Hi, everyone, we're back! Sorry for the delay, work has been hectic for us both but we finally managed to get the ball up and running again. Once again, I would like to thank my co-author and editor, Falchion1984 for inspiring me and making this sequel possible. Now, on with the show!

Chapter 2: The Ruse

I've got to get out of here, Izlude reminded himself, vainly willing his heaving lungs to silence.

His mind knew that, but it seemed the rest of him wasn't getting the message. Perhaps it was the shock of his father transforming into a demon before his eyes. Maybe it was the remembered pain of those leonine claws ripping into his chest. Very likely it was the horrors of the massacre which surrounded him on all sides, the sea of faces frozen in agony amidst so many shallow oceans of blood.

Or, maybe it was Izlude's having been brought back from the dead.

Whatever the cause, the knight blade's hands shook and his feet refused to guide him on any path that didn't weave every which-where.

At some point, Izlude's wandering steps must've brought him over a pool of blood, for he suddenly found himself falling over backwards. He landed hard, rattling his teeth and, he suspected, giving himself an impressive bruise. But, all that was promptly forgotten when his blurred vision suddenly cleared and revealed a protruding corner of an ill-fitting stone in the floor upon which was snagged a scrap of red fabric.

A piece of Alma's dress.

Such a small thing of no value and not likely to even attract notice from anyone but himself. And yet, the sight of it was enough to shake him from the terrible haze that had fallen over him.

He still felt the horror of what had happened and the confusion over how and why he'd been sent back from death. If anything, both burned hotter than before. But, they no longer had the power to cloud his mind. He brought up one fist, still trembling slightly, and clenched it until his gauntlet creaked in protest. After a moment, the trembling stopped and the painful tightness of his own grip was enough to reaffirm that he was really alive and not dreaming.

Having righted himself, Izlude took in his surroundings. He was still in the meeting room of Riovanes Castle, where he had made his ill-fated stand against Hashmalum. The room was every bit as spartan and featureless as the rest of the castle, save for the cooling corpses of Barrington's personal bodyguards. They, it seemed, had not been given the second chance he had.

Izlude forced himself not to think about whether any of them should've been resurrected in his place, for such would be a swift and sure road to madness. Turning his attention to the rest of the room, Izlude noted the blood pool which he'd emerged from. The pool of sticky crimson was mostly dry, and he was worried that the partial outline of where his body had laid amidst the sticky crimson might attract notice.

Though Izlude would have liked to have more time to take in the miracle that he had just witnessed, he knew that he could not linger. An outline of a body in a pool of blood, but with the body that made it nowhere in sight, might attract and arouse some suspicion...

...how much more might the body that made it, wandering about and seemingly unscathed after what should have been a death wound.

Well, it was a death wound, but who'd believe it?

Ramza might, if what the specter of his mother told him was true, but the knight blade's thoughts quickly gravitated towards others who might investigate this gruesome scene and take note of his absent corpse.

Izlude still had no idea just how much of the Church of Glabados had aligned with Hasmalum and how many, like himself, were merely dupes being strung along by the disguised Lucavi. But, he suspected it was a moot point in any case. Whether innocent or guilty, any priests or Templar who came to investigate and administer to the dead would not look kindly on one of their own skulking about with a supposed holy relic in hand.

Izlude also could not be certain if Hashmalum knew that the Pisces Stone was still here, or if the leonine demon had any further business in the tomb that was now Riovanes Castle. Either way, Izlude could not allow the demon who wore his father's shell to discover he yet lived.

And, as if that wasn't enough, there was also the prospect of other parties coming to investigate. With the War of the Lions having degenerated into a bloody stalemate, and with casualties on both sides mounting by the day, Larg and Goltana surely needed whatever allies they could muster. Either could seek to secure Barrington's allegiance by "rescuing" him in what looked like a time of crisis. And, on top of that, Izlude had yet to discover the fate of the Grand Duke himself. If Barrington escaped the massacre, he'd surely return with men-at-arms to reclaim his keep. Even if the Grand Duke was dead, that guaranteed nothing. As the lord of the province of Favoham, any lengthy silence from Barrington would surely raise questions amongst his subordinates in other part of his domain.

Any one of these parties could come to Riovanes, likely sooner rather than later, and seeing the charnel house the castle had become would raise a great many questions.

Izlude decided he'd rather not be here to answer them.

He also knew, however, that he needed to preserve the illusion that he was amongst Riovanes' dead. If Hashmalum had even the slightest clue that Izlude was back among the living, the demon would no doubt return or send his minions to finish off the young knight blade for good. Having already seen what a single Lucavi demon could do when it shed its illusion of humanity, Izlude shuddered at the notion of seeing a repeat performance. Either way, he now knew far too much about the Lucavi for the demons to let him live.

The art of ruse wasn't something Izlude was practiced in, but he suspected that, if he could create the appearance that he was dead, it would throw off pursuit, at least for the foreseeable future. All he needed was for the blood pool he'd just risen from to be occupied when he left.

The knight blade quickly looked over Barrington's bodyguards, but was forced to discard them as likely candidates. One was too tall, another too broad of shoulder, and the remaining pair did not share his chestnut locks. With trepidation, he quietly opened the door leading out and entered the corridor beyond. Across the threshold was a veritable tableau of carnage. Bodies lay scattered across the floor, most of which in two or three pieces, while crimson covered the walls in great pustules that wept rivulets like red tears. Forcing his gorge down, the knight blade continued his grim work. Several servitors and guards were amongst the dead while others, their features and garb clawed to ribbons, Izlude could only guess at. After studying several who were too round, too old, or too dismembered to even identify as human, one finally caught his gaze. Sprawled upon the floor was the corpse of one of the fallen knights, a patch of chestnut hair still clinging to what was left of his scalp. He appeared to be about Izlude's size and build. Turning it over, he was faced with two gaping sockets where the eyes should've been. The sight tore a gasp from his mouth, but he quickly gnashed his teeth together and, though his own eyes were misting, he forced himself to look.

