It was like being dropped into the middle of the ocean, Pearl decided
later, and surrounded by a ferocious thunderstorm.  Overwhelming sensations
assaulted her, physical forces tossed her to and fro, and there was a
tremendous sense of impending disaster, as if something were just waiting for
the right moment to be unleashed.

     The heart of Pandemonium.

     Tumbling helplessly through the primal chaos, time and space
intermingled and completely out of control, it was all Pearl could do to hold
onto the shreds of her sanity.  She stumbled on for what seemed like ages,
struggling to keep both mind and body whole...

     And then it was over.  One moment she was surrounded by madness, and the
next she had stepped into the eye of the storm, a featureless bubble of
merciful stability.  Sudden relief washed through her, and she fell to her
knees, gasping desperately as she tried to recover.

     "You've completely lost it, haven't you?  What a pity."

     With some difficulty, Pearl lifted her head... and saw that the comment
hadn't been directed at her.  In the middle of the bubble stood Siegvin, his
two Ashura Blades unsheathed and glistening with blood.  He stood with his
back to her; either he hadn't noticed her yet, or had decided she wasn't a
factor.

     Beyond him a strangely shaped creature, moaning and weeping, was
clambering to its feet; it stood twelve feet tall and twenty feet long, with a
horse's body, raven-black wings, and a decidedly canine face.

     Kirin hadn't bothered keeping up even a pretense of humanity, here in
Pandemonium.

     Babbling in a dozen languages, blood coursing from open wounds, Kirin
got his legs under him and lunged at the fallen Sleeper, who chuckled lightly
as he stepped aside.  The beast fell to the ground again, and Siegvin stabbed
him almost casually, the black blade sliding easily through the flesh. 
"Pathetic.  I would have thought you Knights would be some sort of challenge,
but you've been nothing more than an annoyance."

     Briefly, Kirin's chaotic speech resolved into something intelligible. 
"Legacy!  Clea's experiment!  Destroy!"

     "Why, yes, I think I *will* destroy the Legacy.  Neither she nor that
fool Darovan understand the full potential of Clea's research; I won't let
them stand in the way of my destiny.  Or perhaps you think she will destroy
me?"  He shook his masked face.  "No mere human can harm me."

     "Care to wager on that?"

     Siegvin turned around to see Zarela, looking rather unsteady, standing
at the edge of the bubble.  The defender sword was held with easy skill in her
hand, and as she glared at him a maddened giggle passed her lips.  "Oh dear,
oh dear.  There you are.  And you have my precious precious Nikolai!"  Another
giggle.  "You're a very naughty little boy, yes you are!  Shouldn't take
things that aren't yours, oh no!"

     Ignoring Kirin for the moment, Siegvin faced Zarela, swords at the
ready.  "Well, well.  This just gets more interesting, doesn't it?  I suppose
I can spare the time to kill you, in payment for breaking my mask."

     She clasped her free hand to her mouth, suppressing another peal of
laughter.  "You think you can kill me!  Oh, my!"  In sudden seriousness, she
looked at her sword.  "What shall we do with him, Gustav?"  She lifted the
blade to her ear as if listening to it, and her mouth became an 'O' of mock
horror.  "We couldn't possibly do *that*, Gustav," she protested, a gleam of
white-hot insanity filling her eyes.  "Who would clean up the mess?"

                   -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 
                   FINAL FANTASY LEGACY
                   Knights of the Round

     Begun (and herein continued) by Brian Stricklin 

             Chapter 45: Runes and Renewals
                   -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

     Again, Davin was struck by the essential pragmatism of the dwarves.  No
sooner had the Manakyr left than the hammering began, and the reconstruction
of Dwarvenhome was quickly well under way.  Huge stone supports were being
built in the middle of the city, the granite blocks being levered into
position as fast as they could be carved from the mines, and the rubble had
already been cleared out of the way by the next morning.

     Yet this wasn't to say that the dwarves hadn't felt any lasting effect
from Darovan's attack.  When Davin had first arrived, the city had been filled
with quiet bustle, as dwarves went about their work with speed and diligence. 
Now, however, the atmosphere was more subdued, and with everyday commerce
abandoned in favor of construction or mourning of the dead, the streets felt
oddly empty.

     As the first rays of daylight filtered through the gaping hole,
illuminating stones and tunnels that had never before known sunshine, Davin
found himself seated in a geological park, halfway up the cavern wall.  Filled
with multicolored stalagmites and natural crystals, the park also afforded an
unmatched view of Dwarvenhome, sprawled out in the bowl of its massive cave. 
He stared at the city for a long time without really seeing it, his mind
having all but shut down in exhaustion.

     He hadn't been able to sleep.   After making sure Marcine and Mika were
resting, he'd wandered the streets as though in a dream, paying no attention
to where he was going.

     It was over.

     He'd said it, hadn't he?  Back in Tienne.  'There's no prize for second
best.'  And somehow Darovan had won, and now, after chasing from one place to
another for weeks on end, it was suddenly over.  He felt like a puppet with
its strings cut - there was nothing more for him to do.

     He'd lost.  And because Davin had lost, the world was going to pay the
price.

     Consumed with guilt and frustration, he sat motionless on the small
bench, gazing dully down at Dwarvenhome, until a faint scent of bitter smoke
finally broke the spell.  He blinked and looked around uncertainly.

     "Laliho, young one."  Davin turned around to see the old dwarf Drond
sitting on a bench behind him, a pipe in his hand.  "I heard ye were comin' up
here, but when I seen ye I said to meself, 'That's a lad that needs ta think
about some things.'  So don't mind me."

     "No, it's all right."  Davin's gaze returned to the city, though his
almost trance-like reverie had been disrupted.

     Drond took another puff from his pipe.  "Yer machine got caught in that
first blast," he said conversationally.  "Took quite a beatin', it did, but I
put some o' th' lads on it; it'll be better'n new in no time."

     "The spider-walker?"  Davin shook his head.  "Why bother?  It's not like
we have anyplace to go."

     "Aye?  Sure o' that, now, are ye?"

     "*Yes*, I'm sure," he said with a scowl, feeling annoyed despite
himself.  "Darovan won, remember?  There's no place that'll be safe from him."

     "Aye, I remember," Drond replied without a glance at Dwarvenhome.  "But
dwarves be a practical people, and we know when ta quit.  Ye humans be more
optimistic, though, so I thought ye would be fired up ta go after th'
blackguard.  O'course, if ye be too a'feared..."

     Davin turned back around and glared at the dwarf coldly.  "I know what
you're trying to do," he snapped, "and I'm not going to rise to it.  I don't
care if you think I'm afraid.  We couldn't stop Darovan yesterday, and now
he's got the power of that... whatever it is, something that needed the power
of the Three Gods to contain.  It's *over*, don't you understand that?  We've
*lost*."

     The old dwarf was silent for a moment, then gazed up at Davin calmly. 
"I admit I be no authority on such matters," he began, "but I seem ta remember
hearin' that Darovan couldn't truly succeed without the aid of his Legacy."

     "Yes!  Marcine!  She was there!"

     "Aye?  So she helped Darovan, did she?"

     "Of course not!"

     "Then she broke th' Crystal herself?"

     "No, she-"

     "She summoned Ifrit?"

     "No!"

     "Then what, exactly, did she do?"

     "She-!"

     And Davin abruptly stopped, his stare locked with the impassive gaze of
the dwarf.

     Come to think of it... Marcine *hadn't* done anything to further
Darovan's goals, had she?  Not that she would have of her own volition, of
course, but she hadn't even done anything indirectly that he could see.  In
fact, her only connection to the breaking of the Crystal was that she happened
to be nearby at the time.  True, that might have been all that the prophecy
required, but it seemed a tenuous link at best. 

     And the Crystal of Wisdom... Marcine hadn't even been near that one when
it shattered.  And even when all three Crystals had been broken, Darovan had
still been intent on taking her with him.

     But why?  What did it all mean?

     "Ye still have a lot ta think about, I see," Drond noted, standing up
with a clatter of chainmail.  "When ye get a chance, though, Tharlo would like
ta speak with ye, an ye don't mind."

     "What?  Oh... uh, sure.  Where is he?"

                           -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     "No, no, NO!"  The crumpled wad of paper bounced twice before rolling to
a halt.  "Useless!  Worthless!  It can't work!"

     As Bolgan Valecrest slumped forward at his desk, head dropping into his
hands, the young man sitting opposite looked up in concern.  "Still can't get
the power ratios to balance?"

     "No, I can't.  It's the same wall I kept hitting back in Tienne."

