Chapter 17: Separate Worlds


Written By Mr. X a.k.a. the Spy a.k.a. Fali

Act One - The many Faces of the Duke Highwind


 [Click here for Chapter Note]

Since the elder Duke Highwind pursued his conquest beyond alt.games
and started attacking the neighboring alt.games.* related newsgroups,
the peaks and outlying areas of alt.games itself had grown very quiet.
This was partly caused by the martial law recently imposed upon all of
alt.games by the elder Duke himself, but even that would not have
swayed the adventurous spirits of the people to the deathly silence
that now hung over most of alt.games.

The fact was, most of the citizens of alt.games came from different
game-related newsgroups for the beautiful landscape, for the wide
market for the games themselves, and for the like-minded souls of the
other game-seekers who lived there. But when the market was
unexpectedly closed and martial law declared, the social interest of
the newsgroup faded. And all who could escape back to their homelands
did. Or died trying.

_Including her,_ thought the tearful seventeen-year old walking up a
grassy hill through the cold, white fog that surrounded him. The
castle that served as a base for his father stood high in the
light-gray mists behind him, a dark citadel rising above the bright
white fog and seemingly the rain clouds looming precariously above
him.

This was the peak where he and Gloria had held hands and kissed for
the first time. Here, he had declared love for her, and vowed never to
leave her side. Here, he would cut her off from him forever.

He couldn't help it. He could not live on like this. Every passing
moment brought him back memories of that beautiful bright-eyed girl
who had made him doubt his loyalty to the military. Every passing
moment he could not help but remember that he would never see her
again.

He hesitated halfway up the one-sided grassy hill. In front of him,
mere meters away, the rock she had sat on when he proposed to her. A
few feet further, their favourite bush for lying together.

Raindrops began to fall from the sky, accompanied by a strong, cold
wind, and the boy felt strangely reassured.

The fog had not affected them. The rain could not pierce their spirits
as it pierced their skin. On this peak, they could lie privately
together and watch nature take its natural course.

Nothing could have torn them apart. Except for his father.

The teenager walked on. Whatever the results of this walk, he would
never cry over her again.

He stepped up to the side of the cliff and looked down. As usual, he
could not see beyond a few feet. Only on the brightest of days had he
been able to see the cliff to its bottom, several miles down.

If he jumped now, he would fall through the fog and never know when he
would finally hit the bottom till milliseconds before he did. No need
for fear. No pain, no reconsideration. It would be like a dream.

Yet something stopped him, something kept him from falling away from
all of his pain and sadness like that. He had mixed loyalties, and
while he would have given it all up to run away with Gloria, now that
she was gone, there was only one thing.

The Steel. The cold, hard, empty steel. He could fashion himself after
it like his father and his father's father before him. The Highwinds
were born to conquer, but before they could, they would always have to
give up their hearts.

So that was what he must do. He became resolved to it. From the
scabbard at his side, the boy felt for the steel blade hanging from
his belt. It was so cold and reassuring. He could fall into the
blade's coldness as he had fallen into Gloria's warmth. And his father
would be proud of him.

Slowly, he pulled the blade entirely from its scabbard and held it in
front of him. Its silver reflected his face, and he saw his own eyes.
Hard. Gray. Hereditary.

He was meant to be a warrior. No, he could not die this day.

He looked at his arm. On it, an armband fashioned by Gloria herself.
The beads connected together were seashells that had once sat on the
beaches of Tir-nan-Og. He and she together had walked, and together
inspected each and every one of them. And the strand that connected
them now was a strand of Gloria's hair.

Slowly, he lowered his blade to his armband. Part of him resisted it
with every passing moment, part of him urged it on.

_It is...._ he thought, _...the only way. The only way to end my pain.
My duty to the military comes first._

Finally, the blade made contact with the skin of his arm and with the
armband. Pain coursed through his arm and he winced.

For a moment, the armband did not move, then, finally, almost
reluctantly, it fell from his arm and disappeared into the fog below
him.

Following it shortly after were small drops of blood, from where his
blade rested on his arm. And, mixed with blood, tear drops.

And the rain poured down with a growing ferocity.

But it was done. His heart was sealed.


***
 



The Duke's face hardened. He had ridden through the rain and cold many
times with his troops, but this day somehow reminded him of that great
day long, long ago.

_I don't know why,_ he thought, unconvincingly attempting to place a
smirk on his face. _This isn't nearly so cold, the fog is practically
non-existent here, and it's not even raining._

The current area the Duke's army was camped in for the time being was
among the most beautiful of areas he had camped at since the conquest
of alt.games.camelot five or six years before. The most prominent
color was green - the trees and the beautiful landscape their chocobos
raced around on were different shades of green. The colors white and
gray also were fairly prominent, clouds covering the sky in similar
fashions all of the five days the Avalon Army had camped out here.

Aron, the fastest, most powerful of the yellow chocobos of the Avalon
Army, kewed loudly, wresting the Duke from his thoughts, and raced
around several trees, obviously enjoying the day's run as much as the
Duke himself. The Duke loved chocobo racing, and spent much of his
scant free time racing as he did now, around the camps his army set
before invading a nearby kingdom. At the moment, they were racing
along the outskirts of the forest the camp was centered around, and
were about to take a quick ride down the forest path fashioned earlier
by the Avalon Army leading down to a nearby waterfall.

The Duke pulled the harnesses and urged Aron to a stop upon the sight
of his second-in-command's apprentice Jorge, who served as the spy and
messenger for the Avalon Army, riding his own chocobo Saber down the
hill through the woods far ahead. The blanket of cotton-white fog
surrounding the area made him almost impossible to see, save for the
most trained eye.

"Kew!" Aron complained, glancing back down the path. "Kew!"

"Sorry, Aron," the Duke said, turning the disappointed chocobo around.
"Change of plans. Onward!"

Reluctantly, Aron charged back the direction of the main camp.

The Duke dismounted six -to-seven meters away from the nearest tent
set up on the edge of his camp and started to walk toward the
approaching figure dressed in the uniform of the Baronian guard,
expectantly. "So what is the news?" he shouted hoarsely.

The figure who dismounted wore a golden helmet which had been given to
him by his late father years before and wore a beautiful silver blade
of a regal quality sheathed at his golden belt, but otherwise looked
like he could have been any number of actual Baronian guards. That had
been the intention. His head was of an interesting oval shape, and his
hair was of the same color as his eyes - raven black. As he
approached, the Duke clasped one iron-clad hand in his own and glanced
anxiously up at him.

"Good. Very good," the figure, Jorge, responded with a grin on his
oval face. His black eyes shined with excitement up at the Duke, and
he continued. "They didn't even notice me. They're so involved in
their own little affairs, they didn't ask too many questions. They
never even considered the possibility that I might be a spy."

"Excellent," the Duke replied, then traces of anxiety entered his eyes
once again. "How is their army and guard? Will they present much of a
problem?"

To this, the man's grin only grew larger. "They'll fall easier than
Kaipo."

The Duke could not help but grin back at this. "Good. Good. Then this
will not take too long. Summon the troops."


***



"You know," Biggs began, his over-sized lips furrowed, his eyes
widened, and his eyebrows raised almost absurdly toward the top of his
forehead, "this job isn't what its cut out to be. Not at all. You are
promised _excitement, battle, romance, knighthood..._ but all you get
are days of such a limited paycheck, and absolutely nothing to do but
stand out in front of some bloody gates."

"Don't fret about it, Biggs," Piette responded inattentively, staring
out into the forest in front of her. "I doubt you'd really have any
interest in war if it came to you. Besides, we get to see these
beautiful sunsets. Most jobs don't offer that."

"Huh," Biggs replied. "These beautiful sunsets. What about all of
those beautiful rainstorms, and all of those beautiful colds and
coughs and fevers you get after them?"

He shook his head and stamped about the dusty rock floor of the
entrance to Castle Baron, raising a cloud of dust around his ample
form. "I don't like it at all. I don't like it one bit."

"You don't fall ill from rainstorms. You fall ill from germs. While
I'll admit it's not so terribly fun to be stuck out during a heavy
rainstorm, what about days like this? It's beautiful out."

The sun had already begun its steady drop into the west, deepening the
shadows of the nearby forest and covering the entire area in a sort of
ghostly bluish-gray light. The area untouched by shadows had a golden
color under the oppressive light of the sun, and the clouds to the
west had a beautiful purplish glow to them. Even Biggs could not deny
its beauty.

"Yeah," Biggs finally admitted. "But I still would like an occasional
battle or two. I could hold my own!"

As if he believed it would prove his claim, he pulled the untouched
silver blade out of its scabbard at his belt and raised it into the
air with two muscular arms. Even with his arm-strength, he had trouble
holding it up, though he attempted to hide this with a grin to Piette.

Piette, however, was not paying any attention to Biggs at this moment.
In front of them, a flock of birds flew up and away from the treetops
with a loud, almost painful screech. Following this flurry of movement
was a deafening, unnatural silence.

"There's something..." Piette finally murmured, pulling her binoculars
from her belt and gazing through them at the trees.

Biggs, immediately on the alert, stepped up next to her. "What? What
is it? Do you see something?"

Piette's eyes widened and she lowered the binoculars from her eyes.
Quickly pushing past the confused Biggs, she screamed to the guards
directly within the gate, "Ring the alarms! It's an army-!"

They all heard the telltale _twang_ of an arrow exiting a bow from the
direction of the forest. In unison, they all turned around at the
sound. Time seemed to slow down and they could see the oil-tipped
arrow in the air as it flew in a set course at Piette.

