The Heir of Jeragoth

The Silver Arrow tavern faced a large square in a more prosperous district of Narsacalius. Merchants that catered to the specific needs of adventurers bordered the square and the Silver Arrow was no exception. It was named in honor of its most loyal clientele—the Rangers. They came from the ten nearest strongholds and sometimes from as far as the regional fortress a thousand miles away.

The two story building was built of heavy, dark timber. The large front windows had no glass, but they did have brightly painted shutters to keep out the rain when necessary. Today, however, they were wide open and Alana could hear lively conversation and laughter floating through.

“Uncle Iliard, aren’t we going in?” she asked.

Iliard didn’t look at her when he answered, “Not yet.”

Before Alana could ask why, she saw Martea walking across the square. The young Novadi scanned the area as if she were looking for something. Alana looked at Iliard in surprise. “What’s Martea doing here?” she asked.

“Alana,” he said tersely, “Please. Be patient.”

Alana’s jaw dropped a little. She had never seen her uncle like this before. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but she knew he was still focused on whatever he was sensing. Martea was halfway across the square when a young man joined her. He had shoulder length, black hair and olive skin. Alana was fairly certain he was Narsacalian and, judging by the two long swords he wore, she was also certain that he was a Novadi warrior. The pair of Novadi walked up to Iliard and bowed slightly. Martea said, “We have seen nothing, Master Iliard, but still I sense a heaviness about this place.”

“Yes,” Iliard replied with a nod.

Martea glanced at Alana and said, “Perhaps I should take her home.”

“No!” Alana’s protest slipped out before she could stop herself. The three Novadi looked at her silently. She turned to Iliard and said, “Please, Uncle Iliard, don’t send me home. I’ll be fine, whatever it is. I know it. Please.”

Iliard held her gaze for a long while. Alana almost felt like he was trying to see through her. Perhaps, she thought, he was trying to see her future. Finally, he let out a long, quiet sigh. “You may stay,” he said. He put up a hand to halt her exuberance. “But,” he continued, “If anything does happen, you must do whatever you are told. Do you understand?”

Alana nodded and murmured, “Yes, Uncle Iliard.”

“All right, then,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder and indicated the young man who had just arrived, “This is Lucien. You already know Martea.”

Alana put out her hand to Lucien and said, “I’m glad to meet you, Master Lucien.”

Lucien took her hand and shook it firmly. “And I you. I have heard many good things about you from your uncle.”

“Really?” she asked, looking at Iliard in surprise.

Iliard shook his head. “Be careful. Her head will get too big to get through the doorway.”

Alana put her hands on her hips and said, “Hey!” Lucien and Martea chuckled.

“Come, my friends,” Iliard said as he put his arm around Alana’s shoulders, “Let’s go inside and enjoy a meal together.”

Iliard led the way to the entrance of the tavern, opening the door to allow Alana to enter ahead of him. The first thing Alana noticed after her eyes adjusted to the dimness was that every person in the crowded room was staring at them. All conversation had ceased. She heard the sound of a chair scrape across the floor from somewhere in the back of the large room. She looked in the direction of the sound and saw a tall, completely bald man rise to his feet. Every man and woman in the bar followed suit. The bald man broke the silence by saying, “Master Iliard, you honor this gathering.” Alana felt a surge of pride when she realized that all of these people were standing to honor her Uncle.

“I would have worn much finer garb had I known that all of the Ranger Lords on Ranwar were going to be here today, Lord Lof Vonas” Iliard replied with a broad grin.

Lord Lof Vonas, also known as the Ruby Ranger, was the most powerful Ranger on Gorthus. He governed all of the Ranger strongholds on Ranwar from his fortress in the Heart of the Great Forest. He had been the Ruby Ranger for more than one hundred years and his deeds as such were the stuff of legends.

Lord Lof Vonas walked toward Iliard. “Not all, Master Iliard. Just those belonging to the two southern regional fortresses. We have just come from a rather lengthy regional meeting and we were all quite ready for a few beers and some of Hardiman’s roast pig.” He reached Iliard and put out his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Master Iliard. Still causing trouble for Arnitath?”

Iliard grasped Lord Lof Vonas’ forearm and chuckled, “Whenever I can.”

