Chapter 13-5

Before long one soldier braved the healer's displeasure. “Did you really grow to be twenty feet tall?”

Garkhen smiled gently. “No, though Bahamut did grant me great strength to fight.”

As if his answer had been permission, suddenly the young half-dragon was surrounded by curious soldiers, all wanting to confirm some portion of the rumors. He felt quite overwhelmed, though he tried to answer as best he could. 

By the time the healers managed to beat off the inquisitive, Garkhen felt quite exhausted. He was glad enough to return to his bed.

Over the next couple of days Garkhen quickly regained his strength. Finally he was able to go about without feeling tired. Everywhere he went he was recognized now. A simple stroll was like wading through a mob some days. He occasionally caught sight of one of the others that fought with him, but could never get through to speak with them. 

The next day Captain Telarnen called Garkhen in. “Private Garkhen,” he greeted the half-dragon. “I'm sure you've been congratulated enough already. So instead I'll ask, why can't that dragon ever say things straight out?”

Garkhen looked at him blankly. “Sir?”

“Think about it,” Telarnen said, getting up and starting to pace about. “He drops you in my Company most of the way through this campaign, without any explanation why. But he gave you that,” he pointed at Garkhen's chest, “Which from what I hear is about the only reason you've lived this long. And of course we just happen to be in the army that ends up here, now...”

He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder how much Solkh'Tolkharkha knows. I don't suppose you'd have any better idea...?”

Garkhen shook his head. “No, sir. I am afraid I do not.” 

The Captain sighed. “Well, I suppose I should have known... well, Private, that leaves me with just one question. What will you do now?”

The half-dragon was silent for a long moment, caught off-guard by the question. “I... have not considered that, sir,” he admitted at last.

“You have a few days,” Telarnen said. “But I thought you might not have, after all you've been through. Give it some thought. Our contract won't run out for a while yet, so we're not going anywhere.”

********

Garkhen gets asked the big question! ...And has no answer.

Chapter 13-4

Lt. Ailill was quiet for a long moment, before quietly saying, “That is quite the gift you've been given there, Garkhen. I would advise that you take every precaution with it. That armor would be worth a very great deal of money to the unscrupulous.”

The half-dragon nodded slightly. He was well aware of just what he had been entrusted with—even more aware than Ailill, even if he hadn't known about all the things it could do. 

After another long pause, Ailill said, “Now rest up. You'll want to be on your feet soon.”

Garkhen's eyes widened a bit as a thought occurred to him. “The others...?”

The healer paused on his way out of the room, and turned back to look at Garkhen. “Those who were with you all survived, and in better shape than you. If you ask about the army as a whole... it was war, and a terrible one. But it would have been worse were it not for the destruction of their leader. Some of the demons just disappeared in the middle of combat, and some seemed weakened. As far as we can tell, it happened when you defeated the one in the former Cathedral.”

“I see...” Garkhen breathed. 

“Now rest. That's an order.”

“Yes, sir.” Garkhen smiled slightly as the door closed.

It was almost a week after the battle before Garkhen could leave his room. Once he'd been able to manage sitting up, the young half-dragon had been ravenous, as if he had to make up for all the meals he'd missed while asleep. Lt. Ailill thought it a good sign, and it seemed that provisions were plentiful. Garkhen tried not to think about why that might be.

His first shaky trip to the mess hall was... quite an experience. As soon as he saw other soldiers—well, others than the healers—he noticed they stood at attention and saluted him, their expressions a little awed. Garkhen felt a bit embarrassed, but mostly was just focused on walking. He wasn't quite sure how it had been so easy before, but he supposed a week spent mostly lying down would do that.

A cheer greeted his entry into the mess hall, and the healer escorting him had to speak rather sternly to the soldiers who tried to crowd around him. Instead, the table he sat at was soon filled, with only a little space around him won by the healer's glares. 

For the moment, they left him in peace, but he could hear the rumors flying around him.

“...twenty feet tall! And he smashed its head off with his mace, then its corpse fell on him!”

“...and that tiger-man wrestled with it, until the paladin got his holy symbol in its face...”

Each story seemed more exaggerated than the last, though they all seemed to agree on the core idea that he and the small group he had been with had fought something very large and important, and it was their victory over it that had resulted in the sudden turning of the tide of battle. While he was glad that meant they no longer looked at him like he might suddenly jump on someone and try to bite their face off, he wasn't sure he preferred this attention. Well, it was better, admittedly, but he still didn't like it.

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Garkhen is not good in large groups. Something about mostly being around one dragon for most of his life, I suppose.

