Year 3632, the Sixth Age, the forty-seventh day of Winter

It had been a cold and rainy trip from Wyzmir as they headed along the West March. When it was not raining, heavy clouds covered the skies trapping in the chill. The West March was one flattest and longest road in all Essinendeür, stretching from Wyzmir on the banks of the Nagra river many hundreds of miles north past Port Na’brath where it became the Northern Longroad and went past the Scarred Mountains and The Chasm through the pass into the icy tundras north of the Gaia Mountains and where it finally led to the largest northern city of Issia.

During the steady ride north along the West March Fairris had told Jar’nesh and Ty’far about the flat road and of the town of Torpin which produced the finest ale in all the West March. Which of course was not much of a claim considering Torpin was the only major town situated along the West March. Ty’far and Jar’nesh would also remark how the road, or the scenery, or weather reminded of some place back in Nevārance. Which of course Fairris asked them to explain more of their homeland and they obliged.

Fairris learnt much of the history of Nevārance during the ride, of which she found the domination of the Wynar the most interesting.

After the warrior race had taken full control of the northern region called Kor’vir and established the city of Metrā they proceeded to put a lot of their efforts to advancing their technology. This, over thousands of years, allowed them to create great city sky scrapers and mechanical vehicles that could fly, as well as gather much scientific knowledge.

Jar’nesh explained that in the last hundred years much of the natural resources in Kor’vir had diminished causing the city of Mol’tev to rebel against the High King in Metrā. The city of Bel’tar’en had also joined with Mol’tev, but the rebels had been severely quashed by the Wynar warriors. The High King had then turned his eye to the southern realm of Syn’is and its natural resources, but resistance in the southern realm had been strong. Though, in the last ten years they had been able to establish some control of Syn’is and start using it resources, which was when the High King turned his power hungry gaze towards Essinendeür.    

Over the past several days as they rode towards Port Na’brath in pursuit of the task Kil’dar had given them, which involved killing Vincent Varrintine, Fairris continuously struggled to think up a way to explain that she knew Vythe’s father. Nor could Fairris think of a good reason why they should go against Kil’dar’s command and not kill Lord Varrintine, other than the fact that she knew him and thought it wrong and would have no part of it. There was no way that she would help kill Vincent Varrintine and she would do everything she could to stop it from happening. But at the same time she dreaded the thought of battling Jar’nesh and Ty’far who would do their best to complete the mission given to them.

Fairris sighed and wiped the rain from her face as she struggled to find a solution to her dilemma.

By now the West March was curving towards the west and around the northern side of Elmnest as it headed towards the southern gates of Port Na’brath. Fairris’s time to think of a solution was running out.

“Perhaps we should head to Elmnest,” Fairris suggested, trying to find a way to delay their arrival at Port Na’brath.

“What for?” Jar’nesh asked curiously.

“The Varrintines have an estate on the banks of the lake Dwarthin,” Fairris replied. “Perhaps Lord Varrintine is there.”

Jar’nesh and Ty’far looked to each other and shrugged.

“It is worth a look I suppose,” Ty’far nodded, and so did Jar’nesh, “I would hate to travel all the way to The Port only to find he was back here.”  

They continued to ride easily along the road and the next day they came to the crossroads where they headed back to the south and west on the road to Elmnest. A day later the clouds had vanished and they were riding into the small town of Elmnest as Inüer moved closer to the western horizon.

No gates or lazy guards met them as they trotted into the main square. It was if the mounting tensions throughout the realms suddenly became non-existent as they looked about the town. Children played happily in the streets and the merchants and farmers packed up their market stalls. A few guardsmen walked about talking friendly with the villagers and paying little attention to Fairris and her companions. Inüer’s light sparkled off Dwarthin lake as it began to set and a gentle breeze blew through the trees of the pleasant Elm Forest to the south. 

“So many elves,” Ty’far remarked as she looked about the street and to the wooden cottages that made up the town. “And they are being friendly with the humans as well.”

“Elmnest has always been this way,” Fairris explained, “The Elm Forest is elven lands and ever since the end of the war with Gildon in the Third Age the humans of Elmnest and elves have lived happily in the same town together.”

