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The Lost Stars ChronicleChapter 42: A Part To Play
Sir Dractor cast off his own, slightly charred, cloak, and drew his own greatsword, only slightly shorter in length than BloodVaine/Malder’s. Reno and Aros, ready to recover the Pendants, stood behind him, swords pointed at the gargoyles.
Sir Dractor paid no heed to the Regga brothers, or to anyone other than his adversary. He moved in warily. So did his enemy. They circled each other for a moment, and then the blades began to ring.
It was a battle of titans. Titanic swords, anyway. The clash of steel on steel echoed throughout the chamber. Sir Dractor was glad that he had recovered his full strength, as BloodVaine was obviously an incredibly skilled swordsman, perhaps his equal, and his sword had greater reach.
But Sir Dractor had an advantage, one that BloodVaine seemed to have forgotten. Unlike BloodVaine, Sir Dractor was in his own, battle-hardened, superbly-conditioned, body. BloodVaine was in Malder Peregil’s and thus subject to its limitations. As skilled as BloodVaine was, Peregil’s body lacked muscles used to swinging the great mansemune, and it lacked also the stamina to face Sir Dractor in combat for an extended amount of time. It wasn’t too long before BloodVaine started to notice this. Sir Dractor was pressing his advantage, driving back the sorcerer, forcing him to tire even faster as he had to block quick thrusts and slices from the as-yet untired Sir Dractor.
Meanwhile, the gargoyles were having greater success driving back the Regga brothers. Shainya had leapt to Reno’s defense, and Anardan was at Aros’ side. Voolmark, unable to use magic, stood helplessly beside Luxus and Gib. Bjarn didn’t seem to see what was going on.
Finally, Sir Dractor broke through BloodVaine’s slow parries, and managed to stab him in the arm. He withdrew his sword immediately, defending himself momentarily as BloodVaine retaliated, but soon he was able to regain the upper hand. He wounded Peregil six more times, before the final blow. Peregil, exhausted and dripping blood, was barely able to do as BloodVaine’s spirit commanded. The exhausted body was almost out of control, and was starting to twitch, causing BloodVaine’s strokes to go awry.
As the mansemune swung wildly in the wrong direction, Sir Dractor caught his leg around Peregil’s and pulled. Peregil’s knee gave way, and he crashed to the ground, the mansemune flying out of hand, and barely missing Reno. Peregil lay completely still, exhausted. Sir Dractor stood over his body, greatsword held to his throat.
“Fool,” croaked BloodVaine through Peregil’s throat, “I have still my magic.”
“Then why haven’t you used it yet?” asked Sir Dractor, “You need not have fought me.”
Peregil’s face screwed up, uncertain.
“I must have been relishing having a body to fight in too much,” he admitted, “And you were an admirable opponent, I must admit, but you’re time is over. Hlada shaiver, tormaque ulishue…”
BloodVaine began to chant the words that could weave the Mana, but a deep commanding voice echoed through the chamber.
“That will do you no good, Heir of Inion,” it boomed. And, indeed, nothing came of BloodVaine’s weaving. All heads turned to Bjarn, who stepped forward, clasping Otto’s amulet.
“The Revenge of King Kris is upon you.”
BloodVaine was in Peregal's body no longer. A wisp of smoke seemed to rise from his battered torso, twisting and writhing in the air, then it vanished. The Fellowship stood, alert. Dractor heaved himself off Peregil, who lay gasping where he had fallen, and rejoined the group. The gargoyle prowled about the edges of the room, red eyes glowing.
Anardan suddenly felt a strange feeling in the back of his mind, and a sudden violent pain. Red once again exploded across his field of vision, and his consciousness was suddenly slammed to the side by an immense power that suddenly thrust itself into his soul. He was trapped in his own mind, and BloodVaine was possessing him. Anardan could hear a voice bursting from his mouth, and it was not his own.
The Fellowship stared at Anardan as he stiffened, a blank look suddenly wiping across his face, then it looked as if a fire had kindled behind his eyes. His Forestman blade whipped out, and with a roar unlike any they had heard from the Forestman captain before, he charged at Bjarn. His sword by his side with the pendant in the other hand, Bjarn did not know what to do. Anardan was two paces from him when, suddenly, he stopped. The sword clattered to the floor, and Anardan fell to his knees.
Deep within his own mind, Anardan was fighting. He had vaguely felt BloodVaine drawing his sword, and then the red mist had enveloped him again. Suddenly, as though looking through a thick fog, he saw himself running across the floor, then he saw Bjarn ahead of him. He would not let BloodVaine do this. With a sudden burst of willpower greater then anything he had accomplished before, he thrust back. BloodVaine’s hold on him slipped, and Anardan wrenched back partial control of his consciousness. He could not lose this fight.
Instead of watching the unfolding battle, Bjarn had whipped out the amulet Otto the Black Falcon had given him week ago on the snowy slopes of a Crusader hillside. It had gone suddenly quite heavy in his tunic and was crusting over with ice. He brought it close to his face and his eyes widened as he watched the murky gem set into the round piece of metal clear like a mirror. Revealed in the smoking orb was an ugly, hunched creature, with large, bat-like ears and crackled wings. It was an image of a gargoyle.
