week. Rhonan woke up just before dark last night. Had a terrible time getting any sleep after that, but I made him.”

I sat down on a stiff, plain chair against the tent wall, opposite the door. Still trying to get my bearings, I asked, “It’s all over?”

She nodded and stepped toward me. She felt my forehead. Her hand was cold. “Mostly, yes.” She slid her hand down through the neck of my shirt, feeling my chest and heartbeat. It startled me somewhat, yet I knew she was simply doing it in the capacity of a doctor. “A good portion of the army continued north. They are still hunting the remainder of the dark army. It will probably take them a week or two to finish the job. But others have returned, including your friends.”

I stiffened, but not at how she held my head between her hands and looked me right in the eyes, searching for signs of sickness.

“Bruck? Guel?” I asked.

“No. They have disappeared. Their bodies were not found, and no one has seen them since the night of the battle. They probably have figured that they are not welcome here.”

“Oh?”

“The angel that you and I shared knows all about Bruck, of course. And now that Bruck knows about you, he is your enemy. This is not news to you?” She raised her eyebrows as she said the last.

I shook my head.

“You should not have put your clothes back on,” she said. “Strip down, please. I need to do a full assessment of your physical condition.”

I did not move. “I’m fine.”

She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows again—but this time not in a question. “Strip. Lay down on the cot. On your stomach.”

Being naked in front of a woman is always unnerving for me. It happens rarely enough that I become acutely aware of everything my body does, and how it might look. I also become very conscious of the woman, and how she looks and what she does. That time was no different, even though it was in a medical setting. I became aware of her long, strong fingers, her wide, dark eyes, and her lithe, white arms. Her long, brown hair brushed over my body, sometimes making me shiver.

Breenian, of course, was very professional during the entire exam. And very thorough. She continued our discussion as she worked.

“Everyone in the army that has remained here has been instructed to watch out for Bruck and Guel, and capture them if possible. We don’t want to harm them—they are victims in all of this. The angel would like to capture them, and keep them safely out of the way. Living comfortably, but safely out of the way. It just wants to make sure that they can’t get to anyone that has the Signet of Amplification.”

“You mean me.”

“Among others.”

“Who else has it? Where did they get it?”

“The angels figure that it’s best for a handful of people to have the skill, just in case something happens to you.” Her voice changed, almost to match that of the angel. “‘That was risky business, for a while there, with Shenan as the only person with that skill. Very risky.’”

“You have it?”

“You’re very stiff. Do you mind if I massage your back?”

“No. You have it?”

“The fewer people who have it, the better, because that reduces the likelihood that someone else will capture it. And the fewer people who know who has it, the better. But it was captured from you by an ally when you cast it the other day, and that ally has shared it with a few others.”

“Which of my friends came back?”

“Wez. He buried Kandra. I don’t recommend you ask him about it. He’s in a very foul mood. And Sileman.”

“Sileman! I thought he’d be dead!” Her hands were warm, now, as they pressed and squeezed the muscles of my back, rubbing out the knots and stiffness from thirty hours of sleep.

“He managed to survive, somehow. And Haillia.”

“That traitor?”

“I would not be so quick to call her that. She is a good person. And very beautiful. But when in such close contact to an other-worldly being of such power, people do things they would not otherwise do. She and Sileman have made up. Several times, I imagine. Besides, weren’t there a few moments there, right before the end, when you had turned sides?”

“Threnon?”

“No sign of her.”

I nodded, and our conversation stalled for several minutes as she finished up her treatment. When she was done, she told me to get dressed, and left the tent.

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully. I was reunited with my friends. We embraced solemnly, but with relief and joy that there were four of us left. Rhonan joined us, and we just sat or roamed around the camp, watching as soldiers piled and burned bodies.

“What are you going to do, now?” Rhonan asked us as black smoke billowed from a nearby mound of enflamed corpses. The sky was dark with such smoke.

“I am tempted to go back to Cantha,” Sileman said. “It’s not so dangerous, there.”

“I haven’t given it any thought,” I replied.

“Me neither,” Haillia said. “But going home might be nice.” For her, home was somewhere in Cantha—I’m not sure where.

“The Desolation,” Wez said. He spoke with resolution as he looked blankly out across the canyon. “I want to go to the Desolation.”

“There’s nothing good there,” Rhonan said.

“Is there anything good, anywhere?”

I didn’t quite know what to say to that comment. Neither did anyone else. But after a minute, Rhonan asked me, “Do you still feel cold inside?”

I nodded. All day long I’d had a distant, numb feeling of something not being right. Of something missing. I think describing it as cold might be over-simplifying it, but it’s not entirely inaccurate. “I had no idea that angels affected us so much. I wonder when the angel will return and talk to us.”

“Through Breenian?”

“Through anyone.”

Maybe I will get my answer tomorrow.

Zephyr 23, 1276 DR

The angel came back today, in Breenian. She found us—me, Haillia, Rhonan, Wez, and Sileman—in the early morning as we sat around a small fire, cooking beetle tongue for breakfast. It was Rhonan’s idea.

“It’s a delicacy here in Vabbi,” he said.

“Fried over open campfire?” Sileman asked.

“Cooked in any way. I have heard it’s very delicious. Here you go, each of you. Take a bite!” He cut up the tongue, which had a suspiciously hairy appearance to it, and put a piece on each of our tin plates.

Figuring I had nothing to lose, and fearing the worst, I tried my cut. It surprised me how long it took to chew, and how bouncy it made my jaw feel. The taste was not terrible, but the texture kept me from asking for more.

Sileman spit his unceremoniously into the fire, and Haillia politely removed hers from her mouth with a wide spoon. Rhonan chewed on his thoughtfully.

“Maybe,” he said, “it requires a sauce or gravy. I’ve heard that there’s a sauce that it can be served under.”

“You know what I have heard?” Wez said. He had not tasted his meat, and dumped it into the flames. “I’ve heard that Heket poop is a delicacy in hell. Let’s try that tomorrow!”

“It would probably taste better,” Sileman said.

Haillia nodded, her nose scrunched up in disgust.

It was about then that Breenian walked up to our group. “The angel wants to talk with you,” she said.

“At last!” Rhonan said with a heaving breath of relief, just as Sileman said, “To me? At last, my turn to be possessed has come!”

“To all of you.”

“About what?” Rhonan said. Eagerness shone in his eyes.

“It didn’t say about what.” Her eyes lit up as they fell on Rhonan’s plate. “Oh! Is that beetle tongue? Can I have some?”

He looked from her to the plate, cocked his head to the side, and with a sigh handed the food over.

Before we’d even finished cleaning the dishes, the air around Breenian rippled, and her skin lit with a soft yellow light.

“My time is short,” she said. “I know you all have a lot of questions, but there’s a lot going on, and I can’t answer them all.”

“Can you fix us?” Rhonan asked. “Can you fix Hez and I?”

Breenian’s head shook. “No. When Kitten was banished from your world, with you in direct contact with him, your souls were seared. Broken. There is no way that any angel or demon can influence you, anymore.”

Rhonan shook his head and sat heavily on a rock. I did not react. I had not expected anything more than this news.

“Vabbi is freed,” the angel said. “The last of the demons are about banished. It has been with great cost. Kourna is free, as well.”

“Elona is free,” Wez said.

“No, not entirely. Istan is not. While you have been here, fighting Kitten and its forces, Puppy Muffin has been building its force in Istan.”

“Puppy Muffin?” Sileman asked.

“Bruck’s master. The other other-worldy being that has been vying for control of this world. And now, with Kitten out of the way, there is no doubt that Puppy Muffin will make a move to take over Haillia. It was already building its forces. I believe that some of you saw a battle between its forces and Kitten’s back in the swamp, several months ago. It has continued to build its army, massing them in the First City, and in the swamp, and on the islands surrounding the land. It will invade soon.”

“The Desolation is sounding better and better,” Wez said.

“We could use your help,” the angel said. “We’re gathering our forces in Kamadan. Will you join us?”

“Not me,” Wez said, shaking his head with a frown. “I’ve had enough.”

I was inclined to agree with him. I had experienced enough of demons and danger to last for many years to come. Even the Canthan arenas sounded good. Or, as Guel had suggested a week or two before, going back to Ascalon. Of course, I had explored enough of Kourna, Vabbi, and Istan that I was practically a cartographer. Spending some time in the Desolation would easily grant me one of the lower cartographer titles.

“Rhonan? Hezekiah?” the angel asked.

Rhonan did not respond. From the stunned look on his face, he was still in shock that he would never again feel the confidence and peace and rush of the angel’s influence.

“You don’t really need us,” I said. “You won’t need our skills. I understand that others have them, as well.”

“Yes, but your experience and leadership could be used too much advantage. And, besides, I’m not really interested in you running around out there with those skills, available for anyone to capture by killing you. Bruck is still out there. You might be safer going to Istan.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not really thrilled with the idea of more demons.”

“Also,” the angel said, “You and Rhonan are immune to the demon’s powers. Imagine what you could do, now, without having to fear our listen to the fear and foreboding and powers. That would be very valuable in the entire affair.”

Rhonan stood suddenly, angrily. “This is the problem with you!” he shouted, pointing angrily at the angel’s face. “We’re just tools to you! Just ways for you to accomplish your ends!”

Breenian’s soft, glowing face did not offer expression—it never did when the angel was in it. “I don’t have to be here,” the angel said. “It’s not my world that is at stake. I’m here to help you. It’s not my fault that I see things you don’t, and understand things you don’t. Yes, you are a tool for me, but a tool for the good of the world—not for my good.”

“I’ve had enough,” Rhonan said. “I’ll be going with Wez into the Desolation.” He stormed off and away, and soon disappeared in the sea of tents.

The angel turned to me. “Hezekiah?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Come back tomorrow, and I will let you know.”

“Very well.” The light faded from Breenian’s eyes, the air shimmered, and the angel was gone.

Zephyr 24, 1276 DR

I did not sleep so well last night. Seems I spent most of the time considering what I would do. I awoke often, and even twice wandered out of the tent into the crisp night air. The stars shone clearly in the moonless sky. The air rested still and quiet save for the occasional distant sound of a soldier on patrol or watch, or the rustle of a tent or banner.

I must have made the decision fifty times, waffling back-and-forth between my options as I stood in the darkness or lay on my cot, tossing and turning. I knew what was at stake. I knew that the unselfish thing to do was to go to Kamadan, but I could not find peace in that decision. It simply did not feel right, and in the end that is what settled it for me. Deciding to go with Wez and Rhonan into the Desolation somehow set me more at ease. Bruck and Guel did not worry me; if they ever found me, it would be easy to escape or defeat them given the skill set that I had. Wouldn’t that be something? Defeating them and bringing them back. Then where would their loyalties and honor lie?

In the morning, once I’d told my decision to the others, they agreed that we should set off immediately. After a breakfast of fried wheat cakes—a personal favorite of mine—we gathered our things and prepared to leave.

“We should tell Breenian,” I said.

“Won’t they get the message when you’re gone?” Wez asked.

“We should still tell her.”

And so on our way out we stopped at her tent. I went in alone, found her sitting on a mat, back toward me, legs crossed and the backs of her hands on her knees. She hummed in a soft, even tone. I cleared my throat.

“You made your decision?” she said without turning.