"Noooooooooo!" Biggs exclaimed, already moving to intercept it. But he
knew, the guards behind the gate knew, and even Piette knew in this
last millisecond of terror that it was too late.

The oil-tipped arrow flew into Piette's waist, directly below her
ribcage. Her eyes widened, she began to fall back against the gate,
and from her mouth came a scream of frightful pain. She collapsed
against the gate, the gate shook with the impact, and she crashed to
the ground.

Before anyone could move or take action, another five arrows flew at
Biggs. He saw them coming, he moved his lumbering figure as quickly as
he possibly could to get out of the way, but it was far, far too late.
One arrow flew into Biggs' lower cheekbone, one arrow flew into his
upper left leg, another into his side. the final two shot into his
back and sent him crashing facefirst to the floor. He was dead before
he hit the ground.

"Lord Bahamut...." whispered one of the horrified guards directly
inside the gate before pulling the ropes next to his post. The alarm
bells began to ring throughout the castle.


***


"What the hell is going on?" the King Cecil demanded of his nervous
young aide. "It's our Twentieth Wedding Anniversary! We don't have
time for these practical jokes!"

Cecil was standing just a few inches in front of his golden throne,
shaking with anger. Standing beside him, looking more worried than
angry, the Queen Rosa, dressed in a beautiful white dress fashioned
for her by some of the most talented tailors in the kingdom, held his
shoulder and made quiet attempts to calm him.

Moments before, the Twentieth Wedding Anniversary Ceremony of the King
and Queen of Baron had been taking place. Hundreds of people from all
over the planet came to watch the priest of the Kingdom bless the
union of the King and the Queen for yet another year. The ceremony was
abruptly halted by the sudden ringing of alarm bells throughout the
kingdom. The guardsmen and soldiers in the audience stood up and
considered their duty to their King versus their duty to their
Kingdom. The audience was divided between being amused by this,
confused by this, and being terrified by this. The chaos only
increased when the King's aide rushed through the doors to the throne
room, his face as white as a ghost's.

"It's no joke, my King," the aide wailed. "We're being invaded."

"Invaded?" Cecil repeated, his eyes wide and his voice incredulous.
"We're... being invaded?"

"Yes, my King!"

"Invaded..." Cecil muttered, his voice trembling. He fell back into
his golden throne. "But who'd invade us now? I thought we'd made
proper settlements with the Rethian government long ago..."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," the army general Vicks,
dismissively brushing one curly brown hair from his eyes, spoke up,
"I'd be surprised if the attackers were from Reth.

"Boy," he addressed the frightened young aide, "what uniforms were the
invaders wearing?"

"I don't know," the aide replied, glancing back and forth between the
shocked King and the army generals standing on either side of him, "so
far it is only an aerial attack."

Word of this must have gotten out by now, for many of the assembled
patrons of the Anniversary were leaping to their feet and rushing
toward the door. The fact that so many of them were attempting to do
this at once generated mass-panic and chaos and resulted more than
once in people pushing others violently aside in their mad rush to get
to the door. All in all, the situation was a mess.

"People," Rosa urged the unheeding mob in front of her, "Please. We
must work together. If we work together, we can save lives..."


***


An arrow flew into the guard's lower leg and he collapsed with a
scream. He kept hold of the rope and continued to attempt to ring the
alarm bells, but from the ground he didn't have nearly enough physical
strength to continue. For a moment, the ringing ceased. Then another
of the guards took the rope from him and continued the ringing in his
stead.

For the last minute and a half, arrows had been raining down from the
sky at the vulnerable guardsmen of the gate and random guards were
dropping like flies. Worse, most of the early arrows had been dipped
in oil before being fired into Castle Baron, and puddles of the oil
were forming all over the cement floor of the small courtyard. The
next move in the minds of their attackers was quite obvious, and there
was nothing the defenders of Castle Baron could do about it.

The ten most expedient of the Castle Baron archers had already managed
to reach the parapets and were firing down the direction of the aerial
assault, but as their opponents remained hidden within the forest
beyond, they were left with nothing to aim at, save for the wide range
of trees in front of them.

The first of the flaming arrows descended into the open courtyard and
embedded itself in one guard's head. He fell onto a growing puddle of
oil, but the puddle was not large enough to cause a significant
explosion mixed with the flames, and this first arrow's fire dwindled
quickly.

Seven more flaming arrows flew down from the trees and toward the
Castle Baron. As one, the guards helplessly watched the arrows fly
down into the courtyard.

The first arrow embedded itself in one unlucky guard's stomach, and
hit right into his lung. This was made apparent by the fact that he,
in the midst of and after falling backwards, began to cough wildly and
choke out his own blood. On his face, a deeply pained expression
formed as he attempted repeatedly to scream.

Another arrow flew into one man's ankle. The force of it threw him
into a moderately large puddle of oil, and his entire body caught
fire. He screamed in pain as his flesh burned and he rolled around in
a desperate attempt to put it out, but the fire only intensified on
him until he ceased to move at all.

Another arrow hit the wall and broke. With no source to fuel it, the
fire died.

Another arrow hit one of the Baronian archers in the stomach, as he
aimed toward a tree that seemed to be a source of many of these
arrows. He fell backwards with a shout, his arrow flew wildly into the
field in front of the castle, and he himself fell, fell, fell, and
crashed to the ground twenty feet below, at which point he abruptly
became a bloody mess.

Another arrow flew right into a puddle of oil, causing a large
explosion to occur. Several nearby guards were thrown out of the way
by the force it, while one unfortunate guard sitting too close to the
flames caught on fire himself.

Another arrow slammed into a door leading into the castle, and the
door itself quickly caught on fire.

The final arrow slammed into one of many barrels of wine, creating a
massive explosion and setting several nearby guards on fire.

Most of the guards and archers were too involved in the first wave of
flaming arrows to notice the next thirteen. At least six of them
managed to crash right into a puddle of oil, three of them hit barrels
of wine, and the others either hit guards or archers. One of the
guards hit was the guard currently ringing the alarm bells. The arrow
hit him right between either side of his ribcage. He grabbed the arrow
with both hands and attempted to pull it out of his stomach, but it
had struck too deeply. He fell onto his knees, and tears formed in his
eyes as he realized his fate.

It was at about this time that the guard captain and his Red Wing
soldiers raced through the fiery door to the outside and ran, in an
organized line, to each side of the courtyard, being careful to keep
close to the walls. They were much better equipped than the guards at
the gate - they held iron shields, held iron swords, and had much
better training than the novices who had to guard the gates in their
stead. Still, the sight of the injured and dying guards and the
flaming grounds were enough to shock even the gruff guard captain who
had faced many an invasion, including the Rethian Wars.

By now, there were twenty living archers firing from the parapets of
Castle Baron. Only three of them were of the original ten, and the
number was decreasing rapidly.

"Keep to the walls!" the guard captain roared, yet keeping his voice
moderately calm and centered as if the invasion were simply standard
procedure. It was with this calm strength that he had managed to hold
the position of guard captain for the last forty years. "We're losing
enough as it..." his eyes focused beyond the gate, "...is."

The guard captain rushed toward the gate and could only stare at the
sight that awaited him. The invaders had left the safety of the trees
and were currently charging the castle. They were dressed in the
all-too-familiar blue armor of the Dragoons, wielding long silver
lances, and rushing at a higher rate of speed than most men dared
dream of. It was none of that which broke the guard captain's
concentration, though, for he had seen such attacks and more in the
decades of the Erdanian Wars, the Draconian Wars, and the Rethian
Wars. It was the man leading the charge whose appearance on that
battlefield would have grayed the guard captain's hair if that hadn't
been spurred on by the death of his wife many years before.

_Kain..._ the guard captain turned around and ran toward the door back
into the castle. The King would have to hear about this.


***


Soon after the mob of patrons of the King formed, it dissipated as the
panicked citizens exited through the doors to the throne room and
rushed different directions to accomplish their various ends. Not even
the calming voice of the Queen Rosa had managed to calm any but a few
of the patrons after news of the invasion broke out.

The Army General Vicks and the Army General Wedge pushed their way
past the last of the stragglers of the former mob and entered the long
hall in front of the throne room. They both controlled separate wings
of the Red Wing army and often ended up working together on military
tactics- and they were partners in more ways than one.

"Whoever these people are," Wedge said, narrowing his eyes, "they will
probably be targeting the town after they've defeated the defenses at
the Castle gates. It is the next logical move if their intent is to
conquer us."

"And Owen won't be able to hold off an entire army for long," said
Vicks, intentionally ignoring the stupidity of the people running by
them like chickens without heads, "so they'll need assistance and
quick, or there won't be a town to defend."

Wedge nodded. "Exactly. And the Red Wings will require more assistance
inside the Castle, if what we heard was correct. I was thinking you
could do the honors."

"Understandable," Vicks replied, "your soldiers are stronger on the
long-range level, mine have the ability to hold an army off in
hand-to-hand combat for a longer period of time. Eagle Eyes won't be
able to hold them off at the gates for long."

"Yes," Wedge said. "That was my plan. As it is..."

They were cut off by the appearance of 'Eagle Eyes' himself as he
raced down the hall toward the throne room. His face was as pale as
the aide's had been when he first delivered the message of invasion.

"Hey," Vicks stopped the man, "wait. What did you see? Do you know
who's attacking?"

"Aye," the guard captain replied, and in his voice was a far greater
fear than either of the army generals had ever heard in him before.
"But I cannot believe it. It's Kain! Kain's attacking!"

