betrayer (another teaser)

Chapter two
Syn
         The forest was large, even by this widely untamed land’s standards.  It might take a band of travelers a full year to traverse it, if they even made it out alive.  It was almost four hundred miles across heading west to east, the greenery becoming all but impassable in some spots, quicksand and even tar pits dotted the ground and ferocious animals lurked behind every bend, in every shadow, and yet this foursome navigated it as if it were their home.  And indeed it was.
         In a small clearing in the south end of the forest was where they had decided to make camp; it was warm, it had a river and plenty of fish, it had many animals and it had shade.  Birds and insects filled the air with their songs; the gently running river spoke solemnly of beauty and the smell of the forest was all around them.
A great green tent dominated this clearing and a small fire lifted its smokeless air into the trees.  The powerful aroma of rabbit wafts from the fire and the flap of the tent opens, revealing a very strange creature.  Its grey-black skin is the most noticeable feature.  This is Zaphh, the death slaad who was banished from the plane of limbo by Kusaliin herself, a deity of no particular race other than chaos.  He is wearing a huge black robe, ornate and flowing and he carries in his left hand a huge quarterstaff.  The staff is almost as tall as he, and he stands just over seven feet, it is magnificently engraved with depictions of unicorns, fey and nature in general.  This is Stormscape, the staff of nature, and it granted the wielder complete control over the natural world.  Zaphh could summon an elemental at will, or dispatch a massive tempest to destroy a ship.  It was made of enchanted oak and topped by the largest diamond any would ever likely see.  This was an addition solely of Zaphh and it granted him control over light, allowing him to darken a corridor, or summon a bolt of light so intense it destroyed even the most powerful vampires.
Zaphh himself resembled a two-legged frog.  His skin hung loosely from his chin, great claws extended from each finger and his eyes radiated a remarkable yellow aura.  His head displayed an utter absence of hair and was instead marked by his ridge of horns.
He yawns, displaying a maw of teeth, then bays laughter.  It is obvious that he is a jolly fellow and he approaches his rabbit and turns the spit.  He sits on a log placed around the fire and stares distractedly into the fire, a happy grin on his inhuman mouth.
A quiet shick of metal being removed from a sheath is the only warning that something is amiss.  If Zaphh notices it, he gives no outward indication.  Suddenly, with a completely uncharacteristic howl for his normally stealthy race, a dark elf jumps from behind then nearest tree where he was cleverly concealed.  Perhaps that was what Zaphh was laughing about, for he was obviously prepared, two wicked looking swords materializing in his hands with a popping sound.  Both blades lightly curved and were completely wreathed in flame, but with a word, they extinguished their flames and generated a purple aura.
The drow held two equal length daggers that more constituted short swords than daggers, for either blade was about two feet long.  The left had a blade as black as darkness, but the shadows seemed to move and shift about within the blade, creating the appearance that it was alive.  The other’s pommel was that of a skull and that skull was indeed alive, it was the skull of a demigod, a small one, but still unbearably powerful.  The drow rushed ahead, hoping for a quick kill.