“Yes. Thank you for all you have done. And thanks to the angel. I’m heading to the Desolation.”

“That seems like a selfish decision.”

“You will be fine without me. The angels—they can handle it. They’ve defeated Kitten, and I can’t imagine that Bruck’s master will be any worse.”

“They had your help.”

“I am no one special. I was simply a tool for them. They can—and no doubt will—find other instruments.”

“Your decision is firm?”

“Yes. Thank you for what you have done for me.”

She jumped to her feet and with a sly smile stepped toward me, brought her face nearly to mine—although a few inches lower. “I am not done ‘doing for you’. I’m coming with you.” I did not respond, although I imagine my jaw may have moved silently, articulating the instant of confusion that no doubt shone in my eyes. She patted my cheek. “You’re nuts if you think you will ever be far from the angel’s watchful eyes, Hezekiah Kidron.”

“You aren’t needed in Kamadan?”

“Not as much as wherever you are. My instructions are clear. ‘Stay with him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything reckless. Especially with that Signet.’” She cocked her head to one side. “I can’t tell if you’re upset at me coming with you, or not.”

I did not—do not—know myself. Being eternally tethered to the angel is not so appealing, but with Breenian—an all around pleasant person—being the physical manifestation of that angel, the prospect is much more bearable. I shrugged at her. “We’re leaving right now.”

“I know.” She turned and grabbed her things, and followed me out of the tent.

The others looked at her with raised eyebrows and a smile or two. Haillia greeted her with an embrace, and said, “I’d hoped you’d be coming.”

We headed out without fanfare or ceremony—quite a contrast to Gandara—and headed North through the now-familiar canyon, and into Vehtendi Valley. It felt good to be out in the open again, if not alone. There were many others on the roads, traveling to or from the army camp or returning to their homes. In the evening we reached the Forum Highlands, and decided to rest for the night in the grove where I had taken the party leadership from Bruck.

“Amazing how different things are from the last time we were here,” Sileman said to me.

“Are they better?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Probably not, but don’t let it worry you. They will get better. They always do.”

Zephyr 25, 1276 DR

Today we explored the Forum Highlands spending a small amount of time in the new ruins of a great courtyard, an annex to the Kodash Bazaar. I had heard stories of the place. Even in recent weeks during random discussions of Vabbi, people had mentioned this center of commerce and government, its splendor and shining streets. They called it the little sister of the Garden of Seborhin. But now, after the passage of Kitten’s army only a few weeks before, it lay in ruins. The once-shiny stones lay broken and cracked, scarred with burns. The pillars and buildings rested in piles of rubble. Natural fountains, previously harnessed and tapped, spewed water recklessly over piles of rocks, in unnatural and ugly directions.

The surviving citizens of the area have returned to their decimated homes in recent days, and now live in tents clustered along the outside of the city near the river. They move about, looking for remnants of anything that might be useful. They work together or alone to clear the debris, and always their faces are turned to the ground. Their shoulders slump, and tears frequent their cheeks. But purpose drives their every movement with memory and hope—memory of how it once was, and hope that it can be so again.

“I remember coming here as a child,” Breenian said. She bent and picked up a piece of rock, smooth on one side as if it had been part of a wall or stair. She ran her hand over it. “It was a beautiful place.”

“You are from near here?” I asked.

“No, I grew up near the Mirror of Lyss. My father brought us here once on a tour of Vabbi. He liked to do that—go places and see things. And he had the resources, so we did it.”

“A rich man’s daughter?” Sileman said, nodding and smiling. “I might have guessed it.”

She placed her hands on her hips, and raised her eyebrows at him. “Not rich. Just well enough off.”

“You’re hiding something,” Sileman said. Before she could respond he raised his hands. “It’s okay—everyone here is hiding something. Hezekiah hid stuff from us for a long time. I know things about Haillia that would make you look at her twice. ” He smiled as he spoke, so I knew he was meaning to have fun with the discussion.

“I hide nothing,” Rhonan said.

“Oh?” Sileman said. “Perhaps nothing to hide, but there are things about you that certainly you keep secret. Such as why you haven’t returned to Kourna, to your citadel and family.”

Rhonan scowled. “That is none of your business.”

“He likes to pry into other people’s business,” Wez said.

“What about your sister?” Sileman said to Wez. “You never--.”

“That’s enough,” I said, stepping between Sileman and Wez. “You don’t know when to stop, do you, Sileman? Some people are just private. Live with it.”

“I just want to get to know them,” he said.

“That’s fine. I believe you. This isn’t the way to do it.”

He rolled his eyes and turned away.

We continued on through the desert land, over the rolling hills and between the narrow canyons, just exploring for the sake of exploring. We passed through Tihark Orchard, and went back into the Highlands. Along the southern edge we found an interesting door-like structure crammed in a crack between two cliffs, with a soft orange light emanating from fissures in its surface. None of us knew what it was, or if it was important. I imagine it’s not. Just some relic from age past.

Tonight we are in Jennur’s Horde. Tomorrow we will enter the Garden of Seborhin, and continue to explore the destruction left by Kitten.

I have noticed that the views on this thread have decreased markedly over the last few weeks. I would certainly be interested in hearing why, if any one has any insight.

Also, my good sister (well, one of them) has taken to reading Hezekiah's journal. Her feedback is invaluable to me. One of the things she mentioned is that there are a lot of typos in the text. I thought I would tell you what I told her about the typos, as I'm sure you've noticed them.

Hezekiah's story as posted here is basically a rough draft. I write it. Go over it once or twice very quickly to make sure it's legible, and then post it. I woud love to spend more time polishing it, as I have done with a lot of my other writing, searching out the little errors. However, I just don't have the time to go through and find all of the little errors.

My apologies to anyone this offends (it did not seem to offend my sister too greatly). I hope the story is interesting enough that you read in spite of the typos.

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Zephyr 26, 1276 DR

We passed today into what used to be the master gem of Vabbi: the Garden of Seborhin. Breenian took us to what she said was once the center of the complex, at the mouth of two towering, broken walls and across the bottom of a deep basin. We stood there in the rubble, watching the city’s haggard inhabitants sift through the remains, listening to our monk as she described what splendor used to reign in the city.

“Over there,” she said, pointing at a shattered, empty pool, “was a large reflecting pond. Five or six planters with vines levitated over the water, with vines hanging over, practically dropping down to the water. Over that way, along that curving edge of the bowl, was a series of terraces, with bushes and vines draping over the edges. Directly above us was a bridge of blue and gold stone, spanning the two sides of the area. You can still see the remains there—just a few broken stones and cables. Back behind us was a waterfall. There—you can see it in the distance—the broken stones and the water trickling down and out. A river ran down the center of this corridor—we’re standing in the remains of the stone riverbed. Up past the waterfall, on the other side of that wall, was a courtyard with a shrine to Melandru. And there—way up there, were two domes. One on each side. Huge domes. The biggest ones in Vabbi. Golden, shinning like two suns at midday. And staircases. Up and down everywhere along the terraces and all around. Steep, so that if you tripped at the top it seemed you would tumble forever. Oh—and over there, a tower surrounded by four smaller domed towers, with a slender, reaching spire on the topmost one. And in that direction, another series of domes . . . .”

I hardly listened to her after that. I just couldn’t imagine what I was missing, and what madness would destroy such a place. The way Breenian described the architecture, it seemed that even the buildings had lived and breathed, and now their ghosts took form and sound in the people and their wailing and crying. The city’s skeletons lay in shattered ruins everywhere, stones of red and blue and gold, covered in a thin dusting of the glory that had once been.

I wandered away from the group, just looking and pondering, wondering if I could have done anything more than I did to save this land and its people. I had helped save them. There was that. But was there more I could have done? I didn’t know. It didn’t really matter.

“Master Hezekiah.”

I turned at the voice. There stood a old man in splendid Vabbi robes, with hair as white as clouds and practically as fluffy. A soldier in full armor flanked him.

“Master Hezekiah, I do not mean to bother you,” the old man said. He approached cautiously.

“Yes?” I said. I held out my hand for them to shake, and each did in turn. I did not recognize them.

“You see the destruction of our city.”

“I am very sorry for your loss.”

The man waved a hand dismissively. “The buildings are nothing. We can—and will—rebuild. It is the lives that are the true loss.”

“I am very sorry for your loss.”

“I am Allzuip, a governor of this land. Plintav, here, tells me that you are responsible for destroying Kitten.”

The soldier next to him nodded, his face still emotionless.

“You were there?”

The soldier nodded again. “I didn’t see it. But the soldiers, they all talk. I saw you later, the day after the battle, and someone pointed at you and said, ‘He is the one.’ And your companion, Rhonan.”

“It was a hard-fought battle.”

“Not really. They say you made it look easy, and after Kitten was gone, the army was routed.”

I did not know how to respond.

“I had relatives in that army,” Allzuip said. “Followers of kitten. People you would not dream would turn to evil such as that. There is no way to know what darkness lurks in the hearts of those that love us.”

“Kitten had powerful magic,” I said.

“Powerful because it revealed the truth about us, and about our intentions and souls.”

“I must get back to my party,” I said. “We should be moving on.”

“Where are you going to?” Plintav asked. “What will you do now?”

“The Desolation. Explore. I have made it a goal to see all of Elona.”

“There is much to do here,” Allzuip said. “We could use your help.”

I nodded noncommittally.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You are not interested in helping.”

The guilt he made me feel angered me. Just moments before I had been wondering what more I could have done. And now he, hardly understanding all of the things I had experienced, put that guilt on me. “How much must one man give?” I asked, my lips curling down.

“Why would you ever stop giving?”

“Perhaps there is only so much one man can do.”

“Perhaps one man can always do more.”

“I have done more than you know.”

“I think you can do more than you know.”

My fists clenched involuntarily at my side. I did not want to listen to his reason.

“Perhaps,” Plintav said, “You should consider changing your profession. I do not know any Paragon that thinks as you do.”

I knew that I could not stay any longer. They had no right to speak to me like that. “I am sorry for your loss.” I turned and started to walk away.

“And I am sorry for yours,” Allzuip said to my back. His words haunted me the rest of the day, as we explored the remainder of the ruins and surrounding hills. They haunt me now, here in the stillest hours of the night, by the firelight as I write.

I wonder—what I have lost? What has losing it turned me into?

All I can say is to keep up the good work, man. Typos mean nothing really once the story is strong and interesting - which this is. Gotta keep in mind that alot of folks may be busy playing through GW:EN right now, and don't read as much. Anyhow, congrats on the 5000th view!

I have just started to read. So far I have only read the first 3, and I have to go now But they seem good so far...

Thanks for the feedback. Good to know. Oh, and yeah, I am pretty thrilled with that 5000 views. Woo hoo! Thanks for reading, everyone!

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Zephyr 27, 1276 DR

Today we spent the day in Chokhin, and some of it in the Halls of Chokhin. The place has an oily, foul feel to it, and when we left in the afternoon I felt the strong need to bathe.

“That is where it started,” a merchant had told us as we left the smoldering Mihanu Township at first light. “That is where Kitten came from. There is hardly a stone standing, and hardly a stone not bloodied by the life of those who resisted. I am only alive because I ran. So many did not survive that first week.”

