Yes, I know, the first two chapters were excruciatingly boring. Sorry about that. : )

This is where I start to deviate from the plot, as you will see. I hope that you will find it entertaining.


-Chris-

Once the elf had caught up with them again, Chris turned her head to give Roland an admonishing look. "You were too confrontational," she said. ((There is no need to antagonize Grasslanders—mere children, as far as I could tell—in such a manner!))

Roland shook his head slightly. "Pardon me, milady, but as the acting captain of the knights, you must not speak to barbarians in such a courteous tone. Be mindful of how you act towards our enemies when the people of Zexen are watching."

Chris could read a seething anger in his calm words. She could not decide whether he was angry with her, or the barbarians. "We knights are neither brutes nor bullies, Roland. I will not tarnish our honor in order to appear strong." ((Was that too much?))

The elf seemed unperturbed by her words. "Milady, remember that at this time, the people's morale is the foremost concern." He spurred his steed forward, passing her by.

Chris watched coolly as the elf took the front. ((That sounds too much like what the council said about the funeral. I—we—are knights first, but… are we no more than that?)) she mused. Though she was no stranger to the logic presented by the elf, she did not like the argument, and she might have spoken her mind about it at another time. She realized that her rhetoric would suffer as a result of the horrible headache that assailed her mind.

She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head in order to clear her thoughts momentarily. Just as she opened her eyes again, she caught a smiling face at the periphery of her blurred vision. Glancing to the side, Chris saw that a young woman with dusty white hair was watching her from just beyond the entrance to the keep through which they had passed moments ago. Her clothes were unusual; a formal shirt in hues of white and blue, and a deep blue skirt that hid her legs. Chris would have said that it was a uniform, but she had never seen its make before. Ordinarily, Chris might not have noticed her at all, except for the unnerving smile on her face and the staff she carried; a polished black rod set with a sparkling gem. ((I do not think I have ever seen a flashier fortune-teller in my life)) Chris mused, turning her attention to the path before her.

Once their horses had been stabled, Chris took a moment to speak to the castle's farrier about resetting Arrow Feather's shoes. While riding from the capital, she had felt a strange gait from time to time, and suspected that her mare could use the attention.

When she was finished at the stables, she found that the others had withdrawn, and quickly wound her way up the stairs and through the corridors towards the room that had been prepared for her. When she reached the door, the sound of someone clearing his throat made her turn around.

"Borus?" she asked, seeing the knight close the doors to the meeting hall.

"Milady, I… heard you approach. I was just about to have a glass of wine, and I thought it rude not to invite you."

Chris smiled. "I appreciate the offer. Do not worry about it, though; I am going to sleep early, tonight." She noticed that he was blushing, and could not imagine why. ((Does he think that I disapprove of having a glass of wine in the evening?)) "Well, good night," she said, pushing the door open and stepping through.

"Madam," Louis confronted her with in the next instant, "should I draw a bath?"

"Thank you, Louis, but that will not be necessary tonight. I am going straight to bed. I have the worst headache," she confided as she walked over and sat down upon the bed. The creak of leather and the rustle of iron parts sounded as her armor contracted to her pose. Sighing, she unfastened and removed her gauntlets with clumsy mailed fingers. Normally, she would ask Louis to help her with them, but she felt impatient tonight. Freeing her sweaty hands, she rubbed at her temples, trying to find some peace. ((Good Goddess, if I am to make peace with these barbarians, first grant me peace!))

For a moment, Louis made no sound, but she knew that he was waiting on her. "Should I prepare some hot tea for you, madam? It will help you sleep."

"Louis, it's not your task to act as my maid and butler."

The boy chuckled. "But I like to, madam! Besides, I'm much better at this than I'll ever be at riding and swordplay."

"Do not say that, Louis. Your father will have my hide if I do not make a knight out of you eventually," she said wearily. Even so, she smiled at him. ((I'm still not sure whether you're cut out to be a knight. It's too early to tell. Still, I would be a lousy woman if I did not keep a promise to my father's friend.))