"Kain, the Dragoon?" Wedge inquired, and in his surprise, a touch of
his family's Fablian roots could be heard in his otherwise trained
Baronian accent.

"Yes, and he somehow managed to rally the entire army of Dragoons
behind him. This is a terrible threat. I must alert the King at once!"

Without another word, the guard captain rushed on toward the throne
room, leaving the shocked army generals to contemplate the turn of
events.

"I thought the Dragoons were our allies," Wedge said.

"They were," Vicks replied with a grimace. "I guess this explains why
Kain didn't show for the Anniversary Ceremony."


***


"K-Kain's attacking _my_ Realm?" Cecil's voice trembled more than
ever, and it was on the verge of breaking. His finely embroidered
royal coat fell off of him to the floor. A dozen expressions crossed
his face, ranging from horror to sadness to rage. Rosa wanted to
reassure him, but she was equally shocked.

"M-maybe you saw it wrong?" she inquired of the wide-eyed guard
captain standing in front of them, aware of how meaningless her
statement sounded. The guard captain was known as 'Eagle Eyes' for a
reason.

"No, lass," the guard captain said, shaking his head unhappily. "It
was Kain all right. I've seen him in battle before. It was his shape,
his size, his speed. I know, I trained him myself." He paused. "His
armor and lance looked a bit different, but all the same, I know it
was him."

Rosa had never seen the guard captain look so stressed. On many
different occasions, she had been impressed by how he kept his cool.
Even when his wife died, there was a certain solemn coolness to him,
one that she had admired. But now, in his open black eyes, she could
see he was genuinely terrified for his life.

"It all makes sense," Edge interrupted her thoughts, and in his tone
and in the red of his face Rosa could see that he was seething with
rage. "He was so quick to betray us twenty years ago... He got in the
King's favor... got to woo Rosa... All so he could invade your Kingdom
while your defenses are down. I have always wondered why _him_ and not
us? I'll bet he was completely conscious to make a deal with Zemus so
long ago!"

"Now, stop it!" Rosa snapped. "Don't be so quick to give up on him!
First off, how do you know he's not under the control of outside
forces again?"

Edge opened his mouth to speak again, but he was cut off by the
authoritarian voice of the guard captain. "Aye, it is true. I know
that man, and I would never believe he would attack Baron. Anything
but attack Baron." He hesitated. "Who was it again who...possessed him
before?"

"Oh, come on," Edge argued. "Zeromus is dead. I saw him die myself."

"No," Rosa replied softly, shaking her head. "He said, before he
perished... that he would live on in some form or another as long as
there was evil in the hearts of men." She shrugged sadly at Cecil.
"Maybe Kain still has a darker side to himself than even he realizes."

"Look," Edge cut in. "I would like to believe this myself. But I just
can't see it given the current circumstances."

"What current circumstances?" Cecil growled, pulling himself to his
feet and walking slowly toward the window.

"Well, for starters, he didn't show up for your anniversary at all."

"Means nothing. He has missed several, and always for a good reason.
Look, Edge, I've known the man all my life. And I cannot see him
attacking Baron if he has any control over himself at all. Be it the
spirit of Zeromus or a twin brother of his that we never knew he had,
it is not the Kain I know who is attacking this Kingdom!"

He hesitated. "And... as such..." he said slowly, and his every word
was pained, "we will have to use whatever force necessary to put him
down before he can cause more damage."

Cecil turned his gaze to the floor. They all knew what he meant.


***


"Having our men charge out into the field will do nothing more than
weaken our forces where we need them the most! They're DRAGOONS, you
fool!"

It was with this argument that the older veteran Lieutenant Cory
addressed the younger, inexperienced Commander Spears regarding
raising the gates and sending the armies out to face the Dragoons on
the battlefield.

"I don't care!" cried Spears, continuing to unheedingly pull the ropes
to raise the gates of Baron. Already, a few of the more uneducated of
the castle guard were crawling under the space between the gate and
the floor and charging out into the field, their weapons drawn. "It's
our only hope!"

"Our only hope, indeed!" Cory slapped his young Commander in the face.
"Listen to me! The Dragoons have skills you've never seen! They can
leap like no other man over the gates and into this very courtyard
itself! Sending our men, the small number that we have, into that
field will ruin all hope of victory!"

"I should kill you for that," Spears growled, rubbing his cheek for a
moment before continuing to pull at the ropes. "Remember your rank."

This infuriated Cory. Since 'Eagle Eyes' had started training the
now-commander Spears, he had sensed trouble would come of it. But the
guard captain was entirely blind to the young soldier's naiveté,
treating him as a son, and had slowly raised him from position to
position until he was higher than even the most experienced of the
veterans. This had caused a lot of disgruntlement among the Red Wings,
but out of love for the old captain, no one had complained. "My rank,
your rank, neither matter now. If you send the Red Wings out into that
battlefield, we will all die!"

"I do not care for your opinion, lieutenant. Join the others at the
gates. We have to work together now to crush the invaders."

"Is that so?" Cory challenged. "If you truly believe that, why are you
sending our men _away_ from the field of battle? Bahamut's Fire,
stop!"

Finally, Cory grabbed Spears' arms and attempted to pull him back. But
the younger man had more strength and vitality and easily pushed Cory
out of the way.

"That's it!" roared Spears. "You've gone far enough!"

Without another word, Spears stepped forward and punched Cory in the
face. Before the stunned lieutenant could move to counter-attack,
Spears had released a powerful kick to his abdomen. All he could do in
response was fall to the ground and gasp for his breath.

_Goddammit!_ He screamed inwardly, attempting to ignore the pain and
pull himself up from the ground. _If only I were as young as you!_


***


The line of charging Dragoons parted quite suddenly, and it was as if
the army were a wave in the ocean being split apart by the
intervention of a tall boulder. Most of the Dragoon army continued in
its charge toward the Castle Baron, while a thin line of Dragoons
separated from it, followed by hundreds or even thousands of obedient
footsoldiers.

The look on the faces of both Owen McGalroy and Wedge Vennaya,
standing at the head of their combined Red Wings in front of the city,
could be only described as grim. Even with their combined forces,
neither general had ever expected there was any army anywhere in the
Usenetverse that could make the Red Wings seem so small so very
suddenly.

"This is... terrible," Owen spoke, a touch of defeat in his voice. "We
will never be able to defeat an army of that size!"

Wedge nodded sadly. "I believe, my friend, we are indeed seeing the
final days of Baron." His voice carried little more hope than his
companion's. "But by standing by this city now, at least those among
us who will not fight may be spared their own lives."

As they spoke, a few of the Red Wings were leading citizens to the
airship docks. If Owen and Wedge were able to hold off the invaders
for long enough, a good number of the citizens with airship-flying
capabilities would be able to escape and continue to raise their
families elsewhere. Those who didn't would probably be tortured and
slaughtered.

"They look like Barbarians," Owen commented, a touch of disgust in his
voice.

"Indeed," Wedge agreed. "Then let us hope we can hold them off long
enough to spare this city its children."


***


It took all of Cory's strength, outer and inner, to stand up and pull
the knife from his belt. He was all too aware of the younger Red
Wings, most under the influence of Commander Spears, racing out into
the field for a futile battle. With the veterans alone, they would be
massacred, he knew. However much it would hurt their old captain, he
had to stop the young Commander before it was too late.

Spears, preoccupied with raising the gate, never saw it coming. And it
seemed to take a moment for him to register the knife sticking into
his back before he dropped the ropes and collapsed. The ropes flew
into motion without anyone pulling them one way or another and, before
Cory could grab hold of the ropes, they had slammed back down onto the
cement ground and crushed several young soldiers under it.

The soldiers directly behind the gate turned to face him and on their
faces were splayed expressions of horror and dismay.

"I am your superior!" Cory roared at them. "Hear me out! The Invaders
are Dragoons. I don't know how many of you have done your research on
the various armies of the world, but the Dragoons are among the most
powerful of them, and for one reason only! They..."

Cory stopped in midsentence. Just beyond the castle, he could hear the
confused shouts of the young Red Wings who had charged out of the
gates, as well as the whoosh of Dragoons leaping from the ground. In
the next moment, he saw the first of the Dragoons leaping up past the
castle walls and its defenders, and down into the courtyard itself.

"Brace yourselves!" Cory roared. "For you are about to see the power
of the Dragoons first-hand!"

The veterans among the Red Wings already had their swords out and were
staring up into the sky at the aerial intruders. The younger Red Wings
seemed to, as a whole, flounder about for a moment before parroting
their elders' motions.

It was the archers, at the parapets highest up, who fell first. Very
few of them managed to fire any shots before being picked off by the
sharp Dragoon Lances of the invaders. The various Red Wings on the
ground could only watch helplessly as Dragoon after Dragoon barreled
into their archers and sent them falling off of the parapets and
towers, very usually already dead.

Yet, even as the main forces of the Dragoons targeted the archers,
dozens upon dozens of Dragoons leapt down at them with every passing
moment. The Dragoon army was very quickly beginning to resemble a
swarm of bees.

The first wave of Dragoons landed and, without missing a beat, began
to slice at the horrified Red Wings. Others preferred to land on their
opponents, knocking them to onto their backs, and cut their hearts out
in one smooth motion.


***


The Red Wings protecting the town braced themselves and held their
swords and shields in front of them. The wave of enemy soldiers was
quickly approaching, led by the ten powerful Dragoons. Mere inches
from the tips of Baronian blades, the ten Dragoons abruptly leapt past
them and deep into the lines of the Red Wing soldiers themselves. The
foot soldiers directly behind the Dragoons surged forward and engaged
Owen and Wedge.