As part of our exploration we went to the Halls and walked through the decimated remains of the palace. The scene was familiar—the same as we’d seen the previous two days—but compounded by the widespread, ubiquitous red and brown stains that touched practically every surface, rock, and tattered remain of cloth.

At one point we stood in what we guessed must have been a spacious master bedroom in the heart of the palace. My stomach churned to consider what must have happened in there to cause the destruction and discoloration to the furniture, walls, and ceiling. The other party members quickly left, and soon it was just Rhonan and I standing in the doorway. A breeze swirled in from a hole in the wall; the remains of drapes and bed sheets rustled.

“It is taking all my nerves to stay here,” Rhonan said. “I almost cannot bear it. Back when I could feel and hear the angels, I could do anything. I had no fear. Now, I feel nothing but fear and loneliness. I don’t know what the right thing is to do, or how to do it.”

I didn’t know how to respond.

“You remember when we first met? And we assaulted my citadel. We had those catapults.”

“Yes.”

“I could do anything back then. I felt invincible and strong. Then, when we lay siege to Gandara—I felt then that that night was the defining moment in my life. I have never been so confident, never led with such grace and ability. Those legions of damned and Crathlav—they were nothing to me. Nothing to fear.” He laughed bitterly. “Now, I can barely stand in this room.”

“You don’t have the help you once did. It’s understandable.”

“Are you talking to me, or to you? Is it understandable? Do you feel the same way as me?”

“Some. I feel weaker, now. This place is creepy, and I’m not interested in staying much longer.”

“But you were so great—you did such great things since you came to Kourna and Vabbi. Do you feel like you can do them, now?”

“No.” It was a hard thing to admit, but it was true; and after the self examination of the night before I knew it for sure. I had lost the angel, and while I had not always understood what drove me, what led me to do the things I did, I now knew the unconsciously heeded whisperings of angels had played a role. Just how much they had influenced me, I probably will never know.

“Then how do you know it was you that did those things?” He raised his eyebrows at me. “How do I know it was me that did those things, that it was me that was great and noble and fearless? Some people might think that slaying Kitten should be the defining moment in my life, but it’s not. It cannot be, because I did not do it. I did not control my body then—it was all the angel. And now it seems to me that without the angels I am nothing. It wasn’t me that did those things, just like it wasn’t me that killed Kitten. It was the angel through me. The angel was great. Not me.”

“But you had to get to that point, to the point where the angel could use you.”

“The angel could have chosen any worthy person. Probably any person in that army. I happened to have a position of stature, of leadership, and so was a natural choice because of where I was born. I was a good person—that is all I can say for certain. Now, I am still a good person. But without the angel, am I great? Am I still a fearless leader? Or am I a coward? Am I weak?”

I could not think of any comfort to offer. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

He snorted and walked away.

Upon leaving the palace we searched for a brook or river in which to wash the perceived filth from our hair, skin, and clothing. In the end, as evening fell, we settled for the shallow water of a lake in the north west corner of the area. We set up camp, there, with only the western edge of the area left to explore.

I was not the only one who laughed and splashed playfully in the water, relieved to be clean again. At one point Sileman dunked me under, and I emerged gasping for air and sputtering. In that rush of sudden, frolicking panic, my eye caught Breenian’s face for just a moment. She was already sitting on the bank, her glistening hair pulled back, her face lit with laughter as she watched me struggle. She covered her mouth shyly with her hands, suppressing a giggle as her eyes met mine.

In that moment, something stirred inside me.

I realize now, after some thinking, what it was. Until that moment, I had only really seen her as a powerful monk or as a host for the angel. But suddenly I saw her as a person with feeling and emotions and personality. I saw her as a woman.

In the next moment, I was again struggling against Sileman, fighting to keep my lungs dry.

Zephyr 28, 1276 DR

We awoke early and passed on down through the Western side of the Chokhin, through swarms of floating insects. They glowed bright white, and had the tendency to buzz past your eyes, close to your face so that for a moment afterwards you would have a bright streak across your vision.

“They’re called Soul Flames,” Breenian said. She smiled as she reached out to touch one. It buzzed around her hand and then off and away.

“That’s a silly name,” Wez said, swatting at one near his nose.

“They only live here, in this part of this area. Centuries ago, people thought that the bugs were the souls of departed loved ones. They would come here and stay for days, hoping to commune with the ones they’d lost.”

“How sweet,” Haillia said. She caught one gently in her cupped hands and peeked at it through her fingers. She cooed at it.

“It’s not a baby,” Sileman said. “You goofball.”

As we kept walking, Breenian stepped up next to me. “I didn’t want to tell her that their bite can be deadly.”

I looked at her, surprised. “Isn’t it a little dangerous to be here, then?”

She smiled at me and touched my arm. “Oh, don’t worry. It takes half a dozen bites before the shock sets in. And they usually only feed in the evening.”

“You sure know a lot about everything.”

She raised her eyebrows at me. “Are you calling me a know-it-all?”

“No, no.” I could not help but add a slight tease to the tone, just to make her wonder. Her dry look made me chuckle. A small dimple—which I had not noticed before—appeared in her left cheek. “No, really. It’s just that you seem to know so much about everything. I would expect that from a scholar, but not a monk.”

“Well, my father took me all over the place—several times. He wanted me to see the world so I could envision what I could become.”

“What did he envision you to become?”

She shrugged. “It didn’t really matter to him as long as it was military. ‘My father was a poor farmer,’ he would say. ‘He worked hard to make it possible for me to become a merchant. I’ve worked hard to make it possible for you to be in the military. Now, you must work hard so that your children can become nobles.’”

“He had a master plan for your children?”

“I think it was more my grandfather’s master plan. From my youngest years I remember my father repeating that. My grandfather must have repeated it to him. I don’t remember him; he died a few years after my death, but he left me a letter outlining his ideas. He cared about his posterity. He wanted his posterity to make him proud, and to become a noble family in Vabbi so that they could lead good, comfortable lives.”

“And I guess there is a path for that? From farmer to merchant to soldier to noble?”

“Yes, basically.”

“And you’ve bought into it?”

She gave me one of those looks that challenged my comment. “Why, yes, I happen to have bought into it. What do you have against that?”

I raised my hands defensively in front of me. “I don’t have anything against the idea. I was just curious.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting a good life for your posterity.”

A question occurred to me. “You have children, already?”

She laughed. “No, no. That would require a husband. I’ve almost married a few times, but called it off each time.”

“Ah,” I said, wondering what else one would say to such a comment. I didn’t think it was appropriate to offer either congratulations or condolences. “Recently?”

“The last was three years ago.”

I sensed an opportunity to drop a hint. “Well . . . I’m, ah, glad that you’re not married.”

“Oh really, Hezekiah Kidron? Why is that?” She smiled up at me, and raised her eyebrows in a friendly question.

I had not expected her to respond so directly. “Uh, well, you know . . . .”

“You’re very bad with women,” she said.

I frowned. “Yes, I know.”

She laughed. I blushed. Together we walked in silence for a time.

We passed into the Vehjin Mines mid-morning. The area reminds me of many other lands in Vabbi. In parts you must pass between steep, chiseled canyons of rock, and at other times you find yourself traversing wide, grassy plains. The miners have yet to return to their tools and scaffolds. The cliffs stand silent and still. An occasional mirror stands facing the sun, reflecting the light back into the sky; Breenian told us that the miners use them when the sun is away from the cliffs, to reflect the light back so they can see their work a little better.

In the northwest corner of the mines we came across a village crammed up against the rocks. Its Kournan architecture surprised me, but we didn’t stop to talk with anyone—they watched us suspiciously as we passed through. Not one waved at us or offered us a place to stay, which was unusual for Vabbi, yet probably not surprising given recent events.

As darkness fell, we reached the Basalt Grotto. The stark beauty of the place—especially the way the light reflects from the cobalt walls—took me off guard. I was walking aimlessly around, looking at the nooks and crannies of the place, when Wez found me.

“Bruck was here,” he said.

My heart faltered for a moment, but I tried not to let it show. “Was?”

“Several days ago. He was asking about you and I, and the group.”

“Did they say which way he went?”

“Into the Desolation. Do you think it’s wise for us to go that way, if we know he’s gone that way, too?”

I had thought about it a lot, which is why I felt surprised at how nervous Wez’s news made me. “I’m not afraid of him. Do you think we have a reason to be?”

He thought for a moment. “I guess not. He’ll probably be with a slightly bigger party.”

“We can grab a few more people for ours, if you want.”

“We’re a pretty strong group, but I think we could at least use a guide. Someone to take us through the Desolation safely.”

“Sounds good. Why don’t you find us one?”

“Very well.”

He left, and I found myself staring up at the dark, angled pillars of Basalt, pondering on what would happen when Bruck eventually, inevitably found me.

Keep the story coming dude! I always check this thread out to see what Hezekiah and gang are doing.

I certainly appreciate all of you that have stuck with me through this story. At the first entry, I commented that it would be around 100 entries long. The end is almost in site. This is entry 84. I think we may end exactly on 100; I almost have a plan for the rest of the entires at this point. I appreciate those of you who have read, commented, and given feedback.

This entry begins Part IV.

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Zephyr 29, 1276 DR

This morning Wez introduced us to Venk, a short, thin necromancer with dark skin and a darker scowl. He wore a wide-brimmed, small hat that shaded his face from the morning sunlight. I don’t think that he met my eyes once during the introductions.

“I’ve told Wez that I’ll take you as far as the Bone Palace,” he said, looking out from beneath his hat as if afraid that light might touch his vision. “I’m not sure where I’m going from there.” He had a high-pitched, grainy voice.

“Venk has lived in the desolation his entire life,” Wez said. “Everyone around here says he’s the best, knows every hill and valley of area.”

“And I expect payment up front!” the necromancer said. His hands twitched as if he ready to reach out for a purse.

“How much is this going to cost us?” I asked.

Wez gave us a cautious look. “Ah, uh. A thousand.”

“Dear Meandru!” Sileman said. “To take us across one area?”

“Each!” Venk said. “A thousand each!”

A general uproar rose from the party members, and we had some discussion that resulted in Wez offering to pay for everyone. “My hell,” he said. “This isn’t the Istani countryside we’re going into. It’s the damned Desolation. I don’t think any of you understand what that means, yet!”

I would estimate that it took about fifteen minutes for us to understand. The raw heat from the sun and ground, and the stench of the sulfurous landscape wore us down surprisingly fast. In fact, the first group of foes we met—uncharacteristically large, I thought as we approached them—took us down in just a matter of seconds. In shock—more from the suddenness of death rather than the intensity of the killing pain—I found myself detached from my body, watching as the remainder of my party fell into the yellow sands. I almost didn’t have time to consider that perhaps this was it—perhaps the end had arrived. Luckily, at the first sign of defeat Venk had fled, cackling as he ran.

He retreated to a safe place—practically back into the grotto—where he doubled over with his hands on his belly, laughing. After a moment he actually fell over. His hat slipped off, and for the first time I saw that his head was bald and marked with a crisscrossing pattern of white scars. Wiping tears from his eyes, he quickly snatched the hat back and put it onto his head, and then settled down cross-legged to continue laughing.

Five minutes later, I started wishing I could tell the man to hurry up with the resurrection. In another five minutes, he finally stood and moved back through the sulfuric haze toward our pile of smoldering corpses. He brought me back, first.

