Resting place of Faalken Strongsword, Knight of Karas, and one of the greatest heroes ever to set foot in this world. May the memory of his sacrifice live on as long as the world draws breath, a world he died to save.

Now, he was certain that Faalken would be eternally safe, and would rest in peace.

Sighing, feeling a whirlwind of emotions racing through him, Tarrin and the restored Jegojah stared on at that crypt in complete silence, stared on in quiet reverence, honoring the man for which it had been created.

Honoring a hero.

To: Title EoF

Chapter 18

It was late. The sun had gone down long before, and was replaced by the dim, infusing light of the Skybands and the moons. Most of the ancient city was bathed in that soft, gentle light, except for one small area, in a clearing about a longspan from the arena, where a large campfire cast harsh, flickering red and yellow light against the buildings surrounding that little square. There were no tents or other structures around the fire to show a campsite, only two rather unusual beings sitting on opposite sides of the fire, sitting on fallen building stones. One of them was an unnaturally tall Were-cat, the other an obviously undead being garbed in shimmering silvered armor. Not hours before, the two of them had been the most bitter of enemies. But time and events had changed that, not a mean feat given the Were-cat's mighty temper and long memory, changed their relationship into something not really friendship, but something that extended a certain amount of trust in both directions. Both knew that the other was no longer any threat, and that allowed them to coexist peacefully.

They hadn't spoken since Tarrin left Jegojah at Faalken's tomb. In reality, he didn't really know what to say. The Doomwalker-if that was still what it was-had been his most hated enemy when he woke up. And now… now he was not. The vicious battle between them didn't inspire any hatred in Tarrin, nor did any of its past actions, for some reason. Yes, Jegojah had killed Faalken, had tried to murder his sister, and had been continually harassing him for years, but that was only because it had no other choice. The ki'zadun had captured Jegojah's soul, and that meant that he had to obey them. The alternative was utter annihilation, or, in the most recent case, being given to a Demon. From what he'd learned of Demons from Shiika and others, utter annihilation would probably be the more attractive alternative. He could look at Jegojah and remember everything that had happened between them, but it was almost like it had been someone else doing it. Tarrin had suffered enough rages to know how that felt, to feel like there was another person inside him controlling his actions, and he transplanted that sense to the undead warrior. In his eyes, Jegojah was without blame, and it was as if the slate had been wiped clean.

But he was still a stranger, and Tarrin found that he feared Jegojah purely on those feral lines. But that was a fear that he had learned to at least partially subdue, for limited amounts of time, so he found that he could tolerate his presence. So long as he stayed where Tarrin could see him and kept his distance.

Tarrin wasn't sure why the undead warrior was still here. He was free now, free to do whatever he wanted, and from the looks of it, he certainly had something in mind. He had retrieved that nasty magical sword that had put cuts on Tarrin that still hadn't healed. But instead of saying his farewells and leaving, he remained. Sitting on the other side of the campfire, content with the silence. He had no reason to stay, so why was he still here?

"It grows late," Jegojah finally said, looking up at the sky. "This land, it is not safe to wander after dark, yes. Where is the Faerie?"

"She'll be along," he replied. "Why are you still here?"

"Jegojah has plans, but nothing that can't wait a day or two, no," he replied. He drew that wicked sword of his and looked at the blade, the glowing white eyes caressing its length. "Jegojah will see ye safely out of the ruins, yes, and well on the way. Then Jegojah will leave ye, and attend to matters. Yes."

"What matters?"

He looked up at Tarrin, a rather vicious smile on his leathery face. "Revenge," he said calmly. "For five hundred years, Jegojah has suffered under the heel of the ki'zadun. When Death, she came for us, Jegojah pleaded for the chance to strike back, avenge Jegojah against the tormenters. Death denied Jegojah, but Pygas did not." Pygas. That was a name Tarrin didn't often hear. Pygas was a minor godling, a demigod, whose sphere was revenge. "Pygas granted Jegojah a year and a day, yes, a year and a day to hunt down and destroy Kravon. Kravon, and his band of Wizards that helped enslave Jegojah. Suffer, they will, for forcing Jegojah to do their evil. Yes."

That answered a few questions. Tarrin had been wondering how Jegojah had remained behind when Faalken had moved on. If Jegojah had been granted time to get back at the ki'zadun, then it made sense things the way things happened as they did. It explained why his armor had changed. He was no longer a Doomwalker, but he was still an undead force. Only free-willed, and with vengeance on his mind. Tarrin very nearly pitied Kravon. If Jegojah still had his Doomwalker powers, there was nowhere that the Wizard could hide from him, and no way to keep him at bay. Once Jegojah caught up to him, he'd use that evil weapon of his to bleed the Wizard dry, and he'd probably take his own sweet time about it. Revenge was best when it was slow revenge, to make the victim fully understand and appreciate why he was dying.

"Just stab him a few times for me," Tarrin said grimly. "Kravon owes me quite alot of blood."

"Jegojah will, Were-cat, yes. Jegojah will bleed the cursed Wizard just for ye. Yes." The undead warrior looked at him. "Jegojah knows that ye do not blame Jegojah, but Jegojah still offers apologies. Much hardship, Jegojah has caused ye. It is not something Jegojah wanted himself."

"I know," he replied quietly. "You weren't to blame."

"The foul Soultrap," he spat. "It corrupts the soul. Virtue, Jegojah once had, yes. Virtue and honor, but the damned Soultrap blackened Jegojah's soul, made him enjoy doing harm and spreading misery. This quest for revenge, it is as much a chance to right wrongs, yes, as it is a chance to bleed Kravon. Jegojah will avenge lost honor." He sheathed that ugly sword of his and looked at Tarrin unwaveringly. "Lucky, you were, to pull Faalken from the Soultrap before his honor was lost, yes. The Soultrap is ten times worse than any Succubus' seductive smile."

Tarrin snorted, then chuckled. "I know a Succubus. Believe me, that's a pretty good example. And it makes me understand exactly how you felt." Tarrin still remembered Shiika's strange power to enslave the will. If the Soultrap was anything like that, then he fully understood and appreciated the horror that Jegojah must have endured, the horror of having something invade his very soul and twist it to its own ends.

"Ye know a Succubus?" Jegojah asked curiously.

"Well, from what I've seen, she's not an ordinary Succubus. Not even an ordinary Demon. She's no sweet maiden, but she's nothing like the Demon's I've heard about in stories. Maybe it's a front, but maybe it's not. Maybe even Demons can have goodness in them."

"A nice Demon?" Jegojah said, then he cackled. "That would cause the universe to explode, yes."

"Maybe," Tarrin acceded with a wry smile. "She's not gentle or kind or anything like that, but she's definitely lacking that fundamental evil that I've heard is in Demonkind."

"How do ye know?"

"I'm not sure," he replied. "But I do."

"Tell Jegojah of this Demon," he asked.

Nodding, Tarrin started more or less at the beginning, and recanted a good deal of his struggle against Shiika. He left out some of the more intimate or embarassing parts, but he related a pretty much well factual accounting of the events of Dala Yar Arak. He also explained what happened when Shiika kissed him. "It did this to me," he said, motioning at himself. "It seems that a Succubus' kiss drains the life force out of people, and in a way, it ages. She couldn't kill me with her draining kiss, but it made me age. It took a while for my body to catch up, though," he remembered.