Chapter Four: The Game of Kings
"The Cardinal is busy for the rest of the day," sighs our guide, Galzin, his voice oozing regret as he escorts us through the massive Lionel Castle. "However, he'd like to speak with you tomorrow. You are welcome to roam the castle at your leisure, though he insists that you don't wander into the town, for the Princess's sake." He pauses, smiling benevolently. "Certainly after traveling, some time to wash up and relax would not be unwelcome."
I nod. The man is a skilled mediator, able to turn a delay into a reason to celebrate. Still, he has a point. My skin feels like it's caked in dirt, and I'm relatively used to it; I can only imagine how Princess Ovelia must feel. "Of course."
Galzin's smile widens briefly before disappearing into a mask of professional openness. Our party's footsteps echo oddly in the stark stone hallway. "Your guest quarters are just up here," explains the mediator, gesturing ahead at the next set of doors. "There are two, one for Her Highness and another for yourself and your women. The rooms have an adjoining door, and should be sufficiently large even for three people."
Of that, I have no doubt. Lionel Castle is a big place. "What about Ramza and Mustadio?"
"Separate rooms," answers Galzin pleasantly, "just a few doors down." I get the impression they are not as nice as Ovelia's or my own quarters.
I pause in front of the doors he has indicated, then face the man. "Thank you. Where are the washrooms?"
Galzin turns to point down the hallway briefly before folding hands behind his back again. "Down that way and around the corner. The kitchens are two floors below here, as well. Is there anything else?"
I shake my head. "Thank you for your help."
The herald smiles. "If you have further needs, I will be about." He bows slightly, then turns and offers a much deeper bow to Ovelia. "Highness." With one final smile, he departs back the way we came.
As he is disappearing, I open the door to Ovelia's rooms and hold it there for her. With a smile, the princess gathers her skirts and steps past me into what looks to be an entire suite.
Alicia and Lavian begin filing into the room I'll be sharing with them, and I take a moment to address the men. "We'll be washing up shortly," I explain. "Afterwards, perhaps we can share dinner in... in our rooms, I suppose."
The fellows nod, Mustadio smiling, and start heading to their own guest spaces. I put them out of my mind for the moment and return my attention to Ovelia.
The young heiress, I see, is in the process of gazing around at her suite. It is plush, bordering on opulent, with an enormous four-posted bed, gold-inlaid cedar chests and wardrobes, and lace everywhere. I hate lace. Crimson rugs spread across the floor will help to take some of the chill out of the castle.
Ovelia makes some sort of cooing noise, apparently in delight, and I wonder about that until I recall that she's spent her life thus far in stark monasteries. Grinning, she leaps onto the bed, arms and legs flung outwards, and sinks into the feather mattress. Her muffled giggles reach my ears.
I have to fight to keep from smiling at her glee. "Princess Ovelia," I call, speaking loudly in case her ears are covered as well, "don't you want to clean up?"
The young woman rises out of the mattress, brushing hair from her eyes as she grins at me. "Eventually," she sighs, giggling again. "Don't you want to try this? When was the last time you jumped on a bed?"
"A long time ago," I admit. "Princess... I'm heavier than you," I point out, "and I'm wearing armor besides. I'd fall right through."
"Oh, fine," she concedes, still giggling as she slips to her feet. "I suppose I'd be happier not smelling like a chocobo."
I nod, waiting as she returns to where I'm standing, by the door. I make certain to be the first into the hallway, and I glance carefully in both directions before allowing the Princess out. In a populated place like Lionel, we can't be too careful.
Galzin's word appears to have been good; as he claimed, the washrooms are just a short walk away. The women's section, we quickly learn, is located past two sets of doors and a few twists in the short hallway, as though the castle's architects had been keen to protect the modesty of its female inhabitants. I can't say I'll complain about that.
We soon reach a squarish room filled with benches and privacy curtains on sliding wooden rings. A dressing room, then. I spot Lavian's and Alicia's belongings together in one corner, though their clothes are absent. Judging by the presence of a heavy-set middle-aged woman in servant's livery, I assume my knights' garments are being washed. Lovely. Their echoing voices float out through a green-tiled hallway, along with the occasional wisp of steam.
Striding over to the servant, I nod at her companionably, then raise my arms in the universal gesture for standing up. She does so, frowning uncertainly. Her expression darkens further as I pat her down for hidden weapons, but the woman's dark eyes flicker to my shield, with the St. Konoe insignia, and she says nothing.
