Wufei jumped back and sliced at Otto again, but the other apprentice ducked out of the way and came again for the attack. Wufei glanced over and saw that Trowa was busy trying to fight off Walker’s blows. The dark apprentices’ strength was remarkable; they did not seem to be tiring, while Wufei knew that Trowa and himself could not last too much longer.

An idea was forming in his head, but for it to work would require at least thirty seconds delay….

"Trowa!" he called, at the same time defending against Otto’s blows. "We have to retreat! Follow me!"

"What?" Trowa said, struggling against Walker’s strength. "But—" He forced the other apprentice back. "Retreat?"

"Just follow me," said Wufei, and the tone of his voice made Trowa understand that he had an idea. He ducked out of Otto’s way and ran off down the corridor. Trowa freed himself from Walker’s assault and followed after him.

It seemed that the dark apprentices’ speed had been compromised by their strength, for Wufei and Trowa easily drew ahead of their pursuers. As soon as they could no longer hear the footsteps echoing behind them, Wufei dashed into a side passage, and Trowa followed him. "Hold them off for thirty seconds," Wufei said. "That’s all the time I need."

Trowa nodded, and stepped out to face the enemy. Wufei pressed his hands together and closed his eyes, muttering the incantation that would gather the energy for his blast attack….

Trowa listened as the footsteps grew louder, and then they appeared from the darkness, and went straight into a double attack. Trowa deflected their first few blows, then ducked between them and stood facing their backs. As they turned, he did a flip into the air and came down on their other side again, catching them off guard. Otto barely turned in time to stop Trowa’s sword from hitting him in the back.

"Move!" Wufei shouted. Trowa was already prepared to do so, and leaped back as Wufei emerged, spreading his hands in front of him. The great blast rushed forward and illuminated the entire hall, sweeping over the two dark apprentices. When the light faded their bodies lay motionless on the ground.

Wufei and Trowa stood panting for a moment. "Duo might need our help," said Trowa, and Wufei nodded. They dashed off together, back the way they had come.

Duo disappeared again, popping up behind Trant and dealing him a blow in the back of the head. Trant stumbled forward and turned on him, sword raised, but Duo was gone again. "This is not an honorable fight!" Trant shouted. "I don’t have a cloaking spell!"

"Well I don’t have a sword," Duo’s voice said. He reappeared, further down towards the passage where Trowa and Wufei had been. Trant growled and rushed at him, but Duo vanished before he reached him, and Trant’s sword sliced thin air.

Duo’s ears suddenly detected a familiar rushing sound coming from the other passageway. Just before the blast of light rushed by, he shoved Trant from behind so that the dark apprentice fell out into the path of Wufei’s blast.

Less than a minute later Trowa and Wufei came running back. Trowa looked at Trant’s body and said, "Guess you didn’t need any help."

"No way!" said Duo. "’Course I could handle him."

"It was my spell that got him," said Wufei.

"Well," said Duo huffily. "I could have handled him anyway."

Trowa suddenly said, "Where’s Quatre?"

Duo and Wufei looked at him. "Gee, I don’t know," said Duo. "I didn’t notice if he was with us when we left the room."

"He might be in trouble," said Trowa, and ran off back down the corridor.

"I hope he’s okay," said Duo to Wufei, but Wufei wasn’t listening. He was remembering Sally’s words: You must fight for the future….

"Where’s that transporting stone?" he said.

Duo looked at him. "What? Oh, you mean Hilde’s?" He fished around inside his robes and brought out the pink stone. "I’d forgotten all about this. What do you want it for?"

Wufei took the stone and held it in his palm, studying it. "Treize is responsible for all of this, all the suffering." He clutched the stone in his hand. "I have to face him." He closed his eyes, and in a few second, he was gone.

Duo shrugged to himself. "Guess I’m on my own."

Wufei looked around the small room he was in. The shelves around the walls were lined with books and jars, and in the center of the room was a small table. Wufei started; at one end of the table sat a little girl with orange hair, looking at a large old book. The expression on her face was equally startled.

"Who are you?" they both said in unison.

The little girl scowled. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"My name is Wufei," he said, "and I come to see Treize."

