The Chaos Blade

"I didn't know she was one of the Sheik's wives!" The laughed some more and came to a stop beside the van.

"Okay Cowboy, you may hear some shit over the next couple of days that are way weirder then anything any of us ever came up with. You're the only one of the old boys that I trust to keep your cool here, so just hang in tough and it'll all work out, okay?"

Bill Williams smirked. "Sure thing Eric, try your best. Keep in mind, I'm a biker and you see some pretty weird shit when you're a biker."

Eric nodded, he had ridden with Bill a few times over the years himself and he had to admit, Cowboy had a way for finding some pretty wild times, biker or no. He shrugged and opened up the door on the side of the van. The inside lit up with the sickly yellow light from the dome fixture. Yamara was sleeping peacefully on the cot inside, in spite of her ghastly appearance thanks to the poor yellow lighting.

"Kinda cute, but you've done better," Cowboy said, checking her out.

"She cleans up nice," Eric grunted, stepping inside and moving around to the other side. Cowboy slipped in and shut the door behind him.

Eric rummaged around in the dark and pulled out a penlight. Turning it on so he could see, he opened one of Yamara's eyelids and flashed the light in it. Almost before it had happened her hand gripped his wrist tightly, twisting it painfully and redirecting the light of the flashlight towards the ceiling.

"Shit!" Cowboy said, surprised at how quickly she had moved. "I thought this bitch was almost dead?"

"Yamara!" Eric hissed, ignoring his friend. "It's me, Eric. We rescued you from the hospital."

The grip loosened slowly, and then she let go. In the reflected light from the penlight, Eric saw Yamara looking at Bill and appraising him carefully. "That's Bill, Yamara. He helped me get you out of there."

"Call me Cowboy, ma'am," Bill said, offering his hand. When she did not take it he just shrugged and pulled it back. "Kind of a cold fish for owing us a lot of thanks."

Yamara glanced back at Eric then. He expected her to be frightened and was surprised at what he saw in that brief glance. Suffice to say, fear was not it.

She opened her mouth to speak but only coughed dryly. Eric rummaged around the side of the van for a moment then brought her a bottle of water. He unscrewed the top and raised it to her mouth. She sipped from it carefully, nourishing the water as though she were afraid to spill any. Eric and Bill both noted that she seemed to have a respect for it unknown to most people save for those native to dry and arid climates.

"Take me to the inn named Donnie's Place," she finally said in a thick and dry whisper.

"I got something that'll help that throat of yours," Bill said.

"Jesus Cowboy!" Eric snapped, immediately assuming he was acting true to form.

He held up a small packet of cough drops then and fixed him with a hurt expression. Eric had the good grace to blush a bit and smile. "Sorry about that. You might want to try one, Yamara, they are very soothing."

Yamara just shook her head and continued to drink the water slowly, pausing long enough to make sure it settled. Eric nodded towards the front and Cowboy threaded his way between the seats to hop in the drivers seat. "One first rate dive, coming up!" He said cheerily. Bill always enjoyed hotels that offered both nightly and hourly rates.

*****

Settled into the motel, Yamara's color had already begun to return to her. She moved a little stiffly, but was surprisingly limber. Her first move upon waking was going through the box with her personal effects in it and quickly putting her necklace back on. The rest she seemed to care little about. After some repeated urgings, Eric convinced her to let him check her wounds, which he was amazed to see well on their way to a healthy recovery. When he pressed for some sort of explanation for her remarkable healing, he was met with a stony silence. She was still weak from whatever had poisoned her, but even while weak she was a great deal stronger then she looked, and therefore not a person either of the ex-special forces men intended to underestimate.

After sitting about a bit uncomfortably for some time in silence, Bill broke out a deck of cards and offered a friendly game of poker. Yamara's eyes narrowed briefly before she shook her head and glanced away. Eric shook his head as well and stared after Yamara.

"Cowboy, go take a walk, would ya?" He finally said, wondering if Bill's absence would make Yamara a bit more talkative.

Bill scowled but hopped to his feet and snapped off a clumsy mocking salute Eric's way. He pulled a pack of Reds out of his leather jacket and sucked one into his mouth, lighting it with his Zippo on his way out the door. With the door shut, Eric turned back to face Yamara, who was studying the windows along the back wall of the single room lodging.