After a moment I give her a reassuring smile, then step to an open bench near where Ovelia is carelessly disrobing. Without a word I begin undoing my armor, glancing around for a place to put it. Then I sigh. Though there is an abundance of hangers and racks for dresses and the like, there is no suitable place to store armor. I avoid the urge to grumble under my breath about it, but don't they get female knights in here, ever? They must. In Lesalia, this would never be a problem.
As I am still working on my leg plates, Ovelia grabs a soft linen towel and pads down the hallway to where the baths presumably are. Quickly I can hear Alicia and Lavian greeting her, and in moments all three voices are engaged in chatter.
Before long I manage to remove all of my armor, stowing it wrapped in towels on and under my bench. I shake my head at the awkwardness of doing so as I start shrugging out of the rest of my garments, the blue coat and breeches. They come off much more quickly than the forged plates did.
Frowning for a moment, I step to one of the two mirrors in the room and study my naked reflection. Most of the time I see a mirror perhaps once a month, which is plenty for me; I've never been overly vain about my appearance, and as I scrutinize myself now, I become even less so.
Ramza may have called me beautiful, and he may not have, but others have said so flat-out. I can't see it, though. I suppose my face is pretty enough, true. Then again, I have scars all over my body, and it just happens that none of them are above my neck where people can see them. I also still have a faint pink birthmark, faded with age, stretching for a hand's length around one hip. My arms and shoulders are more muscled than I suppose most women's are, and my hands are rough and callused from years of wielding swords and reins and being stuffed into gloves. My left breast is a tiny bit higher than the right, though you couldn't notice without looking for the difference, and my ribs are faintly visible under them both. I am fairly slim, but I do have a woman's curves; everything is largely what and where it's supposed to be, but that's about the extent of my physical beauty. Nothing to write home about, certainly.
Why do I care? Typically I don't. In fact, I never really think of myself as a woman. If someone were to ask me what I am, the answer would be, "I'm a Holy Knight," not, "I'm a woman." That might have been different once, as a young woman during my first few cycles, back when I still had an eye for boys, but it didn't last long. When I discovered that most of them were, in fact, rather boring, my attention returned to my first and only love, the sword. A sword will never grope you, won't deceive or dissemble, and will stay at your side until the day it breaks.
"Captain?" comes Alicia's voice from the washroom. "Are you coming? Or are you just going to guard us and stay dirty?"
I sigh, turning from the mirror and my pointless self-inspection. Gripping my braid, I untie the leather cord binding it and toss the thing atop my clothes. Then I grab a towel and my scabbarded blade and walk into the bathing chamber.
The steam grows with every step until I feel I am coated with hot dew. After a week or so in the sun and the wind, though, it feels quite refreshing. Ovelia and the knights are in a trio of copper tubs in the farthest corner, so I stride over to join them, tossing my things on the floor nearby.
"He is rather cute," Lavian is musing as I approach, "but I never know what he's thinking when he looks at me. Besides, I prefer blue or green eyes on a man."
Alicia grunts noncommitally, soaping up an arm. All three women are sprawled in their tubs, with only shoulders, heads and knees visible above the hot water. "Yeah," she allows, "the way he can stare is a little odd, but I love his smile. It's to die for."
"Who are you talking about?" I ask against my better judgement as I dip a leg into the water in my chosen tub. It's hot, almost too hot for comfort; it'll take me a while to get fully in. "Ramza?"
The knights share a sudden laugh, and I frown at them. "What?"
"We were talking about Sir Fendal," explains Lavian. "Back at the capital."
"Why?" wonders Alicia slyly. "Do you like Ramza's smile, then?"
I favor her with a dark look. "I never really think about that," I answer truthfully.
"Right," she sighs, holding her hands up defensively. "Sorry."
"Well, I like it," decides Ovelia thoughtfully. "He seems kind." Lavian shrugs and nods.
"What about Mustadio?" prompts Alicia.
Lavian eyes her. "What about him?"
"Is he cute?"
"You tell me," counters Lavian.
Alicia frowns, thinking, then shrugs. "He's nice," she allows. "And he does have a nice bum." Ovelia giggles.
"I prefer Ramza's," opines Lavian sagely.
I sigh and settle fully into my tub, savoring the distraction of the hot pain against my skin since it helps me ignore the other women. I would prefer the company of men over them, but I know they're just as bad when no women are around. Maybe the likes of Ramza and Mustadio aren't, I suppose; they don't seem like the ogling type.
Eventually the other women leave off discussing men and move on to other topics of gossip, and I sigh in relief, pretending to be absorbed in my bath. I don't know why it makes me uncomfortable; I should think I'd just be able to ignore that sort of talk without a problem. Perhaps I worry that if they start pairing up with likely fellows I'll have even fewer people around that I know and trust. There are few enough as it is.
