Remaking the Seal
Originally posted on Tales of the Parodyverse by Manga Shoggoth.
(c) 2008 A. C. Leeson. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works.
What has gone before:
Note that the original stories (posted on the board and linked here) are incomplete and in some places substantially different to the following summary. The characters herein are not Parodyverse characters (despite some of them having the same names), so please don't use them in your own writings.
In Again, a Quest, Orion Stargazer, a knight of the Order of Fania, was sent on a quest to recover the Relics of Fania (consisting of the Misericorde of Fania, the Robe of Fania and the Tabard of Fania). He was supported in this quest by a Shadowfire (a mage), Saroc the Disemboweler (a taciturn fighter) and Lynx (a disreputable thief).
A sage requires the Belt of Thevros the Undying (scored with unwritten sigils graven in the blood of virgins) as payment for information on the location of the Misericorde. The party travel to the Tomb of Thevros in the northern town of Terosa, and discover that - far from being a horror-filled dungeon - it is in fact the mortuary for the local town, set in a rather peaceful garden. They befriend the gardener, who warns them not to take anything from the tomb. They search the tomb but fail to find the belt, although Shadowfire does have an interesting discussion about Knights with a revenant calling herself Aunt Lavinia. In the bottom of the tomb Lynx is attacked and taken by the unquiet dead guarding the tomb when he attempts to rob one of the bodies, and Saroc is seriously injured trying to rescue him.
With the aid of the gardener (who Shadowfire manages to identify as Thevros himself) the remaining party make a belt that fulfils the requirements of the quest. Thevros notes that it he lost the original - and completely unenchanted - belt in a game of chance against a priestess. He also gives Shadowfire a small diamond ring as a reward for being the only person to actually ask for the belt rather than trying to steal it.
When they deliver the belt to the sage discover that the sage was separately tasked by the Order to find it, and that the order already has the Tabard. The sage also gives them a long and detailed explanation as to why the artefact they delivered to him does not seem in the least bit magical.
The story continues in Wedding Presents where we learn that Shadowfire proposes to Orion on The feast of St. Oswald. His Order are not happy about this, and he is cast out. The party carry on with the quest, searching for the Misericorde amongst the hoard of Kivaxoranus Draconicus. They bargain for the misericorde, but the negotiations are interrupted by the appearance of a silent dark-skinned female in white robes who appears to terrify Kivaxoranus. They manage to recover the misericorde, and Kivaxoranus tells them of the Sealing of the Ancients by four persons identified as The Holy Knight, The Handmaiden of Life, Death's Herald and The Scholar of the Ancients. He informs them that the one they know as Saint Fania was involved in creating the seal. He also identifies the dark-skinned female as Darktree, but refuses to speak of her further.
They then travel to the Jungles of the Gamin, and at the request of one of the local chiefs, shut down a cult operating out of a temple deep in the jungle. The cult worships the Ancients, and has kidnapped one of the tribe's females for sacrifice to the Ancients. In rescuing the female and disbanding the cult they encounter a creature that identifies itself as The Ancient, and its priestess, the aforementioned Darktree. In the temple they find the Robe of Fania. No story for this beyond the bare bones, I'm afraid.
I haven't identified the rest of the relics, let alone plotted out any story for them. At some stage the party discover that the relics are required to close the seal that holds back the Ancients - the Misericorde for the Holy Knight, the Robe for the Handmaiden of Life, the Belt of Thevros the Undying for the Death's Herald and the Tabard for the Scholar of the Ancients.
On their journeys they find that the minstrels are singing songs about the Apostate Knight, loosely based on their adventures (but, as Shadowfire puts it, more interesting).
The party then returns to the main city to hand over the relics. Outside the city they are intercepted by a group of Knights who were ordered to take the relics from the Apostate Knight. Unpleasantness is averted by the arrival of the Order's Champion (and, ironically, Orion's old friend in the Order), Sir Carnelian. He takes the relics on behalf of the Knighthood.
