Chapter 18

By Erik Brown

Palcos fingered the jet-black gun in his hand uneasily. It wasn't his gun, and he knew it. His gun had a nice 'cool' look to it His gun didn't scratch his hand the way this one did. His gun had a feel of, 'here I am, and I'm not afraid to take charge of the situation'. This gun just sort of killed, and that was the thing that had him a little miffed.

The caliber was higher than on his gun, the bullets were smaller, and you could shoot more shots. This thing had ammo like bazooka shells, and recoil to match. Well, you can't get everything you want, so why complain?

He balanced himself on the branch, his tail coiled tightly to keep himself upright. Looking down, he saw the train tracks on the ground below. Turning his head towards the east, he watched them snake through the grass, ending thousands of miles away in the distance.

Then, as his ears tingled from the sound of the coming train, he slowly looked west. Steam shot up in the distance. An old steam driven train antiquated and remolded for the rich of wallet. True it was old and archaic, but why knock something that does its job, especially one that's a tourist trap for the rich. Putting it that way, he was sort of like the train.

He had been working for the clandestine group Sieve, who sought to overturn an Empire. They had sought to change a world, and had influenced all of their members to do the same. Palcos had wanted to change the world, now he only wanted to live in it. Sieve had been destroyed, but he wasn't short on work.

Just about the first hour he was out of Sieve, and she had approached him with a job. She told him her name was Servan, and she told him she was a spy sent from the continent in the east. She too wanted to destroy the empire. And she too wanted to change the world.

How could he refuse?

Not only were their goals the same, but she also offered him pay, and other benefits. The first on his mind was government immunity. From the empire, and abroad. It was then that he learned the rest of the world was just a bit freer, and he wouldn't need to worry about that. The next benefit was the best one, a nearly endless armament of every weapon made on the North World. If he had been offered any one thing, he would have taken those destructive tools of war and chaos.

Now the train approached, and the whistle blew again, flooding his mind in a cacophonous din. Antsy with anticipation, he prepped himself to leap onto the passing train. "Don't screw up," he angrily warned himself, "Screw up and you're dead."

He counted to two, and leapt. He hit the train hard. Stunned from the impact, he began to roll off of the roof of the train car. His arms darted out, searching for a grip, and just as he slid off the side, he found a bar, and clung to it for dear life. Wind coarsely blew over his body, daring to rip him from his hold and throw him to the ground below. Or possibly under the train! Both possibilities involved pain, and that wasn't the finale he was going for.

Seeing that he was indeed on some sort of passenger car, and was also hanging in front of a window, he decided the best plan of action was to hop inside, away from the dangerous outside.

When he suddenly burst through the window, it was met with much awkwardness and scorn that he felt like jumping back out the window. The awkward feeling was from the eyes staring at him, and the scorn from the folks who owned those eyes. Palcos stood his ground looking at the people around him, and feeling the food between his toes. He had crashed into the Dinner Car, and had spoiled these people's meals. It still wasn't a reason for them to berate him so.

"How rude!" A fat hen accused him.

"Improper and unrefined!" Came from a stodgy goat.

And so on and so on the well dressed, and very irate, crowd continued. Palcos could hardly get a word in edgewise.

Then he realized he had a gun! A very fearsome gun! And so he began to wave it around in his head, showing his discomfort, and generally terrorizing the train patrons. That got them quiet pretty quickly!

"Feh! Ya ninny aristocratic snobs! Yah, wadda ya think of this, eh?" Palcos hopped up and down, he was having just a bit too much fun, and had just about forgot his mission. "Oh, right, does any of you know where Zaego is?"

Unfortunately the earlier attention he'd drawn, the attention that was loud and annoying, had also alerted the guards of the train. Palcos whirled around to see the armored guards begin to flood into the room, pushing the train riders aside and shouting at the top of their lungs. Something different about these guards was that they were armored in thick metal from head to toe. It weighed them down a lot, and Palcos realized right away that even with the caliber on his gun, there wasn't a whole lot he could do to them. Not only were they armored in tiptop new stuff; they also carried the latest model of automatic rifle, with laser sighting and silencers for the comfort of the passengers.