Louis shrugged, seemingly undisturbed by the thought of remaining a squire indefinitely. "I will make the tea, madam," he said.

Before she could muster the energy to speak, he had left the room for the adjoining chambers. ((Yes, some tea would be nice…)) she thought. Reclining against the bed, she began to undo the complex braids in her hair. ((That barbarian boy… he had such deep eyes…)) she thought, yawning in a manner most unbefitting a lady.

-Hugo-

It took some doing to persuade Sergeant Joe into letting him go about his business, but Hugo had finally managed to convince them both to take Fubar and wait for him past the western checkpoint of Brass Castle. As for himself, as he had said, he had business to take care of. ((Jimba trusted me with this. I won't let him down!))

At first, Hugo had fretted that in such a large structure, it might be difficult to find out exactly where the knights had been quartered. However, he had found that this was his least concern; once he had wrapped himself in a drab traveler's cloak and made the least attempt to veil his Karayan appearance, the ironheads seemed to prattle incessantly as he passed by. Gleaning the location of the person they referred to as the Silver Maiden had been easier than passing through the checkpoint in the first place.

Making his way through the common rooms and corridors within the keep, Hugo found that initially, the presence of many served to hide his own attendance. Contrary to his belief, it seemed like the ironheads would make no trouble, even if he—

"Halt, lad. This area is off-limits to commoners."

Hugo found himself staring at a pair of halberds, leveled across the stairwell in order to hinder his movement. He raised his face slightly as he asked, "Why?" ((I'd better not speak too much, or they will notice my accent. It'd be easier if I could sound as funny as the ironheads.))

The guardsmen seemed perplexed by his question. Several moments passed before one of them spoke. "'Cause it's the knights' quarter. Commoners are not allowed past the third floor."

Standing motionless for a moment, Hugo thought about what to do. Finally, he nodded. "Bye," he said simply. ((It's better not to argue. But… what now?)) he thought, walking away from where the guards were standing.

Taking a look around, Hugo could see no alternate means of reaching the floors 'past the third,' and it seemed logical that they would all be guarded in similar ways, considering that they did not want 'commoners' in those areas. ((What's a commoner, anyway? Maybe that has something to do with the fact that ironheads all look the same.))

Several people passed Hugo by on their way to their errands as he paced down the corridor on the third floor. Watching the brown stone walls, he tried to reach a conclusion. He knew that Chris Lightfellow was on the fifth floor, and he would have to find a method of reaching her without using the stairs that wound their way through this strange maze-like building. Growing nervous, Hugo stared out a window and tried not to look too conspicuous. Through the flared window, he could see a landscape of rolling green hills and expansive plains painted in earthen colors. Fluffy clouds sailed idly through the sky, looming over the Grasslands. Across the distance, the wind seemed to sing a joyful tune. ((The ironheads are insane; they build structures that reach for the clouds, but they still can't speak to the wind spirits!)) Leaning his arms against the sloping windowsill, he poked his head through the gap and surveyed the people milling about beneath with a sigh. ((Spirits…) he mused.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. Leaning back to stand up straight, Hugo looked around carefully. Finding no one present, he hurriedly began to climb out of the window.

Just as he had figured out a way to slither his body through the narrow opening without breaking his neck or losing his balance, he heard quiet steps ascend the stairwell behind him. Distrustful of his own ability to complete his feat before the person would see him, Hugo quickly withdrew into the corridor. Scratching his knee painfully against the edge of the flared window, he kneeled down and pretended to rummage through his speedily unfastened bag as he furtively rubbed the sore point. When the person entered the corridor, he did not dare to look up, but heard the sound of clinking armor.

In the distance, he heard the guardsmen greet the passerby, and the sound of motion quickly died down. Hoisting himself onto the windowsill, he once again tried to make his exit unseen.

