This is the Epilogue to accompany the Heroes III map, Goldheart, by Timothy Duncan.  Please do not read until AFTER you have beaten the map.  Send Questions or Comments to tduncan@haverford.edu.  Thanks!













EPILOGUE - The Demon Within

	"I'm sorry," Roger said, holding up to King Sorlan the tattered piece of Anna's clothing.  "But there was nothing I could.. She was already dead.  I..."  At a loss of words that made sense, the Lord of Valkynborg fell silent.
	The Arythian King took the scrap of cloth and stared at it almost fearfully, as if it was a viper.  It was Anna's favorite night-gown, given to her by her mother several years earlier before the elder woman had died of consumption.  "I picked it out.  Deep green like the color of Anna's eyes," Sorlan muttered, rubbing the gossamer fabric between his shaking fingers. "So smooth..."  The king closed his tired eyes and let his fingers caress the flawless piece of cloth, as if he could divine his daughter's last words from it.
	Suddenly, Sorlan's eyes opened, and they turned to Roger.  The Lord of Valkynborg shied away from his liquid blue orbs, suddenly feeling ashamed of the fact that for the second time he had brought the king news of the death of a daughter.  As if it some how made it Roger's fault.  But the King did not lash out in anger or remorse.  He simply stared at his vassal with reflection, thinking of something meaningful to say.  Finally, Sorlan spoke, his voice faltering from his tears and sorrow.  "How?" was all he said at first, choking on the word as if it was a piece of rotten fruit.  "How has this happened?"
	"It was my fault," Roger sighed.  "I was not fast enough, could not stop it from happening.  Valan was too quick, too determined to free the spirit Akamaresh."
	"And what about the fiend Valan?  What of him?  Is there no body you can bring me?" Sorlan said coldly, clutching now to his daughter's tattered clothing with white-knuckled fists.  Clearly, he sought some object on which to focus his distress, something that he could point at and say, "Yes, that is the thing that has hurt me.  But now I shall hurt it back."  Roger felt a pang of regret that he could not at least offer his king this much.  It hurt him so to see Sorlan so upset, and he wished dearly that he had something with which to assuage his friend's sorrow.
	Emptyhanded, Roger turned to excuses.  "I'm sorry," he said again, pleading with his king to understand.  "It was... horrible.  I can't describe...  he is dead," Roger finally says.  "Dead.  That is all that matters."  The lord of Valkynborg turned away, the vision of Valan's last moment still haunting him.
	"How?  Tell me.  I would know this," the King urged. 
	Roger shook his head, unwilling - unable - to conjure forth the words necessary to describe it.  The memories clouded his every thought, and for the last two days since the incident he had been unable to sleep.  The words Valan had spoken, the last blood-filled curses.  It was too much, the anguish was to great.  "My king, please," Roger implored, "Do not force me--"
	"Tell me, dammit. As your king I will have this information!" Sorlan nearly screamed, slamming down his fist in rage.
	Roger bowed his head.  Arguing was pointless.  The King would have his story, no matter what he had to do to get it.  Heaving a sigh, Roger began to speak.  "The battle went smoothly," he said.  "Akamaresh gave Valan the use of his minions of fire, for some reason, but my own army was too great.  Before three hours had passed, we stormed the gates of that unholy citadel.  But to our dismay, the battle was just a ruse, a device meant to give Valan time to begin the ritual with which he hoped to free the evil spirit Akamaresh from his eternal prison..."

	Roger of Valkynborg scrambled across the jagged rocks that led down to the Aurespi Springs, Koltair stumbling along awkwardly behind him.  As soon as they had stormed the castle of fire, Roger realized the ruse.  Valan had outsmarted him again.  Taking advantage of the confusion of battle, the lord of Erlos had escaped the compound and fled west towards the Aurespi Springs, wherein the essence of Akamaresh laid in waiting.  Struggling to no avail against the unnatural strength of her captive, Annabel, daughter of Sorlan, cried in pain and confusion as she was dragged towards the place of sacrifice.  Roger ran as fast as he safely could over the uneven ground of the cavern, but could not seem to lessen the distance between himself and his target. Koltair, carrying his heavier sword and shield, lumbered along behind, more focused on the object of his wrath than keeping his balance.