“Take enough time enjoying that show?” I asked, taking no care to mask my displeasure.

He raised his face just enough so that the wide brim of his hat revealed his eyes. Their stark, deep blue contrasted sharply with the thick, wrinkly skin of his face. He poked my chest with a bony finger. “You’re the leader of this party?”

I nodded.

“Well don’t be a jackass. Your party almost perished right then. They survived only because of me, a practical stranger. Lead, and don’t be a jackass about it!”

“You could have warned us,” I said. It was a weak comment, but I had to do something to try and save face and quell the guilt in my belly.

“My price should have been warning enough.”

“Bring the rest of them back.”

“My signet is used. You’ll have to do it. Make sure you bring someone back that doesn’t rely on a silly one-charge skill.”

I growled at him, and in just a few minutes the entire party was back up and ready to go.

Now that we knew what to expect, we approached the awakened undead with a little more caution, and were able to take them down without losing a person. I thought we had things under control at that point, but then Venk took us to the edge of a giant pit, in which a serpent circled lazily around in the sand, its horned head occasionally rising to the surface.

“What are we doing here?” Sileman asked. He eyed the worm with a cautious expression.

Venk chuckled quietly and was about to speak. But Breenian did so, first.

“We can’t transverse much of the Desolation on foot, as the heat and stench would kill us. We have to rely on these serpents.”

“I don’t like the sounds of that,” Haillia said.

Breenian grimaced. “It’s not fun, but it won’t kill us. Venk, here, I am sure knows how to control them. He will instruct them to swallow us and keep us in their throats, where the bile and stomach acid will not touch us. Through some rather unexplainable magic, we’ll be able to see in our minds eyes what the serpent sees, and by thinking will be able to issue commands.”

“Did your dad bring you here?” I asked her.

She nodded. “Just once, and into this area. We didn’t go into any others. I didn’t want to spend any more time in the serpent’s neck than I had to. I had hoped that Venk would know a different way to travel the Desolation.”

The necromancer laughed again.

“I’m beginning to think he laughs too much,” Rhonan said to me. “Hopefully he won’t want to escort us into any other areas.”

“I absolutely agree,” I said.

Venk eyed us narrowly as he turned to approach the serpent’s lair, calling out in a strange, clicking tongue. The ground shook, and then with a widespread shower of sand a serpent rose from the ground, roaring and swaying. It towered twenty feet above the necromancer, who raised his cane and continued to speak. I could have sworn the serpent nodded as if in understanding. The sand around my feet began to dance as the ground trembled. The grains bounced and played, and then suddenly disappeared as one of the brown worms emerged from the depths, mouth gaping. Sand sprayed over me. I covered my face with my arms. The creature roared again, and then suddenly everything was dark and wet. All around me the soft muscles of the worm’s neck rippled and pushed. An immediate, sharp sensation of claustrophobia started to close in around me, and panic seeped into my veins only to be slurped out by the sudden vision in my head.

I saw exactly what the serpent was seeing: the yellow sands, the black and brown rocks, the bizarre, eerie horns growing from the ground, reaching higher than five serpents as they twisted and reached toward the sky. Six other serpents surrounded me. I knew instinctively who was in which serpent. An array of powerful skills shone in my skill slots. I felt invincible.

I commanded the serpent to move forward. It surprised me how slowly it traveled—hardly any faster than us humans, if at all. We came across a group similar of awakened undead to the one we had already dispatched, made up of giants, blademasters, and acolytes. The serpents’ bodies rose out of the ground to hurl boulders at the enemies, or to smash down on or around them, doing massive damage that I could only dream of doing with my own skills. My vehicle steed my every command as if it were my own body, and I quickly settled in for an the duration.

We used the serpents often during the day, but only for a little while each time, evuntally being spit out into the ground like unwanted food. Slime covered us, and soon it picked up dust and sand, so that we practically appeared to be denizens of the Desolation ourselves: upright, walking pillars of sulfur. Now, in the evening, we rest in the Bone Palace. Fortunately, we found bathing accommodations.

I bathed first, while the others ate dinner. As I re-dressed, standing outside of the bathing room, I heard someone approaching me, and turned to find Breenian.

She smiled at me. Almost slyly, I’d say. “Can I have a turn?”

“Huh?” I said, wondering if I should cover my chest or not. It probably didn’t matter, given the examination she’d given me a week before.

“To bathe. I want to take a bath.”

“Oh.” I motioned toward the door that led to the bathing rooms. “You look like you could use a bath.”

She smiled and turned her head to look at me as she walked past, letting her eyes stay locked to mine.

I didn’t know what to say. I almost wanted to ask if I could join her. Instead, something else came out. “I was wondering something.”

She stopped with her hand on the door handle. “Yes?”

“You always mention your father. Where is he now?”

Her countenance fell—her eyes dimmed and her smile faded. “He died recently.” She looked at me for another moment, and then opened the door and passed through. It closed quietly behind her.

Shaking my head in disbelief at myself, I went in search of Wez to find out if there has been any word or sign of Guel. It appears there has not.

Zephyr 30, 1276 DR

When I awoke this morning, I found Sileman standing at the top of the Palace’s walls, looking out into the wasteland. The sun hovered halfway covered by the horizon.

“I don’t know how long I can take this,” he said to me. “This Desolation. It’s sucking out my soul. The stench and the heat. Do we have to explore the area?”

I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You mean to tell me that a big, tough ritualist like yourself, who has been through the deepest, ugliest pits of the Canthan arenas—the secret places, where when you die you’re dead—is afraid of a little sulfur?”

He nodded. “I never thought I would be. But I am. I’m scared witless.”

“Just stick with us,” I said. “You’ll get used to it.” But even as I said it, I dreaded going out into the yellow land to be swallowed by giant worms. It wasn’t terrible once you got in, but the before and after were something to not look forward to. And we found ourselves frequently summoning the creatures, and being expelled from their throats as Venk led us through the Shattered Ravines, along high plateaus and down narrow canyons.

The ambiance of the land must have gotten to us during the day, for in the evening we sat quietly around a fire in the Lair of the Forgotten, staring with sullen expressions at the flames. Only Venk did not seem affected, as he sat there whistling quietly and carving away at what looked like a piece of bone. For a long time no one spoke. Eventually I made the decision to go to bed early, but as I was about to rise Rhonan spoke.

“Sileman,” he said. “You asked me a few days ago why I wasn’t going back to my family in Kourna. I think I am ready to answer that question. ”

Sileman nodded cautiously. “Is that so?”

“Oh hell,” Wez said. He stood so quickly that it startled me. “I’m not going to get pulled into some personal discussion again.”

“Relax,” Sileman said. “No one is going to ask you anything.”

“What makes you think I want to hear anything about anyone else?” the ranger asked.

“Go ahead and leave,” Rhonan said. “I am not offended if you do.”

Wez gave him a long, ponderous look, and then sat down. “Perhaps this will be interesting.”

Rhonan paused for a moment. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped and his eyes turned down. I thought he looked much like a tired old man, one who was ready to spend the remainder of his days simply waiting to die. Eventually, he spoke: “It is common knowledge among those in my area that the child my wife had was not our own. She bore him six months after I returned from a six month trip to Istani.”

“Isn’t he a teenager, now?” Sileman asked. “You mentioned him before.”

He nodded. “Yes. Yes. He is fifteen, now.”

“Isn’t it somewhat late in the whole process to decide you don’t want to be around them?” Sileman asked.

Rhonan gave him a piercing, fierce look with eyes like pins. “You don’t understand. It was very humiliating for me. I am a man of position and stature, and to have her, Illani, bear another man’s child was a blow to my position and my honor. There were many who said I should put her away, marry another. You should have heard them, clamoring around me in anger and indignation.” His eyes grew distant. “We were there, in my audience chamber, the day after I had returned from the successful trip. I was standing there at the head of the room, in the midst of the great pillars and angling sunlight from windows above. My comrades and I had been laughing and joking, talking of our trip to Istan, when my wife’s servant came rushing in, pursued by my wife. They were both hysterical—her maid servant with rage and my wife with terror.

“ ‘Please, stop!’ my wife cried from the other end of the hall, grabbing the maid’s arms and trying to hold her back. Silence fell on us—on me and the dozen people with me. We watched with wonder and confusion as the maid struggled to free herself from Illani. ‘He must know!’ she cried, fighting Illani off as best she could without hurting her. It must have taken her a full minute to walk those hundred feet, down the center of that hall, along the wide red carpet between the pillars. My wife hounded her at every step, pulled on the sleeve of her dress and even at her hair. She even threw herself around the maid’s waist, and was drug a good distance until her grip failed, and she fell there on her face, on the red rug. All the while they were shouting.

“‘Not here!’ my wife would say. ‘Not now! I will tell him when we are alone!’

“‘The entire world must know!’ the servant said. Her face was so red. ‘You little RED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GO!’

“And when the maid reached me, and my wife lay there with her face down, sobbing into the red floor, she pointed down at Illani. ‘While you were gone your wife has been unfaithful to you! She now carries the child of another man.’”

He paused for a moment, and shook his head. “The maid—her name was Yethrani—wanted me to divorce my wife. She wanted me for herself. She later came to me in the night and said, ‘I will be yours, and yours alone if you will simply take me for your own. I love you—and you do not deserve to be stuck with that cheating RED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GO! I will be faithful to you!’ That is why she so publicly humiliated Illani.

“And there—there we stood. My closest friends and partners and governors, in stunned silence with Yethrani right before me, breathing so heavily in her anger, pointing down at my wife. She lay there in a heap, her body shaking with the sobs. It was a yellow dress. The one I most liked to see her in. For several long moments it was just like this, like you all right now. All silent and everyone wondering what would happen next. And not believing that this could be true. And so I asked. I said so softly I almost couldn’t hear. ‘Is this true, Illani?’ That is all I could say. ‘Is this true, Illani?’” He took a deep breath before continuing. “She raised her head, her paint running in lines down her face, along with her tears. Her hair a disaster. And she just nodded. She could not speak, I think. Just nodded. The wife of my youth, the one who I chose to be with forever, could only nod when responding to her accusations. I could not believe it. I did not know that to think or to do. But the others knew.

“‘You must put her away!’ Yethrani cried. ‘You cannot let this go unpunished!’ The others rallied behind her, spitting invectives at her, and telling me that there was no room for mercy in such a situation. They pointed their fingers at my beloved Illani, and demanded that I divorce her. I don’t know how long it went on. I simply did not know what to do or what to say. I don’t know how well I actually heard them. I could only stare at her. She lay there, looking at me. Tears on her cheeks. Where they had fallen on the carpet it looked almost like blood. I could not fathom that she would do something like this, that she would do the thing that we had sworn we would never do—and that I had never done and have not ever done since.

“But I had the impression,” he said, “that I needed to forgive her. I should forgive her. Just like that. Forgive her. The feeling was so strong—as intense as my rage. I needed to forgive her, and love her, and treat her with mercy. But my indignation opposed that impression to forgive, and as I stepped forward to her, slowly, and crouched on my haunches to look into her face, a mighty battle waged inside my heart and head. I have never fought a battle such as that. Not in any war. Not at any time. Forgive, or destroy. Those were my options. She had not moved from the spot where she had dropped. Her body had not stopped shaking. I opened my mouth, not knowing what I would say, and the words, ‘My love, you are forgiven.’ And somehow, as I said it, I meant it. Despite my anger, and despite the desire to cast her out, the fact remained that I had been with her for years and years. We had already been through so much, shared everything we could share, and loved in every way we could love. I could not destroy her. Despite her infidelity, she was my love. The only one I’d ever had. And so I forgave her.”