The first thing he saw was that the face of the brutalized corpse had been crushed beyond recognition, his features indiscernible amidst a horrifying mass of contusions and gashes, through one or two of which Izlude could see the mass of splintered ivory that used to be the man's skull. The sight made him shudder, though the knight blade knew he now beheld his best chance for his ruse to work. Izlude was sure that, regardless of who arrived first to investigate the incident at Riovanes, the Knights Templar would inevitably become involved.

After all, he thought bitterly, it might raise some awkward questions if "father" didn't at least investigate his son's supposed death.

Given how that his seeming demise would heighten the profile of this tragedy, Izlude didn't see how Hashmalum could react any differently without causing people to ask questions the disguised Lucavi would want to avoid answering. Izlude also suspected that his sister, Meliadoul, would most likely be called upon to identify his corpse. Though he loathed the thought of having to deceive even her, it would still be necessary, at least for the time being. That was, if she was still innocent and ignorant, of the Lucavi's schemes...

No! Izlude inwardly bellowed. There's no "if". She's not a party to this plot, she couldn't be!

Granted, Izlude would've said the same thing about his father a week ago, but he nonetheless held fast to the belief that Meliadoul's soul was still her own. His father had changed after a journey abroad just after mother's death, but Meliadoul was ever the same. She was still the older sister who drilled him in swordsmanship, who'd be giving him bruises in their practice duels one minute and ruffling his hair the next. She still had that same coy smile and bell-clear laughter.

Meliadoul's soul was still her own. Izlude told himself that, perhaps a hundred times in just those few minutes, for even entertaining the alternative might crush him.

Meliadoul's soul was, must, still be her own.

Until he could confirm that, however, he knew that she would be in danger if she had cause to believe Izlude was still alive.

Acting quickly, the knight blade removed his damaged golden armor as well as green tabard and exchanged them for the armor and cloak of the fallen knight. The garb, which had largely been spared from Hashmalum's leonine claws, was far simpler than the distinctive Templar armor which Izlude had just shed. That, he reflected, would help when he left the castle to begin his search for Alma.

Still, there was one final detail he needed to attend to if he was to disappear as planned. The corpse of the unknown knight may have been very similar to Izlude in appearance, and his crushed face would make it difficult to prove who he really was but there was something the young knight blade had that his unwitting decoy did not, that he knew would give him away if Meliadoul was to take notice. On the inside of his left wrist, Izlude had a small birthmark in the shape of a strawberry. If it was absent from his supposed corpse, his sister might very well see through the deception immediately.

And, if the demon that wore his father's shell could kill one of Vormav's children, Izlude didn't doubt for a minute that the leonine demon would kill the other.

His only recourse was to make sure she could not see that discrepancy.

Despite feeling nauseated at himself for what he must do, Izlude took up his sword and used the tip to tear through the skin of the corpse's left wrist, where his birthmark would be. As the metal clove deeper and ground against the bone beneath, Izlude could taste bile on his tongue. Forcing his convulsing stomach to be still, he uttered a choked prayer that the unknown knight would forgive him for desecrating his body. After the man's left wrist was well and truly savaged and he'd swapped his garb with the corpse's, Izlude searched around the dead man's neck. His probing fingers eventually discovered a chain, which he pulled off. Attached to the loop of metal was the tag which identified the man in life.

These chains and tags, sometimes referred to as 'dog tags', had been invented shortly after the end of the 50 Years War. Izlude had heard tale that, during the long conflict with Ordalia, it was terribly commonplace for fallen soldiers to be have been so savaged by blade, spell, or disease that identifying their remains was all but impossible. During those terrible years many a wife of husband, daughter or son, mother or father, had been left wondering, many to this very day, what had befallen their loved ones who had departed for the battlefield never to return. Count Orlandu, who'd been frustrated that there was no means of identifying fallen soldiers in such circumstances, decided to invent a solution. Thus, he'd commissioned these dog tags be produced for all of Ivalice's men and women-at-arms, so that the remains of the fallen could be identified and returned to their families. Looking the tag over, Izlude saw that the other knight's name was Sir Damien Mitchell, a knight of Favoham's Order of the Wyverns.

If nothing else, Izlude now had a name for the prayers he'd make for this man's soul...or, maybe he had more than that?

At first, Izlude had intended to swap dog tags with this man simply to make his "death" more convincing. But, upon reflection, he found an idea teasing at the back of his mind. Though he was by no means versed in spy craft, he suspected that, in addition to a disguise, he would also have to take on a new identity in order that he might search for Alma without attracting unwanted attention. A quick glance at the reverse side of Sir Damien's dog tag revealed that he was from the city of Yardow. However, the line which should have contained the name of his next of kin was blank.

An oversight on the part of whoever made the tag, or an opportunity?

Izlude quickly checked the dog tags of several other knights, looking to see if theirs listed next of kin, but forcing himself not to look to closely at the names of those who'd soon by burying the poor souls. Sure enough, Damien's was the only one with such an omission, which likely meant he had no close family.

Ignorant of spy craft he might be, but even Izlude could recognize the opportunity this presented. He would have to leave the name of Izlude Tingel behind him, as that name was far too dangerous to use so long as the Lucavi roamed the earth. Here, however, was a man with no immediate family and whose friends were likely amongst the dead.