They shouted phrases like "Everybody get down," and "You there, stop where you are!" But there was a problem with the shouting. See there had never been armored train guards before, and something the designer had forgot to do was give them a mouthpiece to speak out of. So rather than hear the commands and obey, everyone just sort of scratched their heads at the incoherent mumbles.

Palcos tipped an invisible hat at the guards, "It's okay, I can find Zaego myself, thank ya much." His asinine comment was met with a hail of fiery bullets, prompting him to move to the next car.

The next car was a baggage car or something. He knew that he was moving further down the train, and he wondered if that was the direction he wanted to go. Thinking back to before he had hopped on the train, he tried to remember how many cars were left, and if the last one was fancy enough to hold Zaego. Pondering his next action he was then shot at, and his next move was decided for him.

Now breathing hard and sweating, his back to the door, he looked around and saw that indeed he was in the right place. There was a fine and dandy table and chairs, a pool table, and even a great mini bar off to one corner. All of everything was decked out in purple hues and gold, real gold. Not necessarily at the right time though, for Zaego was nowhere to be seen. Palcos started thinking about what to do, and which drink he could make for himself, when he realized he should probably block the door behind him, and prevent further events that involved him being shot at.

In very short order Palcos had stacked most of all of the movable furniture against the door, and in such a way that no one could get to him. He patted himself on the shoulder and smiled a wide smile. "Now, just have to find that Stone that Servan was talking about."

Palcos whirled around with is gun ready, as he heard a toilet flush, and a door open behind him. Zaego walked out of what could only be his own personal bathroom, dressed in a terry cloth robe and a paper in his hands. Staring down the barrel of a gun made Zaego somewhat nervous, and his nerves had indeed been shot after the events a couple days ago. "Bleh, before you rob me let me get a drink."

Seeing no harm in letting him have a drink, Palcos motioned to go ahead, "Oh, actually I could go for one myself."

Standing at the bar Zaego shrugged, "Okey dokey."

For someone who probably has servant to do everything for him, Zaego made a mean martini. When Palcos had wiped the drink from his lips, he progressed to rob Zaego.

"Okay, okay, gold, money? Are you going to hold me for ransom? Assassination? Exploitation? Petty larceny? Might expose some of Winter's more rotten venues? Tell everyone about when I kicked a baby dondis? The orphanage burnings? Diversion of funds from City Hall to my back pocket? My mob connections? The actual ingredients in rils--"

"What? What do you mean? What are in rils?" For after all, Palcos had a pack in his shirt pocket that he planned to smoke after the mission.

Zaego kind of laughed, "Oh man! You'd be so surprised of the junk we put in there. Tiny fiberglass so it cuts your mouth and the stuff gets in your blood stream, and then you're really hooked. Not to mention the tar and crap we mix in there. Speaking of crap, the farmers who pick the stuff don't really have bathroo--"

"Okay, first of all, shut up." Zaego was quick to do that, though he continued to look at Palcos with uncaring eyes, "Next, all I want is the Eclipse Stone, not the crap you put in my smokes."

Over on the other side of the room could be heard the frustrating mumbles of the armored guards, as well as the good pounding they were giving the barricaded door. Zaego rolled his eyes, "It's in there."

"Well… dang it!"

The two stood there for a moment, Palcos breathing hard and contemplating what to do. "Maybe another drink will pick up the pace of your brilliant criminal mind."

"First of all, shut up! Second, fill me up."

After a couple of drinks Palcos was beginning to sympathize with Zaego, "Well geez, it's not your fault that the working class is so down trodden, it's the jerks in the council that makes the laws, you just formalize and agree to them."

"I know, I know, and half the time I don’t' even do that."

