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[Chanticleer]

---

Chanticleer. Formerly a knight of Ashencrosse. Formerly a de Mor guardsman of Trinsic. Formerly a student of Jhelom. Formerly a resident of Magincia. Now, he had returned to the first place he remembered calling home. Skara Brae, City of Spirituality. As he stood upon the mainland docks, studying the large inhabited island across the channel, only one thought populated his mind: How much he completely despised Skara Brae ...

"Chanticleer?" A woman called out. Her tone contained warmth and familiarity, yet it filled him with utter irritation. "Lad, is that really you?!"

He slowly turned to face the female voice without a hint of expression or emotion. For a brief moment, he saw her as she once was. A brown eyed beauty with a smile guaranteed to stir the loins of any a man who witnessed it. While the ghost of that smile was still discernible, time had otherwise been unkind to her. Farm work and childbirth had left her plump and tainted with domestication and the banality of such an existence.

"Larenya," he nodded.

Her body half-waddled and half-jiggled the remaining distance, before it tightly embraced him. "Cousin!"

Chanticleer flinched slightly, before conceding a small hug in response.

Larenya looked up and met his gaze with those same dark orbs that teased at his memories. A small detail to be grateful for. "Look at you, all grown and tall and a man now. Has it really been all these years? You've changed so much."

"Not me alone," was what he wanted to say, but he also predicted that he would come to regret insulting her. Instead, he put an end to their physical proximity and retaliated with one of his well-practiced stares. "Why?"

"Why ...?" She blinked in confusion.

"Your letter. You sent for me. Why?"

"Chanty," she started, not bothering to hide her bruised feelings. "I wrote that letter over a year ago. Did it take that long to reach you in Jhelom ...?"

"I no longer reside. In Jhelom," Chanticleer explained matter-of-factly. He hoped she was intelligent enough to understand that he had been intentionally concealing his whereabouts from her and all the rest of them. Because he had no interest in participating in that tangent of a conversation. "Why?" He repeated.

"Something's happened" she spoke sadly, her face betraying her realization of who and what it was that stood before her. "It's about your parents ..."

"Elaborate."

[Chanticleer]

---

"The corn. Pass it. Please."

"Sure thing, Uncle Chanty," one of the girls, the eldest of three daughters, replied with a wide grin and handed him a large bowl still half-filled.

"I'm your cousin. Not an uncle. I'm neither the sibling. Of your parents. Nor married to one," Chanticleer corrected her, before shooting Larenya a look of disappointment. "Your children. Their education. It's appalling."

Their mother shrugged uncomfortably, before proceeding to help herself to another portion of the over-cooked pork sausages from a plate in the middle of the dining table. A harsh criticism of her dietary habits briefly flashed through the warrior's mind, but he decided against verbalizing such thoughts. This was the fifth supper he had failed to enjoy with Larenya and her family in their small mainland Skara Brae home, and it was apparent he had already worn out his welcome. Except to the children, who seemed oblivious to tension as they were to almost everything else that occurred around them. And to think they were actually related to him!

"When?" Chanticleer asked with unbridled impatience.

"When what, cousin Chanty?" The youngest son, so pudgy he could easily have been the source of the over-cooked pork sausages, asked with child-like curiosity.

But he was tired of small children. And fat cousins. And the domesticated pit he had found himself trapped inside of for nearly a week. "Larenya," he stated as he suddenly rose to his feet. "Meet me outside. Once finished here."

Nearly an hour later, after all the dishes had been cleared and all five broodlings were nestled safely in their beds, Larenya appeared. They stood together without words for a few minutes, taking in the warm night air. Then he broke the mood by turning to her. "I tire of waiting. Tomorrow. Bring me to them."

She sighed, exasperated, both chins quivering in a manner that was far from flattering. "You know I'm unable to leave the children until Tomkin returns from his hunt ..."

"Why five?!" He scolded. "One is good. Two are acceptable. Three would be excessive. But five?! You're breeding peasants. Not heroes."