     His assistant, considered by many to be the brightest young steam
engineer in the Church's lands, frowned in thought.  "Maybe we could add a
third transplacement stabilizer," he suggested rather doubtfully.  "That
should at least keep the system from overloading."

     Bolgan snorted.  "And where would we get the power to run it, lad? 
Power!  That's the whole problem - we just can't get what we need from the
steam engines."

     "They work for GOLeMs."

     "GOLeMs don't have to fight gravity for hours, even days on end."  He
sighed.  "It's no good.  We just don't have a power source strong enough for
the required lift."

     "Well... maybe if we could find another crystal like-"

     "Don't even mention that," Bolgan interrupted sharply.  "I was a fool to
have tried it in the first place.  No more magic, lad.  That's final."

     The assistant nodded.  "Whatever you say, sir."

     Bolgan sighed and gazed out the window of their small office, and the
Excelsior gazed back at him.

     Most of the external damage to the giant airship had been repaired, a
difficult task given that the Excelsior was sprawled inelegantly on the
ground.  Nevertheless, the engineers had persevered, and now the only thing
lacking was a way to get the damn thing back in the air again.  A rough
palisade had been constructed around the airship - it wasn't much protection,
but it and the Guardsmen assigned to keep watch were enough to repel any
curious gawkers from La Verde.

     Or, at least, almost enough.  There was an unfamiliar man out there, all
but dancing around the Excelsior in unbridled excitement.  And the nearby
Guardsmen weren't lifting a finger to stop him!  Outraged, Bolgan shot to his
feet and rushed out the door.

     As he approached the young man, who was barely out of his twenties,
Bolgan noticed two other figures nearby.  One was a Guardsman with a
particularly surly expression, while the other was a greying middle-aged
woman; she and the enthusiastic man looked a bit similar.  They both wore
unusual, almost uniform-like outfits of dark red cloth, consisting of shirt,
pants, and a cape.  The man was also wearing a feathered red hat, though his
companion seemed to have foregone that particular accessory.  Both uniforms
bore the tri-fan in plain evidence on their sleeves.

     The man was chattering away as Bolgan drew closer.  "This be astounding! 
I've never seen such a marvel!"  He jogged over to one of the Excelsior's
viewports and peered inside.  "Such fine construction!  How did they manage
it, do you think?"

     His companion made a face.  "Would you stop that?" she growled.  "You're
embarrassing me."

     He grinned at her.  "I'm sorry, I know this be all commonplace to you,
but this be the first time I've ever seen such a thing.  I cannot help
myself."

     "Try harder," she replied coldly.

     Another grin.  "You certainly don't get your sense of humor from my side
of the family," he noted.

     Bolgan, having had enough, approached them with a scowl.  "What is the
meaning of this?"

     The Guard looked him over.  "Are you Bolgan Valecrest?"

     "I am."

     Before the Guard could reply, the young man rushed forward and seized
Bolgan's hand, shaking it vigorously.  "Mister Valecrest!  It be so good to
meet you!  I must say I be very impressed with your work.  I saw that spider-
mechanism in Tienne and found myself amazed, but this!"  He gestured toward
the Excelsior with his free hand.  "Words fail me, they truly do!"

     They failed Bolgan, as well.  "Er..."

     "Don't mind him," the woman commented drolly.  "I think his long sleep
unbalanced him somewhat."

     The man released Bolgan and raised a cautionary finger.  "You should
respect your elders," he chided gently.  "Anyway, I found the experience to be
quite restful, not at all as bad as I'd expected."

     "Speak for yourself," she replied with a shudder.  "I hated it."

     "Isn't that odd?  And I was sealed much longer than you were.  Mayhaps
the mind becomes inured the longer it remains locked away.  Or perhaps I *am*
unbalanced.  That be certainly a possibility."

     Bolgan finally found his voice.  "Who *are* you?"

     The man slapped his forehead.  "Where are my manners?  I be Edrin
Greenhill, formerly of Azarin village."

     "I'm... afraid I'm not familiar with that place."

     A brief moment of pain passed through Edrin's cheerful demeanor. 
"Nay... you wouldn't be."

     The woman simply nodded to Bolgan.  "I am Kalya Greenhill.  Though my...
companion does tend to get overexcited, I've heard much about your work in the
past few days; it sounds quite impressive."

     "Well, thank you," he replied, never one for false modesty, or even
truthful modesty for that matter.  "Some of my advances have been quite
revolutionary, if I do say so myself.  But tell me; what brings you here?  And
these uniforms... they're not standard for any of the Church's military, I
know that."

     "The Church sent us to help you with this project," she explained as
Edrin resumed his examination of the Excelsior.

     Bolgan shook his head.  "I appreciate the offer, but it's hopeless. 
With our current technology, this ship will never get off the ground."

     "Ah.  Well, Edrin and I do have certain... talents, which you may find
useful.  That, in fact, is where the uniforms come in.  You see... well..." 
Kalya paused, seeking the smoothest and most tactful way to deliver her
unwelcome news...

     "Kalya!  Over here!"  Edrin gestulated frantically.  "Have you ever seen
anything like this?  I must get a closer look!"  He raised his hands
dramatically...

     Her eyes went wide.  "Edrin, NO!"

     "Spirits of the four winds, bear me aloft on wings of air!  Difloat!"  A
small hurricane suddenly erupted around Edrin, tugging at his hat and cape. 
When it subsided a few seconds later, nothing had changed... except that the
young man was now standing in midair, about two feet above the ground. 
Completely oblivious to the shocked stares from the surrounding Guardsmen,
Edrin grabbed a nearby cannon port and pulled himself upward, the momentum
lifting him yet higher in careless disregard for gravity.

     Angry mutters began to rise among the Guards, and several weapons were
drawn.  Rumor had reached them that the Church was now employing heretics; it
had seemed too far-fetched to be believed, but now...

     Kalya covered her eyes with her hand.  "If I had known what an idiot you
were," she growled quietly, "I never would have read your damn journal."

     It seemed that the rumors hadn't gotten quite far enough; the color had
drained from Bolgan's face, and he pointed a shaking finger at the floating
man.  "M-magic!" he gasped.  "What is the MEANING of bringing *heretics* this
close to the Excelsior?!"  He turned to the Guard that had accompanied them,
who seemed completely unabashed by his outrage.

     "I don't like it any more than you do, sir," he replied gruffly, "but
orders are orders."  The Guard handed Bolgan a sealed packet, the insignia of
the Church emblazoned upon it.  "High Mother Cecilina herself personally
selected them to help you."

     "What?!  But..."  He quickly opened the packet and looked through the
papers within; everything seemed to be in order, but he was damned if he'd
accept it so easily.  "This... this is ludicrous!  I refuse to allow them
anywhere near me!"

     The Guard shrugged.  "That's up to you, sir.  But the Holy Mother was
very firm.  She said that either you accept their help... or she'll find
someone who will."

     Bolgan stared at him.

     "At any rate, it's out of my hands," the Guard announced.  "I have to go
to the Mystic Academy now and round up as many combat-capable students and
teachers as they have."

     This seemed to reach Bolgan.  "But... the Church has never made such a
demand of the Academy," he mused.  "It's unheard of.  Is... is the situation
really that serious?"

     The Guard nodded.  "I don't know all the details, sir, but... I think it
is.  If you'll excuse me..."

     After the Guard had left, Kalya raised a hand to lay it on Bolgan's
shoulder, then thought better of it.  "If it helps," she began, "I understand
how you feel.  But please believe me when I say that Edrin and I want nothing
more than to protect the Church.  We don't know any harmful or healing spells,
but Edrin's obsession with flight led him to research levitation magic... and
I, like a fool, followed in his footsteps.  We may be able to get the
Excelsior aloft... but I think we'll need your help.  We want to help *you*,
if you'll let us."

     Bolgan stared at her, then turned his attention to the hulking,
motionless form of the Excelsior.

     *Armand, old friend... what should I do?*

                       -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     Pearl's trip through Pandemonium had almost destroyed her.  Had she
stayed within it even a minute longer, her sanity itself would have been in
jeopardy, and only a thin shell of willpower had stood between her and
madness.

     Zarela, who was only a few short steps away from insanity at the best of
times, never stood a chance.

     Laughing one minute, raging the next, she never let up in her frenzied
assault.  Her blade danced through the air in a graceful yet incredibly
complicated pattern, the surrounding glow of chaoslight casting strange
reflections off its surface.  Zarela's skill had not been affected in the
slightest by her current state of mind.