Chapter 13-3

The next time he awoke it was light, and Lt. Ailill was in the room, speaking with the healer from before.

“...mostly just the effects of fatigue, now,” Ailill was saying. “All we can do now is give him food and water when he wakes, and trust his stubbornness will see him through.”

Garkhen moved slightly, and both healers turned to him. 

“You're awake, Private,” Ailill stated. He turned to the other healer and nodded, and she hurried out. 

Lt. Ailill turned back to Garkhen. “Do you feel like you can speak?”

“A little,” the half-dragon replied, his voice weak and scratchy. 

Ailill nodded. “Good. You're healing quickly, given that you just channeled enough magic through you to banish an incredibly powerful demon and then had a few tons of stone collapse on you.”

He shook his head slightly. “To be honest, Private Garkhen, even with that armor of yours I'm surprised you're alive. But I suppose when you cross a dragon with a dwarf, I shouldn't be surprised you'd be so stubborn about staying alive. And... I'm rather glad you are.”

Garkhen managed a small smile. “Thank you, sir,” he rasped.

The other healer returned with water and broth. Again Garkhen drank. He felt somewhat better when he was done—enough that he could look around a bit more. The room he was in was plain and unadorned, but clearly was in a well-built home. 

“My armor?” The thought suddenly occurred to him that he was not wearing it.

“It was surprisingly willing to come off,” Ailill answered, giving Garkhen an odd look. “We packed it in a chest, which is now underneath this bed, along with your other belongings.”

Garkhen nodded, relieved. He wished to see it... but he could feel he did not yet have the strength. “It is... whole?”

“It was badly damaged when we dug you out of the rubble,” the elf replied, “But by the time we got it off you... I would not have known it had been used.”

Garkhen's gasp of surprise informed him that he was still somewhat bruised. “I did not know...”

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Sorry I'm going through this so slowly. Just distracted by other writing projects.

Chapter 13-2

Garkhen felt a bit more cognizant the next time he awoke. He wasn't in the lair anymore. He had been doing... something important. There was a war... undead... demons...

Slowly he pieced his memories back together. As he did so, his body slowly started to awaken, as well. It promptly informed him that it hurt. All of it. He groaned and shifted slightly. He realized he was laying on his side (which he usually did, his tail making laying on his back impractical). Had he fallen that way...? 

No, he was on something soft... some sort of bed? He tried to force his eyes open. They did not want to obey, but slowly, he was able to convince one to open a bit. He could make out that he was in a dark room, but not the one in which they had fought the huge Infernal. Likely they had set up a healer's area somewhere. Had Lt. Ailill seen to his wounds...? 

He heard voices, and then a door opening. Light came into the room, throwing color onto what he had only been seeing in black-and-white, though stone walls were hardly much different in gray. He stirred slightly, trying to sit up or at least turn his head enough to see who had come in, but his body simply wouldn't respond.

“He's awake!” An unfamiliar voice said. After a moment a white-robed body entered his vision, shortly followed by an elven face as the person bent down.

“Good, your eyes are open! Can you speak?”

Garkhen tried to greet her, but could only manage a soft mumble. She nodded, smiling. 

“Good, good. You must be very thirsty after three days.” She turned her head. “Mellaril, bring some water!”

He could hear footsteps as the elf turned back to him. “You've had everyone worried. The others who were with you told us about your part in banishing the chief demon. That was very brave.”

The thought slowly swam through Garkhen's mind that she was speaking to him almost as if he were a child. Of course, at present, he hardly felt like he could think on more complex terms... 

The footsteps returned. A clay mug appeared in his vision. 

“Do you think you can open your mouth?”

Slowly, Garkhen was able to open his mouth slightly wider. The elf smiled, then turned her head to her assistant. 

“Help me hold up his head.”

He felt strong hands gently pick up his head, and the elven healer slowly poured some water from the mug into his mouth. He swallowed, and she poured some more. It took two or three times for him to finish the water.

“Now, isn't that better? Let's try some broth next.”

The hands set him down, and he caught a brief glimpse of another white robe out of the corner of his eye. The healer with him talked of small things, the weather outside and the like, until the footsteps again returned. Then she gently fed him broth while the other healer held up his head. By the time all was done, he felt exhausted.

“There, now that you have a little something in you, you should start feeling better. But you look like you want to rest again.”

“Yes,” Garkhen managed to say, though his voice was hardly a whisper.

The elf beamed at him. “Good! Well, rest up. We'll let your friends know you're getting better.”

Footsteps, and the door closing, and then he was asleep again.

