General note, this story was written off and on in the time-spawn of somewhere between a month and a half and two months. So if some parts seem to connect in a somewhat wonky fashion, it's probably because one sentence was written a week before the next sentence.
Oh, and expect to see a lot more then just Horace and Camus in this story, yeah.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
With the sun in its high position, casting light on the Archanean territory, it sparked the beginning of a beautiful day.
A cool wind swayed the grass, the gentle breeze would tickle the cheek. The sun's light shone down, the golden strands bathing the land, reflecting off the clear waters of the locale, practically turning the nation into one giant work of art. The land seemed much akin to the bird that would flex colorful feathers in the hopes of attracting a mate. It was the sort of day where a person would walk into the woods, sit down on a stump, and just soak in all the natural beauty that graced the eyes.
Yet there was something different about this day. A peculiar hush gripped the entire nation, the country seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. The beauty of the morning dew or the breezy clouds could not dissuade this overwhelming sense of dread that was choking the people.
Clothes were simply left on the clotheslines, as clothes yet to be properly washed had been left in the buckets and pails. During the time of day where an axe man was supposed to be cutting wood for his family, the axe was simply left imbedded into a piece of wood. The shops were left unattended, the stocks packed up and carried elsewhere. Everyone had locked themselves in their houses, there was not even as much as young looting ruffians prowling the cities.
The people knew it, of course. Archanea had fallen to Dolhr, and now would begin a long, cruel time under Medeus' reign.
In years past, Medeus was rarely a relevant thought in the minds of the people, a fantasy for the children at best. No one ever gave any particular thought to the possibility of a survivor of the Earth tribe still being out there, consumed by the thought of seeing them all burning in his rage. Now everyone again knew the name, and just like his last time in the world, his name was a synonym for terror.
That wasn't all that occupied the people's minds right now. Just before Dolhr completely subjugated the nation, whispers began to crop up, tales of disloyalty. Some rumors spoke of the king surrendering without resistance once the castle itself had been invaded, and in return he would receive a ranking position in Dolhr. Other rumors spoke of Nyna betraying her kingdom to save her own life, and then there were rumors of less immediately recognizable names, Tomas ordering his archers to relent and let the attack on the castle occur, Boah accepting Medeus as his master and Warping Dolhr soldiers in…
The days crept by, and the rumors of betrayal only increased in their quantity, but slowly and surely, another name came up, one that was mentioned far more consistently. Yet, this seemed, to many people, to be a far more surreal possibility. The quick to violence Astram could have been seen as a traitor, those two knights, Macellan and Dolph, the people knew far too little about them, they could have turned traitor for any reason as far as the people were concerned.
No, the name of the traitor, which seemed like such an impossible identity, was…
"Horace."
Horace tightly shut his eyes as Nyna was forcibly escorted past where he was standing. A traitor to Archanea, telling Dolhr the ins and outs, the strengths and weaknesses, everything relevant about Archanea's army.
And he did it all for…
…the official story was that he did it for gold and protection. The story that Dolhr had fabricated was that Horace had decided to "join the winning side", and for all anyone in Archanea knew, that was the truth.
"Horace, why?" He didn't respond, even as Nyna made a weak attempt to hold her position in defiance of the Dolhr hand forcing her forward. "Did we wrong you in some way?"
"Keep moving." The Dolhr soldier struck Nyna hard on the back of the face as a second soldier pushed her forward. Horace's stomach crawled at the simple sound of Nyna being struck, even knowing that it would barely leave a bruise.
He would be remembered for this, betraying his nation during a time that they needed every knight they could get. A time when his nation was already crumbling from the Dolhrian siege. The thought of soldiers and knights joining the enemy, or at least deserting, in such a time was to be expected, but someone like Horace was thought by all to be less… prone, to such an act.
He had been fighting as valiantly as any other Archanean knight, at the castle gate in defense, as both a moral leader and a valiant, inspiring warrior, there was no hubris in stating that enemy charge after enemy charge had been turned aside primarily due to him.
Yes, it looked like Archanea might have been able to bleed Dolhr's advance out, until a single Dolhr messenger had walked up, unarmed. He had been admitted in to deliver his message, which, as the messenger made clear, was for Horace's ears, and Horace's ears alone.
Leaving with the messenger only a short time afterwards, without any explanation offered to his solders as to why, he went to the land that he ruled as the local Lord. He found the land occupied by Dolhr, he found a single pit dug. The hundred of Archaneans that Dolhr had taken were on their knees in front of this huge pit, by every Archanean was an ax man that hailed from Dolhr. The situation had been simple, either surrender to, and work with Dolhr, or see beheaded corpses shamelessly thrown into this pit, and it wouldn't have stopped at that.
The people around the pit wasn't nearly half of the people living in the land. If Horace would refuse to cooperate even after the mass execution, they would raze the land from top to bottom, slaughtering all that they found. They left Horace to make the choice between saving his own land and the people in it, or his nation.
He did… what he felt he had to. The people of his land lived, but Archanea fell.
Had it really been necessary to force Horace to make such a decision to defeat Archanea? Dolhr soldiers were not like Archanea's soldiers, they weren't taught honor or restraint, mercy or respect. From a young age, where the children of the other nations might be taught to read and write, or be taught the proper way to act in public, the humans who lived under the Manaketes were taught to fight. They were taught to kill, no matter their weapon, sword, axe, lance, magic, bare hands, they could kill, and they could do it swiftly. In any fight, the odds were that the Dolhr soldier would win. They killed to settle disputes, make agreements, prove their worth, perhaps please and entertain their Manakete masters…
Yet though they had cleaved their way to Archanea's front door, they had been… slowed, not stopped, mostly due to Horace and Astram. Even with that set-back, Dolhr still held the undisputable advantage. Archanea's numbers were dwindling, Dolhr's numbers seemed inexhaustible, not to mention that they could easily have called for support from Gra, Grust, Khadein, or Macedon.
Perhaps it was a simple matter of their numbers truly being exhaustible, or, more likely, their Manakete masters demanded results. Horace heard… discomforting talks, about what the Manaketes did to servants that displeased them. Tales of incompetent soldiers getting their heads torn off and impaled on pikes, stories of being tied down and having no choice but to let the Manaketes tear you apart in their dragon form.
So busy was he in his thoughts, that he didn't notice someone yelling at him from behind. He turned around to see both Dolph and Macellan, in chains, most likely being escorted to their prison. By the two was a cluster of Dolhr soldiers, forcing them to move, but the sight of the "traitor" had awakened a passion that the soldiers were forced to make a collected and concentrated effort to keep Dolph restrained.