Tears filled those big brown eyes. They were the only part of her that had not changed. That did not disappoint his memories. "What happened to you, Chanticleer?" She asked, with a mix of sadness and pity. "You were such a sweet child. I know it wasn't always easy for you, but when did you become so angry?"

"I'm always angry," was his only response.

More silence passed, tears dried into flesh, and then Larenya spoke up again. "I'll ask one of the neighbors to watch the children. Perhaps the Widow Nellie could do me that favor. Then I'll take you tomorrow, and we will be done with this."

"Excellent," Chanticleer nodded, glad he finally got his way.

[Chanticleer]

---

Chanticleer had never visited the small cemetary before, but he immediately noticed something was amiss. Two headstones marked two graves, side-by-side for eternity. Except while one belonged to his father, the other was for a name he barely recognized.

"When?!" He growled at Larenya, not bothering to conceal his anger.

"We don't visit as often as we should," she confessed, her big brown eyes and round face emoting sadness. "I wrote you last year as soon as we saw she was gone."

"Who?!" The warrior pointed at the offending gravestone.

"That's Moric," Larenya explained. "Your father's cousin. They were akin to brothers as children. He was killed by rioters two months past ..."

"Why?"

"We'd no other place for Moric," the fat cousin struggled with her reasoning. "No idea if your mother would be returned. It seemed the most sensible choice."

There were no words for what Chanticleer was feeling. His right hand reached for the sword sheathed at his side. And then it paused to curl into a tight fist, as did his left hand. He glared at Larenya for a few moments, and then turned away from her.

"Where are you going?!" She panicked as she watched him depart.

"Skara Brae. For information," he replied as he passed the cemetary gates.

"Please don't leave me," Larenya begged. "It's dangerous for a woman out here alone."

"Then best waddle quickly," Chanticleer advised as he stormed off.

[Chanticleer]

---

A week of investigation and interrogation, and Chanticleer had uncovered next to nothing useful. Either no one in Skara Brae possessed any knowledge of his stolen mother, or they were unwilling to disclose such to him. There were moments when the dark-haired warrior wanted nothing more than to draw his sword and unleash his frustrations upon those he perceived as obstructing his quest. But he was not that sort of man. Not yet, at least. However, his restraint was eventually rewarded, for a potential lead had finally emerged. Half-way towards this destination, and Chanticleer had decided to make camp. It was still a couple of hours before midnight, and while he was far from tired, he deemed it prudent to arrive well-rested rather than impatient and exhausted.

As he tended the small campfire, his thoughts were of Larenya, and the disappointment of meeting her again. Chanticleer did not hold many fond memories of his childhood, but his cousin from Skara Brae was one of the few. Perhaps it was boyhood folly, but he usually found himself comparing the women that caught his attention to the standard set by her. Not that unpleasantly plump, mockery whose only purpose was littering Sosaria with small monsters that masqueraded as ignorant children, but the perfect curves, big brown eyes, and enticing smile of years past. Once, when he was nearly eight years old and she was still shy of eighteen, Larenya had taken him and some of the others to a small swimming hole near town. Shamelessly, they had rid themselves of clothing and dived into the water, while she remained dry watching over them. Until one of the other cousins surprised her with a gentle push, soaking her white summer outfit see-through. He had a clear recollection of the way that small wet dress clung to her body, the shape of her breasts and the circumference of her nipples. But that girl no longer existed.