The other Red Wings disappeared in a flurry of movement and Wedge was
only vaguely aware of Owen standing beside him and slashing away at
the approaching foot soldiers. All around them, soldiers of both
armies fought and sliced at each other. The air around them was filled
with the sound of metal slamming against metal and the screams of the
wounded and dying. Wedge smelled newly-drawn blood, and felt his
adrenaline rising. He sliced into the crowd of attacking foot soldiers
and was not overly surprised to find half a dozen foot soldiers
replacing each foot soldier he felled. The Red Wings were outmatched
and they knew it.

The situation was all the more dire for the Red Wings attempting to do
battle with the ten Dragoons. Many of the Red Wings had never fought a
real battle before, and it did not help that they were fighting some
of the most deadly human opponents in the Usenetverse. For every swipe
a Red Wing attempted against the Dragoons, the Dragoons killed at
least five Red Wings. So far, in fact, only one Dragoon had taken any
damage at all, and then only a minor shoulder wound.

At one point, Wedge found himself engaging a middle-aged man with
several scars on his face and an angry, warlike attitude about him.
From the first dodge-and-swipe, Wedge could tell he was dealing with a
dangerous opponent. The man blocked each slash Wedge attempted with
his silver blade, and managed to land several painful swipes in on
Wedge before Wedge could even give the man a scratch. Even when Owen,
sensing Wedge's need, joined in on the battle, the man seemed able to
stop every swipe headed his way and give three in return.

It was only when two other Red Wings joined in on the battle that
Wedge and Owen managed to land a few blows on the scarred man. Even
then, the man did not go down without a fight. He stabbed one of the
Red Wings in the stomach and managed still to block the attacks of
Wedge and Owen at the same time. When the other Red Wing managed to
land an almost accidental blow to the man's upper arm, he moved to
behead him.

It was at that point that Wedge took a chance and stabbed with all of
his strength into the area of the man's upper stomach. The man's eyes
widened and he looked at Wedge, and stared him in his eyes. Wedge
could tell he was in a vulnerable position. He started to pull his
blade back out of the man's stomach, but not in time to avoid the
man's final move.

The man turned around at a higher speed than Wedge would have believed
a dying man could muster and stabbed deeply into his stomach before he
could think to raise his shield. He could vaguely hear Owen screaming
a horrified rejection and he saw Owen's thick blade take off the man's
head, but by then, Wedge no longer cared.

The corpse that was once Wedge slumped against the quickly forming
wall of bodies, and stared into the sky forevermore.


***


All around, the results of this battle were becoming quite apparent.
Cory was among the few of the original Guard still alive, and, so it
seemed, not even the appearance of the guard captain and Vicks' forces
could save the Kingdom of Baron. They hadn't managed to mar the
Dragoon forces at all and for each man they killed, the Red Wings were
infinitely battered. Guards, soldiers, and even the guard captain
himself disappeared into the mass of blood and metal, likely hacked to
pieces. With each passing moment, the remaining forces of Baron were
being forced back further and further till they eventually were right
up against the walls.

Vicks' forces retreated into the castle itself and Cory leaped in the
way of the Dragoons who meant to pursue right after.

Faster than Cory could follow, the entire army of Dragoons were upon
him, slashing and cutting at him with their glistening red lances. He
attempted one slash into the crowd with his long sword and felt a
momentary twinge of victory when he saw one Dragoon falling backward,
minus his head.


***


Vicks cringed at the sight of Cory being torn into an almost
unrecognizable bloody pulp in the doorway by the brutal swipes of the
invaders' Dragoon Lances. Vicks' men fell back behind him, and they
all raised their shields as one as the Dragoons swarmed in. Vicks
could see many of his men falling beside and behind him and he only
dared reply with an occasional swipe into the crowd.

The wave of Dragoons split momentarily to allow one, wielding a darker
lance than Vicks had ever seen in a Dragoon's hand before. He glanced
up at the face and saw a rough, unshaven face, and cold black eyes,
colder and darker than he had ever hoped to see in his life. Lines of
old scars were obvious on the man's cheeks, and the man's lips seemed
fashioned into a permanent sneer.

It took a moment to click in that this man's face was the same face as
the Dragoon Kain Vicks once met at one of the Wedding Anniversaries a
few of years back. But where the Kain Vicks knew had a clean-shaven
kind, smiling face and an innocent, understanding glint in his eyes,
this Kain seemed to signify pure hatred. The Kain that faced him also
looked a good deal older, which was odd, for the warriors of Light who
played a part in any of the Final Fantasy adventures, as far as he
knew, didn't age after playing their part in legend. If they did, the
King and Queen had not shown any signs of it, remaining as strong and
as young as ever before while those who had schooled with them grew
into frail old men and women. And certainly the Kain he met could not
have aged that much in the three years since he last saw him!

"A-Are you...?" he stumbled over the inquiry. Without a word in reply,
the Dragoon pushed the stunned army general's sword and shield aside
and simply stabbed him with that dark lance. A chill filled Vicks'
entire being, and he felt, unlike any other sword wounds he had ever
taken, that this lance sucked his life out...and gave it to the
Dragoon standing in front of him.

The world became blurry around Vicks and he found it whirling around
him as if he were on a roller coaster or the Fablian ship being drawn
into a whirlpool by Leviatan as had been back during the time of the
Mysidian Legend. He pulled forward with one hand, attempting
desperately to touch the Dragoon's face.


***


The Duke irritably pushed the dying man's hand away from his face and
waited to absorb the last of his energies. The man continued to stare
intently into his eyes for one long moment. Then his head lolled back
and the man slid off of the Demon Lance.

The Duke nodded to Jorge and the other nearest four guards and they
leapt into the fray, forcing all nearby Red Wings away from the
entrance for the briefest of moments.

Unhurriedly, the Duke walked toward the doorway. To both sides, the
Avalon Army pushed back screaming Red Wings, often with a Lance to the
heart.

Finally, somehow, someway, one bloody Red Wing leaped in the Duke's
way, wielding only a short sword, and looking more panicked than
angry. Like most of his companions, his face was covered with sweat
and blood intermingled from the various fights, he looked young and
inexperienced---lucky to have survived even this long.

"I won't let you get to the King!" he cried, seeming to try to raise
himself to the Duke's level, seeming to try to become frightening.

*Impudent,* the Duke decided, and shoved his Demon Lance into the
youth's unguarded stomach. He didn't even bother to wait for the Lance
to suck the man's meager life out, deciding, instead, to move on to
more important affairs.

The Duke stepped into the long, dimly lit hall and casually began to
walk toward the door several meters away--presumably leading to the
throne room.

He heard the three young Red Wings rushing at him from behind long
before they even left the chamber behind him. He could sense their
fear and hope as they rushed at him in one last-ditch attempt to
destroy him before he got to the King.

When they were only inches away, he turned around, leaped aside, and
stabbed two of the charging attackers in the side with his powerful
Lance. They were all, indeed, still youths - probably still in
training from their blocky, awkward movements and their untrained
postures.

The one farthest to the left, though he looked shocked at the
quickness of his companions' demise, bravely rushed forward and
stabbed at the Duke with a sharp long sword.

_Impressive,_ the Duke thought to himself, grabbing the long sword
with one ironclad fist and pulling the youth toward him, at which
point he raised the Demon Lance to him and stabbed the boy in the
chest. _If I hadn't been wearing armor, he probably would have cut me.
It's a pity in a way. This boy would have made a fine soldier._

The Duke didn't have the heart to steal the boy's life energy. He
pushed the boy off of the Lance with his foot and paused for a moment
afterward to bless the child's spirit. The boy had offered a somewhat
decent fight, which was more than even many of the veteran Red Wings
could have said. He deserved a good death.

The Duke was pulled from his thoughts by a sudden wave of fire lancing
up his shielded legs to his guarded shoulders. While the flames
themselves did not affect him much, their effect on his iron armor
did. Even after he leaped aside, for a long moment his skin burned
from the hot iron pressed against it.

"Now that you're finished killing this kingdom's children, how about
if you try fighting a man your own size?" a rough voice spoke
contemptuously from seemingly all around. "Kain?"

"I will, if you'll show yourself, coward!" the Duke spat back, and
whirled dangerously about the room, his eyes narrowed for any trace of
movement.

"No prob," the voice said, this time from the shadows directly in
front of the Duke. A figure materialized out of the shadows and glared
at the Duke. "I am Edge, King of Eblana."

Edge's face was, like most of the others, unscarred and innocent to
the taxations of war. All that made his face any more unique than any
number of dead Red Wings was his thick brown tan, his unusual wild
blue hair, the earrings he wore on each ear, and his eyes, black and
angry as the Duke's. He wore a night-blue hood, overshirt, and cape to
match his hair, purple-and-white gloves on each hand, and dirty white
trousers.

"Eblana?" the Duke echoed with a sneer. "Haven't I conquered that
already? Well, I can't keep track of all of this world's weak
monarchies. I'll come by sometime after I've finished sacking this
loser Kingdom."

"You won't sack this Kingdom. Your conquest is over."

Edge pulled a long, thin, glistening blade reminiscent to the one
wielded by Sephiroth in his final stand against Cloud in Final Fantasy
7 from his back, and held it in front of him dangerously. This blade
had seen battles, as had Edge, if the comfortable, trained way he
swung it about was any indication.

"Why not?" the Duke muttered and his voice sounded disturbingly
confident. He pulled himself into his trained defensive battle posture
and held the Demon Lance as a shield of sorts in front of him. "I
could use some more exercise."