"Horace!" Dolph tried to run forward, but the chains on his legs prevented him from making the long stride he wanted to. Instead he tripped and fell down, as he lay on the floor, his eyes never moved from Horace, his teeth gritted, a hiss escaping from between his teeth. "Traitorous filth, I'll get out of these chains, and when I do, I'll-"
Two Dolhr soldiers grabbed him by his legs and dragged him back, Dolph didn't seem to care as his armor made a horrid scraping sound on the ground that Horace had to wince at.
"So this is what it comes to." Macellan's voice revealed his disgust and disappointment, "This is how you repay the king for all the kindness he showed you."
Macellan was the more self-controlled, the more pragmatic of the two knights. Oh, the thought of rushing forward to strike Horace, to kill, most certainly passed through the less passionate, the more stoic knight, the thought of killing Horace in an orgy of violence, yes, it would please him greatly. Yet Macellan also had Nyna to live for, a reborn Archanea to live for, for now he would restrain himself… for now.
Horace didn't have the heart to say anything, swiftly turning back around, hoping his reluctance to make eye-contact might clue them in as to what was going on.
As he heard the movement of chains signaling the forced movement of the knights, he continued to hear sounds of struggle, and death threats directed at him from Dolph.
He was by a window, he took a moment to peer out of it. To his surprise, a legion of horse-mounted soldiers was approaching the castle.
"Our reinforcements." A voice spoke up behind Horace. With a shiver down his spine, Horace turned his head to identify the speaker, but one look told him that he had never seen this man before, a high-ranking human member of Dolhr, perhaps. From looks, he was clearly a mage, which is what he'd expect to be able to get right behind him without him noticing right after seeing Dolph and Macellan.
"Volzhin." The mage introduced himself, "The Shadow Dragon himself has appointed me to… educate Archanea, in terms of why opposing Dolhr is an act of inconceivable idiocy. You understand the need of this don't you, Dolhr General Horace?"
Horace's very skin rippled with disgust at being defined as a Dolhr general, but that was likely what the majority of Archanea considered him to be at this point. Volzhin clearly recognized Horace's revulsion, and gave a cruel smirk.
"Those soldiers you see are of Grust's Sable Order. They will keep custody of Nyna while I busy myself with the process of turning the people's loyalties to ones that will grant them… safety."
Again, the disgust built up, even though he wanted the people to be safe, he'd rather them not be forced to subject themselves to this… person. He had already seen the people of his own land solemnly swear their loyalty to Dolhr. Far from a sincere pledge, and Volzhin obviously knew it, those pledges were made out of fear. Now the whole of Archanea would have to endure the same.
"Who is leading those Sable knights?" Horace asked, trying, with mixed results, to keep his tone from revealing his repulsion.
"Camus The Sable, he has been recalled from Altea."
A moment of surprise seemed to calm Horace's rising disdain for Volzhin. Camus had been acting as the ruler, or perhaps the warden, or Altea for some time. Life in Altea had actually gone on more or less the same under him, the only thing Camus had ever truly demanded from the Alteans was a tribute, a very meager tribute. He had what would be considered an uncharacteristic level of honor for someone serving a nation under Medeus. Still, Camus' presence here offered another question.
"Who is ruling Altea right now?"
"Master Morzas."
Morzas? Horace's gaze drifted upward in thought for a moment. Isn't that a Manakete name? He paused, then it suddenly struck him. A Dolhr Manakete was ruling Altea.
"After Camus' pitiful display as ruler, Morzas will succeed where the Sable Order did not, the people of Altea will learn to fear the strength of Dolhr." Volzhin again smiled a cruel smile. "The Alteans will spend the rest of their lives ruing the day that fool, Anri, rose up against the Shadow Dragon, they will curse being the descendents of his allies and friends."
Horace gritted his teeth, picturing people losing that vague kernel of security and normality they still had to this… Morzas.
"As for you, Dolhr General Horace," it wasn't necessary to define national loyalty every time you addressed a General, it was simply a cruel reminder that Volzhin seemed to enjoy doing. "Go down and greet the Sable Order, I'm sure a belly-crawling traitor such as yourself would be fast friends with an honor-driven fool like Camus." With a cold smile, Volzhin walked away.
"…Lord Camus?" Horace directed at the legion of cavaliers who were in the process of dismounting. Most of the soldiers didn't hear him, in the process of efficiently stabling their horses. Horace scanned their faces, before it occurred to him that he had no idea what Camus looked like, no descriptions were given to him, and he had never met him in person.
"Lord Camus?" He asked again, this time one of the Sable Knights, a blonde haired fellow, walked up to him. He turned to this one knight, a bit… younger, then he would have thought. "Um…"
"I'm not Camus, if that's what you're thinking." The young knight responded, "My name is Robert, I'm… almost directly under Camus in our hierarchy."
"I… see." Horace was almost stunned. It was no lie that he had expected that the soldiers from one of Dolhr's 'extended' Empire to be snide and mocking to a soldier that had been blackmailed onto their side, Robert seemed civil enough. Horace would just have to see if that attitude extended to the rest of the Sable Order. "Then, where is Camus?"
"He's not here." Horace blinked at the answer, Robert noticed the change in expression and spoke back up. "I mean, he is here, but he didn't come to the stable with us, he opted to see the princess for himself first."
Horace's eyes drifted away, no matter what things he had heard about Camus, him being the captor of Nyna was a far then comfortable reality for him.
"Well well, look at our dear fallen princess." A Dolhr soldier sneered, Nyna refused to even look at the man, focusing her eyes in the other direction with a scowl. She had been properly restrained with chains connected to her wrists, the chains were connected to the top of a pillar, and the chain connecting her wrists to the point at the top of the pillar was actually too short, leaving her suspended a few inches above the floor.
"Until Emperor Medeus decides your fate, you will be in the custody of Camus the Sable." If she recognized the name, she gave no indication. "If you as much as breath without his permission, your life is forfeit, and Archanea's holy lineage with it. We can do worse then hanging. Much worse."
Nyna's mind flashed to the image of her parents hanged at the gate, the corpses had already been removed, but the image would never leave her.
"I'll leave you to him, and trust me Nyna, show Camus respect, or there will be some… repercussions." With that final threat spoken, he left the room, but the door stayed open, after a moment she heard someone else walk in the room.
"Princess Nyna." This voice was different, much different then the soldier that had been in the room earlier. "I am Camus of Gurst."
She refused to look at him, even as he came closer. "You won't need those." Fishing a key out of his pocket, he quickly and calmly unlocked the chains that were holding her. She dropped the few inches to the floor, she stumbled for a moment, but retained equilibrium, if only due to Camus' hands steadying here.
False courtesy. That was her only view of the sudden kindness, she might be able to walk around now, but the castle was still under control of Dolhr. Camus had taken her out of the cage of chains, and placed her in the cage of this room.