"It's like you’re a figurehead, but you’re the one at the center of all of the media attention."

"And all the lies they make up about me in the tabloids."

"It's enough to…" Palcos looked into his drink, "Make you drink a lot."

"You do know I have your gun, don't you?" And indeed, Zaego did have Palcos' gun.

"After the last glass I kind of stopped caring."

Zaego pointed the monstrosity of a gun at Palcos' head, "When you're drunk you can make good conversation, but it's time I got some rest."

A blood-chilling roar filled the cabin, as the train was hit with a gigantic force. The mumbles and pounding at the door had subsided, and had been replaced by clawing and screaming. Sobering himself up very quickly, Palcos grabbed his gun from Zaego's hands, and began to franticly move chair and table from the door. Something from the luggage car swiped at the door with a great force, and door and chair and tables were turned to splinters.

Palcos had been knocked the ground. He sat up and looked at the beast that met his eyes, and he wondered if he had really had too much to drink. Standing before him in awful glory was a dragon. The beast was very thin, but was bulked down with armor around his chest and shoulders, and around his arms and legs. Large bat like wings were tucked close to its body. Long white hair hung from its head, and two sharp horns stuck back from his head. He looked around the room, from Zaego to Palcos, as he clenched and unclenched his razor sharp claws. It could only have been more terrifying if he had had less to drink.

The dragon opened its mouth to speak. The words grated out of his scaly throat, and chilled Palcos to the bone, "Zaego, I am Rasa, a servant of your Fathers. I've come to relieve you of the burden that is the Eclipse Stone. I hope you don't mind."

"No problem. It should be right behind you." And Zaego did indeed not mind, in fact the further that blasted orb was away from him, the better!

Palcos knew what was happening, and that if he didn't act fast he'd have failed his job. "Hey scale head, that's my Eclipse Stone your talking about taking!"

The dragon moved his serpentine head down, and turned his ear to Palcos, mocking him, "Oh, what's that? The worm speaks? What's that, you'll have to speak up."

And Palcos shot the beast. A full clip was un-loaded at it's head. Unfortunately for Palcos the bullets never hit the dragon's head, not even close. It had moved quicker than lightning, and honest to God, had snatched the bullets out of the air. In abject fear he watched the dragon 'toss' the spent bullets back at him.

"The dumb die young, drunks do too." And with that the dragon quickly found the case with the Eclipse Stone, and flew off through the hole he had made earlier.

Sitting in dumb shock, Palcos shook his head, "I am not a drunk. Well, I am pretty drunk."

Sobriety was just beyond the shattered door, as armored guards burst into Palcos' point of view, and he found himself being shot at. In a few seconds he had jumped out a window, was rolling down a grass-covered hill towards a city, and well on his way to getting truly smashed.

…

Far, far away, away from dragons and green countrysides with monkeys rolling down them in earnest search for alcohol, in a much more complicated world, she sat and brooded. It was Servan, and something deep inside of her, told her that the plans she made, would fail. Just a small nagging sensation that was driving her absolutely mad.

She knew that it going to be her that ruled the world! Yet she had set the events in motion, and she was doing the best she could, but there was something small and seemingly insignificant, that was slowing her down in a big way. What could it be? Thinking about all of her plans, and all of the pieces in them, she knew there couldn't be anything. It was most likely just her imagination.

Using her foot she spun her swivel chair around so that she faced her workbench. Thousands of pieces lay on that table, and any number of those parts could make a devastating weapon. Seemingly insignificant, and indeed worthless on their own, those bits and pieces made tool of terrorization. Together they might make a pistol, or a shotgun, or a bazooka. From there one only had to make use of the weapon. For some even the sight of such an implement of destruction could strike fear in them, thus rendering them harmless, and proving the might of a weapon even on a psychological level.