The wind howled outside, its voice exacerbated by the shrill call of the spirits that dwelt within, and to his exasperation, Hugo found the castle wall inhospitable to would-be climbers. ((I guess that makes sense; if they don't want people past the third floor, they'd make it difficult to climb the castle.)) For a moment, Hugo stood still, grasping his tentative handholds with all the strength he could muster. At that time, he seriously considered giving up on his endeavor and returning to the safety within the building's walls. The ground beckoned dangerously below, and though he had flown far higher on Fubar's back, he trusted the inhuman ironhead structure much less than he did the gryphon. ((Well, Jimba wouldn't want me to splatter all across the landscape just to make the delivery, right…?)) Heart pounding, Hugo glanced back into the corridor and listened intently for a sound; something to break his dilemma and force him to step away from the window.

Finally, he made his decision. Sticking to it before he had time to change his mind, he invoked the Wind Rune on his left hand, summoning a strong breeze to buffet his body from beneath and take the weight away. His hand glowed with a pale green light as he reached up to grasp a protruding stone, and a translucent symbol of the same color was scattering into motes of radiance in front of his chest. Concentrating on the wall, Hugo moved one arm at a time, one leg at a time, searching for anything at all to use as a foothold. The effort put a strain on his limbs and caused his fingers to ache after half a minute, and he realized that without the spell, he would have been forced to abandon his attempt before he could come much farther.

Feeling sweat build on his hands, Hugo suppressed a sensation of dread and tried to fill his mind with images of brave Karayans from the past, imagining for a moment that he was joining their ranks with a feat of bravery, rather than simply breaking into an ironhead castle in order to deliver a memento. ((This is a fool's errand!)) he chided himself, but he would not turn back.

Grabbing an extricate ledge just below a window that peered into what he assumed was the fourth floor, Hugo grunted with effort as he pulled himself up to come face to face with the aperture. Placing his knee against the ledge and grabbing the windowsill with his arm, he leaned his body against the wall and held on with all of his might.

Breathing heavily, Hugo pushed aside the desire to look down and instead cast his eyes upward. The high sun sent shafts of light against the stone walls, causing a reddish glare to envelop the castle's top. The fifth floor seemed so close, and yet he had only come halfway to his destination. Drawing a deep breath, Hugo carefully used his free hand to pat the wall in mock affection. ((I can't go on; I'd better just hope that I can make my way onto the fifth floor without any more climbing.))

Dragging himself up, Hugo placed his nose in level with the window's base and glanced into the corridor.

It seemed empty. Positioning his hands in order to hoist his body through the—

"Elia!" a high-pitched, feminine voice called out, "Where are Sir Roland's sheets! You know he's very particular about his—"

Hugo panicked at the sound of footsteps, withdrawing his hands and ducking down. Desperately grasping for the edges of a slightly protruding stone, he fought to keep his balance as the penetrating voice passed by. Just then, a strong gust of wind hit his flank, pressing him to the side.

Flailing, Hugo fell through the air, feeling his spell struggle against the earth's pull. As his mind flooded with fear, he grasped for anything that might halt his fall. His sweaty fingers closed on stone, sliding off. His elbow knocked into the ledge, sending a jolt of pain through his arm. At the same time, the nails of his left hand rasped against the shelf, quickly losing their grip. Kicking violently, he searched for something to stand on, and in a moment, he slid half a dozen times.

Then, something arrested his fall, and Hugo found that his hand clasped precariously onto the ledge, holding him up a hair's breadth away from a deadly drop.

Hugo dared not swallow, keeping entirely still for a moment in order to gather his wits. He felt frightened half to death already, and he had to somehow convince himself that he was not going to die. Slowly, gingerly, his feet roamed for a place to find rest as his hand scratched against coarse stone.

((Just… don't… think…))

Taking his time, Hugo let his feet settle on the least insecure protrusions that he could find, feeling far from certain about it. With agonizing patience, he reached the arm that hung limp at his side up to grasp at the ledge. After what felt like minutes, his hand was clasped around an ornament shooting out from the castle wall just between two windows, and he dared move his cramped left hand at last.

