Pheinixfall -13- Part 1 of 2

Scourge of the West

The gruff little dwarf reined his massive horse into the trees a bit early, a bit further north than he might have under normal circumstances. The mighty Dragluln loomed, near at his eastern hand, but the forestry of the foothills came first. They were neither a welcome gate, nor a pleasant gatekeeper to him, but Rang knew there would be a brief lull from his fears before starting the climb. It was a rest he'd be very willing to accept. Not because he was particularly exhausted, nor because the Symphoniers were setting a particularly difficult pace. He just had an uneasy feeling. It had tailed him every step of his horse's way, back through the Varanessan trees and all the way across the Baradoran plain as they cut a clean southeasterly line. They rested little and lightly, and all the while, the two Symphoniers were mostly quiet, and when they did talk, it was almost never in his direction. They just rode along, drinking and smoking to such excess that Rang was almost disappointed. They were wasting their precious Everoot, and though he didn't fully appreciate their wine, they were gluttonizing it. He could have been disgruntled if he wasn't at least a small bit impressed with their ability to hold their water. But it brought a sour grimace to his features nonetheless, a look he was careful to not let them see, a look he only allowed because they rode well behind him at all times. After a time, he got the feeling he was being used like a shield, an expendable vanguard against the same uneasy feelings that pressed in about him. Even on the open plain, he was beginning to feel hunted, even though, every time he glanced about, there was nothing but the long grass, swept east on the wind and sodden slick and shining by the rain for miles and miles. Of course, now that he was in the trees, Rang's unease rose up three fold.
He chided himself for his foolishness. If he was being tailed by something other than his charges, he would have been better off on the plain, where he could see anything coming from at least a hundred yards. There was of course the question of who or what might tail him. Without a doubt, if he was being hunted, it wasn't by the Symphoniers. If they had wanted to harm him, they could have killed him anytime, a dozen times over. And they had nothing to fear from him at any rate. Which led him to the next oddity in his uneasy nerves.  Who the hells would hunt, not one, but two Symphoniers? Certainly not anyone in their right mind. Hells, he was half out of his wits for simply agreeing to this mission. Of course, who or whatever it was that threatened, might not know they were Symphoniers, but Rang doubted that with one glance back to them. They rode upon Qu'chaeli. They were Elves. They wore their telltale split-ear hoods pulled up, features all but concealed, even in the angular light of the day. There could be no mistake.
The sun had deemed the west worthy of some light two days ago and lingered on still, albeit, mostly in patches and small breaks between the showers. But the clouds were beginning to regroup, like scattered enemy soldiers ready to throw themselves into a sloppy rebellion against the fire god in the sky. His train of thought had broken, his brooding fallen off its tracks as he was given to studying his surroundings once again with wary eyes. Rang suddenly heard something. Before he could even analyze it, his well-trained steed nickered softly to itself, then abruptly stopped walking. With the hairs on the back of his neck gone awol, he studied the trees, lifting a slow hand to his followers. He was a master mountaineer, an accomplished naturalist, and an even better woodsman, admittedly better than some the Elves had to offer, for that was what it was to be a Scoutmaster. He knew how to hunt. He knew how to travel without being detected if he wished, though he couldn't do so with his big stallion clod-hopping through the undergrowth. He knew how to track, very well, and most importantly, he knew when he was being tracked. The silence in the wild gave it away every time. Only the breeze seemed to wish to break the pact between the hunted and their tail.
His narrow, beady gaze peered into the wood, studying its lay, but it was peaceful and clear. There was nothing but sporadic sunlight, filtering down through the breeze-swept trees to dapple the land in shadows that were soft and hardly worthy of hiding any predators. However, nothing stirred. And that was exactly the problem. There wasn't any life in the world but for himself and his charges. The air was cold with the coming of autumn, or something else. He couldn't decide which.
"Psst." He hissed over his shoulder without fully turning.
We're being tracked, he thought, and he knew it wasn't his imagination. There was no response from the Symphonier or his quiet young student, so Rang gave a glance, and there stood only Quilencce upon the trail some twenty yards back. His shadowed lad, whom he'd called his son, was nowhere to be seen, gone into thin air along with the great pair of Qu'chaeli. Quilencce was just putting the finishing touches on making himself comfortable in what he apparently considered to be a place that very well could have been his last stand as easily as the location for his next meal. He reached down, bending so feline in his agility to take up a pinch of dirt. He rolled it between his fingers as he erected himself, head down and foot scuffing a few times before planting firmly. He then took off his garish hat with its lengthy phoenix tail feather with one hand, and adjusted his spectacles before drawing the longer of the curved blades at his hip with the other. Almost casually, but effortlessly fluid, the blade came out in a snap and he scored the earth before him. It was a single move, and even for its simplicity, it left Rang amazed all over again. He imagined the Symphonier's eyes probably looked to be smiling, but his smooth old face was expressionless as he turned halfly and met Rang's gaze. Rang, bewilderment showing on his features, could do nothing but stare. The Symphonier had known twenty yards ago, and possibly longer still, that they were being tracked. How could he have known? Rang's questions turned back on themselves. How long had he known, was a more appropriate question. He started to open his mouth, but Quilencce's voice came first.
