Chapter Thirteen: Counsel of Arden

A feint to the left, a slash to the right, a thrust forward. A powerful shot, but it would have counted if it landed. Kifka dodged with ease. The sun beat down onto the courtyard, the Shield Knight practice at its peak. Two figures were easily distinguished among the white of the Knights; one of red, and one of gold.

The metal clanking of weapons against shields echoed throughout the courtyard. Once in a while the Knight captain would yell out crude comments to some of the younger fighters.

The red and gold figures, not quite part of the Knight training group, clanked their weapons violently against each other's. After a heavy blow from a gigantic sword, the red figured waved its hands, as if to stop the fight.

"You just can't wield a Bastard Sword, Darad," Kifka said, wiping the sweat off his brow. "You need something lighter and more versatile."

"Well, what do you use?" Darad asked, still trying to hold the tall sword upright. Kifka reached over and took it from the Prince. He twirled the handle between two fingers, making huge, vicious circles with the sword's awesome blade.

"This is just fine," he answered and handed the sword back to Darad. "I use a sword similar to this one. And a staff."

"A staff?"

"I am a Wizard, you know," Kifka poked Darad in the ribs. The Prince momentarily thought of Kifka in a pointy hat, wizard robes, and a beard down to the floor, holding a wooden staff.

"A plain staff, eh?"

"Hardly, Darad. I had a reoccurring dream for almost two years. In it, I dreamt of a staff. Not just any plain staff, either. It was pure gold, with a beautiful white aura about it. I also kept hearing a voice that told me over and over that it was my destiny to give it to someone" - Kifka sighed - "I just don't remember who." He made a circular gesture with his hand.

A bright light flashed from the two Princes' direction. A few of the Shield Knights were momentarily distracted, shielding their eyes. One of the knights muttered something profane about magic wielders under her breath.

A staff rose out of the ground in front of the Lord. It was as tall as Kifka himself, made out of what appeared to be pure gold. It had two majestic rings at the top, and a pair of golden wings a top a golden sphere. Six rings hung off the two gold rings. As Kifka moved it, the rings sent a tintinnabulation of crystal sound dancing through the courtyard.

"Impressive," Darad noted.

"Yes, I finally had it forged," Kifka answered the unasked question. "It took a long time, and quite a lot of Dwarven sword smiths." Darad chuckled. "Then I had to infuse all my spells into it," Kifka suddenly looked drained. "That's what the dream said I should do… And I did." A glazed expression crossed his eyes.

"Well, enough of that," Kifka said, matter-of-factly. He waved his hand again and the staff disappeared. Darad nodded impressment.

"Well then, Master Swordsman," Darad said mockingly. "What do you recommend for the Prince of the Empire?"

"A sabre looks like it could do you justice, Prince Darad," Kifka mocked back, his nose in the air with false conceit. He reached into the weapon rack and pulled out a reddish blade, which he handed, hilt first, to the young Prince. Darad carefully tried the weigh of the blade, switching it back and forth, from one hand to the other.

"This sure is a change from that huge Bastard thing," Darad commented, parrying slightly with the blade. He thrust it forward with a quick whoosh, then twirled it slightly. He sheathed it, and looked over at Kifka. "But really, brother. What do you use?"

Kifka hesitated slightly. He looked Darad over. This is my younger brother, he though to himself, the Purest one. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. I hope I don't in some way taint that pureness. Kifka opened his hand, showed it to Darad, much like a magician before a tick, then took a deep breath. Darad's eyes widened as Kifka's palm flared and a sword extracted itself upward from the Lord's hand.

The Knights fell back momentarily, disoriented by the sudden concentration of Chaos that momentarily filled the courtyard.

The weapon was almost as tall as Darad, and the Prince had to shield himself from the Darkness that emanated from the blade. The sword was a magnificent speciment. Its hilt was of black silver, its ornaments of gold, blood red, and dark blue. Its massive blade was of the most royal of Dark mithrils.

"This, brother, is my true power," Kifka breathed.

As Darad stared at the sword, he noticed a hallo, an irregularity in the design of the hilt.

"What is supposed to be there?" he asked, pointing to a rather large indentation between a pair of bat wings, yet not willing to touch it, as if afraid to burn his fingers.

"That, Darad, is the last portion needed to complete my sword."

"Which is…?" Darad inquired quizzically.

"The Gem of the Black Hyad." Kifka answered in a whisper. He almost snarled silently, baring his fangs, then ran his tongue over them intently, as mere mentioning of such power made his blood burn in anticipation.

Darad backed away slowly, aghast. "You mean, you want the only single object in the whole of Etrion with the highest concentration of Dark energy for yourself?" he asked, imposing upon himself a false aura of calmness. Kifka shrugged an agreement. Darad licked his dry lips, then continued, "I thought that only the Second Gem could wield such power…"

"Well then let's hope that I'm the Second Gem!" Kifka exclaimed. With one wave of the hand, the sword aimed itself at the Lord's chest, and seeped into it. Kifka let out a deep sigh. He had absolutely no hope of being the gem, but something still drew him to that Dark Crystal. His heart beat much too fast every time he though of holding it. Maybe his true destiny was to find the Second Gem, and teach him or her, whomever it would turn out to be, how to use the Dark Power. Yes, that must have been it, Kifka told himself with a quick, reassuring nod.

"Well, good luck, then, brother," Darad said and patted Kifka on the shoulders. "I will take care of Artemis."