     Yet for all that, she never managed to even come close to Siegvin.  The
fallen Sleeper had underestimated her once, and had no intention of doing so
again.  No matter how skillfully she wielded her blade, Siegvin was always a
step ahead of her, deflecting a swing here, sidestepping a thrust there.

     Watching from the periphery, however, Pearl realized that the fight was
surprisingly equal.  She was no trained swordfighter, but it seemed to her
that Siegvin's defensive stance was preventing him from launching an attack of
his own.  Unless one or the other changed their tactics, it would come down to
a matter of pure stamina... though there was no telling how long Zarela's
madness would hold her to such a single-minded offensive.

     She made her way around to Kirin, who lay in a pool of his blood.  Her
hand fell to her component bag, searching its contents quickly.  Finally she
produced a small cloth pouch and opened it, letting the pure white sand within
sprinkle down onto the monstrous Knight.  "With my will," she intoned, "I call
forth the healing wind from the sea - flow through my allies and restore
energy!  White Wind!"

     For a moment, there was a hint of sea salt in the air... but it vanished
just as quickly.  Pearl blinked in surprise.  "What...?"

     "Won't... work," a labored voice explained, and she looked down at
Kirin.  "Pandemonium... seals off... the Mystic Arts."

     "But there must be *something* I can do!" she protested.

     He chuckled painfully.  "There is."

     "What?"

     "Wait."

     She stared down at him, then turned her attention to the pitched
battle...

     ...which seemed to be coming to a close.  "Enough!"  Siegvin leapt
backwards, putting some space between him and Zarela.  "This game ends now."

     Giggling, Zarela advanced on him, the Defender held with both hands. 
"You want it, want it to END?  Give Nikolai to me, and I will end it!"  Her
face twisted into a grotesque mask of rage.  "You MUST!"

     Siegvin glanced down at the dark blade in his hand, then lifted it;
Zarela's gaze followed it hungrily.  "This is what you want?  You're welcome
to it."  He tossed it high in the air, and with a happy cry Zarela stumbled
forward to catch it.

     Despite any personal feelings she might have had about Zarela, Pearl
couldn't help herself.  "Look out!"  The swordswoman turned to look at her,
slightly puzzled...

     The red Blade of Ashura slid into her chest, protruding from the far
side in a burst of crimson.  As 'Nikolai' clattered to the ground, Zarela
peered down at the sword embedded in her flesh, an annoyed scowl appearing
briefly on her face.  She opened her mouth to speak, then slumped backwards,
the blade slipping out as easily as it had entered.  Zarela fell to the floor,
still clutching the Defender in her left hand.

     "After all," Siegvin continued, picking up his fallen sword, "I have a
spare."

     He then turned his attention to Pearl.

                       -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     Drond's directions led a rather uncertain and thoughtful Davin through
the city's large metalsmithing district.  Here, at least, there was activity,
as craftsmen forged parts and supports to rebuild the city.  Dwarves intent on
delivering finish product or retrieving fresh supplies of ore swarmed around
him, leaving him feeling like a lighthouse in the middle of a river.

     His destination seemed to be another forge, though this one seemed
strangely quiet compared to the others.  True, there was a sound of hammering
from within, but it lacked the activity of the buildings around it.  Feeling a
bit conspicuous, he knocked on the door which, being made of bronze, rang like
a large but well-tuned gong.

     "Come in."  The voice, while gruff, was a bit higher in pitch than he'd
gotten used to.  With a shrug, Davin opened the door and entered; the ceiling
was low enough to make him stoop, but it wasn't too uncomfortable.

     As he looked around, the third thing he noticed was the lack of a
rune-heated forge, which had been present in the other smithies along the row. 
The second thing he noticed was the smith, whose pink-tinted armor declared
her gender.  He hadn't had much to do with female dwarves yet, and wasn't too
sure how to act toward women with beards.

     The first thing he noticed, however, was Tharlo.

     "Laliho, Davin," the Dwarven King rumbled cheerfully.  "I see Drond
found ye aright."

     There are times when the stress and shock become so great that the mind
just shuts down.  "Ng."

     "I hope ye don't mind my askin' ye here, but I thought ye might want ta
discuss a few things."

     "Glk."

     Tharlo frowned at him in concern.  "Be there somethin' th' matter?"

     With an effort of will, Davin stopped his mouth from opening and closing
of its own volition and took a deep breath.  He could handle this.  He'd seen
worse.  "No.  No, it's fine.  I was just a bit startled at seeing your...
injury."

     "Ach!  'Tis a beauty, isn't it?"  The dwarf looked down at his left
arm... which, at the moment, ended in a stump.  The hand had been removed at
the wrist, clean white wrappings around the wound gradually being tinted red. 
Adding to the surreal sight, an irregular flat stone had been somehow affixed
to the wound, protruding from the bandages, and though the angle wasn't
favorable Davin could just make out a rune etched on its surface, glowing blue
with power.

     "Darovan's spell left me arm a ruin," Tharlo continued.  "Our healers
did what they could, but the hand had ta be taken off.  Yet wounds like this
be not unknown to us; even dwarven mines suffer from cave-ins, and apprentice
smiths do have accidents.  We know what to do about them."

     Davin nodded weakly - the fact that he was on his feet and even cheerful
about it said volumes for dwarven constitution and stoicism.  "But doesn't
it... hurt?"

     Tharlo chuckled.  "Would you hark at the boy!  Don't be silly, lad."

     "Well..."

     "Havin' me hand cleaved off and a runestone set in its place? 
O'*course* it blazin' hurts!  But 'twill pass.  Such things always do. 
Besides, yer young friend fixed me up a foul concoction this morning that
seems ta be doin' wonders."

     "Oh."

     "Now, sit down, lad, and we'll talk."  Davin sat.  "Have ye thought
about what ye'll be doin' now?"

     "A bit," he admitted.  "I've been thinking about Darovan, and what his
plans are... and I've realized that I don't really know enough to make any
decisions yet."

     Tharlo nodded.  "Aye, 'tis a sensible answer."

     Davin spoke slowly, verbally working along his train of thought.  "I
know he wants Marcine for some reason... I thought he needed her to unseal the
Three Gods' captive, but that's obviously not the case.  At the same time,
Siegvin - who used to be the Sleeper called Odin - wants her dead, so he and
Darovan are working at cross-purposes.  Siegvin seems to want the Mask of
Slydgirag for some reason, and I think he needs the Heartstones before he can
get it.  But I'm not sure how Marcine's death would help him, or what Darovan
needs her for now that all three Crystals are shattered."

     "Ah."  Tharlo took a sip of fungus tea, staring into the middle distance
thoughtfully as the other dwarf continued to hammer in the background.  "Ye've
given it some good thought, I see.  Perhaps I can fill in some details."  He
took another drink of tea.  "Do ye ken Clea Manakyr's research?"

     Davin nodded.  "Gilgamesh explained a bit of it before he died...
something about combining the Heartstones, the Mask, and human souls into a
new container for the Gods' captive, so that the Gods themselves could go
free."

     "Aye.  That be the key to the matter, I think.  I dinnae know exactly
what kind of creature the Three Gods held prisoner, but Clea believed it was
an ancient demon, like Ashura or Diablos.  She visited Diablos while he
slumbered one time, in fact, to test her theories."  The dwarf paused in
reminiscence.  "A great one for getting things just so, was Clea.  Didn't like
ta leave things ta chance."  He glanced at Davin.  "Ye'll do well ta remember
that."

     "Uh... okay.  So, the entity was a kind of demon?"

     "So she thought, aye, and I've nae seen any reason to doubt it.  They're
akin to th' Sleepers themselves, th' demons.  Mayhaps the same race, diverged
through the aeons.  Only th' Sleepers know for sure, and they be not talkin'.

     "At any rate, Clea determined that she needed all four parts for her
spell ta work.  At th' core of it is th' entity, too powerful for any normal
force ta hold.  Th' Heartstones were to provide walls o' elemental magic,
sealin' the entity away from th' whole of reality.  Such a delicate balance
would be difficult ta maintain, so she needed human souls ta act as wardens,
keepin' up th' barriers on all sides."

     "And the Mask?"

     "Well, the Mask be a most potent artifact, possessin' enough magic ta
rival the greatest of Sleepers.  And that be what Clea needed - power ta give
strength to th' prison, else th' entity could easily escape."

     Davin frowned in thought.  "And apparently Marcine is the only one who
can cast the spell at this point.  All right... but how do Siegvin and Darovan
figure in to all that?"