“What was it like before the war?” Jar’nesh asked curiously.

“The Valenthōr stayed in the forest and the humans here,” replied Fairris with a shrug, “They never used to mingle. And when Gildon’s commander Delathain, a Valenthōr, was given power he brought destruction to Elmnest and attacked Port Na’brath. Once it was discovered that Gildon had betrayed the Elder Races and Delathain killed, the Valenthōr of Elm Forest helped the humans to destroy Gildon and rebuild Elmnest.”

Fairris told Jar’nesh and Ty’far some more of the war as they led their horses along the road and to the local tavern. Inüer soon vanished below the horizon and the three of them made their way into the bar room and found a table. They received a few curious looks as they sat down but most went back to their own meal or conversation and ignored them.

As Fairris sat down she noticed a party sitting at another table, all dressed in white. She had seen more members of this new group called the United Concord back in Wyzmir and she was not too impressed with the tactic that the High Commission was using to con the simple villagers into believing that the High Commission would make better rulers then the current Kings and Lords.

“Hey there, Grey Company,” the tall barman called as he waded his way through the tavern. “One of your folk came by a couple of days ago gave me this letter to give to any Grey Company to come through and to pass it on to any others they come across.”

The barman handed the sealed letter to Jar’nesh who thanked the man and the tall barman returned to his work.

Giving Fairris and Ty’far a curious look Jar’nesh opened it and a grave look came to her face.

“Jar’nesh, what is it?” Ty’far asked with concern.

“It is a message from the High King,” Jar’nesh began, “Apparently nearly a dozen squads of the Grey Company has been killed while on jobs recently. The letter states that the previous plans to return to Nevārance have now been suspended and all efforts are to discover and destroy the ones behind this attack on our own people.”

“What plans to return to Nevārance?” Ty’far asked in confusion.

“I think you are missing the important part, Ty’far,” Jar’nesh replied dryly.

Ty’far smirked, “Please, Jar’nesh, none can kill us three.”

“Likely the other squads thought the same,” Jar’nesh remarked darkly.

“They were just boasting,” Ty’far smiled sweetly, “I’m not.”

The three of them laughed a little at that, but it was short lived and Ty’far went to order some food and drink.

“Do you think this Varrintine estate will have guards?” Ty’far asked as she returned.

Jar’nesh shrugged, “I doubt it. But I am more curious as to how you know about this estate Fairris?”

Fairris suddenly realised that she had unwittingly placed herself in an awkward position. With a sigh she decided that she needed to tell the truth to her friends now and hope they understood.

Fairris took a deep breath, “I should have mentioned something earlier, but I could not find a chance. We cannot kill Vincent Varrintine. Apart from the fact that I know him well, if we do, the rest of the Varrintine household will think that Lord Cardonian had organised it and will initiate a war in Port Na’brath. House Varrintine will likely win it, but that’s not the point. We cannot kill Vincent Varrintine.”  

“This order came from Kil’dar, himself,” Jar’nesh replied firmly, “We cannot go against such an order. I am sorry Fairris.”

Fairris tried desperately to find a response that would make Jar’nesh see it from her perspective and make it so she would not have to fight her friends to stop the assassination, but her thoughts were standing still.

“I will not let you kill him,” Fairris finally said with great effort.

Jar’nesh studied her closely, “This trip to Elmnest was to buy you some time to try and persuade us not to execute this mission on Vincent Varrintine, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Fairris replied honestly, her deep blue eyes unblinking.

Jar’nesh let out as sigh, “Fairris,” and she shook her head in disappointment.

“Why don’t we just kill Cardonian?” Ty’far quipped, causing both Fairris and Jar’nesh to look at her in surprise.

“What? Ty’far,” Jar’nesh exclaimed.

“Think about it Jar’nesh,” Ty’far was quick to reply, “Kil’dar clearly is trying to start the war between Cardonian and Varrintine, which is why he told us to kill Lord Varrintine. But if we kill Lord Cardonian instead, the war will still start. Fairris will be happy that we don’t kill her friend, and Kil’dar will be happy the fighting between the houses escalates. Everyone wins.”