***


One of the Kings of an Empire long past once declared to his court
during wartime, "every soldier who falls to the iron sword of Baron is
another foot of the stone that makes up our fine cities conquered."

_If that is true,_ Owen thought bitterly, _then most of city Baron has
already *been* conquered._

Since the death of Wedge, the defense of city Baron had gone downhill.
More and more enemy soldiers streamed into the battlefield and more
and more Red Wings collapsed, swords, arrows, or lances embedded deep
within their stomachs. Already the ten Dragoons had felled more than a
tenth of the total army while the footsoldiers at the front of the
lines had killed at least a third. For every Red Wing defending the
city, there were three or four footsoldiers attacking it.

Owen's arms, covered with both his and the enemy's blood, were also
becoming exhausted and notably strained with the effort of battle.
Even as he lopped off the head of an approaching soldier, another
rushed at him, and he found himself struggling for the energy to raise
the blade to defend himself.

Owen was disheartened. He knew not he, not anyone who fought on the
battlefield in the defense of Baron, would survive. Worse still, he
had received word from a messenger only minutes before to the effect
that less than a hundred of the citizens of Baron had made it to the
airships before the first of the footsoldiers and Dragoons broke
through the defenses. There were over two thousand people living in
Baron, counting the civilians alone. Which meant it was unlikely more
than a twentieth of the citizens of Baron would survive this day.
Their only hope was that a good number of the remaining civilians
managed to slip past the invaders to get to the airship docks. They
needed time, something Owen and those fighting beside him were
attempting to buy for them, even at the cost of their own lives.


***


"Ce-- My Liege, I'm not so sure I agree with your current plan of
action," Cid continued, his voice and body both trembling. He brushed
one muscular hand through his long red beard, and gazed fearfully at
the stubborn King standing in front of him, dressed in the gleaming
white armor of a paladin and wearing on his head a bandanna holding a
beautiful crystal at the top of Cecil's forehead. This had given Cecil
the look of royalty before he even became King of Baron. In Cid's
eyes, he looked almost exactly as he had when he and four others
fought side by side to destroy Zeromus, and that was an unnerving
thought. "I normally would support you in defending the Kingdom, but
we're outnumbered and out-gunned. If we don't flee, we'll be massacred
like the rest!"

"Don't argue with me, Cid," Cecil growled, pushing several long swords
aside from the Chest of Weaponry in front of him. The chest itself had
originally been carved out of fine oak by a Druid one of the first
Kings of Baron had called friend. Since then, the oak had aged and the
Kingdom of Baron grew more and more wealthy, until finally one of the
later Kings had a master smith cover the chest with gold, gold
symbols, and the Imprint of the Baronian Flag. There, every King left
his weapon from his days of battle to be used when needed. Cecil's, of
course, was the fine Crystal Blade he had used to defeat the dark
spirit Zeromus twenty years before.

"I know it must be hard to consider leaving your Kingdom," Cid went
on, "but if you don't, there'll be no one left to continue the
Baronian line...."

In response to this, Cecil abruptly turned to confront the frightened
engineer, and gripped him hard by the shoulders.

"What is the point of having a _Baronian line_ if there is no Baron?"
he cried. "No. If Baron must fall, I must fall with it!"

With that, Cecil turned back to the Chest and resumed his search.

"But, liege...!" Cid cried, desperately reaching for Cecil's regal
shoulder, and at the same time knowing how futile it would be. In the
twenty years Cecil had been king, while he physically did not age same
as Rosa, his mind had lost a good degree of its innocence and he had
become more and more stubborn and narrow-minded. This had concerned
most of the King's close friends, including even his wife.

"Cease this, Cid," a musical voice Cid recognized as belonging to
Queen Rosa spoke from behind him. He turned quickly to face her and
was mildly surprised to find she no longer remained in the silk white
dress she always wore before the public, and had worn earlier this day
for her Twentieth Wedding Anniversary with Cecil. Instead, she wore
her shining battle armor from her years as a Light Warrior so very
long ago and wielded her magical bow in hand.

"But, Rosa," Cid forgot in his panic to address her by her proper
title, "If you do not convince him to flee, it will be too late. I
will not see my liege who I have served faithfully for the past twenty
years die in battle, when he should instead be preserving the royal
line!"

"I will not convince him to flee, Cid," Rosa murmured, looking the
tired engineer in the eyes and lowering his stubborn defenses. "For I
agree with him. He must stay with his Kingdom even in wartime. It is
his duty as king."

Cecil's eyes widened at this, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Rosa raised her arm to silence Cid, and she continued to speak
quietly, "but I agree. We must preserve the royal line."

Cid took a moment to absorb this, but when he did, his face fell. "My
Queen...! You are willing to sacrifice your own life for..."

"Yes, Cid. And you are right. We do not have much time. You must take
my children and flee. That is the only way to preserve the royal line.
Cecil and I will remain as we must... But you must understand, we
cannot abandon the Kingdom."

Cid nodded and slowly, reluctantly replied, "I understand. But I wish
you didn't have to.... It is a mighty shame, Rosa, but I am glad I had
the opportunity to watch your children grow..."

Rosa smiled warmly and hugged the burly man. "You go well, Cid," she
said after a moment, and gently pushed him away from her. "And do it
now. Before the intruders reach the throne room."

With an effort, Cid nodded, and rushed to the door. He looked back at
his King and Rosa with a warmth in his eyes for what he knew to be the
final time, then shut the door behind him.

All was silent for a moment.

Cecil raised himself from the Chest, holding a single crystal blade in
his hands. Much of its glimmer had been made dull by years of dust,
much of which still rested on the blade even now, but it certainly
managed to distinguish itself from blades forged from iron and steel.
Besides being mildly transparent, it shined with a dim white light
even in complete darkness and Cecil had described many times having
more strength, more energy, more drive to fight when wielding the
Crystal blade once-protected by the serpent Ogopogo, than with any
other blades he ever held.

"I never thought I would wield this in battle again," Cecil whispered
barely loud enough to be heard by Rosa. "And now... I will die
wielding it."

Rosa wanted to speak against that, tell him he was wrong and that he
would live, they would all live, and everything would be fine again
one day. But some part of her knew it to be a lie.


***


In front of Owen, one of the few Elder Red Wings who had taught him
how to fight so many years before and survived the Rethian, Meower,
and Erdanian Wars, lost his head from the neck up to a tall,
rough-looking invader. With a rage Owen never knew he was capable of
possessing, he charged the man and stabbed him directly in the heart.

Even after the dead invader slipped off of the end of Owen's blade,
his rage only grew. Somehow, only this last death had brought the
painful reality to him that most - if not all - of Owen's friends and
companions in the Red Wings were dead, and that he would probably be
next. It had never fully absorbed, even after he saw Wedge and so many
others die, that it was all truly over for him. Even if he somehow
survived this battle, his kingdom was destroyed, his friends and
lovers were probably all dead, and he himself had nothing left to live
for.

_Then I *will* die. Here. And now,_ he thought to himself, a cold
chill raising up his spine and a rush of adrenaline coloring his face.
It was the brightest, most delightful possibility that entered his
head now, and, even with his newfound well of energy holding his arms
proudly up over his lower waist, and slashing any and all invaders
anywhere near him, he was just waiting, watching, even summoning a
proper death.

As he killed an approaching invader and screamed the war cry of Baron
at the top of his lungs, he saw it. The dark-armored figure on the
horizon, riding on the giant, powerful workhorse. Soldiers of both
sides seemed to clear away as he approached, holding his dark lance in
hand and seeming to glare through the dark helmet at Owen. Sunlight
flowed in waves at Owen from either side of this hole of darkness,
riding on horseback toward Owen, coming to take him away.

"I'm ready for you, Death," Owen whispered, raising his blade toward
the approaching rider and grinning. Above the dark rider, his family,
transparent and smiling, sang for Owen to join them.


***


At a higher speed than most men would have even been capable of
seeing, Edge flew undeviatingly at the Duke with his thin blade held
in front of him, aimed directly at the Duke's shielded chest.

The Duke waited until mere milliseconds before the lance would have
hit his armor, and leaped out of the way. Even as he did so, he threw
the Demon Lance right into the area where he had been standing
milliseconds before - and where he judged Edge to be when the Lance
got there.

The Lance flew into Edge's unguarded side, and, with a cry of pain
interspersed with shock, he flew into the wall several feet away and
landed, a crumpled heap, on the floor.

"Is that all?" the Duke demanded of the injured Ninja. "I figured most
Kings at least knew how to fight!"

"No, that's not all," Edge growled from the bottom of his throat,
pushing the Lance out of his side and somehow managing to pull himself
to his feet. He pulled from his belt a small flask of light blue
liquid, threw the top aside and quaffed it down. Before the Duke's
eyes, the ninja's skin grew back over the wound and stopped bleeding.
All that remained to show he ever took any damage at all was his
ripped shirt. "That's not *nearly* all!"

The Duke crossed his arms in front of him impatiently. "I'm waiting,"
he taunted.

Edge closed his eyes and raised his hands to a prayer position just
below his chin. He muttered unintelligibly under his breath for a long
moment.

"Religion is a vice," the Duke began, but before he could continue,
Edge abruptly opened his eyes and charged the Duke. As Edge began his
charge, the Demon Lance, even faster than the trained ninja, flew off
of the floor and into the Duke's hand. He raised it in front of him.

And lowered it, eyes wide. For, in front of him, not one, but five
Edges charged at him, each looking just as concrete, just as real, and
each thin blade looking just as frighteningly sharp.