"We're being tracked." It was a fact. "Whatever happens, Dwarf, stay your hand. This hunter isn't after you."
Rang wheeled his mount about to better face the Symphonier. "Forget that! I'll not let you stand alone!"
"I am not alone." Quilencce answered him flatly, and he simply turned away, speaking thereafter without looking. "Whatever you do. Stay your hand."
Put off, the Dwarf sputtered for a fussy moment before the Symphonier spoke up again, calling to the silence of the woods. The Scoutmaster knew there was nothing he could likely do to help a Symphonier. They needed no help. They hadn't had any assistance from anyone for countless millennia, for as long as they've existed, handing down their ways from master to student and so on through the ages. They'd survived as well as any other gathering of people on the planet, and they'd done so alone. There was no need for Rang's axe. In fact, he might only get in the way. He might find himself the victim of that brilliant swooped blade. Even so, he wasn't one to back down from a fight. He was a Dwarf, and even if these were Symphoniers he dealt with, he would not let some pointy-eared ninny show him up. Or if they did show him up, at least it wouldn't be without competition. He was, as most of his kin, too proud for his own good. He knew it, but he also accepted it. In fact, he was proud to be proud of his heritage, his family line, longer than a hundred generations of Elmarang, and of all of his people across the face of Arillus. But he also knew that if this wasn't his fight, then it wasn't his fight.
"Come along then!" Quilencce called. "I'm here and waiting, hunter. Show yourself and I may spare you the grudge of your skulking!" He waited, sword low at his side, hat at the other.
"Come along. The sun is shining, but not for long, this is no time for lurking about. There are no shadows for such in any case." Still, nothing happened, but Quilencce remained as he was, apparently entirely unafraid. Rang waited with him, watching the woods with skeptical little eyes, but then all at once, a figure coalesced upon the roadway before the Symphonier. It came from literally nothing. There was no warning to precede its coming. It so suddenly, simply was. As if a play and trick of lights and mirrors, it phased into being amidst a healthy sunbeam, as if to mock the Symphonier and his talk of shadows.
This newcomer had no need for skulking, lurking or creeping about in the dark, and it appeared so swiftly Rang was outright startled by the devilry it surely represented. He was shocked into drawing a hatchet from his belt with a bark and low curse in his thick native tongue. It was a reaction he'd been warned against, and surely an action he would regret. Before the Dwarf could even blink, and before Quilencce had made a single move, Rang found himself ripped from his saddle and pinned to the earth by some sort of hissing, seething demon he couldn't have identified on any level.
Oh, the pain a lancing could cause, Rang knew well, but the excruciating piercing in his left breast was beyond anything he'd felt before. And he'd seen his fair share of injuries. As a soldier of centuries of servitude to the lord of Dulgnar, it was only natural that he should experience pain once in a great while, but for the most part, the Dwarf had been lucky. He'd never suffered a piercing like that which struck him fully off his horse, toppled him to the earth and slammed him down flat on his back. Stunned, Rang gasped breathlessly and coughed once. But he couldn't manage anymore. He simply lie there silently, and didn't even realize his horse had run off screaming into the woods. He only managed to shake slightly from the agony, staring up at whatever devilry this was. He couldn't even begin to explain it.
It was an Elf, to all appearances, and so he presumed it to be one in truth. It was tall and strong and poised effortlessly over him, almost disdaining to look upon him, aside from the fact that it bore a wicked glee within its blue and slightly green-sharded eyes. But pale as a ghost and wreathed in flowing white hair with plenty of body, and garbed stylishly in a loosely laced-up white vest and billowing white leggings, this figure was no Elf. Quilencce knew it, and now Rang was given privy to knowing. It was the sinister hiss, emanating from somewhere otherworldly within the creature's body that gave it away. Its speed and strength were irrelevant when the Dwarf realized the hissing came from a mouth that didn't open. Its soft lips remained well composed and certainly sealed.
Quilencce pivoted to face the creature, somehow having known it had gotten past him. His movement drew the demon's insanity-driven eyes with a flicker, and that gaze glazed over, gone reflective like the mercurial orbs of a chrome-forged sentinel. Finally, Rang gasped aloud from the delayed shock of pain in his shoulder, but he gurgled up blood, being left to gritting his teeth and gripping the highly polished shard of steel that held him fixed to the earth. Slowly, the blade began to twist, leaving him coughing and gagging against its pull. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, convulsing mildly like a mortally wounded spider. Only one eye could pop open, and he realized that whatever was pinning him wasn't even a sword. The lithe hand that held him fixed was only aimed at him as if it meant to offer him assistance in rising to his feet with a half-hazard disregard. It was twisting at the wrist and shrouded in sunlight. Rang could've sworn it held no weapon, yet he was pinned fast as his mind reeled to catch up. His gloved hand and all of his remaining strength could not resist the merciless, almost mechanical twisting. Like a glacier grinding its way toward the sea, nothing he did could stop the agony.