He paused and did not speak for a few minutes. His face twisted with the obvious pain the memory still gave him. None of us spoke in those minutes. Not even Wez or Sileman. We just looked at Rhonan’s noble face, his wet eyes and his clenching jaw.

“And now,” he finally said. “Now, fifteen years later, I do not know if I want to return to her. I do not know if my forgiveness has remained.” He looked up at us, his face lugubrious. “I thought I had truly forgiven her! We have lived for more than a decade in peace and fidelity, and I thought that I had forgiven her. But now,” and his eyes rested on mine, “now, I do not know if I have the strength to keep that forgiveness real, to keep it sincere.”

He looked at me for another few seconds, telling me with silence more than he had told the others. Given our shared fate, and the conversation a few days before in Chokhin, I certainly understood better than the others what was going on inside of him. For fifteen years the angels’ whisperings had taught him to forgive, to demonstrate mercy. Now, without that influence, without that added strength, he did not know if he could be as good a person as he’d previously been.

I realize, now, that my forgiveness of Guel had been surprisingly easy thanks to the angel. I remember that evening, when we arrived in Yahnur Market, and there he was with Sileman, Haillia, and Threnon, begging forgiveness. I felt the same thing Rhonan had felt—the impression to forgive, and the fact that it losing all of those hard feelings was as easy as simply making a decision. And I had forgiven Guel. Now I ask myself, “Does that forgiveness remain?” I think it does, but mostly because the entire dispute arose out of deception and misunderstanding. He was deceived, and so pursued, fought against, and even killed me. But once he learned the truth, he repented. That was relatively easy to forgive. But to forgive one’s spouse of the blatant disregard for sacred vows, knowing it would hurt the spouse yet caring more for one’s own immediate gratification—that was another thing entirely. I believe that I would find myself much in the same position as Rhonan.

How ironic? It is easier to forgive murder than infidelity. Of course, that is simplified. There were circumstances around the murder. Circumstances around the infidelity.

Finally, Rhonan pulled his eyes from mine and looked at Sileman. “That is why I have not returned home. Do you have any other questions?”

Sileman furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips. He looked at me. “Please, can we leave the Desolation, now? I think I’ve quite had enough.”

"Very well," Rhonan said. He stood and left the group, disappeared into the darkness beyond our fire's circle of light. I wondered if I should go after him.

Venk chuckled. "Well, Sile," he said. "That was a little more than you bargained for, wasn't it?"

Great story! I can't get enough.

Zephyr 31, 1276 DR

This morning I awoke to find Venk standing above me, nudging me with the toe of his boot. The sky was still dark.

“We should get going,” he said. “The Poisoned Outcrops is a brutal area. It will take us all day.”

Rubbing the haze from my eyes, I sat up. “What watch is it?”

“Third watch, still. A few hours from daylight. Of course, if you’re not interested in my services, I will simply be on my way.”

“No, no” I said, standing. “We’ll still pay you. A thousand a person, right?” I’d accumulated so much platinum during my travels that it hardly fazed me to pay him for everyone. I’d done it the day before, too. “But we can’t leave, yet. I’m the party leader, and I say that these people need their sleep.”

He held out his hand and waited. “It’s up to you, I guess. But it won’t be pleasant if we have to spend the night out in that land. Brutal as hell.”

“But we can do it?”

“Of course. Done it a few times.” He took the six platinum from me, in a small pouch, and hefted it in his hand. Then he turned to walk away, kicking Sileman as he did. “But I warn you, this one may not be able to handle sleeping out in the open.”

Sileman mumbled a few things, adjusted his blanket, and moved closer to Haillia. They always slept together. That is, after they’d returned from wherever they went to be alone each night. I guess that probably means they sleep together multiple times every night.

I tried but could not get back to sleep. So many things filled my mind. I lay there on my side, on the hard ground, my blanket covering me. Of all my party members, Breenian slept closest to me, an arm’s length away. She lay on her side, her face toward me, peaceful and quiet in her dreams. In the week I have been sleeping near her—since she joined our party—I have never noticed her moving or making much noise in her sleep. Wez talks some—never intelligibly—and Rhonan shifts so much I can’t imagine he ever gets too deeply asleep. But she sleeps gracefully and easily. I remember once my mother commenting that if someone slept well, it meant they had a clear conscience.

I wondered idly: if Breenian were mine and she did what Rhonan’s wife had done, could I forgive her? The most difficult part about it was that it could not be taken back. Once the crime was committed, the damage was done. There was no repairing it—which is what made Guel’s crimes against me more forgivable: in the circumstances in which they happened, they could be undone. Certainly he had killed me, but it had only been temporary, and the result of deception on someone else’s part. But there was no undoing what Rhonan’s wife had done. There could certainly be regret. There could be the begging for forgiveness. But it could not be undone. The intentional betrayal lasted forever.

I want badly to speak to Rhonan, to comfort him somehow. But don’t know what to say, what counsel to give. For that matter, I want to talk with Wez about Kandra, and Haillia and Sileman about Threnon. There has been almost no discussion amongst us about our fallen companions, almost as if their memories and our connections to them perished along with them. Not that I know what I would say to them. I, myself, don’t know what think or to do, anymore. In fact, like Rhonan I wonder who I am now that I don’t have the angel. All of the things I’ve done for my entire life—some of them great by my estimation—how can I claim them as my actions knowing what I do about the influence of angels. All I can do, as Rhonan has done, is claim that I have been a good person. That is it. I don’t know if I am brave. I don’t know if I am noble. I don’t know if I am a leader. I am the party leader, that is true. But it does not mean that I am a leader. I simply don’t know who I am, anymore. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go. How appropriate that now, at this time in my life, I find myself in the Desolation.

I was thinking of all of these things when I suddenly realized that Breenian had opened her eyes, and was looking at me. I started, and averted my gaze from her.

“You look very troubled,” she whispered. She gave me a small smile.

“I am very troubled.”

“About what?”

I hesitated, not knowing if I should tell her. What kind of leader spoke of misgivings about himself? What kind of confidence did that inspire? Then another comment of my mother’s returned to me: The best way to be rid of your fears is to talk about them. So I did. “Without the angel, I just don’t know who I am, anymore. I have lost that strength—like Rhonan. I just don’t know what I can do, who I am, and what I want.”

“You are exactly who you have always been.” She made it sound so simple.

“But how do I know if what I did is what I would have done without the angel?”

“Does it matter? You did it, and it makes you who you are today. It is still part of your history regardless of what influenced you. You could have disobeyed the angels’ influences with ease, but you did not, and it has made you great.” She reached a hand out from beneath her blankets, and much to my surprise touched my face. She ran her fingers down my cheek. Their warmth sent tingles through my ribs. “And you are great. You are a great man. You have done great things.”

I leaned my face into her touch. She started to pull her hand away, but I grabbed it, pressed it against my cheek as I closed my eyes. I did not want her touch to leave, yet I did not want her to see the wetness in my eyes. I’m not sure what caused the sudden held-back tears. They’d come without warning at her reassurance, feeding my heart and my soul.

“Do not fear, Hezekiah.” I heard her blankets rustle as she moved closer to me. “You are the same person you have always been.” Her lips pressed against my forehead. “You will realize that soon enough.” And then she cradled my head in her lap. I wrapped my arms around her waist, and my body shook as the welled-up frustration and fear rushed full-tilt into my mind and body. Everything suddenly seemed so overwhelming: the deaths of our party members, being hunted by two close friends, and the ripping of the angelic influences from my life. Misgivings, sorrow, and anger flooded through me, washing themselves out of my body through my saline.

And within a short time the tears had passed. When they had gone, I lay there for several minutes looking up at her, wondering what I could say, wondering what she was thinking. But what could I say? What could she think? She just smiled down at me, humming quietly and caressing my face with her fingers. Soon I slept again. When I awoke just before dawn, she was already up and about.

Venk was right when he said that the Poisoned Outcrops were a brutal area. The roving parties of Djinn and Margonites were larger than normal, and we did not have the strength of the wurms to aid us in our quest. Twice we nearly wiped. Once only Venk survived, and the second time only Breenian. That was fun, at least: mocking Venk for being careless.

Tonight we rest at what they call Hallowed Point, near the exit of the area. It looks out over a wide chasm of black stone and white fog. A cold wind blows up from the maw below, and strange noises echo in the darkness around us. Breenian has spoken little to me, but many looks have passed between us today. Rhonan has spoken even less—almost as little as Wez. I have no idea where Venk is. As usual, Sileman and Hailia have disappeared.

Zephyr 32, 1276 DR

I hate to admit it, but Venk was right. Spending the night out in the Poisoned Outcrops proved brutal; at the best, we each got a few hours of sleep. Roving bands of margonites, undead, and djinn approached frequently, and those on watch woke the others to fend off the attackers. There was a time or two between scuffles when I couldn’t even get back to sleep. My worries kept me up. I wondered where my relationship with Breenian stood, and whether or not the morning before she had just been doing her job as a healer, or if there was something more to her actions. What did she think of a man who broke down like that? I was none too pleased with it, myself, and wondered what had come over me. If she had been attracted to me before, was she still? I watched her discreetly as she kept watch with Haillia, listened to their quite conversation and wished that it had been me to keep watch with her in the night, so I could simply have some time alone to talk with her.

Near morning, after an encounter with a handful of Crag and Mesa, we decided to get moving. Venk indicated that we could camp for the next night at the Vortex, which is, in fact, where we are right now, in the center of a deep bowl surrounded by sharp, piercing rocks jutting skyward at every angle. The eerie green glow of the swirling Vortex cast a pallid hue on everyone’s faces as we talked tonight around the fire—something that has become a nightly ritual for the group.

“I’m telling you,” Sileman was said to me at one point, “we shouldn’t spend any more time in the Desolation than we have to. We should just start heading out tomorrow. I just can’t take it any longer.”

He had spoken thus multiple times throughout the day as we’d struggled through the area at a tedious, methodical pace. There were so many mobs, sometimes so close together that we simply had to hang back out of site and wait for quite some time, until the groups had separated before pulling one of them away. The few times we’d failed, and engaged multiple parties, we had retreated immediately to a safe distance, always losing a party member or two. That is so unnerving—that feeling of incompleteness and uncertainty as you leave a friend’s body near some foes and hope they don’t do anything exploitative to it. It’s even worse for the fallen companion, who must watch and wait, helpless.

The land itself feeds that apprehension. The hard stone ground, the dark hills, and the sunless sky all combine to create a simple yet profound sense of decay. Practically nothing grows in these lands, and those twisted trees that do have no leaves and stand as twisted, eerie companions to the stones. The occasional emerald ghost flits by, or stands guard at a crumbling shrine. They wail and moan, and their cries echo hauntingly across the land, so that it is almost never quiet, and when it is silent you wish it weren’t. You wish that a bird would chirp, or a lizard call to its mate. The roars and foul language of the demonic margonites, the sounds of their bodies collapsing under your weapon, are comforting alternatives to the silence and the wailing of specters.