"Leave me be." Nyna spoke in a threatening whisper before turning her back on Camus to walk away. She knew, of course, that this was the sort of behavior that the Dolhr soldier had warned would result in her death, but at the moment she didn't care, spiting the enemy gave her some measure of respite.
"I can't do that. Dolhr has placed you in my custody." He spoke calmly, completely in control of himself, her coldness not seeming to bother him. "I dislike it as well, but you will not leave this room without supervision."
He was still offering the false courtesies, she did not for a second entertain the idea that he actually disliked it. "If you actually dislike having to do it, then take yourself and your Manakete friends out of my nation…" She paused for a moment, she knew that he was from Grust, and let the insult of referring to the Manaketes as his 'friends' linger for a moment. "…go back to whatever pit your kind crawled from and don't come back out."
She tensed, expecting his polite manner to dissipate and for him to strike her across the back of her head, instead, a shiver went down her spine as his hand calmly fell on her shoulder.
"I won't ask you to like your conditions, but it's the best you have." Camus' hand slowly fell from her shoulder returning to his side. "I don't intend to let anything harm you."
With that last statement, something inside her seemed to snap. With a hiss from her mouth, she whirled around to face Camus…
"Ah, the room she's being held in." Horace came to a halt, when he learned that Camus had gone directly to the princess, his first impulse was to head straight to where she was being kept. Now, he realized he had no idea what he should do, he was a traitor, and Nyna had likely heard Dolhr's false statement as to why he had done it, if he barged in to see if she was okay… it would serve no good.
Two Sable Knights were outside the door, when they noticed his approach they turned and saluted. He raised an eyebrow, not expecting that from any of the occupation troop.
"Lord Horace." One Sable Knight greeted, unlike the tone of most others he had talked to since he had been 'drafted' to Dolhr's service, this man spoke respectably. "My name is Belf, Camus The Sable is with Nyna at this moment. My apologies, but you can't go in right now."
Almost immediately after the words finished, the door opened up and Camus walked out. He turned to the left, most likely intending to just walk off, but he stopped when he caught sight of Horace.
"Lord Horace." Like Belf, Camus tone sounded honestly respectful, "I did not think I would see you today."
"You've… already seen Nyna?"
"Yes, she is… understandably angry right now." Camus spoke the words, and suddenly Horace noticed that Camus' cheek was bruised.
"Wait…" the other Sable Knight, whom Horace did not yet know the name of, also took notice of this bruise. "Lord Camus, did she… slap you?" The knight raised an eyebrow, perhaps too disciplined and loyal to smirk, but Horace suspected he was somewhat amused all the same.
"She would have wanted to have done much worse, and one cannot truly blame her for that." He turned to the knight that had spoke, "Leiden, Belf, I trust you can ensure that nothing will go in or out that room without your knowledge."
"Sir." They spoke in unison. "Robert will join us soon, once the horses are properly stabled."
Camus nodded, then turned his attention back to Horace. "Lord Horace, may I have some words with you?"
Horace froze momentarily, more so at the fact that Camus seemed to be actually asking for permission, rather then simply order a conversation with him. "Yes." At the very least, a chance to get an idea on the person who would be allowed undue contact with Nyna could either throw his concerns to the wind, or confirm them. "Let us meet in one of the towers."
Camus had left to deal with something else before he would meet Horace. Taking the moment to have some time to himself, Horace leaned over the edge, sighing at the sight of Archanea. Dolhr soldiers were already patrolling the nearby towns, and the people… it looked like none dared to leave their homes right now. Again, he sighed, should Archanea be liberated in his lifetime the people would hold him partially accountable for everything they're going through right now.
Though, the idea of Archanea getting liberated anytime soon seemed a distant delusion, with Dolhr's stranglehold on it, along with the Grust reinforcements in the form of the Sable Order.
Oh, there would be resistances and rebellions, there would always be resistances and rebellions in times of occupation. Yet if the standing army could be defeated by Dolhr, even with Horace's 'treason', then he was skeptical that an army made up of enthusiastic, yet untrained, soldiers could brake Dolhr's grip.
"Am I interrupting something?" Horace's thoughts were jerked from the here-and-now of Archanea to the here-and-now of himself and Camus, he turned around to see Camus, his expression stoic.
"No. Just…"
"Feeling the realization of what Archanea is going through." Camus speculated, Horace identified the sympathetic gleam in his eye, and for once, it was authentic, unlike the gleams of false concern that those of Dolhr enjoyed using. "Understandable, but I need to talk to you about Nyna."
Horace's eyes narrowed. He could feel his skin tighten and his forehead crease. "What do you want to know?"
Camus didn't as much as blink from the suddenly defensive tone that Horace used. Doubtless, he didn't want to discuss the princess with her captor, but he needed Horace's cooperation.
"Do not misunderstand me, Horace. I intend no harm to befall the princess, however, in regards to her well being, there are things about her it would benefit me to know."
"I… am familiar with the princess. Yes."
"Then please, Sir Horace, indulge my questions. In the interest of her well-being."
Horace did, though not entirely willing. His opinion of Camus seemed contradictory, respecting him as an honorable foe, but being bitterly slow to trust him, even if Camus had shown integrity, fairness, and great patience in his rule of Altea. In fact, he was being about as bitterly slow as Archanea would be to trust Horace again, should the truth of his… circumstances, ever be unveiled.
Camus, for his part, remained stoic and expressionless between all the questions he asked and all the answers Horace gave. When they came across a subject that Horace wasn't familiar with, Camus simply moved to another question.
And yet, as stoic as Camus seemed to be, there were times that his face softened. On the occasions that it was less questions are more conversation centered around Nyna herself. The aloofness of his face seemed to vanish, and Horace decided that he didn't like it one bit.
"I think that should be enough questions for now." Camus leaned back, having been standing for too long at this point. It had been a blue mid-day when the questions started, now the sky was dark, though the clouds above them obscured the stars.
"Perhaps so." Horace spoke, remaining as straight and tall as ever.
Camus turned to leave, heading toward the nearby door into the castle, his hand reached out to the knob, but then suddenly stopped, withdrawing back to his side.
"Horace." Was all he said at that moment, Horace didn't move anything, save his eyes, which were trained on the back of Camus' head. "A messenger was set out a few days prior to my arrival. He was sent to Dolhr, to tell the Shadow Dragon himself that the only remaining member of the royal lineage of Archanea is in custody. In the time span of a month from today, we should hear his response. Weather for good or for ill."
"I… am not optimistic." Horace spoke implacably.
