Three other similar beasts had attacked the two travelers as they crossed the desert. No matter how quickly Tristan ran across the cooling sands, the things somehow always managed to catch him. So, four very large, very unsightly beings now lay gutted across the desert's floor as he and Zeroun try to outrun a fifth.
Tristan, by this time, is working on sheer adrenhaline. There is nothing left for him. He has very little energy, and he knows that if he were to stop running, he would likely collapse and not rise again. Understanding this, he forces his legs to go faster, but even addrenhaline has its limits, and his is running out.
Pushing himself to go faster, he concentrates on breathing and looking out for obstacles. After all, all the speed in the world will not stop him from running into a cactus or a rock. The sands shift beneath his feet, and he runs harder.
The warm, humid breath of the monster coats his back with a good deal of moisture, and he practically wants to scream as he trips again. Instead, he settles for a slightly miffed "Ungh," as he lands, splaying his limbs to avoid running himself through with his unsheathed sword.
Zeroun pipes with encouragement as he remains safe in Tristan's pack. Tristan rolls to his feet, grabs his sword, vaults to his feet, and swings it to the ready. "Begone! Hah!" he shouts, brandishing his blade.
Surprisingly, the beast backs away diffidently before turning tail and running back across the dunes. Tristan senses Zeroun's fear and he convinces himself that, even though he knows he doesn't want to turn, he will anyways. And so, he turns.
The monstrosity behind him is, somehow, a bit more believable than the things that had been stalking them earlier. A giant scorpion, one taller than Tristan is, looms before him. Its hard exoskeleton glistens in the moonlight, and it releases an ear-splitting screech.
Tristan begins to curse creatively. If he is going to die, he may as well die saying something that would have been considered memorable had anyone been there to hear him. Naturally, no one is there to hear him, so his words are wasted save for serving the purpose of soothing his thundering heart. Why him?
Then, the scorpion's tail jets down to where he is sitting. Tristan leaps out of the way, Zeroun screaming in protest. "Relax, Zeroun," Tristan sighs. He pulls the pack from his shoulders and sets it down on the sand. "You stay right here. If you move, I'll be sad," he tells the little hatchling.
Zeroun blinks his dark eyes at Tristan before chirping encouragingly.
Tristan strides to stand in front of the scorpion, who is wrestling to remove his tail from the sand. He isn't doing too well. Just as Tristan thinks that he is safe, however, the thing gets free, flinging sand everywhere.
Tristan brings his arms up to shield his face from the sand. The scorpion screeches again and snaps its claws menacingly. One claw reaches out to snap at him, and he raises his sword against it. The armor of the scorpion, however, is thicker than he had anticipated. His sword does not make a single mark on the scorpion's claw, but rather, merely glances away.
The scorpion screams again and begins pushing Tristan backwards. Tristan gives his ground grudgingly, and can't help but notice that his sword has lost all blood from its gleaming blade except for certain areas. The remaining blood, he notices, is being knocked into place by the scorpion's advances. They begin to form shapes, spell words, and glow bright white.
The glow from his sword rivals that of the flooding moonlight, and their shadows fall haphazardly across the sands of the desert. Tristan feels a pulsing power, a sensation of strength, running the gamut through his soul, his very essence.
This new power is heady, and Tristan struggles to keep a firm hold of himself as the scorpion attacks again. He meets the blow with his sword, and it slices cleanly through the claw, lobbing it off so it falls to the sand with a muted thud. The scorpion backs up in pain, hissing all the while.
It decides not to give up quite so easilly, however. It attacks from two directions, angling both its remaining claw and its tail at its assailant. Tristan leaps out of the way of each. He dashes around behind the scorpion, trying to get in its blind spot.
The thing isn't nearly so stupid. It whips around, stabbing at Tristan with its tail. It hisses again, but Tristan holds his ground, keeping his sword at the ready. He glares at the thing, and that's when the blood begins to peel itself off his body.
The drying, red, sticky goop from gutting three monstrous beings begins to pull itself off his clothing, off his skin, and out of his hair. It forges itself into his sword, illuminating it further. The glow is blinding, and Tristan finds he can not look at it too long, lest his eyes disintigrate.
