The Lance of Zaros

Chapter I: A Slayer's Duty

The cave was dank, dark and reeked of fungus and the odour of a hundred different exotic creatures. However, Kyran MacTavish didn't notice any of it. He knelt before the woman in front of him. Though she was slightly shorter than him, it didn't detract from his sense of awe in her presence. She was one of the most accomplished masters of slaying exotic animals and monsters in the world. Her name was Kuradal, and he had been apprenticed to her for over ten years. Kyran wore a platemail body he had looted from the body of Guthan the Infested, and a pair of platelegs forged from dragon metal. He held the traditional helm of experienced slayers under his arm against his chest. His brown hair was shorn militarily short, little more than stubble, and his jaw line was clean-shaven. When Kuradal said nothing, Kyran finally looked up at her with piercing green eyes.

“Get up, Kyran,” she said sternly.

A cold ball formed in the pit of Kyran's stomach. Had he done something to displease Kuradal? If he had, he honestly feared for his life. Kuradal was terrifying when angry. Slowly, he stood up on slightly trembling legs. “Yes, m'lady? What is it?”

For a second, the frown remained on Kuradal's face- then she split into a grin. “You won't be calling me that any more, Kyran. As you know, you've been apprenticed to me for quite a while, and you've gained a lot of life experiences in that time. In fact, you're one of the best apprentices I've ever had. That is why I believe that you're ready.”

Kyran was unsure how to react. What was Kuradal talking about? What was he ‘ready' for? He remained silent.

“I can tell what's going on in your head, Kyran. I think that you're ready for the mark of a master Slayer.”

Realization dawned on him. Did she mean…

Kuradal reverently knelt down and picked up a plain brown package off the ground. She unwrapped it, revealing a heavy black cape with a red trim on either side of the symbol of a skull on the back.

“The cape of slayer mastery,” Kuradal said, unfolding it. She reached up slightly and pulled the cape over Kyran's head. “This is one of the heaviest cloaks in the world, and with good reason. The duties of a master slayer are a heavy burden to carry- this is the reason that there are so few slayer masters in the world. So few have the courage, the strength of belief, the will to carry on. This is why you are unique among men. You have proven time and again that you will help those in need, those that live under the thumb of tyranny, those who are oppressed and forgotten. With this cloak around your shoulders, all will know that they may turn to you in times of desperation. You might never know peace; you may never settle down. Such is the life of a slayer master. Knowing all this, will you still accept the cape and all the responsibilities that come with it?”

Kyran never hesitated. “Yes, Lady Kuradal. I will!”

She smiled. “No, Kyran. Not ‘Lady Kuradal' any more. You and I are now equals, though we may have different paths to walk. I educate apprentice slayers in the ways to fight all manner of creatures in this world, and you use this training however you see fit, but the fact remains that you are the same as me. A few years younger-well, maybe more than a few- but still the same. Who knows? In a few years, perhaps you yourself will feel the need to train the youth of the world. For now, though, you can do what you will. Go with my blessing.”

For a second, Kyran stood still. He a warmth on his cheeks, and then he realized- he was crying. Crying. What did Kuradal think of him now? The mighty slayer, bawling like a toddler. He took a deep breath, and wiped his eyes.

“Thank you, Lad- Thank you... Kuradal.”

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Adalyn's hood kept slipping in the driving winds that constantly buffeted her entire body. The decrepit ghetto of Meiyerditch lay behind her- if she had some morbid desire to look back at the horrid place, she would still be able to see the bloodthirsty Vyrewatch flitting evilly about the city.

Or, she would be able to in the light of day. The night's darkness was so thick it was palpable. It would be almost impossible to see if it were not for the small oil lantern she tentatively held out in front of her. It was a choice between stumbling her way in the dark and increasing her chances of being captured- she had known that the slight increase in stealth going without a lamp would be completely negated by her stumbling about, tripping over roots and rocks. Besides, the vyrewatch didn't need light to stalk their prey- they could hunt by smell alone. The thought that one of the vampyric demons could be trailing her did nothing to allay her fears. Still, she couldn't think about something like that- it just wasn't productive. She continued on in silence.

Soon, she came upon a large stone pillar, twice as tall as her with a circular base. Gasping softly, she slowly held out her hand until it was touching the granite. Surprisingly, it was warm to the touch- almost hot, in fact. Slowly, she searched the pillar until she found what she was looking for.

“The silver sickle,” came a voice from behind her. Her heart jolted into a hammering beat. No. Impossible. She couldn't have been followed. Could she have? She slowly turned around-

And found herself face-to-face with a young man who looked no older than twenty. She breathed a sigh of relief. Not the vyrewatch. Not this time, at least.

“You scared me half to death,” she said almost under her breath to him. “I thought you were one of Drakan's thugs. “

The man grinned. His brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail, swung in the wind. “Nope, sorry to disappoint you, Adalyn. Just Terrell. Nobody special.”

“Damned right,” she hissed amusedly, her fears slowly dissipating. She pulled the hood back from her head to reveal the slender, pointed ears of an elf, and wispy silver hair that cascaded rather than fell over her shoulders. She stuck Terrell with a funny look from her pale blue eyes. “Seren forbid you ever get a little careless.”

Terrell grunted. “I don't see what the gods have to do with this. If they've the power to help us at all, they must have seen it fit to forget us, or watch in amusement as we fight a battle we cannot win.”

Adalyn put a hand on Terrell's shoulder. “Don't say that, brother. Not all the gods are so callous toward our plight. In fact, my infiltration went better than expected…and I found something else. Something that must be a sign from the gods that we are destined to triumph. But the gates of Burgh de Rott are no place to discuss such sensitive matters. Let us meet with the Council of the Myreque.”

Terrell blinked a few times, then nodded. “Yes, “he said. “Yes, of course. If you think it's a gift from the gods, then so it must be. Let us go.”

From here, Adalyn knew her way by heart, so she extinguished the lamp. Silently, they moved through the slowly decaying city, into the heart of the Morytanian rebellion.

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Varrock, several days later

Kyran felt naked without the armour he almost always wore. He had had to settle for a tight set of runite chainmail hidden beneath his bulky tunic. Luckily, winter was coming on, so such an outfit was nothing to take notice of. He sat in the Blue Moon bar with a glass of frothy ale in his hand, though it was losing more liquid to evaporation than to his drinking. Not that it wasn't good- in fact, it was some of the best he'd ever tasted. It was just that he hadn't come to the bar to drink; he had come to listen. Kyran had sat in there for the better part of a day, listening for a good lead as to anyone who needed major help. So far, it had all been minor- familial squabbles, petty merchanting concerns, runaway cats- and he had almost despaired of hearing anything good.

Military he knew because he himself had been a soldier in the Ardougne Special Forces- he could identify another vet when he saw him, or heard him, as the case was. Though Kyran was a vet, he was only thirty-one years old. He had joined the Forces when he was eighteen, and had spent three years there, before being honourably discharged and finding Kuradal. He closed his eyes and listened in.

“It's the vampyres, I tell you!” he said. “They're suckin' the lifeblood of Morytania dry! They've got people holed up in that slum Meiyerditch, where they take a helpin' of their blood whenever the heck they feel like it! Only one group of brave souls has the guts to stand up to the vicious beasts and their leader, Lord Drakan. The Myreque are the few that are fighting against the tyranny. But they haven't got much of a chance as it stands. They're outnumbered, outgunned, underfed, undermanned, you name it. So what I'm asking is- who here will lend their strength to these brave warriors? Who will take a stand against the rising tide of darkness?”

The man stood and was silent for a second, waiting for a reply from someone in the crowd. None came. He banged the table with both hands. “I say again!” he shouted. “Who has the courage to help the people livin' under the constant threat of death? Who?”

This was what he had been waiting for. Kyran had known about the situation in Morytania, and had often thought of helping the Myreque. Until recently, it had slipped his mind. He stood up, practically towering above the people seated at the tables.

“I will, sir. I will take up the banner. I will help defeat the Vyrewatch. I will help the Myreque triumph.”

For a second, all was silent. Then, the man- who looked about fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair and a square jaw- grinned.

“All right, then, sonny. So you wanna fight the vampyres? I'll take you there.”

The Lance of Zaros, Chapter 2: The Knight's Escort

Paterdomus, one day later

Not for the first time, Kyran wondered at the apparent apathy of the people of Varrock. He had been the only one to take the man- whose name he now knew to be Tora- up on his offer of aid to the Myreque. Then again, maybe it was Tora's fault- a bar wasn't exactly the best place to recruit able-bodied soldiers capable of aiding a rebel group. Regardless of the reasons, though, Kyran was alone as they journeyed silently under the stone walls of the Paterdomus temple. They reached a small room lined with shelves against its edges, and what appeared to be a translucent blue barrier that shimmered and gleamed in the dim candle light. Standing in the middle of the room was a wizened man in plain brown robes. Small though he was, Kyran could feel an aura of power about him.

“Ah, hello there, Tora,” the man said politely, eyeing Kyran. “I see you've got another recruit from Varrock.”

Tora nodded, a grin splitting his face. “Sure do, Drezel ol' pal. In fact, seems like he might be one of the strongest fighters I've seen yet. His name's Kyran, Kyran MacTavish.”

Kyran wore no armour yet. He had planned to retrieve his items from the bank in Canifis. Drezel took a good, long look up and down at Kyran, then nodded slowly. “Yes, Tora, I believe you may be right. Saradomin will have many uses for him, I'm sure.”

Kyran blinked. He had never really accepted the set of beliefs that Saradomin's followers seem to subscribe to. If he truly followed any god, it was Guthix- Kyran firmly believed in a life of balance. Still, it wouldn't be productive to deliberately antagonize someone like Drezel, so he remained silent.

After a moment, Drezel nodded, and said, “Very well, then, Kyran, pass through the holy barrier beyond me, and you'll be in Morytania, where someone will escort you to the Myreque's base in Burgh de Rott.”

Kyran hesitated. “Wait,” he finally said. “Isn't Tora coming?”