With his goal so close at hand, Hugo wasted no time. ((Better to be seen and thrown out than to throw myself down and never be seen again,)) he thought sarcastically as he hoisted himself up. His heart pounded like a hammer upon the anvil when he finally pulled himself through the window and into the corridor. He felt that his knees were shaking, and he had to kneel down against the wall in order to rest his legs before they buckled beneath him. Letting his arms go limp against his sides, he closed his eyes and drew shuddering breaths.

((Thank the spirits, I'm alive,)) he rejoiced, massaging his weak legs. ((I'll never do something so stupid again,)) he vowed.

He had little time to recollect himself before he heard hurried steps ascend the staircase. Opening his eyes, Hugo found that his position was similar to where he had been on the third floor. The exception that proved that he had not imagined the dangerous ascent was an oaken door right in front of him.

Out of alternatives, Hugo stood up and bolted for the door, raising his fist. He hesitated for a moment before shrugging. ((I've got to take my chances,)) he decided. Stepping to the side, he pounded his fist against the door, calling any potential inhabitants.

There was no reply.

Hugo waited for six heartbeats, and then could wait no longer. The footsteps were fast approaching, and he would need a place to hide. Pulling open the door, Hugo braced himself and prayed to the spirits for a moment of good luck.

Looking into the room, Hugo found it empty.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he darted inside of the room and closed the door behind him without making too much noise. When he gazed about the room, he found that despite the limited space, it was the most luxurious abode that he had ever seen. The bed itself was fit for… well, someone that Hugo had never known. It was a monstrous construction; a robust piece of ornately carved red-tinged wood which posts reached from floor to ceiling. The bed seemed to be overflowing with sheets and pillows, and voluminous drapes spilled from the topmost beams. Other than the bed, there were shelves, tables, chairs, and—

—the door behind Hugo opened suddenly, shattering his awe-struck reverie.

"Stop loafing around and bring these cloaks to the wash room!" a voice called out. It belonged to the woman whose passing had startled him. ((Damn! She must have heard me.))

Feeling a surge of anger at her, Hugo quickly dismissed it as irrational and took a quick step to the side, pressing up against a bookshelf. ((Don't be an idiot. It's not her fault that I almost fell,)) he told himself.

"Hey, did you see who that man was that just passed by? I don't remember seeing him before…" the woman asked absently. A bundle of dirty cloaks were tossed into the room, landing with surprising grace in a big pile on the brown carpet in the middle of the room.

Hugo said nothing, waiting for the woman to leave and hoping that she did not desire and answer to her question. It was a short vigil, as she had barely paused for long enough to toss the clothes into the room.

Kneeling down next to the cloaks, Hugo rifled through them and picked out the cleanest one. Clasping it around his shoulders, he found that it was a bit too short for him. He dismissed the notion of taking the time to search through them all for a better fit. Instead, he moved to the door and slipped through with one last glance at the bundle of cloaks on the floor. ((Hah! They ironheads can't even handle their own clothes without help?)) he thought, rolling his eyes.

He found the corridor empty, and the only noise he could hear was the sound of voices shouting from a distance on one of the below-lying floors. Making the most out of the opportunity, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and adjusted the Zexen cloak that he had taken.

As he stepped around the corner to where the stairwell laid, he drew a deep breath and prepared to, if necessary, break through and make a run for it.

Instead, to his surprise, he found that the stairs were unguarded.

Frowning, Hugo peered at his surroundings. He could have sworn he had heard muffled voices from this part of the corridor when he had passed through the window, and he would have assumed that the stairs would be guarded, as they had been on lower floors.

Hugo shrugged his shoulders, climbing the stairs with careful steps as he held onto the railing coursing along the right-hand wall. ((Maybe they didn't think it'd be necessary. Really, what kind of dolt would climb the walls?)) he thought, grimacing. ((Still, it's a bit reckless not to keep guards, even here.))