     Tharlo shrugged.  "I ken not.  But 'tis possible that the spell will go
awry if certain parts are missin'.  Darovan has th' entity and he wants
Marcine, so he may wish ta implement his own perversion of Clea's intent.  And
Siegvin seeks the Mask and Heartstones, but cares not for the souls and wishes
Marcine dead.  I dinnae ken what his true goal be... but I dinnae think we'll
like it if he succeeds."

     "I think you're right."

     "Ach, settle down, ye beasties!"

     They turned to look at the smith, who was hammering her work a bit
harder than necessary.  "Somethin' th' matter, Helga?"

     She didn't even look up.  "Th' spirits be fractious this mornin', yer
kingship.  Th' attack must've left them rattled."

     "Ah."  He glanced at Davin.  "Ye be an elementalist, aye?  Could ye
perhaps lend a hand?"

     "Uh... sure, but I'm not much good at smithing..."  He stood up, nearly
cracking his head on the ceiling, and approached the anvil Helga was working
at.  A brick of metal sat gleaming upon it, its surface dark with occasional
points of brightness glimmering within.  "Hey... that's starsilver, isn't it?"

     "Aye, well spotted," Helga replied.  "Normally I'd use steel or mythril
for this, but 'tis a special occasion."

     "But I've never worked with starsilver.  It takes years of practice to
get the spirits to obey."

     Tharlo shrugged gnomically.  "It cannae hurt to try."
     
     "All right, but I can't promise anything."  He placed his hand on the
metal and concentrated; the coloration flowed up his arm, giving it a sheen
visible even under his clothes.

     He felt them, the spirits dwelling within the starsilver.  They felt a
bit alien to him - which, if starsilver had indeed come from the sky, wasn't
too surprising.  They yammered at him in their private language, seeking to
drive him away, but they seemed more frightened than angry.  He concentrated
again, trying to calm them with his thoughts...

     Someone jostled his other arm.  "That be fine.  Ye can stop now."

     "Whuh?"  He blinked, momentarily disoriented.  "But I've only just
started."

     "Aye," Helga agreed, "and a finer soothin' I've never seen.  I kin take
it from here."

     "Really?"  He looked down at the metal, and at the glint already fading
from his skin.  "Huh.  That was a lot easier than I would've expected."

     "Aye, some things are like that," Tharlo agreed, and Davin completely
failed to notice the look that passed between the two dwarves.  "Now, ye'll be
needin' some protection in yer journeys ahead; let's see about fittin' yet
with some good honest dwarven craftsmanship."

                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     As the Lucky Star II approached the 'island of desert', Kyle and Jil
stood watching it at the prow.  Finally the young Dragoon broke the silence. 
"Well, that's gotta be it, all right."

     "Aye," Jil agreed.  "There be magic at work here, no question o' that."

     The island was fairly large, but even from its coast they could make out
the castle in the center.  It gleamed with a glassy transparence, and despite
the broiling sun overhead it put them in mind of a winter landscape.

     "A castle of ice," he mused, "in the middle of a desert."

     "No stranger than an underwater tower," she pointed out, then turned and
shouted to the helmsman.  "Take us 'round toward that copse o' trees!  We'll
take a longboat out and land there."  He nodded and turned the wheel.

     "Well, Shale's tower was pretty well hidden," Kyle responded, a bit
annoyed.  "But something like this... you'd think someone else might have
discovered it by now."

     Someone had, as it turned out, but they hadn't been in any position to
report their discovery.

     The lookout spotted it first, but it became plainly obvious as the Lucky
Star rounded the coast.  There was another ship in the bay - a large one, with
three masts - but a large hole had been punched in its hull, and now it lay on
the sandy bottom,  home to innumerable ocean life.  Only its tallest mast
extruded from the water, serving as a perch for a pair of seagulls.

     Jil stared at the shipwreck for a while, frowning thoughtfully.  "That
be an old Church frigate," she declared at last,  "maybe seventy years old.  I
ain't never seen one, outside of paintin's."

     "What's it doing so far from Tienne?" Kyle wondered.

     "It might o' been on an exploration mission.  Th' Church was in an
expansion state o' mind back then - this ship was probably sent out ta find
new lands ta colonize."

     He looked at the island dourly.  "I'm suddenly getting a bad feeling
about this.  It doesn't look like the Knight of Ice likes company."

     "Aye."

     There was a pause, then Kyle let out a breath.  "But we don't have much
choice... okay, tell your men to take the Lucky Star out away from the island
after we get to shore.  I don't know what holed that frigate, but if the same
happens to the Star, we're done for."

     Jil nodded with a smile.  "Good thinkin'.  I'll have 'em come pick us up
tomorrow mornin'."

     A thought occurred to him.  "Do you have..." he gestured vaguely, "oh,
any kind of fire bombs you could throw, or something?"

     She blinked.  "I suppose I could make up somethin' - we've got some
flasks o' oil ta spare.  Why?"

     "Well, call it a hunch, but if we happen to fight the Knight, I think
they might be useful.  Fire should work well against ice, shouldn't it?"

     "Aye, I see what ye mean.  But what about ye?"

     He frowned uncertainly.  "The scrolls Marcine gave me *did* include a
basic fire spell," he admitted.  "I'd rather not use it, but I will if I have
to."

     Jil grinned.  "Still squeamish, eh?  Well, 'tis no matter.  I'll get ta
work on makin' those bombs right away.  And as fer Shizuka-"

     "This one has already anticipated the coming battle," a familiar voice
interjected calmly.  They turned to see the young ninja standing nearby, her
head bowed respectfully.  Griever was with her, the plush monster tucked into
the sash at her waist.

     Kyle hesitated.  "Are you sure you should bring that... thing with you?"

     "This one has sworn to protect Griever," Shizuka replied in a polite yet
firm manner.  "She will not let him out of her sight."

     "'Him'.  Right."  He glanced at Jil, who shrugged.  "Okay, then.  Let's
get ready - there's no telling what we'll run into over there."

                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     Pearl, having no illusions about her ability to defeat Siegvin, backed
up until she was at the very edge of the reality bubble.  The Sleeper
approached her with an easy stride, his expression hidden by the cold,
uncaring mask.  "Now," he said, "what have we here?  You're Cid's little
friend, aren't you?"

     Her heart in her throat, Pearl was unable to reply.

     "I should have killed that old fool years ago," he mentioned
conversationally.  "But now that he's dead, I think it's only fair that I send
you to meet him, hmm?"

     Cid... dead?  It couldn't be...

     Siegvin seemed to concentrate for a moment.  "Now, I don't think you
actually need Kirin's little gem, do you?"  He stopped, then looked around. 
"But... there's another..."

     A long moment passed, during which Pearl gave serious thought to fleeing
into Pandemonium...

     Suddenly a nearby wall of the bubble bulged inward, and a slight form
wearing silver armor stumbled into view.  Bits of semi-solid chaos still clung
to her, and she scraped them off with a grimace.  "I *hate* Pandemonium," the
little girl proclaimed to nobody in particular.

     She looked around for a moment, her gaze passing over Siegvin and
Zarela's bloody form without a flicker, then she spotted Kirin.  "There you
are!"  She trotted over to him.  "Boy, you're a mess.  You've really done it
this time, haven't you?"

     "L... Lumina..."  The massive form shuddered in agony.  "I'm... dying."

     She nodded, suddenly serious.  "Yes.  Just like you always said you
would.  I'm sorry."

     "Too long... in my tower.  Past and future... mixed up.  Wasn't
ready..."

     "Shhh.  Save your strength."  Lumina patted the beast's hide
comfortingly, then stood and turned toward Siegvin.  Her glare could have
frozen oceans.

     The Fallen One was unimpressed.  "You've saved me the trouble of hunting
you down, Moon Knight," he noted.  "How accommodating."

     "Funny," she replied, drawing her sapphire-blue sword from its scabbard,
"I was about to say the same thing.  Recognize this?"

     For a brief moment Siegvin hesitated, then he lifted his own swords to
the ready.  "A sword is only as good as its wielder, little girl.  You're no
match for me."

     A malicious grin spread across Lumina's childlike face.  "Let's find
out."

     Without another word, the two lunged at each other, their blades
flashing in the chaoslight...

                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     One of the smaller caverns surrounding Dwarvenhome had been allocated to
repair the spider-walker.  A half-dozen dwarves worked on the device with
impressive speed, beating damaged parts back into shape where possible, and
replacing them with newly-forged replacements when necessary.  Where the steam
technology went beyond the dwarves' ability to replicate it, they improvised
with their own magical runes, which often led to a more compact and efficient
system.