"That's enough. He offered you no contest." Quilencce spoke quite casually. "If you're here to test my mettle then let him be and test me. I don't have time to play toying games."
The creature hissed and smiled, an entirely unnatural sound for the body it wore.
"Wrong, Symvphonier. I am not here for you."
"Then you must be here for what is rightfully yours?"
"You're wise, drunkard." The creature commented.
"I take that as a compliment, Liquidis, scourge of the west, ruin of the Hailvannisan Elvine."
"You are as perceptive as you are wise." The creature hissed back, grinning devilishly.
"Thank you." Quilencce nodded, lifting his blade and settling himself down into a forward stance. His weapon swept back and he froze, as fully prepared as he would ever be.
"Yet, you are a fool."
"Not the way I see it."
"You can't even see what you possess." The thing hissed deliberately, giving Quilencce pause. He knew wyrms almost always spoke of riddles, that they could see things most couldn't, but what did it mean here and now for the serpent in disguise to say such a thing. Was it talking about Shalon? Or something else? Quilencce couldn't readily identify what would be more important than the boy he'd raised and trained to be more skilled than he could ever be. What did he possess that was of any significance to anyone, aside from his skills? And suddenly his gaze narrowed, focusing in on the blade he bore, low and back in his dangerous hands. Hailterra, the weapons that had been parted ages ago. They were wrought of ancient times, when all things were of magic, and still they looked as beautiful and finely forged as the day they were created. Could it be the serpent was referring to the weapon, as though it desired to add one more trophy to its hoard? Quilencce didn't have to ask himself. He knew that to be the truth, and he fixed the wyrm with his silver gaze, and let a little grin slip free. He was not the fool the dragon claimed him to be.
"Just give me the boy, that I might punish him for his theft of my property! And you shall be on your way. Unaware, but on your way." Liquidis spoke, a droning voice that radiated a high pitched, distant whining. The serpent did not speak with its apparent mouth. Its voice had come from elsewhere.
"He is a lad. Theft or no, it was I who put him up to it. It was I who tested him against your traps, that he would keep three edges as ever our kin have done. And as he is a lad, my student, I must fight in his stead. You cannot have him." Quilencce was certain, smooth and even. His words did not rise, nor quail before the demon's glittering, unreadable eyes. If he was closer, Quilencce thought perhaps he might see himself into those chromed orbs, for they shone back the world and ignored the requirements of eyes, and all the parts necessary to see.
"Let go, the Dwarf."
Rang had gone still. He just lay back and waited to die.
"In due time." The voice hissed, a droning sort of sound mingling with some sort of searing, rising power once more. It was almost mechanical, echoing through time and space as though several spoke at once.
"Give up the boy, now, Symvphonier. Or I shall put end to you, your precious son, and the very last of your kind, once and for all, right here and now, today, in this late age. All shall stand in awe as I spread the word and tell the world that I, Liquidis, supreme ruler of the Western Hold have slain the very last, and that your efforts were not only far from glorious, but in fact pathetic like no other crude challenge I have ever faced in my countless millennia of existence. All shall know the very last of the very best, were in fact the very least I ever met." The beast was confident, so confident that even the smug look on its elf-like guise couldn't possibly be an adequate delegate for its supreme mindset.
"And I'll still have back what is mine." Even Quilencce had to stop and second guess himself. He knew the thing was taunting him, just like a dragon should, just like only a dragon could. His pause only seemed to make the dragon happier, so he chose his words very carefully.
"You may certainly try, if that is your prerogative. But I assure you, dragon. You're no different than those I've already slain. You may not have the boy. You will not acquire back that for which you have come, even if I let you face him, for just like all others to have come before, you fail to see that which is right in front of your eyes."
"Fail?! I fail nothing!" The serpent spat, his voice rising up as a horror, a thunder all around. "I see all." It was said intensely enough to raise the Symphonier's hairs. They stood on end all over his body in a prickling wave. Such power in such a small form. It was truly terrible to behold, but he steadied himself without showing anything more than a shrug of his shoulders to quell the shiver that ran up his spine.
"You will fail me."
"Oh-ho?!" The wyrm laughed, but showed no amusement on its false Elvine face. Quilencce tensed. It was coming. The wyrm meant to kill him. Its posture had changed, imperceptible to all but the finest warriors, as it leaned into the Symphonier some twenty yards away. It was a tense moment, but Quilencce, knowing the creature's speed, was already moving. He leaned into the attack, bringing his blade forth in a low, deliberately paced swoop, as though merely practicing the movement. It was enough, just as he knew it would be, to set the wyrm off. Liquidis, self-proclaimed lord of the west, never seen and only whispered about, simply vaulted into him, leaving the motionless Dwarf at last. But as soon as he lunged, he was arrived.
