The wind stirred. Eddies formed and multiplied in the dusty breeze, dancing over parched, rusty ground and swaying drunkenly through the sparse brush and trees. Without warning, the gust died down with a peculiar, whistling shriek, leaving the place stagnant with the scent of smoke and salt, iron and copper. Although the sun was nearly at its zenith, the sky was murky indigo, streaked with dust and congealing clouds.

Unperturbed, Alysia looked over the field of the impending battle. It was typical of K?Thayne, a desert-dry flatland, cracked by drought and faults and shadowed by the sharp uprising of the Dragonspine Mountains to the west. Before those mountains was the recently-constructed Keep de Tacrya, a stronghold walled round by dark stone and metal torn from the local quarries and mines.

The clouds began to boil directly over the stronghold.

Alysia observed this and rested her hand upon a sheathed sword - the Katana of the Shar'Vae Qhaith-Na'Vyth. She supressed a flash of irritation at the formation of ten mounted guards surrounding her. Attuned to the mood of the High Priestess, Nightmare snorted restlessly and stamped its fiery hooves.

The warriors around her were called the Bloodguard, a group of ten priests who, while they had been counted among the living, had betrayed their oaths to the god they had sworn to serve. Death had provided no escape from their treachery, as their ritual executions had served as a potent catalyst for a necromantic spell; the tainted priests, transformed into liches and death knights, were bound to serve Alysia.

One of the Bloodguard, the lich called Stead, muttered something, staring intently at the slowly spiraling clouds. His eyes - milky white, without iris or pupil - focused on the High Priestess as his trance dispersed enough for him to speak. ?They just opened a Twilight gate,? he intoned, ?in the Keep itself.?

Stead?s words drew some attention from those nearby. The generals nodded and went to go address the Legion. Javan raised a brow and smirked, and Lledrith cheered raucously, shouting, ?Bring it on!?

?Wait.? Hearing this, unsettled by the lich?s statement, Aeris nudged her mount closer to Alysia, edging through the Bloodguard. ?What?s going on? How can she be doing that?!? demanded Aeris. ?Tacrya?s stronghold isn?t close enough to the mountains for do that. . . I thought Twilight Gates could only be opened in the mountains!? The vampeal?s voice sounded shaky, and Alysia realized that this was the young priestess? first battle.

The crack of thunder echoed against the distant mountains, making the air tremble and the earth hum. After the initial strike of lightning, electricity coursed outward, radiating through the army of men, minotaurs, and goblins taking shape outside the Keep de Tacrya. Shouts of terror accompanied the sounds of crackling energy and the smell of burning flesh and hair.

?What in the name of all the gods. . .? murmured Khaz, trailing off as he heard the sound of giggling nearby. The sound was emphasized by an empathic projection of sadistic mirth.

?Ooops?? chortled Lledrith. Holding up both fists, she grinned at the Troll; sparking balls of incandescent blue lightning surrounded her hands. ?Sorry??

Khaz cleared his throat and all but rolled his eyes, realizing how Lledrith had earned the moniker of ?Sparky?. As one, the forces of the Bloodguard turned and stared at Lledrith for several seconds, then looked back toward K?Thayne army arrayed beneath the storm.

?Couldn?t you wait?? Javan snorted at his wife. ?Tacyra?s got merc mages who could drain you if you use your powers that way. Use the damned blaster.?

?Nope,? Lledrith answered, smirking. ?Couldn?t wait.? She lowered her fists, however, and unholstered an energy carbine, charging it before taking aim and firing a lightning round into the still-distant ranks.

?That will do, for an opening salvo,? interjected Alysia. ?Sarik, the Legion should advance, now. Use the clerics as much as you can, but our casualties don?t matter - you need to keep Tacrya distracted. See if you can goad her out onto the field. And get me a report from the scouts. See if Dar has gotten out of Tacrya?s clutches yet.?

?Empress.? Sarik saluted, moving to command his forces.

Javan raised his brows in response, non-plussed at Alysia?s callous reaction to the news that two members of her family had died and another lay stupefied and near death. ?I said that Emma was tending to my lady wife,? he answered indistinctly.

?Damn it all. ? Alysia hissed. ?Emma was supposed to keep Alaric distracted. Away from the battlefield. There?ll be no way the Guardian can ignore what is to come.? She straightened, guiding her mount about in a tight circle as she scanned the murky sky. ?Gods and demons, but this is going to complicate things.?

Considering this, Javan shook his head. He blinked smoke out of his eyes, glancing at the looming troll that Alysia kept as a bodyguard. ?Look, maybe you didn?t notice, but you?ve all but won. Go kill Tacrya. What then is left but to summon the Guardian and close the damned Gate??

?It?s not that simple. It never is. I have other obligations,? she answered shortly, ?and very little time.?

?Other obligations. . . hm. Well, I won?t pretend to understand what else-?