Remembering his earlier musings on marrying Alma and raising a family, and his hopes of seeing Meliadoul again, the knight blade could not help a ripple of grief at the notion that this man he beheld would likely have no one to mourn him. Yet, Izlude's practical side told him that he'd never find a more perfect decoy; one who was a near perfect match to his size and appearance, and who had no family to unmask him.

And, in any case, the dead knight certainly had no use for his name now. So, with his heart seeming to grow heavier with each passing moment, Izlude slipped on Sir Damien's dog tag and tucked it under his jerkin. He then slipped his own dog tag around the other knight's neck.

One more thing to answer for, he reflected somberly, quickly turning his dog tag over to see Meliadoul's name on the reverse side. Meliadoul, I will make this up to you. I don't know when or how, but I will!

After making sure that he had rid himself of everything that could identify him as the true Izlude Tingel, the knight blade quickly dragged the corpse into the meeting room and carefully placed it against the wall. After a few minutes work, he'd managed to arrange the stiffening limbs to match his own slumped posture just before the holy stone had breathed life back into him. As he rose, he used two fingers to brush shut the man's eyelids and repeated his earlier prayers for his soul.

No sooner had Izlude finished then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He felt his blood run cold, fearing that it could be Hashmalum returning for the missing holy stone. Izlude knew he would stand little chance against the monster alone and, deciding that the wiser course would be not to get into another confrontation with the creature if he could help it, the young knight blade ducked behind a pair of heavy drapes. For what felt like hours, he waited, terrified that the sound of his heaving lungs and the funk of his cold sweat would betray him. However, when he dared a peek through the slight opening between the drapes, Izlude saw, much to his surprise, that it was not the leonine demon who entered the room. Instead, it was a young man, very near his own age, with the same honey blonde hair and sky blue eyes as that of his love, Alma Beoulve. Upon seeing what could only be a strong family resemblance, Izlude felt his lower jaw drop. Amidst the mingled wonder of his resurrection and the horror into which his revivification had deposited him, he'd completely forgotten about yet another party who was certain to come knocking on Riovanes' bloodstained gates.

Alma's brother, Ramza Beoulve.

The knight blade recalled how he had clashed swords with the supposed heretic in the depths of Orbonne Monastery just two weeks before. As had been the case when he'd beheld the young Beoulve in the strange vision shown to him by his spectral parents, Izlude was struck by the study in contrasts that was Ramza.

His short-cropped, unruly hair, which would have given the impression of a boy on the threshold of manhood if not for the blood gumming the locks together.

His youthful face, which yet retained a hint of baby fat but nonetheless seemed to hold in great bereavement the way a sluice held in water.

His blue eyes, large enough to be mistaken for the puppy-dog eyes children would use to coax favors out of their elders, except that these eyes seemed far older than the rest of his face.

The habitual poise and stature of a noble upbringing, a heritage which he'd rejected long before.

The robust, but shabby looking armor he wore, the menacing spikes of his shoulder pauldrons utterly mismatched with the expression of grief that marred his youthful features.

Izlude had long known that Ramza was a most unusual enemy, but even he had apparently fallen short of the truth.

Before Izlude could plumb further into the strange depths of the man hunted by church and state alike, he realized that Ramza was not alone. At his side was a young female knight whose armor was adorned with the insignia of the Lionsguard. Izlude also saw that her long reddish blonde hair was coiled into the functional braid of a warrioress, and that her blue-green eyes scanned the room with, judging by the way her breathing subtly sped up, the horror of what she saw wrestling with her efforts to spy for lingering dangers lurking amidst the carnage. The knight blade recognized her as well; Dame Agrias Oaks, a renegade holy knight and the former bodyguard to Princess Ovelia.

Actually, I suppose I should drop the "renegade" part, Izlude said to himself. After all, the people behind that moniker may very well have been behind this massacre.

Perhaps Agrias too was mulling over the likely culprits of what she witnessed, for she let out an epithet that would've made a Warjilis dockhand blush and then drove her palm into the wall in helpless fury. That, Izlude had to admit, surprised him. He had not known Agrias personally before she broke ranks with the church to follow Ramza and, in light of recent events, any "official" sources about her were now highly suspect. Still, he had heard that she'd had a reputation of stern unflappability.

Well, that was the polite description. Others had likened her to an animated marble statue.

Beautiful, immaculately carved, and colder than the frigid waters of Finnath Creek.

Yet, here she was, moved by the deaths of strangers.

There were other changes too, ones that Izlude could not make sense of and yet which he studied with a strange fascination. The fire in Agrias' eyes was still there, enough so that Izlude involuntarily shuddered when those blue-green orbs turned towards his hiding place, but something had tempered it.

Something that allowed her to grieve for this senseless slaughter, and to mark the culprits as dead men walking.

Other changes were evident as well. Izlude recalled that her hair had not looked nearly so lush nor so deep of color when he'd spied her by chance in the royal capital of Lesalia nearly a year ago, nor had that reddish glow stained her cheeks back then.

And, there was another alteration that he spied. Yet, it was one so ridiculous and so incongruous that, no sooner had the thought been completed, that Izlude was fighting down the urge to kick himself.

Was it his imagination, or had Agrias put on weight?

He'd nearly dismissed that as some trick of his eyes, but then he saw Agrias surreptitiously loosen the straps of her armor, a quiet sigh of relief parting her lips just afterwards. Before her lips had even pressed back together, the holy knight was in motion, searching the bodies strewn about the room for any sign of life. When she drew closer to Izlude's hiding place, he could see that, indeed, her stomach was softer than he remembered. What's more, her hips were wider and the plate molding that covered her breasts had also been adjusted to a less-than-pinching tightness.