These were her true joy, weapons! From the beginning days of the stone ax, to the semi-automatic machine gun, and then to her own special stock pistol. Thinking of her lovely gun, she took it out of its holster, and raised it in the light. The black metal glowed with an unearthly luster, and set the fires of her heart burning like mad. A true equalizer! No living thing was safe from its destructive capabilities; the bullets even pierced body armor!

Life was like that, if you have the power, others must submit to you! Or else they die. Sometimes you choose to be trampled under foot of those more powerful, or else they are knocked to the ground in similar fashion. For those like her, if someone wielded power over her, she fought back. If they had a big weapon, she found a bigger one! If a weapon is weak, you find a strong one. In a true crisis situation, you picked the best weapon for the job, it was foolish to do, or think, any other way.

Maybe that's what was bugging her, a lack of completeness. Even with all of these beautiful weapons at her disposal, she still wasn't the most powerful. Then she nailed it on the head, she felt bad because she could be more powerful! Since she knew how to get to that goal, it was only a matter of working for it.

…

Meanwhile, just down the hall from where Servan sat and thought, was Aerot. He was deeply relaxed, as he sat in a recliner, and soaked up the sunlight that poured on him from the nearby window. With a knife in one hand and a block of wood in the other, he set about carving it. Carefully, he carved the wood, and dropped the shavings into a bowl on his lap.

As he carved, he mused about what might come from the wood. The more he thought about what to carve, the less he felt he could achieve that shape that lay in his mind. For a few hours he went about working in such a way.

"No, perhaps a large chess piece."

"No no, this is the wrong size for this, perhaps a miniature dondis?"

"Perhaps not, it is shaping up to be a wolf."

"Eh, I was wrong, I should just settle on a simple fish."

Back and forth the images raged in his mind. First he wanted it one-way, and then the other. Never was there a clear place for compromise, always a new vision leapt into his mind and negated any before it. His imagination was giving way to frustration, and it was beginning to change his completeness to sorrow.

Then by chance he made a little nick in the wood, and realized what was wrong. The wood did not want to bend to his will, it would transform into what it wanted to be, he was only there to help it along.

"Hyeh, yeah, that's what I was doing wrong."

So he continued to carve and carve, for hours and hours. What the block of wood finally settled on, Aerot was deeply happy with, but for now, another story needs to be told.

…

Miles and miles away there is a town called Nogrias. It was around there that a few months ago a bird named Rei found himself abjectly placed. And he was undoubtedly handsome and funny, she told herself, but there always seemed to have been something secretive about him.

She was Chassy Winnebaugh, and secrets meant a lot to her. They can be fun to keep when you hope to surprise someone for the better, but they're another thing entirely when you use a secret for the wrong reasons. In this case she felt that Rei seemed to have the good intention of not hurting her, but keeping her in the dark was doing just as much damage.

Loneliness filled her being to the brim, and it was at times too much to bear. So Chassy sat alone in her room, awaiting word of her Prince Charming. "Perhaps he'll write me a letter," she mused, "Just to let me know he's safe."

And write a letter was exactly what he had done.

…

Chassy was a good person, and good things should happen to good people. A sad letter was not a good thing to do. It was indeed, not a good letter. Knowing the negative connotation of the letter, Rei had gone about the task very tenderly. With pen in hand, he wrote in gentle strokes on the paper, almost as if he had his hands on Chassy reassuring her that everything was all right. Really though, everything was not all right, and that's what he had to tell her in his letter.

So he wrote and agonized. Constantly rewriting the letter over and over, going back on things he said, and not putting in what he thought he should say. Was this right to say here? How could he soften the blow here? Who in their right mind could stand relationships anyway! Finally after an hour, one hand writing while the other had a death grip on the table, and the letter was finished.

That was two days ago, and this is where the letter was now.

…

Skabar Tselent galloped on his dondis, down the dusty road. Down the road that neatly connected trade routes from Nogrias to Marburg. Trade routes and mail delivery routes as well.