Now that Orion is freed from his oath, they decide to return to the north and settle down in Terosa. When they arrive they rescue a minstrel from a travelling group of Knights who took offense at him singing the Lay of the Apostate Knight. The minstrel turns out to be Kivaxoranus Draconicus in disguise. He informs them that the job isn't over, and takes them to the Tomb, where they meet up with Thevros, Aunt Lavinia, the Ancient and Darktree. It turns out that Thevros, Aunt Lavinia, Kivaxoranus and the Ancient created and activated the seal that holds the Ancients back, and that the seal needs to be renewed. The Ancient transports them to the Seal of the Ancients.
The first thing they noticed was the wind. It howled ceaselessly across the plain like a forlorn spirit, chilling in both temperature and sound.
Before them was a wide plain, running up to the base of a huge escarpment. Along the top of the escarpment were dotted a number of statues, apparently worn shapeless by the elements and the ceaseless wind. At the base of the escarpment was the seal. Some distance beyond the seal was what appeared to be a rather trampled camp, and the howling wind carried the faint sounds of battle. Evidently the Order of Fania had arrived first.
As they drew closer it became obvious that the whole plain was a single sheet of rock; smooth and worn, but somehow uncracked. The escarpment wall was not smooth, but looked as if it had been moulded rather than created by geological forces.
"This isn't natural." mused Orion quietly to himself. "Someone built all this."
Yes, commented the Ancient, whose senses seemed unaffected by the wind. This is all part of the great city of the Ancients. From the depths of the sea to the highest peak. I considered it my finest work. I never did like the statues, though. I think Kivaxoranus uses them for target practice.
"You built this? Alone?"
Of course. It was why my masters created me. To build their cities, to maintain their domains. The creature paused for a moment. I don't get to create much these days. The last decent challenge I had was the tomb. Now that was difficult. Lots of small, fiddly details, and the airshafts? I never really understood why you humans insist on breathing.
"So the legend about it being created in a day was true, then?"
No. It took a week. Aunt Lavinia kept changing her mind...
In comparison to the scale of the city, the seal was something of an anticlimax. It consisted of three rings of stone posts, each no wider than a hands breadth, no taller than knee height and about half a pace apart. The posts appeared to be seamlessly joined to the ground, as if the posts and the ground were all one stone.
The outer ring was some one hundred and thirty-two paces in diameter; the middle ring was twenty-eight paces in diameter and the inner ring a mere four paces in diameter. Between the middle and inner rings, at the cardinal lines, were four half-circles, with the open faces pointing towards the inner circle.
The inner circle was hard to describe. It circumscribed what appeared to be a torrent of ...something... flowing through it into the sky, like a thick column of smoke. Yet at the same time, there was nothing but a ring of stones set into a stone floor. It was, Orion thought, rather like looking at the Ancient, and probably for very much the same reason.
As they passed through the outer circle the wind stopped, as if they had just walked into a building and closed the door. Now that the wind was no longer blowing in their faces they could clearly see what was taking place inside the half-circles. In the north half-circle a man in the robes of a necromancer stood in front of a kneeling knight. The necromancer was holding a dagger in one hand, and clearly mocking the knight. In the western half-circle a woman in the robes of a healer lay on the ground, struggling weakly against a half-clothed cultist who was clearly trying to rape her.
Darktree touched Saroc and Shadowfire on the arms, and pointed to the cultist. Orion caught Aunt Lavinia's gaze, and indicated the necromancer.
* * *
The cultist was enjoying himself. His devotion to the Ancients - or at least the degenerate practices that followed such devotion - had got him thrown out for his tribe. He had wandered from place to place, usually leaving quite quickly, until the knighthood caught him. Instead of executing him they had forced him to come to this misbegotten frozen waste. Then, as he stood in that strange forest of stones the Ancients came to him, promised him everything.
The healer - not the prettiest of girls, but untouched - was beginning to weaken. Soon she would be his. Her fear, her pain...