Softer about the middle, Agrias might have been. But, she certainly hadn't gone soft. There was no mistaking the alert gaze of her eyes as they probed the room's windows and the shadows of its furniture and scant adornments for foes that might be lying in wait. She still moved with the grounded grace of a natural fighter, one hand palming the hilt of her sword as if ready to draw it at a moment's notice.

Whatever changes the holy knight had undergone since breaking ranks with the church, Izlude's instincts told him that she was every bit as deadly as she was before...

...maybe even more so.

The knight blade's jaw worked of its own accord, mouthing half formed questions about the endless string of oddities he'd witnessed since his father's fateful summons. When the door to the meeting room suddenly banged open, he only barely managed to keep one such exclamation from migrating from his mind to his tongue.

Drawing in shallow breaths through his nostrils, he carefully peered out to spy two more figures at the door. Perhaps Izlude should not have been surprised to see Malak and Rafa, but he was nonetheless.

Surprised, and relieved.

He still remembered how his mother had implied that Malak too, had died, and been brought back by the power of a holy stone, but Izlude cared little for how his friend had survived.

It gladdened his heavy heart to see that at least one of his friends had escaped the massacre.

The sky seer brought up one hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, as though she could will away the sight before her. The nether seer, by contrast, merely let out a sad sigh and began to examine the bodies for any signs of life.

When his inspection had brought him to a body within arm's length of Izlude's hiding place, the knight blade caught sight of something that punched a gasp from his throat.

In an instant, four pairs of eyes snapped in his direction.

Izlude could swear that he felt the blood drain out of his face. What if they discovered him? He had to admit, his blunder had just made that quite possible. With his heart thumping in his chest, he frantically tried to weigh the possibilities.

Ramza might appreciate an eye-witness to the carnage which had unfolded in the duke's meeting room, and might even welcome another blade to aid his cause.

Of course, considering it was Izlude's fault that Alma had gotten into the nightmare of Riovanes, the young Beoulve was far more likely to gut the knight blade on the spot...

...especially if Izlude let slip just what else he'd gotten Alma into.

Izlude's inward debate, however, was abruptly halted when another sound rang out somewhere to Izlude's left. The eyes of those in the room who yet lived, including Izlude's, darted in the direction of the sound to see the body of a Riovanes Knight.

The body was moving!

Ramza and his companions seemed to teleport across the room, crowding around the gasping knight and all four asking a tangle of questions, Agrias's punctuated by incantations of healing magic. Izlude couldn't tell what they were saying, but the knight's reply rang all too clearly in his ears.

"Demon!" the knight rasped, seemingly unaware of his small audience. "Monster! Claws! Those horrible, glowing eyes!"

He let out a shriek of terror that quickly faded to an empty sigh as he breathed his last and then went limp.

Ramza and his companions composed the body as best they could and grimly resumed their search for other survivors while Izlude, though shocked to his foundation by the macabre act of providence that had prevented his detection, recalled what had nearly given him away.

When Malak had drawn near the knight blade's hiding place, Izlude had spied a small hole which had been punched into the nether seer's jerkin, wreathed by a corona of scorch.

A bullet hole, directly over his heart.

And, beneath that, was a scar that looked to be of the sort that would confirm Izlude's guess.

When Malak turned his back to the concealed knight blade to examine another body, Izlude saw a second, larger hole. Within, he spied a scar from what users of the strange weapons called guns would call an exit wound.

The evidence was clear and, even though Izlude had half-expected it, that did nothing to diminish the wonderment it caused in him.

Malak had taken a bullet through the heart and survived...

...or, more likely, he had died and had risen again with the aid of a holy stone.

Whatever the case, it looked like the group's search of this room had ended, for they reconvened near the door.

"I have not seen such slaughter," Rafa murmured, a haunted look in her hazel eyes. "There are corpses at every turn."

Izlude could hear the quaver in the heaven knight's voice, and shared it. In fact, even though the remainder of the company were surely used to seeing bloodshed on the battlefield, it was clear that this was like nothing they had ever seen before.

"My God…," The holy knight gasped. "What on earth could have possibly done this? Could Velias have somehow killed all of these people before we destroyed him?"

Izlude's eyebrows shot up clear into his hairline at these words. If Agrias considered it plausible that this "Velias" could have been the author of this atrocity, then that carried the implication that Velias was another Lucavi demon, like Hashmalum.

Ramza and his band had taken on a Lucavi demon, and won?!

"I don't know, Agrias" Ramza answered, shaking Izlude back to attention. "We're missing a lot of pieces to this puzzle. It seems as though the Lucavi demons we've fought so far only shed their human guises when they didn't have a choice. Cardinal Draclau turned into Queklain when we corned him at Lionel after learning that he had betrayed us. And, Weigraf became Velius when I'd bested his human self back in the keep. But, what would've made the demon shed his disguise here? And, for that matter, if these demons can kill an entire army, then why aren't they using this power outright? It just doesn't make sense."

Izlude had to admit, he shared Ramza's confusion. In fact, when the young Beoulve's words registered, Izlude had to choke down another incriminating gasp. Cardinal Draclau had also been a demon? It did cast Ramza's alleged killing of the cardinal of Lionel - no longer alleged, Izlude supposed - in a very different light.

It also explained why his funeral, which should have been a service attended by thousands, had not been open to the public. And, why only Vormav's closest subordinates had been allowed access to the scene of the crime.

No less startling was the realization that Weigraf had also been corrupted by the Lucavi.

