A few notes. First off: the character art and sprites for Final Fantasy IV leaves, to my mind, a lot to be desired, mostly in terms of specifics, so a lot of their appearances are conjecture. For instance, I'm guessing that Rosa has blond hair; the sprite and her status bar picture contradict: pink in the sprite and this awkward green in the picture. Practically the only thing I'm sure of is that Kain/Karn has blond hair. (And Rydiaâs hair being green as well, but I take objection to the idea of green hair.)

Second off: again, I use my own names in this story, I guess just because I like being different. It should be fairly obvious who everyone is; if not, hereâs a handy translation. Any names left out are unchanged.

                                    GAME                                 STORY
                                    Cecil                                  Gareth (thanks WoT)
                                    Kain                                   Karn (thanks M:tG)
                                    Rydia                                  Rynelle
                                    Cid                                     Dalen
                                    Palom                                 Kalynn
                                    Porom                                 Coren
                                    FuSoYa                               FuYoSa (what a difference)

Third: I have nothing against Rosa. I have nothing against Karn. I like the characters in FFIV. So no flames, please. Just because I gore them, betray them and have them controlled by Zeromus ver. 2.0 doesn't mean I don't like them. However, I do have something against the way Karn is generally portrayed in other fanfics Iâve read. I think the character has a lot more potential than to just plod along in obscurity behind Cecil and Rosa, and I don't often see people exploiting that possibility. Of course, I'm not exploiting all of it either, but I've tried to get as much of it as I can.  So, here is my story.
 
 
 
 
 
 

I stand on a cliff, overlooking the verdant, bustling kingdom of Baron. The setting sun is at my face, bathing the realm in burnished gold, lighting the roofs and terraces and the flying towers of Castle Baron.

It is a beautiful sight, awe-inspiring almost, and I wonder if it is really Baron I hate, or my role in destroying it.

For Baron, though it is rapt in celebration, is still shuddering and shaking from the sudden start it has taken. For Golbez killed their king·

For he told me to kill their king·

And I did.

What choice did I have? I was rapt as well, controlled by Zemus, that horrible leering demon face from the moon. The real king, controlled to a limited extent, was rebelling against Zemus. Golbez told me to kill the king, and so I did.

I will never forget that moment÷my lance piercing his chest, blood pooling like water flooding an empty lakebed, his face pale and aghast and stained with blood. His feeble, broken body sliding to the floor.

I laughed, I think.

I shudder now. The memory haunts me, that and a hundred, a thousand others, that recur as nightmares, as sudden flashbacks. They torment me, the memories, drifting around me, caressing me with their skitterish laughter.

A chill wind blows, rattling my blue-purple armor and its distinctive wing-like cape and setting the streamers on the town below fluttering wildly. Baron is done up for celebration; King Gareth, the savior of the world, and Queen Rosa, his wife, the White Wizard, were married about a week ago, and the festivities are just winding down. The two are about to make their first public appearance as king and queen, husband and wife. The ceremonies have been long and, I imagine, stifling. Gareth and Rosa probably just want to get away and spend some time alone together; which is probably why it has taken them a week to return.

The new chancellor has been working the crowds like a recalcitrant organ in a church, pounding them to greater and higher heights. "Hail King Gareth," he cries, and the crowd obediently responds, "Hail King Gareth!"

"Hail Queen Rosa!"

"Hail King Yang of Fabul!"

"Hail Dalen, Master Engineer of the Red Wings!"

"Hail Edge, King of Eblan!"

"Hail Rynelle, Caller of Mist!"

"Hail Edward, King of Damcyan!"

"Hail Kalynn and Coren, Wizards of Mysidia!"

At this point, all of the above are emerging from the Falcon, one by one÷I can imagine Coren muttering about how he should be called 'The Mysidian Genius' instead of a plain wizard÷but the Chancellor has been yelling about others, too:

"Hail FuSoYa, Lunarian!"

"Hail KluYa, Lunarian, father of our great king!"

"Hail Tellah, the Sage!"

And on and on and on, the crowd yelling louder and louder with every cry.

Of course, there are people whose names aren't called: the innkeepers, for example, or Golbez or that dancing girl in Mysidia.

But mine is one of them.

No "Hail Karn, Dragoon!" for me.

I wonder if the Chancellor just doesn't like me, or if it's the whole town that doesn't like me.

I figure it's the town.

Tellah died in the Tower of Zot, wasting his life in a futile push for revenge. Kalynn and Coren petrified themselves to stop a booby trap when they could've just dashed out the door. Rynelle disappeared for almost two weeks in the Land of Summoned Monsters, came back as a young woman.

Who stood by Gareth's side in the battle through the Moon's subterranean passages? Who helped fight Zeromus? Who led the entire party out of the Giant of Bab-il and in that way saved the world himself? Who went in with the remaining warriors and helped clear the Tower, so people could use it to travel to the Underground?

And who doesn't care?

Answers to questions 1 through 4: Karn, Dragoon.

Answer to question 5: everyone.

It is time for me to leave.

I lived in the castle, for a time. I was a liability on the servants, and they looked at me strangely. Soon I realized that they were afraid of me. They scurried out of the room when I came in. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand myself.

I told Gareth and Rosa÷and myself÷that I wanted to strengthen myself to become a true Dragoon. That is not the truth.

I want to die.

I step forward to the edge of the cliff and look down. It is a long way to the bottom; probably the biggest cliff in all of Baron. It will be a painful death, but it is all I deserve.

It is all they want to give me.

I have already set my helmet and spear aside; I would remove my armor, too, but it will provide more weight than stifle the impact at the bottom.

There is nothing more to do.

One of the things they trained us to do in Dragoon Academy was to face death without fear. Looking down the cliffside, I see the spot where I will probably impact, and I feel no qualms about doing so. The fact that in a few moments I will be splattered across a few yards of gravelly ground is just that, a fact.

I jump.

The wind whistles past my ears and my body, and again I relive the joy of flying, a thrill of pleasure I feel every time I take to the air. I think it is fitting that my last moments will be soaring through the air under my own power.

Looking down, I suddenly realize I have miscalculated.

For standing not far from my intended landing site is a woman.

At this distance, she is little more than a blob; it is only after she looks up and I catch long blond-auburn tresses that I realize it is a woman. Now she is a face, gaping in amazement, with a light pink skirt swirling around under her. From what little I can see of her (face and hair) I think she is quite beautiful.

The cliffside is reeling away beside me; there is nothing for me to grab, nothing for me to halt my fall with. And to make matters worse, the wind is blowing me off course.

I will hit the woman. That is not good.

At least there won't be much left for anyone to find; just a mismatched pile of human remains, battered beyond recognition and probably distorted even more by carrion creatures and bugs.

And I think that it is fitting that as I shuffle off this mortal coil, I should take another life with me.

If there's a heaven, and we meet, she'll probably kill me.

All this flashes through my mind in a second. Then the woman vaults out of the way, grabbing her skirt with one hand and steadying herself against a rock with the other. I smile faintly÷perhaps I will be redeemed.

Then there is no more time for thought, for I hit bottom.
 
 
 
 

When I open my eyes again, there is bright white light above me, and I feel like I'm floating. My body feels better than it ever has for a long time--years, probably.
 
 

Perhaps I am going to heaven.

My vision resolves more and I see blue sky stained red to the west, white clouds tinged with gold scudding away. I feel like there are clouds under me, soft and supporting.

Heaven, I decide.

Then someone says, "Are you okay?"

I blink. That doesn't sound right. Of course I should be okay.

"What were you thinking, anyway, dropping out of the sky like a rock? You almost squashed me," the voice continues. It is the voice of a woman, chattering and rather excited, evoking images of dancing clouds and wide blue skies and sunlight. "I thought Dragoons had to have more experience before they went diving down cliffs like that."

I frown. This isn't right at all.

I groan.

You aren't supposed to groan in heaven. Something's wrong here.

"Come on, wake up," the woman says. "Don't tell me I've missed something. Sit up."

I don't want to sit up. Childishly, I think that perhaps if I don't sit up like this woman says to, I will die like I'm supposed to.

Then a hand slaps me across the face and I haven't time for any other thoughts.

"Owch!" I exclaim.

"Good," says the woman, satisfied. "I knew you were fine."

I sit up, finally; no use putting off the inevitable. My head throbs and my left leg hurts, but other than that I am fine.

I suppose·

My vision swims for a moment and I think I might faint again, but a strong hand grasps my shoulder and my eyes decide to start working again. Slowly, so as not to dislodge my eyes from my head, I turn to face my benefactor.

It is the woman I nearly landed on. She is regarding me cheerfully, for all her words, her green-gray eyes sparkling with interest, the sun setting her blond-red hair glowing like fire. She kneels beside me, and her pink skirts swirl around her knees, mingling with heavy woolen white robes hemmed with red and yellow triangles, denoting· Something· I can't recall what.

"You are fine, aren't you," she asks again, concern tingeing her voice.

"No thanks to you," I say harshly. "Hadn't it occurred to you that perhaps I was falling down the cliff for a reason?"

She raises her eyebrows in amazement. "Today? Why would you be in such a bad mood, especially with King Gareth and Queen Rosa and all that business·"

Her words dredge up an entire lifetime of memories, like a fleet of bubbles swimming through deep water to the surface, and I raise a hand to my head. "Don't remind me of that, please."