Jar’nesh starred in surprise at her friend for many minutes before replying.

“That has to be the smartest thing you have ever said Ty’far,” Jar’nesh finally laughed, and Fairris breathed a sigh of relief.

“What?” Ty’far exclaimed angrily, “I hate you Jar’nesh. I was an Intelligence Officer for this invasion, if you remember. All you were was a Biotech Engineer.”

“First Class Biotech Engineer, thank you very much,” Jar’nesh replied seriously, but both she and Ty’far ended up laughing.

“Do all from Nevārance have similar positions of authority?” Fairris asked with a smile.

“Only the Wynar,” Jar’nesh replied.

“You said you use to know a Nevārancien, right Fairris?” Ty’far inquired, “What was his position?”

Fairris’s brow furrowed as she wondered if Lieut had held such a position, it was strange that this topic had never come up between the three of them before.

“He never said,” Fairris shrugged, “But he was the most brilliant fighter I have ever met.”

“How long after the Battle of the Morrow Plains did you meet him?” asked Jar’nesh curiously.

“It was before that,” Fairris shook her head.

Jar’nesh and Ty’far suddenly exchanged curious looks.

“What was his name?” Jar’nesh asked, suddenly serious.

“I knew him as Lieut,” Fairris replied hesitantly, “But his brother and Kil’dar had called him Nen’on. Or something similar to that.”

“You met one of the Brothers?” Ty’far asked in astonishment.

Fairris looked at her companion in confusion, not understanding the significance.

“The Brothers are the greatest warriors Nevārance had,” Ty’far explained, “They are always used for the hardest military tasks. Nen’on singlehandedly sacked the resistance at Sentrin Gate when we invaded Syn’is. I remember seeing him once, and I can tell you he was definitely the best specimen of the Wynar. What was Nen’on like?”

Fairris stumbled over a few words, completely taken aback by this sudden information.

“You were friends with Nen’on, I mean Lieut?” Jar’nesh asked seriously.

Fairris nodded slowly.

“And he was friendly back?” Jar’nesh pressed in the same serious tone.

“Not at the beginning,” Fairris stammered awkwardly, “But before we were forced to part company I believe that he considered me a friend. Why do you ask?”

Ty’far also looked curiously at Jar’nesh, who wore a concerned expression. A barmaid bringing their food stopped Fairris from asking more from Jar’nesh.

“Did you notice anything unusual about Lieut?” Jar’nesh asked suddenly just as the barmaid left.

Fairris was taken aback by the strange question and she stumbled over a few words.

“Think Fairris,” Jar’nesh implored, “Was there anything strange about him?”

“Well, lots of things,” Fairris replied with a shrug of her shoulders, “His silver hair, his golden eyes, his sheer strength and speed, his incredible skill in battle, the sword he carried. The fact that he never ate and only drank water was very strange. But I guess the moments when the Fog came out of his head were the strangest thing I remember.”

“Of course, the Fog,” Jar’nesh exclaimed and slumped back in her chair.

Fairris and Ty’far exchanged curious looks.

“We did think it might have an adverse effect,” Jar’nesh tried to explain, “But nowhere near the amount it did. Fairris did you say the Fog was actually inside his head?”

Fairris nodded, the expression of confusion still upon her face.

“It must have somehow hindered the operation of the PBE’s,” Jar’nesh mumbled as she looked thoughtfully at nothing.

“Strange,” Jar’nesh muttered as she took a mouthful of bread.

“Yes, you are being strange Jar’nesh,” Ty’fay said with a similar expression to Fairris’s.

“I am sorry,” Jar’nesh smiled dismissively, “As Biotech Engineer I dealt closely with monitoring the Brothers as they went about completing the Purpose given to them. And Nen’on, your Lieut, showed very strange anomalies very soon after her landed on Essinendeür.”

“He crashed,” Fairris said softly, “When we found him unconscious in the woods, half his head had nearly been blow away from an explosion.”

“Well that explains how the Fog got into his head,” Jar’nesh nodded, not realising the torment Fairris was feeling.