The former leader of the Corpse Brigade, a recent but exceptional addition to the Knights Templar, had briefly been something of a kindred spirit to Izlude. Both had believed that the yoke of the nobility was the true cause of the misery and decline that so characterized Ivalice, and Weigraf was quite eager to succeed with the Templar where he and his former comrades had failed.

Izlude had thought that Weigraf's dream had died at Orbonne, when he'd been forced to abandon the mortally wounded former leader of the Corpse Brigade after he had been bested by Ramza. Yet, to the knight blade's amazement, Weigraf had been hale and whole when he'd arrived at Riovanes shortly before the massacre.

Given Izlude and Malak's resurrections, and Weigraf's apparent descent into demonhood, it was not difficult to guess how that had happened.

"Your sister," Malak spoke up, drawing all eyes in his direction. "She wasn't amongst the dead, was she?"

Ramza did not answer immediately. The young Beoulve nobleman turned rogue knight and then accused heretic scanned the room one last time to see if there was a corpse of a young blonde woman amongst the others in the room. When he saw none, he let out a sigh of relief.

"No, she's not here," he replied. "And, as far as I can tell, this is the only section of the castle that hasn't been searched by us or the others."

"They had her in the castle, I'm certain of that much," Malak affirmed. "They must have taken her during the fighting."

"Who's "they"?"

"Three men, from the Knights Templar. One, Izlude, was here for several days. Another, Weigraf, you've already slain. The third was Vormav, the commander of the Templar."

"One of the remaining two must have Alma, but why would they take her alive?"

The nether seer could offer only a helpless shrug in reply. Ramza, his weary gaze turning earthwards, let out a long, anguished sigh.

"Another dead end, then," he snarled. "We don't know where Alma has been taken, or even if she survived this."

"We've no reason to think otherwise," Agrias interjected. "We've already searched most of the castle before coming here, and so far none of us could find a corpse even remotely resembling that of your sister so please do not give up hope. There's too much at stake for us to give up now."

Those strange, incongruous thoughts of Izlude's seemed to stir at these words and, for some reason, the knight blade was inexplicably certain that Agrias wasn't just referring to Alma. Almost as if to reaffirm this point, the holy knight laid a gloved hand on the young Beoulve's shoulder and gave it a comradely squeeze.

Ramza drew in a breath and let it fountain out, almost as though he were trying to purge some poisonous abscess that crested deep within himself. And, perhaps that was so, for Ramza rose and, when he spoke, his voice was calm and his eyes were clear.

"I suppose you're right, Agrias," he admitted, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "Alright then, here's what we know. Vormav likely has Alma and, since she was taken alive from Orbonne and her body isn't here, it stands to reason that she's still alive. How long she will be, and where she is now, we don't know."

"Murond is the most likely place they would hold her," Malak spoke up. "That is the seat of the church's power, and the Templar are acting on the High Confessor's orders."

"Murond is well defended, and we don't know how many there might be Lucavi demons lying in wait for us," Agrias pointed out, though not without reluctance. "We'd need more blades, and a plan to infiltrate the island undetected, if we're to snatch Alma out from under their noses."

"That's time we might not have," Ramza said, and Izlude could see the effort it took him to voice those words. "There is more going on here than we know. Think about it. Weigraf only discovered the power of the stones after he'd struck his bargain with Velias. So, why didn't he know beforehand? The High Confessor may be giving the orders and passing out what stones he has, but I don't think he truly knows their power."

"What do you mean?" Rafa asked.

"We've seen agents of the church who turned out to be Lucavi, and those who did not. But, all of them have spoken of remaking Ivalice. The stones are powerful symbols, ones the church could use to convince the people that the High Confessor's ambitions are the unfolding of heaven's will. And, from what we've heard of these past months of rebellion and unrest, it would likely work. But, I don't think even he is aware of the Lucavi. The High Confessor's scheme is to broaden the church's power, but I believe the Lucavi are using his ambition to achieve something else. Something...sinister."

That, Izlude suspected as he took in the small sampling of what the Lucavi were capable of, was something of an understatement. Still, he had to admit, what Ramza was saying did make some sense. For all his seeming piety - and, Izlude was forced to admit, he came to this realization only with the benefit of hindsight - the High Confessor was a most ambitious man. Yet, Izlude had stood before him several times over the years, and had not noticed any of the sudden shifts in personality that had been present when Vormav became a vessel of the Lucavi. If the High Confessor did know the true power of the stones, he'd likely want to tap it for his own use.

So, if Ramza's guess was correct, then had the stone of Hashmalum found its way into Vormav's hand by unhappy chance? Or, had another disguised denizen of hell induced the High Confessor to part with the stone when a suitable host had appeared? Izlude supposed it was a moot point in any case. Even if there were elements of the church that had escaped demonic corruption, revealing himself to them would be suicidal, and might endanger Meliadoul as well.

"Whatever that "something" is," Ramza continued, shaking Izlude from his reverie, "it seems they need Alma alive in order to carry it out. So long as that is so, she'll be safe until we can rescue her. So, for now, we need to leave. A lot of people will be wondering what's happened here, and we had best be gone before they arrive."

"Where do you suggest we go now?" Agrias asked curiously.

"To Zeltennia," her companion answered. "This war fits into the High Confessor's ambition, and possibly into the Lucavi's as well. Delita is in Zeltennia, and might be able to provide some insight. What's more, there is something I must ask him."

"And, that is?" Agrias asked, and Izlude could hear the edge in her voice at the mention of Delita's name.

"It's a bit complicated and I cannot explain right now," Ramza admitted, raising both hands in a placating gesture when he noticed Agrias's face hardening into a glare. "But, please, trust me on this, Agrias."