"Treize?" she said. "Why do you want to see him?"

"None of your business," Wufei growled. "Do you know where he is?"

"It is my business!" she protested. "Treize is my father, and someday I’m going to be queen, so I must know anything—"

"Treize is your father?" Wufei said.

She looked at him. "I shouldn’t be talking to you, anyway. You never answered my question."

"What question?"

"Who are you?"

"Oh," said Wufei. "I am an apprentice of the Five Great Magicians—"

The little girl’s face changed, and she suddenly looked frightened. "Father!" she cried. "Father!"

The door to the room opened and a soldier stepped into the room. "What is it, Miss Marimeia?"

"Get my father!" she squealed. "And hurry!"

The soldier cast a quick glance at Wufei, and then hurried out of the room with a small, "Yes, ma’am." The little girl stared at Wufei for several minutes as they waited, and finally the door opened again and a very tall, broad-shouldered man entered, with an expression of cool control on his face.

He looked at Wufei calmly, as if he were a subordinate. "You have come to fight me?"

Wufei drew his sword and went into a fighting stance. Treize looked at him coolly, then turned to Marimeia. "Leave the room," he said.

She looked startled, and glanced at Wufei, his sword still drawn and ready. "But, Father-"

"Leave the room, Marimeia," Treize repeated. The little girl looked pleadingly at him, and then left.

When she was gone Treize moved to a corner of the room and opened an old chest. Wufei gasped as he drew out a sword that looked exactly like the Ironblood.

"Don’t worry," said Treize. "It’s just a copy. But a good sword, nonetheless. It should prove an adequate match for yours."

He began to remove his heavy military jacket. Wufei said, "I didn’t know you had a daughter."

"Not many people do," said Treize, laying the jacket aside. He turned to face Wufei and raised the sword to mirror the ready position.

"One question," said Wufei. His heart was beginning to race, as it did before battle. "Why?"

Treize did not move. "Why?"

"Why are you doing this to the people?" said Wufei. "Is it for power? Loot? What?"

Treize looked aside and smiled to himself. "You just met her."

Wufei blinked. "Your daughter? What does she have to do with it?"

"Everything." Treize continued to look aside, but his face was grim. "Her mother was a descendent of the great Barton nobility. You know the history, yes?"

Wufei said, "They were the ancient ruling clan of this world, right?" He paused. "I didn’t know there were any of them still alive."

"Yes," said Treize. "After Dekim Barton died, his daughter Leia was the only surviving member of the family. And then…" His expression became grim. "After Marimeia was born, Leia became ill. She had dreamed all her life of restoring the glory of the Barton family, but of course, by then it was impossible." He looked up at Wufei, and his eyes glinted like steel. "I swore to her that I would resurrect the Barton monarchy, in Marimeia’s name." He resumed his ready pose, and the copy of the Ironblood shone with a light like the one in his eyes.

"And mark my words, I will."

"I have to help the others," Quatre said. "Dorothy, please, help me! We both want to protect the people from Zechs, and I—"

"Silence." She stood several feet in front of him, ready for the next attack. The voice that addressed him was not hers. "Your sympathy towards me will result in your demise." She ran at him again, and Quatre sliced across and knocked her sword to the side. She hung onto it, though, and came at him again and again with renewed strength each time. Quatre deflected the blows, but was careful not to make any offensive maneuvers that might harm her. The magic controlling her drove her on, but his strength was waning. Realizing this, he doubled his effort and pushed away her latest attack, sending her stumbling backwards.

"You hate war," he said. "I know you hate fighting. Just listen to me! I’m fighting for peace, and so are you. You can defeat it. Just let go of your anger, you hatred; the spell feeds on those things. You can fight it!"

Dorothy tossed aside her hair, which was falling into her face. She braced her feet against the floor, and Quatre could see she was about to attack again. "You are weak," she said.

"No," Quatre replied, lowering his sword. "I can’t hurt you, don’t you understand?"

"Then you will die," she said, and in one stride, swung the sword at him again. He was too slow bringing up his own weapon; it weakened her blow, but did not stop her blade from slicing into his side.

"Why do you serve him?"

Zechs looked at Heero, but the mask, as always, hid his emotions. He raised the sword again.