“Jar’nesh, why did he drink only water?” Fairris asked slowly, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer.

“The PBE’s, or Programmable Biotic Entities, can sustain biological matter with only water.” Jar’nesh replied simply as she ate her meal. “As well as transmit information over great distances and enhance the mind and body, and repair damage sustained rapidly”

Fairris nodded, somewhat relieved by the answer but still very confused.

“That, and the fact that the Brothers are genetically engineered,” Jar’nesh said after she finished her mouthful.

“I don’t understand.” Fairris shook her head. “He is not human, or Wynar?”

“No, he is,” Jar’nesh clarified, and Fairris let out a deep breath, “But through genetics we used a sample of DNA from the purist samples of Wynar blood we had and basically cloned him. During that process, through genetic alterations, we enhanced his natural skills. Like greater speed and strength, and then through the PBE’s he could store more energy, and sustain it for greater lengths of time.”

Fairris’s mind raced as she tried to understand what was being said. She did not understand much of what Jar’nesh was referring to, but what she did understand was that Lieut was relatively normal and not some zombified tool, and that gave her much relief.

“Don’t feel bad if you don’t understand,” Jar’nesh remarked, “Not many do, and it is hard to explain to layperson.”

Ty’far sighed, “But all that work is now lost considering all the brothers are dead. The scientists back in Metrā will have to start again, and that is not going to be cheap.”

“You know Fairris,” Jar’nesh said, grabbing Fairris’s attention, “I would not have told you that before now.”

A genuine smile spread across Jar’nesh’s face and Fairris tried to respond in kind, but in truth her thoughts were still whirling and trying to comprehend how those in Nevārance could do those things.

The night slipped by and Fairris was still trying to understand what Jar’nesh had said, but a conversation from a table next to their caught her attention, as well Ty’far and Jar’neshs.

“Hear that about The Black Pine Company and the Essinendeür Rangers?” one man was saying to his friend.

“Fighting again are they?” his friend guessed.

“That’s just it, they ain’t,” the man replied, “Exact opposite actually, they joining together and calling themselves the Black Rangers now. All in an attempt to wrestle some work back from the Nevāranciens if you ask me.”

The man’s friend laughed, “Won’t work of course, you can’t beat a Nevārancien with a blade. That reminds me about the trouble to the south of Elm Forest, we need to find some to have a look into it.”

“Well turn around mate, the Grey Company is right behind you,” the man laughed as his friend turned around to see Fairris and her companions.

“Well bless me, so it is,” the man’s friend laughed, “Excuse me ladies.”

“Can we help with something?” Ty’far asked pleasantly enough.

“Well, my names Martn,” the man stammered, seeming embarrassed, “I’m a farmer to the south, you see, and well the Valenthōr have been talking about trouble in the forest to the south. So naturally that’s got me worried, so, well.”

“Spit it out Martn,” the other man laughed, “You’re acting like you’ve never seen a beautiful woman before.”

“Shut it Tomm,” Martn snapped at his friend and blushed, “Could you have a look into it for us all here in Elmnest?”

“What payment are we looking at?” Jar’nesh asked.

“How does ten gold sound?” A Valenthōr spoke up as he sat down at their table, “I apologise, but I could not help but overhear. My name is Thydr, it is a pleasure. So what do you say to looking into this problem?”

“It does not sound like there even is a problem,” Jar’nesh replied, “And ten gold coins is not much.”

“But like you said, it is not certain there is a problem,” Thydr replied with a smile.

“Then it is not worth the effort,” Ty’far smiled back.

“No, please m’lady,” Martn implored, “Look into it for us. There really is something happening in the south of the forest, dark things happening.”

Thydr expression also became serious, “There is something there, near the ruins of the old castle Adbarra that Delathain used in the Third Age. We will give you another fifty gold if it does turn out to be some kind of fiend.”

“Sixty gold,” Jar’nesh gave a slight smile to Ty’far and Fairris, “That sounds more promising. What do you two think?”