A shadow fell across him. He looked up, and his eyes widened in sudden terror. The white-robed figure standing before him could only be The Dark One, the one his fellows whispered about with dread. He leaped to his feet, half turning to run, and bounced off the grim fighter who had sneaked up behind him. The fighter's right arm flicked to the right, and he felt an agonising tearing sensation in his abdomen. The fighter lifted his hand, revealing a curved dagger, dripping with blood.
The cultist staggered backwards, his arms clutched about his stomach. The Dark One and the grim fighter slowly walked towards him. He didn't realise that he was being herded until his feet caught against the central ring of stones and he fell backwards into the turbulent column. His body and soul were caught up and shredded as the Ancients gave him the final reward for his devotion.
Shadowfire shrugged off her cloak and wrapped it round the sobbing healer. Then, gathering her power, whispered one word: "
Sleep."
"Who..?" asked the healer, whose resistance was now down to pure reflex.
"The Handmaiden of Life." Shadowfire answered. "Now sleep. You are safe, and all will be taken care of.
Sleep and forget."
She cradled the healer until the sleep took her. Then Saroc carried the girl to the outer ring, where the others waited.
* * *
The necromancer was also enjoying himself. Like the cultist he had been captured by the knighthood, and coerced into taking part in the ceremony. He had managed to suppress his amusement at being threatened with death (Imagine! A necromancer afraid of death!) and had simply gone along with them, waiting for his chance.
When the seal had broken and the creatures of the Ancients had started to rush through the rift, the century of knights that had dragged him across the world had scattered, and the fool they had picked as the Holy Knight had been - for an instant - transfixed by the forces in play around him. It was the work of a moment to ram a dagger in a few strategic joints. The fact that he was able to snatch and use the dagger that supposedly belonged to their ridiculous saint was an added irony.
Now the knight was on his knees before him. Unable to walk, his arms almost useless, and his life's blood slowly draining out of a few careful incisions around the neck. And, of course, that silly dagger on the ground, just out of reach.
"You should feel honoured." He told the knight. "This is a complex and difficult spell. When I raise you, you won't be one of those common, shambling unquiet dead, but a true revenant. All your knowledge, skills and memories will remain, and all at my command."
The knight spat at him. It was about the only defiance he had left.
"Now, that healer over there. Once my degenerate friend has finished with her I will probably just raise her like any other corpse. My friend might enjoy that as well - 'no degeneration too low' seems to be these cultists' motto. The same goes for your knightly friends - what little remains when the creatures summoned by the Ancients have done their work. If you are very lucky I might let you watch."
At this point, Aunt Lavinia moved into his field of view.
"Release the knight." She rasped. "I wouldn't normally offer, but release the knight and surrender, before I deliver you to the fate you richly..."
"Silence!" commanded the necromancer. Aunt Lavinia fell slient.
"A beautiful revenant." admired the necromancer. "Obviously the work of a skilled necromancer. Alas, I wear the Belt of Thevros the Undying. With the command it gives over life and death I can easily control such as you. Its power will make me immortal and allow me to raise a whole army of revenants and..."
His voice broke off into a gurgle as the shaft of a sword burst through his chest. Aunt Lavinia leaned forward and favoured him with a ghastly smile. "Tell me," she hissed. "Do you think it's working?"
Orion walked round from behind the necromancer. Since he was still holding the sword hilt that meant that the necromancer had to turn round as well, staggering, gurgling and trying to grasp the sword.
"I have him a chance to surrender." Noted Aunt Lavinia. "I remember that you knights are concerned with that sort of thing."
"Indeed." Agreed Orion. "Reform those who will..." He placed his boot on the necromancer's backside and kicked him forward, whilst twisting and pulling the blade backward. "...And punishing the unrepentant."
The necromancer howled as he staggered forward and tripped over the inner ring of stones. He fared no better meeting the Ancients than the cultist.
Orion and Aunt Lavinia turned their attention to the kneeling victim.
"Sir Carnelian..." whispered Orion. Of course, the Order would have chosen their champion as the Holy Knight.
Sir Carnelian looked up at them, pale with the protracted blood loss. His hold on life was starting to loosen, and he was no longer quite sure what he was seeing. He tried to focus as a hooded figure knelt before him.