"I do trust you, Ramza. Delita, however, is another matter."

"I can't say I blame you, Agrias. I still don't understand why Delita is doing what he's doing...no, I can understand the why of it, but not the what. He blames nobles for Teta's death and wants revenge. But, how kidnapping Ovelia, thwarting the assassination attempt against her, and working his way into Goltana's inner circle helps him to achieve this end, I do not know."

"This Delita," Malak interjected, "I believe I've heard of him. He was a lieutenant in the Black Ram Knights, under Baron Gribbs. When the baron was slain in battle, and Delita delivered Princess Ovelia to Duke Goltana, he was promoted to commander of the Black Ram Knights. Since then, I've heard tell that he's risen higher and higher in Goltana's favor."

"I've also heard that he and the princess are rarely seen far from each other," Rafa added.

Agrias, clearly displeased by this, rounded on the sky seer, both fists raised and clenched. Rafa, visibly alarmed and bewildered by this reaction, drew back a pace until Ramza clapped a hand on Agrias's shoulder. The holy knight's anger seemed to vanish like a popped bubble, and Rafa seemed only too eager to accept when Agrias offered a muttered apology.

"I doubt any of this is coincidental," Ramza affirmed. "But, I don't know what he wants to achieve by it."

"We do know that he's involved with the church somehow," Agrias broke in. "Where else could he have been trained as a holy knight?"

"I agree, but I don't think he wants the High Confessor to succeed. In Warjilis, he spoke to me about a mighty current that had swept up the dukes, and my brothers. He said that he was swimming against it."

"I believe that last time Delita said something like that, you described it as "speaking in nothings"."

"And, maybe he was. But, if he had been truly in league with the church, why didn't he kill me then? He's had no shortage of opportunities, and he hardly lacks for motive."

Here, Agrias's expression softened. She moved in close to Ramza and, before the astonished eyes of the concealed Izlude, laid one gloved hand on the young Beoulve's cheek.

"Teta's death wasn't your fault," she said firmly.

"If I hadn't blindly assumed that Dycedarg would keep his promise not to endanger Teta, maybe I would've found a way to save her," Ramza contradicted. "But, that's all just a waste of breath. In any case, I believe Delita may have information that I can persuade him to share with us. As for the rest...well, I can't truly explain it. I just feel that he isn't involved with the church or the Lucavi. His ambitions are different."

"And, if those ambitions involve killing you?"

"Then, I'll fight back. As you said, there's too much at stake for us to fail."

The holy knight was silent for a stretching second until, at last, she gave a resigned sigh. "Very well, Ramza. I know you wouldn't be suggesting something this unless there was a good reason. But, if Delita does talk, let him know what will happen to him if any harm befalls Ovelia."

The young Beoulve gave a small smile in reply to his companion's words. Coming from a war weary young man, hunted by church and state alike, that small smile might as well have been a face-splitting grin. Between that, the air between the two of casual camaraderie mingled with sincere concern, and the surprisingly intimate gesture Agrias had used to dispel Ramza's self-recrimination, Izlude could not help but suspect that Agrias was more to Ramza than just a follower and subordinate.

Much more.

After having witnessed the exchange between the two, the young knight blade considered what he'd heard. He knew of Delita's joining the church's efforts to end the corrupt reign of the Ivalician monarchy, and had even mentioned this fact to Ramza during their confrontation in hopes that it would either persuade the young Beoulve to lay down his blade or that it would throw off the otherwise surprisingly powerful warrior.

On both counts, Izlude had been wrong.

Now, however, the knight blade found himself wondering at the history between the pair. He knew Delita had joined the church, in part, to avenge a personal tragedy. By the sound things, Ramza too had witnessed it...

...and, like Delita, he had been changed by what had happened.

That the church wanted Princess Ovelia to occupy the throne, if only as a figurehead, was no secret amongst the ranks of the church. Delita had, indeed, been chosen to thwart Ovelia's would-be assassins, as well as to impress upon her that being a puppet monarch was preferable to being a dead one. Izlude barely knew Delita personally, but he could see why the man had been chosen for this mission of subterfuge. The man was cunning and clever, especially if he could work his way into Goltana's inner circle with such speed and ease. And he was also the very picture of a Machiavellian; able to charm friend and foe alike into dancing in the palm of his hand.

Was that why Ramza was so convinced Delita was not a party to the church's plot, even though he had so little evidence?

Perhaps, and it might very well explain how Delita secured the position of both Goltana's confidant and Ovelia's faithful shadow.

But, for all that, Izlude shared Ramza's conviction that Delita was not in league with the Lucavi. On those few times Izlude had spoken with Delita, he could see that the grief that drove him to the church's doorstep - caused by the death of this Teta, apparently - was both real and raw. And, if the Lucavi could not imitate love, how could they imitate grief or mourning?

Still, there were many unanswered questions about what was unfolding in Ivalice. Between the church, the Lucavi, Larg, Goltana, Ramza, and, quite possibly, Delita, there were now six players vying to decide the fate of this troubled realm. The battle lines were blurred, and unseen forces were pulling strings from the shadows. Now, however, the storm clouds that had long been billowing on the horizon were ready to unleash a storm without parallel.

The board was set, the pieces were moving, but Izlude had no way to glean just what the stakes were in this game of war.

And, he shuddered to contemplate what might happen if the wrong side prevailed.