"Tell me a story, Yamara," Eric said, "and make it a good one because it's been a lousy week so far."

She glanced back at him and seemed briefly troubled. Then her eyes adopted a cold emotionless stare that he had glimpsed in her a few times before. He was about to give up and follow Bill outside when she closed her eyes and nodded her head. "I think I'm only 23 years old," she said, her voice soft and tired, a betrayal to the hard nature Eric had glimpsed within her.

"Only 23 and I feel so old..."

Chapter 4

Within the mountains known as The Periphery few civilized settlements exist. By and large huts and tribes of orcs, ogres, light elves, and other foul natured creatures were the norm. A few human and demi-human cities existed after the slaying of Ancaruin and defeat of Alesha's armies, but as time progressed and the hardships of living in a land ruled only by the savagery of it's indigenous inhabitants became apparent, they retreated to the outer lands of Belurian once again. Once a great city of evil, Mezarbolle had been besieged by the alliance of dark elves, dwarves, and men. Capturing the city and rebuilding it, it had been named Caradrin, dwarvish for Halls of Light. A task force was set to guard the city and ensure its survival. A noble gesture but with the hearts of the goodly soldiers yearning for home, a gesture doomed to failure.

Inside of a year Caradrin was broken, betrayed from the very ground it was built upon by light elves forcing their land drake pets and steeds to tunnel up from caverns below. Mezarbolle returned. With its return also returned a powerful wizard named Narellin Kinslayer to lead them.

Narellin had been Ancaruin's chosen representative and leader of the armies once Alesha had disappeared. His agenda had always served himself first, of course, and with self preservation always foremost on his mind, he had been able to escape the defeat that Ancaruin and the majority of his army had suffered.

Now, some 60 years later things had progressed to the point where few things happened within the Lost Lands that Narellin was not aware of due to his network of patrols, spies, and magical means.

One of those very patrols had an up and coming wizard amongst its ranks by the name of Darakor. Darakor Kinslayer, the only surviving child of Narellin Kinslayer himself. Darakor had once had a younger sister, but surviving and growing up in Mezarbolle was ofttimes only accomplished by the most powerful of children. His sister, Elvanshalee, had been practicing with her magic and disintegrated herself, for all that remained was a few locks of hair and her clothing. The death of Elvanshalee had seemingly been the last straw that destroyed their mother's mind. She had always favored the girl in a way most unusual for a light elf. Last Darakor knew his mother would sit for hours in their garden or in her rooms, staring into space. Darakor, fortunately, took after his father and had none of his mother's weaknesses, as far as he could tell.

In the slow and dangerous times that passed the coffers of any successful band of patrolling light elves grew full. Darakor's band more so then most, for Narellin had managed to arrange for only the most proficient of companions for him - both to help ensure his survival from whatever they might encounter and to challenge him at every opportunity to make him constantly aware of the nature of his race. Their names began to be feared as they occasionally raided beyond even the Periphery.

Then one day they encountered a single traveler. A single dark elf, walking apparently carelessly through lands where his kind were slain on sight. His nonchalance took all of them off guard, though they would not admit it. Darakor, unlike his brethren, felt the need to learn. He approached him while his companions set themselves up in concealment to ambush their hated enemy.

"Halt, dark one!" He cried out, magically floating down from a tree. "Surrender yourself to us and perhaps we will kill you quickly!" It was not what he had wanted to ask. He had wanted to question the elf as to what could possibly drive him, alone and unaided, into the lands of his enemies.

The trespasser looked at him, the fire in his eyes striking through to his heart in such a way that he knew he would never be the same again. "Why?" Was all he asked, though the emotions in his voice were so many and so varied that Darakor felt small and petty. He could sense a sadness in him, a loneliness, and a feeling as though a great weight rested upon him.

Darakor opened his mouth to respond when one of his companions stepped beside him from concealment behind the bole of a nearby tree and said, "There is no why! You are our enemy and you will die!"

From the trees two bows twanged with released arrows. A second flight followed before the first had reached their target. The dark elf moved with a speed, skill, and fluidity that left Darakor amazed.