"Neither am I." Camus answered, extending his arm to the doorknob, this time not retracting, opening the door and leaving, letting Horace remain on the tower by himself. He turned his gaze upward, still no stars, for some reason he found the lack of stars discomforting, like the stars refused to show themselves to this new Archanea. Continuing to gaze for a moment, he turned to leave.
Volzhin made good on his word that he would that he would "educate" Archanea. If the corpses in the congealing pools of blood was any indication. Corpses comprised of both true-hearted Archaneans, and people from other lands, who just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet those deaths also told their own tale, of the futility of opposing Dolhr. Anyone who raised sword or even curse against Dolhr, whether publicly or privately, had a tendency to disappear into the night, and have their butchered corpse appear on the street a few days later.
And, as Horace had predicted, rebellions did rise up. The ranks were filled with all sorts, retired veterans ready to fight for the return of the land they once knew, the sons and daughters of those who died defending their land, the widows of proud knights, the widowers of the clerics, the older brothers and sisters of the deceased, the younger brothers and sisters of the deceased. It seemed that the numbers had swelled to a number that Dolhr would have to be wary and cautious of.
Yet these rebellions were deathly ill-coordinated, frequently slaughtered to the last man when they came into contact with a Dolhr regiment. What good was having decades of history in the military when your aged muscles caught up to you? What good was youthful vigor when you lacked proper understanding of how to wield your weapon? How easily the courageous, yet untrained, fell against men who had trained their whole lives for battle, and were in their physical prime.
Dolhr's standing army had its… imperfections, but they were more then capable of handling an untrained volunteer militia.
Fools, cowards, they flung these insults at Dolhr with pride and righteousness puffing in their chests, but that bravado and headstrongness only earned them an axe plunged in the chest and the arcane insects of a Swarm spell devouring you down to the bone.
Archanea would be reborn in blood.
Horace grimaced at the complete and utter annihilation yet another rebellion suffered. A few had retreated, but Dolhr's forces seemed uninterested in hunting them down. Perhaps they were purposely letting them live, to tell the people of how yet another rebellion had met its end.
"Another day of trivial battle." One Dolhr soldier came up behind Horace. Horace turned to regard him, his outfit marked him as far beyond a foot soldier, his armor was too intricately designed, his lance too ornate.
Horace recognized him. This soldier's name was Dejanira. Otherwise known as "Dejanira The Bloodcleaner". Horace would recognize that face, he had been among the people holding Horace's own land, though not the commander of that force. He had seen more action fighting the Archanean rebellions then any other Dolhr soldier.
His nickname of "Bloodcleaner" came from the fact that after every kill, even when the battle was still progressing, he would stop, and slowly swipe a hand across the tip of his lance, cleaning it of blood. Sometimes this cleaning took place when he was ducking and weaving through enemy attacks, but he wouldn't make another strike until his lance had been wiped.
"Yet a single mistake in a 'trivial battle' will cost you your life." Horace calmly spoke.
"I am no fool, Horace. A fool would invite battles they cannot win." Horace paused at those words, taking a moment, before realizing that Dejanira was referring to the Archanean rebellions. A smirk creased the corner of Dejanira's mouth. "I'm always on the winning side."
And where would your confidence go when you're on the losing side? Horace's mind channeled, but he did not speak them. "Then let us hope Dolhr continues to be the 'winning side', I'd hate to see the infamous Bloodcleaner have his own blood cleaned off some nameless soldier's blade."
Dejanira's smirk disappeared, replaced with a scowl. "Consider yourself lucky that Volzhin and his superiors dictate what happens to you, not me." Dejanira spun around on his heel, and stomped off.
"Quite temperamental, that one." Camus said, walking up to him. Through the two weeks that had passed since he came, Horace had developed an honest begrudging respect for him. Camus' nationalistic loyalties were absolute, it was just a shame that his weak-willed ruler had sworn loyalty to Dolhr, the Sable Commander could have become a great champion for a just cause.
"Most from Dolhr seem to be." Horace mused. "They feel an incredible bitter since of victimization, and seem to be driven by their anger exclusively."
"That seems to be a primarily trait of the Dolhr Manaketes, something they pass down to their slaves." Camus spoke neutrally. Horace raised an eyebrow at Camus' choice of words, but he was technically correct, unless you were very high-ranking, like Volzhin or Dejanira, a human in Dolhr's direct service was no more then a slave to his Manakete masters.
"Such a state the world is in…"
"Not the entire world, Horace." Camus spoke. Catching Horace's raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "One pocket of resistance still remains, in Aurelis, Macedon's Dragoons are having… limited success. The Aurelian horsemen ought to be commended for their guerilla warfare."
"…that's a truly futile cause, Camus. A single nation cannot take on what is effectively the rest of the world." While it was incorrect to say that Dolhr's forces comprised the rest of the world, the military super-powers of the world were either subjugated, like Archanea, or served Dolhr willingly, like Macedon and Grust. Not to mention Khadein, the city of magic, which produced the greatest mages the world over, was firmly in the grip of Dolhr's greatest… human agent.
"In its current state, Dolhr cannot be defeated. That is true." Camus nodded, "Victory for humans would require a miracle at this point."
"Or, perhaps… a mass defection."
"I will not join such a cause, Horace." Camus curtly responded. "Grust is failing as its soldiers are being consumed in Dolhr's campaign, it needs all soldiers it can get. Otherwise…" he trailed off.
"But this is about the fate of humanity, Camus. Maybe even of the entire world!" Horace protested.
"I am aware of this, Horace, but I still choose this path." Camus answered with a practical tone. "Much as I may desire to see the Shadow Dragon's reign end, revolting would require taking arms against Grust, and my king. This I cannot do, I am sworn to defend my homeland and the rule of my lord, even if he was cowed, even if he's a pawn, it is his will, and I will follow it."
"That…" Horace paused for a moment, as if he had been struck, but regained his composure. "That's not loyalty, Camus. It's blind foolishness."
"We do not all think the way you do, Horace." Camus responded, not raising to any bait that Horace may or may not be offering. "Nations rarely think alike, Macedon views things differently then Archanea, Gra views things differently then Talys, and this extends to the military and the people all the same." Horace's brows drew together, but Camus continued. "What is right and true to you may seem foolish, and even hypocritical to others."
"…are you saying that my way is wrong?" A dash of aggression apparent in Horace's voice.
"No, perhaps one can only judge things as 'right' and 'wrong' in hindsight, long after the action has happened."
Horace calmed down, though he firmly disagreed with that. Yet he felt strangely weary. Camus took a look over his shoulder, "It is time for another of my… visits."
A visit to Nyna, he meant. Horace was ignorant as to what happened during these meetings, but Nyna, from what he could tell without actually seeing her, she wasn't being injured or interrogated. Yet Horace couldn't as much as try to listen in, Camus' three most loyal Sable Knights prohibited anyone besides a higher-ranking member of Dolhr like Volzhin from loitering in the hall the door to her cell (of a sort) was in.