Lord Lof Vonas glanced over at Alana—who stared at him with something akin to awe—and then looked back at Iliard with a slightly raised eyebrow.

Iliard put his hand on Alana’s shoulder and said, “Lord Lof Vonas, this is my niece, Alana Candril. She’s Bert’s daughter.”

“Is that so?” Lord Lof Vonas said in mild surprise. “How is that bear of a brother of yours?”

“He’s doing all right for himself,” Iliard answered. “Although I still think he’d rather be out here.”

“I can understand that,” Lord Lof Vonas replied with a grin. He turned to Alana and extended his hand, “It is good to meet you, Alana Candril.”

Alana took his hand, “I am honored, Lord Master Ranger.”

Lord Lof Vonas smiled, “And well educated. It’s not often someone this young knows who I am.”

“With a family history such as ours, she can hardly help it,” Iliard replied.

“Very true,” the Ruby Ranger answered.

Iliard gestured to Martea and Lucien, who had been standing on either side of the doorway of the tavern, to come join them. “This is Martea and Lucien, Lord Lof Vonas.”

“Ah, yes,” Lord Lof Vonas said, “I believe I met Master Martea at your installation.” He bowed his head slightly. “Welcome to our gathering. Come,” he went on as he turned back towards his table, “Join us in a meal and a tankard.”

“With pleasure,” Iliard replied, as the group headed towards the back of the tavern.

After some moving of people and shuffling of chairs, the new foursome was seated at a table with Lord Lof Vonas and three other Rangers who were introduced as Lord Geron, Lord Lof Vonas’ second in command, Lord Tomar, head of the Cherisar Regional Fortress, and Lord Jaricen, head of the Nadara Regional Fortress. Once Iliard and his company had settled themselves and ordered their food and drink, Lord Lof Vonas leaned over and quietly asked him, “What sort of trouble brings a Wielder and his two lieutenants to a tavern in Narsacalius?”

“Well,” Iliard answered softly, “It didn’t start out that way exactly.” He gave Lord Lof Vonas a brief summary of his trip through Narsacalius with Alana, including his strong sense of foreboding and danger while he was in the Gray Docks quarter of Cammus District. “We found nothing definite,” he concluded, “But still, all three of us sense a very real danger near at hand.”

Lord Lof Vonas nodded. “We will be ready then, Master Iliard.” He looked over at Lord Geron, who nodded silently and got up from the table.

“That’s all I can ask,” Iliard replied as he watched the other Ranger begin to circulate around the room.

When the food and drink arrived, all of the warriors at the table raised their tankards and said in unison, “To the Luck of Rickus. Fortune in battle, a strong arm, a sharp sword. Who could ask for anything more?”

Lord Lof Vonas shouted, “Here, here!” to which everyone in the bar responded with a cheer.

As they were putting down their tankards, Alana had a strange feeling. There was still cheering in the bar, but it took on a faraway sound to her. Everyone looked a little further away as she watched her uncle. She could tell, sometimes, when something was wrong, and right now she could tell that something was very wrong. The other Novadi had picked up on it also. They started moving very fast.

All three got up and drew their pairs of swords in one motion. Two hurtled themselves towards the front door. Martea headed for the window close to the front door, hurtled through it, and was gone. When Iliard and Lucien reached the door, it splintered outward into a thousand fragments. Alana ducked quickly below the table. The merriment stopped immediately. All the Rangers were springing to their feet now and drawing their swords as well.

It seemed to Alana that the Rangers were years behind the Novadi, moving in slow motion. She watched as they hurried to get out of their seats and prepare themselves for the enemy that they could not see.

Black armored Warriors leapt into all the windows. The bar was quickly overrun with them. There had to be hundreds of them and they just kept coming. Where her uncle and the other two Novadi were now, she didn’t know. She thought she heard her uncle shout for her to get over to a back wall, or maybe it was her own voice. She picked up her backpack from the floor and began running towards the back of the bar. She grabbed a few of the barmaids to try to drag them back with her. Most of them were in shock so she had to throw her backpack on so she could use both hands to push and pull them and some of the other bar help towards the windowless back wall.