The wyrm reached Quilencce before the Elf could even blink, as though a flicker of sunlight, but luckily he didn't have to see to fight. His deliberate movement was purposeful, and by the time it finished its swoop, he sprawled. His figure exploded in movement that surely would have surprised the swiftest of hummingbirds, and he became wreathed in a series of strokes so fast they were all but simultaneous. A trilogy of ringing swords called out to the forest as the combatants matched blades in a single instant, and it was over before it even happened.
The wyrm was behind him immediately. Quilencce knew it without a doubt. But he was prepared. His body wheeled about and faded away as he smoothly brought his last stroke wheeling about. Trailing cloak and lengthy silver hair, Quilencce skidded to a halt, and the serpent, trailing a length of bright silks so pale as to be forged of sunlight, did the same.
The Symphonier had felt his blade bite into something, and he crouched, blade hung wide and high, knowing he'd scored. The dragon did the same, though it didn't bother facing him. It hesitated for a long moment, silent and motionless. The sword in its hand was so thoroughly sheathed in light that Quilencce couldn't even tell if it was a real weapon or of his imagining. But either way, it surely had the ability to kill. Rang could attest to that. Quilencce suddenly grimaced, wincing silently as he realized he'd been cut. Utterly amazed, the Symphonier looked to his midriff. He'd been scored, a rising, angular slash in return for the scar he'd surely marked upon his foe. It wasn't deep, and the blood-letting was minimal, as though the wound had been seared shut, but even so his earthy colored garments were sprayed by a splattering of his fluid. Then he felt another searing. It arced over his right thigh, splattering his left pant-leg with his blood. He winced again, aloud this time, and the serpent started to chuckle, a slow, devilishly gleeful pattern.
He met its gaze as the beast turned, reflective orbs blindly taking him in. Across its breast, scoring through vest and flesh alike was a silver scar, as though he'd cut clean into gleaming metal, but he'd cut it indeed, and deeply at that. If it had been anyone less than a wyrm in that body, it would surely be lying dead upon the earth. Quilencce narrowed his silver gaze and readied his blade, settling down into a more defensive posture, blade risen between them in a low guard. And for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how the serpent was still standing, let alone how it had gotten past his defenses twice. The dragon in this guise was fast, yes, but was that enough? Sheer speed? It surely wasn't a better swordsman. There were none better than the Symphonier. None. Nowhere. Save maybe the boy.
"Impressive, Elvphling." Liquidis hissed. "But you won't score another."
"Watch me."

Shalon crouched nearby, invisible in the wood, just as he'd been before raiding the Drovanye encampment, wielding the skills his master had taught well. He watched the showdown with features intense, and all at once it began with an explosion of movement he could barely follow. The two combatants clashed and parted and the forest heard their meetings, but then he saw the damage that had been done.
Quilencce was marked twice over by a nasty pair of scathing marks, but the dragon was marked as well, albeit only once, and it seemed only lightly. It looked vicious and certainly would have been a crippling scoring, likely outright lethal if it had been given to a lesser man, but whether the dragon even felt pain was unclear. He certainly didn't act as though he'd been injured. He even spoke, haughtily appraising the worth of Quilencce's skill, denying any and all satisfaction the Master Symphonier may have been awarded by seeing his opponent suffer pain. Shalon lowered his chin.
Comon', master. He thought. You can beat him.
Of course, Shalon didn't know that for certain. No one knew what Liquidis was capable of. In fact, up until the moment the boy had snuck into the dragon's domain, far beneath the valley of Hailvannissa, which had once been home to the reputed earliest civilization of the Elves, no one had ever been sure if the wyrm was even real. He was nothing more than a legend until Shalon had gone in and taken the blades. And even after that test, throughout which Shalon had never seen the beast, Liquidis remained a myth. He was merely rumored, as ancient as time, the master of the valley that he'd claimed, and none ever ventured there. Even Quilencce had intentionally always steered him clear, until his testing and theft.
It had been Liquidis, most said, that had slain an entire civilization single-handedly and scarred the forests of the west. It had been him, who had forged the Balaste Line and divided Varanessan trees from Hailvannisan with the desolation of the scrub plain's uneven hillocks, where life grew so sparsely. Such power was only imagined, never acquired, not by anyone, but here was standing a living myth as surely as Shalon had stolen the swords there-from. Who was to say now, that all that the wyrm had been accused was not reality? He certainly seemed to claim it was true with pride, just by showing his face and accepting Quilencce's accusation of his identity.
"Call out the boy, master Symvphonier, or you will die here." Liquidis spoke as they stared each other down.
"You'll die before I do."
"Very well." The serpent hissed, and it strode back into the Symphonier's waiting blade. Closer and closer he drew, and Quilencce merely waited. Shalon knew exactly what was coming. He could count the maneuvers that Quilencce would unleash as soon as the wyrm was within reach, and so it was. The wyrm came, and as abrupt as a candle's snuffing surely brought darkness, the two exploded in movement.
The strikes unfurled in a blinding flurry, but neither man landed a single blow. Back and forth, one after another the movements compounded, and the combinations began to multiply. Shalon could see them coming. All the options unfurled beneath his gaze far before fact, and at once, he gaped. Like seeing the end of a chess match far before the fact, his knowledge of the Dance, which far surpassed the symphonies of swords taught to him by his master, brought him to the conclusion before either combatant could see it.