A long sword appeared in each hand almost magically. Thinking back on it, Darakor realized that the dark elf had indeed drawn them from their sheaths, but the speed with which he did it was unnatural. While this happened, he also stepped sideways and avoided the first two arrows, arrows that should have pierced his heart. The second pair of arrows would have missed also, but to prove his point, his swords flicked out and shattered them in mid air.

The elf beside Darakor charged forward, katana raised for a killing stroke. The black skinned elf looked at him, then dropped to one knee and plunged one sword backwards. Darakor's remaining companion's invisibility spell faded as the grip on his dagger relaxed. He fell to the ground, sliding off the impaling blade.

All of this happened so quickly Darakor was stunned. He finally gained some sense and tried to summon some spells to mind, but found he could not. He stood there in shock, certain he was witnessing his doom.

The light elf that had pronounced doom on the trespasser reached him and tried to deliver the killing stroke with his katana, but had it blocked by one of the dark elf's swords, then beaten out of his hand with the other sword. None of the patrol's members had ever seen a finer swordsman then the suddenly disarmed elf they traveled with before that moment. Now Darakor knew he had seen the finest swordsman he would ever see, regardless of how long he lived. His final comrade drew his companion sword but by the time it had cleared the sheath, his head was on its way to the ground.

Darakor suddenly realized that he was the only one left. He fell to his knees. The dark elf walked to him then, twin swords hanging loosely at his sides. He stopped about a yard away from the kneeling light elf, silently appraising his. Darakor finally looked up into his eyes and saw the powerful fire burning within. He knew then that what they had encountered that day was no mere mortal man.

"Before you kill me, there is one thing I must know," Darakor felt himself speaking but was unsure of where the words came from. "Who are you?"

The dark elf tilted his head back and actually laughed at that point. There was sadness and bitterness in it, mixed with some loathing and hatred. He stopped laughing finally and looked at Darakor again, tears in his eyes.

"I asked you why because I want to know why it is that your entire race can be so evil? Why is it that they can turn from us, your dark skinned kin, and hold such hatred when all we ever offered was kindness and love? Why is it you can kill your cousins gleefully? Why did your kin slay my family when I was not even a score of years old? Why did your race stand beside the source of corruption and evil that was Ancaruin and strike down so many of my friends and loved companions?

He stopped a moment to stare into the surrendered young wizard's eyes, penetrating them and giving him a sense of overwhelming age and power. "Why didn't you join your companions and attack me? Your spells may have made the difference. You might have made it possible to overcome me. Why didn't you do that?"

Darakor thought quickly as to what answer he could come up with that might spare his life. Grasping desperately, he opened my mouth but stopped when he was again caught up in his gaze. The words that came out of his mouth then came from somewhere he did not know of. "I knew that there was more. I knew that you were special. I knew that my companions would die, and I knew that I had to learn whatever I could from you. I've never seen anyone as skilled with blades as you are. In my youth I practiced long in the arts of the warrior, but magic turned out to be my calling. Seeing your own art at work twisted my heart and made me wish to renew my interest in it. In the scant 5 minutes I have known you, you have made wish to change everything that is my life around, and I don't know why, I just know that it is true."

The dark elf stared into him, searching for truths and whatever else he do not know. How long they remained there neither truly knew, it might have been hours, it might have been days. At long last he sheathed one sword then held the other one at Darakor's throat.

"Wait," he gasped, prepared to feel the bite of steel.

"Are you a coward at the end, in spite of what you have said?" He asked out of curiosity instead of disgust.

"No, I accept whatever must happen. But first, I beg you to tell me who you are?"

The dark elf smirked and lowered his sword. "I am Kelnozz Risingmoon."

Darakor's jaw did not drop, but it should have. His vision failed him as his mind struggled to come to terms with the person standing in front of him. Finally, he was able to speak. "You are a God!"

He shook his head and chuckled bitterly. "No, I am not. My companions chose to ascend, but I chose to remain."

To say that Darakor's head was swimming would be an understatement of epic proportions. "But, you were one of the heroes that slew Ancaruin!"

"And I seek him still," he said enigmatically. He sheathed his other sword and turned his back on him.