Camus walked off, leaving Horace alone. Horace's stomach began to crawl, in another week, perhaps two more if the courier was slow, the Shadow Dragon's response would arrive. He was not optimistic, and though he was sure that Camus did not desire her death, or even her mistreatment, that last conversation has made it clear to him that Camus' character began and ended with nationalistic loyalty. If Grust complied with killing her, he would…
…oblige.
"Princess Nyna." Camus opened the door.
"Camus." Her voice was devoid of emotion, her face, however, softened at the sight of the Sable Commander. In her hand was a cup, simple water. Nothing like the rich tea she had when her parents still ruled the land, but in a way, she was thankful, she didn't need to be reminded about things she enjoyed when Archanea was at peace with itself.
She was also thankful that Camus did not try to gain her cooperation with something so fanciful as the tea she once enjoyed, or anything else from her past life. As time passed, she was amazed by the honest concern he showed, and she was… slightly uncomfortable to admit, enjoying his unblemished face. Yet through all of that, she remained defensive, wary and guarded, not letting him in, though her days of completely and utterly despising him were well and truly over.
"You're later then usual." She observed, trying to sound as jaded as possible, "I began to suspect that you had been replaced. Perhaps the door would have opened and Dejanira would have walked in."
"Until such a time that we receive word from Dolhr, I am your singular… overseer." He responded, taking a seat opposite the princess.
"I know the circumstances, Camus. My number of my remaining days can be seen clearly at this point. I have no real reason to believe that Medeus would spare me." She said with no real concern or fear. "Any comfort I get at this point is a weak transparent pleasure."
Camus sat quietly, his fingers resting in his lap as the princess took a swallow from her cup. He couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound patronizing or more optimistic then was realistic. "Between a week or two, a message should arrive." He nodded. "Pragmatically speaking, you are a prisoner awaiting execution. Even if you are being pampered compared to the typical political prisoner."
Nyna's eyes traced from Camus' face to her cup sullenly. It was true that things had gone… smoothly, for her. The same could not be said for the rest of the nation, and while Camus had done nothing to stop Dejanira or Volzhin's… methods, to quelling rebellions, he had at least been humane and civil in stopping those he encountered. Simply stripping the rebels of weapons, staffs, and tomes and telling them to flee. Merciful, and in the pragmatic sense, rather foolish, the rebels would come back.
"Why do you not plead to Dolhr for Archanea's sake?" She asked bluntly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.
Camus did not even blink. "I have." He said evenly. "Their response and plain, 'Death to all who do not rally under Emperor Medeus' banner.' As much a declaration of how opposing countries will be treated as it was a warning to not speak on behalf of conquered countries."
"I… would have expected the Manaketes to have such shallow reasoning abilities." Nyna muttered. "Beyond the Divine clan of Manaketes, there are few who desire peace."
"The Shadow Dragon swears time and time again of his own righteous crusade." Camus observed, "They say that humans once oppressed Manaketes much the same way that he oppresses us today. I doubt that he believes that what he's doing is uncalled for."
"What he's blaming us for happened untold years ago!" She suddenly snapped, her voice carrying outside of the room. Belf, Robert, and Leiden, outside the door, exchanged uncomfortable glances with each other, but none dared to try and open the door. "Should we be held responsible for what our ancestors did?"
Camus raised a hand in front of him to silence her, "The Shadow Dragon is rumored to be one of the Manaketes that were being suppressed and persecuted by humans those centuries ago. A being as long-lived and bitter as he… I doubt he really cares if the current humans likely had nothing to do with what he has been through." Camus answered calmly, staying in control of himself. "…and it stands to reason that a Manakete thinks differently then humans do."
Nyna didn't respond, though anger seemed to flood her eyes as she dipped her head down. Camus leaned forward to swipe a bit of blonde hair that had fallen into the princess' face. She accepted the movement, letting him place the hair back up before he returned to an erect sitting position.
She returned to her drink, not continuing the conversation, she took a sip, she briefly marveled at the fact that the only one she knew right now who was cordial with her was a nationalist from an enemy nation. Her marvel was strong enough that she had not raged at him over the fact that he now wielded the Gradivus, though he did have the pilfered holy weapon on his person at this time.
A little happy for her time with him, a little disgusted in finding comfort in the presence of the man. She mentally groaned at her contradictory take on the man, but made no visual cues.
That didn't stop him from realizing something was agitating her. Slowly he stood up, perhaps presuming that his presence was the thing that was agitating her. As she had learned, he was a bit too conscious about her feelings, unless they conflicted with his loyalty to Grust. Whenever something like that came up, a private war seemed to brew in his head.
"My pardons, princess. I shall leave you for the moment." He made a small respectful nod before turning to the door. His hand on the knob before she spoke.
"Camus, wait." She spoke softly, a private war of her own was brewing inside of her, the intellectual part of her repulsed by what she was doing, the emotional side approving of it. "There's no need for that just yet." Camus paused, then slowly turned back to her. "Stay here a little longer."
Volzhin had lived most of his life a willing slave to the Manaketes, and still gleefully called them his masters, but after the barely sanitary conditions he had to live with in Dolhr, he had to admit, the luxury of Archanea's castle pleased him. As he sat in the throne so long occupied by a noble and caring king, Volzhin seemed content, drinking the blood red wine and eating the peeled grapes. Yes, he seemed in his element here, and provided that no human force should rise against Dolhr, he could very well live out the rest of his days surrounded by this comfort.
He raised a pristine glass goblet to his mouth to pour the exotic Archanean wine in, some dripped out, falling into his beard. He seemed to be uncaring of this, as he turned his attention to the food in front of him. Cooked venison, thick plates of beef, the table seemed to have a variety of every kind of edible meat the nation of Archanea could offer. This banquet table had been produced just for him and other high-ranking human members of Dolhr, Dejanira included.
Dejanira, having grown accustomed to the rough food the Manaketes allowed him back in Dolhr, enjoyed the taste of the softer, carefully prepared, more exquisite food.
"Difficult to stomach the reality that such comforts were wasted on Archanean scum for so long." Volzhin muttered between two sips of his wine. "Such extravagance is best reserved for people like me, who recognize the true power of this world."