"I said, why do you serve him?" Heero raised his own sword and prepared to deflect the attack. "What has Treize done for you to make you so loyal to him?"

Zechs, with a savage cry, launched himself at Heero. Heero brought up his weapon and sliced around, nearly taking Zechs in the stomach. The dark magician was fast, though, and dodged the blow. Heero sidestepped to avoid the return sweep of the Zero.

"Did he offer you money? Do you owe him some favor?"

Zechs spit on the ground and stood panting. "Why do you want to know?" he said.

Before Heero could reply, the fight was on again. The two sister blades clashed and rang through the cavernous grotto. The noise of the waterfall rushed on beneath the sound of their echoing voices.

"Treize is a cruel person," Heero said when they drew apart again. He regarded Zechs warily. "But I don’t think you are a cruel person. So why do you follow him?"

"I’m flattered," said Zechs, and attacked again. Heero ducked out of the way and spun, so they were facing each other again.

"What makes you think Treize is a cruel person?" said Zechs.

"He is using the people!" said Heero. "He is controlling their minds, and he sent his soldiers to destroy their villages, just to find us apprentices!"

"The people don’t matter," said Zechs, glancing away with a look of disgust on his face.

"What do you mean, ‘The people don’t matter’?"

"The people are stupid," said Zechs, turning back to him, his eyes narrowed. "They are mindless, spineless, and useless. It does not matter what Treize does to them; they will not know the difference."

"But they are the reason for this whole war!" said Heero.

Zechs looked at him again, and his face was ferocious with bloodlust. "They are not why I fight the war." He raised the Zero and flung himself forward, fiercer than ever with fire in his eyes. Heero was hard pressed to defend against the onslaught, and didn’t manage to get in any offensive moves. He finally flung his body against Zechs’ and forced the sword back.

"What do you fight for, then?"

Zechs was breathing hard, and Heero could see sweat running from beneath his mask. "I fight," he said, and his voice was cold, "for myself, for the glory of my Master Barton’s family, and for a dead woman with dark hair, whom I would have married."

Heero straightened. "Is this fight about revenge, then?"

"This fight is about nothing," Zechs spat. "This fight is about petty power struggles and useless, meaningless death and destruction. But I started this fight, and I am going to finish it. Aaagghh!"

Heero rushed into the attack at the same moment Zechs did, so they collided and stumbled apart, but Zechs returned immediately to hack at him. His techniques were dissolving; his method was now simply brute strength. Heero gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the Ironblood; he would need all of his strength to finish this battle.

Quatre’s sword clattered against the stones as it slid from his hand, and as his body hit the ground Dorothy changed her grip on her sword so that it pointed downward like a dagger. Quatre’s breathing was loud as he struggled to move, trying to raise himself. He finally collapsed into the puddle of blood that was forming beneath him.

Dorothy watched this, and then stood for several minutes as he continued to breath heavily. Her face twitched; she was struggling against herself. Her hand trembled as she raised the sword above her head.

She stopped suddenly. Quatre’s mouth was moving in a chant. Even as the words formed, she could feel her hand weakening. She gasped and raised the sword higher.

As she started to bring it down, though, another voice came from the door of the chamber. She turned, and Trowa stepped into the room, joining Quatre in the spell. Dorothy shook her head. "No!" she cried. "I am commanded to kill!"

She spun around and started to drive the sword downward, but all of a sudden a force inside her caught her hand, and the point of the sword stopped, several inches from Quatre’s back. She stared at her own hand, gasping. Quatre’s lips had stopped moving, but Trowa continued to recite the spell, walking slowly towards her. She stood up straight and faced him, her sword falling to the ground. Trowa concluded the spell, and caught Dorothy as she collapsed against him.

The clash of the two great weapons rang again and again through the cave as Zechs pitted himself against Heero. Finally he backed off to catch his breath.

"So, apprentice," gasped Zechs, smiling mockingly. "Why do you fight the war?"

"I thought you knew," responded Heero. He wiped a hand across his mouth. "I fight to protect the people."

"Is that all?" said Zechs. "Those mindless hordes who are thirsting for your very blood?"