The Warriors practically tore down the walls as they came, like a small beast trying to break from the shell of a very hard egg. As more and more of them tried to get into the bar, they tore larger and larger holes into the walls, and they just kept on coming. Alana really wanted to know where her uncle had gone. Why had he deserted them just before the battle began? Why had he left these Rangers to fight the Warriors?

The lack of sound left her and the crash of steel on steel made its way into her consciousness. With her back against the wall and a dagger in her hand she watched as the grisly scene unfolded before her. Some of the bar help she had gathered were already unconscious from sheer terror. Others were simply immobilized. None of them attempted to leave her. She was the only one protecting them from all the carnage and bloodshed. Granted, all she had was a dagger, but it was more than any of them had. She did protect them, or at least she meant to. No one was much concerned about her and her charges for now.

The bar was overflowing. It was impossible to move around and very hard to see anything much further than a few Warriors in front of her. The clash of steel was deafening. The Warriors attacked with cruel efficiency and blinding speed. Most of the Rangers were fighting two handed, and a few faster than a normal person could see. There were two or three Warriors to each Ranger. Only the strongest of the Rangers were making any headway.

Unfortunately, whenever one of the Warriors fell, three more came in to take his place and fight and press the Rangers back further into the center of the room. It was like a large hand closing around the Ranger’s necks. However, as the Rangers were forced into the center of the room, their fighting became fiercer. They began to rise to the challenge. Alana thought they might actually make a comeback.

Thirty of the original seventy Rangers in the fight had already fallen and it seemed that only about ten or fifteen of the Warriors had fallen. The battle slowed again. Alana stared out almost as if in a trance. She saw Lord Geron disarm a Warrior. The Warrior’s sword flew right at Alana. It came fast, swinging through the air towards her chest. She turned quickly—or was it slowly—to the side and allowed it to strike the wall behind her. The sword hit with such force that it buried itself half-way into the wall.

Without thinking or looking up at the sword, Alana reached up and pulled the sword from the wall effortlessly. She got the sword blade, quite slowly, out in front of her as a Warrior was thrown across the room at her. The tip penetrated the Warrior’s armor easily through a slit in a joint, but his weight pinned her against the wall with the hilt of the sword. Her legs were trapped under him. She struggled to get free, but he was just too heavy. He reeked. Alana screamed to the bar help at her sides to help her get this beast off her legs, but she might as well have been mute. Those not too stunned to move were deafened by the battle.

She cast her eyes about the room looking for help. If she lay here any longer, she would be killed by the next large object hurled her way. She looked around the battle for someone to help her. She saw Lord Geron get thrown from the battle into the bar. His leg broke against the corner with a loud crack. He sat on the floor for a moment, his face a mask of pain. Then he took a deep breath. He placed one hand on his broken leg and closed his eyes. It looked like he was trying to heal himself.

As she watched Geron, Alana saw a Warrior moving in for the kill. Alana yelled a warning to the Ranger. He didn’t hear her. She thought hard, panic rising in her. In her mind she screamed out to him. He opened his eyes just in time to see the Warrior raise his sword. Geron quickly took hold of his own sword, drove it deep into the midsection of the approaching Warrior, and then quickly rolled out of the way of his enemy’s falling body.

Geron looked over at her in surprise. He saw her situation and saw all of the bar help around her. He pulled himself up and quickly hopped over to her. He rolled the dead Warrior away from her, ripping the sword from her grip and away from her body.

“Are you all right?” he mouthed wordlessly.

Alana nodded quickly, mouthed, “Thanks.” Then she grabbed his arm and mouthed, “Wait.” She quickly pulled off her backpack, reached in and handed him a healing potion. He took it and downed it quickly, shuddered for a moment while his leg mended, then he was off again, back into battle.

Alana stood with some difficulty. Her legs hurt a lot but they didn’t feel like they were broken. She looked for the sword but it was too far away. She picked up her dagger and mustered what strength she could to get back into a fighting stance. She chanced a glance away from the battle down to the body of the fallen Warrior. He was wearing shiny black armor composed of very small scales, with the red-orange symbol of the god Arnitath in the center of the breastplate. She wondered if they were here for her uncle.