Strangely, the only woman he had ever seen naked was also a cousin. It was in Magincia, more than five years later, after his mother's brother became responsible for his upbringing. Chanticleer had returned from his afternoon lessons, and was passing the bedroom of his cousin Julia, when he noticed the door partially open. Curiosity had the better of him, and he peered inside. There she was, completely in the nude, standing before a full length mirror and admiring her own reflection. Julia was the opposite of Larenya, in both appearance and demeanor. Three years his senior, she had the golden hair, fair skin, and deep blue eyes that marked all of his mother's family, except for Chanticleer. Her frame was thinner than his Skara Brae cousin, with a smaller, perkier chest, and a tightness about her body. She was also incredibly spoiled, vain and self-centered, viciously competing for attention while amusing herself by toying with others. The girl barely paid him any attention at all, yet he was convinced she had intentionally set the scene that day. Of course, any pleasure from that memory was destroyed as soon as her older brother discovered Chanticleer spying. Nonetheless, he could still recall every part of Julia's form, while he barely remembered the beating Randall had inflicted upon him.

With only these small experiences, Chanticleer sometimes questioned his decision to abstain from ever knowing a woman's touch. For a time, he was drawn to Wisperwind, and they had even kissed on occasion, but that was before Ashencrosse and her transformation into a Letholdus-apologist, and later a vampire's concubine. He also thought the Empress Himeko to have many attractive qualities, but always seemed to hesitate when in her presence. He tried to convince himself it was due to some deep-seated fear of exotic Tokunese love-making techniques, but that was merely another excuse, just like all the rest.

Tired of these ruminations, Chanticleer closed his eyes and drifted off pondering what awaited him in Britain the next day ...

[Chanticleer]

---

Chanticleer was a man that strongly disliked both people and taverns, but after three days of impatiently waiting, he gladly returned to the Salty Dog Tavern in Britain.

"Fat man," he nodded as he joined his informant's table. "I've returned. As you bid. My information?"

The bald, round man hissed in response, revealing a random pattern of missing and intact teeth. "Min' yerse'f, boy, or yer ge'in' rubbish."

"Pretend not," Chanticleer scolded with all his well-honed condescension. "You've no pride. Not your profession. Gold is all you care for."

"Ain' no payin'," the information broker replied quickly, yet unoffended. "I's free."

"Pardon?" the warrior asked, a look of confusion replacing his usual mask of arrogance.

"Ye won' be payin' a coin ta fin' yer missin' bones." A strange, twisted sound akin to laughter then emerged from the lips of the fat man. "Surp'ise' as me?"

"Why?"

"P'haps ye got frien's ye don' know. 'haps som'one finks yer cause just." Then suddenly, the expression on that round, bald face twisted from amusement to deadly serious. "Or 'haps we're 'opin' ye'll kill tha' one stole yer missin' bones."

In response, Chanticleer committed an act that was rare for him -- he smiled. "That's likely. Now continue."

[Chanticleer]

---

The journey from Britain had seemed an eternity. Chanticleer had considered travel by sea, but he did not possess the composure to negotiate a ship's fare or the tolerance to spend time in the presence of others. After departing the Salty Dog Tavern, all he had known was rage and blood. The warrior had learned the where of it, but the who and the why still remained a mystery. So the land route it was, a hard and angry ride across the continent of Sosaria, with no rest until his final destination: the City of Vesper. As he traveled the first of the many bridges and islands that defined this center of commerce and trade, Chanticleer thought of those he had befriended here, such as the Greyden family. He would try his best to avoid them, for he had no intention of involving them in the murderous act he contemplated. According to the Fat Man, the individual responsible for stealing his mother was but a brief distance away, and that confrontation could only end one way.

When Chanticleer arrived at the Shimmering Jewel, located on Vesper's northernmost island, his hand immediately reached for his sword. The young warrior affectionately referred to his weapon as "The Blade of the Fist" and delighted in the thought that he was about to punch someone in the face with it. He quickly surveyed the area, and after determining that there were no guards or other obstacles to his objective, he entered the shop armed and ready for the coming slaughter.

But it was not vengeance that awaited Chanticleer inside of the Shimmering Jewel ...

[Chanticleer]

---

"We've met," Chanticleer advised as his uncle introduced the woman that accompanied him. The young warrior was already familiar with Erollisi; although like all he encountered, he had not bothered to know her very well. He was curious how she ended up in the employ of his mother's brother. But only mildly so.