Rosa·

"Anyway, I just assumed you were a beginner Dragoon, taking advantage of the quiet to do some practice runs. Obviously, you bit off more than you could chew. Good thing you had me around, else you would've been dead."

I frown. "Why? What'd you do?"

She shrugs, as if it's obvious. "Why, I healed you, of course. Using my magic."

A White Mage. A magic-user.

Moons above, Karn, you sure know how to pick 'em.

I recognize the robes, suddenly: Rosa still wore them, probably even now; so would Kalynn, for they were ceremonial robes that all white mages wore at some point in their lives or another.

I sigh. Well, what's done is done; I shall simply have to make my way back· up· the cliffside·

"When you landed," the woman continues, oblivious to my pondering, "I thought you were gone for sure, but you're resilient, if stupid; I'll give you that. There was still a bit of life in you, and, well·" She shrugs. "That's all we White Wizards need. I don't know the higher-level spells, like Queen Rosa does, but I can cast a decent Cure spell. And so here you are."

I sigh.

Remembering my death wish, she says, "If you still want to die, I've got a bow in my cave. I'll go÷"

"No," I say. I believe in Fate, and if I'm still alive, there must be a reason why. "I'll· Just stay here for a while."

She smiles, lighting up her face, and I think again that she is rather pretty. "Have it your way. Now, do you want to stand up or·"

I shrug. "Why not?"

She says pointedly, "Because if you do, I shall have to rig a splint, because your leg's broken."

I look down at my left leg.

"Funny thing about Cure spells," the woman rambles on (My, she does talk), "they stop bleeding, they relieve pain, they give the body some life· But they can't fix broken bones. You'll definitely need a splint for that one; in fact, you'll probably be lucky if it heals all right."

I blanch. But there are more important things to consider: night is falling, and Baronian nights are cold. "Well, you can't do it out here, I think, not with night falling."

"Oh, no, of course not," the woman says. "I'll take you back to my cave and I'll make a splint and some crutches tomorrow." She grabs my shoulders and hoists me up. At first I protest÷she is a slight girl, and probably not strong enough to lift me÷but she gets me to my feet with little effort; she is strong.

"By the way," she says as she wedges me to my feet, "what's your name?"

I have dreaded this moment, but what else can I say? "Karn."

She stops short, leaving me teetering rather precariously on my one good foot. "Oh, the one the King is looking for!"
 
 

I sigh. "Yes. That Karn."

"I'm Dierdre," she says, and slings my left arm over her shoulders. Apparently my wanted status means little to her, and I am glad it does. "I live alone out here, trying to learn to be a good Healer. Some of my magic doesn't work, you know? I try to make myself float and instead I set a tree on fire," and she gestured flippantly out with one hand, nearly tossing me head over heels down the slanted incline.

I raise my eyebrows. "Really," I say. In my experience, magic-users who could cast both Black and White magic÷accidental or otherwise÷are extremely rare and in chronic short supply.

"Yes," she says, "in fact, some of the wood for your splint will probably come out of the tree I burned yesterday," and she indicates a burnt-out husk several dozen yards away. "And I haven't got some of the healing techniques down quite right, either· Tourniquets and all that. Imagine÷here in a world where we have spaceships and the Big Whale and we've been to the moon, we're still using tourniquets." She shrugs, smiling. "Ah, but then, it's not my place to question, just to fix them when they come back missing an arm or something."

Dierdre supports me, and we hobble to her cave, a darkish hole in the mountainside, looking for all the world like a three-legged sack race gone lame. She is strong; I give her that. I am still wearing my armor, which is fairly heavy, but she supports me with no complaints. For me, the trip is an agony÷the armor on my leg makes it impossible to move without causing hurt.

Her cave is small but not cramped, nor so large that it is a liability to heat in the cold nights. A faint fire stirs in the middle of the cave, and torches stand in brackets against the walls. Dierdre settles me on the cave's single bed, more of a straw pallet with a dingy-looking animal fur atop it, and begins to blow the fire to life. "It's late. I'll make you something to eat÷haven't had anything for a while, from the look of you÷and then you must tell me why you were jumping off that cliff like that."

I acquiesce. What can I do, with my spear atop the cliffside and my leg broken? So I content myself with watching her bustle around the cave, fetching things and mixing this and so forth. Her body is slim and lithe, the folds in her clothing shuddering and jumping in the flickering firelight; her hair sparkles randomly like snow in the sunlight. Somehow, there is something hypnotic about the way she moves÷it is almost a dance, graceful and beautiful.

Interesting: she seems to have no problems with me staring at her like I am. She just smiles and goes on mixing whatever it is. To break the silence, I say: "Do you want me to do that?"

She jumps, as thought it had not occurred to her. "Are you sure? I mean, you just came off a drop from a cliff about as high as the Tower of Bab-il÷"

I smile. "I thought my leg was hurt, not my arms."

"That's true," she says, and smiles and laughs apologetically. "I'm not used to having someone else to do the work." She hands me the bowl and I stir it. It is full of some sort of thick, fragrant batter, and my stomach rumbles. She is right: I haven't eaten since the morning before last, and that was only a few bits of bread. I have been basically on edge, in fact, since I returned from the moon last week, to be greeted with anger and hisses while my friends went on to fame and glory and a guaranteed spot in the Baronian Hall of Fame·

I shake my head. No use dwelling on that, now·

She lights the torches on the walls, driving back the falling darkness outside. Over the crackle of the fire, I can barely hear the cheers and yells of the crowd outside Castle Baron.

It's still going, I think wearily.

And then, I wonder if Gareth even remembers me right now.

I glance across the fireplace to Dierdre.

"What," she asks, catching my glance.

I shake my head. "Nothing."

She smiles shyly. "Oh."

My mind is tortured: give it a spare minute and it will return to my days in captivity, to the time when Golbez held my leash and Zemus held Golbez's leash. And it does.

Instantly I am submerged in memories.

I am standing in the shadow of the doorway, staring out at the main CPU of the Giant of Bab-il as it burns in its final death throes. The CPU explodes, finally, and Gareth and his friends÷Rosa, Rynelle, Edge, FoSoYa Golbez÷stand down from the battle.

"We did it!" Gareth says.

"It stopped," Edge agrees.

Golbez standing before me, cries, "You wretch!" He rushes forward to meet his foe. "You ruined my plan! You shall pay for this!"

"You!" FuSoYa says suddenly. He hastens past the CPU's remains and approaches Golbez.

"Get away," Golbez growls warily. I wonder why he is scared of such a doddering old man, and then I feel it as well. There is danger in this man, this Lunarian, not just in his magic, but in what he knows.

"Don't you realize who you are?" FuSoYa cries.

"Stop it!" Golbez says with growing alarm. I realize, too that something bad is going to happen.

Stop him! I hear a voice yell in my head. Automatically, I move to obey, but something inside me resists. This will be the end. You will no longer be enslaved·

"Wake up!" FuSoYa shouts, and with typical Lunarian abruptness, casts a spell on Golbez.

Immediately the pressure at the back of my mind disappears, and I am free.

So is Golbez. He shakes his head, trying to reorient himself.

So do I. Where am I?

Unnoticed, FuSoYa collapses; he has drained himself cancelling Zemus' hold on Golbez and Golbez's hold on me.

Golbez starts, hesitating. "·Why did I have all that hatred?"

FuSoYa picks himself up from the floor. "Come to your senses! Do you remember your father's name?"

Golbez starts again. "My father?" he says; but his wits are too addled, and he answer's automatically. "His name is· KluYa."

Gareth, across the gap, says, startled: "What?!"

Rosa begins, "That means·"

And Edge, understanding: "Gareth's· brother?!"

"Golbez· is· my·" Gareth stutters. My heart goes out to my friend÷here he has been fighting his own brother the whole time. I wonder how I'd feel if I had been fighting my brother. (I also wonder what it'd be like to have a brother, but that's another matter entirely.)

FuSoYa, on shaky hands and knees, says, "You were controlled by Zemus' telepathy. Your blood made it easier for him to use you."

Edge and Rynelle dodge the CPU's wreckage and come to examine FuSoYa and Golbez. Rosa stays behind, her concerned gaze fixed on Gareth.

Gareth stares at the CPU for lack of anything else to stare at, his mouth working tonelessly. Then he speaks.

"I have been fighting my own brother· Golbez." He looks up at the other man, meeting his ex-arch-rival's eyes for the first time. "You are my brother?"

Golbez nods.

"But·" Gareth falters again. "It could have been me... who was controlled by Zemus' telepathy.

Golbez shakes his head. "But it was me·" Now he falters, and the sudden, unbreakable bond between brothers is apparent. "It means my soul was stained with evil for Zemus to use..."

I watch the two of them, communing over the shattered computer core, communing the way only brothers can. Communing after a minute of shared experiences. I will never be able to commune with Gareth that way, and it makes me unbearably sad to know that there is something about my best friend in the entire world that I will never be able to understand.

Golbez whirls and spurs on towards the exit; I melt into the shadows, lest he attract attention to me.

Gareth starts. "Where are you going?"

Golbez doesn't even turn back; I can see rage, red and burning, in his eyes. He snarls: "I'll settle all this myself!"

FuSoYa clambers unsteadily to his feet. "Wait!"