***


As soon as they realized they had fallen into a trap, most of the Red
Wings who had charged out into the battlefield attempted a mad rush
back toward the gate. But it was far, far too late. The gates were
slammed shut and the army of Dragoons easily destroyed much of the
ill-prepared and outnumbered Red Wings trapped inside.

Many of the Red Wings had given up then and there, only then seeing
the validity of Cory's claims. They had lowered themselves to their
hands and knees and gazed at the skies desperately. Others simply
screamed to be let in and slammed themselves foolishly against the
gates.

And so they remained to this moment, with very little to do but watch
their companions suffer and die. Even after the Red Wings retreated
inside, followed by all of the Dragoon forces, they could only watch
many of their friends slowly bleed to death.

All of this soon became irrelevant. The Red Wings who gave up in the
middle of the field were the first to go. Something gigantic, scaled,
and red as blood itself broke through the shadowy trees of the nearby
forest and flew at the Red Wings. They had screamed as one, bled as
one, and died as one in the sharp grip of the creature's giant maw.

This creature was a red dragon. Rare, even unheard of on the continent
of alt.games. The few that had been seen were usually found in the
most unrelated of territories, such as alt.games.pac-man or
alt.games.descent. In the lands of their origination, namely the
roleplaying-related game groups, they had been hunted down by the many
wannabe-heroes who wanted to be known throughout the land as "dragon
slayers" and, as such, rarely had any time of safety at all.
Eventually, they all escaped or were killed, and declared extinct by
the various governments of alt.games. And hadn't been seen since
shortly after the days of Roto or Erdrick.

The surviving Red Wings who were not instantly paralyzed with fear ran
for their lives - most of them to the gates where they screamed at
nobody in particular to be let in. And then, after letting out one
chilling roar, the dragon attacked.


***


The defense of the city Baron crumbled quickly with both of its
leaders killed. Many of the Red Wings-in-training who had been forced
into the battle at far too young an age simply ran for their lives,
while others tried to surrender, and still others leaped into the
battle with a growing ferocity.

And so, for one long moment, with the combined strengths of both the
desperate Red Wings-in-training and the learned veterans, the
intruders were not only held back but pushed back by the sheer
ferocity of the remaining soldiers standing against them. But this
could not last. A suicidal rush of adrenaline could only last so long,
and despite the fury of each and every Red Wing there, even the
veterans were no match for the power of the Dragoons and experienced
footsoldiers. One by one, the Red Wings were killed and the defense
disintegrated for once and for all.

At that moment, the invaders rushed into the city and, for over twelve
thousand innocent townspeople, the end began.


One of the ten Dragoons accompanying the lesser knights stabbed a
fleeing elderly man dressed in a cleric's gray robe with a
long-reaching Dragoon Lance as he fled toward the edge of the city. A
knight on a chocobo chased a helpless middle-aged woman through the
town and stabbed her through the back with a single swipe of his
powerful blade. One footsoldier knocked down the front door of one of
the houses and charged at the cowering family inside.

Others still set fire to nearby houses and poured buckets of inky,
black oil upon them, trapping the occupants to a fate of burning
alive. Most vulgar of all, many of these knights laughed as they
committed these atrocities.




***


The Duke waited until the five images of Edge were almost on top of
him before he leaped to his left and punched one of the images, while
at the same time he slid his Lance through another. Both of these
images dissipated upon impact.

The three remaining images of Edge flipped skillfully over the Demon
Lance and turned to face the Duke.

"It's a clever trick," the Duke taunted the three, a touch of anger in
his voice. "But, really, why don't you simply fight me man-to-man and
quit trying to hide!?"

"Who's hiding?" the three Edges spoke in unison. "You have your
deceptions, I have mine."

One of the Edges smirked more than the other two as he said this, and
suddenly the Duke knew which of the images was the real Edge. Ignoring
the dangerous swipes of the other two blades, the Duke rushed the Edge
farthest to the right and punched him in the face.

A look of shock crossed the Ninja's face as he fell backwards and his
twin images disintegrated. He leaped to his feet, but not before the
Duke rushed at him, grabbed him by the neck and held him several feet
off of the floor.

"H-How.?" Edge inquired weakly, struggling to no avail to free his
neck from the Duke's iron grip.

"You think I've never run across one of those cheap tricks before?
It's easy to spot which one's the real thing when they talk. One of
them always has a more vivid expression than the others," the Duke
grinned and tightened his grip on Edge's throat. "Goodbye, King."

The Duke lowered one arm toward the floor and the Demon Lance flew
into his hand. But that was all of the time Edge needed.

The Duke lowered his eyes toward the Demon Lance. Edge moved his hand
slowly and slightly from his neck to just behind his shoulder. The
Duke noticed even this minor change and looked up.

Edge pulled another sword from behind his back and sliced down at the
older man's side. This blade was not as thin as the other blade, but
it was sharp enough to pierce the Duke's skin even through his armor
and powerful enough to knock him backwards. Edge flew, gasping for
breath, to the floor. The Duke winced, dropped the Demon Lance, and
grasped at his injured side.

Edge leaped to his feet again, sensing the Duke's newfound weakness,
and charged at him.

As soon as Edge was near enough to him to be vulnerable, the Duke's
entire attitude changed. Where he looked weak and injured before, he
looked powerful and antagonistic now. He grabbed Edge's sword arm and
raised it to the sky. In the same motion, he stepped forward and
punched the ninja in the face. Edge dropped his blade and it fell with
a clatter to the floor.

Holding on to Edge's arm, the Duke punched him in the face again. And
again. And again. Finally, after an indeterminable length of time, the
Duke dropped Edge's arm and punched him one final time.

Edge fell to the floor several feet away. This continuous beating on
the part of the Duke had his nose crooked and broken and his face
black and blue. He seemed unable to even see as he felt around his
belt and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"This isn't over!" he finally screamed, pulling a triangular stone the
Duke recognized as a misshapen Warp Stone off of his belt and
clutching it with both hands.

"No, it isn't," the Duke called back, even as the warp stone exploded
and a bright white light engulfed the defeated ninja.

"I'll see you when I conquer your kingdom," the Duke promised, though
he was now alone in the room. He stepped forward and picked up the
thin blade Edge had used against him early on. It had been obviously
built by a master smith, for its shape and size was superb. This blade
would make whoever happened to pick it up a very deadly foe in future
conquests.

The Duke carefully placed it back on the floor where he found it and
looked up toward the door in front of him, interested no longer in the
ninja or any of his fancy weaponry. He had a throne to claim.


***


Cecil and Rosa stood alone in front of the throne of Baron, the
beautiful, jewel-covered seat and the golden crown, the one and only
true symbol left of their kingdom that had not been destroyed or made
void by murder. For all of the power of these invaders, they still had
not claimed the throne. And there was still a chance to defeat their
leaders, scatter the enemy forces, and leave the throne forever
un-owned by any man. Even if the man in question was Kain.

Since the King's aide had evacuated after giving one final progress
report to the stubborn King and Queen, the door to the throne room had
remained shut, but not locked or barricaded. However many locks were
placed to keep the door shut, however many heavy weights, desks, and
other large objects were placed in front of the door, the enemy would
get in. And Cecil had never been one to avoid Fate.

They had anxiously heard the wailing of dying Red Wings and the bodies
crashing against the walls. The raid had come closer and closer until
it almost seemed to be right outside the door.

Then they head the door to the room just behind the throne room slowly
open with a chilling, slow creak, resembling the sound of an arrow
being pulled back on a bowstring.

Cecil watched the door in front of him, his entire body tensed up, his
eyes unmoving. He felt reassured by the crystal blade in his hand.
This blade had landed the killing blow on Zeromus, killed the dark
King of Reth in the Rethian Wars, saved the life of his queen in the
Erdanian wars, and brought light into a chamber consumed with darkness
in the Meower Wars. Then, in the later years of peace, this blade
remained an heirloom of Baron, an heirloom Cecil sincerely had hoped
and believed would remain as such; an heirloom, and never again
anything more. A shining image of things long past and never to come
again.

The doors to the throne room swung open, and a man Cecil had never
expected to see, yet had always expected to see since the guard
captain had spoken so frightfully and earnestly of it, charged through
the doorway. His dark eyes glittered with aggression, his face was
dirty, withered, and unshaven, his lance was dark and carried a
terrible feeling of a horrid Evil power, and his entire demeanor
looked unsavory and rude.

"Kain?" Rosa whispered, her eyes wide and her breath sucked in.
Nothing anyone could have ever told either of them could have ever
prepared her for the terrible truth. She leaned forward and breathed
in this antithetical image of Cecil's best friend for so many years.

Cecil's face turned stone, emotionless, just as cold as the intruder's
in front of him. His dark eyes stared into the Dragoon's own and
seemed to match Kain's hatred for a long moment. Then, almost
imperceptibly, Cecil nodded at the man.

Kain looked surprised for an instant and then nodded back, more
noticeably. He raised his dark Lance toward the King. "I have come to
take your throne," he stated.

"I have remained to fight you for it," Cecil growled back and started
down the stairs, toward the Dragoon in front of him. He stopped a few
feet away, just out of range of the dark Lance's sharp, blood-stained
tip, and glared down at the Dragoon.

Kain glared back for a long moment, and silence filled the entire
chamber. What would prompt the first attack, Rosa wondered. Who would
land the first blow?