	Finally, the cavern opened up, and Roger suddenly came to a halt.  Koltair nearly crashed into him.  Roger had never seen a place so beautiful.  The underground lake, the Aurespi Springs, was a study in tranquility.  Crystal clear blue water filled the large cavernous room and trickled down in the form of quaint waterfalls from small streams near the ceiling.  The omnipresent light that came from no identifiable source was reflected in bizzare patterns from the surface of the lake, throwing sparkling and morphing shapes upon the walls and ceiling. The air smelled sweet and crisp, like a morning mist, and the soothing sound of water lapping up against a rocky shore soothed the very bones of the two onlookers, Roger and Koltair.  Indeed, for several seconds, they completely forgot the frantic screams of the king's daughter.
	The sound of monotonic chanting brought them back to the present.  Valan was weaving his spell!  A renewed sense of desperation filled the two heroes as they ran clumsily down the narrow path cut into the rock around the perimeter of the chamber that housed the underground lake.  Roger and Koltair dodged jagged stalagmites and rock pillars until they finally reached the bottom of the unnatural staircase, a large, flat rock platform that extended out some distance into the clear waters.  Beyond the end of the platform, some twenty feet away, Roger could see the focus of power of this place, a large ring of stones jutting up from the still water.  Valan stood facing these stones, waving his arms in circles and chanting in some arcane tongue.  Anna, paralyzed with fear, cowered on the ground a few feet from the sorcerer.  Neither of them seemed to notice or care about the presence of Koltair and Roger.
	With a mixture of stealth and speed, the lord of Valkynborg attempted to get closer to the King's daughter, tried to capture her attention while remaining unseen by Valan.  In the second part he succeeded, and Anna was wise enough to not try to get up and run over to her saviors.  However, the first part failed miserably, as he collided with a deep thud with an invisible wall of air.  Pain surged through his arms and legs as small bolts of energy arced from the magical barrier to his vulnerable limbs.  With grunt of pain, he threw himself backwards and landed in a heap.  Koltair ran up to Roger to offer help if he needed it, but the barrier was meant more as a preventive measure than an offensive one.  Roger sat up nearly instantly, but the damage had been done.  While Anna craned her neck, trying to see what had happened, Valan turned, a wicked smile on his face.
	"Foolish man," he sneered. "You insult my intelligence. To think that I wasn't aware of you sneaking after me like a wounded dog trying to steal meat from a lion.  Pah... but I'm glad you've joined us.  You can watch me become the wealthiest, most powerful man in the world."
	Anna whimpered and called out to Roger for help, standing up in the process.  With a roar, Valan lashed out with an arm and smashed his magic-filled fist into the side of her face. "Silence, child.  You'll have your moment on the stage in a minute!"  Sorlan's daughter flew back from the force and crumpled on the floor like a caved-in melon.
	Valan chuckled and turned back to his incantation, calling upon the forces of fire and water.  Roger yelled and screamed, but the wall of air prevented him from advancing.  Koltair studied the invisible barrier with silent consternation, biting his lip in thought. These two men were not sorcerers.  They had no chance of breaking Valan's spell.  All they could do was watch as the warlock gathered his magical power.  The air around Valan seemed to thicken, turning into invisible mud.  The water contained in the stone circle began to bubble and steam, turning a bright red color.  Light from the depths of the lake burst from the turbulent waters in visible rays, striking the roof of the cavern with a bang.  As the spell grew in intensity, so did Valan's chanting.  He sounded like a madman, speaking gibberish and flailing about like a fish.  Yet Roger and Koltair could feel the growing power, a tingling that made their hairs stand on end.  Suddenly, the entire cavern lurched, and Roger was thrown to his feet.  Time seemed to shatter for instant, and space seemed to bend.  Valan shouted even louder, concluding his spell.
	The waters parted with a hiss, and the creature rose from the lake with a deep bellow.  Valan fell back a step as Akamaresh studied his conjurer and flexed his long-unused muscles.  The fire spirit resembled an Efreet in form, with the red torso of a man suspended upon a maelstrom of fire and energy.  The water of the lake shied away from the spirit, like similar poles of a magnet.  Steam rose from the boiling waters with a noise that seemed to drown out thought itself.  Fire mixed with the growing mist, jumping from the spirit's body as if alive.  But nothing prepared Roger for the sound of the spirit's voice, which was loud enough that he had to clutch his ears.
	"Who is it that has called me forth?" Akamaresh bellowed. "I have slept for a millenium, maybe three.  Why now have I been disturbed?"