This time Golbez does turn.

"Zemus is a Lunarian," FuSoYa says urgently. "He belongs to my race! I'll come with you!"

Golbez only nods. Then he faces his brother again. "Goodbye, Gareth·"

And then, I think bitterly, I saved the world by saving Gareth and Rosa and Rynelle and Edge. And what do I get·

"Are you done with that?" Dierdre asks.

I jump÷as well as any man can when he's half lying down and has a broken leg÷and look up at her.

"I don't know about you," Dierdre says, smiling, "but I think it's been mixed enough."

I glance down at the bowl. In my tortured imaginings, I have mixed it so well that it looks like a whirlpool frozen in time, and there's probably about as much batter outside the bowl than inside.

I smile sheepishly. "I· I guess so."

She grins and accepts the bowl. "Hold on, I'll get a rag to clean you up."

After the meal, which is good and quite delicious, I feel much better, physically at least. But the dead leaden weight in my soul drags me down.

"Now," Dierdre says, "you must tell me why you were trying to land head-first at the bottom of the mountain. You're a hero, you know."

I laugh bitterly. "Yeah: Tell that to the Chancellor."

She shrugs. "I'm sure he just doesn't like you. Now, why were you trying to die?"

I frown at the flickering flames for a long time. "I betrayed Gareth's trust twice," I say finally. "At least twice. I can't go back again and be his friend and be a celebrity and live every day knowing that I might betray him a third time." I snort. "And how could the people of Baron live with me, knowing I might betray them?"

She looks at me over the flames, her eyes compassionate and reflecting gold sparks of firelight. "But who would control you like that? Zeromus is dead, isn't he?"

Chillingly, I am reminded of Zeromus' last words, and they come spilling out of my mouth before I can stop them, ringing in the cave with chilling, hollow reverberations: "I will not perish as long as there is evil in the hearts of people."

She says nothing. Her mouth tightens into a thin line.

And again, I remember Golbez's speech: But it was me· It means my soul was stained with evil for Zemus to use...

Is my soul stained with evil? Is that why Golbez was able to control me?

"I see," Dierdre says, uncommonly serious. "So you're scared that when Zeromus or someone like him comes back, he'll take advantage of you, and of course the last place you want to be at that point is near Gareth, the king of the most powerful nation on the planet."

I nod. I'm not, of course; that's only part of the reason why I was trying to end it. I'm not really sure why, not entirely; I just knew÷know÷that it isn't quite a good idea for me to be alive anymore.

"I think it's because I'm scared," I say suddenly, thinking aloud more than anything else. "Scared of myself. Scared of what I can do, of what I've faced, can face. What I can do. What I could do if· If someone controlled me again."

Dierdre says nothing, her voice compassionate.

"I mean," I continue quietly, "what I could do· to Gareth. To Edge and Rynelle and Dalen and Yang. To Rosa·"

Still she says nothing.

"I remember when we captured Rosa," I say quietly. "Golbez was very quietly gloating, for he knew what Rosa meant to Gareth and he knew that Gareth would have to come to him. He had to go out and get the Calabrena set up to ambush Gareth, so he said to me, with this little smirk on his face, 'Keep Rosa safe while I'm gone. But not too safe.'

"So I did. What else could I do÷I was a mindless automaton. I unstrapped her from that seat of hers, deactivated the cannonball Golbez'd rigged above her head, and took her down to one of the lower floors, where the monsters roam."

I wince at the memory.

"I poked her with my lance, in the arm, so the monsters would come÷they like the smell of fresh blood÷and let them do their thing. After a while, I drove the creatures off again and strapped her back into the seat."

I sigh.

"I don't even know why she bothered to keep herself alive during that whole ordeal. What had she to gain? What with Golbez· and me· leering back and forth that, oh, Gareth's coming to rescue you, but he'll never get all the way up here, you know, he'll be dead before he reaches you· She must've been really demoralized. But still she clung to life."

My voice is pensive. "And all the while, when I was doing these things, I hated myself for them. If I could, I would've impaled myself on my own lance. But I couldn't."

"I know," Dierdre says at least. Her gaze is fixated on the flickering flames. "Itâs the worst feeling in the world, doing something you hate yourself for, watching people hate you for it÷" She breaks off suddenly, as though she's let something she shouldn't've slip.

There is silence for a while. Then she says again, "I guess those rumors're right, then."

"What rumors," I say, a bit defensively.

"About you," she says, "and Rosa. You·" She looks at me, interested. "You've got a thing for her, don't you."

I sigh. What is it about this woman that makes me spill everything out to her? Why can she see inside my soul when I can't? "Yes, I guess I do."

She smiles suddenly. "No wonder you were depressed."

I look up at her.

"I mean," Dierdre elaborates, "here you're going through this deep blue funk, and then the only person you really like gets married to your best friend·" She waves an arm inarticulately. "I think I'd want to jump off a cliff if that happened."

Despite myself, I smile too. It feels good to smile.

When she falls silent again, I prompt her, "Enough about me. What in the name of the Dwarves are you doing out here?"

Immediately her smile evaporates. Her hands clasp in her lap and she stares down at the fire again. "It's· It's a long story."

"Tell me," I say. Something is drawing me towards this woman, and I want to know more about her. "Besides, I've spilled out my life for you; it's only fair you tell me something." As much to justify my own curiosity as to encourage her.

"All right," Dierdre says. She pushes a stray lock of hair back from her face. "I'm a Healer, you know. Trying to train for it. I was down in Baron Castle, learning spells with the other White Mages and such, when the King storms in and starts yelling at us for no apparent reason."

"Wait," I say, holding up a hand. "Was this the real king," whom I murdered, "or Kainazzo the Fiend of Water?"

"This was after you and Gareth were exiled," she says, "but before you came back, so probably the King." She smiles, suddenly. "I remember when that news went out; that the Captain of the Red Wings had been kicked out, just like that. It made all of us scared÷perhaps we'd be next, and His Majesty might not be so gentle next time·" She trails off.

"Anyway, down he comes, fuming like an airship with a broken engine, and he started yelling at us about· Oh, I don't know what. I think he was telling us that we should've caught that evil Gareth and told him about how he was planning to take over Baron and all that·" She smiles faintly. "Of course, we're all a soft lot, us White Mages, so we were all cowering behind pots and things." Her smile fades. "And for some reason, he made me really mad, that he could just come in there and yell at us for not doing something we didn't know we were supposed to do· He was saying that we were all deficient in magic, so just to show him, I started to Cure him, you know? Use a magic spell."

She falls silent, looking away despondently.

Grasping what happened, I finish for her, "And you set him on fire instead."

"Bolted him, actually," Dierdre corrects me, blushing. "Electrocuted him right there in front of all my pacifist friends."

She smiles wanly. "Anyway, before you could blink he had the guards shove me out the front door, and that was that."

I nod. "I see."

She shrugs. "So, I came out here. And I've been here ever since." She spreads her arms. "Three whole weeks."

Three whole weeks.

It seems like an eternity to me· Years and years and years.

"And you've been alone all this time," I say.

"Yup," Diedre affirms.

"And you're still alive?" I ask her. "What with all the monsters attacking, I'd expect÷"

"You make the same misconception all the monsters did, Mr. Mighty Dragoon," she says with an amused smile. "You assume I'm defenseless. I can shoot÷all White Mages are trained with the use of a bow and arrows. And plus·" She hesitates a bit. "I've been training myself in the use of Black Magic. It's not that easy÷the harmonics and the chants are totally different from White Magic; youâd be surprised theyâre related at all÷but I've done it."

I nod. "That's not bad at all."

Suddenly Dierdre glances out of the cave. I follow her gaze: stars and a single moon greet my eyes.

"Oh, my," she exclaims. "I've gone and kept you up past dark. I imagine you must be tired÷"

No sooner do the words hit my ears than a gigantic wave of sleepiness hits me. I wonder for a moment whether Deirdre has cast a spell on me, but I have experienced magic-induced sleep before÷it is more blatant, if possible, than this; more shadowy÷and this is not it. I struggle to keep my eyes open, providing myself with more proof that it is natural sleep.

Through half-closed eyes I see her brilliant smile. "Go on and sleep. Before I got that pallet made I just slept on the ground, and another night won't hurt me."

My head hits the straw like a cannonball and I am out like a light.
 
 

When I wake up, the sun is up, bathing Baron in bright, shining light. Dierdre is bustling around the little cave. "Oh, good. You're up. I need to measure your leg for a splint."

For a terrifying instant I am disoriented and scared. Where in the name of the red dark Underworld am I?

Then memory returns in a torrential wave, like one of Edge's Floods. I remember where I am and who I am and what I am.

It's a pain to remember.

Dierdre comes up to me. "Do you want anything to eat? I know you Dragoons are trained to go for days without food, but it's not like we're at war or anything."

I want to refuse, but my stomach has other ideas. "All right."

She goes away and comes back after a moment with a sort of a biscuit, left over from the night before, and I chew on it with relish. I had not realized how hungry I was. But then, I reflect bitterly, I'm not very self-aware.

Dierdre returns with a long piece of wood. "Now hold still. I want to make sure that leg doesn't bend itself out of shape again. I set it back when you were sleeping. That's why I had to use a spell to make you sleep. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you, but I wasn't sure you were going to let me."