Finally, a flicker of understanding and something else entered Kain's
eyes. And Cecil saw it. The Dragoon lunged forward, his lance
outstretched toward the King's armored stomach. Cecil leapt backward
and forced his opponent's lance to the floor with the heavy crystal
blade. Cecil lumbered forward and attempted a blow to the Dragoon's
vulnerable face, but Kain swung his head back, and with an unexpected
burst of energy, raised his lance up - knocking Cecil and the crystal
sword several feet back the other direction - and back-flipped several
feet away.

Cecil leaped back to his feet on one side of the room while
simultaneously the agile Kain landed on his feet and lowered himself
to his hands and knees. His lance fell silently to the floor, though
he still had it by the hilt, and, like a wildcat preparing to launch
itself at its prey, he waited.

Cecil hesitated before finally starting forward, toward the Dragoon,
his worst enemy and his best friend. The dark eyes of the Dragoon
crouched before him followed him every step. With every step closer,
his caution and defense grew further and further. Yet, still Kain
crouched there, staring. Cecil had an unnerving sense of being hunted.

Kain's eyes followed Cecil as he circled the man, searching, searching
further, searching deeper than Cecil would like. Several feet away,
Cecil raised his blade and waited.

There was no warning, no flicker in the Dragoon's eyes or added
tension or even sense of hesitation. Kain just launched himself
forward and threw the lance directly at the King's stomach. Knowing
his armor would not be enough to save him if the Lance pierced it,
Cecil placed all of his concentration on raising his shield. The Lance
hit the shield, stuck for a moment, then crashed to the ground. Even
as it did so, Kain jumped Cecil and punched him in the face while his
concentration remained on the Lance.

Cecil flew backwards, his face contorted with rage. Even as he raised
his blade in his defense again, in his disoriented state he dropped
his shield and could not move to block the quick kick to his groinby the agile Dragoon.

Cecil gasped, and doubled over. He dropped his crystal blade to the
floor and he began to cough and wheeze painfully.

Mercilessly, Kain stepped forward, pulled a small knife from his belt,
and embedded it deeply within the King's stomach in the small space
between the armor and the skin. Cecil stepped backwards, wavered for a
moment, then fell, slowly, dramatically, to the floor.

"No!" Rosa wailed up above and instantly a crystal dart was in her
hand. She placed it on the bowstring and aimed to kill.


***


The Duke sensed danger. He turned around, sensing a shift in the air,
and the angry, panicked cry of the Queen in front of him. Before he
even saw the dart, he was raising his iron shield to block it. The
dart exploded against the shield, releasing a powerful spray of
burning white fire. The Duke sensed, with a sudden clarity, that he
had just barely saved his own face from being burnt away by the
powerful dart - perhaps just barely eluded death.

Not so unusual. But the woman was a threat. Probably more so than her
slow dog of a husband.

The Demon Lance flew into his hand at his hark and silent call and he
marched right up the stairs. The woman frantically began to load
another dart into her bow, but it was obvious to both she would never
be able to load it in time. She backed away one final step and glared
at the charging Duke.

Then their eyes met. Shock overcame the Duke and he dropped the Demon
Lance to the floor, where it was immediately forgotten.

In her bright, glowing eyes, he saw a spirit, felt a warmth he had cut
off from himself many years before, and never expected, never even
wanted to see again. Her eyes flickered and widened with surprise; it
was clear she saw it as well.

Images, memories flowed through the Duke's head, experiences that had
developed the warm, bright, compassionate Kain Aron Highwind his
father had despised.

A troubled boy of only ten years of age, desensitized from pain by the
frequent beatings by his father met a girl of the same age who
comforted and warmed him in his spare time away from the military
academy. After his father beat him, she would kiss the wounds and
apologize for his having to go through it at all. They would play
together, they would run away together, they would feel his pain
together. The little boy who had never been born grew from the spark
of innocence and hope she offered him and, for a short, sweet period
of time, thrived with her spirit.

Some years later, walking with her, holding her hand on the beaches of
Tir-nan-Og. The chilly wind of the region blew full force at them,
with enough energy and power to knock even the strongest of warriors
off of his feet, painful, biting, and unable to penetrate the singular
warmth of her hand on his. The chill, the wind, the rain, it made them
feel all the more alive. Feeling the elements hit them only brought to
him a realization of their fullness, of their personal contentment
with each other and with the world.

Lying with her on that grassy peak, he tasted her warmth and became,
in many ways, one with that warmth. It shaped him, erased the chill,
the ice, the dark feelings, the rage, the pain delivered by his
father. The spirit that had almost died in his first ten years of life
flourished with her arrival, and nothing, no amount of pain, war, and
injury could drop him from the peak of warmth.

"Gloria," he whispered on a gasp of fresh, new air.


***


Rosa's glare dissipated under the glow of something she hadn't felt
for a number of years, something stronger than all reasoning and
religion and more powerful than the forces that sacked Baron even as
she stared. It was a feeling she had slowly lost in this lifetime as
Cecil grew more and more brittle and tired with time and became
dispassionate and careless as all the Kings who lived and died before
him. That feeling was love. Yet... it wasn't quite hers. No, it was of
someone else, someone who had lived for this man when he was still
only a boy, and died for him when other, darker forces intervened. She
couldn't remember who he was, but she remembered his eyes and the
shape of his face and his warmth and his energy and...

"Rosa!"

The voice of the injured King Cecil roused her from her daze and she
glanced away from the Dragoon's face. Behind them, Cecil had risen
shakily to his feet. The armor and clothing surrounding his lower
waist where Kain's knife still rested was stained red with his own
blood, and it was obvious that he was dying. Yet, holding his crystal
blade in his sword arm in front of him, his pale, stone face didn't
register any pain.

"What the hell are you doing? GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

Suddenly, she was Rosa again, and it was not her soulmate but her
worst enemy, sacker of Baron, standing in front of her. Fear entered
her veins once again and she quickly rushed away from the dangerous,
evil man standing in front of her, and ran toward the far corner of
the room. Inches away from the wall itself, she turned around to face
the two combatants, her bow drawn with a dart at the string.

"You dare to try to SACK my Kingdom, kill my friends, try to charm my
wife." a red-faced Cecil staggered almost drunkenly up the steps
toward Kain and the throne. In his trembling hand, his crystal blade
seemed the only thing left carrying any manner of dignity or regal
quality. He looked weak, angry, and desperate. "How about if you stop
relying on cheap tricks and let's fight it out-man to man!"

Despite herself, Rosa found herself feeling pity for the fallen King.
Pity more than Love.

_Bahamut's fire,_ Rosa wailed inwardly, all the while keeping her eyes
focused on the gladiators in front of her. _What is happening to me?
Cecil needs support, not pity!_

"And, so the proud image of the Paladin-King, bearer of light, folds
so quickly in on itself at the first sign of trouble," the Dragoon
said with a sneer. "Gloria, what did you ever see in this man?"

"Shut up!" Rosa cried, though part of her was wondering as well. She
raised her bow threateningly and realized she did not know whose life
she was threatening.

Kain dismissively turned his attention back to Cecil and caught the
crystal blade as he swung it desperately at him. Before Cecil could
move to counter-attack, he punched him in the face, and threw the
crystal blade aside and into one wall, where it fell and clattered
violently to the floor.

Cecil pulled back, but not before Kain released a kick on his abdomen
and punched him one final time in the face. Cecil continued to pull
himself back, but the effect of the knife wound and the repeated blows
to the face were apparently taking their toll; the King lost his
balance and collapsed backwards, onto the small staircase. He rolled
down the stairs and landed on the floor, where he lay for a long
moment. Then he pulled himself up on his arms and weak legs and
glanced up at the Dragoon.

"Enough," Kain spoke calmly. The disregarded Lance at his feet
levitated amazingly into the air and flew into his hand. Kain,
however, did not seem to notice this and he simply stepped forward.
"If you give up now, you will not be harmed. You would make a valuable
bargaining piece in my future conquests, and your family will be safe.
Give it up."

Cecil grit his teeth and pulled himself slowly, painfully to his feet.
It looked like every movement brought an infinite amount of pain to
each of his injured limbs, his aching muscles, his wounds from battles
both recent and long ago. For the moment, Rosa's pity was replaced by
a great sadness for the pain he would go through. She did not act,
however, and finally, he stood in front of his conqueror, just a few
feet below him.

"Absolutely not," Cecil growled unrelentingly through gritted teeth.
"I would rather die."

Kain sighed and reluctantly shrugged his shoulders. "Then you will.
Fetch your sword; I will not slay an unarmed man."

Cecil hesitated, then, warily, limped around the staircase, always
keeping a distance of at least ten feet between himself and Kain. Yet
his worries would go unfulfilled, for the Dragoon remained as still as
a statue... until, perceptible to all in the room, the 'twang' of a
dart exiting a bowstring was heard.


***


The Duke whirled around and his shield already was raised to protect
his face when he saw the dart fly past him. In front of him, Gloria
was pressed tight against the wall, and her face was pale and
frightened. In her hands, she still held the bow, its string still
vibrating. But no dart could be seen.

He turned back to face the King. The crystal dart was embedded in his
upper stomach, but like the dart fired at the Duke almost did on his
own face earlier, it exploded and filled the dying man's stomach with
razor-sharp pieces of shrapnel. Amazingly, Cecil still was alive, but
all he could do was stare, aghast, at Gloria. A pained croak from the
bottom of his throat exited Cecil's mouth as the reality sunk in for
him. He was aware of nothing but Gloria and in his eyes read betrayal.