So it was, as Skabar rode on into the afternoon, hoping to reach Nogrias soon, and bring word of Rei's safety back to his wife, he came upon another traveler. It was a telegraph dog, and despite its old age and lack of transportation, he seemed to be making very good progress. Still, he was getting tired, and Skabar could tell by the way the messenger's shoulders drooped, and how ravenously he panted. Playing Good Samaritan Skabar slowed down to the dog's speed, and quickly took out a canteen full of water.

The dog looked at Skabar questioningly, "Eh?" His eyesight appeared to be a bit worn with age.

"Oh, here's some water for you, if you like." Skabar customarily smiled at the dog, as he took the canteen kindly from Skabar.

"Thanks kid, it sure does get hot out here."

"Yea, that it does." Skabar looked ahead, as the dog greedily slaked his thirst.

"I heard you approaching pretty quickly from behind, thought it may have been mail bandits."

The troubles of the world today, "You don't say, folks would really be so cruel?"

The old dog knowledgeably shook his head, "Dang ruffians really do that, I'm afraid. Back in my heyday they did it all the time, evolved from old outlaw's I reckon."

"Hmm, have you been doing this route long?"

Skabar's comment was met with a toothy grin, "Thas right, I've been doing this route for darn near thirty years."

"Wow."
"Yeah, highway thieves used to have a better time when people sent gold, their business went down with the advent of cash. Now only the ones with grace o' handwriting skills dare try to steal them new age 'checks'."

Not knowing where it came from, Skabar blurted out, "If modern science isn't making things easier for us, it's making it harder on crooks. Least, that's how it should be." He scrambled for a notepad, something he had recently bought, to write it down.

"Fact, I've only got about six letters in my sack. I 'member one was from a publisher house, and then a couple love letters and a catalog."

Skabar had stopped writing when he heard about the publishing company, "Say, you wouldn't be able to tell me who that letters to, would ya?"

"Huh? Nah, sorry, kid, can't do that sort of stuff. Though… hmm, you know this place pretty well?"

Skabar chuckled under his breath, "Yea, pretty well."

"Well, see this one letter doesn't really have an address. Jus' says Trader's Route, midway. I know that must be around here, but I'm 'fraid my eyes aren't what they were… so you know."

"Only two folks live out here, me and my wife."

"Oh ho, so you are…?"

"Skabar Tselent, just like it says on that letter, I bet."

"Well well, let me see here." The dog began to rummage through his sack. He seemed to make a big deal out of it, though there was only a few letters inside. In a matter of moments he had produced two letters. "Here you are, the publisher's letter, and… uh, "he squinted at the address, trying to make sense of it, "Aw shoot, could you read this, tell me if it's to you as well?"

Skabar smiled as he took the letters, "Sure thing. Yep, here's my letter, and this one…" Skabar trailed off, and read the from and to address under his breath, "from Rei to Chassy."

"Hey, what did you say? I know I'm right blind, but I'm not deaf."

He felt uneasy, he wanted to read the letter to find out what it said, but on the other hand he knew it would be wrong of him. The messenger was asking him again if it was his letter or not, "Oh yeah, this one's mine too. Thanks old timer."

"Old timer," he demanded, "Bah, I'll let it slide for the water, and helping me with the address."

Skabar decided he'd keep the letter, and read it. He was on his way to Nogrias anyway, and this would tell him in short order whether Rei was safe or not. That would clear his mind, and he'd be able to think of a swell gift for Lily from Nogrias. "Well, I'm going to hang back and read these. You take care now." And so he and the old dog parted.

He waited for the dog to be pretty far off, and then he put the two letters in his pocket, leapt off of his dondis, and started for a stream nearby. Pretty soon he had his dondis hitched to a tree, and lunch and the letters spread out in front of him. As he munched on a sandwich, he opened up the publisher's letter, and read it.

It was just a letter from his editor, saying that he's glad to have Skabar on board and everything. A check had already been received and cashed, and the life-binding contract had already been signed. The letter was merely a nice gesture, and Skabar was appreciative of it. The sandwich began to stir in his stomach, pushed around by guilt, as he eyed the letter from Rei.