I can understand why Sileman wants so badly to leave the land. In truth, I don’t know what keeps me here other than the silly goal to become a Cartographer. I am very close. Another area or two and I will have obtained the title. Once I have reached that goal, I don’t know what I will do. I understand there is a passage into the Crystal Desert in the next area over. Perhaps I will go there. The thought has also occurred to me that perhaps I should go to Kamadan, to aid in the battle against Bruck’s master. I have had some second thoughts and feelings of guilt on not going directly there. I believe that if I had the angel influencing me I would have done the less selfish thing, and gone back to Istan. But without the angel to guide me, I am rudderless. Going into the Crystal Desert, and possibly back up to Ascalon, seems just as appealing and likely as going back to Istan or over to Cantha and back to the arenas. For that matter, I could just as easily stay in Vabbi, or take up residence in Kourna.

Not that it matters at the moment. For now, we are here in the Desolation, and I am inclined to explore here another few days despite Sileman’s wishes.

“It’s not that bad,” Wez said to Sileman. “You just need to relax.”

“Well,” Sileman said, “I want out as soon as possible.”

Venk hooted, but did not look up from his perpetual carving; he always had that knife out, yet never seemed to make any progress on whatever was in his hands. “I wish you would stay. You are better entertainment than I have had in many years.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Rhonan asked, his voice somewhat offended. “You mean all of us?”

“Not you!” Venk said. “You are a blithering tragedy! Him!” he jabbed his knife at the air toward Sileman. “He’s the entertainment! Him and that woman of his! You should hear them at night, when you’ve all gone to sleep and they whisper and coo!”

Sileman rose, his face burning red. He pointed at the necromancer. “You little eavesdropper!”

“I cannot help but eavesdrop! It’s so entertaining, and you make no effort to ensure you are alone. ‘Oh, you’re such a darling!’ ‘Oooo, I like it when you do that!’ ‘Ahh, that’s so nice!’ ‘What do you want me to do?’”

Haillia laughed. “It’s true, isn’t it?” She touched Sileman’s hand. “He’s so tender, isn’t he? Such a gentleman?”

We all laughed. I looked at Breenian, whose face was nearly as bright as Sileman’s.

“Tell us more,” Wez said to Venk. A wicked grin flashed across his face. “Tell us about Sileman.”

“Stop!” Sileman cried. “That’s enough!”

“But there’s so much to tell,” Venk said. He never looked up, and still wore that hat. All we could see of his face was a mischievous, crooked-toothed grin. “Are you two always like that, or was it just last night! What would you call it? Roleplaying?”

“Oh, we’re like that all of the time,” Haillia said. “He’s very accommodating.”

“Fine, fine!” Sileman shouted. “Since obviously I’ve brought this upon myself, and since it’s not going away, I’ll tell you myself.” And just like that, he did not seem so embarrassed or upset, but was now the story teller, the center of attention and the jester he usually was. “I’ll tell you exactly what it’s like having this woman as your master!” He pointed down at Haillia, and winked. “This is what she makes me do.”

And much to my surprise, he outlined exactly what she liked, in great detail. We laughed and made fun of him at every turn—especially Rhonan and Wez. They took every possible jab they could, and teased him without mercy. In honesty, it was more embarrassing for him than for her.

“I can’t take this,” Breenian said quietly to me. “I don’t need to know this!”

“I think it’s sweet,” I said to her, grinning. “I would never do that—not for anyone.”

“And so,” Sileman said as he finished his description. “Now you understand what sick little girls from Cantha like their pretty little boys to do.” His comment brought on a fresh round of laughter. Haillia looked at him with adoration, and held his hand.

“You,” Wez said, “are a bigger idiot than even I ever thought. And that’s saying something.”

And now everyone is asleep. Only Sileman and I are awake as we keep watch over our party. Over my party. I wonder as I think back if I am being a good leader? Certainly I am leading them through this dangerous land relatively safely, but I am certain that there is more to being a leader than simply calling targets and directing battles. Those are the small things. Aren’t there big things to do? Bigger decisions to make? Perhaps I should pay heed to Sileman’s wishes and lead the party out.

We just had a short conversation. I think he may be leaving the party in the next day or two.

“How would you feel,” he said without warning, looking into the wind that has started up, “if Haillia and I went to the Crystal Desert?”

“We would miss you,” I said. “We certainly would like you to stick it out with us.”

“No offense,” he said. “We do not want to abandon you. But, I just don’t know if I can take this place any longer.”

“No offense would be taken,” I said. “As long as you’re not trying to kill me, I don’t mind what you do.”

“You say that about Guel and Bruck?”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

“They were good friends.”

“Still are, I imagine. Just bound by magic and oaths that cannot—and should not—be broken.”

“You made an oath, you know,” he said. “You promised to free him.”

I had not forgotten. “I don’t think that is an oath I can keep.”

“Perhaps not. And you made it under duress. I don’t blame you for forgetting it.”

“I haven’t forgotten it.”

He shivered against the wind. “I hope this wind doesn’t bring a sandstorm.”

But it looks like it probably will.

Zephyr 33, 1276 DR

The sandstorm came on very quickly in the middle of the night, blasting us with grains of sand that choked us and that burned our eyes. Our only recourse was to huddle between two rocks, in a tight space and cover ourselves with blankets as best we could. Still, the edges of the cloth snapped in the wind, and sand found its way through the seams and into our mouths, noses, ears, and clothes. It was an altogether dreadful experience, and I did not sleep at all the rest of the night. I do not remember the last time I got a good night’s sleep. It’s starting to wear on me.

In the morning we passed through the rest of the Ruptured Heart, and into the Crystal Overlook. What a place it is—practically an oasis in this dry, deadly Desolation. Along the western edge the stone ground gives way to sand, and green weeds actually grow in a few places. The air smells cleaner—the stench of sulfur is faint. It’s simply easier to breath. The sky is—not blue, exactly, but less gray than in the Desolation. A building—the overlook—towers over the area, looking to the northwest and into the Crystal Desert, into my homeland of Tyria. Not that that desert is my homeland. It is still quite a long journey from the Crystal Desert to Ascalon. Weeks of travel.

On the western-most edge of the area, a snake-like guardian watched over an entrance into the Crystal Desert. We stopped there to eat briefly, and I watched warily from twenty feet away as Sileman and Haillia talked quietly off to the side, motioning and looking at the exit from the Desolation. His eyes shone with hunger, with desire to leave the Desolation. I truly feared that he would, but did not know what I could say that would keep him with the party. I could not tell what Haillia’s stance was, and she had never spoken to me about leaving the group, so I did not know her feelings on the matter.

To my surprise, Rhonan approached the two. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “You’re not thinking of leaving us, are you?”

The group fell silent, and all eyes turned to the Ritualist and Mesmer.

Sileman looked around at us, his face pained. “I cannot take returning into the Desolation.”

“You are still in the Desolation,” Venk said. “Quit your whining.”

“But this area—it so much better than the last few. I cannot imagine how much better it would be through that portal. So much nicer. Clean air. Blue sky.”

“It’s only another few days,” Breenian said. “Just stick it out with us. Do you really want to leave the party?”

Haillia jumped into the conversation. “No, we don’t. But—you don’t understand how much this land affects him. He hasn’t opened up to the rest of you about his feelings, but they are so dark. . . . If you only knew what thoughts entered his mind. . . .”

“You don’t have to bear that burden alone,” Rhonan said. “We are a party. We’re practically family.” He gave Venk a sidelong glance. “Well, most of us.”

“You can’t blame me for asking a fair price!” Venk said.

“I know how you feel,” Wez said. He sat in the very rear of the group, furthest from Sileman and the area exit. His locked his eyes on the ground in front of him. “You think it would be better to die than to continue on, than to face another day of the stench and the decay of this place, than to enter into one of those worms. In fact, late at night as you lay awake, you think it would just be better to take your knife and end it. And end it for as many of the party as you can, because they must be just as unhappy as you.” He looked up for just a moment, glanced around the group, then turned his gaze back down. “You think everyone would just be better off not taking another step.”

Sileman’s jaw moved but his mouth made no sound for several seconds. Finally, he managed to say, “That’s exactly it.”

Wez looked up again. “Get over it. Be a man. Just deal with it. Stay with the party. In a few days, we’ll be done. We don’t want you to leave. Hell. We probably even need you.”

Sileman gave him a wry grin. “You’ve never said such kind things to me. But they mean little when compared with the prospect of going back into that choking wasteland.”

Rhonan stepped forward and put his hand on Sileman’s shoulder. He stood a full head taller than the Ritualist. “Listen. When we are done here, I am going back to my family. I have made the decision. I would like you to come with me. I would like you to meet them, and for them to meet you.” He swallowed hard. “My boy . . . my boy has always wanted training from a master Ritualist.”

Sileman looked into Rhonan’s face, and then back to the exit. His gaze lingered there for several moments. “I . . . don’t know.”

“What is the greater feeling?” I asked. “The desire to stay with us, or the fear of the Desolation?”

He did not hesitate. “I want to stay with you, of course. That is silly.”

“Do not sacrifice,” Rhonan said, “what you want most because it is a little difficult.”

“A little difficult?”

Rhonan shrugged. “Well, perhaps it is very difficult. But no obstacle should prevent you from what you really want.”

“Let’s just go,” Haillia said. “Let’s just get going, and forget this way out was ever here.” She pulled on his elbow, leading him away from the exit. “It’s just a few days more, and you’ll be free from it all.”

As he took slow, dragging steps, he looked back at the guardian. “Very well. But let’s get out of here before the temptation becomes too unbearable.”

We did not hesitate, but hurried on, keeping in the sand and along the Western edge of the area as long as we could. By the time night fell and we had explored the entire area, Sileman still had not stopped looking back to the West. It did not help that by then, the land had once againg transformed back into the sulfurous waste we had become used to. At least—unusually—Wez and Rhonan kept close by Sileman, talking and joking with him, trying to keep his mind occupied.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” I asked Breenian.

“I think so,” she said. “We’ll have to watch him. I’m more worried about Wez than Sileman. I had no idea he was so affected by this land. It’s the demons, you know. They’re all around us in this place. You and Rhonan aren’t as affected, so you probably don’t understand, but the rest of us—we’re all having those thoughts that Wez described. And Wez probably has a lot more built up inside of him, what with Kandra’s death and all.”

“Why hasn’t anyone mentioned it?”

“Would you mention your suicidal, homicidal thoughts?”

“Probably not. I guess in some respects I’m lucky about how the angel and demon thing has turned out for me.”

She touched my hand, and looked up at me with solid, unblinking eyes. “Are you doing okay?”

The question came without warning, but I knew immediately that she was talking about the other morning, and my episode. I nodded. “I think I am okay. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You’ve just been through a lot. You’re going through a lot.”

The question burned in my mind, and I could not hold it back. “And you—what do you think of a man who--.”

She interrupted me. “Don’t even ask, Hezekiah. It’s just a part of life. Everyone feels like that sometimes. There is no shame in being a real person.”

And then the question I really wanted to ask. “And were you just doing your job? Just being a monk as you comforted me?”