Darakor remained kneeling, watching him walk away. Was this it? Was his life to be spared? He did not understand what was happening. After a moment of hesitation, he leapt to my feet and followed after him. Darakor opened my mouth to say something but Kelnozz beat him to it.

"Why do you wish to come with me? Isn't it enough that I have let you live? I don't have time to nurse a light elf who just realized he's not the Gods' chosen one."

"I want to learn!" Darakor said quickly. "I want you to teach me of the things you have done, the things you have seen! I want to train and practice with weapons and warfare so that I can not be afraid to do what is the right thing. So that I do not need to rely on others and to be afraid that I will be defeated when I try to be just. You have somehow opened up my entire life and laid it bare before my eyes! I have seen the things I have done wrong and I wish to make amends! I ask you to please help me begin the long atonement I have ahead of me."

"Long before you were born, probably your father as well, I was a child who had seen fewer then a score of summers," Kelnozz growled at him, making Darakor shrink back in renewed fear. "I loved my father very much, but he had to go off to war because of your kind. Elves who would be rulers of Viconia. Light elves." Kelnozz spit on the ground in contempt.

"Before he left me, my father apologized as he always did when he was called away. He told me that he would make it up to me someday, somehow. Not that day, but someday, and asked for the patience in me to give him the chance to do so. I always honored that request and waited patiently.

"Then one day a messenger came to our estates. My father was dead, killed by a light elf! Not any light elf, but his closest friend before your people left mine!" Kelnozz glared at him, daring him to speak, to move, to even breathe. His knuckles were white and his eyes burning fiercely with hatred. Finally, seeing no response coming from Darakor, he spun about and stalked away without further comment.

Kelnozz was quiet after that, but he continued to walk. Not knowing what else to do, Darakor fell back a few steps but stayed with him. He continued to walk until he stopped to rest that night, with the light elven straggler sitting at the edge of his camp, watching. Finally, much calmed down and with a wild idea in his mind, Kelnozz spoke again.

"If you truly wish to learn from me, you must first abandon your magic. The allure of the power of magic is one of the greatest things that caused the exodus of those who would become light elves. What I teach has nothing to do with sorcery, it is purely mundane skill and skill alone. I can not make you unlearn what you already know, but know that if you choose to follow me, you must never use your magic," Kelnozz said, still staring at the logs he had gathered for a campfire.

Darakor nodded, wondering how he would be able to do what he asked. He realized that he would have to find a way, and if worse came to worse, he would always have the knowledge in the back of his head. Like Kelnozz had said, Darakor knew that he could not truly forget what he had learned. "I will do that."

"Then start a fire for us, it grows cold."

The light elf looked at the fire and moved closer. He opened his mouth to speak an arcane word out of habit, but stopped himself just in time. Kelnozz had made a good point in asking that simple task. Darakor looked at him sheepishly and said, "Do you have some flint and steel?"

He nodded towards a tinderbox sitting next to him. Darakor moved over to pick it up then looked at the collection of logs. "We're going to need some kindling, those logs are to big to catch."

"What have you got on you?" He asked the former wizard, staring pointedly at his backpack.

Darakor's eyes squinted in thought. All Darakor carried in his backpack was standard traveling fair, a blanket, some rations, some scrolls, and his spell book. Sighing, he took his backpack off and opened it up. He pulled out all of his blank scrolls and made is if to put them under the logs. Kelnozz stared emotionlessly, observing.

Once the scrolls had been placed under the logs, the would-be-warrior examined the job and realized that not enough heat would be generated to ignite the logs. Irritated by how simple this could have been, he turned to Kelnozz. He looked at Darakor a moment, unfazed by the conflicting emotions playing across the young elf's face. Then his gaze shifted. Darakor followed it and felt his throat dry out quickly. They were looking at his spell book.

Darakor did not dare to glance back at him. Instead he closed his eyes and took several deep centering breaths. When he had calmed myself, he knelt down and placed his hand on the book. Faint power thrummed from within it at the touch of its author and owner. Steeling himself, he lifted it and carried it to the barren campfire. Knowing the powers contained within, Darakor merely placed it on top of the pile of wood and stepped back. Every muscle in his body fighting with him for the years of study and research he was about to allow to be destroyed.