"We have," she nodded in agreement.

One they were seated around the large table, explanations began. "I prefer not to waste words. I deal in gems, but I've other interests as well. One of them is demons."

"Odd interest," Erollisi interrupted.

"I don't collect them, I seek their destruction," the elder man corrected her.

"Ah, a good interest then."

"Several years ago, the kingdom was taken unaware when demons destroyed Magincia," he continued. "Since then, I make it my business to keep track of similar threats. One of my ship captains recently brought word to me of rumors. A man in Serpent's Hold speaking of dark things. The two of you are to journey there and question him."

"Does this man have a name?" Erollisi asked. "Description?"

Her employer shook his head. "None that I know. All I do know is that he keeps to himself. He's also large and wears the colors of Trinsic. Beyond that is why I'm paying you. I've arranged for a ship at the docks. When you've returned from Serpent's Hold, I want the two of you to report to me."

While he did not mind Erollisi's company, Chanticleer had little interest in serving as his uncle's errand boy. However, after their recent reunification at the Shimmering Jewel, they had reached an accord. With no choice but to dutifully obey, he stood and turned to his new traveling companion. "Let's depart then."

[Chanticleer]

---

The small ship's voyage to Serpent's Hold was pleasant and uneventful, yet slow in passing. Erollisi even proved to be a tolerable traveling companion. For the most part. Encountering Chanticleer in Vesper with his uncle had left her curious about the relationship between the two men, and she did not hesitate to voice the questions that entered her mind. The young warrior decided on sharing information that was sufficient to satisfy her interest, but not enough that might later leave him vulnerable. After a dozen or so answers, he began to wonder if sexual intercourse was not due to an urging of the loins, but the desire to distract a woman from speaking. Eventually, there was no more distance to travel, and as their vessel entered the harbor, their conversation turned to the business at hand.

"He's large and wears the colors of Trinsic." Those had been his uncle's words, and the only lead to follow. Chanticleer knew Trinsic to be the City of Honor, and purple the color associated with that virtue, but "large" was a rather vague term in a place populated by knights, blacksmiths, and warriors-in-training. When they finally located their quarry inside of an empty guard tower, they discovered that "large" had not meant tall or muscular at all, but was a reference to the young man's girth.

Erollisi cleared her throat to catch the round fellow's attention, which caused him to jump back in fright. "Woah. Calm down there fella."

"Oh," he squeaked in response, watching them with nervous eyes. "I'm s-s-s-orry."

"What's your name?" She asked with a friendly smile.

"You're n-n-not here to kill me?" His fear was not only palpable, it was irritating.

"Do you see us holding weapons?" Erollisi pointed out the obvious in an attempt to calm him.

"N-N-N-o," the large fellow in purple slowly stepped forward.

"Stop that," Chanticleer demanded.

"S-S-Stop what?!"

"I think he means the stuttering," she patiently explained.

"Babbling," he added with far less tact.

The fat one took a deep breath and struggled to straighten his posture. Erollisi smiled at him, and repeated once again. "What's your name?"

"Bartholomew Dragonbane III. But everyone just calls me Bottoms!"

[Chanticleer]

---

"A young man learned of a prophecy from his now deceased friends," Erollisi began her summary of what they had learned in Serpent's Hold from the fat man that called himself Bottoms. "The girl, Celestia, was prophecized to be a great sorceress. And it would be her destiny to stop a great evil that would threaten the world. She was training with a man that we were told could be found in Ilshenar and frequents Khaldun. He didn't know the name, but one of his friends called him 'The Baratarian.' Apparently the girl needed to remain a virgin for this prophecy as well. Seems she met an early death bed though."

"Let me see if I have this straight," the one known as Julian Randall mused. Chanticleer was still not entirely used to the name and identity his uncle had assumed as part of his new life in Vesper. "The large man in purple, you met with him?"

"Yes," she said.

"And he was friends with this Celestia, who trained with this Baratarian?"