I say nothing, but smile inwardly. At least her friendly chatter prevents me from having to talk myself; I fear the rest of my life might come pouring out of my mouth the instant I open it.

"This might hurt a little, but I can't help that." Quickly she sets the wood slat against my leg, testing its straightness and length. I grunt quietly with the pain; the barest touch sets my leg on fire. "That'll do it. Good." She removes the wood and sets it aside. "Now, putting the splint together is going to hurt a lot. I can't use another Sleep spell because that won't be strong enough. What I can do is mix you a sort of a knockout potion. It's pretty strong and you'll be somewhat delirious when you come out of it, but it only lasts for a few hours and that's better than anything else I can do."

I nod. "Sounds fine to me."

Dierdre stands up and moves over to one side, and then stops. "Funny. Today I had planned to clean out the cave, 'cause I've been here for three weeks and it's getting dirty. But instead I'm fussing over you." She smiles. "I guess I've got a new friend to worry over."

I smile and lever myself up on my elbows. "Have you gotten any sleep?"

She shrugs. "No, not since yesterday night. I had to get the ingredients for the potion, you know. It was pretty hard to find everything in the dark, but I did it."

I frown. "I hope you don't overdose on the potion and kill me or something·"

She shakes her head. "No. I'll be careful. It's just herbs and such anyway. I found the recipe in a book in the Royal Library." She tittered. "Amazing, the things they have down there. All sorts of treatises and expositions and dusty old scrolls that no one looks at. Except me, I guess." She pulls some herbs off a shelf and tosses them into a bowl, not the least carefully.

I frown. "Be careful with those."

She turns to me, half indignant. "I am being careful! I know exactly what I'm doing! Now hush and let me make this thing·" She turns away, concentrating.

I sigh and lay back. After a few minutes Dierdre is back. "There," she said, "It's done. Open up, now."

The potion is sludgy and brown and smells terrible. The smell alone almost knocks away my tenuous grasp on consciousness. Gasping, I gulp it down.

"There," said Dierdre. "Now relax, so I can÷"

Pow.
 
 

I wake up again. The world spins dizzily and I decide I know what Valvalvis felt like when she does her whirlwind thing. "If I canât see you, you can't hurt me·" My blurred and dizzy vision depicts an orange-stained sky and distant hunks of gray that must be mountains. I reach a hand up to steady my head and instead knock myself for another dizzy loop.

A garbled, mutated voice: "Good, you're up."

I turn, stare. Dierdre looks like a vague, fat statue done in pinks and whites. She moves closer, bringing the ceiling with her.

I try to say, "What happened," but it comes out as sort of the sound the latrines on the Big Whale might make.

"You've been out all day," she said. "I must have overdone that potion, but oh, well; no harm done. It's nearly sunset."

Overdone? I want to stand up and shake her and yell at her for being a fool, but the closest I can manage is to loll towards her, groaning like an airship in a hurricane. I feel terrible.

"It's all right," she says. "No lasting side effects, except that you'll be extra dizzy. Oh, now, don't look so cross. You'll be fine." She glances at me concernedly. "Are you all right?"

I manage to shake my head; it feels like my eyes and brain are rattling around in there, plus my nose for extra measure.

"Oh, dear," Dierdre says. There are several indistinct moments and sounds, and then a tinkling, like fresh mountain water gushing downstream; and then a blessed cleansing glow bathes me in lights of sparkling green.

At once my head clears and my tongue unseizes; I can talk and think and move without my limbs feeling like they might fall off. "Overdone," I mutter.

"Yes," she says, "but obviously you've suffered no lasting effects, because you still can't say anything intelligent." She giggles. "No, I didn't mean that. You say a lot of intelligent things, but sometimes I wonder÷"

"Oh," I said, "enough." The headache has perversely remained. "My head hurts. Did you do your thing?"

She nodded, gestured to my splinted leg. "You're all perfectly set, but I still need to make some crutches for you. That's okay. I also went and brought your spear and helm back from the top of the mountain. I mean, you came down here without spear and helm and Dragoons never go anywhere without their spear and helm, so I knew you must've left them up top and you'd probably want them back. It wasn't any trouble; and at least you can use the spear as a crutch until I can make you real ones."

"Oh, thanks," I tell her. "Can I sit up?"

She shrugs. "If you're up to it. I've also got you some dinner; you'll probably be hungry. That's one of the side effects of that potion. You're left totally fine, no leftover aches from whatever the Healer did to you, but you're hungry. Want something to eat?"

I nod. She's right.

Dierdre gets up to get my food and I reach over for my spear again. It's not the Gungnir Spear, but the White Spear, the hallowed weapon we found in the Lunar Caves. The weapon glistens in the vague, filtered light of dusk, its mother-of-pearl handle shining with inlaid pinks and creams and grays. Whenever I touch it, I feel the darkness in my soul, a roiling mass of anger and seething villainy. I don't like touching it, but I do. I consider it fitting penance.

"Are you so hungry youâre going to run me through and eat me, or would you like the dinner I prepared?" comes Dierdre's voice from beyond, not unfriendly.

I look up, feeling guilty. "No, of course not. I was just·" A convenient excuse comes to mind and I blurt it out. "I'm rather attached to that spear.

"Oh." Dierdre sits down beside me and hands me the platter of food. "Here you go. It looks· It doesn't look much like a weapon, you know, all that pearl and whatnot. It looks more like the spear a statue of a guard would be holding outside some king's rich palace·"

"It's the White Spear," I mumble through a mouthful of bread.

"Oh," Dierdre says, taken aback. "Oh. It is?"

I nod. "Zemus had it hidden down below the surface of the moon, but· We found it."

"Oh," she says again. A moment of silence; I smile to myself. For once she can think of nothing to say. "Well, I expect it's powerful, then."

"Quite," I agree.

We sit in companionable silence for a few moments, and I reflect that it is rather nice to have a friend to talk to while I recover. Albeit, I would've preferred someone less talkative, but they'd always taught the Dragoons to work with what you have.

Suddenly a thought strikes me. It took me a good two days to climb up that mountain. Admittedly I was weak, but it would still take at least a day. So how did Dierdre get up there and back before the end of the day?

"How long have I been out," I ask her.

She shrugs unconcernedly. "Oh, not long. Less than a day."

"How'd you get up there and back so fast?" I ask.

"Where?"

"Up to the top of the mountain."

"Oh," says Dierdre. She rearranges her skirts for a moment and tries to avoid my gaze. "I used magic," she says finally.

My eyebrows raise. Powerful magic, indeed. Probably neither Rosa nor Rynelle could make it up to the top and back in one day, even with the use of their magic. But I say nothing more÷who knows; maybe some people are better at climbing mountains than others÷and when I am done with my meal Dierdre pushes me back onto the bed.

"You need rest," she says. "Tomorrow you'll probably be able to walk around÷you're quite resilient, you know; must come from saving the world÷but for now you need to rest. Good night, Karn. I'll see you in the morning."
 
 
 
 

Morning is bright. And clear, and warm; almost an idyllic spring morning. I feel better than I have for months.

"Oh, good, you're up," Dierdre says to me. "I need to change the bedding before it gets all smelly. Stand up, now. I've got some bread you can have standing by the fire, but after this I want you to help me with the cleaning. This old cave is starting to get musty."

I balk for a moment, but then reconsider. Dierdre has saved me, become my friend, tended my hurts; the least I can do in return is help her clean up a bit.

"All right," I tell her, "but at least let me eat first."

"Oh, certainly," Dierdre responds. She bustles by me with an armful of wooden dishes, adding them to a growing pile outside the cave entrance. "I don't want you losing your strength, after all. But a bit of exercise will do you good."

Under her instructions, I help her empty out her cave÷Dierdre managed to accumulate quite a pile of things÷and then sweep the detritus and debris out from the storage area, sweep ashes out of the fireplace, search for bugs and rodents÷ "Think I'll need this," I ask her, White Spear clutched in one hand÷and so on. It's hard work, but it's better than sitting around. And the air and the exercise makes me feel much better.

About midmorning she got me to beat the dust and dirt out of the blanket on the bed. "It's getting all grimy; that'll take you a while. I want to go wash in the river." She gives me an impish smile. "You can do that later, if you want. Here÷" she hands me the Spear. "Use this on the blanket. Just don't cut it." She flashes her infectuous grin. "I'll be back in a little. Don't get hurt." With that she flits down the path to the river, leaving me staring after her with the White Spear in my grip.

I shrug and began to beat the living weasels out of the blanket.

It's harder than I thought it would be. My strength will probably never leave me, but it has faded. Swinging the spear haft again and again takes more energy than it would seem to need. My leg doesn't help; each swing sends streaks of pain through my body. I grit my teeth and forge on; presently I notice the haft is coated with dust.

"I think you're done with that," Dierdre says, glancing at the blanket as I whack it again. "You can stop now. I do want the dust beat out of it, but I don't want you to beat it to death."

I ground the spear point into the dirt and lean over, panting. "All right, I'll stop."

She is at my side in an instant. "You haven't overexerted yourself, have you? I won't stand for it. You've got to be careful about your health, or you'll wear yourself into the ground, and we can't very well have one of the saviors of the world doing that. If news ever got out about it I'd be forced to live in this cave forever, and I don't want to do that." She pulls me to a standing position. "You are okay, aren't you?"