Drezel shook his head. “No, he won't. Tora is not a soldier, he's more of a recruiter. Both roles are equally important, really. Now, you really must be on your way, Lord Drakan won't delay forever.”

Slowly, Kyran nodded, then turned to Tora. “It was good knowing you, Tora. I hope to see you again someday soon.” He extended a hand, which the other promptly shook vigorously.

“The same to you, boy, the same to you! Now get going and show those vampyres a good what for!” He slapped Kyran on the shoulder, then turned and disappeared into the tunnels they had used coming here.

He took a breath, and touched the barrier he had seen before. It tingled as he put his hand through, which grew to a buzz as he slipped in his arm, and finally became a silent roar as he put the rest of his body in. He stepped out into a gloomy setting, with a grey sky and the reek of a nearby swamp- it was Mort Myre, he knew. He stood on a stone bridge about a hundred feet long, and surprisingly, he wasn't alone. There were around a dozen people with him, wielding all manner of weapons and armour. There were several with wooden longbows clothed in the hide of dragons, and one who had a type of bow he had never seen before. It was black and red, in the shape of a lazy M, with spikes adorning its frame. The one who wielded it was a woman clad in black dragonhide armour, with what looked to be a strange brown backpack slung over her shoulders. For some reason, Kyran thought he heard clucks coming from the pack, but he knew it wasn't possible. Kyran worked his way around several people before moving to the front, where he saw another monk in the same robes as Drezel, and a tall man in gold-trimmed white armour- the protection of choice for White Knights and Temple Knights. However, the entire set was tarnished, with scuffs and scrapes disfiguring it. His hair was a light grey, though he looked no older than Kyran himself, and he was a less than an inch shorter than him. Suddenly, the man walked up to Kyran and shook his hand.

“Hey there. My name's David Stacks. I assume you're here to go to Burgh de Rott?” the man said in a lilting accent that sounded strangely like that of the elves.

Kyran nodded. “True, true. I've come to help the Myreque against Lord Drakan.”

David grinned. “To destroy evildoers and avail them of their loot, eh? That's what everyone says, after all.”

Kyran wore a quizzical frown. “Actually, I hadn't heard that part. I just came because I knew that the Myreque were down and out, you know, and they needed help.”

David's eyebrows rose slightly. “Really,” he said. “Well, it seems we've got a genuine paragon of heroism on our hands. How about you get suited up at the bank over in Canifis and we'll have you on your way to the Myreque?”

Kyran nodded. “All right, then. Say, roundabout an hour?”

David nodded. “Just so.”

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David looked at David in his traditional slayer gear with the black cape slung over his shoulder. As a weapon he had a spear that he had plundered off the dead body of Zamorak's favoured general, K'ril Tsutaroth. It definitely hadn't been an easy kill. In fact, if he hadn't been fighting the massive demon in tandem with Kuradal, he probably would have lost and been killed.

“Wow... I've got a feeling you wouldn't even need me to escort me through Mort Myre,” David said, the hints of a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I mean, you're a master slayer. I'm just a former White Knight.”

Kyran chuckled. “Oh, I doubt that highly. Even my master said to me during my apprenticeship that in Morytania, no matter how strong you are, there's always someone stronger. Teams, even of two, are essential.”

David shrugged. “Well, all right. You've got a healthy cache of food and medical supplies, I'm sure.” When Kyran nodded, David returned the gesture. “We're ready, then. Off through the swamp, then.” He took a few firm steps off the bridge onto the soft, somewhat marshy ground toward the wrought-iron gate that separated them from the swamp.

Kyran grinned and turned to David. “Once more unto the breach, dear friend.”

David turned to Kyran. “That reminds me. There are several routes through the swamp, as well as several hotspots of hostile activity. We can take a long route to avoid them, or we could go the short way straight through them. Which would you prefer, Kyran?”

Kyran gave a look of mock innocence. “Me, fight? I could never do that.”

David had to laugh. “You sure know how to make a point, so you do. The short way it is! We'll be going through the Hollows, and we'll have to travel by boat down to Mort'ton. Let me tell you, though, the creatures in the river aren't exactly lovers of humans, if you catch my drift.”

Kyran shrugged. “That's perfectly fine by me. I'm not too fond of things that want to eat me- you know what I call those things, David?”

David gave him a quizzical glance.

Kyran grinned. “Dinner.”

“Heh heh,” David chuckled. “Well, good luck eating the shades that inhabit Mort'ton. I would love to see you try it. I mean it.”

Several uneventful hours passed, and eventually they reached a black-watered river that was completely opaque. Try as he might, David couldn't see even an inch under the water. Anything could be lurking under the rapidly-flowing surface. Tied to a rotting wood pier near them was a rickety looking wooden boat about three meters long with a long pole attached, swaying in the current. David thought it resembled a gondola from hell.

“Let me guess,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “Our transportation?”

David nodded. “Just so. I'll pilot the thing. How about you watch for, hmm, hostiles?”

“Hostiles, dinner, here it's the same thing. Let's do it!”

They boarded the boat, and David severed the rope, but instead of grabbing the pole to propel the boat, as Kyran thought he would, he pulled a strange-looking weapon out of his pack. It was a staff that looked to be made out of a fusion of silver and mithril, and on the end, there was a silver sickle with an emerald embedded in the blade. The staff and sickle were connected by a length of chain links.

“What in the name of Guthix is that?” Kyran asked. “I've never seen any weapon like it.”

David grinned. “This is the signature weapon of the Myreque vyrewatch slayers- the Ivandis flail. But right now I figured it would be more versatile to use it as a method of propulsion.”

Kyran scratched his chin. “It escapes me why you would need to use such a weapon when a simple abyssal whip or scimitar would work.”

“Trust me, you'll see why when we get to Burgh de Rott.” David pushed off, adding the propulsion from his flail to the river's own flow. This went on for what seemed like an eternity but was in reality probably no more than an hour.

“I have to say, David, I'm not seeing any of these hostiles you were talking abou-“ he stopped talking as he felt a tremor from beneath the boat.

“That can't be good,” he said to David, who was looking grim.

“It's not…In fact, it's worse than not good. It's terrible.”

“What do you mean, terrible? What is it?”

Suddenly, four massive sickly green tentacles, covered in suckers, exploded out of the murky water surrounding them. The boat had stopped moving, which meant that something was holding them… and that was when a bloated mass on top of a spindly neck appeared in front of the boat.

“A swamp beast!” David shouted, throwing his flail down on the boat and grabbing an abyssal whip instead. “Kyran! Go for the head! I'll fend off the tentacles!”

The tentacles lashed about the boat, hungrily grabbing for Kyran, but David's whip was here, there, everywhere, slicing and slashing the writhing arms. David's flexible defence was impenetrable in the few seconds that it took Kyran to advance toward the front end of the boat where the beast's bulbous head was located. It had one massive eye and two rows of needle-like teeth in its maw, along with a black-spotted tongue that lolled behind them.

Kyran took his spear and reared back to thrust through the creature's skull when what felt like a two hundred kilo log slammed into the side of his helmet, knocking him to the rickety wooden floor of the boat. He quickly realized that it was one of the tentacles that had hit him- and it was pulling his helmet right off his head! The helmet's spines were stuck cleanly through, and pale green blood was running down over the top, through the eye holes, and onto the absorbent material of the face mask within.

“Aw, come on!” Kyran growled. “Where am I going to get another helmet like that around here?” He quickly flipped up onto his feet and slashed the tentacle his helmet was stuck in. He pulled the spines out and threw the stump into the water before deciding that perhaps putting the helmet on in its current state wasn't the best idea-so he threw it on the floor. All the while, David was flicking his whip lithely all around, distracting the beast.

“Come on, Kyran, we haven't got all day!” he said urgently. “Get it in gear!”

Kyran rolled his eyes. Hefting the spear back, he gave a mighty grunt as he skewered the head until his weapon would go no further. The tentacles, left to act on local nerve impulses alone, started to flail uncontrollably, then went stiff and plunged back into the murky water. With the beast's grip off the boat, they started drifting downstream until David grabbed his flail and got the vessel under control again.

Kyran sat down and whistled as he started cleaning his spear. “Wow, David,” he said blithely, as if nothing had happened. “When you said ‘hostiles', you really weren't kidding.”

David gave him a wry grin. “When it comes to Mort Myre, I don't kid. Speaking of which, it seems that we've arrived at the entrance to Burgh de Rott!”

The river entered an underground cavern behind another wooden pier, which looked sturdier than the one they had departed from. Beyond the pier, across a muddy field with sparse patches of pale grass adorning it, was a simple wooden gate and fence. Kyran could see a large group of slightly dilapidated buildings in the gloom.

As they stepped out of the boat, which David had tied down, Kyran turned to his companion.

“Well,” he said, grinning, “Let's go meet the Myreque!”

The Lance of Zaros, Chapter III

A Different Kind of Life

Veliaf Hurtz sat on a simple wooden stool, with a silver sickle in one hand, and a cloth in the other. He was apparently too busy cleaning his weapon to notice Kyran and David enter the pub that passed for a base.

“Veliaf!” David said, carrying his Ivandis flail over his shoulder. “I've got a new recruit for the Myreque!”

Without looking up, Veliaf said, “Wonderful, how much training will he need?” He didn't sound at all enthusiastic- rather bored, actually. “I think that the recruits these days are getting a little more- wow.” His eyes widened as he took a look at David. “Well, I suppose training is out of the question, then.”

Kyran shook his head. “Not at all, sir. There's always room for improvement. For example, I can honestly say that if you gave me a weapon like David's, I would have very little idea how to use it. So training is always an option.”

Veliaf chuckled. “Oh, he's a real dandy, David. Good on ya, son! You'll do fine around here.”

David was about to respond when he heard footsteps coming lightly down the winding steps.

“Captain Veliaf!” an airy voice said. “Has David come back yet?” As the last word ended, Kyran saw a female elf step out of the shadows. She had a silvery hair that fell to her shoulders, and eyes of the same color that seem that look straight through him. She wore a loose-fitting black tunic cinched above her waist by a sash, with slightly baggy trousers beneath. Kyran quietly averted his gaze.