	Valan backed away, hesitant for a moment.  Then purpose filled him, and he grabbed Anna by the arm, jerking her to her feet.  From somewhere in his robes, he produced a long, curved blade, something that looked similar to a sickle.  An angry gleam filled his eyes, and he smiled.  Akamaresh simply watched with amusement.  He had seen this before.  Anna was so frightened that her knees wouldn't support her, and Valan had to actually hold her up.
	Roger guessed Valan's intent immediately.  With a cry, he smashed into the invisible wall.  He would not fail his king a second time.  He had to rescue her. The magical energy in turn smashed into him, throwing him back.  Again, he ran against it, joined this time by Koltair.  But the wall wouldn't budge.  If Akamaresh noticed the two mortals banging on the magical force field, he didn't show it.  He just smiled, his arms folded across his chest like a referee.
	And then the deed was done.  Time seemed to slow down for Roger.  His arms dropped to his sides.  Koltair continued to bang violently on the wall, causing sparks and jagged forks of energy to spray out, but Roger didn't notice.  His knees grew weak, and he collapsed.  Valan lifted his bloody prize into the air, like a knight showing off a trophy after the joust.  But all Roger noticed were Anna's eyes, pale, fearful, lacking understanding, the life draining out of them.  She stared at Roger from across the platform and reached out weakly.  Did she mouth the word, "Please."? The gaze cut into him like a knife, and he cried out where she could not.  And then she collapsed, dead, with a thud.  A thud that may as well have been a block of steel falling on Roger's head.
	Sudden memories flooded Roger's mind.  Clearly, the youthful face of Ellabel presented itself before him.  It was so close, so realistic.  He reached out to touch it.  Can you touch a memory?  Her eyes, so clear to him.  So green, like her sister's.  Like her sister's gown, now soaked with blood.  He remembered seeing her, seeing her fall to the ground after the life had been cut from her.  Suddenly he realized, he had been there, watching, when she had been murdered.  Why hadn't he tried to help her?  Her eyes implored him, asked him to come to her rescue.  "Why?" they asked him.  "Why don't you help me?" Roger struggled to remember, to pull details, but all he could see was her face, her shocked face.  Had he been injured?  Was he simply afraid?  Too many assailants?  Why?
	Koltair had stopped pounding.  His fists were bloody from the effort.  He seemed not to notice, only staring at Roger, who with his clenched fists clutched his skull.  The tears flowed from the Valkynian's eyes like streams.  What happened in the desert might forever remain a mystery.  I will find whoever killed her, Roger vowed to himself silently, I will find them and stab them until there was nothing left to stab. 
	A sudden voice he recognized brought Roger from his memories.  He looked up.  Valan stood proudly, holding the bleeding organ above his head.  Akamaresh regarded him with a bored expression on his face.  In fact, he seemed to be pouting.  Valan's confidence wavered.  He was confused.  So were Roger and Koltair.
	"I had hoped," Akamaresh said finally, "That we could have talked a bit. I've been cooped up for over a thousand years, and you go right off and do something foolish.  Why is it you mortals always put business before pleasure?"
	"I have brought you the heart of a mortal who is of the purest line.  Here it is, fresh. I give it to you!  You are free!  Now, I demand the gold that is mine!  Where is it?"
	"You demand nothing!" Akamaresh roared, his humor suddenly gone.  Fire flared from his eyes, causing Valan to jump backwards.  "You saw the gold.  It is cursed.  It always will be."
	"I don't understand," Valan replied.  "I have fulfilled the prophecy.  I have done everything right!"
	"You have done nothing right.  Like countless mortals before you, you have done everything wrong.  You underestimate the foresight of the gods who placed me here.  And now, also like countless mortals before you, you shall pay for your mistakes with your life."
	Almost instantly, Akamaresh reached out and grabbed the stunned warlock.  Valan let out a scream as the spirit's fiery hands burnt into his flesh.  The heart he held so proudly fell to the ground with a sickening splat.  Without a second thought, Akamaresh tore the sorcerer in half, and then in halves again.  Roger shut his eyes and the sound of tearing flesh and breaking bones echoed throughout the cavern.  Valan's last curdled scream was cut short as the spirit smashed his skull in the palm of his hand.  The smell of burnt flesh stung Roger's nostrils, and when he opened his eyes again, there was nothing left of the lord of Erlos except a smear of blood and entrails and a badly charred arm.  
	With a fizzle of energy, the wall of air dissipated, its source of power eradicated. Roger lurched forward towards the body of Anna.  He held it in his arms, as if his wishes would bring her back.  Koltair simply walked up to the last remaining limb of Valan and kicked it roughly into the water with frustration.  He felt robbed.  He had wanted to be the one to tear Valan apart, literally.  Again, Akamaresh looked upon the mortals without speaking, content to watch them.  