I nod. "Just a bit winded."

She smiles in relief, lighting up her face. "Good."

Dierdre starts to move away, but I catch her shoulder. "You know," I say, "you're quite beautiful when you smile."

"You know," Dierdre says, pausing, "no one has ever said that to me. Not even my parents." She smiles again, confirming my statement. "It sounds nice."

The rest of the day passes more quickly than I would have thought. The dishes and various clothes are cleaned out; we sort through her stock of healing herbs and potions and discard what is rotted, and then do the same with the food; she has found time to actually make some wooden dishes and she sets a few of them off to one side to sell down at Baron. "It's sort of a hobby of mine, woodworking," she says. "It's one of the few things I can do with any degree of accuracy. I mean, when I start trying to cast magic, it doesn't work. When I start trying to farm, it doesn't work. I tried it; my parents were farmers. I can't even churn butter. It's depressing."

Her monologue is interrupted suddenly by a wild yell. We scramble to our feet÷her far more quickly, I might add÷and stare up as a man, a woman and two children come scrambling down the mountainside. The expressions on their faces vary from panic to excitement.

Dierdre runs to intercept them and I hobble after her, the White Spear clutched in my hands. "What's going on," she says.

"Monsters," the man pants, "coming down the mountain. There's hundreds of them. They must be headed for Baron."

Dread grips my gut in icy claws. "Get out of here. Quickly, before they attack."

"Wait," Dierdre interrupts, "how many? How many monsters, and what kinds?"

"I don't know," the man puffs indignantly. "I'm no monster specialist."

"We have to assume worst case, then," I tell Dierdre.

"What's that," she asks, suddenly reticent, "Behemoths?"

I frown. "No, not that bad. But· Maybe something on par with a Fiend."

"The Four Fiends?" the man asks. "Behemoths?" He laughs heartily, suddenly relieved. "You're nutty, my boy; they're just legends."

Oh, how I'm glad I don't have to tell him he's wrong. Dierdre glances at me as though she doubts whether the Four Fiends are real too.

"In any case, get down there," I tell him. "Tell people to keep a look out; if any monsters get past, make sure people are there to see 'em and warn the King."

The man nods self-importantly and bolts, almost forgetting to bring his family with him. The woman and children scuttle after him.

Dierdre frowns at me. "Crazy man. Even I know Behemoths are real, and I haven't faced one." She falters a bit. "Have you?"

I nod. "But never mind that. We've got to stop them."

"Who, the family?"

"No, the monsters."

"Oh." She frowns. "What if there's too many?"

I heft the White Spear in answer.

"Oh," Dierdre says again. "I'd better warn you, though, I'm not very good with Black Magic, because I never really learned it. I think I told you this before. The spells might not work."

"Get your bow," I tell her, "just to be safe."

"Oh, yes," says Dierdre, her face breaking into a grin, "I forgot I had that." She dashes back towards the cave; the bow is over by the entrance to it.

She comes back panting, fitting a White arrow to the bow and glancing back up the mountain. "Have they showed yet?"

I shake my head. "But soon, I think. Soon÷"

The head of an Imp comes poking over a rise in the mountain, followed soon by the rest of the creature. Then about two dozen more appear.

I give a laugh. "That's it? That's his hundreds?"

"That's it?" Dierdre sounds scandalized. "I don't know about you, I mean you've faced Zeromus and all, but those Imps scare me. I know you could probably handle them all, but there's me to consider."

"That's true," I say. I wish I had my helmet and armor on; but then I realize that Iâd probably be about as mobile as an airship in a bathtub with the heavy armor and my leg. "What's your range with that now?"

"Uhm, about halfway between us and them."

"Start shooting once they get down there," I tell her. "That way you'll be able to pick off as many as possible while they're relatively helpless."

"But these arrows have to last me through combat," she says, eyeing her quiver. She has not many, about a dozen at most.

"Then you'll have to use magic when they get down here," I tell her.

"Oh," says Dierdre. Her fists clench the hem of her White Mage's robes. "I hope I can÷"

"Shoot!" I cry.

Dierdre's bow snaps up and arrow after arrow, aimed quite well, arcs into the seething Imp ranks. She empties her quiver into the creatures, each arrow taking out an Imp. She tosses the bow away. "I won't need this anymore."

"Here they come," I mutter tightly.

Dierdre backs away, her hands clasped strangely÷one arm out, palm forward, fingers extended; the other, fingers curled around the palm of the first÷ chanting her rune language, summoning magic.

The first Imps arrive. Ignoring the pain in my leg, I run the first of the man-sized, horn-faced creatures through the chest. The next two advance, swinging their short-bladed swords. My spear has the advantage; I slash the point back and forth across the Imps' course, and then finally stab one of them. The other moves in, sword swinging, but he has made the mistake of attacking on my spear side. With some quick maneuvering the haft of the White Spear is blocking his sword strike; then I jerk it backwards, butting the Imp in the chest, and whirl, striking a broadside blow with the haft against the side of its head. It goes down in a heap, dead.

I turn back to face the other Imps, watching their formation seethe. Their first three envoys have been slaughtered with nary a casualty to the opposition; now they are unsure what to do.

Their indecision is lethal.

Dierdre opens up with a blast of fire, not targeted at individual creatures as Rynelle tends to do it, but springing out of the ground in a sort of a 'field' attack. The tightly-packed masses writhe and burn. When the fires die down, only one in five Imps remain, and they run for the hills.

Dierdre slumps, panting. "There. I did it." She tilts her head for an instant, considering. "Well, I meant to call down lightning, but the effectâs the same, after all. Not bad."

I nod. "No, not bad at all. Where'd you get the idea of hitting the Imps as a group instead of as individuals?" From what I can recall, when a Mage casts a spell on multiple people, five is the limit.

"I thought of it myself," she replies, pushing her red-gold hair out of her face. "Well, not really by myself. Some people over in the Academy for White Mages were talking about something like that÷area spells, they called them. They were complaining about having to target spells. They're all lazy anyway, though; none of 'em could cast a decent Cure spell in the first place; but anyway, I started thinking, and I experimented a bit. When it worked I just built my fireplace on top of it."

"Oh," I say, "but in any case that was a good job."

"Thanks," she replies, blushing a bit. "Are you hurt?"

I give myself an internal once-over. "Not much. Just the leg."

"Oh," she says, and gives my spear a look. "Hey, there's no blood on that thing!"

I glance at it. "Oh. Oh, no, there isnât. Blood never stays on; it always just drips off or whatever." I shrug. "I don't know why."

"Oh," she says. "You're pretty good with that thing."

"Thanks."

Dierdre glances around at the surrounding area. The three Imp corpses are beginning to attract flies. "Now what?"

I shrug. "Dump those in the river÷" I wave the White Spear at the three Imps. "÷and get back to work."

"Oh," she says. "No victory parade? No dance? No one claiming us heroes?"

I shake my head. "No. Except maybe the flies."

She grins. "Sounds like being a hero is a lot of fun." She rolls up her sleeves and advances grimly on the Imp corpses. "Come on, let's get to work."
 
 
 
 

The next day the scariest thing happens.

I am barely awake. The sun is about halfway to the middle of the sky, and Dierdre is out collecting herbs and such. I am not sure. I am tired, exhausted from the battle and the work the day before.

So imagine my surprise when a loud trio of horns sound, tooting out an anthem I recognize immediately.

The music of the Red Wings. A song I have always associated with· Gareth. The Baronian March.

His Majesty the King comes to call.

Dierdre stands up straight, her eyes open wide. She stares down the hillside÷I can't see; trees and the cavern wall block my way÷but I know who is coming. She shoots me a single glance÷Stay inside!÷and drops to one knee.

Into the gravelly clearing comes His Royal Eminence, King Gareth.

Blood turns to ice in my veins.

Rosa glances around the clearing, still as heart-stoppingly beautiful as before. The golden crown across her forehead glints in the light. King Edward of Damcyan accompanies them, his harp tucked under his right arm. Also, Rynelle and Edge, and Dalen, the man responsible for keeping the Red Wings up and running. Why are they here? What do they want?

"Rise," Gareth says, sounding cold and imperial.

Dierdre rises.

"We have received information that a group of Imps came this way," Gareth says, using the royal we, "Imps destined for our kingdom. Our source says," an amused but friendly twist of the lips, "that there were thousands."

Dierdre says, "About two dozen, Your Majesty." Her voice is trembling. I feel shocked. I didn't think she would be scared of Gareth.

"Where are they now," Gareth asks.

"They· They're all dead, Your Majesty."

Gareth seems startled by this news. "Dead, you say."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Rosa speaks suddenly. "What is your name, sister?"

"Dierdre, Your Highness."

Rosa smiles suddenly. "Stop calling me that. We're both White Mages, after all."

"Uhm, yes, Your÷" Dierdre gulps desperately.

"Did·" Gareth tilts his head, glancing at Dierdre. "Did you kill them all?"

Dierdre nods miserably.

Gareth and Rosa exchange glances. "This is a story I'd love to hear," Gareth remarks with a smile.

"I÷ It's a long story, Your Majesty," Dierdre says, anxious to defend herself, "but the basics of it is that· I can use Black Magic as well as White."

