I apologize for the lack of posting these past two weeks.  We should be moving back to a normal posting schedule now.

Part CIX: Moving On

Date: Kapton 15th, 114 A.U.

“So where are you going next?”

“We don’t know,” Reynyagn confessed, sitting in a ring of chairs with the rest of the Xavier Team, Sereth, Hazael, Monty, and Rezja.  “We didn’t have any immediate idea of what to do after we got the Arglem.”

“I see,” Rezja replied.  Following their miraculous escape from the Caves of Dragla, the Xavier Team had decided to go back with Sereth and Hazael to Rezja and the group of rebel elves in order to recuperate and plan their next mission.”

“We have two of the Golden Weapons to Jaigran’s three,” Flek pointed out.  “The Golden Weapons play an essential role in this battle, so I would think that the battle is leveling out as we get more and more equal.  We need to find the others.”

“What more are there to find?” Astrid asked.

“One was given to each race,” Augger replied.  “Jroldin has the weapon of the dwarves, and Reynyagn wields the weapon of the Sla’ad.  Jaigran appears to have the weapon of the orcs since he can use orcish magic, and if he wields a spear, that would be the weapon of the humans.”

  “I don’t know what the other weapon is, but he got it from the Citadel of Tzel-Maret,” Rezja said.  “That much we have picked up on our communication esponiage.”

“Then he most likely has the weapon of the elves,” Augger said.  “Meaning that the last weapons still out there are the weapon of the goblins and the weapon of the auggers.”  There was silence as the members thought.

“What do you know of the weapon of the auggers?” Jroldin asked.

“Little,” Augger replied.  “I know where it was once kept from my memories, but that place was destroyed by the augger slayers.  I am confident that my augger brethren are in hiding and not slain, but I do not know where they hid themselves.  Alas, for my ancestor’s betrayal of his own kind.”

“Jaigran shouldn’t know it either, though,” Monty pointed out.  “And if we can only get the other, we’ll be equal with the Golden Weapons.  We almost beat him in Tzel-Maret, when he had one more than us.  When equal, and with all of us together, we most assuredly ought to have a fighting chance against him.”

“What do you know of the weapon of the goblins, Flek?” Zarien asked.

Flek pursed his lips.  “I had never heard of golden weapons until I began on this quest.  Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“If it’s somewhere in our forest, then there’s only two people, or groups, that could have it,” Flek said.  “Either Lord Freglak has it somewhere in his military arsenal, or, which I’m afraid is probably the more likely possibility, the cultic priests who worship the Mothertree have it.”

“The priests of the Mothertree appeared weak, though not completely powerless, when I was among your kind,” Reynyagn said.  “Besides which, they believed the prophecies.  If they believe in Xavier’s prophecies, which I would assume that they do, they should jump at the chance to help us.”

  “Assuming no further conflicts escalated between them and Lord Freglak,” Flek muttered, before raising his voice.  “In all honesty though, that seems like the best plan that we can go after at this point.  We need to be more powerful before we challenge Jaigran again, and this seems like the best way.  And I would be glad to see my lord again.”

“Perhaps you could also bring him messages from us,” Rezja asked.  “We’ve been trying to send ambassadors to him to join us together against Emperor Jaigran but have not received a reply yet.”

“We’ll talk to him,” Reynyagn said.  “As long as we get there safely, rest assured that Lord Freglak will begin to send you a response.”


“I miss seeing you here,” Hazael said.

“Hey, I will too, but we should be back here soon enough assuming everything goes well,” Zarien replied.  “This seems like it’s becoming our main base of operations.  I don’t think your friend will like it very much, though.”

“Sereth…  Sereth will manage,” Hazael said slowly.  “She just need to learn to adjust.  You do too.”

“Yeah,” Zarien said, shrugging it off.  “We’ll see.”


“…So I’ll be gone for a while, okay?” Zarien asked, talking slowly to Cortna while she tried to build some structure with blocks.  “I’ll be back as soon as our mission is over.  Don’t forget about me, can you try?”

Cortna said nothing, pursing her lips tighter as she balanced another block on top of another. 

Zarien bit his lip as he leaned closer.  “I love you, Cortna,” he said, lightly kissing her on the cheek before standing up.  Cortna stiffened, and after waiting to see if he might get any response, Zarien moved toward the door, taking one last glance at her before closing it behind him. 

A single tear rolled down Cortna’s cheek.


The engines began to roar as Zarien hiked up the last of the many bags he had been dumped with, trying to put most of the weight on his mechanical leg as he hobbled over toward the gangplank.

“I put the correspondence and intel for Freglak in the third compartment,” Rezja was yelling to Reynyagn over the roar of the engines.  “He should find the information quite satisfactory.”

“I’ll make sure he gets it!” Reynyagn replied.  “We sent some messages to Araelia as well to see if Governor Iraina will establish any connection with you.  Ex-governor Astrid, our primary communicator in Araelia, has been unclear recently of her communication with Iraina, so I’m not completely sure what’s going on there, but we’ll keep trying.”

“Many thanks!” Rezja replied.  “Have a safe voyage!”

“And keep yourselves safe as well,” Reynyagn replied.  “We’ve got a firm base here that could do much to help our cause.  If we can keep it.”