The left dagger flashed ahead, to be intercepted by Zaphh’s right, but the drow continued, he kicked ahead with his left foot and Zaphh brought his right elbow down, slamming into his foot and numbing it with his supernatural strength.  The drow fended off a quick slash and went right back, slashing repeatedly with his dagger, in his right hand while Zaphh pressed his advantage with his other blade.  Slowly he worked the drow’s blades out wide and then he brought his body forward, trying to slam it into his opponent and use his superior strength rather than just his formidable dexterity and agility.  The elf had him in that category.  His chest barrelled in at the drow and the drow quickly ceased his attack.  With reflexes possible only from this drow, and no other, he fell backwards, lifting his knee to pitch the slaad forward over the log bench.  He came into a graceful roll after the unexpected counter.  He spun, just in time to see the drow throw a dagger at him, it was a weak throw and he easily flicked it aside with his blade, but then the drow was on him again, thrusting and cutting.  His other dagger suddenly reappeared in his hand and the advantage switched to the drow.  He thrust ahead then spun a complete circle, his feet, as well as his blades striking at the slaad at every conceivable angle.  A foot caught Zaphh in the chest and he staggered back, barely parrying another slash that would have torn his throat out.  The slaad came forward, his anger tightening his reflexes like a wire.  He moved forward, leading with a foolishly strong strike that wouldn’t have even hit the drow, but the feint didn’t have any effect on the elf, he didn’t even parry, just allowing the blade to swish harmlessly beneath his chin.  Then he came forward with a dagger aimed for the slaad’s heart.  Zaphh twisted aside, reversing his feint to parry the expected second strike that would have rendered his arm useless.  The slaad dismissed his sword and grabbed his opponent’s errant stab, wrist-first.  He twisted the drow’s arm ruthlessly and then spun, twisting the elf’s arm further and tossing him across the clearing.  He flew for perhaps ten feet and then fell unceremoniously chest first, where he rolled further, losing his grip on both his daggers and slamming his already injured shoulder on a jutting rock.  He reached inside a ring he wore and cast a healing spell, the light-headedness was unfortunate, but at least he would be able to use both his arms.  He jumped to his feet and dove to the side to avoid a conjured hammer that dissipated into nothingness as it passed by him.  The drow summoned his daggers and rushed the caster before he could get off any more spells.  A constant hum of metal rang out as the ferocious combatants parried and countered a constant and lethal barrage of metal.  Suddenly, the drow hopped back, respect mounting for this creature.  He came ahead cautiously, then, suddenly, a whir of magic interrupted the slaad’s thoughts.  Bright light exploded from the dark elf’s eyes and they suddenly issued forth a cloud of purple smoke.  The light ceased and the drow came on in full.  A slow billow of smoke and magical vapours rose from his fully violet eyes, the smoke carried up to above his head, where it disappeared into the air, fury was obvious on his face, but Zaphh, still stunned by the flash of light, could only whirl his recently reconjured blades in expert defensive circles to keep the elf’s blades at bay.  He was relieved by the sounds of metal on his blades, but he was worried that his opponent was not tiring.  His senses returned and he managed to work his blades into a favourable position, he thudded his left sword against the drow’s right once, twice then three times and he kicked ahead where his foot caught him in the chest.  The drow staggered and Zaphh followed, both his blades lashing out.  The tips of his blades hit the elf on either side of his face, drawing dark lines of blood.  Before they could deal a lethal strike, however, the elf had growled and slashed alternately against the inside of his blades, knocking them aside.  The drow had both his swords inside the slaad’s defences and had him off balance.  He smiled and the fires disappeared from his eyes, revealing crimson irises, “you almost had me that time.  Remember, a feint does not have to be with your blades.”  Zaphh only stared.
The elf laughed, “ Never will I be bested by a druid my friend, despite your attempts at magic.”
Now the slaad laughed, “ever have you been my better in combat, Kryshen Tel’darr, but if I were to leave you on an island, with no food or supplies, how long would you survive?  Or better yet, how well would you survive on limbo, how long could you evade my people.  Or, more so, how long could you evade the queen herself”
“I’d like to meet this queen of yours, is she a frog, like you?  No, she sounds far too powerful.”
“You’d best be careful, I’ll be using more of my magic next time we spar, put some pain into that weak frame you call a body.”
Kryshen laughed, and Zaphh joined in his mirth.  The moment of friendship was broken by a roar and the emergence of a creature that Kryshen respected almost as much as the slaad before him.
Velix was no ordinary tiger; he looked awfully out of place with his white coat and black stripes.  The ice tiger was Zaphh’s familiar, his animal companion.  He was far stronger than the norm for his already powerful race, and very intelligent, the slaad often claimed that he was as intelligent as he, though the druid was the only one who could talk to him.
“Yes, yes, we know you are up, thank you.”  Said Kryshen
“You could have let the wizard sleep a little longer though.”  Scolded Zaphh.
“I don’t think so, I was awake anyway.”  Said a voice from the furthest tent.  The threesome turned to see the most powerful member of their troupe emerge from his tent. 