Certainly he was having doubts about what he had done. Was his name on the address? No, it was not. On the other hand, if this proved that Rei was okay, it would be a load off of his mind, and give him a bit more time to look around Nogrias, that deed being as mentioned before, to get his wife a gift. Nogrian roses were in bloom, and a dozen or so would look great in a hand made vase above their fireplace. Thinking about it there was also a chocolate maker in Nogrias as well.

And so, without further ado, he gently opened the letter (making sure that Chassy wouldn't know it had been open) and he scanned for the tell tale message in the first line. What he was hoping for was the sentence, "Hello from Marburg, all is well," instead it read, "Chassy, I send you my love, all is not well."

One word came to mind instantly, "Damn." Skabar quickly read through the letter, trying to find out what Rei's predicament was. When he got to the final word, Skabar blinked in the sunlight. This was all wrong it had to be!

And it was wrong, and he had to fix it.

In his letter, Rei had professed his love for Chassy, but he also detailed why he could never see her again. The emotions that Skabar read in the letter tore his heart, and it would only do worse to Chassy. If he let Chassy read this letter, he shuddered at what would happen. She'd lose it entirely, and she'd break down.

Skabar took out his sword, and began to unscrew the pommel at the end of the hilt. It soon popped off, and a strong perfume hit his nostrils. The smell was from the letter he had inside of the hilt, it was a love letter from his wife before they were married, and she had dipped it in perfume to remind him of her. Skabar rolled Rei's letter up very thin, and slid it inside of his wife's letter. There it would be safe.

He knew what had to be done, he knew what Lily would have him do, and he knew what he was going to do. So he gathered up his things, and packed up his dondis. He faced towards the east, towards Marburg, and that's the direction he rode.

…

Rei sat in his chair. It was very comfy, and the light that played on his brow was relaxing and comforting. The cool clean water he was sipping at was delightful, and refreshing. But Rei felt awful, and confused, and lonely. He felt lost, and he felt isolated. He felt pain for all that he had gained, and then subsequently lost. Or felt to lose. Or never had.

He had written a letter to a girl he loved, but it was not a love letter, nor was it good news. Now he sat in the apartment of someone he barely knew, someone who was expecting more out of him than he cared to give, and knew something he didn't want to know.

Otherwise, there were people in his life that seemed to swirl about him. As if he were the center of a whirlpool. He watched them fly by once, and then again, coming ever closer to him. They were going to collide with him, and crush him, and sink him to the bottom. Or was that all in his imagination? There wasn't a thing as fate, was there?

Was everything truly connected? A grand plan? A web of events, you touch a thread, and alert the spider! And what if it was part of a great desire, then where would he be when he was done? Drowned, crushed and destroyed, no more.

"So, then I would be traveling down this path of life, unable to take a walk down an inviting path, what good is that?" But, hadn't he said something the opposite of that? Some time long ago, in a place far away? Did he not want those paths, did he not wish to walk straight down a path straight to death? To be free from the turmoils of a world gone cold?

Hadn't he left that all behind? A voice startled him, "Naw, that's not true, only people who lay down roots have to stick to a path. If you're like me, and you never lay down roots, then you're free to travel the winds."

It was Aerot, and he leaned over Rei. Rei stared at the wolf dumbfounded, not because of what he had said, but the way he had said it. He was about to reply to the comment, when Servan called, "Aerot, I need your help over here."

"Right away, Servan," Aerot hurried to the door to Servan's workshop, before he went in he turned around and said to Rei, "Hey, take it easy. The whole fate discussion is cliché anyway."

"Huh, yeah…" Rei trailed off, as the wolf left the room. What had really struck him as odd was that Aerot had said 'roots'. All along Rei had always thought of the things that kept him to one place as 'chains'. There was something very different between life giving binds, and links of metal, but not much. They still kept you stuck to the ground, unable to let the wind carry you from place to place.