"You have come for me, Herald?" He gasped weakly. "Better you take me then that foul necromancer..."
"Why did you do it?" asked Aunt Lavinia, her normal rasp softened. "This was a task beyond your strength."
"I know. " He replied, his voice weakening. "But I am champion of the Order of Fania. It was my duty. 'To protect the world from the Ancients, though it cost me my life'...And I failed. I will never lie amongst the Chosen of Fania now."
Orion picked up the misericorde and knelt alongside Aunt Lavinia. Sir Carnelian turned his head slightly, wincing as the cuts on his neck shifted. "They found you, then." he whispered. "At least they have the right person this time..."
"Carnelian..." began Orion, but stopping at a glance from Aunt Lavinia.
"Good man, Orion." husked the knight, looking at the dagger. "The last office..."
"Rest amongst the dead in pride, Sir Carnelian." intoned Aunt Lavinia formally. "You faced the Ancients, and did not flee, though it indeed cost your life.". She nodded to Orion, who thrust the misericorde into Sir Carnelian's throat.
"And you will lie among the Chosen of Fania." She promised, closing his eyes. "Ancient, would you be so kind?"
Of course. rumbled the Ancient. Part of it flowed under Sir Carnelian's body as it fell back, effortlessly lifting it as if on a grotesque bier. It paused as Orion straightened the body and then carried it to the outer ring. Small fragments of the Ancient flowed across the body, removing the blood, closing the wounds and polishing the armour.
"I don't think the Order will allow his body in the Tomb of Fania." said Orion. "I think they are more likely to blame him for this fiasco."
Aunt Lavinia looked at him. "What makes you think it is up to the Order where I put my chosen?" she asked, turning back to where the rest of the group were assembled.
Orion looked at her back, then down at the misericorde in his hand. "I wish I knew what was going on." he muttered to himself.
I know the feeling, rumbled the Ancient.
You humans are very confusing.
* * *
They gathered next to the sleeping healer and the slain knight.
"Right," said Thevros. "Now we have to decide who plays which part."
Darktree will be standing in for me, rumbled the Ancient.
And I believe that the Handmaiden of Life has already declared herself.
"As has the Herald of Death." added Aunt Lavinia. "That just leaves the Holy Knight. Any volunteers?"
Saroc shook his head. Having "the disemboweler" as a sobriquet rather precluded the position, he felt.
There was a moment of silence as everyone considered the remaining options.
"Why is everyone looking at me?"
Shadowfire and Saroc exchanged a long-suffering look. Humility was nice, but you could have too much of it.
"If that's decided, what do we have to do?" asked Shadowfire.
"Simple. The Holy Knight takes the north point, the Scholar of the Ancients takes the south, The Handmaiden of Live to the west and Death's Herald to the east. Take your stations, face the centre and it all goes from there. The seal will only fail if one of you fails. It doesn't matter how weak you are - the seal can survive a weak axis. What it can't survive is deliberate treachery."
"What the ritual? And the relics?" queried Orion. "We know the belt is a fake because we saw you make it! What about the others?"
He realised that everyone was staring at him again.
"Darktree is wearing the original belt." replied Thevros. "And I seem to remember explaining that it had no magical qualities beyond keeping my robe closed."
When we created the seal, Kivaxoranus came up with a ballad to explain how the Ancients had been expelled in a way the commons could understand, rumbled the Ancient.
Then some fool created an order of knights based on the ideas in the ballad. He never even realised that Fania was female.
"We added the four relics of Fania to the stories to make sure that we kept the Order of Fania chasing around after
them rather than sticking their noses in
here and doing some real damage. Like that." explained Thevros, waving a hand in the general direction of the inner ring.
"The misericorde and dagger are just an old robe and my old dagger." added Aunt Lavinia. "The original robe fell apart centenaries ago, and there was never a tabard. Evidently one of your order decided to fake one."
"No rituals. No relics. Just the four of you in the seal. That's how it works." summarised Thevros, turning to the Ancient. "Would you mind producing something to sit on? We've never had to deal with spectators before, and my old bones could do with a rest."