When he reached the top step, he found the corridor abandoned. There were no guards, nor could he see or hear anyone else move through the dimly lit passage. Thin shafts of light shone in through the windows, but at this time of the day, the sun's angle would permit little illumination into the castle.

Hugo moved sideways, pressing up against the stone on the left-hand side of the corridor. He hugged the wall as he moved towards the closest door, trying to ignore his pounding heart. ((Mighty spirits, was this a good idea?)) he wondered to himself. He could guess at the answer. ((Still, I've come this far. Now where is…))

As he closed the distance between his own position and the closest door, he began to hear noises from within. Pausing to listen more intently, Hugo knelt down.

Someone was inside; he could tell that much for certain. As he listened, he could hear that the shuffles turned to steps, and then he heard someone grasp at the door's handle. His eyes confirmed it as the handle sunk, and the door opened.

Pressing his back against the wall, Hugo watched fearfully as a man left the room. It was a Zexen soldier, dressed in the garb of a common guardsman similar to those that had blocked his path at the eastern checkpoint. Hugo froze as the soldier hesitated outside the door. If he only looked to the right…

With a sudden twist, the soldier turned to his left, leaving his back at Hugo and proceeding down the corridor at a measured pace. Feeling a great deal of relief, Hugo wiped a hand's worth of sweat from his forehead and snuck after the soldier. He made sure that he padded only against the thick carpet as he followed in the other man's footsteps, doing his best to make no sound.

Even with his best efforts at stealth, Hugo was worried. ((If he turns, at any time, he'll see me. I'd better hide and wait for him to pass.)) Looking around, Hugo could see no better place to find refuge than the room from which the soldier had come. Stepping back, he kept glancing over his shoulder as he slowly pulled at the handle. Oddly, the door seemed almost to swing open by itself, as though there were a weight pressed against it. When the door was just sufficiently ajar, he pushed himself through the aperture and stepped into the room.

It was similar to the one he had explored on the fourth floor. Glancing around the room, he could see the same type of bed, a collection of similar shelves and tables, a strange sort of contraption set with candles in the ceiling, and a man slumped against the door—

Hugo turned in one swift motion, taking a step back. Slumped against the door, a man's body had slid onto the floor. He was covered with blood, and around the macabre bundle, the carpet was dyed in crimson to match.

Spinning around, Hugo nearly stumbled as he pressed his hands against his mouth and suppressed the need to retch. He had never seen a dead person up close, and much less one so morbidly slain. As he shuddered, his eyes were drawn to another bundle, wrapped up in cotton blankets against the opposite corner of the room. The blankets were soaked through with blood.

Feeling light-headed in an instant, Hugo reacted in panic. Pushing open the door, he stepped out into the corridor and walked over to the nearest window. Leaning against the windowsill, he threw up his stomach's contents against the drab stone. ((S-spirits, what happened here! That man… he was a Zexen soldier! Why would he…?))

Though filled with fear, Hugo's mind was piqued with interest. As he used his cloak to wipe vomit from his mouth, he paused to think about the situation as rationally as he could manage. ((If they find me now, they'll think I did it, no questions asked. If I flee… well, can I get out without being seen? Even if I manage to escape, it's going to be difficult to move around Zexen territory… and what about the truce! The letter! I can't become branded as a murderer! Spirits, this is a disaster!))

Drawing a deep breath to keep the panic at bay, Hugo tapped his fingers against the stone wall in a nervous habit and raked through his hair with his free hand. ((Alright, let's see. I need to find Chris Lightfellow and tell her just what happened. That's the only way I've got a shot at making them see my side of the story. It's going to be awful, but it's the best choice.))

Nodding to himself, Hugo started down the corridor. ((Spirits, let me pick the right door when the time comes. I don't want to run into that damned elf, this time.))

Having resolved himself to find Chris Lightfellow, Hugo had forgotten all about stealth by the time he heard the sound of footsteps from the corridor ahead. Cursing himself in silence, he tried to duck into a niche before—

—but he was too late. The soldier stepped around the corner, looking straight at him. Hugo could only see a portion of the man's face underneath his pot helmet, but his features seemed impassive; cold as the grave.