Gareth and Rosa stare at her. Rynelle, too.

"That's extremely rare, you know," Gareth says quietly, all formality suddenly gone.

"Yes, Your Majesty, I know," says Dierdre, visibly sweating. "I· I was sent away by your predecessor, Your Majesty, for accidentally zapping him with lightning."

Gareth raises an amused eyebrow. Rosa chokes on a mouthful of laughter. Rynelle snickers in a fashion that quite belies her normal timidness. "I see," says Gareth.

"It÷ It wasn't my fault, Your Majesty," Dierdre cries desperately. "It was an accident! Please don't think÷"

"We aren't blaming you for anything, young lady," Gareth says kindly. I smile; Gareth is probably a year, at most, older than Dierdre. (How old is she, anyway? Iâve five years on Gareth.) "And, while you might not have necessarily repelled an invasion as our source seems to think, you did save our realm quite some unnecessary strife. On behalf of the kingdom of Baron, I thank you."

"Uhm·" says Dierdre, plainly suffering, "thank you, Your Majesty."

"Hold on a moment," Rosa says, and quietly drags her husband away from Dierdre÷and towards the cave. I freeze, but they stop a distance away. I can hear their whispered conversation:

"Gareth, she's the one who was banished. You might want to reinstate her."

"Oh, that was her? I had forgotten."

"Yes, that's her."

"See, I told you, dearest, I'm going to be a horrible king."

"It's only been a month, Gareth. Go easy on yourself. It's not like Imps are overrunning us."

"Only because of her over there."

"Yes, dear. Now, come on."

Gareth and Rosa make their way back to where Dierdre stands on wobbly knees. What is wrong with her, I wonder. She doesnât strike me as the type of person to go weak-kneed because royalty showed up. Look at her treatment of King Baron. I fight a sudden impulse to reveal myself, hobble out to my friendâs side. But what would I do there?

Which friend? Gareth? Dierdre?

Gareth takes a slight moment to compose himself÷it looks like dignity, but I know the truth of it÷and turns back to Dierdre. "Well, Dierdre÷" And how awkward he sounds, a king using a peasantâs given name; king or not, Gareth is still human, and I feel better. "÷Iâm not certain we have a medal that will cover your situation, but on behalf of the kingdom, I thank you. Furthermore, your banishment is annulled; you may return to Baron at any time to continue your training."

Dierdre looks like there are Imps clawing at her dress. Sweat beads her forehead. Itâs almost amusing, somehow. "Thank you, Your Highness."

Gareth and Rosa start down the mountain after a few passing remarks, followed by Edward and Dalen. Edge starts down, but halts when he notices Rynelle. The green-garbed caller is exchanging a few tortured words with Dierdre.

"If you ever do decide to stop by," Rynelle says in her quiet murmur, "ask for me. Most mages donât appreciate how different the two elements are. I think Iâve got the hang of it, though." Typical Rynellian understatement.

Dierdre looks anguished and slightly sick. What is wrong with her? A fever? A sickness? Did she relieve herself in the morning? (Thinking back, I recall that she disappeared in the vicinity of the stream for a few moments in the morning.)

Finally the last of the royal entourage disappears behind the crest of the hill. Dierdreâs anxiety does not: she stands, shivering, quivering. She looks completely horrified, completely scared. Desperate.

I hobble towards her. "Dierdre? Are you okay?"

There is no answer. I feel that something is wrong as I come closer. Itâs not just that her face is cold, dire, scaring me. It is also the hatred, the palpable dull red anger, emanating from her.

"Dierdre?" I place my hand on her arm.

Dierdre jumps viciously, her face a mask. Sudden fire bursts around me, scouring away her shocked expression and leaving me with only blackness.
 
 

"·you okay? Karn?"

"Karn, oh, you stupid man, I swear to the Moon that I will kill you if you donât wake up."

"Karn!"

Dierdre sounds highly distraught.

Opening my eyes, I see feeble twilight shrouding Dierdreâs tearstained face. It looks wrong for her to be crying; Dierdreâs is a face for smiles and light. Immediately she pulls away from me, wiping her eyes with the grubby sleeve of her robe. "Oh, thank goodness youâre okay."

It is unsettling to hear her limit herself to one sentence.

"Iâm all right," I say. "What happened?"

I saw your face, Dierdre. When I touched you, there was great anger, great fear. Of whom? Me? You cast a spell of Fire on me!

She shakes her head. "I donât know, Karn. There was just a burst of magic." Her face gives away the lie. "Monsters, maybe?"

I struggle to sit. Cure spells again. Sometimes it seems that everyone in the world can use some form of it, everyone except me. "I guess it was," I say.

"Are you okay?" she asks me, timidly. Dierdre, timid!

Dierdre, crying.

"Yes," I reply. Sheâs asked me that already. "What about you?"

She pales a little, sinks to her heels. Now she is kneeling before me, her face level. She looks so pale. "A little shaken, I guess." She sniffles, and then laughs a little. "And worried."

Because of what you did. Because of your reaction to me.

The blackness I felt in you is the kind of dark I used to get from Golbez, whenever I had to come near him.

I say, "About me?"

"Well," replies Dierdre. "Yes."

This is new to me. I donât think anyone has ever worried about me. Except maybe Gareth.

Except maybe Rosa. I hope she worried about me.

I wish she worried about me.

"Thank you," I tell her.

She blushes. "Well, itâs nothing. I saved you once already, you know, and seeing as youâre the first person Iâve actually saved, I donât intend to let you die. Not that Iâm saying Iâd let anyone die, Iâm just saying that youâre special, you know. You÷"

Rapid-fire turbo-mouth Dierdre is back. Too much information. I silence her with a gentle hand across her mouth÷she blushes furiously÷and say, again, meaning it, "Thank you."

"Youâre welcome," she replies, her voice muffled by my hand and her cheeks crimson. I can feel them burning. I take my hand from her mouth and she smiles weakly.

"What was Rynelle talking to you about," I ask her.

"Well, she was offering her services," Dierdre says, toying with her hair. She is remarkably self-conscious; she will not meet my gaze. "You know how she was able to use both White and Black Magic. I would imagine that she would be the most knowledgeable person I could have to teach me, but Iâm not sure if sheâll be a good teacher. Not to say sheâs a bad person, but thereâs a difference between a good mage and a good teacher, you know?" She tosses her hair behind her head. "There was this one man I knew, back in the castle, who could heal people, knit bones together, perform wonders. But he could never teach anyone else how to do it; he was just far too grumpy. Oh, he smiled a lot and laughed a lot, but when things went wrong, he exploded. Why, I remember the time when÷"

I realize suddenly the manic tinge to her voice, the desperation in her eyes. She is talking simply to keep her mind away from whatever it is thatâs bothering her, bothering her badly. Again I stem the flow with my hands. "Dierdre, be calm." I can feel the tension in her jaw as it clenches.

I am at a loss. She looks like a cornered rabbit. How do I soothe her? I am a Dragoon, not a Healer; they taught us things like how to deal with rabid Bone Dragons, not hysterical people. I have no experience with cornered rabbits.

Suddenly, without warning, Dierdre lunges into my arms, quivering. Her voice is muffled. "I was so worried about you. Iâve been so lonely. Always alone·"

I feel stunned. I force myself to move, to hold her, to stroke her hair. Comfort, what little I can provide. This is no Dierdre I know. The woman who fought off the Imps at my side, who braved a kingâs wrath, is gone; in her place, a quivering mass of nerves. What happened to her? Was it me? What kind of a repayment is that? She saves my life and in return I turn her into wobbling lump of jelly.

At once I remember a time, in the Tower of Bab-il, a time when Rosa suffered my lash, when I beat her and hated her for loving another, hated myself for hating her, hated myself for loving her, hated the world for putting us together. She had drawn herself up, spoken words I hardly considered then, remember vividly now. At a loss, I whisper them to the woman in my arms.

"Be calm, my friend. Things will get better. Though evil towers over you and nothing makes sense, be sure that times will come when your suffering ends. Be brave."

"Where did you learn that," Dierdre asks me. She pulls her face from my shoulde and looks at me, her green-gray eyes muzzled. And intensely relieved.

"Rosa," I say. "Rosa taught it to me."

"Oh," Dierdre says, "that explains it." She resettles into my arms. "Thatâs one of the little things she used to reassure us when things were going wrong and we all thought weâd die. I suppose weâll not hear it again; now sheâs Queen, and sheâs got to be aloof and all that. But it was good to hear it again."

Dierdre smiles and tucks herself closer. Apparently she has no plans to move from my arms and I have to admit I rather like her there. But there are other matters at hand÷besides her closeness, her skin touching mine, her hair flowing down my arm. "Are you going to take Rynelle up on her offer?"

"I think that I shall," Dierdre says. "If nothing else, I must learn to fix your broken leg. Itâs the least I can do to thank you."

"Thank me!" I exclaim. She is smiling, and her eyes are closed. She is so pretty. "Dierdre, you saved me."

"Oh, thatâs nothing," she replies. "Iâm a Healer. Iâm supposed to save people. Itâs my job, you see, and if everyone thought they owed Healers something for saving them, why, Healers would own the world. Weâd all be queens and kings or something, and I can tell you, Karn, that weâd all make bad rulers÷Her Majesty excepted, of course. Weâre always quarreling. Itâs ridiculous.