The Ancient briefly split into two halves, which flowed a short distance away, and then began spinning, its surface becoming a disturbing riot of colours. Then it flowed back into one mass again, leaving behind two low stone stools. Like the stones of the ring, they appeared to be one piece with the ground. Saroc gingerly lowered himself on to one of them, not quite ready to trust a stool that had appeared out of nowhere. Thevros sat on the other, quite unconcerned about the way it had been created.
Darktree strode towards her point of the seal. The other two women started to move off, then hesitated and turned back. Orion hadn't moved.
"For what little comfort it is, I have only known three members of the Order of Fania who were actually worth anything." said Aunt Lavinia. "The first was a long time ago, the second is dead, and the third was cast out.". She turned and walked to her point on the seal.
Shadowfire stood in front of Orion, placing her arms on his shoulders and linking her hands behind his neck - as close an embrace as was practical when one of the participants was wearing full armour.
"When Sir Carnelian brought you to me after... after you had been cast out, he told me that he envied you. He had to work hard to cultivate the 'knightly qualities', while is all came naturally to you. And you have always been
my knight.". She leaned forward and kissed him gently, then turned and walked towards her point. Orion was fairly sure that he wasn't supposed to see the tear in the corner of her eyes.
He sighed, then walked slowly to the northern point of the seal. Sir Carnelian had been right about one thing, at least. The job had to be done, and he was the only one to do it.
* * *
Four people walked to their places in the seal; four creatures watched them go. The four took their positions, then turned to face the inner circle. At this point, matters became a matter of perception.
Thevros and Saroc saw nothing unusual, save only a slight blurring that - were this a desert - would have been put down to haze.
Darktree, Aunt Lavinia, Shadowfire and Orion felt a slight disorientation, as if their bodies had floated across the seal, leaving them standing in a ring in the inner circle, facing outwards. It felt like they were standing in a powerful updraft, surrounded by darkness. Shadowfire's hair streamed upward, as did a few wisps of Aunt Lavinia's, the remaining straggled locks remaining safe under her hooded robe. All they could hear was the howl of the air stream; stronger than the wind that was blowing outside the seal.
From his higher vantage point, Kivaxoranus Draconicus watched with the eyes of a dragon, seeing the four souls overlaying each other across the centre of the seal.
Of all of them, only the Ancient saw what truly happened.
* * *
Little revenant. Are you still defying us? whispered the Ancients. So many of your years and you still persist?
"For as many years as it takes." retorted Aunt Lavinia. "Go away. I have nothing more to say to you."
Is that so? You gave up your youth, your beauty, your life, all for this? If you come to us we could restore what you have lost. You know that death awaits you the moment you succeed in your plans.
"So what else is new. I made my decisions a long time ago. I won't change them now. You think I fear death? It comes to all of us eventually. But you? You cannot die. All that remains for you is non-existence. And you fear that more than anything."
And the east point held.
| |
Ah. Has our slave has found itself a replacement? whispered the Ancients. Does it fear us so much that it sends a human in its place?
Darktree was silent.
We have seen the joy you take in slaughtering our servants; the savage joy you have in killing. If you were to join us you could kill as much as you wish. We place no restrictions on our chosen. Why serve the weak slave when you can stand alongside the powerful masters?
Darktree remained silent. But her expression was of utter scorn.
And the south point held.
| |
What is this? whispered the Ancients. A Mage instead of a Healer? Your kind use magic only to destroy and bring destruction! How could you possibly champion the cause of life?
"Not all magic destroys. I use it to bring light out of darkness." responded Shadowfire.
Yet your magic depends solely on us. When we are fully gone, then there will be no more magic in the world. Without magic, what are you, little mage?
"Being a mage is what I do. Being a woman is what I am!" flared Shadowfire. "You ask why I am the Handmaiden of Life? Because I am a woman! We bring life into the world!"
Ah yes. Those pale copies of yourself that you carry. So very weak and vunerable. Tell us, little mage; tell us who will defend them when you fall at the hands of our servants?