The tide of battle began to turn. The Rangers had fought the Warriors to a standstill. There was a great deal of very loud fighting, but the Rangers were impenetrable. Several times one of the Warriors tried to jump up over the Rangers to break into the center of their ring, only to be hurtled right over the top of the ring and into a wall. Occasionally a Warrior would disengage from the battle and move away to take a full charge right at the ring. Again and again a few of them would charge. Again and again those were repelled, buffeted back from the circle of Rangers and sent reeling or sprawling back into the room.

It was just one of those Warriors sent reeling from the battle that next ended up in front of Alana. She tried to wait for his approach, tried to gauge his trajectory and prepare herself to make a strike that would both attack and defend at the same time, as Uncle Iliard had shown her. Alana raised her dagger and shifted her weight. Even though he flew through the air, seemingly out of control, he managed to spin in mid air and block her strike. As he flew past her towards the wall behind her, he brought his mailed fist down hard on her shoulder, and broke it. The pain blinded her. She dropped to her knees and vomited.

The Warrior, in his attempt to kill her or at least knock her out, gave up what chance he had to hit the wall with some grace. He instead hit the wall hard with his head and it knocked him senseless.

Alana kept trying to shake her head to clear it but it wasn’t working. The Warrior kept trying to do the same, with just as little success. He staggered, tried to stand, and fell back to the ground. One of the bar help tried to pummel him with a mug, but he batted it easily out of the way and the bar help with it. Alana could see he was fumbling for a dagger. She threw herself on him and vomited on his face. She reached his dagger before he could, drew it and sank it into the face she could no longer see. He stopped moving.

Alana’s left arm was completely useless. She held the dagger firmly in her right, reversing it back to the knife fighting position. She stood slowly, cautiously and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She probably wiped more of the dead Warrior’s blood onto her face than her own vomit off. It was hard to tell. She looked out at the battle.

A great many more of the Warriors had fallen, but so had several of the Rangers. There were only about thirty Rangers left in the center of the bar and about fifty of the Warriors left.

Lucien jumped back in through a window. He flew all the way across the room, landed, and cut one of the Warriors in half all in one motion. The Novadi’s sword had gone through the armor like it was parchment.

Before that first Warrior’s body had fallen completely in two, the Novadi had killed the second Warrior and was on to his third. Alana looked in amazement at his speed. The Warriors were fast and the Rangers were fast, but Lucien was moving too fast for them to see. He was everywhere. He worked his way around the ring quickly dispatching each Warrior as he went. He didn’t seem to tire or get injured. In just a few minutes he had dispatched every Warrior left in the bar.

A few of the Rangers let up a victory cry, and some just stared at the Novadi in awe—having never before seen one fight at full speed.

“Keep your guard,” Lord Lof Vonas shouted.

Lucien looked around the room, his two swords at the ready. He spied Alana where she stood watching near one wall, about ten of the bar help behind her. He made his way quickly over to her and looked her up and down.

“Where?” he asked. His quiet words came to her like a shout. She recoiled back from them slightly in surprise.

“My shoulder is broken,” she said.

Lucien wiped off and sheathed one sword and felt her shoulder. She began to fall from the pain. “I can ease the pain,” he said kindly, “but this is beyond my skill to heal properly during this battle. It will have to wait if you are to use the arm normally again.” Alana nodded and blinked back tears. He handed his other sword to a Ranger and gently placed his hands on her shoulder.

Alana could feel warmth spread through her shoulder and pain did ease a bit. She tried to move her arm and found she could not. The shoulder was still quite broken. Her legs started to buckle when the pain flared up again.

The Ranger grabbed her quickly under her good arm. He looked down at the two Warriors at her feet, and then back at her with a look of admiration. Her vision was swimming. She just wanted to sleep.

Lucien shook her gently. “Alana, stay awake. The battle is far from over. It rages on outside and many soon will come inside. We Novadi are fully engaged and I must go back and join it now. The Rangers will look after you, but you must stay alert and ready for battle.” His words weren’t a request or an idea. They were a gentle command. She did her best to straighten up and prepare herself for what might come. She closed her eyes to try to gather her strength, opened them, looked at Master Lucien, and nodded her head.