“It will give us more time to consider this Varrintine and Cardonian problem of ours,” Ty’far nodded, “And this trip has been terribly boring so far.”

Fairris nodded her agreement and in turn Jar’nesh nodded to the elf Thydr and Jythan.

“Your efforts are appreciated,” Thydr nodded and he left their table.

“Thank you for doing this,” Martn smiled widely and turned his attention back to his friend Tomm.

The rest of the night went by swiftly and the next morning came even quicker. Even as Inüer peaked above the eastern horizon Fairris, Jar’nesh and Ty’far were atop their horses and trotting down the path that lead into the Elm Forest.

The forest itself was beautiful with tall elm trees with pale trunks and did not crowd them as they stood sparingly allowing much light to filter through the leaves. Throughout the undergrowth were small leafy bushes and a thick grass carpet. Birds sung in the branches and many animals grazed on the grass and fruit baring bushes.

The path was laid with stones and covered in a layer of red leaves that fall during Autumn and Winter, more of the red leaves drifted through the air or still clung to the branches above their heads.

They came across many Valenthōr walking or riding along the path and each gave them a friendly nod as they passed. Several paths branched off from the main track leading to the settlements of the Valenthōr who built their homes among the branches of the tall pale trees. But the main path continued straight to the south so there was little chance of becoming lost.

The stone pavers soon ended and the track narrowed into the thin path winding through the trees which had become denser. Here they decided to continue on foot and leave the horses behind. Fairris felt a bit guilty for leaving her horse Squall in the middle of the forest, but she remembered that the brave stallion was raised on the Varrintine’s estate just along the banks of Dwarthain. With a kiss on the horses nose in farewell Fairris led her companions along the hunting path through the trees.

The forest changed considerably as they continued along, the leafy bushes disappeared, the trees moved closer together blocking out the light from Inüer, no more birds were singing and a strange quietness seeped out from the shadows.  

Clouds of Fog began to drift among the trees, but its usual bright colours were washed out and dull. The sight of the Fog made the hairs on the back of Fairris’s neck stand up and a shiver run up her spine. The clouds of Fog had become a rare sight in Essinendeür so it was strange to see it here, but the fact that the colours were so different than she remembered really unnerved her.

Suddenly the trees parted and the old castle Adbarra stood in a clearing ahead of them, its broken gate seeming a twisted mouth trying to devour them. The skies had become overcast and a light rain fell sending a chill through each of them. Twisted vines climbed the broken stone walls and the crumbling castle, and harsh brown grass stuck up through the broken stones of the courtyard. Several dead trees stood about the courtyard and the hollow windows glared down at them as Fairris cautiously led the way into the yard.

A chill wind whistled through the ruins and kicked up the dead leaves that littered the place, but apart from the air of malice the castle still held, it seemed empty.

Fairris was about to suggest that perhaps there was nothing here when suddenly from out of the shadows of Adbarra a horde of twisted humanoid creatures ran at them baring weapons.

In a flash Fairris had her gunblades in hand and sent a barrage of missiles into the closest of the twisted creatures. The creatures that were hit fell away howling in pain, but they were quickly replaced by several more of the ugly things.

Fairris twisted to the side as one fiend swung a rusted blade at her head, opening its gut she turned to face the next in line. Skilfully she darted in and under the attacks of these hideous monsters severing limbs and opening arteries and when she got the chance she squeezed the triggers of her gunblades and blew apart a line of the monsters.

Fairris got a brief chance to see how her companions were fairing and breathed easier seeing that they were back to back a skilfully killing all of the monsters that attacked them.

As Fairris killed another fiend her acute elven hearing caught the sound of bow strings humming. Acting on instinct she dived forward into a roll just as several arrows clicked off the courtyards stone pavers. Rolling to her feet Fairris cut the legs out from another monster before sending a stream of magickal bullets into the archers that were firing from the broken staircase of the castle. The archer blew apart as well as the rocks around them and Fairris just had enough time to dance away from another fiend’s attack. As soon as she regained her balance she lunged ahead at the monster. Slapping its crude axe high Fairris drove her gunblade deep into its chest. The creature collapsed to the ground and Fairris took in a deep breath and looked about for any more of the monsters to kill, but the last one had just fallen to an excellent counter from Ty’far that severed the things hand before chopping the creatures head from its shoulders.