?Understand this, Javan. Look around.? She snapped. ?Just look. What you see now, I have seen, across all of Rhilshen. This whole realm will become a desolate, lifeless waste, destroyed by Order and Chaos, represented by the Guardian and the Dark Ancient. If I cannot mitigate this conflict, Rhilshen will fall and the Skye Bloodline will fail.?

Alysia adjusted the etched crimsor gauntlets she wore, as if the heavy metal irritated her, then removed them, showing bare hands and wrists to Javan. The black serpent tattoos encircling her wrists stood out in stark contrast to her pale flesh. ?Do you know what that symbolizes??

?Well, it?s the oroborus. Eternity. . . purity. . . ?

?It?s the sigil of the Dark Ancient.? She looked directly at Javan as she spoke. ?Every priestess of Varltesh is branded or tattooed with it.?

?You?ve changed.?

?Javan, change is inevitable in us all,? answered Alysia. She looked toward the Keep, ignoring the mute accusation of Javan?s stare. ?Perhaps the difference is that I am no longer encumbered by a sense of honor. After breaking my word once, I find these little betrayals so much easier. Speaking of which. . . I should attend to Tacrya.?

?Wait a moment.? Javan grabbed Nightmare?s reins, flinching as the beast snorted flame over his bloodied hands. ?There was also a time when you kept me informed of your plans.?

?There was a time when you set spies to watch me.? Alysia countered coldly. ?They reported to Karthalan well enough that he could send assassins to find me. I trust your spies should keep you well enough informed. ?

Javan looked stung by her words, then bristled. ?Trust? You trust no one. . . you?ll sacrifice your own kin for power. Even me??

?Yes. Even you, if it served my purpose.? The High Priestess smiled, holding up her bare hand. Flame blossomed around her fist. ?Today was not the first time I?ve risked my bloodline for Rhilshen, and I doubt it will be the last. The strong will survive.? She paused, then spoke more gently, pulling on the runed crimsor gauntlets. ?Let me go, Javan.?

Javan released his hold on Nightmare, stepped back, bowed his head. His face was hidden in shadow.

?Ahhhh. . .? murmured Alysia. ?Wounded pride, from you? I expect more from my adopted son.? She looked up into the sky, where something gold and winged shone. ?Alaric?s coming, and there are things I must accomplish quickly. Delay him as best you are able. Khaz, with me.?

Alysia remained silent and sidestepped the lunge, drawing the Katana of the Shar'Vae Qhaith-Na'Vyth. Her heartbeat quickened at the touch of scaled mithril against her palm, and the smoke-gray runes on the black blade shimmered a moment before becoming obscured by slithering darkness. Tacrya twisted backwards across the rubble, displaying surprising agility for someone of her girth, and escaped decapitation with only a thin cut against her throat. The katana hissed, tasting blood.

The silver-haired priestess spared a moment?s thought for the weapon?s creator, Lord Veighn Yhaull, then silently chastised herself for the distraction. Tacrya saw a momentary glow surround Alysia's armored form and shouted in incoherent outrage, feeling her rage-born strength ebb through that tiny wound.

Tacrya lurched forward, gripping Alysia's throat with hands that were strong, sticky with blood that burned and smoked. Alysia's vision dimmed, tunnelling until all she could see was Tacrya's grimacing jowls and mad, mad eyes. Her hands felt clumsy and numb, and her katana fell from nerveless fingers.

"Die," muttered Tacrya."Die, and your Guardian will die with you."

"What makes you think," croaked Alysia, "that I am here at the bidding of the Guardian?" She struggled to bring both arms up and showed the sigils tattooed about her wrists.

A moment of doubt confusion showed in those mad eyes. It was enough. Alysia gasped for air and slammed both arms out, striking the inside of Tacrya's unprotected forearms, breaking the large woman's stranglehold.

Doused with blood, the green flames encircling the altar sputtered for a few seconds, then reignited, roaring, furious and red. A column of thick, greasy smoke lifted, obscuring the altar and the grotesque figures carved upon it. Tacrya alternately laughed and wept and screamed, blaspheming most of the gods held sacred in Rhilshen.

A thunderous boom sounded, and the temple reeled. The crumbling stone walls gave way and collapsed into great heaps of sheared, splintered rock. Tacrya continued her clamor, falling silent only when a figure, impossibly tall and covered with black scales, stirred in the smoke. Then she cowered and groveled before the awful presence shrouded by flames and smoke.

Alysia watched all this in dizzy, shocked silence. Tacrya's binding wards continued to crackle across her armor, and she felt drained from the effort to struggling to break them. Her wrists and forearms still bled sullenly, and her fingers felt numb. The Katana of the Shar'Vae Qhaith-Na'Vyth continued to edge across the broken tiles toward the fallen priestess, a few inches at a time. Under the ruckus, she faintly heard Khaz Bloodguard's sulfurous curses.