“Oh,” she said, a hint of wry amusement shading her words. “Well, I knew you would bring a new recruit, David, but you didn't tell me he'd be so handsome.” Kyran suddenly had an urge to be somewhere, anywhere else than down here. He willed her to stop talking. She didn't.

“That's quite the cape you've got there, sir,” she almost purred. “I'm sure only someone exceptionally brave and mighty could earn that.”

Kyran blinked a few times, then forced himself to look up. “Sorry,” he said, extending a hand to her, “I didn't catch your name, and I don't believe you know mine, either. The name's Kyran MacTavish. It's, uh…it's good to meet you.”

The elf raised an eyebrow and smiled silkily. “Well, Kyran MacTavish, you should know that my name is Adalyn Blackwood. But you can call me Addy.” She ignored his hand and instead took a hold of his arm just above the elbow, almost possessively clutching it to her admittedly impressive chest.

Kyran's face turned red, but before he could respond, he heard Veliaf laugh. It sounded like someone beating a timpani drum.

“It's not nice to tease the newcomers, Adalyn,” he said, a stupid grin showing beneath his black moustache. “Try to save the seduction for a few hours, at least.”

Kyran noticed that David, too, was chuckling. Adalyn- even if she was being serious about this, he couldn't call someone he had just met by a nickname- joined in, a smile revealing perfectly white teeth.

“He was too easy to pass up, Veliaf,” she said, letting go of his arm. “I have to have some fun, after all. Where'd you find him, anyway? He acts like he just got off the farm.”

David shook his head. “I don't know about that. Any man would be hard-pressed to stand stoic in the face of your wiles, yeah? Besides, Kyran here's an honest-to-Saradomin war vet, not to mention-“

Adalyn's face suddenly went stony. “Big deal,” she said blankly. “We're all veterans here; it's no great honour among us.”

David looked slightly put off. “As I was saying, he's also a master slayer. Meaning he's most likely more adept at combat than the rest of us. We can scarcely turn down help, in any case.”

Adalyn gave an accepting nod, then turned back to Kyran who was still silent. She looked him in the eye and seemed like she was about to say something, when suddenly-

-she jumped on him! She executed an astonishingly high leap, and came forward, causing him to take a steadying step backwards before tripping and crashing to the ground with Adalyn straddling his chest, her face only inches away from his.

“Oh, yes,” she said, a playful grin on her face. “You and me, we're going to have lots of fun.”

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Several hours later, Kyran stepped into the strangely clear spring water that passed for a communal bath in Burgh de Rott. A few other men- and not an insignificant number of women- sat or lay in the winding river, holding bars of soap or rags, trying to wash off the scent of the Marsh to varying degrees of success. He sank into the water up to his chin, letting the tension roll off his shoulders. He had finally unpacked his rucksack into a small yet functional room that held two beds, both unoccupied. Folding up his clothes, he had taken only his helmet into the river, to clean the blood off. Now that he was done with that, though, he could finally afford to relax a bit. He closed his eyes and submerged his head underwater, feeling the grime and dirt wash out of his hair and beard. The only thing that could ruin this was-

“Well, hello there, handsome.”

Damn.

He opened his eyes to see Adalyn already sitting in the water next to him. Without a stitch of clothing. Did she enjoy making him agitated? Probably. He forced himself to look her in the eyes, rather than…elsewhere.

“Wh... What do you want, Adalyn?” he asked, trying to keep his tone civil.

She made a mock pouting face. “Aww, you mean you're not happy to see me? I'm sorry.”

He took a calming breath before responding. “Ok, I'm sorry. I'll…try to be nicer in the future.”

She looked him over once, making him feel profoundly uncomfortable, then smiled. “What's the matter, Kyran? Never seen a woman quite as beautiful as me?”

Quite as beautiful…Maybe quite as annoying. Or quite as nude. “Well, uh…what can I help you with, Adalyn?”

She clutched his arm as she had done in the pub, only more…affectionate. “Nothing, Kyran. I just wanted to be near you is all. Should I not have come?”

“Look, Adalyn, it's not that I don't think you're-“ he was interrupted by the ringing of a loud brass bell. Everyone seemed to look instantly toward the sky- even Adalyn had cut short her flirtations to crane her neck back.

“What is it, Adalyn? What's wrong?” he asked her, confused.

She looked at him with a grim stare. One sole word fell out of her mouth.

“Vyrewatch.”

As soon as she said it, she stood up and gathered up her clothes, hurriedly pulling them on.

“Come on, Kyran!” she said impatiently. “Get dressed- there's fighting to be done, and unless I'm seriously mistaken, David had said you were more combat proficient than us!”

“Uh…yeah.” He quickly towelled off and pulled his pants and shirt on before picking up his Zamorakian spear.

“That'll be worse than useless against the vyrewatch,” Adalyn said. “ You'll need to go to the armoury to get an Ivandis flail!”

Kyran threw up his hands. “From the sound of it, there's no time for that! If I can't fight these vyrewatch with my spear, I'll roast ‘em with magic.”

Adalyn hesitated for a second, then made a frustrated clawing motion with her hands. “You know what? Fine. Go ahead and try it. Follow the sound of the bell and get right into the fray.” She dashed off, presumably to get a weapon.

Kyran took a deep breath and centred himself, then ran off following the ringing, which came from the east of the city. He darted past shacks and decrepit restaurants as the sound got ever louder. He jumped when he saw a black shadow glide through the air in front of him before coming to a halt.

“Holy Guthix…” he mumbled. What kind of abominations were these? The creature suspended in the air before him looked almost-almost- human, but emaciated to the point of grotesqueness, with sunken eyes that glowed red, and what looked like bat ears growing from the top of its head. The worst part, though, were the black, leathery wings that sprouted from the creature's back.

Suddenly, the creature spoke, in a raspy voice that sounded like glass being crushed.

“Where isssss it?” it hissed at Kyran. “The Masssssster needsss it.”

What? Where was what? He had no clue what the creature- presumably the vyrewatch that Adalyn was talking about- meant, and he told it as much.

“You are a poor liar…” it rasped at him. “Tell me where it isss... or die!”

“I don't know what you're talking about!” Kyran protested angrily.

The vyrewatch growled in a low, rumbling tone, and dove at him, narrowly missing as Kyran jumped sideways. This…He was trained for this. He focused his mind on the vyrewatch, feeling a familiar heat in his veins. During his apprenticeship with Kuradal, he had injected himself with a combination of liquid rune essence and dragon blood. While the process had not been fun- he had thrashed about in violent seizures for over a day as his body tried to cope with the powerful concoction- it had left him with a nearly infinite supply of fire magic, without ever needing runes. He was his own source of magical power.

“You wanna dance?” he said, grinning. “Let's do it.”

He sent a flaming ball of superheated air spiralling toward the vyrewatch, which should have instantly vaporized it-

-if it hadn't abruptly swerved to the left on its path toward him. Kyran maneuvered his left hand and brought the fiery sphere back around to impact the beast from behind, but it dodged again. It screeched as it fell from the heavens onto Kyran, locking the two into a grapple. He felt his hands grow hotter, his fingertips glowing red with spurts of flame. He was about to grab the vyrewatch's face when it seemed to lunge almost supernaturally fast, sinking its teeth into his unprotected forearm. Kyran let out a stifled gasp, then gritted his teeth; he had borne far worse pain than this during his time in the military. With his other arm, he put the vyrewatch into an iron-hard headlock; the creature took its teeth out of his flesh, trailing sticky blood, as it began to thrash and struggle.

“You're... urgh... you're stronger than you look, you know that?” he said through pained breaths as his opponent gradually slipped out of his grasp.

“I am as ssstrong... as the Massster requiresss, impudent human!” With one last burst of activity, the vyrewatch broke free and took to the sky once more, looping around like a lion circling its prey. Quickly, Kyran flicked both his wrists, and fireballs the size of grapefruits appeared in his palms. He hurled them like baseballs, one after the other at the creature.

“Sssurely you are not that foolish, human,” his opponent said. “You mussst know that you cannot harm me with your pitiful magicksss!” It flitted around the two fireballs without batting an eyelash. Kyran said nothing, crossing his arms in front of his body, and the fireballs came back around, twisting and flattening into flaming red columns burning a scorched path in the earth.

“Idiot!” the vyrewatch turned its head toward the moving pillars as they moved in their twisting patterns, then darted between them, and faced away from Kyran. “You are truly a fine ssspecimen of human ssstupidity!” It turned back to face Kyran-

-and found itself crashing to ground under the crushing weight of his flying body blow. On the dirt, Kyran pinned the vyrewatch's arms under his knees and put the small red dragonmetal dagger that he always had hidden in his back pocket to its throat.

“But... how did you... you're jussst an idiot human! You couldn't posssibly have…” The vyrewatch was silenced by the ferocious glint in Kyran's eyes.

“Listen to me,” he said coldly. “If you're smart…if you value your continued existence, if you have any plans on seeing tomorrow, there's one thing you never, ever take your eyes off of.”

The vyrewatch squirmed. “What'sss that?”

His eyes flashed. “A slayer.”

His dagger slashed across its throat.

Panting heavily, he stood up from his opponent's corpse, re-sheathing his dagger after wiping the blood off it.

“Whew,” he breathed. “I can't imagine fighting off more than one of those at a time. Maybe I should go check out the armoury after all.”

Just then, in the dim light, he saw Adalyn facing down a vyrewatch. She was fending him off quite capably with her silvthril flail, getting some sizable slashes around the vampyre's neck and torso. It looked like she had the upper hand until she suddenly doubled over, coughing what looked like blood across her black tunic, and stumbled back as the vyrewatch viciously attacked. For a second, Kyran froze. If he didn't do something, she was going to die. Just like-

No, He couldn't think about that now. He could protect what was in front of him, and that was Adalyn at the moment. He charged at the ghoul, shouting an ancient battle curse Kuradal had inadvertently taught him. It looked up in surprise at him just in time to be slammed to the ground, crushed under his muscle. Kyran's dagger made quick work of the shocked demon, whereupon he turned to Adalyn, who was lying on the ground, her breath coming in short hitches and her eyes barely open.