"It was indeed a waste to splurge such fine things on that Archanean wench and her family." Dejanira agreed. "Yet, look at the hideous things they surround themselves with…" Dejanira motioned to a piece of art that was within arms reach of his chair and scowled. "Our way in Dolhr was a brutal, yet simple one. We survived under our glorious masters, and were appropriately tempered by them, because we focused on strength, endurance, and were fueled by our rage-driven urge to survive. We have become the dominant force in the world under the great Medeus because we didn't waste our time with frivolous pursuits, because we didn't waste our time appealing to the eye." Without warning, Dejanira clenched his fist and slammed it into the piece of art, shattering it to pieces. "Too fragile, they expend so much energy on things that shatter too easily."
"Such is the way of these fools." Volzhin answered. "They expect their precious armies to save them, in that naïve presumption, they spend their time on such temporary pursuits." Volzhin stopped eating, even as Dejanira, an other human agents of Dolhr continued to gorge themselves in an overly raucous way. "What does it get them in the end? Had the people endured the lives we had, the resistances wouldn't be so dime a dozen, they would actually accomplish something, rather then be slaughtered to the last man the moment they fancy themselves capable of a direct assault."
Volzhin paused for a moment to gulp the last sip of wine from his goblet, then he lowered his head to look at his waist, the Thoron spell he had taken from Archanea's bishop was still there. People who lived with comforts were capable of crafting powerful things, he had to admit. Looking back up, he continued his argument. "Those insurgences may win a victory through stealth here and there, but what do they accomplish when they meet our infantry head on? Nothing. Nothing but send a message to the people as to why opposing us is so futile. Which serves its own useful purpose, I suppose."
"But the resistance's are so weak and ill-coordinated, I wish we could match ourselves against a real enemy at some point during this occupation."
"Dejanira…" Volzhin responded in a deathly low voice. "We are the dominant power in the world now and can rightfully challenge and defeat any who dare to face us, but it is foolish to wish for opposition that can challenge us." He turned to eye Dejanira coldly, even as a servant came up to re-fill his goblet with more wine. "We shall serve the Great Medeus as well as we can… by cutting down foolish human armies before they can grow to the point that they can threaten our glorious masters."
"But Volzhin, the monotonous life these past few weeks-"
"Means that we have served our masters well." Volzhin cut Dejanira off. "Each and every rebellion only further solidifies Emperor Medeus' rule of this world." He took a sip from his re-filled goblet and placed a trio of grapes in his mouth. "There are only two loose ends to tie up in this world. Subjugating Aurelis, and finding the runaway Altean prince."
"What? How is finding the Altean a loose end?" Dejanira quietly grumbled. "Medeus and Gharnef have both seen to it that there is little chance that he could ever wrest Falchion from our grasp."
"Even a little chance is a chance, Dejanira. And Medeus has no interest in taking an unnecessary chance." Volzhin directed his attention to the meat in front of him, carving a large chunk off and shoving the greasy slab into his mouth, he chewed and swallowed before continuing. "Indeed, Medeus and Gharnef have made it seemingly impossible for any to claim Falchion. Gharnef keeps it on his person at all times, the only man who could craft the spell that could break Gharnef is carefully watched in Macedon, and the 'ingredients' necessary to make the spell are carefully guarded by Gharnef's little pet of a Divine Dragon." Volzhin had to admit that it seemed nearly impossible for any to pry Falchion away. Such measures were necessary to prevent their master from falling to that blade again. It was a shame that trying to destroy the blade was futile, otherwise the greatest threat to their rule could be silenced forever.
"But what reason do we have to believe that the prince has the courage to face us? He's been hiding for… quite some time now."
"That is precisely what concerns me, bloodcleaner." Volzhin responded, addressing Dejanira by his earned title. "The prince may be biding his time, preparing an army, or perhaps he is preparing a new generation of warriors to challenge us." If the Altean prince should have children, it would complicate matters, though only the men of his line could actually wield Falchion, any daughter he might produce could, herself, produce a suitable wielder, and Medeus would indeed live to see them rise up to oppose him. "Tell me, Dejanira The Bloodcleaner, do you fancy an army headed by several men capable of wielding the Falchion?"
"I… no, Volzhin." Dejanira responded swiftly, with a small touch of what might have been panic. "Only a fool would welcome that scenario."
"Of course, and we who serve the true rulers of this world are no fools." Volzhin smiled as he returned to his meal. "Hm… Gharnef has Elice in his custody, but the prince is on the run." Volzhin seemed to think out loud rather then talk to anyone in particular. "If I should capture him, offer him to the Shadow Dragon, I could very well be elevated beyond even Gharnef's position." He took another sip of wine. Yes, he realized, 'educating' Archanea was far from the position he might someday attain.
Two more weeks slowly slid by, Nyna, who was undergoing much, was about to face a new predicament.
"When is their message going to come in?" Nyna petulantly asked. The message, the contents of it being obvious, had not yet arrived, and she was becoming more tense then usual. The tension also seemed to deprive her stomach of any interest in being filled, the small plate of fruit Camus had brought to her was left untouched, and she had taken no more then two miniscule sips from her cup.
"Nyna…" Camus began, "It should be… any day now. It might even be today."
The words came with a slight bit of hesitation that Nyna only barely noticed. With these weeks, she had come to understand that he did not wish her death, but, she still believed his nationalism was far stronger then any concern he might have for her. She was not optimistic that any would try and defend her.
"If I die… what happens to Archanea?"
"If you die, Archanea continues under Dolhr. If it should be liberated, the question of succession will be brought up… perhaps some resistance leader, or one of the highest ranked surviving nobles would be crowned."
"But… my death would be the end of the direct lineage! I-"
"A bloodline that played a hand in Medeus' defeat in ancient times, you know as well as I do, he would rather see it destroyed."
Nyna sighed and broke off from the conversation, turning away from the Sable Commander. "I'm not afraid to die for the sake of the world, but I shouldn't die simply to please someone like Medeus." The last word came out with a growl like quality, but Camus didn't even blink.
"Ah, finally." Dejanira focused his attention on a messenger, heavily cloaked as if he sought to hide his true appearance. "You have our message, vermin, give it to me."
"Be silent, Dejanira!" Volzhin harshly cut in, then walked up to the cloaked man and dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward. "Master Bulzark, what is thy message?"
"M-master Bulzark?" Dejanira stammered, taking a deeper look at the cloaked figure, his soul became colored with fear as he realized he had spoken so dismissively to one of the Manaketes. "M-aster Bulzark, I b-beg your-"
Bulzark waved a dismissing hand at Dejanira and focused his attention on Volzhin. Bulzark revealed a scroll in his hand, offering it to Volzhin.
"Rise, Volzhin. Master Medeus' exact words command you."
Volzhin lifted his head to accept the scroll, he stood up slowly, then mutely opened the scroll. Heread all the contents and nodded, and turned to Dejanira, handing the scroll to him. "Retrieve the princess at once." Knowing the Manaketes all too well, Dejanira hastily turned to obey without question. Volzhin watched Dejanira until he disappeared from view, and then turned back to Bulzark. "Master Bulzark, shall you stay to watch the… proceedings, grace the soldiers, and the filth of this nation's commoners, with your presence?"