She stood facing me, her face earnest, her hair falling down around her shoulders, framing her blue eyes, high cheekbones, and thin lips. Her face was slightly tanned. She reached out and took my hands in hers. “Hezekiah. You are a man unlike any I have ever met.”

I didn’t know what to say. Everything that came to mind sounded ridiculous. My heart pounded in my throat. My mouth felt dry, parched. I stared into her face, unblinking, hoping my eyes said what my lips could not. Elation surged through me.

She smiled up at me, and then raised to her toes, kissing me softly on the cheek. When she had lowered herself, she said, “Don’t be afraid of me, Hezekiah. Let’s just take it slow.” And then she turned and left, walked away to where Wez, Rhonan, Sileman, and Haillia were talking quietly to each other.

It’s hard for me to articulate on this parchment the excitement and energy I feel now. Things have suddenly changed for me. A light glimmers through the clouds.

Zephyr 34, 1276 DR

I found myself keeping watch in the last hours of night, sitting atop the hill just inside the exit to Alkali Plain. Wez watched with me, and for most of the time we sat in silence, observing the horizon turn from black to grey to blue as the dawn neared. I took me nearly the entire watch to gain the courage to ask the ranger the question that occupied my thoughts. Finally, I could stand the inner tension no longer.

“How are you doing?” I asked him.

“I’m fine. What do you mean?”

I saw no point in delaying what I really was after. “You haven’t said one word about Kandra.”

He gave me a long, even look, his eyes narrow. “If you were Sileman, I would have already told you to go to hell.”

“We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Like I said, if you were Sileman, I would have gotten rid of you already.”

“I’m just concerned.”

He did not respond for a while, and I wondered whether or not I should pursue the matter anymore. Eventually he spoke, not looking at me.

“One day I was out in the field, shooting.” He grunted. “I was out there everyday. But on this day, I was out there early. The sun was angling up behind me, casting long shadows through the field of wheat. My shadow nearly touched the edge of the forest, twenty paces away. The stalks of grain brushed up against my elbows, and I was shooting. I would shoot five or six arrows at my target pinned up against the tree, and then retrieve them. Then I would move back five paces, and shoot them again.

“I didn’t see her. She jumped out from behind the tree, suddenly, to get one of the arrows for me. She liked to do that, to get my arrows. You know that feeling, when you want to stop doing something, but your body is already acting, and you can’t tell it to stop soon enough. That’s how it felt, and the arrow soared through the air—faster than any arrow I have ever shot. Took her right in the back. Pinned her to the tree.”

“Your sister,” I said.

He nodded. “Little Oubree. The only person in my family I cared about. The only one who cared about me. And I killed her. There weren’t any healers on the farm, and the nearest was too far. I knew I could do nothing to save her. So I left. I fled. I thought people would misunderstand, would blame me. So I left. I didn’t know where I would go, but thought Kamadan was a nice, big city in which I could get lost, could not be noticed. So I headed there. I regretted almost immediately that I did not stay at least for her burial. I owed her that, I think, for the love and friendship we shared.”

I did not know how to respond. I didn’t know if I should, if doing so would stop his talking, so I did not speak. He continued on, his tone carefully steady, that of a man who has already thought so much about the topic, already suffered at its daggers so much, that it was difficult to express any emotion about it, anymore.

“I went there. Worked on different jobs for a little while—on the docks, in the stables. Hated it. Hated every day and wished that I’d been there to bury Oubree. Whenever I could, I would leave the city, go out into the Plains of Jarin to do the only thing I loved: shoot arrows. When I was out there, I frequently saw a woman and her maidens picnicking in the countryside. She was royalty, I knew. I never approached them, but eventually, perhaps after a year, they approached me. The hailed my skills and said they wanted to watch. I found them annoying and looked for another place to occupy myself. But one of them persisted. One of the maidens. She would leave the group and come find me, would watch from a distance. It reached the point that every time I went out, she was there, waiting either at the gates or out in the countryside, watching for me. We started to talk. I realized she wasn’t so annoying, after all. One thing led to another, and the next thing I know we are talking about marriage.

“She was worried about what her family would think. It was the age-old story of a girl falling for someone not good enough for her, or for a man falling for someone too good for him. It would never work, simply because of the rules. And her family took it badly. They threatened to disown her. She did not back down. I would not back down. On the day we went to her parents one last time, seeking their blessing, they cast her out of the family in a fit of shouting and rage. We left, distraught, and walked along the battlement of Kamadan’s city wall. What a cruel twist of fate! It was so simple! It could have been prevented so easily, but happened so suddenly. She tripped and stumbled off of the wall, turning and rotating through the air, and landed fifty feet below, right on her head. Her neck broke. She died instantly. By the time I got a healer there, it was too late. She was too far gone.

“I did not flee, this time. I took her to her family, carried her in my arms, knowing that what they had not forgiven in life they would have to forgive in death. They forgave her, but not me. They blamed me. They took her body from me and sent me away, swearing that I would not have anything to do with her or her family. I fought. I did everything I could, but was unable to find out when or where the funeral would be. I did everything I could.

“And that was years ago, as you can imagine. I became a nomad, a mercenary for people needing a ranger in their party as they traveled. I went all over Istan many times—except into the First City, of course. I made good money. You didn’t know that Bruck paid me to join his party, did you?”

This came as quite a shock. “I had no idea.”

“Paid me a good amount, up front, to travel with him through all of Istan. I couldn’t refuse his offer.” He let out a long, whistful sigh. I have never heard a sound like that coming from him. “And then I met Kandra. She joined our party there, in Kamadan, along with that silly paragon that didn’t last half a day. I was attracted to her immediately—you understand why, certainly. Such a person I have never known. And then, when you joined our party, and I saw how you looked at her, I knew I had to make a decision. What a risk it was, I thought at the time, to let myself love someone again. Everyone I had loved had perished, and I didn’t know if I was ready or willing to ever love again. It tore me apart, but in the end I could not resist those eyes and that smile, her fierceness and her energy, and I found that she reciprocated my interest.”

He finally looked at me. “She knew you had feelings for her. She hoped that you would never act on them. I hope there were no hard feelings.”

“No. No. My feelings weren’t that strong. It took me months to really act on them. I was glad to know that the two of you were together.”

“She understood me,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “Unlike anyone else. Her eyes spoke to my soul. Her words eased my worries and fears, and I truly believed that we would be together for the rest of our lives. We were, I guess, for the rest of hers. ‘I’ll be with you as long as I live,’ she’d said. I guess she didn’t lie.”
He shook his head. His posture changed. He slouched slightly. “So, when you ask me if I am okay . . . . my history I give you as your answer.”

But I was not am not sure what the answer was. Even now, tonight, my hope is it that he has endured terrible things before, and will endure again, and life will go on. I do not think he is the kind to do anything drastic. I simply wish there was something I could do for him. What can one do to ease such a blow? I think there is nothing. I can only be a friend, and not let him down. I understand him so much better, now. I have thought many times today of when I saw him after the battle, carrying Kandra to her burial place.

“I’m surprised you told me all of that.” I felt like I had been let in on a great secret, become part of an elect few. Really, I felt honored.

He shrugged again. “You’re Hezekiah. You’re the party leader. You’re as close to family that I have. You are one of my few friends.” He gave me a look from the corner of his eyes. “I would not have told Sileman or anyone else in the party. Not even Rhonan, but perhaps in time—if he wants to know—I will tell him. But no one else needs to know that about me.”

I understood that he was giving me instructions, was asking me to not share what I now know with others. “I understand.”

He nodded, and with that seemed to settle back into himself, to close back up.

I did not dare speak to him more as we waited, as the morning sun peaked up over the eastern hills, shedding a soft yellow glow gradually across the rolling, yellow land. I watched as the sun crept down the hill upon which Wez and I kept watch, toward our party members. They all slept peacefully, Breenian near where I had been sleeping. Sileman and Haillia together. Rhonan off to one side. Venk off to the other.

Just before the sun reached them, Breenian sat straight up in her blanket, so suddenly that it brought me and Wez to our feet, alert that we had missed something approaching our party. Breenian looked around for a moment, and upon spotting us leapt from the ground and sprinted toward us. As she did so, the air around her blurred, and her skin took upon itself a yellowish glow.

“Ah, hell,” Wez said, reflecting my own thoughts and the sudden sickness in my belly. That yellow gleam could only mean one thing.

“Hezekiah!” she called as she neared us. “I must speak with you!”

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to turn and walk away, partly because of shame that I had not helped where needed, and partly because I did not want to have that guilt thrust upon me—I wanted to be free of the responsibility, and free of the reminder that I did not know who I was, anymore.

She came to a stop just in front of me. I had never realized until then just how much being possessed by the angel changed her appearance. She stood differently, held her arms, legs, head, and hips at different positions. Her eyes looked different, and the expression on her face was harder. Much of her natural beauty had momentarily fled.

“We need your help! There is still time for you to come to our aid!”

“You’re already in Kamadan?”

“I can travel between hosts easily—I have been there frequently in the past many weeks. But things have become dire. We have suffered a great loss. Puppy Muffin has left has taken possession of a good part of Istan. A great battle took place at the Cliffs of Dohjok. We tried to fight them back, but they came ashore and have taken hold not only of Lahtenda Bog and the first City, but also the surrounding areas. We are retreating even now to Kamadan, to prepare for a great siege and battle. We can use your aid!”

“I couldn’t make it in time, if I wanted.”

“You might! If you hurry, you can make it here before the siege ends. We are trying to hold out a long as we can.”

I shook my head. The uncertainty was returning. I didn’t know if I had the courage to go there, to confront such danger without the reinforcement of the angels’ whisperings and aid. “I don’t know.”

“Hezekiah,” the angel said. It gripped my elbows tightly, and bored into my eyes with Breenian’s. “Breenian has told me of your doubts and your fears. You should not heed them. You are Hezekiah. Nothing changes the things that you have done, and you don’t need me or any other angel to confirm that to yourself. Come to us! Aid the cause of the righteous! It is this cause that you belong to! You know that!”

And with that, the air shimmered again. The glow left Breenian’s skin. Her body shifted its posture to what I knew and recognized as hers. She did not let go of my arms. Did not break the lock of our eyes.

“Hezekiah,” she said. “What will we do? What will you do?”

I shook my head yet again. “I truly do not know.”

And I still don’t, now, late in the evening after we have traveled through Alkali Plain. It was a hard area, of deep canyons concealed by a thick layer of fog. Along the gorge’s edges sharp, dangerous rocks jut toward the sky, a collection of heinous daggers that threatened even the gods. It seems that I should know what I need to do. It seems like the choice should be easy. But I cannot stop thinking about Bruck, and the oath I have made to him.

Zephyr 35, 1276 DR

Sometime today I become an Elonian Cartographer. I didn’t realize it until just recently, as we sit in the shadow of ancient structures, camping for the night in the southwest corner of the Sulfurous Wastes. We left the Bone Palace in the late morning, my party having languished in the early, angling light, resisting my instructions to get ready. Sileman threatened to leave the party again. Wez berated him and his weakness; Haillia defended him. Venk sat by, laughing, doing nothing to make the situation better. Rhonan got involved, although I wasn’t really sure whose side he was on. Before long I thought it would come to blows. The entire thing surprised me, given the comraderey Wez and Sileman have demonstrated in recent days.