"I do not fight," said Heero, glaring at Zechs, "for glory or recognition. I protect them not because they can give me anything in return, but because they cannot protect themselves."

Zechs spit on the ground. "Then they are weak. Those who need to be protected by others, who cannot fight for themselves, do not deserve to live. Only the strong can truly see the world as it is; the views of weak people are clouded by their fear and paranoia. If it weren’t for people like you they wouldn’t even be able to survive."

"You’re wrong," said Heero, raising the Epyon of Ironblood. "If it weren’t for people like you, they would have no trouble surviving in the first place."

"No," said Zechs, and his voice was suddenly low, rasping. "All of humanity is weak."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that those who can’t defend themselves are weak, and those who consider themselves stronger than others, are also weak." He began to pace backwards, holding the Zero in front of him. "And that means that the two of us are weak."

"Then we are evenly matched," said Heero, and raised the Epyon.

"Hardly," said Zechs. He spread his feet. "Now let us see which of our destinies ends here."

Heero saw Zechs’ muscles tense, his own body mirroring the action. As Zechs’ feet moved, so did his; the two swords rushed towards each other, and the distance closed between them. Heero saw the sweat on Zechs’ face and felt the air suspend, time stop; he flew forward, the enemy looming before him, the weapon in his hand ready. And then he felt a soft touch, a guiding hand resting over his own, and his grip tightened, steadied the sword; it drove forward, and all the cries of the people in the stadium returned to him, the pain in his companions’ eyes as they fought to protect those same people…. The Epyon of Ironblood drove forward into the space ahead; Heero could no longer see Zechs, only the beautiful woman in white that was waiting for him….

Zechs flashed past him; a cry echoed in the air, and for a second Heero did not know if the cry had been his own, if he himself had been wounded. But as his senses returned to him he knew that he had avoided Zechs’ sword, and that the cry was not his. He turned. Zechs was kneeling as he had stumbled after the blow, with his back to Heero. He was holding his left arm; blood ran down in rivulets over his hand.

He raised his head slightly, spoke over his shoulder. "Why don’t you kill me?"

Heero let go of the Epyon of Ironblood. It fell to the floor. "I don’t believe your destiny ends here."

Zechs was silent for a minute. Finally he stood, slowly, and faced the waterfall. He reached up with his good arm and lifted away the mask, smearing it with his blood. Heero was surprised. He had assumed that the mask covered some deformity, but Zechs’ face looked normal; he was rather good looking, in fact. Zechs shook his head, and his wet bangs fell over his eyes. He looked at Heero, and tossed the mask aside; it clattered along the ground, and tumbled over the edge of the cliff.

"Why did you wear it?" asked Heero.

Zechs turned away from him, snorting under his breath. "Full of questions, aren’t you?" He walked over to the edge of the water. "It was a mark of disgrace. I wore it to remind myself of what I did in order to serve under Dekim Barton."

Heero watched him for a minute. His shoulders sagged, and the blood was now running down his leg, too. "My father couldn’t have seen it coming. He was a magician, too. One of Heero Yuy’s finest pupils. And he was entrusted with guarding the Book of Meteors." He began to wade into the water, up to his knees, then his waste; the blood darkened the current around him. "The Barton family promised me money," he said over the noise of the rushing water. He lowered his arm into the water, letting the current wash away more of the blood. "But it was more than that. A part of their glory, once the nobility was resurrected. A share of the honor."

He continued to bathe the arm. "We had it planned in advance. The night they came, I was waiting for them. And I watched them kill my father."

Heero watched as Zechs half turned, so that he could speak more clearly to him. "I learned much under Dekim Barton," he said. "But I could never forget what I did." He turned the full rest of the way, and Heero saw that his face was different; his bangs were wet and hung down into his face, and his eyes had taken on an exhausted, resigned look. "But you still have the chance to live a pure, honest life," he said quietly. "That’s why you have the right to live."

"I’m sorry about Noin."

"Hm," said Zechs, looking down at the water rushing around him. And before Heero could stop him, he slipped under the current, and was gone.

Stay tuned for Part 8 of Ironblood

Next Time: The conclusion of the story, and the end of Heero’s quest.