     Considering the machine to be her personal property - and also unable to
keep her nose out of other people's business - a certain red-haired alchemist
had been in the cavern all morning, watching with fascination as the dwarves
worked.  At the moment, however, she wasn't watching; she was getting a
lesson.

     "Let's see... over... and around... straight through... and another one
right there."  Holding a hammer and chisel, Mika made a small adjustment to
the metal disc she was working on, then removed it from its holder.  "How's
that?"

     The nearby dwarf turned from overseeing the repairs on the spider-walker
and examined her handiwork.  "'Tis very well done," he replied, sounding
surprised.  "Ye have a knack for it, Mika.  It usually takes years fer a dwarf
ta carve his first rune."

     "Oh, this was easy," she asserted.  "Runes aren't that different from
the Manakyr symbols, and Marcine's been showing me a few of those."  She took
the disc back and began to add it to a complicated-looking device on the table
before her.

     "Mayhaps, but such steadiness of hand and eye..."

     Mika snorted.  "When you mix potions as often as I do, you learn to be
careful.  Mess up with those things, and you might get splattered across the
wall or something."

     The dwarf merely nodded.  "Aye, 'tis logical."

     "There!"  With a click, Mika closed the strange device and held it up
admiringly.  "This oughta give the Manakyr something to cry about."

     "Meep!  MeepMEEP!"

     "Huh?"  She peered under the table.  "What the heck... oh, *cool*!  It's
an imp!"

     As she picked up the small green creature and set it before her, the
dwarf peered at it curiously.  "Aye, so 'tis.  I heard it came in with your
friend, Piette.  It was quite the warrior during the battle, so it was."

     "Heh!  A little scrapper, huh?  Just like me!"  She tilted her head.  "I
wonder if Big Brother'll let me keep it?"

     The imp seemed greatly offended.  "MEEPmeepmeepmeepmeep!"

     "What's the matter, boy?  You hungry?"  Ignoring its glare, Mika began
to look through her pockets.  "Let's see... I think I saved some from
breakfast...  Here we go!"  She produced a small red fruit and placed it on
the table.  "It's an undermountain cherry.  Don't ask me how they grow 'em
down here."

     The imp looked down its nose at her, a difficult feat for a creature six
inches tall.  Still, it *had* been a long time since its last meal... with a
shrug, the imp reached for the proffered meal.

     "Oh, wait a sec!"  Mika snatched the cherry away, and the imp fell on
its face.  "*I* know what you really want!"  Producing her alchemy kit, she
removed a small book from inside the lid; she thumbed through it briefly,
nodded to herself, then began to mix a concoction.

     The dwarf was perplexed.  "What be ye doin'?"

     "Well," she explained, "one of the first things I learned how to make
was something called a 'green cherry'.  It's supposed to be an imp's favorite
food."

     "I see."  The dwarf scratched his beard as Mika skillfully mixed the
contents of two beakers.  "That seems like a strange thing ta teach, though. 
Imps be rather rare."

     Mika shrugged, holding a flask critically up to the light.  "The book
says that a green cherry can also be used to cure a human that's been changed
into an imp."  Cautiously, she allowed a single drop of fluid fall onto the
cherry, which gradually turned bright green.  With a smile, she held it out to
the imp, who seemed extremely attentive at this point.  "Eat up, boy!"

     "People turned into imps, eh?"

     "Yeah," she replied, smiling fondly as the imp took a big bite out of
the cherry, "but I've *never* heard of anyone actually being WHAT THE HECK IS
GOING ON-"

     "Lullaby!"  Before Mika could reach for a potion, an orange haze had
surrounded her and the dwarves, sending them into a deep sleep.

     The former imp leapt down to the floor.  "Stine hath traveled many
miles," he declared to the slumbering forms, "but now he hath finally tracked
down his prey!  Avaunt, Marcine Cavanaugh, for it is now time for Stine to
layeth the smiteth down on some heretical sugar-coated posterior!"  He charged
from the cavern, anxious to complete his mission at last.

                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     The island was large and rocky, and Kyle, Jil and Shizuka found
themselves traversing a narrow canyon rather than brave the windswept desert
around them.  The sand crunching beneath their feet was the only sound, and
the blazing sun beating down on them added to the oppressive atmosphere.

     Finally, the silence was broken by a rather hesitant voice:

     "This one politely inquires whether we have arrived yet?"

     Kyle and Jil stopped, exchanged glances, and turned to face Shizuka. 
"Uh... no," the Dragoon replied finally.

     "Ah."

     When there seemed to be nothing more forthcoming, the journey resumed,
and a few minutes passed uneventfully.

     "This one politely inquires whether we have arrived yet?"

     Jil looked at her curiously.  "Be ye feeling all right, Shizuka? 
Obviously we ain't there yet, and won't be for hours."

     The young ninja looked a bit surprised.  "This one thought it was
customary in the Church lands to ask such questions on long journeys, to help
pass the time.  She admits Mistress Mika is much better at it than she, but
she thought it was her responsibility to do so in Mistress Mika's absence."

     Trying to suppress a grin, Kyle shook his head.  "That's not so much a
custom as one of Mika's personal habits.  You don't need to worry about it."

     "This one understands."

     "Why, I didn't know ye've been around Mika long enough ta notice that,
Kyle."

     He nodded.  "Way back when this mess first started, I ran into Mika
outside Tienne.  Since I'd lost track of Davin, I decided to bring her in for
questioning."

     Jil raised an eyebrow.  "That musta been quite the scene - the big brave
Dragoon arresting the helpless little girl."  Shizuka hid a smile.

     Kyle snorted.  "Mika's hardly 'helpless'.  And it wasn't much of an
arrest, either - she made me carry her back to Tienne."

     He realized as he said it that it was a mistake, but it was too late -
with a mental image of Kyle, dressed in full Dragoon regalia, giving Mika a
piggyback ride, Jil collapsed into uncontrollable giggles.

     "It's not that funny," he noted, a bit sulkily.

     If anything, this only encouraged Jil, and her laughter echoed through
the canyon.  Even Shizuka looked amused, and seemed on the verge of breaking
into an unseemly but completely natural chuckle...

     ...when she suddenly pitched forward onto the sand with a yelp.  Jil and
Kyle turned around quickly to see her sprawled in the sand, Griever having
fallen from her waist and landed on a half-covered rock, the cause of
Shizuka's fall.  "Are you all right?" Kyle asked in concern.

     She nodded as she started to pick herself up.  "This one is fine.  She
simply-"  The ninja gasped abruptly as she tried to put weight on her right
leg, and fell to the ground again.  "...She may have hurt herself, actually."

     "Let me see."  Jill knelt next to her, gingerly prodding her ankle. 
"Arr, 'tis just a light sprain, methinks.  'Tis not serious, but ye need to
keep off it for a while."

     Shizuka considered this for a moment, then with an expression completely
innocent of guile, reached up toward Kyle.  "Carry this one?"

     Looking from the girl to the woman next to her, and feeling distinctly
put upon, the Dragoon knelt down so he could carry the young ninja...
piggyback-style.

                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     "Breath of Nature, cleanse this ravaged body of its ills!  Esuna!"

     White and green ribbons of light extended from Marcine's fingertips. 
They twirled through the air and wrapped around Piette's body... but after
they had faded, nothing seemed to have changed.

     Marcine sighed.  "Whatever's wrong with him," she decided sadly, "it's
too much for Esuna to handle."

     "Aye," Drond replied.  "And our healers cannae rouse him, either." 
Seeing her expression, he patted her shoulder comfortingly, though had to
reach up to do so.  "Dinnae fret, lass.  There just be some things even magic
cannae fix."

     "I just feel so helpless.  I don't even know what kind of spell he'd
used - it might turn out that only the Manakyr know how to cure him at this
point."

     The dwarf nodded.  "That be a possibility, but dinnae give up hope.  Ye
never know what might come up."  He tipped his helmet.  "Now, if ye'll excuse
me, I have duties to attend to."

     "Yes, of course."  After the dwarf had left, Marcine returned her
attention to the comatose young scholar before her.  Though part of her
wondered what he was doing so far away from Yahl Russa, her main thoughts were
of Darovan.  Davin had explained that there might well be something more to
the ancient mage's interest in her, but at the moment she didn't care.  She
was tired, and more than ever felt the weight of the world on her shoulders.

     Darovan's Legacy.  Marcine had never truly believed that title applied
to her, but his interest in her couldn't be pure coincidence.  If it were
true, and she was in fact the Legacy, she was supposed to be able to protect
the world from his power... or at least that's what so many people had told
her.  Yet when it came down to it, she couldn't do anything against him.  Even
Piette had managed to weaken Darovan, though at the cost of his own health. 
What good was she?