The man took a step forward, drawing his sword. Hugo watched with amazement as the man's outline seemed to blur, then dissolved into mist that coalesced into another figure in a heartbeat.

A Karayan warrior stood before him, holding a long knife in his hand.

Hugo gaped, staring at the man. It seemed that they were both hesitant to move. Feeling anger rise within, Hugo glared at the warrior. "What are you doing?" he hissed. Even as he stared at the man's face, he could not recognize him. "Who are you?" he prompted.

Suddenly, the stranger wearing Karayan clothes turned, and his shape seemed to blur once more, bursting and recreating itself into the form of the soldier he had seen before. He had just enough time to see the man's back before he disappeared around the corner.

For a moment, Hugo found that he was petrified, shocked to the point of immobilization. Shaking his head, he regained the use of his limbs and set after the stranger. ((It has to be magic! He's got to have some sort of rune! But who! He's not Karayan! There's no way I wouldn't recognize him. How dare he wear our clan colors!)) Outrage flooded Hugo's mind, and he was enveloped by a sense of righteous anger that seemed to have dispelled—or perhaps muted—the fear and shock within.

Chasing after the man, Hugo rounded the corner and found that he was alone in the corridor. Wherever the man had gone, he was not within sight. ((Did he really have time to make it past the next corner? He must be in one of the rooms…)) he thought.

Hugo saw the door move an inch, and he leapt forward. The door was swung ajar, and before he had time to register the soft humming voice, Hugo had drawn his knife and grabbed the person from behind. "Don't make a sound," he growled.

It was a smaller shape than he had imagined.

Looking down, Hugo saw the frightened eyes of the young boy from Chris Lightfellow's group stare back at him. Unable to conceal his surprise, Hugo quickly pulled his dagger from the boy's throat and pushed him away. "You!"

The boy seemed to want to say something, but his lips quivered with fear.

"Uh," Hugo began awkwardly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I thought… well, nevermind." He was speaking in a hurried voice, stumbling over the words. "I'm really sorry. You're a friend of Chris Lightfellow, right?"

"I-I'm her squire," the boy blurted out.

"I have no idea what that means. You know her, right? What's your name?" Hugo asked. Though the tried to keep his eyes on the boy, he kept peering to either side, expecting the stranger to leap out at him at any moment.

"Y-yes, I d-do… I'm L-l-l-louis."

"Louis?" Hugo wondered. Seeing the boy's nod, he tried to smile slightly. "I need to speak to Chris Lightfellow. I don't want to hurt anyone—I mean, I didn't come to fight—but there's someone here who's dangerous."

The boy—the squire, whatever that was—nodded slowly, seemingly too frightened to question what Hugo said. "A-alright, she's right in—"

Louis did not have time to finish his sentence before a man dressed in Karayan clothes burst into the corridor from a door further down the corridor. Hugo turned in an instant, raising his knife to defend himself against the assailant. "Damn you!" he called out, waiting for the attack with fingers slick with sweat.

To his surprise, the man—who spoke not a sound as he moved—darted towards Hugo, but suddenly veered off and raised his long knife against Louis. Though he saw the attack coming, Hugo knew that he was too late to block the stranger's path. "Watch out!" he called out in vain, leaping towards the boy.

Just as the stranger's weapon cut through the air, Hugo bowled into Louis and knocked the boy aside. The blade's edge passed over Hugo's shoulder, slitting open a rut before cutting across Louis' chest, opening a shallow wound that ran from stomach to throat.

Mortified, Hugo leapt to his feet and kicked at the warrior's legs. His limb swept the stranger's legs from underneath him, and as the man toppled, Hugo followed with his dagger. His stab was stopped by a clashing blade, and Hugo spun around, bringing his weapon up in the motion. The stranger parried the attack, but he betrayed a sluggish responsiveness. Their weapons clashed once, twice, and then Hugo buried his dagger in the stranger's arm.