*******

So yeah, pretty boring post... but Garkhen's not dead, and he somewhere safe! That's good, right?

Chapter 13-1

Chapter 13: Soldier Without Battle

“War is a terrible thing. Its cost goes so far beyond the lives and limbs lost in battle. There are the cries of widows and orphans, the hunger of those whose fields were trampled, and the privation of those whose homes were destroyed.”

“Yet there is another cost, as well, oft-forgot in the more physical suffering caused by the sword. What becomes of the soldiers who lived? The thought of joyful reunions with family is true, but for many, there is no home remaining to go to, no world left to them outside the field of battle. Where do these go? What shall they do without war?”

Garkhen returned to consciousness slowly. It was dark and quiet. It must be time to get up for his morning studies. Solkh'Tolkharkha was probably already out sunning. Though usually he told his young charge to wake up before going outside. So maybe not... besides, he felt so heavy and tired...

He wasn't sure how long it was before he started sluggishly waking up again. Funny that Solkh'Tolkharkha still hadn't woken him up. Or... was there someone else who was supposed to wake him up? Something in the back of his head seemed to say so. But that was silly, wasn't it? There wasn't anyone else in the lair. 

The lair, right? Wasn't that where he was? Where else did he sleep? Maybe if he could get his eyes open he could see... but they were so heavy. Just like the rest of him. He couldn't quite seem to muster the energy to move anything. For some reason, it seemed like that should bother him, but it didn't. Maybe tomorrow...

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Sorry about the short, late post. I've been distracted and writing thousands of words on role-plays instead of here.

Chapter 12-7

Garkhen braced himself behind his shield, realizing just as the huge Infernal reached him that such a tactic was unlikely to work this time. The demon's fist struck his shield with a tremendous crash, and the half-dragon found himself lying near the door of the cathedral, the ruins of his shield hanging limply on his broken arm. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Garkhen murmured a spell-prayer of healing, waiting until his arm felt whole enough to use again, then shook what remained of his shield free.

Only then did he look up to see how the battle was progressing. It seemed his allies knew better than to allow themselves to be struck. Tirel seemed to be baiting the creature, slashing at it then darting back when it struck. Jesil was more wary, striking only when its back was turned, then quickly backing away. Khera and Mirthin stayed well away, firing spells and arrows at the beast. They were doing well... but the creature showed little sign of injury.

With a growl, the half-dragon launched himself back into the fray. With his free hand he seized his holy symbol, lifted it in front of his mouth, and breathed lightning through it. Holy lightning blasted into the Infernal, and for a moment, the spot struck looked... ghostly, somehow. Then the moment was gone, and it whirled and roared at Garkhen.

“Back for more, half-breed?” The demon was smiling, clearly having the time of its life. It swiped at Garkhen, who was wise enough this time was enough to back away. 

He grazed its hand with his mace, and again Garkhen noticed the odd, momentary transparency. Then he had to dodge again, though this time there was a screech of claw on metal as he did not quite dodge enough. A roar from behind the Infernal brought his attention again, however, as Tirel slashed at its ankles with his green-glowing claws. 

“It does not... seem injured,” Jesil gasped as he came up next to Garkhen. The Warder simply nodded in mute agreement, even as another bolt of lightning from Khera struck it. 

Wait... Under the sounds of battle, Garkhen noticed an odd pattering after the strike. It sounded almost like... small stones striking the ground. But he didn't have time to ponder what it might mean, as the demon whirled again to strike at the two armored figures behind it. 

A couple close calls later, and Garkhen was next to Tirel. “It's like it's made of stone!” The tiger growled. 

Garkhen looked over at him, surprised he could still speak in tiger-shape, but again had no time to consider it. He and his allies were growing weary, and the Infernal showed no signs of fatigue. Indeed, he got the impression it was toying with them, secure in its invulnerability.

Wait... made of stone... the odd moments of transparency...

It was not really here.

In a flash of insight, he realized the reason for its confidence, its seeming invulnerability. Somehow, it was not truly here. Perhaps it was animating a statue, or perhaps a construct of magic, but regardless, the demon was in no physical danger. However, there was a weakness to such an arrangement.

“Help me get close,” Garkhen whispered urgently to Tirel. Then they had to split apart as a huge claw descended between them.

Garkhen began chanting under his breath while the tiger circled behind the Infernal, jumping in to slash at it whenever it seemed it might turn its attention elsewhere, then jumping back before it struck. As soon as he finished his warding spell-prayer, Garkhen began to chant again, this time while charging forward. 