"But you, Karn. With your help, Iâm back to Baron. I can really learn to use my magic. I owe you so much. Iâm sorry I didnât tell His Majesty you helped÷"

"Actually, Iâm rather glad you didnât," I say. "Iâm not sure I couldâve faced him."

The memories are strong, you see. I remember oh, so well how I betrayed my best friend, how I betrayed Gareth. I remember what I did to Rosa, how I hurt her, hurt them all. I remember the pain on her face, and how I laughed.

You saved the wrong man, Dierdre. The Karn of old, the Karn before Golbez, wouldâve tried to reconcile, to reciprocate. But the man you have now has no such feelings. He sees the darkness inside him, darkness that was never there before, and he fears it. He sees no way to bring light inside·

"Why not?" Dierdre asks innocently. "Heâs your friend, isnât he?"

I sigh, force the words out. "He was. Once. But now· Iâm not so sure anymore."

"Oh," Dierdre says, commiserating. "I see."

I force levity into my words. "Well, I have other friends. Iâll make do."

"One day you ought to go see him," Dierdre offers. "If you think you can stand him."

"One day, perhaps, I will," I say. Probably not, though. I donât want to face my friends. I donât want their anger, their fear.

I donât want their pity.
 
 
 
 
 
 

When Dierdre awoke the next day Karn was still asleep, his strong tired face smoothed over and calmed. She was always surprised at the difference it made. He looks peaceful when he sleeps. She donned her White Mage robes and made her way down towards Castle Baron. At the gate, she gave her name, and added, "I think Rynelle is expecting me."

The guards took her up to one of the towers, where Rynelle was conversing with a Sylph. The two concluded their conversation as she approached.

"There you are," Rynelle said. She was so gentle. She smiled at Dierdre. "I thought youâd be here."

Dierdre made herself calm. "Yes, well, here I am. I hope Iâm not intruding or anything·"

Rynelle shook her head. Green hair cascaded. "Oh, no. Of course not. Itâs the first time Iâve ever met another dual user and Iâm dying to compare notes." She smiled; she glowed; she beamed.

Dierdre felt she liked Rynelle already. "Well, Iâm afraid I donât have any real notes or anything. I still donât have much skill in spellcasting in either element· Iâve been trying to cast newer spells but somehow they never work."

Rynelle smiled. "Thatâs to be expected," she said. "No slight towards your spellcasting intended, of course, but itâs a lot harder to create new spells than most people think." She laughed deprecatingly. "You should see the people who come to see me now that Iâm the Royal Spellcaster, asking to lever their carts out of a ditch or save a cow from a strange disease. They think I have all the answers in the world. I tell them to talk Dalen into rigging up a block and tackle, or to talk to the Healers." She gave a conspiratorial smile. "I canât even pick up a cup with magic."

Dierdre smiled. "What about area spells," she said. "Like that Ninja casts. Edge."

Rynelleâs face went vague and dreamy. "Oh, yes. Edge. Fascinating magics. No, I canât do area spells. Theyâre not as efficient, unless, of course, the targets are closely packed, but I can see the potential·"

Dierdre coughed uncomfortably. "I can do it."

Rynelle blinked, all airiness gone. "Really?"

"Uhm, yes, actually. That was how we÷I÷took care of the Imps. When they got close enough I just hit them all with a Fire spell."

Rynelle grew greatly animated. "Show me," she said. She pointed to the bed in a corner. "Use that. Iâll just ask Gareth for another. Heâll understand."

Dierdre stared at the rumpled bed. Fear, anxiousness, hatred. What had happened to make the bed so disheveled? Did she really want to know?

"Go on," Rynelle said with a gentle smile.

Dierdre sighed.

The floor under the bed burst into flagellant flame. The covers began to smolder.

Rynelle shoved open a window for ventilation and dashed over. A corner of her enormously long sleeve fell into the flame, and she absently stamped it out. "Wow. Iâve never seen that before."

Dierdre fidgeted anxiously. "You never saw Edge do something like that?"

"No, we were always in danger of our lives when he used them." Rynelle shrugged cheerfully. "I donât know. I guess he thinks that using his magic is too feminine, even though it works a lot better than his swords." She made a highly ungraceful giggle. "He gets himself so chopped up sometimes."

Dierdre nodded uncomfortably. She was starting to hate herself. Rynelle was too cheerful, too endearing. Her hands clenched the hem of her robe sleeves. She debated jumping out the window.

Rynelle doused the flames. "Please, do it again."

Dierdre concentrated, sweat streaming down her face. Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she started to yell.

The floor under Rynelle burst into flames.

Rynelle yelled and jumped to one side. The fire followed her, leaving the floor untouched. The other woman dodged around the blaze, which floated after her with lethal assurance. Finally Rynelle gathered her scorched wits and dropped Water on the blaze, extinguishing it.

Dierdre stared, quivering. Presently she managed to mouth, "Iâm sorry."

Rynelle, strangely, seemed less shaken than Dierdre. "No, itâs all right. Everyone has accidents. How did you manage to make it follow me like that?"

Dierdre shook. "I donât know," she said miserably. "I didnât÷"

"Thatâs all right," Rynelle said, "weâll figure it out. By Bahamutâs claws, what a weapon that would be!" She was excited again. "Come on, cast that again! Letâs see what you did·"

Dierdre groaned. Torture. Pure torture.
 
 
 
 

"Dierdre," I say to her, "maybe you should stop going to Rynelle."

Dierdre gazes at the shattered bowl in her hands. She didnât drop it or maim it or anything; she was just holding it, and then she broke it. Now there is hot water soaking into her robes and skirt. "Why," she says, "what makes you say that?"

I have full use of my leg now. After the second lesson Dierdre managed to fix my broken leg. This latest is the seventh visit. And the seventh broken bowl. "Because you come back tired and angry. Thatâs not the way to do things."

She sighs. "Yes, I know. Sheâs just a little too enthusiastic sometimes, you know. Practically pounces on me. Itâs really horrible. And· I donât know. Sometimes I just want to strangle her."

I eye her carefully. "Thatâs not good."

"I know." She squeezes a piece of the bowl. "I know Iâm overreacting, but somehow she really bugs me."

"Why donât you just stop going, then?" I ask her.

She sighs. "I donât know. I just· I donât know. Because learning to use magic correctly is important to me. Thereâs nothing else in my life, you know. Just magic."

I open my mouth to tell her that thereâs certainly more, but a roar drowns me out. I dash to the cave entrance to see whatâs going on; Dierdre is an instant behind me.

Below, the kingdom of Baron sprawls serene and untouched across the plains, belied only by the roar and a sudden flurry as thousands of birds take to the air, disturbed by the sound.

"What could that be," Dierdre shouts. I can barely hear her.

"I donât know," I reply. "Perhaps Dalen is testing a new device÷"

The answer comes suddenly in the form of a crack.

The Red Wings of Baron are unique for only one reason: their airships, and their operation of such airships for rapid transit and deployment. We Dragoons have long wanted such devices, but the Red Wings guard their secrets jealously. The airships are kept in an enormous ellipsoid domed hangar adjacent to the palace, open to air at one end.

The shattering sound matches the sudden appearance of a crack in the ceiling. The shattering increases; the crack grows. An arched, stacked-books prow, gracefully chunky, begins to emerge.

I gape. "The Big Whale!"

More shaking, more cracking. The prow wedges itself out more. Suddenly the entire dome collapses, sending wood and metal smashing down on the airships below. The Big Whale rips free of the entwining debris and blasts skyward. I have never seen the ungainly ark move so fast. In ten seconds it is gone from sight.

The silence is louder than the blast of the Whaleâs engines.

"What was that," Dierdre says. I wince; surely, in the silence, everyone in Baron must be able to hear that.

"That," I say, "was the Big Whale."

"I know that, silly," she says, "what was it doing? Why couldnât it have used the entrance like any decent flying ship?"

I laugh. The Big Whale, a Îdecent flying ship.â "I donât know. Maybe Gareth took it into his head to explore outer space."

She shakes her head. "I wouldâve heard of it. I love gossip and that kind of thing wouldâve been all over the city." She forestalls me with a hand. "I know what youâre going to say: His Majesty might have wanted it to keep it secret. The thing is, why? Thereâs nothing wrong with exploring outer space; in fact, I think the people would love it."

"Thereâs really no reason," I say suddenly, "no good reason. Only a bad one."

She blinks. "A bad one. What do you mean?"

I will not perish as long as there is evil in the hearts of people.

"Oh," Dierdre says. "I see."

"Yes," I say tiredly.

"Well," says Dierdre, "maybe the Lunarians wanted it back and they just forgot to press the Îrecallâ button until now."

"Maybe," I say. But I worry. "Thereâs only one way to find out," I say.

"Whatâs that?"

"Be there when it comes back."
 
 
 
 

And that is how Dierdre and I managed to get ourselves hidden in plain sight, near the ellipse hanger, skulking in the shadows. I donât have my armor, but I do have my Spear. Dierdre had to cast a Vanish spell on it to make it disappear; too many people wouldâve recognized it. There are immense crowds here, but they are not the ones I worry about.