"I am an overseer, Volzhin. I shall see to it that the master's will is done, more, I will not do." Bulzark responded in an almost methodical way. "However, in the time between now and the time when my duties are fulfilled, I would see what you have done to inform Archanea of who the destined ruler of this world is."
For the short weeks Horace had known him, he had never seen Dejanira look almost frightened. The Dolhr soldier hurried through the halls, and nearly shrieked when Horace grasped him on the shoulder.
"Has something happened?" Horace asked, Dejanira spun around and shoved Horace away, breathing heavily. He paused, composing himself, and smirked.
"We just got the news that we've been waiting to here for weeks." Horace felt his spine shiver at those words, he could feel his skin tighten and a sense of uncontrollable dread forming inside him. Dejanira revealed the scroll that Volzhin had given him. "Read it, Archanean."
Horace took the scroll, with hands possessed with fear, he unfurled it, reading the words.
As you have told me what treasure you have required, so now shall I cast judgment on that treasure. You have the princess of Archanea in your custody, she is the last survivor of a lineage that played a role in the uprising of that fool, Anri. Had she not given the Fire Emblem to him, it is unlikely he would have even neared my throne. I would see she, and her disgusting lineage, rest in pieces in a pool of blood.
Mercy may be a virtue to Archaneans, and their fellow human scum, but I despise it. We risk losing much to 'mercy'.
You are free to use any method you find appropriate, but her death is required. Once she breaths no more, carve her heart out and bring it to me. Then I can focus my attention on the Altean filth, who will be the only true threat to my Empire once Archanean's holy lineage is dealt with.
Horace's hands began to shake part-way through reading the letter, his face paled in horror as the reality set in. For a moment, it was like he had forgotten how to breath, he could feel as if his world had been suddenly taken from him, and he had been plunged into a pit he couldn't crawl out of.
His eyes traced to the seal on the paper, none other then the emblem of Dolhr, this was Medeus' own writing.
"It's about time." Dejanira muttered, "That Archanean wench will finally get what she deserves." He chuckled to himself, "Say, Horace, why not bring that to Camus? Surely he wants to hear the… good… news." A final laugh, Dejanira walked away, leaving Horace with the scroll. He stood motionless for several minutes, letting the realization set in, until he realized, if Nyna is to live, he had to do something now.
But what?
His mind swam, but found nothing, all that he could think of was Dejanira's sarcastically offered suggestion. He was of the enemy, but he was the only one who he might be able to help, who might be able to spirit the princess away.
Yes, Camus. His heart seemed to freeze. He didn't want this to be the right choice, it felt like a knife in his chest to trust Nyna to him, no matter how honorable the Sable Commander was, he was still of the enemy, he served them without doubt or disloyalty. Horace did not want to do this, did not want this to be the best way… but it was the only way. The only path that might preserve Archanea's royal lineage.
Nyna heard the door creak open, her first instinct was that it was Camus come to pay her another visit. She turned, but it wasn't Camus in front of her. It was another.
"Greetings, princess." The man spoke, giving an almost condescending tone to his voice as he referred to her. "I am Dejanira, and the Shadow Dragon has passed judgment on you." Two Dolhr soldiers flanked him, ready for orders. "Your execution will be public and painful, and it will serve as a reminder to your people, a reminder of the true ruler."
Nyna felt her stomach flip, even as the two Dolhr soldiers moved forward and seized her by her shoulders, proceeding to drag her out of the room. They moved into the hallway, the plan being to drag her out of the front gate in a way that everyone nearby would see.
Yes, that was the plan. Unfortunately, four figures suddenly charged Dejanira and his two soldiers, out of the corner of his eye, Dejanira recognized them. Sable Knights, and at their head, the vaunted Sable Commander, Camus.
Recognition was all that Dejanira had the time to do, Camus swiftly jammed the Gradivus into Dejanira's shoulder, he felt the piercing pain as the holy lance plunged into his shoulder. Camus ripped the weapon out swiftly, spun it over his head, and struck Dejanira across the face with the intricately detailed handle, where the wielder's hands should be. Dejanira fell down, not dead, simply unconscious.
The same could not be said for Dejanira's two soldiers, who had been swiftly killed by Camus' three knights, Belf, Robert, and Leiden. The first soldier died from a multitude of sword cuts across his chest, the last one fatally ripping through his armor, the second was killed from two swords puncturing him at the same time, one in the abdomen, the other in the neck.
Two dead, and one unconscious, before any of the three could even draw their weapons, or even gasp in surprise.
"Princess Nyna." Camus began, his voice revealing a sense of absolute urgency, "I will get you out of here, we-"
"Wait, Camus!" She cut him off, feeling the shock of Camus and his three allies attacking Dolhr soldiers wearing off. Now, there was something else on her mind, "Are you… rejecting an order, for my sake?"
"I… am rejecting an order from Dolhr, not Grust." He said, stepped up and grabbing her by the arm, "Please, princess, we don't have time to talk, if your survival is to be achieved, we must make haste."
"To where? Where could you take me to that Dolhr can't reach?"
"Aurelis." Camus answered, "They will shelter you, they haven't fallen to Dolhr, and I know that Aurelis and Archanea are on good terms."
Nyna contemplated it, even as Camus began to pull her behind him. To her surprise, she was more worried about what would happen to Camus for what he would do today then what might happen to her. She moved her legs, running behind Camus, Camus and his three knights formed a shield of sorts around her. She would need protection, to get through an entire castle of Dolhr soldiers.
"That is how progress has been going, Master Bulzark." Volzhin concluded, having eloquently summarized all that has happened in Archanea since the occupation began. Crushed resistances, slaughtered innocent, any who spoke out against Dolhr, raised curse against Dolhr, or was audacious enough to raise weapon or tome against Dolhr, promptly gutted and left in the streets as a unsettling message.
"You stay your hand too often, Volzhin." Was all that Bulzark said. Volzhin stared at him with eyes wide in shock. "You wait too long until you act, you are too patient with these human scum. You're methods do work, but not swiftly enough for me, and assuredly not swiftly enough for our master."
Volzhin gulped hard, expecting some form of reprimand, or a release from the life that was growing so comfortable.
"But…"
Volzhin felt a mixture of relief and dread. "But…?" He repeated.
"But." Bulzark responded, "When the last daughter of that lineage is gone, this nation will be beneath our concern. You will be allowed to do as you please, provided that Archanea continues to live in fear of the Shadow Dragon."