Erollisi nodded her confirmation.

"A man that might be found in Khaldun or Ilshenar?"

"Yes."

"And Celestia is dead?" The elder man asked. "You mentioned more than one friend."

"The other boy was named Everett," she responded. "And then something about a talking mongbat that he doesn't know if he's alive or not."

"A talking mongbat," Julian stated incredulously. "And the nature of this evil, and its location?"

"He was unsure," Erollisi answered. "He's only heard that it was darkness. Possibly a monster or a daemon. That no one would be able to stop it. That was all he knew. Seems the two dead friends and the teacher have/had all of the information."

"And in your opinion, it worth pursuing this?"

"It might be worth tracking down the teacher, if you're so inclined," she suggested.

"Your thoughts, Chanticleer?" The question came suddenly from his uncle.

"I know not," was the young warrior's reply.

"You're incapable of forming an opinion?" Julian's eyes were daggers.

"I'm uncertain. Of what I think."

His uncle shook his head dismissively, and then turned back to Erollisi. "Baratarian, you said? An old name."

"You have heard it before?"

"I know my history. I don't know your education, but this one should at least know of it," Julian added, throwing yet another not-so subtle insult towards his nephew. "Before this world looked as it did now. Before there were facets. There were four continents. After Mondain's death, only one remained, the Lands of Lord British. One of the missing three was called the Land of the Feudal Lords. There were two kingoms on this continent. One was named Rondorin, the other Barataria. Years ago, when Tokuno was discovered, most scholars believed it was the missing Land of the Feudal Lords."

"Does the word itself have a meaning?" She inquired.

"Hrmph," his uncle considered. "A person of Barataria. Which hasn't existed in centuries. I've two thoughts on the matter. Someone from Barataria, who is somehow still alive all these centuries later. Or a round-eyed Tokunese. Or one with deep roots in their history. I can't imagine a man that old. And I've never met a round-eyed Tokunese. Mayhaps one who identifies with their distant past?"

"I would expect the man that has been tagged to train a prophecized great sorceress to know a great deal aobut history. Amongst other things."

"And the training of a sorceress. It implies knowledge of magic," Julian added. "I'll think on it a few days. I can't imagine it'll hurt to ask around. We don't want another Magincia. Good work, Erollisi, you should be proud."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Erollisi looked at Chanticleer, after her employer had departed.

"About what?"

"Any of it."

"I did," Chanticleer reaffirmed. "I've no opinion. And I'm poor. At investigation."

"You have to try something before you can be poor at it."

But he knew the true reason he had not spoken up. There was nothing he could say that would have been good enough for his uncle. Nothing he did ever was. This was the way it had always been between them, and the way it always would be ...

[Chanticleer]

---

It was hours after dawn's first light, when they entered the Vesper cemetery together. Opposed to the possibility of conceding any amount of satisfaction to his uncle, Chanticleer struggled to refrain from demonstrating his emotions as they crossed the various rows of headstones. But secretly, he was pleased with what he saw, for this was a significant improvement over that small, dilapidated plot that Larenya and the rest of his father's family had seemed so fond of.

"I'm a man of my word," the man called Julian Randall suddenly stopped and pointed.

Before them lay the freshly dug grave of his father, and the young warrior grunted his approval. Despite his uncle's own personal reservations, the elder man had done as promised and reunited Chanticleer's parents after their months and months of separation. Nearby, he could see the resting places of Julian's wife, his aunt Mary, as well as his two children, his cousins Randall and Julia. He briefly wondered if this cemetery would someday serve as his own final destination.

"I'll never agree with the choices she made," his uncle said, interrupting the silence, "but perhaps I was mistaken to move one, and not the other."

"Perhaps," came his muted agreement.

"At least something came of it," Julian noted. As usual, his blue eyes slowly picked his nephew apart. "We've never been close, Chanticleer, but we're what remains."

"An accord. It's been reached."

"Then per our arrangement," the elder man continued. "It's time we find you a wife."