Gareth, Rosa, Dalen, Rynelle, Edward and Edge, who really should be ruling his kingdom instead of loitering around Baron÷"Heâs ever so besotted with Rynelle," Dierdre told me, "and I do believe she feels quite the same way towards him."÷are in a knot at the base of the hangar, looking up at the Big Whale, hovering ominously above the repaired hangar.

"Thereâs no room to land," I realize. "It canât go through the main entrance, Dierdre, which is why it had to break out." Suddenly I recall something. "They built the dome over the hangar after they landed the Big Whale. Gareth said he didnât intend to fly it again. It was supposed to be a monument or something."

She gazes up at the arch of stacked planks that is the Big Whale hanging above us. "Why did it come back," she says reflexively.

Gareth apparently has received the same idea I have, because he commands the crowds to back away. When a roughly Big Whale-sized clearing has opened itself up, the gigantic space ark floats over and lands serenely, its keel hovering an exact inch above the ground.

"Look!" I say. "Garethâs sending two people in." The two soldiers, stern discipline masking their fear but not their savage grip on their swords, will have to pass by our alleyway to make it to the ship. I hand her my spear. "Here," I say. "Be prepared to use it."

As the two soldiers pass, I give a yell. "Excuse me! Sir!"

The two soldiers stop and glance into the alleyway.

"Sir, thereâs a gigantic problem in here!"

The soldiers, seeing only me and Dierdre, assume Iâm just paranoid. They figure they will pacify me quickly and be back on their way to the Big Whale in moments. They step into the hallway.

"Look, sirs! A Skeleton!" I point to the far end of the corridor.

The two soldiers glance at each other. Theyâre new: they think the monsterâs invisible. I wish I had had time to think of one that truly was invisible. Either that or theyâre just going to humor me. "Stand aside, you two, weâll take care of this."

Dierdre takes care of them both by clouting them on the head with the White Spear. The soldiers drop like rocks.

Dierdre hefts the invisible Spear in her hand. "I must admit," she says with a grin, "thereâs a certain appeal in using one of these."

"No time for that," I tell her. "Quickly, put on their uniforms. Weâre boarding the Big Whale in their place."

She stares at me. "Youâre kidding."

"No. Quickly, now. Iâm afraid weâll have to leave our clothes behind, and the Spear, but that canât be helped." I am working one of the soldiers out of his armor. "Come on, Dierdre, thereâs no time. Gareth will send someone to check if those soldiers donât get out there fast."

She sighs and complies. In a few minutes two soldiers emerge from the dark alleyway and into the harsh sunlight.

"Captain!" comes Garethâs voice. I hope my sudden freezing is accounted to discipline. "What took you so long?"

I do my best to change my voice. "We thought we saw a monster, Your Majesty, but it wasnât anything."

"I see," Gareth says. "Carry on, Captain."

I sigh invisibly and nudge Diedre. "Come on." We move forward towards the Big Whale. I canât help but think that if we botch it, itâll be here in front of the entire kingdom. The hatchway opens and we enter.

The Big Whaleâs interior is stylized in the blocks and chunks Lunarians seem to like so well, coupled with sleekly glowing lights and panels. The ship seems entirely deserted.

"Where is everyone," Dierdre asks. Her voice echoes eerily around the noisy-yet-noiseless room. It is as if the sound has dampened itself to make room for her voice.

I move through the interior, my boots making hard sounds against the deck. I have never been comfortable within the Big Whaleâs bowels; the place is too functional, too sterile. Golbez never, ever, felt this cold. Beyond the main cabin is the Healing Room, with its chairs and beds.

There is someone seated in one of those chairs. The girth of shoulders indicates a male.

What? Did someone hijack the Big Whale?

Dierdre creeps closer. "Thereâs a man in there! Who÷"

I nudge her back. "Hush. We donât know who it is." I draw the captainâs sword; it feels awkward in my grip and I know Iâll never be able to use it correctly. Carefully, I approach the man in the chair.

He is sleeping oblivious to his arrival at his destination. His lack of savage black armor and cold steel helmet donât seem to bother him at all. The body is hard-muscled from use and hate. His face wears the stern coldness of a man who has strayed down the wrong path many, many times, even when he sleeps. I donât know if he looks older or younger than Gareth. Iâve never seen his face before.

"Golbez," I breathe.

"What!" cries Dierdre, scandalized.

I look for the control on the chair that keeps him in suspended stasis and hit it. The chair stops its humming, a subtle undertone that I had not noticed until it stopped. Golbez opens his eyes.

"Karn," he says. His voice is the same÷gravelly, without slightest warmth÷but the cold hate is gone as well. The voice seems terribly disemboweled without the hate that gave it warmth.

Now he just sounds tired.

"Karn," he says again. Past me. "And Dierdre."

"Yes," I say. "What are you doing here?"

Unwittingly I flinch. Golbez is the master; Iâm not to question him. Iâm not allowed to question him. He gives me answers when he feels like it. It is so easy to fall into the pattern of master and commander, and I have to consciously fight against it. Now we are just friends. Well, perhaps only acquaintances.

Golbez answers. "I went with FuYoSa, into their sleep. What else could I do? There was nothing for me here."

"But you woke up again," I said.

"Yes. The Moon had stopped, and I knew I was supposed to get off. So I used the Recall on the Big Whale to come back."

He sighs. Golbez, who never showed any indecision. I feel vaguely frightened. "I donât know why I woke up. I donât. Maybe·" He stops.

"The evil inside us," Dierdre says quietly.

"Yes," Golbez says. "The evil inside us. I think the Moon knew."

I shake my head. "That doesnât matter now. What matters is getting you out of here before King Gareth comes in to investigate·" I stop. King Gareth.

Golbez nods, standing up. Iâve never noticed that heâs actually shorter than me. By the Dwarves, heâs shorter than Dierdre! "True, Karn. Letâs go."

"Wait," Dierdre says. "What about the crowds?"

Golbez stops, a bemused expression on his face. "I suppose my unexpected arrival gathered the multitudes, didnât it."

I nod.

"All right," he said, "the coolant system has needed cleaning for several thousand years anyway. Time to vent it."

"What do you mean?" I cry, scandalized. Whatâs he going to do, vaporize Baron? What in the Underworld is coolant?

Golbez goes to a small control panel, presses a few buttons, and twists a valve.

"Open the hatch," he says to me. "Dierdre, can you cast Vanish spells on all of us?"

"Now?" she says. "I· Yes." She does, combining her idea for area spells with a basic White spell.

Golbez raises an eyebrow in approval. "Not bad," he says. "You are going to÷" He shakes his head. "Iâm not in command anymore. Iâd like to learn that," he says.

Dierdre blushes.

"Not now," I say. "Letâs just be out of here."

"True, Karn. Down the ramp."

Outside the ramp, the citizens of Baron are pressed close together. "How do we get out?" I ask, dismayed.

Golbez points to a set of hatches lining the hull of the ship. They are rattling with a vaguely menacing manner.

"What are÷" I ask.

The answer comes when the hatches open and blasts of steam slam out. The crowds scream and run. Within moments a path is clear.

Dierdre stares, amazed. "Well!"

"Shall we?" Golbez asks with a hint of amusement.

Off we go, through the town. Dierdre explains the cave, provides rudimentary directions on how to get there in case Golbez gets lost. He says that he shall be able to find it if he does.

"I guess weâd better drop by the alleyway and retrieve our things," I say. "Weâre not actually soldiers, you know; we just took their places."

Golbez gives a sort of a friendly smirk. His face is planed such so that he almost canât look friendly. "Iâd almost say you had this planned."

"We did," I say, "basically. Just over there÷"

A cache of soldiers are gathered around their two stunned companions.

I curse quietly. "Theyâve found our evidence."

"Smoking gun," Golbez agrees. Whatever that means.

"So what? We just go straight back to the cave," Dierdre says.

Yes, but what about my weapon? Theyâll find it, and take it, and Gareth will know Iâm alive·

No time for that, Karn. Youâve got to go.

"All right," I say. "Letâs go."
 
 
 
 

Three weeks of living in fear of capture is draining on the soul. Dierdre and I felt the strain as surely as if it were tangible and clawing at us. Golbez never showed a wink. He traded his armor for cloth breeches and shirt and became another member of Dierdreâs cave, a constant danger.

Every day I worried that Gareth would come up to the cave and find Golbez. Every day I worried that weâd be arrested. Every day I worried for Gareth. For Dierdre. Why?

She continued to visit Rynelle, for some reason. I thought it incredibly dangerous.

So there I was, pacing, because Dierdre was late in returning.

Golbez glances up at me. "Be calm, Karn. You wonât be able to solve anything by pacing."

"Where is she," I wonder aloud. "Whatâs taking her so long?" The sun is almost down beyond the horizon." "Sheâs normally here by now."

Golbez shrugs. "Maybe she got tied up somewhere."

"Thatâs what I worry about."

Golbez shifted to his feet. "Karn," he says. "I know youâre worried about her. But there is nothing you can do. Be calm."

I hear echoes of Rosaâs words in his own. How long ago did she say that to me?

"Besides, you sound like sheâs late for your wedding," Golbez says.

"Thatâs not funny," I snap. "How can you be so calm. If she got captured or anything, itâs your fault!"

"They wonât," he says with infuriating calm. "They wonât trace us." Anger lights his voice. "For the last time, calm down. In any case, sheâs here."

Dierdre hikes up the hill, wo