And the west point wavered.
| |
Ah. Another 'Holy Knight of Fania'? whispered the Ancients. Do you think you will fare any better than your fallen comrade, fake knight of a false order? Your precious Saint Fania is nothing more than a revenant, a mockery of life; and the Order you followed so faithfully is no more than a sham.
"Ancient ones, I am no longer a Knight of Fania."
Yes. You were thrown out because you succumbed to your lusts. From the moment you met your precious mage you lusted after her. No better than that thief you failed to save. Oh yes, you chose to save your grim friend, and left the thief you hated to die. No wonder your Order threw you out. You couldn't even stand up to the principles of a false order. And you think you will hold us back? Your fallen comrade was better than you.
Orion found he could not dispute the facts.
And the north point wavered.
|
* * *
Thevros slumped forward slightly, his right hand on his knee, the arm supporting his body. His right hand cupped his chin, the fingers absently tapping his lips.
"How do you think it's going?" he asked the Ancient.
Interesting, replied the Ancient softly.
They haven't realised that Darktree reserves her violent tendencies for their servants - or if they have, they don't understand why. Aunt Lavinia confuses them as much as always.
"That's nothing unusual. Lavinia confuses me most of the time." Thevros confessed. "What is it with Darktree? All the other priestesses you have had over the years have been far more... restrained. And much more voluble."
She was being sacrificed when I found her. That gave her rather a slanted view of my master's servants. said the Ancient, somewhat sadly.
They tied her to an altar and cut her throat. I had been expecting them to go for the heart, so I was a little sloppy in my reactions. Of course, I didn't realise that you humans needed throats to speak, or I would have done a better job of it. Not being able to speak has left her feeling something of an outsider.
Saroc shifted his attention from the south point to look at the Ancient, His expression remaining as grim as ever. He pulled down the bandana around this throat, revealing a round, pale scar.
"Arrow?" queried Thevros.
Saroc nodded, and turned his attention back to the seal.
If you have an interest in my priestess, then feel free to... court her, I think the phrase is. the Ancient told him.
I'm not one of your world's stuffy gods who insists their servants stop breeding. Just be warned, she may be a difficult proposition. She needs a lot of understanding, even for a human female.
The smile that briefly crossed Saroc's face was so faint that you could have convinced yourself that it had never been there in the first place. "Difficult" was a concept he was used to.
"What's taking it so long?" muttered Thevros rhetorically.
It has only been a few of your minutes. I have every confidence in my Masters' inability to understand humans.
* * *
You could always join us. whispered the Ancients. We can offer you more than the safety of your offspring. You humans place a great emphasis on youth and appearance. We can preserve both of these for you.
Shadowfire stood there, her hands folded on her abdomen. "You really don't understand, do you?" she said at length.
We have seen the things you humans hold sacred. We have seen how you fight and scrabble for the least of these trappings. We offer then to you - free for the asking.
"Youth? Beauty? I'll grow old with the man I love, thank you very much. You expect me to let my children grow up in a world tainted by your kind? Ha!" she laughed. "To reach my children you will have to get past me, my husband, their uncle and that's before I start throwing godparents into the mix. We will protect them, and when they are old enough you and your servants will be up against them as well."
And the west point held.
| |
You could always join us. whispered the Ancients. Where your Order proved false, we are real. When the seal breaks we will be able to do what we wish. Would you not like to avoid our anger?
Orion did not answer. He stood with this head bowed.
Join us, take your revenge on the Order that lied to you and cast you out; those fools who forced you into this position; that mage who lost no chance to flaunt herself at you to inflame your lusts like a tavern harlot.
"No."
What?
"I could not have saved Lynx. He was ruled by his lusts and was felled by them. It is true that some in my old Order are false, but some are true - even Fania admits that. Shadowfire taught me love, not lust; and she would care even for those you term 'tavern harlots'."
Orion straightened up and crossed his arms. "Sir Carnelian didn't fall because he was impure. He fell because two points of the seal were corrupted. And I am not the Holy Knight because I belong to an order of knights, I am the Holy Knight because I am standing in your way."