And as well, what if Rei was inextricably bound to each and everyone he'd ever met, or even passed by, did it mean it was all fated that way? No, he though, there just couldn't be a reason for all of this.

Or, then again…

…

The Emperor was looking out upon his domain from his balcony, and feeling quite pleased with himself. After all, it seemed that plans were finally coming together. Both the Eclipse Sword and the Stone had been captured by his dragons, and would soon be in his possession. Not only that, but as fate decried, Rei and the other destined ones were on their way to Limeburg, and would start in a few days, and be there in a short few weeks. The best part was that they were most likely oblivious to their fates, and possibly even that there was such a thing.

He turned around and saw himself in a mirror, his sharp beak, and glorious red-feathered wings draped upon his shoulders, truly made him look like the ruler of a land far and wide. Turning again, he asked of the servant cleaning his throne, "Life, is it not grand and my wonders unending and immeasurable?"

Not only was this somewhat blasphemous, and the servant was more than poor, and he didn't like the Emperor, and he was cleaning the throne with a rag and his own spit, he said, "Certainly, milord." Disagreement to the ruler was punishable by death, and that counted for citizens and nobility as well as servants.

"Yes, oh yes!" Before he could once again appreciate himself, or his countryside, a flurry of scaly wings was heard on the balcony. "I called for a dragon, and it came, right on time!"

The Emperor was quite pleased, but the servant was scarred out of his wits, "My God, it-it’s a dragon!" Then, death penalty or not, he ran right for the door, and was gone from the room. Fortunately the Emperor didn't notice.

"Welcome, oh my lovely dragon! And I am sure that you and your brood bring me a great gift?" He smiled happily at the dragon, expecting that he be given the Eclipse Sword, or the Eclipse Stone.

"No, I'm afraid not, sire." The dragon seemed to shudder as he said that phrase.

The Emperor was suddenly quite displeased, "What did you say?"

"The Eclipse Sword… and the Eclipse Stone… I have brought them to the place where Beuter was killed."

"What? But I need them here, in my possession! Why did you do this?"

The Dragon smiled, "There are many more forces in want of that power, other than you--" Suddenly the dragon felt his arm be nearly ripped from its socket, he howled in pain. The Emperor had caused this to happen, long ago he had won a contest of magic against the King of Dragons, and he could control the dragons on the slightest whim.

"How? I control you, body and mind, but how are you defying me? I specifically ordered you to bring my treasures directly to me!"

The Emperor was furious, but the dragon was not swayed. Instead, he kneeled on the ground, rubbing his sore arm, and continued, "There are conflicting forces fighting each other for possession of 'your' treasures. Bringing them here could be detrimental to the balance of life, but having them in the desert where Beuter, a spiritual dead zone, we can keep that dire possibility from happening."

"You lie," as the Emperor said this, he began to move his hands, and the dragon's other arm was stretched out.

"No! I am telling the truth!" The Emperor dropped his hands, and let go of the dragon's arm. "Also, a bird named Rei is on his way there, just as it was prophesied."

The Emperor went silent at the mention of that name. It sounded so familiar to him. Pushing through hazy thoughts, he tried to remember where he had heard it. "If you are lying to me, you shall be in trouble!"

"Yes, my liege. I shall go to the place where Rei shall come." And with that and a leap, he flew away.

Things were indeed coming together, but not in the way he wanted them. It was not in the Emperor's way, to let the threads travel where they would. He wanted the utmost control of everything, but in this case, maybe he should just let what happens, happen. Or maybe he could do something.

The Emperor bellowed, "Messenger!"

Quickly the door opened, and in scurried a short and squat rodent of some sort. He bowed before his king, "At your service."

"Yes, I want you to alert my son, Zaego, of a mission I want him to conduct." Maybe fate would play out the way it wanted, but the Emperor wasn't going to take that lying down!