“Adalyn!” he said quietly, putting an arm under her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Oh…yeah,” she replied. “I cough up blood every day. I'm…perfectly fine…”

He gently picked her up and wiped the blood off her mouth with the collar of his shirt. “Perfectly fine. Sure you are, Ada…Addy. Where are the others?”

She seemed too weak to be indignant over being carried. “They're... They drove off most of the vyrewatch... or they're driving them off now. This was just... a scouting party... that happened to come upon the town... Drakan still... doesn't know... exactly where we are...”

He eventually found Veliaf, wrapping a white bandage around his upper arm, over a particularly nasty gash.

“Captain!” Kyran said. “Has the attack force been driven off?”

His eyes were cold and steely. “Driven off, no. Completely slaughtered, yes. Fortunately, none of them escaped to tell Drakan where we're located. For the moment, we're safe.” He took a look at Adalyn. “I take it she had one of her…attacks?”

By now, Adalyn had passed out, and was breathing normally again. “Yeah,” Kyran replied quietly. “What's wrong with her?”

Veliaf shook his head. “We don't know. All we know is that it's not life-threatening- unless it happens during a vyrewatch attack, that is. My recommendation is to get her into bed- she'll be fine tomorrow.”

Kyran nodded, and before he could think to ask Veliaf where her room was, he was already talking to another soldier.

“I, uh…I hope you don't mind sleeping in my room,” he said to the still-unconscious Adalyn.

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He gently lay her on the unoccupied bed, silently pulling the thin blankets over her sleeping form. Kicking off his combat boots, he sat on his own bed for a moment, then fell back tiredly. Definitely a hell of a first day. The light outside was already gone, and his head was throbbing like crazy. Time for a good rest…and as soon as the thought passed his mind, he was out like a light.

Sometime during the night, he felt a weight on his chest, and slowly opened his eyes. In the dark, he could barely see, but Kyran knew who it was instinctively. She must have woken up sometime while he was asleep and thought it would be funny to get in bed with him. Six months ago-hell, even two days before- he would have been angry, but now, with Adalyn sleeping quietly next to him, he didn't know what to feel. He had thought that he could never love another woman like he had Astrid- and he didn't, not yet; he hadn't known her for nearly long enough- but Adalyn embodied perfectly what he had loved about Astrid. For the moment, though, he was content to let her sleep…and maybe put his arm around her, too.

The Lance of Zaros, Chapter IV

Follow the Scar

Dim, hazy light streamed through the window of Kyran's room, burning his eyes until he finally grunted and rolled over. He saw Adalyn's face and flinched. He had completely forgotten about her.

''What would Kuradal think about me now? ''He wondered amusedly. ''One night away and I already got a girl in bed. ''Still, she hadn't really done anything untoward by the Myreque's standards... and it wouldn't have been Kyran's first time, either. The thought brought an unexpected pang of sadness to his heart, one that he hadn't felt for months.

Astrid...

He shook his head. ''No... It's been over a year now. She wouldn't want me to be like this. She would want me to be happy...''

Suddenly, in a surge of emotion, Kyran threw an arm around Adalyn and planted a fierce kiss on her sleeping lips. Her eyes opened halfway, still bleary with sleep, but undeniably amused.

“And to think that yesterday, you simply couldn't stand me,” she said, her breath wafting by his nose, smelling vaguely of white chocolate and peppermints- wait, that was her morning breath? Kyran knew people who would kill to have sweet-smelling breath like that even after they had cleaned their teeth.

“Well, ah... I... I guess I can't stand by while a beautiful woman is in danger,” he said, his face turning bright red.

Adalyn looked like she was about to smile, but her face turned ad at the last second. “Elves are empathic, you know, Kyran. I can read your emotions, and right now I'm reading that you're hiding something underneath that farm boy awkwardness, something so deeply ingrained in your mind that you'll never be able to completely forget it-something that I apparently brought to the forefront of your thoughts. My question is what exactly that thing is. Feel like answering?”

Kyran opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it when he saw the determined look on Adalyn's face. He sat up in the bed, cradling his forehead in his palm.

“It's... It's a long story. It started about... about a year and a half ago, way to the northwest in the Fremennik Seas, on a small island called Miscellania. Someone... close to me was killed because of my carelessness.”

Adalyn blinked. “Who was it?”

Kyran smiled, but his face showed nothing but an ancient weariness.

“My wife.”

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Miscellania, Fremennik Territory, approximately eighteen months before the present day

Kyran sat in the overstuffed chair in Princess Astrid's spacious room, legs crossed. He wore a simple button-down shirt and a pair of fine-spun trousers.

“Oh, Kyran,” she said, covering her mouth to stifle laughter. “There's no way you would talk to the king of Ardougne like that. You're so bad!” Her brownish blond hair fell to her shoulders in a silky cascade, and her green eyes sparkled with mischief. She wore a black dress with a cloak over the top.

Kyran grinned. “But I would, my dear. Especially after I found out that he had played me for the fool the entire time, getting me to do his dirty work for him!” He then snapped his fingers, as if he'd suddenly remembered something. “But enough of my stories about secretly evil kings. What say you and me go get a drink down at the Bronze Dragon? My treat, of course.”

She gave him an amused look. “Trying to get me drunk, eh? Oh, well. I never could resist a cold glass of Moonclan ale.” She hopped up from her chair and stood at the door. Kyran stood up, then let out a pained gasp and fell to one knee, clutching it with one hand, while his other hand went into his left pocket.

“Kyran!” Astrid exclaimed, rushing over to him. “Are you okay?”

“I... I think so... just... just let me say one thing...”

“What?” she asked with a mix of concern and confusion in her voice. “What is it?”

He looked up at her with a smile on his face and pulled his hand out of his left pocket, revealing an open box that contained a gold ring with a purple dragonstone gem encrusted on the top.

“Princess Astrid of Miscellania, would you deign to marry a common soldier such as myself?”

Astrid's eyes grew wide for a second, then rolled up into the back of her head as she swooned. Kyran quickly jumped up and caught her before she hit the ground.

“Astrid,” he said gently. “Are you alright?”

“Heh... heh heh...” she laughed weakly. “You always know how to surprise me, Kyran. But...” she threw her arms around Kyran's shoulders and kissed him passionately.

“Yes, Kyran, my lonely soldier. I will marry you.”

''I remember that that was in fact probably the happiest day of my life. Events happened quickly after that. King Vargas, Astrid's father, transferred power as king of Miscellania to me, and, though we couldn't find a priest to marry us at first-Miscellania was a small island, after all- we were as good as husband and wife. We finally made peace with Etceteria, Miscellania's neighboring country. It seemed like those happy days would never end.''

Miscellania Castle, Bedroom, Approximately fourteen months before the present day

The sun had set about an hour before, and Kyran had finally finished the administrative tasks for the day. He sat on a padded sofa, wearing a thin wool shirt and a pair of fur-lined sleeping pants. He was reading a book titled The Falador Principle when Astrid walked out of the bathroom, wearing a loose-fitting night shirt and a pair of equally baggy pants.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look beautiful, Astrid?” he said, smiling mischievously.

“Oh, once or twice,” she replied, sitting down next to him. “But it was usually when people were trying to flatter me, and I ignored them. I'll make an exception in your case, though.”

They sat together for a time in silence, hands clasped together, Astrid's head on Kyran's shoulder.

“Winter's coming on,” Kyran finally said.

She chuckled. “It never really leaves, if you haven't noticed. You're still getting used to living this far north, aren't you?”

He smiled. “Perhaps. I mean, I'm on an indefinite leave of absence from my apprenticeship with Lady Kuradal. She prefers more... temperate climes. But that look on your face tells me that you didn't come in here to ask me about my reaction to the weather. What's up?”

“Well... as king and queen, it would be our duty to, ah, produce an heir to the throne... So, I needed to ask you about your position on children.”

Kyran swallowed and put his book down. “Children? I suppose...I suppose I never thought about it before. I guess I wouldn't be opposed to having children. But we don't need to make a decision right now, do we?”

She smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “No, I suppose not. But thank you for at least giving it a chance... So how goes the kingly administration? Any clerical problems giving you trouble?”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Well, Brundt the Chieftain from Rellekka has offered to strengthen ties with us. He says that all the islands in the Fremennik area should unite under one banner- you know, for the common defence, if we were ever to come under attack.”

“So, would it be like we all became one country?”

“That's exactly what I asked. He said no, that it'd be more like an alliance between countries, promising that we'd help anyone in it under attack.”

“So what are you going to do?”

He took a breath. “I don't know. I'm inclined to say yes, but I fear that someone less noble-minded than Brundt might see us as small enough to absorb into their country- like King Sorvott of Jatizso.”

“But not Burowgar of Neitiznot? I mean, they are neighbours. Might not either see you unfavourably?”

Kyran shook his head. “No, Mawnis is a close friend of mine after I helped him drive back an invasion of mountain trolls. I can count on him in a pinch.”

Astrid yawned and stretched her arms out. “Wow, sounds like you've got quite a load on your plate, love. But you can work it out later. For now, you can sleep.”

She stood up and walked over to the large canopied bed with black covers and red velvet pillows, seating herself and beckoning him to come over.

He smiled. “I suppose so. I've gotten perhaps twelve hours of sleep in the past three days- I'll not deny you.” He followed her to the bed, stripping off his shirt and pulling back the top blanket. Astrid did likewise and slipped under the sheets.

Kyran caressed her bare shoulders, drawing her closer to him.

“Good night, my queen.”

She smiled, then kissed him. “Good night, my king.”

''Even then, it seemed like everything would go smoothly for... well, pretty much forever. ''

''That's when it all started to fall apart. I found out that the dagannoth mother, the leader of a race of dagger-mouthed creatures who were the archenemies of all Fremenniks, was planning on invading Rellekka. Not long before I learned about it, I had agreed to Brundt's treaty, so of course I had to come to his defence. It was a small task force that came to drive the dagannoths off from the mainland. It consisted of me, Astrid-she was a deadeye with her bow- and about ten other soldiers. I was relieved when we finally slaughtered all those beasts without losing a single one of our own. That was when I knew that we had to go kill the mother, or she'd start it all again. It was a daunting task to be sure, but one thing lifted my spirits-we had found a Guthixian priest in Relleka who could marry us...''