He was tall and attractive, his face angular and serious.  His hair was stark white and descended well past his shoulders.  And yet, by far his most astounding feature was his eyes, the irises were as white and rimmed by streaks of violet and seemed far older and more experienced than his actual twenty-two years.  Despite his appearances he was not human, he had been far blessed beyond that lowly title.  Syn was Aleelin, one of five in the multi-verse.  Aleeli were the gods of magic in mortal form.  Many claimed that they were the true descendents of Geishic, the god of magic himself.  In any case, Syn was still not where the pantheon thought he belonged.  He had been chosen for the Great War.  A war that most mortals were not even aware was occurring.  It was a subtle war with the Legions of the Abyss and Baator fighting against the Armies of Celestia for ownership of the Prime Material Plane.  The plane where mortals resided.  The war was occurring over many planes, but the angels and the demons were at a horrific standstill, Syn was to be the one who would break this standstill; but a certain Alexia Velcor stole Syn and hid him away, not as an act of treason, but an act made out of love. Alexia had fallen for Syn early in their trip and had decided not to let him go to war and end the troubles.  This was because of what fighting that war would entail.  The Great Sacrifice.  The Aleelin would destroy himself in order to annihilate the laws of magic, unmaking immortality and killing the Seven of Hell, the demon lords.  They would be unmade and the demon legions immolated completely, never to rise again.  But he would have to kill himself.  So they had fled Celestia with an amulet that warded away any divinations, despite the chase of several angels and even a certain Demigod named Borrin, they managed to escape with their lives.  So here they were, with no clue as to what they would do with themselves for the next several centuries.  They hoped they would be given a choice.
Syn stretched and let out a long yawn.  He brushed sleep out of his hair and smoothed out his robe, which was a glistening white, “well, come now, where is my breakfast.”  He spoke with a somewhat elven accent and his remark was directed towards Zaphh.
“Make your own wizard, this rabbit is mine.” Zaphh said, walking back out to the fire and sitting on a log.  Velix was close behind and nipped the Slaad’s arm when he took a huge bite out of the rabbit and was showing no signs of sharing, “fine you stupid cat, I’ll give you some.” Velix roared in gratitude.  Zaphh waved his arms and muttered a simple invocation and a deer sprung to life ten feet away and sprinted off into the forest, “go, fetch.”  He patted the tiger’s rump as it rushed past, roaring in protest. 
Syn smiled at the exchange and began casting his own spell.  He completed it and a great table appeared.  It was filled with exotic fruits and meats; a full pig was laid in the centre on a silver platter.  Wine glasses were set out around the table and filled with a wonderful smelling eloquent red wine. Other assorted foods dotted the table as well.  Syn pulled up a chair that had appeared along with it.  “Kryshen, would you share my table?” he said, looking straight at the slaad, who was now gape-mouthed at the side of his fire, he did indeed seem a bit outdone.  Then he burst out laughing, “bah, ye beat me, silly wizard.”  Ten minutes through their meal Velix returned with a bloodied and thoroughly killed buck and settled to his own meal, his biting and chomping eliminating much hunger at the camp. 
Their morning proceeded as normal: Syn casting a few spells to clear up camp and everyone sitting or walking around, moving, but not really doing anything.  Their regiment was broken by the fall of equine hooves.  A rider of no more than twelve years arrived in camp with a look of abject horror on his young face.  He dismounted and rushed up to the foursome and tripped over a rock, all the while screaming for help.  He showed no fear at the appearance of a dark elf, or that of a slaad, so it was obvious he was from the nearby town of Whorrlby.  The company was known by the town as rangers and had helped fend of many assaults of goblins and their ilk and the people had come to a grudging respect for them.  Whatever had unnerved the boy obviously eliminated any more racial fear. He was caught by Kryshen and set back on his feet, Kryshen begged for him to explain himself.
His horse was lathered in sweat Zaphh noted, probably ridden hard for a day straight perhaps.  The forest was treacherous ground for a horse, and they were nearly fifty miles from the nearest town.  He almost approached the horse to speak with it but the child’s words held him fast.
“A demon at the Fox Tail.  Great in power and size he… he killed everyone who tried to come near him then he said something and a bunch more demons popped up.  They killed everyone. I . . . I’m the only one left.  The big one, he killed my father, cut… he cut him right in half.”  He finished quickly and fell to his knees, sliding out of Kryshen’s suddenly weak grasp.  Kryshen fell back a step and almost fell over himself.  Around the camp one singular worry pervaded every thought: Alexia.