Suddenly, the thing attacks him again, using its only remaining claw to try to snip him in half. Tristan swings his sword, more on impulse than anything. The light suddenly stops pouring forth from it, and an extension of the blade appears, cleaving the scorpion easilly in half.
Tristan blinks at the blade and then suddenly feels extremely tired. He sinks to his knees and plants the sword into the ground. The blood runes slowly drip off the gleaming sword, and then the sand begins to become stained rusty red with the remaining blood that had been absorbed.
Tristan finds himself panting heavilly. Zeroun peeps as he hops to Tristan's side, dragging the pack of foodstuffs with him. Tristan can not catch his breath, however. He collapses backwards onto the sand, staring up at the sky.
What sort of power has been bestowed upon his father's blade? What sort of thrilling source of death is it that resides within the sword? What monstrosity is it that dwells there, waiting, until suddenly it is reawoken to save a life at the cost of another?
Zeroun chirps again and hop-flutters onto Tristan's chest. He is still bloodied and a bit worse for wear after being eaten once and rolled on twice. Tristan chuckles and wipes the gore from his bondmate. Zeroun seems to be berating him for his actions, but nonetheless mildly relieved that Tristan is in good health.
Tristan smiles and cradles Zeroun close to his chest. The little dragon hugs Tristan's shirt as he rises, dragging his sword from the sand. He sheathes it, dons his pack, and continues at a brisk, though far more contemplative, walk across the dunes.
The rest of the night passes, for the most part, quietly.
Sunrise comes with a flurry of scavangers, setting down upon the quickly festering carcasses of the beasts Tristan had slain the previous night. The stench of ripe flesh wafts far, even on the still, windless air of the desert. Tristan continues to walk in the early heat, keeping Zeroun out of the sun at all costs. He is almost at the base of the other cliff.
The path picks up again without notice. Tristan blinks at this, but he pays it little heed. His only concern is to get out of the sun before it gets too hot. He stumbles along the pathway for an indeterminable amount of time. He doesn't know when he marks the change, but suddenly he is no longer on the desert. He is in a sea of waving grasses.
"This place is messed up," Tristan admits. He stumbles again, and finds he has not the energy to get up as he falls to the ground. He rolls to his back and closes his eyes before falling asleep in the middle of a field in the middle of gods-know-where.
"You're being melodramatic and egotistical again. Stop."
Tristan peels his eyes open to see a figure silhouetted in the setting sun. He realizes a bit belatedly that he is soaking wet. "Glar?" he asks.
The figure laughs and bends down, extending a hand to Tristan. "Hardly! I'm not the fabled all-power!
Tristan blinks as he takes the hand extended to him and pulls himself to his feet. Zeroun peeps awake and clings to Tristan's shirt as the ground shifts beneath him. Tristan dusts himself off. He realizes, retrospectively, that he is a total wreck.
"What brings you to our lands here above the desert, good stranger?" the figure, who Tristan now realizes is a young woman, asks.
"Above the desert?" Tristan asks, blinking.
"Aye. Above. Why do you ask?"
"I... I was on the desert! How did I get up here?"
The woman shrugs. "Glar's power rests in many of us. Perhaps he favors you?"
Tristan blinks. "Isn't his name Glar'oth?"
The woman fixes him with a quizzical stare. "How long did you say you were out in the sun? That is his evil cousin, bent on ruling the world! The two are in constant competition, warring here and there. There can be no peace so long as the all-power is threatened."
Tristan blinks. This is all too weird for his tastes. "Well, then I suppose I'll be going. Thank you for waking me up."
"Wait!"
"What?"
"Don't you want to know what prompted me to ask you that?"
"Not especially. Somehow I get the vaguer of inklings that I won't like the answer."
Tristan turns as the woman sighs. "Too true, stranger," she admits.
Tristan and Zeroun set off across the field. The little dragon pipes and chitters as they walk, probably remarking about the clarity of the stars. After all, not a cloud is in the sky, and his face is staring up at the sky. The two wander across the plains, and then head into a forest.
Zeroun is a bit dismayed at the sudden lack of glittering objects in the sky as they wander beneath the canopy, but all is well enough, he decides, for he is with Tristan. They walk through the woods with care, stopping only for a few moments so that they may partake of some sustanance. Then, in the depths of the night, they wander on.
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