Quilencce was suddenly backing up, giving ground, and before he knew it, the dragon snuck past him, scoring his right leg once again, higher this time. The Symphonier had caught it, but only marginally, and their swords rang out through the trees. But the master was at a moment's loss. Liquidis slipped past and whirled about even as Quilencce tried to do the same. All across his back, the Symphonier was scored and he stumbled away, staggered and fell to a knee. The dragon merely paused, poised, its shard of light hung wide once more. It grinned devilishly wide and licked its lips with a reflective, forked tongue.
"Enough?"
Quilencce was back on his feet in an instant, pouncing up into the serpent, but his high stroke was merely a decoy. He drew out the dragon's defenses, continued to wheel, with sword whistling double-time over his figure. Exposed and tall as it was, even the dragon wasn't fast enough to catch Quilencce. The elf planted his feet, and all at once, his style shifted. He became a creature of power like the dragon itself, as he had within the fray against the Drovanye. His whistling stroke took it full in the midriff unhindered, and with a clang his sword hammered home. Liquidis' figure bent double with the blow, then vaulted away as if struck a gargantuan blow. Quilencce's sword screamed shrilly as he followed through and came to a halt.
The dragon's pale body sailed and struck earth, rolled and came smoothly back to its feet. A second time now the front of its clothing was cloven, and again its metallic insides gleamed brightly in the light. This blow was twice the depth and breadth of the first, which would have already killed any man Shalon could think of, but still the beast stood and still it lived. This time, however, the beast gave pause, eyes fixed on the glittering sword in Quilencce's grasp.
"Warned you twice." Quilencce remarked, taunting the dragon, and it seemed he had the upper hand despite his injuries. Shalon smirked. His master's confidence clearly riled the dragon, and the remark was amusing, but he didn't think it wise to ruffle its feathers. Surely, this fight wasn't nearly over, and the thing Quilencce stood before was not about to make mistakes enough to make it weak. It was too wise, too powerful and far too dangerous. It could maybe even kill the Symphonier. Or rather, it very likely could, and very likely would, without compassion, without remorse. Shalon cringed and fought to wipe the grin off his face. This was far too serious to enjoy it as he might with a lesser conflict. Someone was already likely dead, and Quilencce was injured and bloodied badly.
Liquidis narrowed his gaze, growling and seething beneath his determined features, and he started forward again. Quilencce maintained the same position he had when last they'd clashed, but now the dragon was aware his style had shifted. Things would be different this time. Again, they came together, and again the heated assaults flew with blinding rapidity. But Quilencce stood his ground, focused on defending himself and waiting for his openings. Each blow back and forth cried out for the forest, and every one of them rang of power and strength the likes of which surely the dragon possessed, but which Quilencce only gained through the Symphony he sang.
Back and forth each took their turns trying to muscle the other from his standpoint with powerful blows, and it seemed the Symphonier would be the first to force the other back. However, Quilencce was only an Elf. He was wounded, and tiring. He didn't have much time left. So, he unleashed a swipe, aiming for the dragon's elf-like throat. It was far too predictable to be a dedicated assault, Shalon knew. Quilencce had allowed Liquidis to take his armament, whirl with it, and he let the beast tear it from his grasp. His spirit sword, the glittering silver Shalon knew as Hailterra, went twirling away. It fell to rest, but only long after Quilencce had drawn his two shorter csabers, whirling about with the momentum of the sacrifice to catch the dragon sleeping in its confidence. One, then two, the blades tore across the low of the wyrm's exposed spine, and they did score deep. Quilencce didn't slow, rising up, wheeling still. Around his swords came again, but the dragon howled, having never slowed its own turnabout.
It dropped into a crouch and collapsed to its knees beneath the swipe, either staggering from paralysis or intentionally ducking, and rose up even before the Symphonier's swords could whistle about in his grasp and reverse themselves. The dragon shouldered through Quilencce's coming blades and arms alike, delivering a sharp, rising fist to the Elf's smooth jaw. Before Shalon could cringe in fury, the fight was over. Quilencce didn't have anything left to give beneath a nearly breakneck blow. His head rocked back. His blood splattered and he started to fall, but before he could do so, Liquidis took out his vengeance. His blade flicked out, scoring the master once more as he toppled to the earth.
Quilencce hit the ground, unconscious and bloodied in more than half a dozen places, but Liquidis wasn't done there. He snarled and stepped forward, piercing the Symphonier's shoulder in a similar fashion to what he'd done with poor Rang Elmarang. Then, erect and purposeful, the wyrm turned his blind gaze to roaming the woods.
"There, boy!" He snarled. "Come, see what your thievery has done!"