     Sometimes she just wanted everything to go back the way it was, back in
Tienne with her brother and her father.  If she hadn't defied the teachings of
the Church, maybe none of this would have ever happened...

     The door to the infirmary suddenly burst open, revealing a most
unwelcome figure.  "HOLD, VILE HERETIC!"

     Still wrapped in her own homesickness and misery, Marcine stared at the
advancing Beastmaster in total shock.

     "Thou shalt not escape from Stine this time, Marcine Cavanaugh!" he
roared.  With a quick motion he reached out and snatched her unresisting left
wrist.  "Thou shalt be brought back to Tienne - or at least what's left of it
- and suffer the full penalty for thy sins!  Stine hath said so, and Stine
shalt not be diverted!"  He took a deep breath, undoubtedly preparing to shout
a victory cry involving the odors of what he had been cooking...

     He was prepared for a spell, and would have hurt or even killed her had
she tried to cast one.  He was prepared for a cry for help, and would have
silenced her.  He was prepared for any normal kind of physical attack, and
would have defended himself.

     He wasn't prepared for a slap.

     He wasn't prepared for the sharp crack as her free hand intersected his
cheek.  Surprised, he released her and stumbled backwards, then stared at her.

     He wasn't prepared for the tears, tears of helpless anger and
frustration, that gathered in her eyes but were held back by her incandescent
fury.

     "You... you..."  Marcine, having a very limited vocabulary for insults,
was forced to dredge up the most scathing remark she'd ever heard her high-
born mother say.  "You complete *CAD*!"

     Stine tried to speak, but nothing came out.

     "You've followed me halfway across the world and back," she raged. 
"You've seen people like Siegvin, and Darovan, and the Manakyr army, and yet
you're *still* chasing after me?  Haven't you learned *anything* about what's
going on?!"

     The words, the words were there but somehow they were hiding well in the
face of Marcine's anger.

     "You call me a heretic?  My friends and I have put our lives on the line
to protect the Church, not just once but many times, yet you call me a
heretic?!  Yesterday this city was attacked by Darovan, the SAME MAN that all
but destroyed Tienne.  If he succeeds in his plans, he won't rest until every
last vestige of the Church is wiped from the face of the world.  I came here
to *stop* him!  Do you understand that?  I wanted to *stop Darovan*!"

     And then the tears came, streaming down her cheeks as she sank to her
knees.  "...but I failed," she sobbed, her voice suddenly weak and tired.  "I
failed..."

     For a long time Stine gazed down at her.  Finally he looked up at
Piette, still lying on his sickbed.  And for the first time in a long while,
Stine took a step away from his beliefs, and gave some serious thought about
the current situation.

     It was true that the world had seemed rather more complicated lately,
but through it all Stine had relied on his oath to seek out heretics, and
guided his actions by that simple code.

     But what if that were no longer enough?

     Though all heretics were of course masters of deception, something told
him that Marcine's display was genuine.  And if that were the case, if she
were willing to stake everything to stop Darovan - a name Stine knew of
through his studies of the hated Manakyr - then what gave him the right to
pass judgement upon her?

     It was a quandary.

     After a long moment, the silence punctuated by Marcine's gradually
abating sobs, Stine drew his sword.  She looked up in alarm, and he regarded
it for a moment... then set it aside.  He turned to face her, then coughed
self-consciously.  "Though heretic you be, by the laws of the Church," he said
finally,  "Stine realizes that... that there be many things in this world that
Stine doth not understand.  If thou dost truly wish to preserve the weal of
the Church, then Stine wishes to hear thy side of the matter before he makes a
decision.  That is, if thou art amenable?"

     Marcine dabbed at her eyes.  "It's a long story," she cautioned, "and
you probably won't like what I have to say."

     He considered this, then sat down on a spare bed.  "Stine be willing to
take that risk."

                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     (Unnoticed in the heat of battle, Zarela's unmoving form lay bleeding on
the floor.  Her life's essence trailed down her arm and reached the hilt of
the Defender sword, where it flowed into channels that one might think were
added for that very purpose.)

     The sight of Siegvin and Lumina fighting was a strange, even surreal
one.  On the face of it, the Knight of the Moon was nowhere near the Fallen
Sleeper's skill level, and left openings even Pearl could spot.  Yet whenever
he lashed out with a blow Pearl felt was certain to hit home, Lumina just...
wasn't there.  Her image flickered and faded like moonlight glowing through
the branches of a tree, and she was never in exactly the same place for more
than the briefest of moments.

     At one point she seemed stable for a few seconds, and Siegvin took the
opportunity to run her through.  She stared down at the blade in horror, then
smiled at him and blew him a kiss; an instant later the illusion had
dissolved, and Siegvin was forced to jump away when Lumina tried to stab him
in the back.

     (Zarela's blood poured along the length of the blade, filling the
engraved runes one by one.  The first major rune it came to began to glow as
the red fluid spilled into it; it was Tarek, a word meaning 'Protect' in the
Dwarvish language.)

     The long fight, as well as his previous battles with Kirin and Zarela,
seemed to have taken something out of the Sleeper.  Siegvin's attacks
gradually became slower, and he began to hesitate for the briefest of moments
before responding to one of Lumina's strikes.  *She's wearing him down,* Pearl
realized.

     Lumina seemed to have reached that same conclusion, and with a sweet
smile she surrounded Siegvin with a dozen replicas of herself.  Each one
lashed out at him, their phantom blades having no effect, while the true
Lumina thrust the blue Ashura Blade into Siegvin's side.

     (Another rune began to glow: Aord'ne.  'Life's'.)

     As soon as the blade struck home, Siegvin twisted and struck at Lumina
with his own dark sword; the blow sliced across her arm, and the impact sent
the blue Blade clattering across the floor, ultimately sliding into the chaos
of Pandemonium.

     Clutching her bloodstained arm, Lumina's eyes went wide.  "No!"

     "I *did* warn you," Siegvin chided.

     (The flow of blood, beginning to ebb, reached the third and final rune. 
It seemed to hesitate briefly, then poured into the engraving: Kal.  'Blood'.)

     "And now, since you have obligingly brought your Heartstone, I'll take
both it and Kirin's bauble."  He held out his hand.  "If you don't mind."

     "I don't care what you do," Lumina growled.  "You'll never succeed in
your plans.  Never!"

     He sighed.  "You have *no* idea how tired I am of people telling me
that..."

     A voice, barely more than a croak, suddenly made itself heard.  "Ni...
ko... lai..."

     Zarela was standing, blood dripping from her armor and the sword in her
hand glowing with an intense light.  "Give... me... Nikolai," she demanded,
staring through Siegvin.

     He snarled.  "I do *not* have time for this!"  He lifted his hand, and
whatever prohibition kept Beastlores from working, it had no effect on the
bolt of primal energy that flew from Siegvin's palm, aimed for Zarela's heart.

     Without her apparently guiding it, the Defender snapped up and deflected
the bolt, which vanished into Pandemonium without a trace.  "Nikolai," she
insisted dully, and she began to walk toward the Sleeper.  It was a sort of
lurch, an unstoppable shamble, like a corpse that hadn't quite realized it was
dead yet.

     Siegvin, however, seemed willing to make that fact clear.  "I'll give it
to you point first, fool!"  He closed on her, and their battle was rejoined.

     Meanwhile, Lumina had moved to Kirin's side, next to Pearl.  She nodded
at Zarela.  "You have an interesting friend there," she noted.

     "That's one way of putting it."

     Lumina was about to respond, when Kirin coughed horribly.  His eye
swivelled, trying to focus on Pearl.  "You... you must listen.  The
Hearstone... the Blade... take them to Tienne."

     "But the Blade-"

     "Listen!  To Tienne you must go.  He will be there soon, and he will
need them!"

     "Who?  Who will need them?"

     Kirin's face twisted into what seemed to be a smile.  "I'd tell you," he
managed, "but I just don't have Time."

     And then he died.

     Pearl stared down at him, feeling disconnected from the world.  Finally
Lumina shook her shoulder, dispelling the brief daze.  "C'mon," the Moon
Knight insisted.  "We'd better get out of here pronto."

     "What?"

     "Your friend's doing well, but without the Ashura Blade there's no way
she can kill Siegvin.  And with Kirin dead, this place could go splat any
minute!"

     Strange emotions washed through Pearl.  "But... but I can't just leave
her," she protested.