The air was thick with the salty tang of the sea. Kyran stood on the longboat, facing Astrid and holding her hands, as the priest spoke to them. He wore a heavy suit of red-and-black dragonmetal armour; she wore the tanned skin of a black dragon with her magic composite bow slung across her back.

“Do you, Kyran MacTavish, take Astrid Miscellanious to be your lawfully wedded wife, so long as you both shall live?” the priest, who wore the traditional battle robes of the Guthixian Void Knights, asked, holding open a green book that looked incomparably ancient.

He smiled, then looked into Astrid's eyes. “Yes. I do.”

The priest looked to Astrid. “And do you, Astrid Miscellanious, take Kyran MacTavish to be your lawfully wedded husband, so long as you both shall live?”

She smiled, tears lying unshed in her eyes. “I do.”

The priest closed his book. “Then by the power vested in me by the power of our benefactor, the mighty Guthix, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

Kyran squeezed Astrid's hands as they both began to repeat the traditional Fremennik marriage vow.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

We are one when together, we are one when apart, we will share all, we will raise warriors.

He fiercely kissed Astrid MacTavish, queen of Miscellania.

“About time, Astrid!” shouted Brand, her blond, occasionally thick-headed brother.

“You shut up!” she said, but she still had a smile on her face.

Vargas walked over to her and handed her a quiver for her arrows, which was solid gold, with intricate patterns traced on it in silver.

“For you, my sole daughter, the quiver that belonged to your mother. Let your arrows fly freely, for they will always find their way back to you with this sling.” He turned to Kyran and pulled out a silver sword inlaid with a diamond in the hilt and faint red lines curving their way up the length of the blade. Its pommel was mithril wrapped in leather, with a strap on the end.

“And for you, my new son-in-law, I give my personal blade, Aranar, the Defender. Use it in defence of yourself and your kin with my blessing. Be happy.”

Kyran took the blade and sheathed it on his hip, bowing to Vargas.

“Thank you... sir.” He turned to Astrid and grinned. “Well, dear, what say we go give the Dagannoth mother a taste of our weapons?”

She nodded fiercely, and they sailed through the blinding fog surrounding Waterbirth Island.

''I remember, I was so confident then. So brash, I thought nothing could kill us. That day was a testament to just how wrong one man can be... we landed on the shore, where we had to fight through legions of those monsters to get to the caves. In there, it was even more crowded, but we managed to make it down a few levels without losing anybody. That was when we met the Sentinels... My squad leader, Jikdor, fell to their powerful blows, when Brand and Astrid said to go on, that they could deal with them. It was true, of course. They were both extremely skilled warriors, but... I should've stayed with them. The party- Vargas, General Thorvald, and myself- drove on to the Dagannoth mother's den, where we confronted her. All three of us were nearly killed in that fight, but we finally managed to bring down the beast. We limped back to the room where Brand and Astrid had been...''

Kyran spat a glob of bloody saliva onto the mound of dirt before plodding forward into the chamber. He heard deep, rumbling footsteps- it sounded like three pairs, at least, big ones too- and his heart was filled with dread. He looked at Vargas and Thorvald and could tell they were feeling the same thing.

“No,” he mumbled quietly. “Not them... Not the kings...”

He dashed into the room despite his sprained ankle to see the retreating forms of three massive dagannoths lumbering into their nest. In front of them he saw two dead dagannoth sentinels and two prone forms lying on the ground.

“No...No!”he shouted, rushing over to the bodies. They were indeed Brand and Astrid. He didn't need to ask what had happened. He knew- they had slain the sentinels, when the Dagannoth Kings, three of the most feared creatures in the whole of the Fremennik sea, had been awakened by the commotion and attacked them. They hadn't stood a chance...

He took Astrid in his arms and looked at her face. She was still breathing...but not for long. Kyran was no doctor, but he could tell that she couldn't survive her injuries. She was badly bruised, with broken bones in both her legs and one of her arms, and she was coughing up blood.

“Astrid...” he said, stifling his tears. “Can you hear me, Astrid?”

One of her eyes opened, and she smiled weakly. “I... can hear you, Kyran.”

He tried to smile in return, but failed. “Listen to me, Astrid, you're going to be okay, you hear me?”

Her smile remained plastered on her face. “We both know... that's not the case, love. I don't have much time... I just want to say that...”-she coughed up more blood onto her white shirt- “my time with you was... the best I've ever had. I... I love you, Kyran... so much...”

A few tears spilled down his cheeks. “I love you too, Astrid...”

Her eyes widened, and she took in a shallow breath. “I guess I'll see what's on the other side...” She turned her head toward him and beamed. “Good night... my King...”

Her body went stiff.

That was the floodgate opening for Kyran. Tears rained down his face onto Astrid's, and he lowered himself to kiss her on the lips one last time.

“Good night, my Queen. Good night... my sweet, beautiful Queen. Rest easy, my love.”

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Present Day

“I built a funeral pyre for her, and Vargas built one for Brand, and we gave them a traditional Fremennik cremation. We scattered their ashes into the sea, and I... I couldn't bear to stay there anymore. I handed ruling duties back to Vargas, but he wouldn't take kingship back. So I guess I'm still the king of Miscellania, just in self-imposed exile.”

He looked at Adalyn, and saw that she was clutching his arm and smothering her tears.

“I'm sorry, Kyran...” she said softly. “I didn't know...”

He sighed and shook his head. “Well, it's just that-“

He was interrupted by David bursting into the room.

“Kyran! Adalyn! You've got to report to the Council right now! They've decided to fund the mission to retrieve the Lance, and they want you two to lead it!”

The Lance of Zaros, Part V

The Hunt

Kyran and Adalyn walked quickly towards the basement of the pub that functioned as the Myreque Council headquarters.

“The Lance?” Kyran asked. “What was he talking about?”

“His name is Terrell, and he was my special operations partner. We were in charge of... unusual methods of obtaining information from or about Drakan or his organization. On my last trip into Meiyerditch, I managed to lift a sheet of paper that talked about something with the codename ‘The Lance of Zaros.'”

Kyran gave her a curious look. “'The Lance of Zaros'? What, is it like the Godsword?”

She shrugged. “Hell if I know. It just had the name, and the location.”

“Wait. If they had the location, wouldn't they have retrieved it by now?”

“You keep asking questions I don't have the answer to. If I had to guess, though... Drakan and his ilk are Zamorakian, so perhaps a relic of Zaros would be anathema to them. Whatever the reason, they haven't taken it yet, and that's good enough for me.”

They climbed down into the basement, shutting the door above them. The long rectangular table in the centre of the room was occupied by a group of six people-three humans-Veliaf, another man, and a woman-a male elf, a male dwarf, and-

“Whoa!” Kyran recoiled suddenly, seeing the table's fifth occupant. He was tall, wore dark clothing with a red cloak and hat, with spectacles underneath.

And he was most definitely a vampyre.

Veliaf turned his head at Kyran's surprised gasp. “You took your sweet time getting here, didn't you?”

Kyran said nothing for a second, then slowly scratched the back of his head. “Uh, sir...? Are you aware that, uh...”

Veliaf raised an eyebrow. “I assume you're referring to Alucard, and yes, I am in fact aware that he's a vampyre. However, he's safely in our camp. Alucard, if you would...?”

Alucard took his hat off, revealing strangely friendly black eyes and a fairly pale face. “Of course, Veliaf. As he said, I am a defector from Drakan's kin, and, though I do not worship Saradomin alone, neither do I revere Zamorak. I had always harboured the opinion that the oppression of humans that is so prevalent in Meiyerditch was fundamentally wrong. Needless to say, this belief of mine was not very, hmm, popular with my dear uncle. In fact, he had me locked up for several hundred years before dear Adalyn here found me on one of her excursions into the slums. She helped me escape, and, well-“ he spread his arms out in a flourish-“Here I am!” He lowered himself back into the simple wooden chair he had been sitting on before.

Veliaf nodded. “What he says has been verified. We-“

The dwarf interrupted Veliaf, chuckling. “Believe me, son, we weren't too happy about dear old Addy here bringing home a stray vampyre! Not at first, anyway. But now Alucard and us, we're the best of pals, so we are!” He took a long draught of the ale he had in front of him.

Veliaf cleared his throat. “As I was saying, Booster, we- that being the Council- have decided that a strike team should be assembled to ascertain the truth about the Lance- if it even exists, and, if it does, why Drakan hasn't bothered with it. Alucard here is our ace in the hole for this mission- being a vampyre, he's nigh-invincible against the weapons Drakan might use. After all, his tactics revolve around killing human, dwarfs, and elves- and the weapons most effective against them aren't nearly as useful against our fanged friend over there.”

Kyran scratched the back of his head. “Um, that's all well and good, sir, but, ah, why did you call Adalyn and me here? Terrell said something about leading the expedition?”

“Well,” Veliaf said, “'Leading' might be the wrong word, but it fits well enough here. What I want you for is your combat ability and your command of battle tactics. You were in the Ardougne military before, weren't you? What rank did you achieve?”

Kyran snapped to attention. “Former sergeant Kyran MacTavish reporting for duty, sir!”

The elf clapped his hands together. “Wonderful!” he said. “So you know how to command troops in the field, then?”

“Well, kind of, sir...?”

The elf nodded. “Just call me Turen, son. We've no need for formalities here, of all places.”

Kyran relaxed his stock-straight posture a bit. “Well, Turen, I say ‘kind of' because while I did have some experience commanding soldiers, it wasn't much. The only real action I saw before I was discharged was the Battle of Sawyer, north of Ardougne, when those Saradominist zealots had captured and were torturing a group of goblins, and someone felt it was their responsibility to stop it by sneaking in and freeing them, with the help of a cave goblin named Zanik. The one man seemed to have things pretty well under control until Zanik went mad and started attacking him. That's where we came in- we held off the HAM members until she came to her senses. It wasn't much of a battle, really-more like a slaughter.”