	Letting go of Anna's body, Roger stood up to face the evil spirit, who regarded him with amusement.  "I don't understand," he said, voice shaky, "I can't complain with what you did to Valan, but why didn't you grant him what he asked.  What kind of treachery is this?"
	"Do you not wish to pick up the heart and try for yourself?" Akamaresh said, changing the subject.  He once again seemed bored.
	Roger glanced at the bloody mass and turned away, sickened.  No gold is worth that. "No," he said simply, staring at Anna's corpse with sadness.
	"Ahh, this is new," Akamaresh said with surprise.  "Very well," he sighed, "I shall tell you.  For thousands of years, men have been seeking my gold on a poor interpretation.  It is not the heart of one who is pure that you must carry before me.  You must have a heart of purity yourself.  Only to this man may I give my gold and earn my release.  But naturally, that will never come to pass, for by my own actions I ensured that a pure man would never exist.  Simply put, the gods outsmarted me.  They have trapped me here forever.  I simply wait for the next man carrying the bloody heart of one who is supposedly pure.  The only pleasure I ever get anymore is killing them and seeing the shocked looks on their faces when I rip off their heads."
	"But what about me? I am pure," Roger said.
	A tight smile forms on Akamaresh's face.  "Now THAT is funny."
	Roger's features scrunched in confusion, "I don't understand."
	"Nobody is pure," was all Akamaresh said in reply.  "Now, go. If you stay too long, I may find reason to slay you, as I am bound to do by the decree of the gods. Never come back here.  I grow tired of the death, even though it sometimes brings me pleasure.  I am not evil, I am just weary.  The gods didn't understand what I did, why I did it. Neither will you.  Now, please, leave me.."
	Roger nodded, unsure of the meaning of Akamaresh's words.  The fire spirit's form suddenly wavered, and then began to sink back into the water.  Steam once again rose from the lake as Akamaresh was drawn back into its depths.  "Remember," he said before his head disappeared beneath the waves, "You are all greedy. I made you that way."
	The cavern became suddenly dark and cold.  Koltair reached for the body of Anna, but Roger grabbed his hand.  "No," he said. "We bury her here."  Koltair did not question his friend, and silently they cast her out into the water.  "Now, let us leave this place."  Without looking back to make sure Koltair was following, Roger began to climb back up to where his army was now waiting.

	Sorlan sat for several minutes in silence, staring at nothing.  "It was good of you to bury her body," he said finally.  "I would not have been able to bear the sight of her."
	Roger simply nodded.
	"I wonder why Akamaresh told you the truth about his term of prison.  Surely nobody will attempt to gain access to his prison once your story is known."
	Roger shakes his head.  "No, others will try, as greed bends and refracts the delicate light of sensibility.  I think he regrets his actions, and has tired of the killing.  As all things good are not always truly good, perhaps all things evil are not truly evil."
	"Perhaps," Sorlan replied.
	Silence then fell over the room.  It was just the King and Roger, now, up late at night.  The candles burnt low in their holders, the light flickering unevenly about the room.  Roger considered the man next to him, his King, supposedly one of his best friends, and yet he didn't even feel he knew him.  What other things don't I remember? Roger thought.
	"I don't blame you, Roger.  My daughters died at the hands of a madman.  It was out of your hands.  I believe there was nothing you could do," Sorlan said, laying a hand on Roger's.
	The Lord of Valkynborg tried to smile, to thank the king, but Akamaresh's words weighed heavily upon him, and he was forced to question the very things he, and other humans believe in. What dark secrets did any of us carry around?  "You said only a few people would have known how to kidnap Ellabel.  Do you think...?"  Roger tried to pose his question.
	Sorlan shook his head, "No, Roger.  Impossible.  Do not think of such things. You loved her dearly, you ran after her to save her.  Just because you witnessed her death doesn't mean anything.  Besides, what reason would you have had to kill her in the desert.  Likely you rescued her and fled south in the hopes of eluding Valan's armies, but were unsuccessful."
	"But what if.. just what if I was the one who kidnapped her?  Perhaps I brought her to Valan, only to find I couldn't go through with it?  Does that make me an evil person?  I'll never know."