"In her selection. Have I a choice?" Chanticleer questioned curiously.

His uncle shook his head. "I'll consider any candidate you suggest, but you've shown questionable judgment. Before you found me, you were tricked into the service of vampires. Not merely once, but twice, in Trinsic and then in Ashencrosse. You'd probably end up choosing some lowborn lack wit as your mother did."

"And what of you?" The young warrior coldly retorted. "You're not too old. For a new wife. For new heirs."

Julian's mouth twisted and his eyes angrily flickered to the three nearby gravestones, but the words that emerged were calm. "My time has passed."

"You could love again."

"I pity you, Chanticleer," the elder man scowled. "In this life, you love only once. Whoever claims otherwise is either fool or liar, or has never truly loved at all. But you're the only heir left to me, and I must forgive you your ignorance. And your weakness."

"I forgive you. Nothing."

"What slight is it you imagine I've inflicted upon you?!" His uncle asked, almost mockingly.

"You abandoned me," Chanticleer reminded him, rather bluntly.

A twinge of regret briefly appeared upon Julian's face, and then he looked away. But a few moments later, he turned back to his nephew, and both his expression and their topic of conversation had changed. "I've decided that a further investigation of what you and Erollisi discovered in Serpent's Hold is warranted."

The young warrior nodded. "What next?"

"We need to find this so-called Baratarian," his uncle explained. "I'd like to learn more about the boy's deceased friends, Celestia and Everett."

"It shall be done. And mayhaps. You'll find me a wife. Before I return."

"I'll summon Erollisi to assist you," Julian suggested.

"No," Chanticleer voiced his objection. "Erollisi. She's fine. Her work acceptable. But in this. In all matters. I'm at my best. Alone."

[Chanticleer]

---

There had been little progress in Chanticleer's quest for the Baratarian since Vesper, but the weeks had not been without significance. The young warrior had returned to Ashencrosse in order to honor the vow he had made when he first left to recover his mother's stolen remains, but his visit to the small Malas town only confirmed what he had already realized. This was no longer his home. Many of those he had known were either dead or gone -- Friend Rosar, Sir Letholdus the Elf Cousin to Molly the Elf, Mistress Jolicia, Balam, and Paine -- and those that he did encounter failed to resemble his memories of them. The young gypsy girl was with child but without husband. Wisperwind still lacked guile, but she was miserable rather than blissfully ignorant. And then there was the Countess. When he had first encountered her in Northridge half a year past, she had struck a figure of warmth and compassion, despite secretly being a blood-sucking abomination. Now human once more, she was cold and unforgiving, a true leader. Chanticleer was almost proud of what she had become, even if he would not enter her service again.

Next was Zento, central city of the Tokunese. If his uncle's condescending history lesson was indeed accurate, Tokuno had once been Sosaria's Land of the Feudal Lords, the home of ancient Barataria. Whether this man he hunted was immortal or a round-eyed Tokunese or history obsessed was irrelevant, all that mattered was that Zento held no proof of his existence. However, Chanticleer took the opportunity to visit with the Lady Himeko, Empress of Tokuno They shared an interesting relationship, one that he was never quite able to define. All he knew was that the time he spent in her presence was never enough, and far too infrequent in occurring.

According to the fat man Bottoms in Serpent's Hold, the Baratarian was could be found in two places, Ilshenar and Khaldun. The former was an entire facet and the latter but a dungeon, so the young warrior decided upon the more practical choice. From Zento to the Moonglow of Felucca, and then onwards to the Papua of Felucca, the closest town to Khaldun. A week of preparation and research regarding what awaited him, and then he ventured forth.

As he made his way south, Chanticleer found that he despised the Lost Lands nearly as much as he did Malas. He was a man of Britannia, civilized and true, with little tolerance for traversing swamps and jungles like some half-brained native. In fact, the heat was so unbearable for his fully armored form, that he almost failed to notice the man sitting cross-legged and eyes tightly shut, on the ground near Khaldun's entrance.