Shalon hesitated. Surely it was his thievery that had done this, but it wasn't fair punishment. Quilencce had surely put him up to it, but it should have been he who was slain. He ground his teeth with hate and leaned forward, but he hesitated nonetheless. He couldn't just charge into the waiting arms of death. Quilencce had fought, and likely died this day, to keep him alive. He couldn't just hand himself over after that payment. But even so, Shalon couldn't hold himself back. He would have vengeance before cowardice!
"Come boy. Give back what is mine and I shall let you live." Liquidis called, and suddenly, Quilencce coughed up blood and gasped. He was still alive, Shalon realized. The wyrm apparently seemed surprised as well, glancing to the symphonier and grinning. He seemed to like the fact that the master was still alive. He was pleased, and the thought of it sickened Shalon into fury.
"I'll even give you back your precious master! All you have to do is give me what is rightfully mine!"
Shalon tensed. It was a fair bargain. He loved his swords. They were his very being, but if it meant saving Quilencce, he could give them up and find new weapons later. Surely, he wouldn't find any so great as those whose indigo hues mesmerized him like nothing else and clove through steal like cloth, but he could make due with others if he had to. He started forward in silence, then stopped suddenly. What was he thinking? If he went out there, Liquidis would surely kill Quilencce and then turn on him and kill him just as easily. The wyrm was, above all, a wyrm, regardless of what he looked like. He couldn't be trusted so far as he could be thrown, and Shalon doubted he could throw a dragon at all. He probably couldn't even knock it off its feet.
His forehead suddenly beaded with sweat. What the hells was he going to do? If he refused, Quilencce would die. If he went, Quilencce was going to die, and so would he. Plus, he'd lose his swords. Of course, on the off hand chance that both of them would be spared, he would still have to give up the weapons that made him what he was, as Quilencce had taught. He reached back to the low of his flank, fingering the handles of the diamondesk long knife and the thinblades strapped inverted to his bodice. What was he going to do? The blades almost throbbed beneath his touch, hungry for blood, as always, and he glanced to Rang.
The innocent dwarf had come to summon them, and Quilencce had agreed to go to council with the Toolian from the east in Dulgnar, to which Shalon had never been. He was honor bound, obligated, tied to completing that very task now. Even in his master's stead, Shalon would still have to go to Dulgnar. But, he didn't know how to get there. He needed his master alive. He had to hand over the blades and hope the serpent would let them live. With a heavy sigh, he rose up to his full height, prepared to give up, but then changed his mind yet again.
"Verywell, boy. You leave me no choice. Your master dies today, and you will never know rest. I will hunt you till your dying day."
His anger came back at once, and he pulled his goggles down over his eyes.
Let us see what a wyrm is made of.
Shalon stepped from the trees onto the roadway, gliding out into the light, a dark shadow against a lighted demon. Liquidis turned to greet him with his wicked grin. The wyrm seemed to read him clear as an open book, though he showed nothing of his plans. It was his hate, shown as a sneer upon his young lips. It gave him away. He knew it without a doubt, but he didn't care. He would have Quilencce's revenge, and he would bekeep his own swords for the rest of his life. Only one side would walk away from this confrontation, and it wasn't going to be the serpent, legend or no. After all, to the most of the world, symphoniers were legends as well, and he was better than any Quilencce had ever heard tell of. His master had said it himself. Shalon was gifted in ways he couldn't understand. But, the boy had to control it.
Shalon pushed the ghosts and fears of failure to control himself out of mind. There was no room for doubt. There was only the movement. There was only the sword. There was only the death of his enemy and the beautiful fluidity of his victory.
"You will die." Liquidis assured him. "Lest you give me what is mine."
"Your armor has chinks, dragon." Shalon answered, reaching back and unsnapping the button that kept one of this three blades in its sheath. But he did not withdraw it.
"None." The wyrm retorted, settling himself into a lower stance, releasing Quilencce from the shard of light that held him bound to the earth as if a shaft of iron. Shalon watched. It would begin before he could react, he knew, so he would have to be the one to act.
"None that you will acknowledge in your arrogance. Watch and I will show them to you."
Liquidis scoffed, a subtle snort of amusement. "Very well, symvphonier, boy. I'll let you try. But, I warn, you will find nothing but death awaits you."
"You shouldn't speak so lightly of your own demise, dragon. Yours is an endangered life-well."
Perhaps it was Shalon's words, or maybe it was his refusal to fear no matter how hard his heart was pounding in his chest, but the dragon simply exploded into motion the likes of which the elf couldn't have expected. Either way, that was exactly what Shalon had planned for. A blade flared to life in his hand, guiding the blazing shard of light aside at the last possible moment. It came thrusting, intent on ending him instantly, but he'd matched it, snapping back with a twisting. It became a ducking as he wheeled about, but as swiftly and smoothly as he did, hearing the dragon's weapon scythe the air overhead, Shalon rose up again having already taken his stroke.
A second blade was already in his grasp as he wheeled low, and he lashed out with a furious, vengeful howl. He caught the dragon across its thigh, once, and could have severed it if his second blade had been true. But the beast was faster than he'd even seen thus far, and he found himself scrambling and whirling away. The demon was hot on his heels, but he met its furious slashing at each approach and dammed its advance by unleashing a fierce counter-attack.
