Title-- The Demon-God of Jubagh (part six)
Rating and Warnings-- PG-13; language and violence.
Species and Characters-- Rai Gerring, traitor and black magician (human male); Brandon "Exile" Styhan, exiled paladin-warrior (human male); Lhafa Softstep, native not-a-holy-man (baghan woman); four Proudflint warriors (baghan men).
Previously-- Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five.



Rai clamped a hand on Brandon's wrist immediately, a slight discharge of shadow energy enough to stop the ex-paladin before he could charge the spear-toting baghans. "Lhafa! Are you harmed?" he called, keeping a firm grip on his companion's arm. The smell of lightning began to fill the air.

"I am unharmed," she replied calmly, though the man who held her arms and pressed a spear to her throat growled. "These are Proudflint warriors. We are trespassing."

"Are these the men we were seeking?" Rai asked. Brandon tore his arm free with a guttural snarl, but did not yet advance.

Lhafa hesitated to answer, her captor drawing a thin line of blood with the blade. She swallowed. "No. We seek the Rockhide tribe."

Carefully, the black magician stepped entirely in front of his companion, extending empty hands towards the triangle of spearmen facing him. "Return her to us, warriors. We wish you no harm."

The man holding Lhafa responded with a scoff. "She trespasses, she dies. Women do not leave their territories." He paused, almost thoughtfully. "If you two leave now, we will spare you."

"Rai." The name was grated out from behind. "Move."

The magician shrugged, stepping two paces to the side. "I tried to do this peacefully, Proudflints. You brought this on yourselves." He continued moving to the edge of the path, ducking into the shadows beneath the trees. Above the canopy, the sun was setting. Below that jungle roof, night had already fallen. Rai disappeared into the darkness.

The baghan warriors didn't move to stop him; they were fixated, instead, on Brandon, whose eyes shone golden and whose dark skin offered a sharp contrast to the white markings on his face that gleamed with light. The native men were easily a foot taller than the ex-paladin, though not quite as broad, but they cowered at the visually dazzling display of power.

"He is a holy man." Lhafa's calm voice broke the awed silence. "You should have done as the other asked."

The warrior holding her stared, then tossed his spear aside and shoved her forward. She stumbled but didn't fall, a lash of her tail keeping her balance as a hand lifted to touch the blood at her throat.

"Come here, Softstep," Brandon growled, stock-still. Lhafa didn't hesitate, striding past the three other warriors and then standing where Rai had been, to the right of the ex-paladin. He stretched out a hand to her, palm flat, and a brief glimmer of pale light circled her neck. The shallow cut healed.

"Lhafa," Rai's voice whispered from the shadows. "Follow my voice. Over here, now, quickly." Again, she moved without questioning, her eyes locked on the four Proudflint warriors. Three of them still clutched their spears, though their hands shook. The shadows on the side of the path reached out to pull her closer, safer, hiding her pale frame.

Brandon took one step forward, beginning a measured and slow stride towards the four baghans. He lifted a hand in the same gesture that he had used to heal, and the spears burst into white-hot flame.

Lhafa blinked, enshrouded in darkness, and looked blindly in the direction that she heard Rai breathing. "Why this, now?" she murmured.

"They drew blood," the unseen magician responded, "and he's... angry. They never apologized or surrendered."

"Is he not the holy man who should ask for these things?"

"He... was, yes." Rai sounded pensive. "But he isn't anymore."

The baghans were not stupid enough to try to hold onto their weapons after magical fire had lit the wooden shafts; they threw them down and backed up, muttering amongst themselves in a dialect. Brandon continued to walk forward, another precise gesture setting the warriors' ragged clothing alight. The men screamed - one hit the ground and rolled, while the other three desperately shed their garments as the scent of burning skin overrode the smell of lightning and heat.

The ex-paladin paused, briefly, as shadows crept onto the path and wrapped around his ankles. "Either kill them swiftly," Rai's voice hissed in his ear, "or let them go, now." Brandon turned, expression black, toward the side of the path where the magician had vanished, and the shadows crawled frantically away from the radiance he cast there. Lhafa lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the light, but Rai was not with her.

"Spare us, holy one," one of the men pleaded, throwing himself onto his stomach and stretching out his arms towards Brandon's feet. Two others swiftly knelt and bowed their heads, but the one who had not shed his clothes lay still, ash-dusted eyes staring blindly upwards. Holy fire burns deeply and quickly.

Slowly and deliberately, Brandon raised his hand, a halo of light collecting in his palm. Without warning, shadows dropped from the trees and surged from the dirt like living things, eating away at the luminance until the darkness touched and burned against his skin. The ex-paladin snarled and stepped back, sliding into a fighting stance for the first time as Rai emerged from the woods behind the baghan men.

"Go back to your kin," the magician said coldly. "Take this man's body and honor it however you wish. Do not bother us again, or you will not live to have a third chance." The shadows wrapped around him like a second cloak, slithering across the path to coil tightly around Brandon's legs. "Go. Now."

Two of the baghans hefted the corpse between them and fled, and the prostrate warrior crawled to his feet. "Thank you, holy ones!" he yelped, hastily bowing before dashing after his fellows.

Silence fell for a brief moment, then holy light burned away every shadow on the path and ripped Rai's shroud of darkness from him.