He smiled slightly and nodded back, then looked over at the Ranger Lord and said, “Stay with her.” He retrieved one sword, drew the other, bounded three steps and back out the window and was gone before the Ranger Lord could respond, “Yes, Master Lucien.”

Alana very much wanted to sleep.

“He said stand and be ready to fight, so stand and be ready to fight.” The Ranger had no sympathy for her condition, despite her age. The Novadi’s word was law.

No sooner had she steeled herself when the battle did indeed return to the bar. Another hundred Warriors poured in. Since several of the Rangers had already broken the circle to come over to where the gaggle of noncombatants were, the remaining Rangers decided to form a semi-circle around Alana and the others.

Again it seemed the Rangers had fought the Warriors to a standstill, but only the most powerful and most experienced Rangers remained. They were, when fighting in close quarters like this, nearly undefeatable. Many of the enemy Warriors went down, but they did not fight with a desire to stay alive. They fought, rather, with a desire to kill at all cost and gladly threw away their lives so another of their number could gain some advantage. They had reduced the Rangers to fifteen when the three Novadi came back. Three Novadi on fifty Warriors was not a fair fight and the Novadi quickly ended it.

All but the Novadi were knocked off their feet and into the back wall when the front wall of the tavern blew apart. A Priest of Arnitath walked into the room. He was dressed in all black flowing robes with thin red braid around each sleeve end and around the hem of the neck. His head was shaved bald and heavily tattooed with snakes. Alana could feel the evil coming off of him and was sickened by it more deeply than by the pain of her shoulder.

Iliard and the other two Novadi stood in a straight line in front of the remaining Rangers, Alana, and the others. Warder Meterius pointed his index finger at the floor and the ground began to shake. Iliard and Lucien moved in a flash to engage the Warder, but their swords were ineffective against his magic. They swung, danced and moved about the Warder attacking him from all sides at once to no avail. Meterius’ gaze was focused on Iliard, his face was set in a grimace and his eyes wide with hate. He was not paying much attention to the other Novadi—Iliard was clearly giving him more trouble.

Warder Meterius pushed at the air with his left hand in the direction of Lucien and sent him flying out into the street. Iliard pressed his advantage while the Warder’s head was turned. He struck with all his might, again and again, laying blow after blow on the invisible wall. Martea rushed forward to join the attack.

Alana could see that Martea attacked with an altogether different style than Iliard’s, fighting with more finesse. She didn’t land as many blows, but instead chose to take more of the Priest’s attention as she feinted and parried and swirled in a far more complex attack than that of Iliard, who chose to attack with sheer force of will and a relentless onslaught of forward and downward thrusts, which probably would have blown through several buildings or a small mountain by now.

Meterius looked worried, like these two Novadi might be a match for him. He also looked like he didn’t wish to leave defeated, as if to run away would be far worse than to die. He didn’t quite seem to Alana to have the same “fight to the death” mentality as the Warriors, even though it was looking more and more like he was outmatched.

The unrelenting flurry of blows leveled by Iliard had allowed Martea to find some invisible hole in Meterius’ defenses. She had bloodied him. Portions of his robes were shiny. His face, though still full of rage and hatred, was going pale.

Lucien returned. As he was about to leap into the fight, Iliard motioned for him to go stand in front of all of the people with Alana. Lucien moved like the rushing wind to stand in front of them and he turned immediately to face away, sheathed both his swords, placed one foot slightly more than shoulder width in front of the other and placed both hands straight out as if he were holding up a wall. Iliard threw a brief glance over his shoulder at Alana, his brow creased in a worried frown. Meterius caught the look and his gaze shifted over to Alana. His eyes went wide and a look of comprehension came over his face.

Iliard didn’t waste the opportunity. He raised up his sword, which now glowed with a green flame. He cried a word Alana felt she understood without really comprehending why. Iliard thrust his sword straight into the Warder’s chest.

The Warder exploded and took the remains of the bar with him. That was the last thing Alana saw. When she came to, she was lying in a pile of rubble. She could breathe but it hurt a lot to breathe deeply. She was also under a lot of wood. She saw parts of bodies buried there with her before she lost consciousness again.