Turen scratched his chin. “You said you were discharged. Why was that?”

Kyran was silent for a second, then lifted his black shirt to show a large patch of scar tissue on his stomach. It wasn't the pink colour of a new wound; rather, it was the dark red of one that had been barely let to heal over the years.

“Well, you see, sir-er, Turen-one of the HAM members threw a makeshift explosive in the chaos of the battle. It wasn't very powerful, being a home brew, but... it caught the tip of the shirt under my armour, and set it ablaze. In the time it took to strip my chainmail off along with my shirt... well, you can see. They declared me unfit for battle, and I received an honorable discharge.”

Turen nodded. “I see... regardless, you have military experience. And as for Adalyn, we requested her for the stealth element of this mission. After all, it wouldn't do if Drakan knew what we're up to, now would it?”

Kyran nodded. “Alright... So who exactly is going on this... expedition?”

Veliaf gently rapped his knuckles on the oaken table. “That would be my area of expertise. As Turen said, stealth is of the essence on this mission, so naturally the number of people will be low. The team will consist of you, Adalyn, Alucard, and...” he grinned impishly. “Our friend here beside me. His name is Joel.”

Veliaf tilted his head to the right to indicate the man beside him. He looked to be no more than twenty-five- definitely younger than Kyran, at least- with a head of shaggy brown hair that hung in front of his eyes, which were light blue. He wore a loose brown shirt emblazoned with what appeared to be a dragon pattern on it, and a pair of black wool trousers. He stood up and smiled conspiratorially at Kyran.

“Lance-Corporal Joel Matthews of the Varrock guard, reporting for duty, Sarge. I'm an expert in the crafting and production of armour and weapons, a bit of a woodsman, fisherman, hunter- you name it. Also, I'm an apprentice to Duradel in Shilo Village, so I fancy myself a competent slayer- though perhaps not as... competent as you. You have the cape, after all.”

Kyran laughed. “Oh, I couldn't track a rabbit or catch a fish to save my life, so I have a feeling you'll far outstrip me in other areas.” He stepped forward and extended a hand. “Glad to meet you, Joel. And don't call me Sarge. As you heard, I'm not in the military anymore.”

Joel took his hand in a firm grasp and shook it. “That's fine, Sarge... Neither am I. Joined when I was eighteen, got out about a year ago. Saw quite a bit of, ah, action, there. Especially when those zombies invaded. Hoo boy, that was some fun.”

Veliaf cut in. “You should make your preparations now. You leave in two hours.”

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They stood at the outskirts of the town. Joel and Kyran in particular looked like they were in some sort of competition to out-manly the other. Kyran had his Guthan platebody with dragonmetal platelegs, and his Zamorakian spear, along with his slayer's helm. Joel, on the other hand, wore a platebody identical to Kyran's, but with platelegs and a helmet made from the same metal. On his left arm he bore a circular shield forged from obsidian, and in his right hand he held a barbed red-and-black whip that he held coiled in his gloved hands.

Alucard, by contrast, wore no armour, and wielded only a pair of razor-tipped claws forged from dragon metal. When Kyran had asked him about the apparent lack of defense, his only reply was that he got his protection elsewhere. Adalyn wore the traditional garb of a ranger- armour crafted from the hide of a black dragon, with mithril-toed snakeskin boots. In her right hand she had a crossbow, and on her left arm was a strangely-shaped, almost translucent shield.

“Oh, come on, Sarge, a giant, unwieldy spear like that just can't compare with the speed and finesse of my abyssal whip!” Joel said.

Kyran snorted. “You only say that because you've never seen me using this thing. Seriously, I've gutted metal dragons with it. Try doing that with your little rope.”

Adalyn sighed. “Yes, yes, you're both very virile, manly, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, and you could probably make all the women on the block squeal just by flexing, but could you please focus on the task at hand? We have more important things than your testosterone-fueled grudge match to deal with at the moment.”

Alucard chuckled. “Oh, just let them have at it, Adalyn. After all, we all know that I am far and away stronger than both of them!” Two heads simultaneously turned to look in disbelief at him, and Adalyn couldn't help but laugh.

“Let's just get on with it,” she said, smirking playfully. “The location the paper mentioned was a small hut to the north of the Barrows where the six Misthalanian heroes are buried. That's about a day's journey as the crow flies.”

“What if the crow has a broken wing and has to walk?” Joel asked, deadpan.

Adalyn turned to him. “Then it's about a day and a half, smartass. Now let's get going- first we need to get to the town of Mort'ton, since it's at the Morytanian crossroads that lead to the Barrows.”

Without fanfare, the small group ventured forth onto the dirt path that led to Mort'ton.

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

The day had passed largely without excitement- the group had encountered a pack of talon beasts as night came on, but the four dispatched them quickly enough. After the encounter, Adalyn decided that they had gone far enough and that they would camp out there for the night. Joel quickly dismembered one of the beasts and started a fire, cooking it to medium-rare perfection.

“Mmm,” Kyran said. “This is delicious. I would have burned this to ashes... you're quite the cook, Joel.”

Alucard nodded. “Indeed. How you managed to cook game this well over an open fire shall remain a mystery to me. I would wager that your skills were quite envied in the Guard.”

Joel laughed. “Heh. The guys in the barracks would give me their rations and I would spice ‘em up... for a fee, of course. A lot of the time, they'd give me some candied nuts or, when I was particularly bored, books and, um, ah, entertainment pictures.”

Kyran burst out laughing. “Oh, you mean pin-ups? Girl of the month?”

“Hey, you have to admit-they are entertaining.”

Adalyn rolled her eyes. “Do men ever think of anything else?”

Kyran grinned and eyed her. “So are elf men any different?”

“Unfortunately, not at all. They just repress it a bit.”

They all shared a laugh, and Joel poked at the fire.

“So what's the plan tomorrow?” he asked.

Adalyn arched her back, and Kyran could hear several vertebrae pop. “Well,” she said, “while we'll be passing through Mort'ton, we won't actually be stopping there. It's a short walk to the Barrows from there, and, depending on the situation, we might need to get out quickly. We might be exfiltrating under fire. “

Joel grinned. “Oh, yeah! Now it's all coming back to me. Ahhh, bring ‘em on! I'll take out any vyrewatch ol' Drakan throws at me!”

Alucard yawned. “On that note, dear comrades, I believe I shall retire for the night... though all I'm retiring to is a sleeping bag on the ground.”

Joel sidled up next to Adalyn and grinned roguishly. “How about you, dear Adalyn? Need someone to warm your sleeping bag next to you on this cold, cold night?”

She raised one eyebrow. “I think not, dear.”

Kyran piped up. “Yeah, that's what she has me for!”

Adalyn's face turned red and she covered her eyes.

“Oh yeah, real fair!” Joel said. “You get to sleep next to the girl, and I'm stuck with Sir Fangs-a-lot over here. I'll probably wake up with a bite mark on my throat.”

Alucard called from across the fire, “I wasn't particularly hungry before, but now I'm feeling a bit peckish!”

Joel paled as Adalyn and Kyran pulled out their respective sleeping bags and zipped them together. They took their shoes off and climbed in the bag, using their packs as pillows.

The fire crackled, warding off the darkness around the camp. Taking one last chance to kiss Adalyn, Kyran closed his eyes, and let the deep sleep of the weary overtake him.

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

“Damn, that town's creepy!” Joel said as they passed out of Mort'ton, heading toward the Barrows. “All those infected people... it just makes me hope it's not contagious!”

“Don't worry, Joel, it's not,” Adalyn replied. “It's not. Besides, there's already a cure for that disease. It's called Serum 208. I actually helped discover it, you know.”

“La-dee-frickin'-da, Addy,” he replied, grinning. “'Oh, look at me, I'm Adalyn Blackwood, and I'm so much more amazing than all you peons.'”

She smacked him playfully, then turned to Kyran. “Have you ever been to the Barrows, Kyran?”

He shook his head. “Can't say that I have. I've never really been to Morytania before. I know the history of the six brothers that are buried there, though.”

“Believe me when I say it's a spooky place. You can feel that there's definitely something there.”

“Hey!” Joel shouted. “There they are!”

Kyran looked ahead, and saw what Joel was shouting about. There was a vast area fenced around by a stone wall. There were six large mounds of dirt, each with a small wooden sign on it, giving the name of the brother buried there.

A shiver ran up Kyran's spine. “Whoa...” he said quietly. “You weren't kidding, Adalyn... The air feels positively electric.”

She nodded. “Legend has it that the Brothers were resurrected by Zaros in spirit form, and that they still roam the place, because they're guarding something deep within the crypts.”

Joel chuckled, but it sounded forced. “You believe that old story? Then I have a bridge over the Lava Maze to sell you...”

Something deep within Kyran stirred, and out of his pack he drew a black metal sheath. He strapped his spear onto his back, and slid his sword out, holding it in front of his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Aranar, I don't know what's prompting me to do this, but... I have a feeling that in the near future, my kin will need protection. So I shall sacrifice my spear for you. Aranar, the Defender, let us put ourselves between the clan and destruction!”

“Oi, Kyran!” Joel yelled from a few hundred meters up north. “Stop talkin' to your sword and get a move on, huh?”

He rushed to rejoin the group, who had stopped moving in front of the gate that led to the barrows. Off in the distance, there was a small house, barely visible.

“Is that it?” Kyran asked quietly. “The hut on the paper?”

“Well...” Adalyn said, “There aren't any other houses around here, as far as I know... so we might as well get the infiltration started.”

They stole away to the house, Joel and Alucard taking a defensive stance on either side of the front door. Kyran stood in front of it, waiting for Adalyn's signal.

“Now?” he asked, tensing in preparation to ram the door.

After a second...

“Now.”

He dashed at the portal, turning a shoulder and slamming into it. The door buckled, and gave in. They ran inside, seeing a small living space and a hallway leading into a kitchen.

As they ran into the kitchen, they saw a lone figure, dressed in simple robes... It turned to face them.