He plunged into the waiting armaments of Liquidis, a whirling mass of darkness, trailing his ornaments and hair and clothing, led by the light of his swords. The dragon, however, matched him slash for slash. One of his thinblades was ripped from his grasp and sent ripping away, whistling as it whirled end over end and audibly struck and buried itself in a tree with a strangely loud thwack some distance off.
Shalon was left backpedaling wildly, but it was only for an instant that he let the serpent dominate him. He skidded to a halt and thrust into the dragon's unsuspecting momentum, reaching for his third blade, yet lain in secret beneath his cloak. The dragon guided his lancing aside and caught up his arm, ripping the thin sword from his grasp, then he found himself wheeling end over end as the dragon grappled with him, throwing him down, slamming him into the earth as hard as could be. But he was more acrobatic than anyone he'd ever met and Shalon knew just what to do. His agility saved him, as with eerie grace he twisted about, landing first on one knee. His right arm was wrapped about his upper body and he found himself grinning. He was completely out of control. The dance had saved him, and now Liquidis was doomed. The dragon seemed to sense it, for it stood fully exposed over a coiled serpent who was already striking whilst holding onto the snake's tail.
Shalon lashed out mercilessly, long knife tearing from beneath his cloak with a silverine ringing as it jumped to full length. The weapon flashed, longer than could be fully avoided at such proximity, but Liqudis was still his faster. The dragon snapped its leg out of the way with a snarl of surprise, but still took a light scything. Furious, Liquidis ripped Shalon about on his feet, twisting his limber arm around as violently as it could. But Shalon merely let him, using it to his advantage. He wheeled about with the grapple and took a stroke, caught the beast with ease, and continued on. Whirling with the momentum, he came about and laid another for the dragon's midriff. He caught the beast again, scoring an easy blow before planting himself, inverting his grasp and stabbing blindly back and upward. The sword jammed home within the beast's controlling arm, buried through the thick of its powerful bicep, and suddenly Shalon was free. He wheeled away and tore his blade free, destroying the upper arm that had clutched his own, and did not relent. He found himself face to face with the beast again, sword arcing overhead and descenting across the demon's face. And low he wheeled, stabbing here before reversing and slashing there. The dragon was a step behind three, four, five times, but Liquidis seemed unphased by the damage. It recoiled after being run through, and ripped the longer sword from Shalon's grasp as if he'd surely buried it in solid stone.
Shalon couldn't control himself, fearing for his life as he wheeled up and into the dragon, hands surging out to reclaim the sword, but he caught a powerful boot to his chest and tumbled away beneath the furious growling of his inhuman enemy. He hit the ground hard, felt the wind leave his lungs and heard the hard crunch of his skull against the earth, but still managed to roll clear of an entirely devastating landing.
Before he could even scramble to his feet, as swift and smooth as he was, Shalon felt the seering lance that both Rang and Quilencce had also succumbed to. He gasped out and went down for good, forced to the earth no matter how he might resist. His strength left him and he simply lie down. It was over. He had tried, scored numerous times more than Quilencce even, and still failed, -just as Quilencce had before him. Even with the Dance, he'd failed. Or perhaps it was because of the Dance. He couldn't help but chide himself the fool, and curse his inability to control his own body.
If he had just been able to control it, to wield it as surely as it wielded him, then he might have won. Of course, that was neither here nor there, for the wyrm had suffered many scores and piercings between the two symphoniers' efforts, and it was still alive, still functioning on a lethal level. He was beyond them, Shalon knew. It wasn't for their lack of ability. It was for his superior strength. But even so, Shalon gritted his teeth, refusing to accept that. He should have won. He should have been able to see the course of the battle unfurl, just as he'd seen it with Quilencce before himself.
Shalon suddenly gasped, though it was not for the pain of his lancing, which burned so fiercely as to shut down his thoughts. Only hate and anger boiled in him, but that was enough to keep his mind running where it ought not have been. And that's how he came to see the truth. He now knew, exactly how to control the dance. He'd seen the battle unfolding before it had happened with Quilencce's movements. It just didn't happen with his own battle, and yet, it always did.
That's how the dance worked. He was ready for anything and everything, and had an action or reaction for every outside influence. That's how he was able to do it to begin with. He just had to see it before it happened. He had to choose. That was it. That's all he'd ever had to do. He had to predict what he himself was going to do, and he would be master over his own gift, master over himself, and thereby master over his enemies! He was so elated and infuriated that he forgot about the lancing and weight that held him pinned. He didn't even stop to wonder if he might be mistaken about his revelation, or how wrong he might truly have been in the matter.
He ignored the hissing voice that came to his ears, for he had at last come to the revelation that would allow him to advance as master over symphony. He would leave songs behind entirely and become a Dancer, fabled and suspect amongst only his and Quilencce's kind. The world had no recollection of Bladedancers anymore. It had been too long since any symphonier had ever grown so far, but among them the myth still lived. It lived on now, in him. Shalon gritted his teeth, feeling the blade in his back, boring through him and beginning to twist.