     Lumina sighed.  "A noble sentiment, but not a smart one.  Look, do you
know what happens if you're in an unstable sub-dimension when the power
maintaining it is suddenly cut off?"

     Pearl shook her head.

     "*Do you want to find out?*  Now, come ON!"  Lumina grabbed her arm and
leapt into Pandemonium before Pearl could resist.

     Behind them, Siegvin had let out all the stops, and was doing his best
to finally silence this annoying pest.  Yet it seemed that their roles had
been reversed - not a single attack of his managed to make it past the glowing
blade.

     Somewhere between her madness and death's door, Zarela's mind found a
bit of peace.  "You killed Lambert," she noted, and lashed out with a blow
that took Siegvin by surprise; he barely managed to parry it in time.

     "You stole Nikolai," she continued, and this swing actually found its
mark, drawing a line of blood along Siegvin's chest.

     "You *tried to hurt me*."  Another slash, but Siegvin was ready for it,
and caught the sword between his blades.

     "I'll just have to try harder, then," he snarled.  Knocking her weapon
away, he brought his swords forward in a double-thrust that was sure to
kill...

     The Defender flashed once, and Siegvin's attack was suddenly repelled by
a nearly-invisible shield, hovering in front of Zarela like a spiritual
guardian.  Siegvin growled and prepared to try again...

     But a new power was coursing through Zarela, a power that flowed through
her flesh and up her arms.  Holding the Defender above her head, she inverted
it, the point of the sword facing downward.  Time seemed to slow as energy
rushed into the blade, making the runes glow even brighter than before.

     "CLIMHAZZARD!"  Zarela thrust the Defender into the ground at her
feet... and almost immediately a giant sword-shaped spike of energy, tall as a
tree, rose from the ground under Siegvin's feet.  He screamed as the
destructive energy enveloped him, tearing at his clothes and battering his
helpless form, all of Zarela's rage and even madness made solid.

     Finally the light died, and in its wake Siegvin yet stood... but his
breathing was ragged, and it was all he could do to remain standing.  "Not
bad," he gasped finally, "but I cannot be killed by such-"

     Without warning, the walls of the bubble began to contract at an
alarming rate, and Siegvin lifted his head.  "Pandemonium... it's collapsing!" 
He looked around for Lumina or Pearl, then swore; a moment later he vanished. 
Zarela looked around, vaguely curious as to where her quarry had gotten to...

     And then there was darkness.

                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     Mika awoke before the dwarves did, and looked around in confusion. 
"What happened...?"  The recollection hit her almost immediately, and she
grabbed her device off the table before running off in search of the idiot
Beastmaster.

     She found Davin first, though.  He was standing quietly near the
infirmary door, a fact that made Mika lower her voice at least one or two
notches.  "Big Brother, that moron Stine's running around - have you seen him? 
Boy, when I get my hands on that jerk, I'm gonna make a bomb, stir it up real
nice, and... and hit him with it!"

     He turned to her... then blinked.  "Mika... what in the world is that
thing?"

     "What?  Oh, this?"  For a moment, pride won out over vengeance.  "It's a
bomb launcher.  I made it from spare parts off the spider-walker, and one of
the dwarves showed me how to make a rune for the kinetic force.  It should
give me some pretty decent range."

     Davin looked at the jury-rigged device skeptically.  "Is it safe?"

     "Dunno," she replied cheerfully.  "Haven't tested it yet.  Speaking of
which, WHERE'S STINE?!"

     "Shh.  He's in there with Marcine."

     "He's got her *hostage*?!  Don't worry, Big Brother.  Just open the door
and I'll-"

     He placed a hand on her forehead.  "Simmer down, short stuff.  Just be
quiet and listen.  You might learn something."

     Scowling at her brother, who had apparently lost his marbles, Mika
listened...

     "It doth be obvious.  Heresy doth be the use of magic, which is sinful
in the eyes of the Three Gods."

     "That's a good description of the *act* of heresy, but I'm talking about
the definition of heresy itself."

     "An interesting question... but it doth have a simple answer.  Heresy
doth be any act that directly defies the will - nay, the very existence - of
the Gods."

     "The Gods?" Marcine persisted.  "Or the Church?"

     "There doth be no difference!"

     "Stine," she explained kindly, "the Three Gods have been sealed away for
a long, long time.  The Church was initially formed to follow the desires of
the Gods all those years ago... but over such an extended period, *everything*
changes.  Can you say, without a shadow of a doubt, that the Church hasn't
changed its policies over the centuries?"

     He hesitated.  "Nay, of course it hast.  'Twould be folly to say
otherwise.  But the Church would never be so malicious as to ban magic purely
to further its own ends."

     "Not out of malice," she insisted.  "Out of necessity.  And Darovan was
that necessity; with he and the Manakyr ravaging the countryside, the Church
had to assume that *any* mage was allied with him.  After a while, that
paranoia was assimilated into the Church's tenets."

     "That... doth make sense," Stine admitted.

     In the hall, Mika looked up at Davin.  "Big Brother, what're they doing? 
Is she trying to convince him magic isn't evil?"

     He nodded.  "I think so... but I think, somehow, she's also trying to
convince herself."

     Mika blinked.  "Marcine doesn't think like that."

     "Not most of her, maybe... but after everything that's happened lately,
she might have some doubts."

     The young alchemist rubbed her nose.  "Weird."

     At long last the door opened, and Marcine and Stine stepped out.  Seeing
Davin, the Beastmaster instinctively reached for his sword, then belatedly
realized that he'd left it in the infirmary.

     Marcine just smiled at her two friends, looking a bit more confident
than she had in weeks.  "I think," she decided, "we've come to an
understanding."
                    
     "Aye," Stine agreed, a bit reluctantly.  "Stine still doth not fully
trust you... but until Darovan and Siegvin are defeated, preserving the
sanctity of the Church must be his utmost goal.  If thou wilst allow it, Stine
will join thee on thy... thy *holy* quest."

     Davin raised an eyebrow.  "Are you sure about this, Stine?  I think it's
probable that we're going to be using a ton of magic before this is all over."

     Stine hesitated.  "If thou dost," he said finally, "and we doth succeed,
then Stine will testify against you before the High Priests themselves.  If we
fail... then it be something of a moot point regardless."

     "And you promise you won't try to ambush us?" Davin persisted.

     Holding himself stiffly, Stine lifted his hand to the tri-fan at his
neck.  "I, Stine, doth so swear upon mine honor, and upon the grace of the
Three Gods."

     The elementalist grinned.  "Good enough for me."

     "Are you *nuts*?" Mika demanded.  "You want to let him join us?"

     He ruffled her hair.  "He's going to follow us either way, munchkin," he
pointed out.  "We just can't get rid of this guy.  But he's honorable, I
think.  We might as well keep him at our side, rather than at our heels."

     She threw up her arms in frustration and stalked off.  "Fine!  Whatever! 
Break out the hats and noisemakers - Stine's joined the party!  Whee!"

     Seeing Stine's rather embarrassed expression, Davin simply shrugged. 
"She'll get used to the idea.  Sooner or later."

                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     "This is boring."

     "Shut up."

     "Well, it *is*!"

     "Shut up."

     Grumbling, Sacred sat down next to his brother and started flicking
pebbles at Kirin's tower.  "We always get left behind," he complained.

     "Shut up.  And don't throw stuff at the tower."

     "I can if I want," Sacred replied belligerently.

     "Not if I tell ya to stop, moron," Minotaur growled.

     "Oh, yeah?"  Dropping the pebbles, the huge humanoid grabbed a rock, big
as a man's head, and hurled it at the low tower.  "Hah!  Whatcha gonna do
about-"

     The rock impacted... and the tower began to disintegrate.

     "Holy-!"  The beastmen quickly stood up and backed away from Kirin's
tower, but didn't move quite fast enough to escape the rolling cloud of dust,
which quickly engulfed them.

     The tower had survived unchanged for centuries thanks to Kirin's
influence... and now that he was gone, the years were taking their due, with
interest.  It didn't so much collapse as erode, falling into an untidy heap of
stones and mortar dust.

     In the last few moments that the building could still be called a tower,
the decaying stones rippled, and Lumina leapt out into the clearing, still
holding Pearl by the arm.

     The Knight of the Moon stood up first, her own arm still bleeding
gently.  She turned to face the tower, and gave a low whistle.  "It's a good
thing we're out of that," she decided.