Before long the water in our baths begins to grow to merely warm, then tepid. Ovelia sighs, lifting herself from the copper basin, and in an instant I am up as well. Dripping wet, I grab my blade, still in its scabbard, and return to the dressing room before she can reach it. When I find it empty of potential assassins, I give the Princess a nod and allow her in. With a shake of her head she tosses me my own towel, which I'd left in there in my haste.
In the time it took us to bathe, the servants have apparently not finished washing our clothes, so instead there are replacements for each of us, a variety of robes and dresses to choose from. There is a coat and breeches for me, I note with pleasure, though as I lift them up for inspection I realize they are sized for a man. I sigh. The shoulders will be loose, and the sleeves a bit long, perhaps, but it's better than a dress. The color, though, makes me wince; it's Lionel's colors, a plain red with white cuffs. My mother once remarked that red makes me look like a corpse.
Thanks, Mother. And you wonder why I didn't study law like you did.
Given the nature of my garments, I dress more quickly than the others, then spend a moment helping Ovelia into a flowered white gown that looks as though it was cut for her figure specifically. I shake my head faintly at that, as Alicia and Lavian begin complaining about tight sleeves while trying to figure the corsets out.
Somet time later, after I've armored up, we finally manage to leave the dressing room and head back to our own spaces. I smell clean, soapy; I remind myself to enjoy it while it lasts. Usually I smell more of mud, dust and steel.
Ovelia wastes no time throwing open the conjoining door between our suites. The chattering quickly resumes -- well, it never really stopped -- and I listen with half an ear as I start pulling an ivory-handled brush through my hair. I don't pay much attention to it, usually, but I don't want it to tangle.
Eventually hearing my own name catches my attention. "What about you, Agrias?" asks Ovelia curiously, putting her own brush aside for a moment to stare at me with those honey-brown eyes.
"What?" I pause in mid-brushstroke. "I... wasn't listening."
"How old are you?" asks Alicia, brow furrowed as though surprised that she herself doesn't know. "I couldn't remember."
I frown at her, then shift the expression to the Princess. "I'm twenty-one," I answer.
"Oh!" she blinks, then giggles. "You're only four years older than me. You seem older than that."
I do? I hesitate, uncertain how to take her remark, then finally shrug. Without answering I resume brushing my hair.
Ovelia smiles, perhaps intending to soothe any offense she caused, and immediately leaps back into the conversation, steering it away from me. I obligingly let my attention wander again.
What plans do I need to make while I'm here? I suppose it depends largely on what the Cardinal tells us tomorrow, but it wouldn't hurt to have some backup plans in case things fall badly. If he decides to hand the Princess over to one of the Lions, for example, not that I really see that happening. Still, I'm a captain in the St. Konoe Knights, and I can't rule out the possibility that he'll betray us. Perhaps it would be ideal to learn the layout of the Castle in case I have to break in. Or out.
I chuckle suddenly at the lengths to which my imagination has gone. Still, in all likelihood I'll be here for a while, so it's not like I'll have much else to do besides wander the place with Ovelia.
Shortly a knock sounds on the door. Lavian opens it and grins at Ramza and Mustadio standing outside. "Come in," she beckons, leaving the door open as she strolls back to where she'd been sitting at the end of her bed.
The men do so, Ramza pausing to heel the door shut behind him. They've cleaned up as well, I note, and even have their original garments back, though Ramza's have several obvious repairs from where he's been hacked and stabbed recently. In addition, it looks as though they've visited the armory, or at least the young nobleman has; he's clad in shiny new gold-edged armor, the kind a knight would wear. I suppose that is what he trained for, really, in Gariland or Igros or wherever. I'd thought he was still a squire, but he doesn't look like it.
I blink, wondering why he'd been wearing the plain mithril stuff before now. Perhaps he couldn't afford better; I can see Gafgarion as the type to be stingy paying his subordinates.
"Whoah," says Mustadio as the two men shuffle to a halt a few paces into the room. He is staring at Alicia and Lavian, shaking his head faintly.
"What?" asks Alicia slyly. "Never seen a woman before?"
The young engineer smiles uncomfortably and reaches to toy with his short ponytail. "That's not what I've expected knights to look like."
I glance again at the other women, then shake my head tiredly. Right. Dresses and corsets. It is certainly odd how a little bit of string and cloth can give a woman so much more than God himself did originally.