This stranger appeared at least twice the young warrior's age, with cracks and wrinkles that did his average looks no real favors. His dark red hair was retreating at the top, but burst forth from his face in the full-blown assault of a lunatic's beard. He seemed unremarkable in almost every respect, neither too tall nor short nor fat nor thin. But most importantly, despite his skin marking him to be of Chanticleer's race, his style of dress had more in common with Zento than it did with Britannia.

"Baratarian," he stated, his hand slowly reaching for the hilt of his sword.

The other man briefly nodded, but did not bother to open his eyes.

"We will have words."

[Chanticleer]

---

"This evil. Of which you speak. Elaborate!" Chanticleer impatiently demanded, after listening to the incoherent ramblings of the Baratarian for nearly ten minutes.

"Elaborate," the older man nodded slowly, as if under a trance. "Once there was an empire. An entity inside an emerald. A lord to which the paths of time were mere convenience. A dragon who became a man who became a dragon. I was there, I think." His green eyes briefly flickered in recognition. "Or was that another me?"

A fist to the face was the only response the Baratarian received. "You speak riddles," the young warrior stated. "I want answers."

The older man pushed himself off the ground and onto his feet, all the while rubbing the nascent bruise upon his cheek. "I am Balric," he offered, as if truly noticing his visitor for the first time. "What is it you seek?"

"The fat man Bottoms," Chanticleer began. "He told us of you. Of dead Celestia. Of prophecy and coming evil. I demand truth."

"It doesn't matter," Balric stated plainly. "This isn't your fight, my eager young friend. It was Celestia's, and she is gone."

"How?"

"A man entered her home and killed her."

"Why?"

"A chance act of violence that destroyed her destiny," The older man answered. "Or was it really so random? Is prophecy that easily thwarted? I ... don't know."

"And your role?" The young warrior inquired.

"I was to train her," the Baratarian explained. "Centuries ago, it was foretold. I chose to dedicate myself to opposing this coming evil. I spent years in preparation and study, but with Celestia's death, all that effort has been rendered meaningless."

"This evil. Demon? Monster? Horde? What is it?"

"All those things." Balric replied. "And more ..."

"And Khaldun?" Chanticleer pointed to the nearby dungeon entrance. "Why here?"

"Here, the barrier between this world and others is weakened. It is a potential doorway, and one that bears the stench of the enemy. Perhaps this is where the evil will appear. It, or one of its minions. When that time comes, I will fight and die upon this ground."

Once again, the young warrior gestured towards Khaldun. "Why not strike first?"

"Such thoughts are folly," the older man dismissed the question. "Khaldun is a place of darkness. Go home, this isn't your battle."

"I'm not afraid."

Balric paused briefly, as if suddenly appreciating something about the other man. "Who was it that you said you were?"

"My name is Chanticleer," came the proud response. "Chanticleer Reich. Of Magincia."

"Chanticleer Reich. Of Magincia. You'd enter Khaldun?"

"Yes. I am unafraid."

The Baratarian smiled strangely. "Then perhaps it is your fate to face the demon."

"I shall slay this demon," The young warrior announced. "The girl Celestia. If she was capable. So am I." Then armed with sword and shield, he stepped forward.

"I said you'd face the demon," Balric spoke quietly. "I never said you'd slay him."

If Chanticleer overheard the older man's words, he simply no longer cared. In exchange for reuniting the remains of his parents, he had promised to become his uncle's heir. A return to Vesper would lead only to a miserable existence forever defined by another, and a marriage that strayed from his heart's desire. When he was younger, he had constantly struggled for acceptance from the man now known as Julian Randall. It was finally his, but the very thought of it disgusted him. Yet the young warrior's honor dictated that he could not abandon this vow. As the Baratarian continued to watch from a distance, Chanticleer disappeared into the depths of the dungeon Khaldun, most likely never to return. But at least in death and failure, he would still have control.

The End