Fairris cleaned her gunblades before sheathing them and joined her companions, who were doing the same.

“What in hell were they?” Jar’nesh asked through deep breathes.

Fairris shook her head in bewilderment as she looked to see if both her companions were unharmed. Like herself they bore some minor cuts and scratches but seemed fine otherwise.

“They look like Orcs,” Ty’far spat in disgust.

“Like what?” Fairris asked curiously.

“Just some foul creatures we have back in Nevārance,” Ty’far explained dismissively.

“We do not have anything like that here,” Fairris shrugged and looked down at the closest body.

To Fairris it actually seemed human in form, though its features were twisted and grotesque. Strengely it wore the outfit of wanderer, though it seemed very old and patched badly in many places and its sword was of good steel, albeit old and rust pitted. Its teeth were wonky and chipped and its hands gnarled and its nails blackened and broken. It seemed as it had been beaten horribly and yet survived with greyish-black bruised skin and tortured features. Curiously many of the fallen monsters had pointed ears like elves, and some even as long and shaped as the Valenthōr’s were. Such familiarity concerned Fairris greatly but she could not answer the dozens of questions that ran though her mind.

“They are the Djarcs,” ominous voice echoed around the courtyard and castle, “Twisted and tortured, elves and men and dwarves. Broken creatures with empty minds and cold hearts. No life force resides within the Djarcs for they are simply reanimations of the dead, or the mutilated forms of the living that no longer have a will to exist. Although their individuality and personality remains, all their thoughts and desires are for the death of others and the destruction of beautiful things. Hate created them and hate drives them to thirst for the domination and ruin of all things.”

Fairris gunblades were back in her hands in an instant, as were the weapons of her companions, and cautiously she looked about Adbarra for the source of the menacing voice.

Suddenly the dark shadows rushed together atop the broken stairs where the Djarc archers had been and came to form a cloaked and dark figure.

“What are you?” Jar’nesh breathed in horror.

“I am death incarnate,” the shadowy figure replied menacingly, “I am the doom that flies on swift wings for this land. I am the monster that all brave men fear. I am the right hand of the destruction and terror. I am Delathain.”

“Impossible,” Fairris shook her head in bitter denial.

The shadow laughed in mockery and the darkness around it seemed to grow.

“Soon this land will see death like never before,” the shadow of Delathain yelled, “Gildon the Great returns and with him he brings the apocalypse. His minions with rise from their slumber and sweep across the land like a plague. Raping and burning all.”

“You will not be there to see it,” Ty’far sneered confidently and readied her sword.

The shadow suddenly became solid and at the broken stairs stood a taller than average Valenthōr clad in black iron, a spiked mask over his face and a wicked scimitar in his hands.

“I have been resurrected by my lord,” Delathain boasted, “I will bathe in the blood of you three in glorious celebrations to Gildon the Destroyer.”

In a swirl of shadow Delathain vanished.

“Move,” Fairris screamed and she and her companions dived to the side just as Delathain rematerialized where they had been his sword flashing dangerously.

Fairris rolled to her feet and sent a stream of bullets into Delathian’s back, the magickal bullets blasting away some of the jagged scale armour.

“He is flesh, just like the Djarcs,” Fairris called out to her companions as she took cover behind one of the dead trees.

“No my dear,” Delathain laughed, “I am no tool. I am the darkness personified.”

Again the Valenthōr disappeared into shadow.

Fairris held her breath wondering where he went. Delathian was suddenly right before her, his long scimitar slicing for her eyes. Fairris fell back and to the ground as the wicked blade cut across, blasting apart the dead tree and ripping it from the ground. Fairris got to her feet quickly and Delathain sliced again. Using every ounce of speed and agility she had, Fairris twisted and turned away from the powerful cuts. Each deflection with her gunblades sent vibrations up her arm. Suddenly Delathain’s free hand shot forward sending a ball of magicks into her chest. Somehow Fairris managed to block the energies with her gunblades but the immense power sent her sliding backwards. Fairris responded with a stream of magick bullets from her gunblades which blasted off some more of Delathian’s armour.