Crying out his pride, Hugo quickly stamped his foot down on the man's primary wrist and sat down, raising his knife to mimic a killing blow "Who are you!" he shouted.

The man's face was impassive, neutral. It betrayed no emotion. As Hugo looked more closely, he thought that the face was somehow wrong; unfinished. It was like something out of a memory; not a true face, but an image you remember. He could also see that the clothes were subtly inconsistent. The pattern was off at several places, and the colors, though correct, arrayed in the wrong manner.

"What is the meaning of this!" he demanded to know.

Suddenly, the figure blurred, and in an instant, it had dissolved into a fluffy cloud of mist that evaporated even as Hugo sat back on his bottom, batting it away.

For a moment, Hugo was baffled, looking around to ensure that the man was truly gone, and searching for new dangers. Several seconds passed before his mind grasped the reality. ((Louis!)) he remembered.

Spinning around, Hugo dropped his knife and looked at the boy. The wound, though shallow, was life-threatening. Pressing his right hand against the blood flow in the boy's throat, Hugo released the power contained within his Wind Rune, praying that it would not be too late.

The translucent image of pale green appeared in front of his chest; a replica of the Wind Rune transmitted onto the air itself. His hand glowed, and the light passed onto Louis' throat. To his relief, Hugo could see that the wound was mending, knitting as he watched. Even so, he wondered if he had been quick enough.

Remembering the purpose of his visit, Hugo sighed as he untied the clasps on his bag and pulled out the Pentacle of Knighthood. "I guess I won't get the chance to deliver this, at least not now. I really hope you survive, Louis. Please give this to her," he mumbled, placing the iron star in the squire's lap.

"What in the name of the Goddess is the meaning of this!" a woman's voice shouted from behind his back.

Hugo felt his heart skip a beat, and he turned to see Chris Lightfellow storm out of her chambers. In the instant that he had to react, he could see that she had removed her breastplate, and wore something bulky beneath. In addition, her hair was unbraided, flowing freely.

"I-I…" Hugo began, bending down to grab his knife. "It wasn't me!" he shouted lamely.

Chris' eyes fell on Louis, and Hugo could see that white hot anger flooded through her eyes. "How dare you, barbarian! You would murder defenseless children!"

"N-no!" Hugo assured her, but he could see that she was in no mood to discuss. Her sword was out with the ring of iron on iron, and she stabbed the weapon towards him.

It was all he could do to divert the blade from his heart, but as he slammed his knife against the blade, it cut across his side. She was beyond words, now—just as he was, trying to survive. ((I don't stand a chance! She's going to kill me!)) he thought, feeling panic well up.

A sudden "KUEEEE!" from outside the window caught his attention, and Hugo felt his heart skip a beat. He narrowly parried a slash and rolled around, tricking the furious knight into overextending herself. ((I've got to take my chances,)) he thought grimly as he fended off two quick thrusts for his neck. He remained alive, but she had gained the upper hand the moment the duel began.

"KUEEEE!" he heard again, and he could tell that the sound was closer. From both sides of the corridor, he could see knights and soldiers rushing in to aid their captain, and Hugo heard furious yells from all around.

Stepping forward suddenly, Hugo managed to catch the all-out-offensive Chris off-guard and slammed the hilt of his dagger into her wrist. She hesitated for a second, but it was all that he needed. Taking a firm hold of the windowsill and grabbing his bag with his other hand, he launched himself through the window, knocking his head and shoulders painfully against the stone.

He could hear cries of surprise, anger and frustration as he sailed through the air, praying to all the spirits of the air and the earth that he had not made a terrible mistake. Feeling dizzy, he closed his eyes and prayed, too frightened to even look.

"KUEEE!"