No... It couldn't be...

“Oh,” Kyran said, suddenly feeling dizzy. “That's-ugh-I believe in ghosts, but... Oh, that's just not fair...”

“Hello... my king,” said Astrid MacTavish, Queen of Miscellania.

The Lance of Zaros, Chapter VI

The Lance

Joel took a look at Kyran, who was so dizzy he almost fell over.

“Did she just call you ‘my king'?” He asked.

Kyran steadied himself by holding onto a chair that sat in front of a plain wooden table, ignoring Joel's question. He couldn't take his eyes off her- the brownish-blond hair that fell in waves across her shoulders like a waterfall, the eyes so green it seemed they were finely cut emeralds...

It was her. It was Astrid.

But she was dead!

He turned his face down. “I... You can't be here, Astrid... you're...”

“Dead?” she replied, her voice full of the humour he had so loved. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, Kyran, but you're not quite a widower yet.”

He dared to look her straight in the eyes as he took his helmet off; his knees suddenly went weak. “But... How do I know that you're... I mean, that you're really...”

She walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder- it felt electrifying.

“Kyran,” she replied slowly, raising her left hand, “Just look. Look at my ring finger.”

The ring... it was the same one he had given her... the gold band with a purple dragonstone on top. It was her!

He couldn't stand it any longer. He threw his arms around her and pulled her close. He felt tears spilling down his face, but he didn't care anymore. It was a gift straight from Guthix- it was her, it was Astrid, she was alive!

“Hate to break up the happy reunion, Kyran,” Joel said, raising an eyebrow, “but remember that we came here on a mission!”

Adalyn was strangely silent, with a blank look on her face, as if she was finding it difficult to comprehend it all.

Astrid was the one to break off the embrace. Still holding his hand, she looked at his three companions.

“I'm going to assume that you came here to search for the Lance. Am I correct?”

Alucard took off his hat and nodded. “Yes, my dear, you are indeed. We seek the Lance of Zaros to right what is wrong and topple Drakan's throne.”

Joel looked at him angrily. “Oh, sure, go ahead and tell her our whole plan! There's an infinitesimal chance that she might not be one of Drakan's spies! You wanna tell her the combination to the Myreque Treasury Vault while you're at it?”

Alucard looked back at him, still smiling. “You forget, my comrade, that I am not human. My dear uncle does not use non-vampyre spies unless he's taken some blood from them, so he can ensure control. When humans have blood taken by a vampyre, a chemical called Tonrium is introduced into the bloodstream to mark that human as ‘used'. It is highly detectable by the vampyre nose, and unless I have a case of the Sanguinesti cold and don't know it, I don't smell any Tonrium at all around her. Though, while I can see she is not a vampyre-” he adjusted his glasses “-neither is she completely human.”

Joel looked sceptical. “So what is she, then?”

Alucard shrugged. “I could not begin to guess. It would appear she will have to answer that herself.”

Astrid looked at Kyran, then back at the other three. “I believe... that I need to speak with Kyran alone. Feel free to make yourselves comfortable. You don't mind, do you, er...?”

He bowed theatrically. “My dear, you may call me Alucard, nephew to Drakan himself. And by all means, take however long you wish.”

After Kyran and Astrid had retreated into an adjoining room, Joel clenched his fists and growled softly.

“Why does she want to talk to him?” he asked, sounding frustrated. “I'm much better looking than he is!”

Adalyn cleared her throat, and a perplexed look crept onto her face. “Uh... I think she's his wife.”

Both Joel and Alucard did a double take, a rare instance of loss of composure for the vampyre.

“He's married?!”

Adalyn scratched the back of her head. “Uh, yeah. Her name's Astrid. But from the way he told me the story, it sounded like she was, uh, dead.”

Alucard sat down on the long padded bench and started cleaning his spectacles with a cloth he had pulled out of his jacket.

“It would appear, then,” he said nonchalantly, his composure regained, “that Astrid isn't the only one to whom there is more than meets the eye.”

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

“So who do you think she is? I mean, who she really is?” Joel said, poking around the cupboards, apparently looking for something to eat. “Sure, she's his wife- okay, his dead wife, or maybe not so dead-but who is she? Normal people don't build a house around a celebrity burial site. Or come back from the dead.”

Alucard sighed. “I think,” he said, “that there's more to her than meets the eye, as I said before. Must you continually beat this horse though it's long dead, Joel? Your curiosity is insatiable to the point of morbidity.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Well, sorry for offending your delicate sensibilities, Alucard. I just want to find some answers. And some food. I'm hung-score! She's got cookies!” He grabbed the circular jar out of the cupboard and opened it to find several of the chocolate delicacies inside.

“Don't be a pig,” Adalyn said absentmindedly. Kyran had definitely said that his wife was dead. Hadn't he?

Joel came over, holding several chocolate cookies, and sat down beside her on the couch. He handed her one of them, then swallowed.

“What's got you wringing your hands, Addy? You seem stressed.”

She propped her chin on one hand and distractedly took a bite of the treat. “I don't know what to think, Joel. He told me his wife was dead, and he wasn't lying about that- I could tell. I had thought we had something between us- but now... I don't know. I mean, if it actually is his wife, then I have no right to try anything with him.”

He grinned and put an arm around her shoulders. “Well, hey- you'll always have me, Addy!”

Normally she would have promptly smacked him, but as it was, she just sighed. That was when Astrid and Kyran came out of the hallway from the kitchen. Astrid looked serious; Kyran looked completely stunned.

“Damn!” Joel said through a mouthful of cookie. “What'd you do to him?”

Astrid and Kyran took a seat in two chairs next to each other, and she looked at all of them.

“I'm going to tell all of you what I told Kyran here,” she said plainly. “You're not going to find the Lance. It's-“

“What?” Joel interrupted. “Whaddya mean we're not gonna find it? The paper said-“

“As I was saying...”

“Joel.”

“As I was saying, Joel, you're not going to find the Lance here, because it's not a traditional weapon, like a sword or a bow. If you want to know the truth...”

She took a deep breath. “I am the Lance of Zaros.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Huh?” That came from Joel, who had finally stopped scarfing down cookies.

“As I said. I am the Lance of Zaros.”

After a second, Alucard nodded. “Might I ask exactly what that is?”

Astrid was silent for a moment, as if she was rehearsing something in her mind. “When you said I wasn't completely human, you were correct. I am a living weapon, created by Zaros himself. I exist because of him, though what his final purpose for me is I do not know.”

Joel began to laugh. “Oh, man! You really had me going there for a second! The Lance of Zaros! That's a good one! If I didn't know better, I'd say you were off your rock-“

“Ssshhh,” Alucard interrupted, suddenly serious. “I would not respond so lightly to such statements if I were you, Joel.”

“But... you can't be serious! Zaros has been banished from Gielinor for thousands of years; he couldn't possibly-“

“But he could. You know not the full power of a god you have never seen.” He turned back to Astrid. “If what you say is true... then how old are you? You must be at least six hundred years old, at the very least. The last significant movement of Zarosians - and the movements of followers generally parallel the movements of their gods- was over four hundred years before this age began. That would seem to indicate something important was afoot. I'd be willing to wager that all that fuss was over you. Wasn't it?”

Astrid seemed genuinely at a loss for words. “How did... that's... You're right. You have...quite an intuition, Alucard. As of Pentumber, I'll be exactly six hundred seventeen years old.”

Joel promptly choked. “Six... six hundred seventeen?!” He turned to Adalyn. “She's gotta be lying! She can't possibly be that old, right?”

She shook her head. “She's not lying, Joel. She really is as old as she says.”

Alucard began to grin coldly. “Now it's all coming together,” he said. “Drakan didn't come here to retrieve the Lance because he's afraid of it. What are you, to cause my uncle- my fearsome, terrifying uncle- to quake in fear at the thought of facing you?”

Astrid looked down for a moment, then began to speak, but was cut off by Joel, who was looking out the window.

“You might want to save the explanation for later, Astrid... We've got trouble outside!”

Everyone crowded around the window, and Kyran's gut churned at what he saw.

Outside, in the gloom surrounding the tombs of the Brothers, was a small army of humans and vampyres. They were sitting, standing, milling around- but every single one of them looked feral as a wild cat, and twice as dangerous. There must have been at least a hundred of them. Suddenly, one of the vampyres strutted forward arrogantly, holding...

Oh-

Oh no.

“Is that...” Joel began to ask.

Kyran nodded. “Yeah. Yeah it is. He's carrying the Godsword. They... must want you worse than you thought, Astrid.”

Joel looked incredulously at Alucard. “I thought you said they were scared of her!”

Alucard adjusted his glasses silently. “They were-they are. But we are an unexpected factor in the equation. They're still scared of her... but they're more scared of the possibility that we might take her. We've forced them into action.”

A thought froze Adalyn's gut. “This was a secret mission...” she said slowly. “A very small number of people even knew about it... and yet they somehow managed to find us within hours of our arrival.”

Kyran grimaced. “Then it's-“

“Hey!” Joel interrupted. “We've got more important things than that right now. Like the vampyre  holding... oh... you know...just the weapon that the entire God Wars were fought over!”

Alucard slowly nodded. “The question, then, is what we should do now.”

“I think he's about to answer that for us,” Joel said.

“Attention, humans!” The vampyre holding the Godsword shouted, standing in front of the door. “By decree of the revered Lord Drakan, the weapon in this abode belongs to the industrious Empire! You shall bring the weapon outside, and relinquish it to me, Calevmir, his majesty's trusted aide; in return, you will not be taken as servants. Instead, your deaths will be quick and painless. You have ten minutes to comply with this demand!”

“Oh! Wonderful!” Joel said, throwing his hands up. “You hear that? They're going to make our deaths quick and painless. Oh, that's amazing. I would have settled for just one!”

Kyran had his hands in his hands. Astrid's eyes were closed; she looked deep in thought.

“What... what do we do?” Adalyn finally said. “Is there a back door that we can slip out, or...”

“No,” Astrid replied emotionlessly. “They'd likely have the place surrounded. Trying to get away would only anger them further.”