A cry caused Bjarn to jerk up. Anardan was pounding toward him, an evil look in his eyes. Just as suddenly, the Forestmen captain flung himself to the ground, where he lay writhing. Bjarn was distracted again as the hideous gargoyle dashed the body of Aros to the ground, stepped over him, and charged Bjarn. Without a thought and with nothing within reach to defend himself, Bjarn desperately flung the amulet at the gargoyle like a discus. The palm-sized trinket sliced through the air and buried itself into the craggy face of the gargoyle. With an ear-drum-rattling screech, the beast toppled to the stone floor, blinded and thrashing in pain. Bjarn wrenched the Twin Pendants from it's clawed grasp and tossed them to Reno.
“Go!” he shouted, gesturing at the brothers and Shainya, “Go! Go on! Get rid of them!”
Bjarn was then knocked flat by a flailing wing, and was to preoccupied with disentangling himself to see Reno and Shainya hoist Aros between them and dash down the passage. The brothers and Shainya were gone. Luxus had dashed after them unnoticed, not wanted to leave his brothers, and quite certain that wherever they were going, it was a fair bit safer than in the chamber with BloodVaine battling in people’s bodies for control.
Voolmark attempted to do something with the Mana, but he could not work it, at all. BloodVaine, struggling with Anardan for control of his body tried as well, but he too had no such luck. Bjarn had grabbed the amulet once again, and was holding it curiously. A deep voice seemed to be coming from him, or rather, from around him.
“The Pendants contained a power magic, do they not?” asked the voice rhetorically, “A concentration of Mana too great to be safely wielded by a being of the Earth. The last followers of King Kris knew this, and created this amulet, a last defense should the pendants ever fall into the hands of you, Lord BloodVaine, or your predecessor, Lord Inion.”
“Who are you?” asked Voolmark.
Everyone, including the struggling BloodVaine-and-Anardan had ceased what they were doing to listen to the voice.
“A memory, I guess you could call me,” said the voice, “An interactive voice message, left by the followers of King Kris in this amulet.”
“What does the amulet do?” asked Voolmark, “If it defends against the Pendants, why does it stop my magic, and BloodVaine’s?”
“It nullifies the Mana. No use of the Mana is possible where a bearer holds the amulet. The Mana still exists, and still functions elsewhere, but here it is impossible to access. When the Pendants are destroyed, the amulet will lose its power, for its purpose will have been served.”
“Enough talking with that,” said Sir Dractor, “What are we to do with this?”
He gestured at the once-again writhing Anardan-and-BloodVaine.
“I have no idea,” said Voolmark, “I know not how to drive a spirit from a body, and without the Mana I can’t hazard a guess, and a spirit like BloodVaine’s is strong, perhaps too strong even for Keavur Stormspear to handle, were he here.”
“You paint a bleak picture,” said Sir Dractor.
Then Sir Dractor happened to see Gib, standing in the corner of the room, looking incredibly lost. He pulled the hermit over.
“You,” he said, “Touch this man.”
Gib cocked his head, and looked at Sir Dractor in a most peculiar manner, but bent down, and placed his hands beneath Anardan’s chin. The body gave a tremor, and Anardan cried aloud, but with a rush of wind, BloodVaine’s spirit came out of Anardan, shrieking.
“Something Keavur once mentioned,” said Sir Dractor, “The touch of a man once possessed is anathema to a demon spirit. I was taking a bit of a gamble in assuming it would work on BloodVaine. He was, after all, a man once upon a time, a long, long time ago.”
“What will happen now?” asked Anardan, still twitching. Sir Dractor helped him off the floor.
“His spirit will return to heaven, hell, or wherever it should be,” said Voolmark, “Only here in the Temple Of Lost Stars could a spirit return from its final resting place in such a manner, and only here could it take a body, and so have a chance to return to the world. BloodVaine will not attempt to possess anyone else, now that we know how to use Gib, and must, therefore, return.”
“Let’s catch up to the others,” said Sir Dractor.
They all turned to look at the passage, but what they saw deterred them. Fiery letters were written on nothingness in front of the passage.
The Pendants have been taken to their doom. The Way in is now closed.
Anardan, Gib, Bjarn, Voolmark, and Sir Dractor sat down on the cold flagstone floor, the flickering flames in the passage behind them casting eerie shadows on their faces as they waited.
“It’s over now.” said Bjarn, an impassive look on his face, “The Pendants will soon be destroyed.”
The five sat, the words resounding in their heads: The Pendants will soon be destroyed. The endless winter would at last subside. Dametreos would be freed.
“Bjarn?”
“Yes, Anardan?”
“The Pendants have been taken to their doom. Once they have been destroyed, the magic holding this place together will crumble.”
There was a long silence before Voolmark replied.
“When the Pendants are destroyed, the amulet that prevents me from using the Mana will lose it’s magic. I can use my power to hold the Temple for...perhaps ten minutes.”
As they spoke, a rumbling seemed to come from the bowels of the earth. Suddenly, the words inscribed in front of the passage changed, burned for several moments, then faded into nothingness.
The Pendants have been destroyed.
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