     "Boss!"  Sacred fell over himself running toward her, ending up in a
messy heap prostrated at her feet.  "I'm sorry I'm sorry Boss I didn't mean ta
break the tower I just threw a rock even though Bro told me not to I'm sorry
I'll never be a bad boy again I promise-"

     She rolled her eyes.  "Get up, Sacred."  She glanced at Pearl.  "Don't
worry - they're friends of mine."

     Pearl, whose state of mind would accept anything at this point, nodded
uncertainly.  "Uh... hi."

     After a moment she stood up and turned to face the former tower.  Lumina
joined her, and they watched it in silence.  "I'm sorry," the Knight said
finally.

     Pearl shrugged.  "It's... it's not like we were close or anything."

     "Oh?"

     "Actually, she literally tortured me one time.  That kind of thing tends
to get in the way of friendship."  She sighed.  "Still, Cid believed in her. 
I almost wish things had been different between us."

     There was another long pause, then she turned to the girl.  "So... who
are you, anyway?"

     Lumina grinned.  "Me?  I'm-"

     "NIIIIKOOOOOLAAAAAAAIIII!"

     "No, no!  I'm-"

     Pearl whirled around.  "Zarela?!"

     "NO!  Now, LISTEN..."

     A large chunk of masonry was pushed aside, and Zarela clambered into
view, gazing about herself furtively.  The Defender was still in her hand, but
only a shattered stump remained of the magical blade.

     She looked around a moment longer, the focused on Pearl.  "He got away,"
she croaked, and spat a glob of blood to one side.  "Give me that Heart-
thingie you got, so he'll try to take it from me."

     Pearl stared at her.  "Zarela, you can't be serious!  You're already
half-dead!"

     "What?"  The swordswoman's maddened little mind tried to understand
this.  "'Over your dead body', you said?  DON'T MIND IF I DO!"  She rushed
toward Pearl, waving her fragmented sword over her head...

     ...and suddenly Lumina was there, her hands at Zarela's temple.  The
charge was halted abruptly, and Zarela fell to her knees.

     "Hoo-boy," Lumina commented.  "It's a *mess* in there."

     Pearl blinked at her, her heart still racing..  "W-what?"

     "Her mind.  It's in more pieces than a jigsaw puzzle.  Hold on, let me
see what I can do..."

     "I don't understand."

     The girl glanced over her shoulder, blonde curls bouncing in the sun, as
a soft glow began to envelop Zarela's head.  "The name's Lumina.  Knight of
the Moon.  And madness has *always* been associated with the Moon, so it's
kind of my specialty."

     "*You're* a Knight of the Round?!"

     "Yeah?  So?"

     "Well... I thought you'd be... taller."

     Lumina grinned, then turned her attention back to her task.  Finally she
raised her hands.  "There, that oughta do."

     Pearl stepped forward hesitantly as Zarela clutched her head, moaning
slightly.  "Zarela?  How are you feeling?"

     The Holy Knight peered at Pearl.  "You," she said finally.  "I... know
you."

     "Uh... of course you do.  We've been travelling together for a while."

     "Have we?"  She rubbed her forehead.  "It all seems... cloudy.  I
think... I think I was planning to... to kill you?"

     Pearl took a step backwards.

     "Yes... that masked man took my sword, and I need the Heartstone to get
it back."  Zarela stared at Pearl for a long time... then shrugged.  "Well, no
matter.  I'm sure if I hang around you long enough, he'll show up again."

     The Lore Master watched her suspiciously.  "Are you sure?"

     Zarela glared back, lifting the remnants of the Defender.  "Unless you
*want* me to kill you?"

     "Nonono, that's fine by me."

     She smirked, then tossed the Defender aside carelessly and turned away. 
"Anyway... Pearl?"

     "Yes?"

     "About what happened, when we first met..."  There was a pause.  "...I'm
sorry."

     Pearl, having never expected to hear those words from Zarela, peered at
her dubiously.  "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

     "Hmph."

     "And you're not anxious to get your Nikolai back?"

     She shrugged.  "It's just a sword.  I have no immediate use for it..."

     Pearl gradually started to relax.  Maybe Zarela really *was* cured...

     "...not when I have my dear, dear Alexandros here to keep me company!" 
Zarela drew the unmistakable blue tint of the Ashura Blade from one of her
scabbards and held it close, rubbing her cheek against its hilt.  "You're the
prettiest sword in the whole world!  Yes you are!  Yes you are!  You and I are
going to be *such* good friends...!"

     As Zarela scampered off with her new prize, Lumina stepped up next to
Pearl.  "You want me to give it another try?"

     She gave the matter some thought.   "No," she decided, "we'd better not
press our luck."

     "Good point."

                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     The dwarves had been quite generous with supplies and equipment.  Davin
and Stine both wore custom-made mythril armor, and a brand-new saber, branded
with magical runes, rested at the Beastmaster's hip.  A starsilver tiara was
on Marcine's head, and Mika wore a flexible yet sturdy mythril vest.

     "They've also loaded us with a few extra things for Shizuka and the
others," she related excitedly as the group boarded the redesigned (and rather
more capacious) spider-walker.  "It won't be an exact fit, but it should be
close enough."

     Davin nodded.  "Is Piette going to be okay, though?"

     "Oh, no problem.  Lots of room!"  She hesitated.  "We're really going
back to Tienne?"

     "I figure it's our best chance."  He held up a scroll marked with the
Church's insignia.  "Stine mentioned Piette had this, so I had a look at it. 
Lambert wrote this a while back; it's an order to hunt down a scholar - a
'heretic' - who was studying Clea Manakyr's research."

     "Okay, that's a good reason to find this guy, but-"

     "*Girl*, Mika.  Look at the name!"

     She took the scroll and glanced at it... then her eyes widened. 
"Highwater... Karella Highwater!"

     He nodded, grinning broadly.  "My mother."

     "And if we find her, we'll also find..."  Overcome by excitement, Mika
grabbed him around the waist.  "Oh, Big Brother!"

     Stine, however, seemed to be immune to such sentiment.  "So where doth
thy mother be?"

     "That's the thing," Davin admitted.  "I'm not sure.  I've been looking
for her for years, actually.  But with this," he added, taking the scroll
back, "I'm willing to bet that *someone* in the Church is going to talk, and
they may have more information than we do."

     "And once we find her," Marcine finished, "we'll be that much closer to
putting an end to both Darovan and Siegvin's plans!"

     Davin laughed and clambered into his seat on the spider-walker.  "You
know, I think this might be the first time I'm actually looking *forward* to
one of these trips!"

     "Then mayhaps ye won't mind another companion for yer journey?"

     All faces turned to see Tharlo standing at the door of the vehicle. 
"You... you want to come with us?" Mika asked.

     He nodded.  "Aye, that I do."  He lifted his left arm - instead of the
stump Davin expected, it now sported a hand, wrapped in a close-fitting... no,
it was *made* of metal.  Of starsilver!  It moved like a normal hand would,
with only a little stiffness.  "This be no good for precision work like
minin'," he said, "but I kin still wield my axe with the best o' them."

     Davin quirked a smile.  "And what about the famous dwarven pragmatism? 
If the world's going to end, why go on a trip that's probably going to get you
killed a lot quicker?"

     "Ach, well..." There was a twinkle in the dwarf's eye.  "An old man kin
choose where he wants ta go on his vacation, nay?  'Tis been two hundred years
since I've had a day off - I think I may have some time due.

     "Besides," he added, the bantering tone dropping from his voice to be
replaced by steel, "pragmatic we may be, but we also be great believers in
justice.  Darovan killed many of us - I'm lookin' ta return the favor."

     Though Tharlo's words had the ring of truth, Davin guessed that there
was something else, something he wasn't telling... but the elementalist
shrugged.  "Well, I don't think any of us would argue with that... welcome
aboard."  He chuckled.  "I wonder what they'll think of you back in Tienne,
though."

     "We dwarves be much like humans," the Dwarven King replied calmly as he
climbed inside.  "It's just that ye be too tall."

     "...right."

     A few minutes later the spider-walker hummed to life, bulky steam-
engines replaced by dwarven workmanship.  As the surrounding dwarves waved
their farewells, the machine turned around and clambered out of the cave, then
turned to face south.  It picked up speed, and was soon making impressive time
towards Tienne.

     Nevertheless...

     "Are we there yet?"

                   -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

     Many thanks to Terence (as always) and Atom for prereading.  I had to
cut out a couple of scenes, but I think this is a very nice, very solid
chapter.  Though it feels kind of funny writing another 'Let's Move On'
chapter...  *shrug*

     I'd write more, but my brain is fried.  Oh, well.

*** END ***