She felt warmth and love flooding through her. She slowly opened her eyes and a smile came to her face as arms lifted her up, cradling her body. It was Uncle Iliard. He smiled down briefly at her when he noticed she was conscious, then teleported out into the street where a very large crowd had gathered.

As she looked around she could see that most of the Rangers who were left alive in the bar were picking through the rubble trying to get the fallen Rangers out, as well as any of the bar help who might have survived.

The two other Novadi stood watch, on opposite ends of the devastation, each with both swords drawn. The square and the streets around the bar were littered with hundreds of armored bodies. Iliard carried her over to a Priest of Diasamon and laid her next to a few Rangers who he was healing.

As the Priest came over he said, “You’re lucky to be alive. I don’t think any other non-adventurer survived that blast. Frankly I don’t understand how you survived, but thank the gods you did.” As he continued to talk, he placed his hands on her and ran them gently up and down her filthy clothes looking for injury.

“You’re not injured,” he said with a frown. Alana laughed, but it really hurt to do it.

“So Master Iliard healed you? It’s no wonder it still hurts,” he continued. He placed his hand on Alana’s shoulder and prayed softly. She felt a different kind of healing warmth flow through her and her shoulder stopped hurting altogether.

“Thank you,” she called out as the Priest walked away to tend to the other wounded. He nodded and went on with his work. Iliard came back over. Alana started to get up and fell back to the ground, dizzy and lightheaded.

“Easy, Alana,” Iliard said. “A healing doesn’t return your strength to you.” He helped her to sit up and kept one hand behind her back to steady her. Alana looked around. Bodies littered the square. No less than a thousand new people were standing around the square. Alana noticed none of them were coming forward.

“What happened? Who was that Priest of Arnitath? Did he blow up the bar? How did you find me? How many Rangers died? What...” Iliard cut her off.

“Alana,” he said seriously, “This battle is still not over. I can stay here with you for a moment, but I must soon root out the remaining evil.” Alana stared at him wide-eyed. She hoped that one day she would be able to sense good and evil around her.

“You were very hard to locate.” Lord Lof Vonas said as he came over. “You gave Master Iliard and the rest of us quite a scare.” He looked ready to continue but at noticing Iliard’s faintest of head shakes, he did not. He noticeably changed the subject. “How are you feeling?” he asked instead.

“All right, thank you Lord Master Ranger,” Alana replied.

“Master Iliard, have you been training her in the ways of the Ranger?” Lord Lof Vonas asked Iliard.

“A little, but not as well as a Stronghold could.” As Iliard said this he let go of Alana’s back gently and slowly stood up. He smiled once more at Alana then drew both swords and walked away.

Alana watched him go. He walked over to stand in the middle of the sea of corpses the Rangers were picking through.

“Your uncle tells me you want to be a Ranger. Is this right?” the Ruby Ranger asked.

“Yes, my Lord, very much,” Alana said, tearing her gaze away from her uncle to look at the Ruby Ranger as she addressed him. She really thought she should be standing when speaking to him and tried to do so.

He pressed his hand gently on her shoulder to stop her. “Easy young Alana Candril,” he said. “Please do not stand for me just at this moment. Your weakness is not the only reason your uncle has requested that you remain seated. I am not offended.” He smiled as he said the last.

“There’s still danger here,” Alana said almost matter-of-factly.

“Are you asking me, or can you sense it?” Lord Lof Vonas asked seriously, raising one eyebrow.

“I’m not sure. I think I can feel it,” she said.

“You feel with your hands. You sense with your mind,” he corrected.

“Yes, Lord Master Ranger. I think I sense it,” she said.

“It’s understandable that you’re not sure,” he said. “It’s a faint sensation. It’s more an uncontrolled spirit of evil without form, than an actual person or creature, unless...” He looked quickly away from Alana, “...it’s an Anti-Paladin.” He bolted to his feet, drew his sword and assumed a fighting stance between Alana and her uncle.

Alana craned her neck to see from where she was sitting. On the far left side of the square the crowd of onlookers parted. No, that was not quite correct, the people at that spot had simply fallen over, as if they had all been put to sleep.