"So, come on if you think you are strong enough!"
And the north point held.
|
* * *
The Ancient watched the seal start to close with evident satisfaction.
Inside the seal, the floor of the inner circle began to glow, illuminating the four figures. The disk appeared to be spinning, and the rushing wind itself began to spin. The disk began to contract, glowing brighter and brighter, until it shrank to the size of a small spot, and then disappeared.
Kivaxoranus Draconicus watched the four souls separate and return to their usual places.
Once again, Thevros and Saroc saw nothing unusual, only the disappearance of the haze. The column of almost-smoke that had appeared to be there was gone. Only the stone floor of the inner ring remained.
"It looks a lot more exciting from the inside." noted Thevros, as the four made their way back to him.
"I'm going to be weeks getting the tangles out of my hair!" complained Shadowfire.
I'm going to be interested to see what you are going to do with these knights that are approaching. added the Ancient.
* * *
It was not exactly a parade formation. Of the centaury of knights that had come to the Seal, only twenty-five remained. Two of the Lords led the troop. One walking - albeit with some difficulty - the other supported by two knights. None of the knights were unhurt, and several were only walking with the help of their comrades.
"Who are they?" Thevros asked Orion.
"The one on the right is my old patron, Lord Tanfield. The one on the left, being supported by his bodyguards, is Lord Nerine. He doesn't like me very much." replied Orion.
"He's the one who had you scourged, isn't he?" asked Shadowfire, gathering power into her cupped hand.
Orion closed his hand over hers. "Please don't." He said. "His bodyguards would feel honour-bound to defend him, and I have nothing against them."
The battered troop reached the seal.
"I should have expected to find you here." commented Lord Tanfield, waving his hand at the seal. "I assume you are responsible for this."
"Yes, Milord. The seal is closed."
Stronger than before. volunteered the Ancient cheerfully.
Each time it gets a little stronger, and my masters a little weaker.
"Humph!" muttered Lord Nerine. "And why should you have succeeded when our champion failed, Apostate?"
"Well," hissed Aunt Lavinia, "It could have something to do with a fake tabard, and I'm not sure about the robe either. Since the belt went up with the necromancer I can't pass judgement on that, but I don't have very high hopes of its veracity either."
"Perhaps you were foolish to trust a servant of the Ancients." added Thevros, "And a necromancer, most of whom are half-way to serving the Ancients themselves."
Or maybe you are just a self-serving, vainglorious, ignorant fool. finished the Ancient.
Sometimes I despair of humans.
"Pah!" he spat, shrugging off his bodyguards and walking unsteadily towards Sir Carnelian's body. "Well, that fool of a champion is going to be stripped of his rank."
"I don't think so." murmured Aunt Lavinia, "I have claimed your knight as my own."
"What business is it of yours, Revenant?" he retorted, reaching for the badge of rank.
"Every business." she replied. "Ancient, would you oblige me again, please?"
Work, work, work. rumbled the Ancient, flowing under Sir Carnelian's body, its surface once again a mass of shifting, disturbing colours. The body sank down into the Ancient's mass as if it were lying on quicksand. As it passed beneath the surface of the Ancient, the ancient resumed its usual muted hues.
Lord Nerine straightened up. "Well, Apostate. At least you will return the Misericorde of Fania to the Order."
Orion gave this due consideration.
"No."
"What? I order you to return the Misericorde!"
"No." repeated Orion. "I don't belong to the Order any more. You cast me out, remember? That means I don't have to obey your orders."
"We'll see about that!" spat Lord Nerine. "Guards! Take the Misericorde from the Apostate!"
"Nerine..." warned Lord Tanfield. "This may not be the best way..."
Orion was smiling. One of the statues on the top of the escarpment was tilting and unfolding, spreading its wings as it fell towards the plain.
"Guards!" yelled Lord Nerine, realising that his honour guard had not moved.
"If you want it, Nerine..." challenged Orion, "Go and get it!". He threw the misericorde as high as he could, and it was swept up in the talons of the soaring dragon. The knights watched dumbfounded as the dragon arched its wings and rose into the sky, quickly becoming a speck on the horizon, then disappearing entirely.