"Pity now, Dark Elvph." Liquidis chided. "That all that you are, and all that you could have been, is now lost, for the sake of weapons you no longer even hold." The dragon's words echoed in his head, mocking him with the cold hard certain fact that he was going to die. All of his revelation was meaningless now. His thoughts ran sour even as he screamed in agony beneath the twisting of Liquidis' blade. The dragon was right, and it was a picture of perfect irony. Now that he knew he could control the dance and had discovered the secret that had been the barrier within himself, he was going to die. For all the power his gift would have granted him, and for all the salvation it could be to anyone who he chose to grace with his gift, he was helpless. It was as pointless now as all the nonsensical visions he'd ever had of the blood-haired girl who he didn't know.
Suddenly, as if to correct him, those visions flashed before his mind's eye all over again. The words of Liquidis echoed back at his thoughts. Dark Elf. And as if in response, something was roused awake within him, violent, vibrant and alive. She was there, clear as day, speaking those same words to him, as if a plea. He couldn't grasp it all yet, or how it fell together, but somehow something clicked into place. He couldn't explain it, but he could feel it. And he knew that he wasn't going to die here. There was something more to do, something he couldn't define.
"Pity the symvphoniers end today… this way. You were the most challenging hunt I've ever engaged. But, sadly, the world will only know what I tell them." Liquidis tisked, toying with him. "They will only know you failed, and that I am greater than they could possibly imagine. Not Cause, nor Pheinix can overcome me."
Shalon twitched as the dragon said those names. Visions ripped before his mind's eye once again. Golden light, fire, was everywhere. The girl's distrusting features, pale, innocent, beautiful, an anathema to his enigma. Books peeled back their covers, and their parchment peeled back their scriptures. He could see into their workings, and felt the vile touch of things, horrors, unimaginable. He wanted to scream. It was so foul that he imagined not even a dragon's sickening breath could rival it, but when he tried to cry out revulsion, his mouth was full of grit and soil.
He realized his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but whether it was against the pain in his backside or the visions, he couldn't tell. He simply gaped and gagged and tried not to retch. He could only cough and let his senses reel from the combination of all that was transpiring in this sole moment of his life. Revelation, imagination, emotion, agony and futility. It all clawed at him like rats burrowing to escape a blaze, gnawing at his skin, and tearing at his thought.
Then, it was over. He simply let it go and the tension left him. He gasped out and went limp, a bag of flesh and bone flopped upon the earth in careless disregard.
"Is that all you have?" Liquidis scoffed, withdrawing his blade of light. "I would have thought better of the legendary symvphoniers!" The wyrm's laugh was insidious, but then, its demeanor and intentions seemed to shift. It suddenly had a tone of voice peculiarly out of place, as if a man about to barter for nothing more than a melon at the market.
"But, I tell you what." He started over. "I think there is more to you than you've shown, which was pitiful, I must say." His tones were almost respectable, dignified, reasonable. What the hell was happening? Shalon couldn't quite calculate what the wyrm was planning.
"So, I'm going to let you live today. You gave it your best. The game was entertaining to say the least."
"What?" Shalon managed, a hoarse whisper at best.
"For now, you shall be left to your own devices, but if you ever return to the West, you will meet me again, and I promise you, next time, thief, you will die. However, you have earned your keep. You fought well enough and made me chase you far and long enough to see that maybe your thievery may be forgiven just this once. You see, I too am a seer. I see things, like you see things that cannot be, and are not real. And I foresee a terrible life ahead of you. Your wretched existence will be long and bloody and full of suffering. You will never know true peace, and it pleases me to leave you to that rather than offer the reprieve granted by death."
"You've gotta be joking." Shalon spat, coughing up blood as he tried to crawl away. "Kill me. Kill me now, or you will die when next I see you."
"Ah, pathetic Dark Elvphling. You couldn't be more wrong." Liquidis denied him.
"Kill me." Shalon instructed.
"In due time. From this day forth, your life belongs to me. Remember this. One day, when the feathers are made three again, they will belong to me. Remember, when they are made three, found together again by thee, I will come for them. You will give them to me in trade for what you have stolen. It is fair, a very worthy trade, as mine are worth more than they."
"Kill me now!" Shalon growled once more. He couldn't manage to focus or think on anything the dragon spoke. All he could do was resist. "Kill me." He snarled, but his words were met with silence. When next he looked, the brutally powerful wyrm was simply gone, leaving him with the mystery of its behavior.
The dragon was cunning in ways he couldn't comprehend, and he didn't think he'd been left alive for any light reason. He knew immediately that there was a trick behind it, but figuring out a riddle like that might never be within his grasp. The feathers, made three? He had no idea what that meant. He put it aside for now. Riddles took time to solve, and right now, he didn't have the time. But before he could really dwell on it in either case, he coughed up blood once more and lie down, dropping into a well of darkness. He was unconscious immediately, and he would drift on wings of dreamless sleep, helpless to prevent it.