Ty’far and Jar’nesh were beside her then ready to fight until either they, or this demon was dead. The crazed Valenthōr made an ungodly noise and lunged at them his scimitar slashing from all angles. Somehow the three of them found a way to block and counter Delathian’s attacks, chipping away at his cruel armour to reveal sickly white skin underneath. But each deflection and attack was sucking so much energy from them that they were labouring and slowing down before even a small amount of Delathian’s armour had cracked away.

A crazy idea suddenly came to Fairris and she darted ahead at Delathian and spun away from his attack. Knocking the scimitar wide she planted a foot on the Valenthōr’s chest and launched herself into a backflip away from him. Twisting around she surged the magick energies within her gunblades and let loose and large blast of power that slammed into Delathian’s masked face.

 The blast caused his spiked mask to fly off and forced him to stumble back several steps. Delathain roared again, his teeth pointed inside his twisted mouth and split skin of his cheeks. Shadow seeped from his black eyes and so pale was his skin that red veins could be seen across his bald head.

Thinking quickly Ty’far and Jar’nesh went on the assault their blades dancing together and sliced and stabbed at Delathain. Realising her chance Fairris built the magicks within her gunblades again. The Runes along the flat of the blades began to glow white hot and streams of colourful Fog flew around her.

A scream of pain drew her attention back to the fight just in time to see Ty’far go flying backwards from a blast of magicks. Fairris’s hands began to vibrate from the power and she knew the moment had to be now.

“Get down,” Fairris screamed to Jar’nesh as she levelled her gunblades at Delathain.

Fairris released the built up energies and glowing ball of magicks sped towards Delathain. Jar’nesh fell flat to the ground as the blast whistled past her head and thundered into the chest of Delathain. Jagged bits of armour exploded outwards and disappeared into shadow. But Delathian still stood.

The blast had staggered the Valenthōr enough for Jar’nesh to jump to her feet and plunge her sword deep into Delathian’s pale chest. Jar’nesh twisted her sword causing black blood to gush out of the wound, but Delathain still stood.

An evil smile crept across Delathian’s face as he clasped his large scimitar in both hands above his head ready to cleave Jar’nesh in two. Still holding onto her sword Jar’nesh stood rigid in horror.

A sword suddenly whistled through the air and thudded into Delathian’s grinning visage. The scimitar fell from the Valenthōr’s hands and he grabbed his head, his nails digging into his skin and causing more blood to flow.

Horrified Jar’nesh let go of her sword and backed away to Fairris’s side. Black cracks began to form across Delathian’s chest and face and shadow seeped forth. A terrifying scream erupted from Delathain’s broken mouth and he burst into shadow which vanished into the clearing skies.

The swords of Jar’nesh and Ty’far clattered to the stone ground next to Delathain’s scimitar and mask.

Fairris was the first to breathe a sigh of relief as she sheathed her gunblades and she collapsed to her knees in exhaustion. But a groan from the side made her jump back to her feet and she and Jar’nesh rushed to Ty’far’s side.

Ty’far was resting up against the base of a dead tree, her black pants and grey top ripped apart on her left side revealing much skin which was already showing bruises. Her breathing was shallow from the result of broken ribs, but Fairris was relieved knowing Ty’far would survive her wounds.

“Nice throw,” Jar’nesh smiled as she and Fairris helped Ty’far to her feet.

“I am just glad that is over,” Ty’far strained a smile and gathered her tattered top about her to retain some dignity.

Jar’nesh gathered sword and handed Ty’far hers but was hesitant to touch the scimitar of Delathain for wisps of blackness continued to drift up from the blade. Leaving Jar’nesh to support Ty’far, Fairris pulled out a cloak from her extra-dimensional pouch and wrapped the scimitar and Delathain’s mask in it. Fairris also pulled forth a vial of healing potion which Ty’far consumed. The potion did little to actually heal any of the wounds but it did numb the pain and grant Ty’far enough strength to walk unaided.