“Then what do we do?!” Adalyn shot back. “I don't know about you, but I don't particularly want to die here. So what, do we-“

“We're going out there.”

Adalyn was stunned. “Wh... What? Are you crazy? I don't want to surrender to them, Astrid! We need to-“

“We're not surrendering. We're going to fight them.”

Adalyn looked dumbstruck for a second, then covered her eyes with her hand. “You know what? Maybe you are crazy. You'd have to be to want to fight someone who has the Guthix-damned Godsword!”

Astrid turned to look at her, a fierce fire in her eyes surprising Adalyn.

“They have the Godsword,” she said quietly. “But we have the Lance. We have me.”

Kyran sighed after a second. “Okay, Astrid... but how? How do we fight?”

“Give me your hands, Kyran. Like on the boat. Before we went to Waterbirth.”

A look of distant pain passed through Kyran's eyes, then he did as she said after turning to face her.

Suddenly, the air took on a strange scent- it smelled of wild roses and blood. A faint wind began to swirl around the two of them, and Kyran began to look confused.

“Astrid... What's going o-“

“The wind,” Astrid said, her eyes closed, her face serene. “The wind that connects us, that swirls between us, and the ancient power which the world has long forgotten... Let there be a virginal field of white snow, where the past is remembered, yet forgotten. With eyes like ice...”

She opened her eyes, which had changed from green to a pale blue.

“Bind us together!” she practically shouted. Kyran instantly felt like cold fire was pouring through his veins, burning and freezing at the same time. At the same time, he felt something attach to his arms and his back, but all he saw was a swirling vortex of rose petals. For a second, everything went black.

When he came to, he was standing in the middle of the room, and everyone was staring in disbelief at him. He looked down, and what he saw shocked him.

His torso was covered in obsidian-black armour with a light purple trim running around the shoulder plates and waist. In the centre was an equidistant cross inscribed on a circle. His legs were covered by interwoven metal plates of the same colour. Hanging off his back was a white cloak with the same symbol as the chest and a gold trim around the edges. However, his arms were what stunned him the most.

Both his arms were covered from elbow to wrist in a chain mesh covered in black cloth, with dark purple fingerless gloves on his hands. On his right arm was a long, wide white metal blade that extended over the back of his hand. It looked more suited to stabbing than slashing, something in the back of Kyran's mind catalogued. In his left hand was a medium-sized black dagger, about twice as big as the defenders that the Warriors Guild used.

“Wh... What is this?” he finally managed to stutter. “Astrid, what's going on?”

''This is what I am. I am designed to bond with a single person and be their weapon.''

Kyran took an involuntary step back. “Astrid? Where are you? I can hear you...”

''Kyran, I'm the armour you're wearing. I'm the blade you're wielding. This is why Father gave you ''Aranar. It's actually a part of me.

“Uh, Kyran?” Joel said with an odd look on his face. “Where'd Astrid go? And... who are you talking to?”

There was a pounding on the door.

“The time given has been rescinded!” the vampyre imperiously shouted. “You will surrender the weapon now, or face the wrath of the Morytanian Empire!”

Barely-contained flame pulsed through Kyran's veins. For reasons he couldn't begin to understand, a manic grin formed on his face.

“So they want us to come outside, do they?” He turned to Adalyn, Joel and Alucard. “I say we give ‘em what they want! Do you think you can hold off the rest of them while I take out the leader?”

Joel's jaw dropped, and then he sighed after a second. “You know what? Fine. I always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. I'll keep ‘em at bay for as long as I can.”

Alucard nodded. “As will I.”

After a second, Adalyn exhaled a breath. “Then I will, too.”

Kyran's grin widened. “Kita!”

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

Growling the vampyre pounded on the door once again. “This is the last warning you will receive! If you do not-“

“Oi! Calevmir!” another vampyre said. “They ain't gonna open up! I say we bust down the door and slot the lot of ‘em!”

Calevmir scowled. “That's not how the Empire functions, Gorthalon. We have to give them at least some warning, or-“

“We've already given them enough warnings! They know what's comin', so we might as well get on with it!”

After a second, Calevmir grunted a reluctant agreement. They had been given sufficient warning, had they not? He reached to try to open the door, when there was a strange rumbling behind it, and he got the strangest feeling that he definitely shouldn't touch it...

His danger sense flared. “Everyone! Down!” he shouted before throwing himself face-down onto the ground, the Godsword beside him.

Suddenly, the door frame exploded outward in a violent shower of splinters and chunks of wood, along with a swirling cloud of dust.

Calevmir leapt to his feet, clutching his sword tightly in two hands.

His brain had a hard time processing what he saw. A human, clad in black and purple armor, with a sword extending about a foot beyond the back of his hand on his right arm. The sheer will the human was exuding was so strong it was almost palpable. It was the simple, distilled sure-okay-why-not-let's-FIGHT instinct present in all living beings, refined to a ridiculous degree.

“Everyone!” Calevmir shouted after finding his voice. “Focus on that man! Kill him at all costs!”

“Ah-ah-ah,” he heard as another human emerged. He wasn't as intimidating as the first, but he was definitely a seasoned warrior. In his hands he held a massive spear, of the type that K'ril Tsutaroth was supposed to have used.

“You want to get to him, vampyre?” the human said, grinning. “You can, by all means. The others, though... they'll have to go through us.”

“Us?” Calevmir said. “There's only one of you!”

“Not quite,” said two voices simultaneously. Out of the door stepped a female elf and-

“You!” Calevmir shouted. “You're that traitor, Alucard! You coward!”

Alucard raised a hand. “Guilty as charged,” he said cheerily. Calevmir blinked and-

-within the space of a second, Alucard was right in front of him, his red claws touching the soft tissue of his throat.

“You're not my target,” Alucard said, smiling as always. “I'll leave you for my friend, Kyran, over there.”

Alucard, the elf, and the human with the spear surrounded Kyran in a wide circle, leaving an open area between him and Calevmir.

Kyran finally spoke, a look of determination on his face.

“For the clan.”

UUUUUUUUUUUUU

“HAAAAAAAAAA!”

Kyran dashed towards the Calevmir, his sword arm behind him. He leapt up and directed an overhead slash at him. He brought the Godsword up and blocked the hasty attack. Kyran landed solidly on the marshy ground about a foot away from him, when he saw Calevmir swing his weapon in a long arc. He flattened himself on the ground as Calevmir lost his footing after missing with such a heavy weapon. He quickly tried to compensate, but Kyran quickly swept one of his legs off the ground, and he toppled to the ground on his back, losing his grip on the Godsword.

Kyran grinned and tried to get on top of Calevmir, but found himself on bottom as his opponent wrestled violently with him. His arms were pinned beneath the vampyre's knees and he found himself staring into Calevmir's evil grinning face.

“Not so tough, are ya, human? What are you going to do now, bleed on me-“

His gloating was cut short as Kyran slammed a knee into his lower back, momentarily paralyzing him. He keeled over onto the ground.

''Kyran! Your hands! ''Astrid said.

He took advantage of the momentary reprieve to do as she said. The sword he had before was gone- instead, there were deep black gauntlets covering his hands.

“What?' he said. “The sword! It...”

''That's what the Lance does, Kyran. It changes to suit your needs in combat. If you're going toe-to-toe with Calevmir, some unbreakable gauntlets should help.''

Kyran nodded, then leapt up. Calevmir had recovered, and had picked up the Godsword. He was back in a defensive stance as Kyran swayed like a palm tree.

“Want some?” he said, grinning. “Come and get it!” He stole into Calevmir's personal space and threw a few right jabs, all of which were blocked by his Godsword. After a second, Kyran spotted a gap in the vampyre's defense and smashed his left fist into Calevmir's chest. To his credit, he didn't fall over- he stood his ground.

Suddenly, Calevmir turned the Godsword downward and stabbed it into the ground, up to its hilt. Kyran suddenly felt his feet glued to the ground- no matter how hard he strained his legs, his feet remained firmly planted in the same spot. Calevmir grinned as he moved around just out of his reach. Out of nowhere, he dashed at Kyran and smashed his right fist into the side of his head. Darkness nibbled at the edges of his vision- he forced them back through an iron will.

''Astrid! I need a whip!''

His right gauntlet morphed into a black whip made of woven cables that was about three-fourths the length of his body uncoiled. He flicked it at Calevmir, wrapping it around his neck and dragging him into melee range again. He pulled his body up and threw him onto the ground. He put his hands together and a massive black maul formed. He drew back and slammed the heavy weapon down-

-when Calevmir shot a small dart from a loaded spring around his wrist. It hit Kyran in the upper forearm, and he stifled a gasp of pain. He would have let go of the maul had Astrid not suddenly reinforced his grip.

''Kyran! The dart was poisoned!''

He could instantly feel the truth of her statement. A numbing sensation crept across his arms and up towards his chest...

''What do I do? ''he frantically asked.

''I can burn the poison out of your bloodstream, but it'll take a second to work. You'll have to keep him from attacking, even for just a moment!''

He nodded as Calevmir jumped to his feet and pulled the Godsword's blade out of the ground. He swung it in a wide overhead arc, aimed at splitting Kyran's head in two-

-as Kyran blocked his strike with one of his gauntlets. It felt like his hand was broken, but it stopped the slash. Calevmir lost his footing-

''That's the opening! ''Kyran said. Now, Astrid!

''Got it! ''She replied. But it won't be pleasant...

She was right. A cold fire burned through Kyran's whole body, searing his nerves raw. After a split second, it was over, and Kyran quickly pulled the dart out of his arm.

Calevmir regained his stance, but Kyran was all over him, punching right and left, blocking the vampyre's attack routes, before he threw him to the ground and stood over him, his right gauntlet morphing back into Aranar.

“Wait!” Calevmir stammered. “Wait, I beg of you! Spare my life!”

Kyran leaned over him. “You threatened my kin. That is the one sin I will not forgive.”

Calevmir's face grew even paler. “No, wait, I-“

His final words were cut off by a sword through his heart.

Kyran stared emotionlessly at his body. “A false warrior indeed.”