"You... You..." spluttered Lord Nerine. "Guards! Take him! What's wrong with you? Must I do this myself?"
The noble staggered towards Orion, tugging at his sword. Orion stood his ground, with arms folded. "Attacking an unarmed man now, Nerine? Where's your honour gone now?"
"Sir Medlar, Sir Chough," Lord Tanfield addressed the honour guard, "Place Lord Nerine under arrest."
"What?" stammered Lord Nerine.
"This expedition was under your command, Nerine. Three quarters of our men dead. Your dishonourable attempt to blame our Champion, your dishonourable behaviour now... These knights are not fools. Take him away."
Lord Nerine was dragged away by his honour guard. Protesting vociferously all the way.
"Well, you've matured a little, Tanfield." rasped Aunt Lavinia.
"You know him?" asked Orion, much surprised.
"Oh yes." answered Lord Tanfield. "Thirty-five years ago wasn't it, my lady?"
"That's right." she went on. "Freshly minted knight, first quest, stuffed full of honour and valour. And I seem to remember asking you to call me Aunt Lavinia."
"I was a self-important little prig in those days." he reminisced. "Got half-way down the tomb and had my pride spiked by an old revenant challenging the honour in stealing from the dead."
"Mind you," pointed out Thevros. "You were one of the few adventurers who walked of the tomb again. Of your own volition, that is."
There was a moment of quiet as the three reviewed their memories.
"I hate to interrupt the nostalgia," said Shadowfire, "but your healer is over there."
"Alive? Thank the gods!" exclaimed Lord Tanfield.
"Well, Thank Darktree and Saroc the Disemboweler, at any rate." corrected Shadowfire. "She's under a spell of sleep and forgetfulness at the moment, but she will need some looking after when she awakens."
"It will be done." he promised, signalling two of the remaining knights to stretcher duty. He then turned to Orion. "I must thank you for your efforts. A quarter of my men are still alive, albeit injured. If this were a ballad, I would be offering you your rightful place in the Order. As things stand..." he looked meaningfully at Shadowfire, "You have better things in your life."
He gave the knight's salute, and then turned to leave.
"Lord Nerine won't give you any problems will he?" checked Shadowfire, "Because if so..."
Lord Tanfield turned back for a moment. "No, Lady Shadowfire. In all honesty, I expect that on the journey home he will be overcome with remorse and fall on his sword... One way or the other." he added grimly.
* * *
They watched the knights break camp and move off towards the coast. The Ancient had helped them bury the dead, digging the graves in the solid rock and backfilling them in its normal disturbing manner. Now the knights left, somewhat dispirited and extremely humbled.
"I think I understand now." said Orion, as the Ancient began the process that would transport them back to Terosa. "It doesn't actually matter who stands at the points of the seal. What matters is what they represent."
"Oh?" responded Thevros.
"Yes. The west and east. The Handmaden of Life and the Herald of Death. We stand between life and death, on a journey from the one to the other. Every life is balanced by a death. Then we have the north and the south. The Holy Knight represents the best we can be, and the Scholar of the Ancients (saving your presence, Darktree) represents the worst we can become. Is that right?"
Darktree scowled at him, but Thevros gave the idea due consideration.
"No." he said at length. "But it will be an excellent addition for the ballads or the philosophers. I'll mention it to Kivaxoranus next time I see him."
The last thing Orion saw before the Ancient transported them was the smirk on Darktree's face.
* * *
The wind blew along the plain, moaning and howling as it went. It sang its dirge as it blustered through the seal and along the escarpment. All except in one place, where seventy-five knights lay in rest.
Postscript:
Ye Gods and Little Fishes! This is the single longest piece of writing I have done!
The text clocks in at 5605 words (the introduction at 899). Considering I used to feel hard-done-by doing 500-word essays at school...
I hope you enjoyed it! I am sorry for serving up the end of the story on its own. Perhaps one day I will get the middle of the story written, not to mention rewriting the first two parts to fit.