I intervened, Breenian by my side, chiding them like little children, sending Wez away to one end of the town and threatening to cut Venk off from his sizeable daily income.

“We don’t really need you at this point,” I told him. “We know the dangers of the Desolation well enough, by now.”

He gave me a patronizing smile. “I apologize. I am willing to keep traveling with you for my usual price today.” He stepped to the side, bowing his head in mock fealty, and then slithered away.

“We have to get out of this place,” Rhonan said. He stood with me and Breenian, watching Haillia trying to soothe Sileman. She spoke to the ritualist in hushed tones, and ran her hands down his arms like she were petting him, an injured, scared animal.

“Two more days,” I said to him. “We’ll finish exploring Joko’s Domain today, and spend the night in the Remains of Sahlahja. Tomorrow night we’ll be in the Gates of Desolation.”

“From there,” he said, his eyes calculating, “it should only take three or four days to reach the Sunward Marches, and I will be home.” He made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “Funny: it seems so far away, but I could be there in less than a week.”

“Tell me,” Breenian said. “Tell me, what made you decide to go home?”

He grew very serious. “I made a commitment. Years ago, I made a commitment. I decided that I needed to keep that promise, to try and be the person I thought I was.”

“You have forgiven your wife?”

His eyes grew soft. “I want to forgive her. There is no changing my love for her—just as there is no changing the hurt she has caused me. I want to forgive her. That is where I must start.”

“It was simply a matter of making a decision?”

He nodded. “In the end, yes.”

She turned to me, raising her eyebrows and pressing her lips together. “You see, Hezekiah. Determining who you are, and what you should do, is as easy as making a simple decision.”

“Not necessarily simple,” Rhonan said. “In fact, not at all simple. But it helped when I realized that it was up to me.”

“It’s always been up to you,” I said, annoyed with the entire conversation. “Ever since that battle, when you killed Kitten, it’s been up to you.”

He shrugged. “All I know is that I finally realized that the choice was mine. I looked at who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. And despite the fear and the uncertainty, who I become from here on out is entirely up to me. The freedom is mine.”

Those last words have haunted me all day as we traveled via wurms and on foot. “The freedom is mine.” What is that supposed to mean? The freedom is mine. Doesn’t everyone have the freedom to do whatever they want?

We did not stop in the Remains of Sahlahja. We simply passed briefly through that city and its angular, tall buildings; I was not in the mood to sit around town for most of the afternoon, and so took my dark thoughts and my party with me into the Sulfurous Wastes. Venk led us to these pyramids in a narrow vale, and we camp at their feet, anxious to be out of this place on the morrow.

And here I am, a cartographer.

Zephyr 36, 1276 DR

I think I understand why the decision on what to do has eluded me for so long. I say “so long”, but really it has been, what—just a few weeks? It seems much longer. Like months. The adjustment to living without the aid of angels has slowed down time, made each day lengthen, each night stretch. Decisions languish in confusion. Problems fester. There is no extra reassurance that the choices made are right. The sulfurous air and dark landscapes certainly have not helped.

But I have decided what to do. It happened just this afternoon, as I sat looking back West into the Desolation, from the same spot where Bruck and I had sat and talked many weeks before. The motivation and resolve to decide came clearly, in the way a sheet of lightning in the night illuminates the clouds suddenly and vibrantly for just a few moments, and then leaves a fading image on your vision. It came like that. Suddenly and clearly—only the impression it left did not fade. It burns still in my mind and heart, now in the evening, as we camp in the reassuring fog of the Gates of Desolation.

It came together as I considered Rhonan and his decision to return home, and his comment about freedom. I had thought much about him. I had thought much about me. I had thought about Bruck. Breenian, Kitten and Puffy Mufin. Demons. Wez and Sileman. Istan, Vabbi, Kourna, and the Desolation. The arenas of Cantha, and my former guild. Ascalon. Baenlone—whom I have not ever mentioned in this journal. Kandra, Threnon, Guani. Chircuck. Guel. Sheenan. I had considered them separately, together, and in every combination possible, like the pieces to a puzzle that I had picked up, examined from every possible angle, and then placed down to consider another. I had placed them next to each other, seeing how or if they fit. This piece with that one. That one with this one. Those in this way. All of them together, like this. Or like this. Perhaps if I move them around, like this. I felt that with all of this intense and constant rumination I had considered each possibility. In fact, I probably had. What I lacked was the motivation to choose the right way to put the puzzle together. I had no resolve, no confidence to make a decision.

Which made my realization—and how simple it was—that much more surprising

It started when, in frustration I asked myself as I sat there, looking out over the yellow land, “What can I do about this problem?” I am not sure if I ever actually framed it in that way in my head—what is the problem? That led to the simple answer: “I don’t know what to do, because I don’t know who I truly am, if my past was mine or the angels’.” And then I realized that the decision I faced was not, in fact, a problem. Certainly, in losing the angels I had lost a profound and constant influence on my life, thoughts, and actions. And now, without the angels, I did not know if my past was mine, or the angels. But this was not a problem. It was an opportunity.

It is such a trite, tired thing that I almost missed it, and I was at first tempted to disregard it as exactly that—the kind of thing a person says who is selling something or trying to make you feel better. But everything changed when I took a moment to re-frame the idea from being a problem to an opportunity. It was like my brain unfolded, turned inside out, and then put itself back together again in a completely different way. Suddenly all of the pieces of the puzzle looked new, and could fit together in unexpected, surprising ways.

And then the impetus to decide came quickly. The angels had made me into what I was, whether I had realized it or not. But liberated of both the angels and the demons I was now—as Rhonan had put it—free. I had freedom. I had the rare opportunity to simply become who I am, independent all other influences. If I became this or that, it was not because of an external factor, it was due to my own will, judgment, and abilities. To my knowledge, no other people have had that opportunity. Just me and Rhonan. Of all men, we are most fortunate to have this chance, this prospect to start fresh and determine our own fates.

Even now as I write, the uncertainty and the fear are gone. Freedom thrills through me, igniting my blood with anticipation and excitement, and an unfamiliar sense of danger. I am making a decision on my own, free of all supernatural powers of good or evil. I am making MY decision. With every thought I am molding myself, becoming the person I envision. I can do this because I have the freedom. I am free.

My decision is made. In the morning I will tell my party, and we will begin the next leg of our journey.

Zephyr 42, 1276 DR

As I have read through Hezekiah’ journal, I have probably had a hundred thoughts on how to begin my own journal entry—for from the beginning, from the moment I confiscated his book, I planned on writing in it. As I read, I have thought up responses or comments on things he has written, and wanted to write them down yet resisted the temptation. Originally, I thought I would read the entire thing before adding my thoughts. But it is simply taking too long. His handwriting is so terrible that it takes me forever to read even the shortest entry. I have not yet even reached the point in his entries when we entered Gandara.

I know how the story ends, though. How it will end. That fool Paragan. It could have gone so differently.

Reading his journal has been surreal for me, like stepping into his mind. Like slicing open the top of his head and having ghostly images and ideas spill out in their biased and unrefined format. The details he chose to remember and record fascinate me. The conversations. The places. The things. The scenes. They are like paintings, flawed because of their extreme acuteness in some places and their smudges in others.

I will say that one thing that has impressed me about his journal. He is a very honest person. At least, nothing he has written in the journal contradicts anything he ever did or said, as far as I know. He may be a fool, but he is consistent, at least. Even in his representation of me and my relationship with him—which I had not expected. I had half expected him to defame and belittle me. To treat me like an enemy. But he has not. He has treated me with fairness, and even given me insight into how others view me that I did not have before. I liked him from the beginning. But in reading his thoughts and emotions and beliefs, now I love him. I love him like a brother. Which pains me all the more for what is transpiring now.

I saw him and the party eight nights ago, in the Gates of Desolation. I arrived there late in the evening with my own party, a nameless group of adventurers, and saw Hezekiah and his group gathered around a small campfire, talking quietly. I was surprised not to see Kandra or Threnon there—and was subsequently saddened to learn of their deaths—but rather shocked to see Venk with them. What a scoundrel he is. I knew I could not make any move that night, and so left my party and commenced the process of hiring myself a good, solid group that would not ask questions. It’s amazing the talent and dedication you can acquire with the right amount of gold.

Then next morning dawned slowly. Fog thick and tenacious along the ground. The sun a taciturn ball of hazy luminescence in the mist. The ground damp and unseen at the feet. A reluctant ambush just outside of the Gates, in Turai’s Procession.

Venk was no longer in their party, so there were only six of them against the eight of us. They might have stood a chance. They have been together a long time, and been through a lot together. But they didn’t even fight. Didn’t even try to run—and they might have been able to escape if they’d tried. Hezekiah simply raised his hands and indicated that he was willing to talk. He told his party to back down, to put away their weapons and disarm their skills.

He approached me with his hands up, but did not speak for several moments. Just looked me in the eyes, his face a dictionary of emotion. Relief. Fear. Courage. Friendship. Finally, he just said that if I would leave the rest of the party alone, he would come with me willingly. I could hardly believe my luck—or misfortune, depending on whether I speak as a slave or as a member of the human race—but wondered what he was playing at. I still wonder. He has hardly spoken to me during our journey down Kourna and across the ocean.

His party argued with him. Told him it was too risky. I just stood there, entirely nonplussed by this development. The monk wept, begged him to find another way. But he said it was the only way he could fulfill all of his obligations, told them to hurry to Kamadan. He kissed her. Turned his back on them. We confiscated all of his possessions, tied him up, and hurried on our way before anything could go wrong. We traveled down through Turai’s and the Sunward Marches. Boarded a ship in the Dajkah Inlet. In the morning will reach the Cliffs of Dohjok. From there, I will take him to the First City. There it will end. Everything will end. He will meet the other-worldly being and, presumably, become subject to it just as I am. He will give the being the Signet of Amplification, and then all will be lost. There will be none who can stand before it. Not one. That is how this will end. That is how Hezekiah’ journal will close, with him writing in these pages how he adores the new master, that he has spurned his previous freedom, how the world has fallen under darkness because of him, and everyone is perfectly happy with their misery because they can no longer think for themselves.

I don’t know what he is planning, but he must have something in mind. He must have revealed it to his party before becoming my prisoner. I have asked him about it. He speaks little to me, certainly out of fear that he will give away his plot, and then I—as a matter of magical obligation—will be forced to foil his designs to defeat my master. I keep hoping that I will find the answer in this journal, but I have not, yet. The answers may be here. I should just skip to the end in order to discover what they are—for that is the most likely place for them.

There is no end to my bitterness. Nothing would please me more than to let Hezekiah go. To make some small mistake that would allow me to fail in my mission. I wish he could anger me to the point that I threw him overboard. I wish he could talk to me. He knows he cannot. He knows I cannot do what I please. There is nothing I can do. Binding chains hold fast. I have sought many times to break them, yet there is no possibility. I cannot speak anything that would betray my master. I can do nothing that would defy its wishes. I cannot not do or say something if doing so would harm its cause. Yet I want nothing more than to do exactly that, for I see the future. I see what this land and all lands will become when it gains power. Burly, churning flames. Feral cities writhing with sallow tendrils of unnamable creatures. The esoteric evil becoming prim. Ubiquitous obedience.

There is no peace in being the slave to one world, yet loving another.