"Oh, of… of course, Master Bulzark." Volzhin replied, trying to sound as even as possible, "My hand has only just begun, know that nothing will ever wrest control of Archanea from me, and from the masters I serve."
Bulzark nodded. "Good. So long as you understand who the true master is, your presence can be tolerated, human. Continue to serve well, for your continued life depends on it."
Volzhin cringed for a moment, but did not take his eyes off Bulzark. "Thank you, Master Bul-"
"Sir! Sir!" A voice came from behind the two, Volzhin's hands reflexively went to the Bolganone spell fastened to his waist. The owner of the voice was a Dolhr soldier. "Sir Volzhin, and M-master Bulzark, we have a… a situation."
"What is it?" Bulzark asked.
"D-Dejanira was bringing Nyna out, but he took no more then three steps from her room when Camus and some loyalists of his attacked them. Dejanira is wounded, those with him dead, and Nyna is about to escape the castle."
The soldier shuddered, expecting Bulzark to administer a slow and painful death as punishment for delivering bad news. Instead, Bulzark simply walked past the soldier.
"We must take the princess back, or slaughter Camus. I cannot return to the Emperor empty-handed."
"Of course, Master Bulzark. I shall issue an order to out infantry to-"
"I will lead the force, Volzhin." Bulzark suddenly said, cutting Volzhin off. "I shall show them all that the Manaketes of Dolhr will brook no defiance, and all shall see the price of defying Dolhr."
"Yes, Master Bulzark." Volzhin nodded, "Let us return to the castle."
Horace felt the knots of shadows loosen on his heart as he saw Camus and Nyna on the same horse, moving away from the castle, followed by Belf, Robert, and Leiden. No one was following them. Yet. They likely wouldn't for a while, seeing as Horace had woken Dejanira, the highest ranking Dolhr operative with Volzhin and Bulzark away, and told him that Camus was escaping, but purposely told Dejanira the wrong entrance to fortify against escape attempts. One entrance was so heavily guarded, it looked more like defense for a siege, the other, the one Camus was actually escaping from, had literally no one standing there.
Horace allowed himself a bittersweet smirk, putting his faith in Camus looked to have been the right decision. He wouldn't completely revolt, but he would at least get Nyna to safety.
Bulzark and Volzhin returned, to find no trace of Camus or Nyna, and Dejanira, far from succeeding in preventing an escape. Dejanira took one look at the two, and knew he was in trouble now.
"Dejanira, you worthless filth." Volzhin growled as he and Bulzark came to the entrance of the castle. "Where are they right now?"
"S-sir! It wasn't m-my fault, they took me by surprise, and-"
"Where, are they, now?" Volzhin again growled, a deep-seated rage awakening in him.
"Ah…" Dejanira shrank back, not so much from Volzhin, but from Bulzark's piercing, threatening, accusing gaze. "I… I had thought they were escaping from this entrance, but they've escaped on the opposite side of the castle. More then half of my force is en route to chase him, and-"
"You thought they were escaping from this entrance?"
"I-it's not my fault, Volzhin! I was told they were escaping through here, and-"
"Told? Who would misinform you and allow them to es-" Volzhin paused, his eyes widening in realization.
"Horace." Volzhin growled through clenched teeth.
"No matter who's at fault here. The fact of the matter remains that the one the Emperor demands the death of is escaping." Bulzark spoke up, "I will take command of our forces and lead the chase, you two…" He turned his attention to Volzhin and Dejanira, "Maintain control of the castle, do not give the appearance that something spiraled out of our control."
"Yes, Master Bulzark." They spoke in unison.
Horace stood somberly as a Dolhr force, led by a Manakete, no less, pursued Nyna and Camus. Still, Camus had enough of a head start, he'd make it just fine, at least to Aurelis. Perhaps the Aurelians, who were still fighting tooth and nail, and were able to take on Dolhr's best and still cling to their land, could protect her.
Lost in this small thought, he didn't hear a door creak open behind him, nor did he hear two people step in. He only noticed all this when one of them talked to him.
"Horace." Volzhin spoke calmly, but with implied malice. "Perhaps you've heard that Nyna has… escaped."
Horace turned to him, wearing a face of indifference.
"What interests me the most is that Camus knew that today was execution day. How, I ask, did he learn this fact? He should have known nothing of that matter." Volzhin crossed his arms as his nostrils flared, his eyes sharpened their gaze. "Who could it have been? Who would have told Camus that?"
Horace said nothing in response, a long wordless grunt was all Horace gave.
"No matter, I suppose. This is but one… setback. One setback shall not spell the end for us." Volzhin's wrathful expression seemed to fade, he was still angry, and he didn't need to tell Horace that he knew what Horace had done, they both knew full well that Volzhin had pieced the puzzle together already. "There is little that the princess can do to harm us, and much that she can do to aid us. Hunting her down to kill her, it will send a message to all that Dolhr's grip cannot be escaped from, will it not?"
Volzhin walked until he moved past Horace, then stopped. Turning his head to peer over his shoulder, boring his eyes into Camus' armored back. "We shall take whatever dream that Nyna dreams, and crush it underfoot, won't we, Horace?" Horace made no reply.
"You needn't be at this castle anymore. Dejanira will be your immediate superior, he will direct you from this time onward." Volzhin spoke emotionlessly as Dejanira came up, making no expression at all. "Any objections, Horace?"
Horace turned and glared at Volzhin for a moment, but kept his face calm. "No, Volzhin. No objections."
*Whew* This story ended up being much longer then I ever thought it would be. I figured it'd be around 2,000 words, it ended up being a 10,000 word deal. It can be blamed partially on the fact that it was supposed to be just Horace at first, but as I wrote the story it kinda got out of control.
Anyway, naming time for the less iconic characters.
Volzhin: Boss of chapter 12 in Shadow Dragon, the one who says that you will "writhe in the fires of Bolganone".
Morzas: Only briefly mentioned in this story. Boss of chapter 17, the Manakete who gleefully admits to killing Marth's mother.
Dejanira: Boss of chapter 12x, the chapter in the game Horace appears in. His nickname of "Bloodcleaner" is my own design, since Dejanira, along with most of the chapter bosses in the game, are completely and utterly forgettable.
Bulzark: If you have the old BS Fire Emblem, or you have FE12, you'll have a map where you play as Camus and your mission is to get Nyna away from Dolhr. Bulzark is the Manakete boss of this chapter.
Belf, Robert, and Leiden: Like Bulzark, they're BS Fire Emblem/FE12 characters. The trio are Sable Knights with absolute loyalty to Camus. In FE12, they'll join you in the main game as well.
Oh, and lastly, Camus doesn't steal Boah's Thoron back from Volzhin here, he probably does that at a later date.
Anyway, please review.