"Thank you, Darad," Kifka answered, his gratitude genuine.

* * *

Darad paced back and forth across the marble floor of the Oracle Room. The heavy clicking of his heels against the stone rang through the room. Past him, in the shadows of a canopied throne, a figure moved, its robes rustling. Darad paused, looking the room over nervously, but all he saw was the unending marble and the throne. He resumed his nervous pacing.

"Darad, please stop," the figure from the throne murmured. "The clicking of your boots makes my hair stand on end."

"I'm sorry," Darad answered, pausing his pacing. He glanced towards the throne. "How are your eyes?" he asked.

"The same, Darad," the voice answered "I am still blind."

"I'm sorry, Artemis…" Darad hung his head.

"'Tis alright. A small price to pay for all of the earth's power," she paused, "although I never asked for it… Rather ironic, is it not?"

"God, Artemis," Darad glared. "Why must you sit in all this darkness with such a sour attitude?!" He whirled sharply towards the throne, firsts clenched, "God damn it, just 'cause you're miserable, you don't have to bring everyone else down with you!"

He fell forward as he was struck sharply on the back of the head.

"How dare you?!" a female voice echoed boomingly through the room. Darad tried to turn around to identify his attacked, but failed miserably. Whoever she was, she had struck some important nerve on the nape of his neck, and now his whole body was absolutely useless. His eyes had trouble adjusting to the already-dim light as more pain rang through his body. He shouldn't have tried to move.

"Who's there?" Artemis asked nervously. "Friend or foe?"

"Friend."

Darad groaned painfully, trying to answered otherwise; it was the only noise he made. The figure stepped over him and moved soundlessly toward the throne. As his eyes adjusted, the Prince saw the outline of a moan with brown locks and almost Elven ears. She wore the colours of a thief, and stalked as silently as one.

"Come closer," Artemis uttered. The woman kneeled in front of the Gem. Artemis put her hands on the thief's hair. It felt soft and silken under her fingers. She then traced the contours of the intruder's face, and was suddenly stricken by the familiarity of them.

"I seek the counsel of the Gem," the woman said.

"Very well, you may have it," Artemis answered after a pause. Darad groaned disapprovingly.

"I apologize, Prince Darad," the woman said indifferently, "you were very rude to the Oracle, I had to neutralize you before you dug yourself an even deeper hole."

Darad stared at the woman. Now he saw that she really wasn't much of a woman, but more of a teen. She was tall and wore very tight leathers, which brought all the attention to her stomach.

"You're… with child," Darad uttered.

"So I am," she answered.

"What is your name?" Artemis interrupted.

"I am… Arden," she answered. Arden leaned over Darad and offered him a hand. He declined politely, and struggled up to his feet. The Prince waddled over to the throne and leaned close to Artemis.

"Artemis, are you sure we can trust her? I've never seen her before in my life! Nor have I heard of her!" he whispered.

"Darad, she seems trustworthy," Artemis answered.

"You haven't seen her, Artemis!" Darad argued.

"You damn right!" the Gem exploded. "I haven't seen anything since I received this damned power!" she seemed to stare right at him with her empty eyes.

"I'm sorry," Darad whispered, shrinking back a little. "But what about this Arden?"

"If there is anything I've leaned to do since I lost my sight, it is to properly judge the honesty of people that I meet. I feel a close bond to this woman, please trust my judgement."

"Oracle," Arden called. "Who else has close knowledge of your awakening?"

"Lord Kifka," Darad answered. He frowned as he saw how much fear the name struck into the girl's eyes. "But he's away on a trip at the moment."

"I see…" Arden answered.

* * *

The reflection of the flame danced in Arden's strangely coloured eyes. Darad noticed that they were a hue that he's never seen before: one of them was green, and the other blue.

"I've come to discuss a serious matter with the Gem," Arden started. She stood in front of Artemis and Darad, and took a deep breath. "I am concerned for the welfare of Etrion."

"How so, rogue?" Darad asked calmly. At last he had been able to restore his princely impassivity. Yet his attention still lay on the girl's pregnant stomach.

"The Gems are awakening." Arden answered. Artemis perked up in her chair. "As all the legends read, they are not to awaken unless the world is in dire danger."

Darad frowned. "You are right, Rogue."

"Why are you awake, then?" she asked Artemis. "What peril lies before us?"

Artemis stared at the Rogue long and deep. She could not see her, but it was just as well. She was only facing her; her mind was on something else. The Oracle went over everything she had heard about Etrion in the last couple of months, even years. There was nothing worthy of the gods' attention. Nothing. Not even a natural disaster that could plague them. No war, no storms, no invasions. Her intuition was dead. She felt nothing. Nothing.

"God, it couldn't have been a fluke," Darad sighed heavily. He leaned forward, his face resting in his hands. "It can't be. If it is…"

"If it is, Prince," Arden continued for him, "then the world as we know it is over. The Gems were meant to function together, and only awaken together." She stopped. The room was almost as silent as an Archmage's tomb. "Artemisiana is not immortal," Arden continued, "she will die eventually. And if she does. And the Gems awaked after her death to face the propheted Armageddon…" She trembled. "We… we…" she almost collapsed.

"Arden!" Darad exclaimed and jumped out of his seat to catch her. As he did so, head heard a heavy sigh from Artemis as the Gem fainted.

"We cannot defend the world with only three Gems…" Arden uttered, and swooned as well.

New Character: Arden.

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