All he really knew was that, at some point in the future, Hashmalum would bring Alma to Orbonne. That seemed to represent Izlude's best chance to rescue her. But, he had no idea when, precisely, that might happen. He might return to the lands near Orbonne and lay in wait for Hashmalum, but the leonine demon might very well take months to arrive. That Ramza and company would arrive almost immediately after the leonine demon rekindled the notion of Izlude revealing himself to the small group. And, if they had indeed gone up against at least two Lucavi demons and won, joining them would greatly improve what small hope he had of wresting Alma from Hashmalum's claws. But, at the last moment, he decided against it. By Ramza's own admission, the young Beoulve had no way of infiltrating Murond to rescue Alma. And, even if he did, Murond was only a best guess as to where Alma might be held. What if the Lucavi had secreted her somewhere else? Or, what if an opportunity to save her before she reached Orbonne arose, and Ramza was too entangled with his other troubles to act upon it?

And, there was also the distinct lingering possibility that, since it was Izlude's fault that Alma got mixed up in all this and carried off by Hashmalum for God knows what foul purpose, that her brother would not be thrilled to see him. In fact, it was likely that Ramza would probably run him through the gut before giving him a chance to explain.

And, if Ramza learned about the...finer details of Izlude's relationship with Alma, the knight blade might very well find himself being impaled somewhere a little lower than the gut. God knew the knight blade would do so were he in Ramza's position.

As such, Izlude thought it best to keep himself out of the young nobleman's sight. Eager to relieve muscles cramped from standing stock-still for so long, he silently prayed that the small group would depart soon. They were doing just that when something caught the holy knight's eye.

"Hey, Ramza…," Agrias called out.

"Yes?"

"Look at this body. The armor, and the tabard. Doesn't it look familiar?"

Izlude dared to peek out at the pair and saw that they had knelt before the body of Sir Damien Mitchell. Unconsciously, the knight blade drew in a breath and held it as he watched Ramza and Agrias examine the slumped body of the knight with whom he has exchanged garb moments earlier. The knight blade felt yet more cold sweat bespangle his brow as the young Beoulve studied the once magnificent golden armor of the Templar and the once forest green tabard. Then, with the suddenness of a thunderclap, Agrias snapped her fingers.

"Now I remember!" she exclaimed. "Isn't this Sir Izlude Tingel, whom we fought at Orbonne? The one who carried your sister off?"

Upon hearing the mention of his name, Izlude gnashed his teeth together to keep them from chattering. He watched, unblinkingly, as Ramza took the chin of the dead knight and lifted his head, turning it to one side and then the other. Izlude told himself over and over that there was no way Ramza would be able to see through his ruse. Aside from the fact that the other knight's face was savaged beyond recognition, Ramza had met Izlude only once, and very briefly. That, Izlude's mental refrain went, was certainly not long enough that he'd be able to notice any discrepancies between Izlude and the body of the knight which now lay before him.

Of course, as Izlude himself had concluded earlier, Ramza was a very clever and perceptive young man. Might that also extend to him having an impeccable memory and a peerless attention to detail?

The knight blade's ears had begun to tremble and his vision to swim until, once again, the fickle mistress of fate granted him another small favor.

Ramza pulled Izlude's dogtags out and examined them, then gave a sad nod. "I'm afraid so," he said, and Izlude was astonished by the genuine bereavement in the young Beoulve's voice. "It is truly tragic that he met his end this way. I did not sense any of the church's corruption in him, and he could have been spared this terrible fate if only I'd been able to get through to him."

"Don't, Ramza," Agrias warned. "That road only leads to madness. I should know, I've been down it before...well, you know."

Was it Izlude's imagination, or was there a hint of girlish shyness in Agrias's words? Before he could dissect this latest addition to a seemingly endless list of oddities, Ramza replied.

"Yeah, that was a surprise. Still, I suppose you're right. I can't blame him for not wanting to heed the words of a heretic and, you have to admit, the truth was much stranger than fiction. Still, now that he's gone, I'll never be able to ask him about Alma. I can't explain it, but I'm somehow certain that he was the last person to see her before she was taken away. Maybe he could've even told us where she'd been taken to."

"It's all right, Ramza, you are not to blame. It was Sir Izlude's own misfortune, and there is nothing we can do for him now...except make sure whoever, or whatever did this pays the price."

"I suppose you're right. And, we've tarried here much too long already. I hope whoever comes to investigate this massacre will give him and the rest of these poor souls a proper burial. Right now, we must leave this place. Get the others. Whoever does come probably won't be happy to see us."

"Agreed."

As Izlude watched the small group leave the room to meet with their other companions, he felt, in equal parts, profound relief that he hadn't been discovered and a sense of dread over Ramza's eerily accurate instincts. The young knight blade shook off both and, as he stretched life back into his limbs, considered his next course of action. He knew that Ramza would search for his sister to the ends of the earth, as well seek a way to end the War of the Lions before Ivalice fell into the corrupt hands of the High Confessor or the claws of the Lucavi. But, what of Izlude Tingel? Eager though he was to save Alma, he had so few leads and, alone, he might not live long enough to follow up on what little evidence he had. What's more, though Ramza had been forced to abandon his sister's trail for the moment, Izlude did know that he would eventually track Alma to Orbonne. Joining Ramza outright might be too dangerous, especially given his "death", but an alternative sprang to him. If Izlude could somehow follow the young Beoulve, then, sooner or later, he would lead him straight to Alma. As for the complications that could arise if Izlude was discovered, alive and trailing them, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

He would die for Alma. Indeed, he already had. And, if it meant she'd be spared from the Lucavi's profane machinations, he would do so again.

After making sure the quartet was truly gone and that there was no sound of any other members of Ramza's band within earshot, Izlude decided that he'd best leave as well. Before he left the duke's meeting room, however, he paused next to the body of Sir Damien, his unwitting decoy. He thought back to the clear and terrible regret in Ramza's voice as he spoke of the schism between him and Delita, of Teta's death and, ironically, Izlude's.