 
Book IV: The Watcher has begun.  To wrap up Book III's comment contests, Warbaron has officially won in a landslide.  As his prize, he gets to name and come up with a personality of one of the auggers that live in Quelia (the main island where the Auggers live.)  The auggers will play a central role in Book IV as it comes to a close.  Book IV: The Watcher has now begun.  The serial will run until Part 136 and possibly an Eprilogue to bring the saga to an end.  Therefore, without further ado...

Prologue: Ambassador of the Auggers

Date: Kapton 14th, 114 A.U.

Ranvier, ambassador of the auggers, was on a mission to discover the secrets of the Noon-Stone and why it no longer went about its course.  He moved under a tree as he noticed the airship coming up, pressing himself against it as he watched it move toward him.  It may be that the elves’ reign over the main continent had already been destroyed and the airship may now be hostile, but he wasn’t willing to take many chances.  He had already decided that the best course of action was to travel until he found civilization and could question a non-elf about the current state of Arquenia.

“The life source is right below us,” the elven pilot said.  “We just passed right over the source and it’s still there.  It must be a fugitive or nomad of some sort.”

“Either way, land the ship,” the elven commander replied.  “I’ll tell the orcs to prepare to engage the being, whomever it may be.  And we will discover why it has strayed so far from the fold.”

Ranvier watched the ship landing with worry.  Had they somehow spotted him?  He put a hand to his gun, preparing to fight if needed.  They may yet be possible allies, not enemies.  He watched from behind the tree as a door opened, and then as orcs began to step out.

Orcs.  Ranvier searched his memories.  They had allied themselves with the elves.  He couldn’t take the chance.  It was time to run.

Bolting, Ranvier moved toward the forest that was nearby, hoping to find cover there.  He didn’t dare shoot at the orcs unless they shot first.  They may yet not be with Jaigran’s orcs.  A lightning bolt sailed past him, singing the air.  That was it.  They were enemies.

Spinning around, Ranvier turned to fight, firing several shots as the orcs moved closer, but the orcs were already ready.  An explosion filled his mind as he was hit, stumbling backward as another hit him, his consciousness quickly receding as the blackness set in.  His last thought was that he had just failed as the ambassador of the Auggers.

And then there was blackness.

 
Epilogue: Declaration of War

Date: Kapton 14th, 114 A.U.

A fly buzzed around the pavilion where Lord Freglak and High-Priest Jaine sat, discussing politics, the stage opened up so that any who passed by could see them, although they had set up equipment so that they couldn’t hear.  Newscasters stood outside discussing their predictions for this meeting.  They met behind closed doors—but doors of glass—a precautionary measure to keep any devious play of assassination.

“We don’t have to be political enemies,” Freglak continued.  “We can seize our victory over the elves if we put aside any of our previous quarrels and work together at our ultimate joint goal of defeating the elves.  Let’s face the situation rationally.  You need my leadership, and I need your prophesy.  And the rest of the goblins need to see us united.  You have surely adequately proven the power of the Mothertree.  Together we can destroy them.”

Jaine sat for a moment contemplatively before he leaned in, his thin lips opening as his tongue flickered.  “Nice speech,” he said.  “But not good enough.”

Freglak stiffened.  “The people want unity,” he said in a low tone.  “You’ve seen their reactions to my speeches the past couple days.  They love it.”

“Ah, yes, the general populace loves to hear propaganda,” Jaine said.  “They eat it up.  But I think that, between the two of us, we both know that their loyalties have more shifted toward the Mothertree than toward you.”

“A loyalty which I shifted back with my call to unity, what of it?” Freglak asked, trying to move on.  “They need to see unity, and so I don’t see why we should continue to bicker amongst ourselves.”

“The words of the one who knows that he’s already the underdog,” Jaine mused, but then his tone sharpened.  “Let’s look at this realistically.  Your stock has been utterly defeated.  That’s the only reason that you’re begging here.”

“I’m not-”

“Let me finish,” Jaine snapped.  “I am the victor and you are the underdog.  So you will hear my terms on this, and about all other issues.  We can stand unified for the public—whatever we need to do to get them behind us so that we can beat the elves.  But the war will be done according to the rules of the Mothertree.  No profane weapons like guns or tasers, but by the Mothertree’s standards, and by the Mothertree’s strategies.  That will be our compromise.”

Freglak bristled.  “Compromise?” he snapped.  “What kind of compromise is that?  Do you expect me to become your puppet?”

“I expect you to do whatever I tell you to do,” Jaine said coldly.  “You obviously have shown yourself inadequate for the task of defeating the elves.  The public knows that only the Mothertree can bring us victory.  You will obey our requests because we have been already declared the victors.”

“And if I refuse?”

A smile played across Jaine’s lips.  “I think we both know the answer to that, Freglak,” Jaine whispered. 

Freglak stiffened as he pondered it, before he violently stood up.  “Very well,” he said coldly.  “I believe that this meeting is done.”

“And the conclusion?” Jaine asked, standing up, still smiling.

“I believe that we both know the answer to that,” Freglak replied.  “You obviously are unwilling to work with me and have so committed political suicide.  Enjoy your war.”

“Oh, I will,” Jaine said, eyes narrowing.  “And we will see who has actually committed political suicide, Freglak.  Pray to your gods, if you have any.  You’ll be needing them.”