Through the crowd walked a Warrior in jet-black chain mail. His eyes were dark and clear, wide with hate or maybe insanity. He held his sword out in front of him while the Rangers between him and her uncle attacked. The first he dodged and cut in two. The second he dodged and breathed upon, causing the Ranger to fall over gasping and clutching at his throat until he moved no more. The third he dodged, disarmed, and placed his free hand on his neck. The Ranger turned pale green, doubled over and began retching uncontrollably.

The Anti-Paladin was now fifteen feet from Iliard, who had both swords drawn. He stopped and stared at the Novadi Wielder with undisguised loathing, as pointed his at him and he muttered words in a foul tongue under his breath. His gaze lingered on the Jade Dragon and his upper lip curled into a snarl. His murmured diatribe continued as he scanned the group of Priests and Rangers, stopping briefly when his gaze fell on Lord Lof Vonas and again on Lord Geron. For a second he focused his crazed stare on Alana. Alana’s eyes widened in terror when a demon appeared beside the Anti-Paladin. As the creature began to move towards her, she found herself frozen, able only to follow it with her eyes. The Anti-Paladin made as if to walk toward Alana but, before anyone could react, he disappeared.

Iliard stood staring at the spot the Anti-Paladin had just vacated as he tried to shake the sense of foreboding that had washed over him. Lucien and Martea relaxed their stances and started to walk over toward Iliard. “I don’t understand why he just left,” Lucien said.

“Why not?” Martea asked. “He saw the Jade Dragon. He must have known he was outmatched.”

Iliard heard their conversation and shook his head. “Anti-Paladins don’t work that way. In some ways they are worse than assassins, but they are very unstable and are usually easily goaded into attacking foolishly. This one was far more controlled than I have ever seen. That worries me.”

“Can you pursue him, Master Iliard?” Lucien asked.

Iliard shook his head. “No. Our swords did not cross. The Jade Dragon can only find enemies it has met in battle.”

“Then what is to be done, Master Iliard?” Martea asked.

“For the moment, nothing,” he replied. “Once we have cleaned and restored this place, then I will go speak to Grandmaster Philip.” He looked over at the Ruby Ranger and motioned for him to join them. Before Lord Lof Vonas did so, he motioned for two other Rangers to stand guard over Alana.

“The danger is past,” Iliard said, turning to Lord Lof Vonas. “I don’t know why he didn’t attack or why he was here. He’s gone for now. Lord Lof Vonas you may continue cleanup.” He motioned for a Priestess of Asaeria to join them, and upon her doing so, said, “Sister Carah, Lord Lof Vonas will direct clean-up. We could use more Priests to resurrect the dead and possibly a Paladin to help with the healing—if one can be found.”

Alana gazed in awe again as she watched her uncle transform before her eyes. The people surrounding him all left to carry out their orders. He turned to walk towards her.

“How do you do that?” Alana asked as he helped her to her feet.

“Well, it gets easier with practice, and I’ve had a lot of practice,” Iliard said, and then drew close to her and whispered, “but I’ll tell you a secret. Every time you have to take charge of a situation like this you always worry and that never gets any better. You know,” he went on, putting his arm around her shoulders, “maybe it’s time I taught you the long sword after all.”

#

The Anti-Paladin bowed deeply before the High Priest of Arnitath. Sharantar Ventinimas looked at the bowed head with a hint of disgust in his gaze. When the Anti-Paladin stood, the High Priest steepled his fingers and asked, “What have you seen?”

“I have seen the Novadi, Excellency,” the Anti-Paladin hissed. “He is a Wielder of one of the cursed Mage knives, the Jade Dragon.”

“Iliard Candril,” Ventinimas breathed softly. “It will be my great pleasure to kill him myself.”

“Excellency, there is more,” the Anti-Paladin said.

The High Priest raised his brow at the note of urgency in the man’s voice. “Well?” he prompted.

“I saw a child with no aura sitting among the Rangers,” he replied.

“An Elavite? Very interesting,” Ventinimas said. “But I sense you have more to tell me.”

“She saw my quest guardian.”

Sharantar Ventinimas gripped the arms of his throne tightly and leaned forward. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Excellency,” the Anti-Paladin responded. “I saw her follow him with her eyes when everyone else was looking at me.”

The High Priest leaned back in his throne, “Terin Berinath,” he whispered. “The Heir of Jeragoth is found.”