The demon whirled, striking out with a claw. Garkhen focused on his ward, and its attack stopped inches from his arm. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to finish the chant despite the waves of fatigue washing over him from maintaining his ward. He raised his symbol.

“Begone from this place, fiend!” He shouted. “Return to your pit!”

He thrust his symbol forward with one final word of spell-prayer, striking low on the demon's belly. Bahamut's power flowed through the young half-dragon, and the demon's outline began to fade.

“WHAT!” it shouted. It started to raise its arm to strike at Garkhen, but its movements slowed as it became increasingly transparent, revealing a rune-covered statue underneath. 

Finally it stopped, one arm held up to strike, as the last traces of demonic shape vanished from the statue. Wearily, Garkhen dropped his hand, and was surprised to find himself shrinking, his spell of strength and size exhausted with his energy. But that was not all... he was slowly falling to his knees. 

The world around him seemed to be getting darker... 

The last thing he saw before unconsciousness was that the statue above him was starting to fall to pieces.

**********

Garkhen! Quit knocking yourself out! It's not good for you! Especially while giant stone statues are crumbling above you.

Chapter 12-6

Garkhen braced himself for its first attack, raising his shield and gripping a seam in the stones of the plaza with the claws of his feet. The demon didn't even try to slash at him—it simply crashed into him with all its bulk. The noise of the impact was tremendous, with the clash of armor on armor and the screech of Garkhen's metal-sheathed claws on stone... but he moved only a few inches.

Silently, Garkhen reminded himself that blunt force could still injure him even through his armor. But he was too busy bringing his mace to bear on its arm to think too hard on that point. The demon pulled back, roaring in pain at the injury, and swiped at him with the other hand. Again there was the horrible screech of claw on adamantine, but this time Garkhen replied with a bolt of lightning to the Infernal's face.

It stumbled backward, shaking its head to try to clear it, and the Warder stepped forward, lashing out again with his mace. He struck a solid blow on its side, but not enough to injure it seriously. The demon raised its claw to attack... and then an arrow sprouted from its throat. Howling in pain, it clutched at it, only for another arrow to bury itself in its cheek, then one final one in its eye. It collapsed, its corpse disintegrating.

He looked to one side, and saw Jesil stab his large sword straight up through the white demon's chin into its skull. It fell to the ground, also dissolving into dust. As Garkhen looked about him, he could see the last remains of the others doing likewise. Tirel was already sprinting for the doors of the great cathedral, and Garkhen followed. He could hear the others falling in behind him, then catching up to him as they mounted the steps.

When they reached him, Tirel had his ear pressed to the door. “Someone's chanting,” he reported in a whisper. “Deep voice... sounds like he's big.”

“We should prepare,” Khera said, then began chanting a spell. Tirel nodded and did likewise, and Garkhen quickly followed suit.

After a few moments, they had protected and strengthened themselves as well as they knew how. Wards against fire and claw, enchantments of strength and holy power, and what more, the half-dragon knew not. Then Jesil stepped forward and pushed open the door.

It swung quietly into darkness, pierced only by a dull red glow from the far end of the great hall beyond. Garkhen could hear the deep voice Tirel spoke of suddenly stop.

“What have I... Oh, mortals.” The voice went suddenly from anger to amusement. “What are you doing here? Come to make a deal with me?”

Jesil stepped into the darkness. “We have come to stop you, demon.”

The deep voice laughed. As Garkhen peered into the darkness, he could make out a huge shape around the glow... huge as Kherkhlan, at least, though it stood on two legs.

“You? Five puny mortals? Well, come on, then. Let's get this over with.”

Garkhen and his companions advanced forward. The light on the other end of the hall went out, but they could hear solid, heavy footsteps approaching them. Then Khera murmured a spell, and the room lit up bright as day.

Their foe towered above them, a huge, rough figure of black-scaled muscle. His overall form seemed vaguely trollish, but no troll had grown to such huge size. He smiled, showing wickedly pointed teeth.

“Mashano grant me strength,” Jesil murmured.

A spell-prayer he had seen once sprang unbidden to Garkhen's mind. It was a difficult and draining one, one he had never attempted... but before he could think, he was chanting it. He felt strength flow into him, and he swelled up to twice his normal size, dwarfing his companions. The demon looked unimpressed.

Garkhen heard a growl next to him, and he turned his head slightly to see a huge tiger, nearly as tall at its shoulder as a man, where Tirel had been. He turned to face the huge Infernal in front of him.

It was smiling.

“This might be mildly entertaining,” he rumbled, and then charged.
*********
There's a reason all the biggest Infernals look like trolls. Maybe sometime I'll tell you. If you can't guess.