The Duke turned back to Gloria and he saw that reality had only just
now set in for her, as well. Something long dead had just woken up
inside of her, and her eyes no longer read any pity or anger. Instead,
her eyes were teared and her face contorted with horror. Horror and
sadness as if she had killed not the brittle king who existed today,
but the bright young paladin who had fought with her against Zeromus
and, more, her childhood playmate and best friend, who had been with
her till the very end. She had killed him.

"Oh, Ajora," the Duke gasped and lowered himself to his knees, his
hands directly under his chin in a trained position of prayer. He had
never been religious, never thought he needed to be, since his father,
the senior Duke, had stopped forcing him to go to church when he was
nine. Only now did circumstances overwhelm him so he felt a need for a
deity to take him away.

He saw, with an uncaring eye, the two children rushing through a door
behind the throne room toward their fallen father, followed by a
large, burly man with thick red hair and aviator goggles on his face.
Gloria herself threw her bow to the floor and immediately broke into a
run toward Cecil.

The Duke closed his eyes. He no longer knew who to be.


***


"What the hell did you just do?" Cid demanded of Rosa. He gripped her
by the shoulders and, in his panicked trembling, ended up shaking her
violently. "What did you do!?"

He had intercepted her seconds before as she rushed toward the body of
Cecil and her two horrified children. And he hadn't let her move
another inch since.

"Let go of me!" she shouted, shaking her head to avoid looking him in
the eye. "I killed a madman!"

Cid's eyes widened and his face reddened with anger. Before Rosa could
move to stop him, the burly engineer had his hand outstretched to slap
her. Which he did, sharply, seconds later.

"Who's mad?" he demanded. "You just killed your husband in front of
your own children.all for the barbarian who is going to kill us all!"

"I didn't know the children were there!" Rosa retorted. "Listen: I
love him."

Cid snorted. "Right. He led an army to kill most of your friends and
family, destroyed your kingdom, and you LOVE him."

"No, I mean Cecil."

"Then, why the hell'd you kill him?"

"Come on, Cid. He was dying already. You know that as well as I. If I
didn't, he would have fought to the death. I didn't want to see him
suffer."

"Then why didn't you shoot the barbarian, first? Give your husband a
little satisfaction before you DO HIM IN."

"I..." Rosa hesitated. "Couldn't."

"What do you mean you couldn't? He," Cid nodded at the Dragoon, still
bowing on his hands and knees in the other side of the room, "just
killed everyone you've ever known and loved, and you couldn't fire a
single dart his direction."

"I couldn't. There was more going on than you think. I can't explain
it. Please. Let me through. Let me see him."

Cid hesitated.

"Please. Whatever you think of me now, do it for all of the years of
our friendship. Just let me see him."

Cid hesitated again, then reluctantly stepped aside. "Don't think this
means I like you. Because I don't. Not anymore."

All of this had turned abstract for Rosa, and she found none of it
absorbing, like she was viewing everything from the outside, from a
neutral perspective-yet it was entirely the opposite. She stepped
forward, trying to ignore Cid's oppressive presence to her right and
the tears of her children bowing over the body of her husband, their
father.

The girl, Rydia, named after the Queen of Eblana who had fought beside
Rosa and Cecil in the battle against Zeromus, stared tearfully up at
Rosa. Her sixth birthday was coming up in the next two months, and
Rosa and Cecil had been making plans for it to be the largest birthday
yet. They had been pulling all the outs on this one.

The boy, Kain, named after Cecil's best friend who had also fought in
the battle against Zeromus so many years ago, was older, approaching
eight years. He wore a black tea-shirt and grayish-black pants, and
his eyes were lowered to his father's body. While his face was wet
with tears, he didn't seem to be sobbing. That cold silence was an
attribute Cecil had also possessed when enraged.

Rosa chose not to bother the young Kain, inwardly choosing to wait
until he cooled down, and focused her attention on, instead, the body
of the man she had loved for her entire life, the man who she had
delivered the killing blow to. His eyes seemed to stare up,
accusingly, at her, and she wished for a moment that it had all never
happened, that she had never been born.

Rosa kneeled down and held the motionless body of Cecil in her arms.
His body lacked the same familiar heat and feel he had possessed when
he was alive, and when she checked for a heart beat, she was
unsurprised to find none. The dart in itself could kill a man- but she
felt she had also taken away his one remaining reason for living.

"Why?"

This inquiry came from Rydia, and it was the only word necessary.
Rydia, while familiar with the word death, still had not tied it in to
the absence of life, though she had seen far more of it than she
should have in the recent Rethian wars. She didn't understand the
politics of the monarchies, she didn't understand invasion, and she
didn't understand betrayal. How could she understand that her mother
could switch sides on a dime for a barbarian who meant to kill them
all - one resembling her husband's best friend, at that?

"Your father was suffering, sweetheart. I didn't know what else to
do," Rosa replied, feeling her words were meaningless. Cecil would
never attend their children's weddings, Cecil would never again show
up for the New Year celebration and help decorate the throne room and
help bake cookies and joke around with them. Cecil was gone forever.
All she could do was hold on to him, cling on to the last of his
warmth, and weep silently.

She heard the doors to the throne room open and saw, through the
corner of her eye, the long line of surviving Dragoons stream through.
The screams of dying Baronian guardsmen no longer filled the Castle.
Baron had been conquered.

Rosa was conscious of Cid making an effort to pull the two children
back toward the farthest wall. This was a somewhat reassuring thought
for her; however much Cid may now hate her, his care for her children
remained.

Rydia went silently, her hand in one of Cid's hands. Kain started to
follow his sister, but stopped for a brief moment in front of Rosa.

"I hate you," he said simply, and his voice, cold and angry, sounded
terribly honest to Rosa. His dark eyes were inherited from Cecil, and
it seemed as if both his father and he glared through them at her,
both reprimanding and looking down upon her.

_There is no forgiveness this time,_ that glare seemed to say. _You've
gone too far._

"Don't say that, sweetheart," Rosa said between sobs, looking back up
at Kain. But Cid was already pulling him away toward the far wall.
"You know I love you!"

But only Rydia looked back, and even then for only a moment.


***


The Duke heard the Dragoons stream into the room, heard their iron
boots clashing against the floor with an loud metallic crunch, and
heard the Dragoons, as a whole, pause upon the odd sight that was to
confront them.

If he didn't intervene, every person in the room would be slaughtered,
save, perhaps the queen. Normally, he would think of this as just one
of the unavoidable occurrences of war; after all, there wasn't room
enough in the prisons to hold all of them. Especially since hundreds
of prisoners were taken from the chocobo races of AGFF City.

But this day had brought to his attention another perspective, a
perspective one side of him wanted to scream and cuss at, to spit upon
and ignore. That side of him was all that was left of Aron: his
disembodied voice, his angry, warlike tendencies, and his total
ignorance of love. And the perspective went against all his father
stood for, the perspective that saw all life as sacred.

The Duke leaped to his feet and blocked off the first of the charging
Dragoons with a quick gesture of the Demon Lance. They looked at him
with confusion and he simply shook his head.

"Do not harm or kill any of them," he ordered. "Take the children to
the education camps, where they will begin their education
immediately. Put the other two in separate prison cells."

The Duke was quite suddenly aware of his soldiers, as one, looking at
him as if he were insane. He was actually wondering about it himself.
Still, he continued, as if to prove he still was just as savage of any
of them, "any mishandling of any of them will result in your quick and
immediate death. Keep that in mind."

He effortlessly pulled the Lance up into the air and allowed the
foremost of the disgruntled Dragoons past. He nodded at those standing
in front of him and, reluctantly, they stepped forward to secure the
throne.

As all this happened, the Duke's second-in-command and best friend,
Raphael, walked up to him, and looked at him. Through the long black
curls of hair covering his forehead and leading back to a long
ponytail, confusion read in his eyes, mixed with a touch of amusement.
He crossed his arms over his shining blue Dragoon armor and stood by,
waiting for an explanation.

"I know this must seem really strange," the Duke said quickly.

"It does."

"Well..." the Duke searched the room with his eyes, not really
focusing on anything. "They make valuable hostages."

"A flimsy excuse, and you know it. I can understand the woman, old
chum, but what reason do you have for keeping the old guy and the
children? As it is, the captives from AGFF City have our prisons
filled to the brim. Don't tell me you've gone soft on me."

"The old guy is the master engineer for the airship docks, Cid.
According to Jorge's reports, he can help us learn how to use the
aerial weaponry when we attack the heart of this newsgroup. From the
sounds of it, we will need all the help we can get."

"Fat chance I will!" cried Cid at them as he walked by, guarded on
both sides by armed Dragoons.

Raphael turned back to face the Duke, and he looked somewhat annoyed.
"Fine, fine," he said quickly. "But what about the children? Why save
them?"

"They're children. Isn't that reason enough?"

"No. What's the matter with you, old chum? Do you honestly not realize
that every time you've ordered us to destroy whole villages, that
includes killing all the women and children?"

The Duke lowered his head in shame. He knew.

"So, why?" Raphael confronted him again. "Why save the children?"

"They're the Queen's..."

"And?"

The Duke looked away, toward the queen being led out of the room like
Cid before her. Her eyes were on him and for a moment, all he could do
was drink in their familiarity and warmth. Then she too left the room
and the Duke turned his attention anxiously back to his friend. But,
from the look in his eyes, the Duke knew his friend had already caught
on.

Raphael laughed good-naturedly. "Is that all?" He clapped the somber
Duke Highwind on the back, and started to lead him out the doors.
"Well, about time! C'mon, old chum, there's a bar in City Baron. I'll
buy you a drink..."


***

Click here to continue to Act Two