Silently they walked from the ruins of Adbarra and back through the darkened forest to where their horses still waited for them. Fortunately Ty’far had a change of clothes in her saddle bag and slowly she pulled her tattered garments from her bruised body and even slower she redressed. But Fairris and Jar’nesh waited patiently for her and soon enough they were riding slowly back towards Elmnest.

It was well past dark by the time they moved back through the doors of the tavern and the crowded room hushed and watched them enter. Awkwardly Fairris and her companions stood at the doorway as all of the people stared at them in surprised silence. Suddenly someone cheered and the whole room erupted with whistles, cheers and applauds.

Just as awkwardly Fairris led her companions to a table where they thanked everyone for the cheers and sat down. Food and drink was brought to them instantly and the barman insisted that they not pay a single coin. Many people came by their table and thanked them personally before returning to their own meal.

“Everyone knows what happened,” Thydr remarked as he stopped by their table. “A great shadow appeared over the south of the forest and the echoes of battle sounded unnaturally loud across the whole town. There came a great explosion and then the shadow lifted. We knew then that you three had succeeded. But what was it?”

Fairris handed Thydr the wrapped package she had bought back from Adbarra. The Valenthōr smiled as he took the package, but his smile turned to a look of horror as he opened the wrapping and dropped Delathain’s scimitar and mask in fear. But just as quickly he dropped to his knees and covered the items and made sure no one else had seen the contents.

“Praise Melenduil that you came when you did,” Thydr breathed as he sat down at the table, “For we have avoided a great terror this day. I will have Faywld, our leader, destroy these items as soon as possible. But how can this even be possible. Delathain was killed in the Third Age along with Gildon. His body was entombed deep within The Chasm in the north where no mortal could ever find it. Buried with him were these items. So how is this possible?”

Fairris shook her head for she had no answers.

“You have each done a greater service to this land then you realise,” Thydr continued, “No amount of gold could impart my gratitude and the gratitude of Elmnest. But take this and may the blessing of Melenduil go with each of you.”

Thydr handed Fairris a large bag of coins and hurriedly left the tavern with the covered scimitar and mask of Delathain under his arm.

They each soon retired for the night early and in their exhaustion they slept deeply and soundly and too soon for their liking it was the next day. Ty’far awoke in pain her breathing once again laboured and she was wincing with each movement. Fairris gave her another vial of healing liquid, but there was not much more she could do. Unless they could find a healer Ty’far would just have to push her way through the pain until her ribs healed.

As they were preparing their horses to leave they were approached again by Thydr who was accompanied by an old, yet beautiful Valenthōr who seemed to have an aura of purity and power surrounding her.

“I am Faywld,” the old Valenthōr greeted them, her voice soft and comforting. “I must thank you each personally for what you have done. I was there when Delathain unleashed his anger upon the world, and when he was killed I knew I should have destroyed his possessions then. But that mistake has now been rectified and I thank you again. If only I could offer more than just thanks.”

“Your thanks are enough my Lady,” Fairris replied respectfully.

Faywld smiled in return and she moved past Fairris and to Ty’far who was still suffering from her injuries.

“Perhaps I can offer a little comfort at least,” Faywld smiled and gently touched Ty’far’s bruised and broken ribs.

A suddenly breeze kicked up and whirled about them gently, tossing the red leaves into the air. The colours of the Fog appeared with the wind and Faywld seemed to glow with a pale green aura. As the Fog touched Ty’far’s ribs the blue and purple bruising disappeared and her breathing was once again deep.

The wind died down and the Fog vanished and Ty’far smiled widely as she stretched her torso without wincing in pain.

“Go with the good will of all Elmnest,” Faywld smiled and departed before Ty’far could offer thanks.

Thydr also bid them farewell and followed Faywld back towards the forest of Elm.

With nothing more to do or say Fairris, Jar’nesh and Ty’far climbed into their horse’s saddles and trotted out of Elmnest heading for Port Na’brath.

Fairris patted Squall’s neck affectionately and smiled to her two companions before her deep blue eyes fixed onto the horizon.