The sound was close, and Hugo could feel the pressure of the gryphon's wing-beats. Daring to hope, he opened his eyes and saw feathers. Just as Fubar passed beneath him, he grabbed onto the gryphon's mane and held fast. The sensation of falling was replaced by the exhilarating feeling of being alive.

Crying out in exultation, Hugo turned to look back at the castle. Suddenly recalling his promise, he motioned Fubar to approach—a suggestion that the gryphon met with some consternation. As he approached, he cupped his hands and began to shout, but realized that his voice would drown in the wind. Activating the Wind Rune again, he tunneled a path through the air flow in order to make his voice carry.

"YOUR FATHER DIED A HEROIC DEATH!" he shouted awkwardly. ((That's awful, but it'll have to do.)) He could feel his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

As he turned his mount, Hugo caught a glimpse of motion, and he instantly commanded Fubar to dive as he pulled his knife from its sheath, dropping his bag.

The arrow that shot from the window was swift, and true. Though he batted his knife at it, his strike was too slow. In the end, it was Hugo's quick reactions that saved them both; the arrow passed mere inches above Fubar's head.

Terrified of facing a continued hail of arrows, Hugo sheathed his dagger, dove, and wheeled Fubar around just in time to catch his falling bag before it hit the ground.

Moments later, they sailed for the horizon.

-Chris-

Chris was furious, but she had enough sense remaining to sheath her sword before someone innocent got hurt. Before managing to calm down, she had flailed the weapon like a rampaging wand, and it would have been only a matter of time before she had stabbed one of the knights that crowded around her. ((That… vile… barbarian!)) she thought, searching her mind without success for a weightier insult. She had to blame her upbringing for her lacking vocabulary. ((What an outrage! And to bring my father into this… simply to hurt me!))

"Milady," Borus cut in.

"Quiet!" Chris snapped. She felt a pang of guilt for her behavior, but her head was throbbing with pain and it was difficult to remain calm even without their voices added to the din.

Roland turned from the window, lowering his bow. Of all those present, the elf seemed the calmest. "Milady," he said in an apologetic voice, "The barbarian is out of range."

Chris sneered, but caught herself, pressing her lips together as she nodded. Drawing a deep breath, she pressed a calloused hand to her forehead and sighed. "Forgive me," she mumbled. "I lost my temper."

The knights made no attempt to reprimand her, giving an assortment of replies that she barely heard through the pounding of her skull.

Suddenly remembering what was important, Chris knelt down next to Louis' slumped form. "I am so sorry, Louis," she mumbled. "This was not meant to be." She could tell by the pale look on his face that he was beyond salvation. Even so, she pressed her left hand against his blood-stained stomach and invoked the power of her Water Rune.

As the rune's translucent image manifested itself, she felt a resonance, and gave a start. Bright blue light spread from her hand and enveloped the wound, but as the healing magic set in, a breeze of pleasant air summoned from nowhere caught Chris' hair and sent her locks tossing. "What…?" she breathed. ((Someone has used magic on him! But… who? How is this possible? What did the barbarian do!)) Chris leaned closer, oblivious to the insistent questions asked by her peers. Gently touching Louis' forehead, she tilted his head to the side and examined his neck. She could see the contours of a recently healed scar cutting across the squire's throat. A mortal blow, and one not healed by Chris' own magic. ((This is… someone has used a Wind Rune to heal his wound! That's impossible!))

She glanced down upon Louis' collapsed body, trying to make sense of what had occurred. As her eyes dropped, her jaw followed.

On Louis lap laid an iron star; a Pentacle of Knighthood. Her mind began to race.

It was the Lightfellow Pentacle.


Author's Notes: I can't remember whether Chris' horse was ever named in the game…? Feel free to correct me, but I chose to make up a name rather than search in vain for the potentially canonized name.

I should mention something: For the purposes of this story, the plot is played out three years later. That means that Hugo is 17, rather than 14. As for Chris, she's 23. (Yes, I know that technically, she's supposed to be 7 years older than Hugo, but whatever; at least I'm keeping my own continuity, unlike the good people at Konami!)