	"Think no more on this, my friend.  It was out of your control.  I remember the day you left, how you cried.  You are not the type to commit such crimes.  Now, you have a castle to run, people that need you.  Return to Valkynborg.  We shall have plenty of time to catch up later.  By the way, where did Koltair get to?  I wanted to thank him for all of his help in returning you to us."
	"He wanted to leave to get back to his people.  They deserved to hear the news of his friends' deaths," Roger replied.  "He says he will come back to visit."
	Roger then thanked the King and took his leave, thinking about the past events as he left.  Sorlan watched him go, holding in his hands the tattered remnants of his daughter's clothing.  He laid his head on the table, and thought of Anna and Ellabel.  Such cruel games, the gods play with men's lives.  Such cruel games...

	Some distance to the south, Koltair rode his horse at a fast gait.  Past Erlos, he rode, where people looked about with fear.  Where had their Lord gone to?  Into the desert, he rode, under the great fortifications who now let him pass unhindered.  He spent a good deal of time crying, for Grag, for his friends who died because of one man's quest for power, for the King who lost his daughters, for Roger who would never know who he was.  The tears dried almost instantly in the hot, arid winds of the desert.  Many things evaporated in the desert: tears, hope, and secrets.  They slipped away into the wind or were covered by the sand.  It was a dreary place, the nomad decided.  Why did he wish so to return?
	South he rode, towards Border Post.  He passed the crude wooden cross that marked the grave of Ellabel.  How little they had known then.  A poor girl killed by brigands, they had thought.  Roger of Valkynborg?  Who was that?  Why was he apologizing to his fiancee?  But how Roger had cried then, over the corpse of this girl he didn't even know.  Such emotion, as if he remembered everything clearly, as if his subconscious knew who she was. What secrets had been buried with her?  
	Again he rode south. It was hot that day, blistering hot like the surface of a frying pan.  The sun beat down on him like a sack full of stone.  The sweat did him no good - it evaporated instantly, only making him thirsty.  He was riding slowly, swaying in his saddle, giving his horse a rest, when he came upon a young boy digging in the sand.  Short, perhaps fifteen he was, dark brown skin, black hair, innocent eyes.  Part of a hunting party, no doubt.  Koltair stopped his horse, climbed down.  "Hail," he called, drawing a scarf around his mouth to protect himself from the flying sand.  The boy looked back, smiled.  Such youth, so beautiful, Koltair thought.  To think that Akamaresh would claim that humanity suffers from a lack of purity.  To see this innocent child is the only proof you need that this is not true.
	"What have you got there?" Koltair asked as he drew closer.  The boy was holding something.  He held it up.  A sword.
	"I found it," the boy said, "Right here, buried in the sand.  "Along with this." He held up a burlap sack, tied neatly with a small bit of hemp.
	"Can I see?" Koltair asked.  The boy handed him the sword and bag.  Koltair admired the fine workmanship of the blade.  Long, slightly curved.  A horseman's sword.  The steel was cool, razor sharp, covered with crusted blood.  The nomad tested the blade with a thumb. It drew blood immediately. Delicately carved runes played upon the dull end of the blade, sigils representing the elements and popular mythology.  He ran his hand over the hilt, a fine piece of work, wrapped in gold wire.  The pommel was made of silver metal, hand carved, boasting a large gemstone.  An expensive weapon, sure.  But what's this?  Koltair turned the blade over.  Over the gemstone, a moonpearl it looked like, a golden symbol was set.  He rubbed his thumb over it, feeling it.  A Golden Conifer.  "Roger," Koltair whispered.  He smiled.  "His lost sword.  He will be so glad to know that I've found it.  He must have dispatched a few of their assailants with this."
	Koltair set down the sword, sticking it in the sand like a flag.  He took the bag in hand and worked the hemp knot open.  The boy craned his neck to see inside.  Koltair himself peered inside, curious about what his friend might have been carrying in the sack.  Suddenly, he looked up.  The boy backed up, sensing something wrong.  Koltair had gone deathly pale.  Color drained from his face. He looked again, closed the sack.
	"What is it?" the boy asked, nearly jumping.
	Koltair didn't answer.
	"Come on, what is it? I want to see."
	But Koltair didn't answer. He simply fell to his knees, and sobbed. 
	
	Yes, sometimes, things have a way of evaporating in the desert. Tears, hopes, secrets, all gone. But occasionally it rains, the water condenses, the secrets unearth themselves.  And what a storm this was.

THE END, GOLD HEART.  Please Send Comments, Questions, HateMail to tduncan@haverford.edu.