Something similar now crested in Izlude's heavy heart.

"I was wrong, you know," he said to the corpse that would be buried in his place. "When I believed that there was no one who would mourn you. I will. And, God willing, I'll find a way to put this to rights."

He lay a palm on what was left of the man's forehead, affirming his promise, and then rose and headed out into the hallways of the castle. At each corner and doorway, he carefully peered ahead before proceeding, just in case the living had arrived to reclaim this terrible tomb. Seeing nothing stirring amidst the carnage, Izlude made his way down the hallways as quietly as his booted feet would allow. Then, just as the heaviness of his heart had lessened by the barest degree, he spotted the body of a familiar knight among the sea of countless other corpses left in the Lucavi demon's wake. As he drew closer, the knight blade recognized the other knight as Sir Justin Timbel, his loyal subordinate and dear friend who had died trying to fulfill his last order to protect Alma and help her escape.

"Oh, Justin…," Izlude whispered sadly, his eyes brimming with tears as he knelt before the lifeless body of his friend. Sir Justin, who hardly looked the part of a knight but who had the courage of a lion, had served and fought alongside him since he was inducted into the ranks of the Knights Templar. Where most had thought him only good for a laugh due to his speech impediment, Izlude had recognized the quality of the young man's sword arm and the far greater value of his bravery and loyalty.

And, a brave and loyal man he'd been, until the very end.

As he examined his friend's corpse, Izlude noticed that Justin's arms were neatly folded across his chest and the expression on his face was very nearly peaceful. This, he realized beyond any doubt, was Alma's doing. On the heels of that revelation came a wave of guilt that washed over the knight blade like the Lucavi's limitless hatred. Though Izlude was born and bred on the battlefield, and other knights had died under his command in past battles, Justin's death and Alma's kidnapping by Hashmalum could have been entirely prevented if Izlude himself had not kidnapped the Beoulve girl and brought her to Riovanes in the first place. But, as Ramza himself had said, such thoughts were a waste of breath. And, in any case, all Izlude could do now was say a silent prayer for his friend and hope that Justin would forgive him for unwittingly sending him to his untimely death. If he could, Izlude would have buried Justin with his own hands, but he knew he would not have nearly enough time. Many different parties would take an interest in what had happened in Riovanes, and they might arrive for a closer look any minute. So, like Alma before him, he was forced to assent to necessities' cruel wishes and leave his friend's corpse where it was. But, at least Izlude could soothe his guilty conscience with the knowledge that the church will give Justin a proper burial, as he was one of their knights.

Leaning over and kissing the deceased knight's cold forehead, he whispered "Rest in peace, my friend, you have done your duty well. I will always honor and never forget you, Justin…"

As Izlude finished his prayer, he caught sight of himself in the mirror smooth metal of his late friend's armor and perceived a serious flaw with his plan. His borrowed dog tags might be enough for any peasants and townsfolk he came across, and likely many of the soldiers he might run into as he skirted the battle lines of the War of the Lions. But, though he had shed his name, he could not shed his face. Anyone from the church or the Templar, or who had worked closely enough with them to know of him, would likely recognize him on sight. And rectifying that would be a difficult feat, considering that he was the son of the leader of the Knights Templar, as well as Vormav's - or, more accurately, Hashmalum's - second-in-command. As he probed his mind for ideas, Izlude's thoughts went back to the holy stone in his pocket. If it could bring him back from the dead, then could he also tap its power in other ways? He had no idea. Based on what he know of his own resurrection, as well as the bits and pieces he'd learned of Malak and Weigraf's revivals, the stone seemed to choose who it aided and how. If it did, indeed, "choose" to do what it did, and for whom, it stood to reason that it had some semblance of intelligence and will.

Perhaps even something resembling a heart.

But, this stone was hardly a wizard's staff. Suppose it also possessed a temper, which might be riled if it were used it like some common talisman?

Knowing that there was only one way to find out, the knight blade pulled out the purple Pieces Stone and turned it over in his trembling hands. Closing his eyes, Izlude tried to clear his mind, to concentrate on his need for a disguise and what disaster might befall him if he were recognized, in hopes that the stone would hear him and...

...well, do something.

What that "something" might be, Izlude had no idea. But, he held fast to his faith that, if the stone had thought him worth bringing back from the dead, then it would consent to aid him in seeing that its miraculous gesture would not go to waste. Suddenly, the knight blade felt the stone grow warm in his hand, the same warmth spreading outward to suffuse his whole body. Then, the warmth suddenly turned hotter, so hot that Izlude swore that his hair was crisping from the burn. Then, just as suddenly as the heat came, it was gone. After taking a moment to confirm that the stone hadn't immolated him for his insolence, he opened his eyes and took another look into Sir Justin's reflective armor.

Upon seeing his reflection, Izlude could not help but smile when he saw that the holy stone had indeed granted his wish. Though his face and body had been left largely unaltered, Izlude's tanned complexion was now as pale as Alma's. No less remarkable, his once short chestnut brown hair had lengthened and had darkened to a jet black. Lastly, his emerald-green eyes were now a cold steel-grey. He murmured his thanks to the stone and reverently (all things considered) slipped it back into his pocket. Now that he knew the stone could grant him its aid, at least when it chose to do so, the knight blade had faith that its power would will keep him from being recognized by anyone who might take issue with Izlude Tingel wandering about after his supposed "death". And, now that he, and the stone, had ensured that the illusion of his death was complete, Izlude could finally move on to the next phase of his plan.

Searching for Alma.