Alicia giggles. "These are just until our clothes are cleaned and pressed and all that." She's clad in a leafy-green colored dress, one that suits her reddish hair nicely, while Lavian has gone with something of pale blue. It matches her eyes.
I'd considered telling them to don armor again, but it seemed unlikely we'd been attacked in the next few hours, so I thought I may as well let them enjoy drawing male stares in the interim. Now I'm beginning to rethink that decision.
"I understand," answers Mustadio. "It's just... anyway, it's nice to be clean."
I reach for the leather cord I use to tie my braid, then glance at Ramza, wondering why he hasn't spoken yet. Then I see that he's smiling at me. Not at Alicia or Lavian, but at me. "What?" I ask.
He blinks, perhaps not having realized I was aware of his attention. "It's..." Pausing, he clears his throat. "I've never seen your hair down before."
Briefly I glance down at where my unbound hair is hanging to a point halfway down my torso. As it dries, it's trying to curl into loose golden ringlets. "What about it?" I continue.
Ramza shrugs awkwardly. "It's pretty," he explains. "I think the braid suits you more, though."
It's pretty, is it? I see. I feel a frown growing as I gaze at him without answering; there seem to be about a half-dozen ways I could interpret his words, some good and some bad. My fingers touch hair, startling me; I realize I've reached up to touch it without looking.
It's not totally dry yet. It probably wouldn't hurt to let it breathe some before tying it back up. With a mental shrug I place the cord back on the floor beside me.
"Have you told them to bring food yet?" asks Mustadio of the room in general, glancing from face to face. "I wouldn't mind a warm meal for once."
"We haven't," answers Ovelia. "I was just thinking about that."
"Alicia?" I prompt, eyeing the younger woman. Serves her right for dressing like that, for teasing the men.
The knight sighs, then stands. "I'll be back," she promises, a touch petulantly, as she slips out the door to find the kitchens.
"Ooh," breathes Ramza, staring at one corner of the room. "Chess." A board table stands there, made of marble, with a chair behind the neatly-arranged pieces on either side.
"Do you play?" asks Mustadio, eyeing the other man.
Ramza nods slowly. "A little. Want to try a game?"
"Sure," agrees Mustadio easily. Together the two men trot over to the table and hover there. The mechanic plucks a pawn of each color from the board, then switches them about before holding them behind his back. "Which hand?"
"Ah... the right," decides Ramza, pointing.
Mustadio grins, holding out his right hand, which contains a black pawn. The men then claim their respective chairs, and Mustadio begins the game with an advancing pawn.
Intrigued, I unfold my legs and head over to the table to watch. The men play quickly; behind me, Ovelia and Lavian chat quietly while they await Alicia's return.
Neither Mustadio or Ramza is a good chess player, I discover. The mechanic plays solidly, taking few risks but also not seizing key opportunities. Ramza, on the other hand, seems to have a half-dozen brilliant plans somewhere in his head, but lacks the patience to implement any of them; several times I see him laying out a respectable trap, only to ruin it by capturing some random other piece of Mustadio's.
"Don't," he sighs irritably at one point. Hazel eyes slide towards me accusingly.
I scowl at him. "What?"
"You're... making noise," he complains. "Every time I move you sigh or grunt or just shake your head. I wish you would stop. Or at least do it to Mustadio too."
"Fine," I answer darkly. I'd been thinking about giving the two some advice, but now they can do without it.
Just as Alicia is returning, the game ends in a draw. Mustadio holds the advantage in pieces, but Ramza has created a stalemate in his pursuit of the other man's king. Vaguely I wonder how things would have gone if the colors had been reversed.
"They'll send food up," explains Alicia happily, closing the door behind her. "Roast lamb and several other things I don't remember."
Everyone but me makes noises of approval. Well, Ramza doesn't say anything either, I note. He's still scowling at me. "What?" I ask him for the third time tonight.
"Do you want to play?" he asks irritably. "You've been staring at the game like a hawk."
What in the world is wrong with that? "I like chess," I answer defensively. "And yes, I'll play. You or Mustadio?"
The mechanic raises his hands, clearly wishing to stay out of the bickering. "I'll... let you play, Ramza," he declares, standing aside so he can watch the game.
I turn to Ramza, composing myself. "You can play white."
His face darkens; he thinks I'm throwing him a bone, offering a magnanimous advantage to a lesser player. "No. You play white. I'll play black."
What is your problem, Ramza? I want to slap him, but that's not the right response. Instead I raise a cool eyebrow at him, then slide behind the table. Once we finish moving the pieces back to their starting positions, I attack, using the Bervenia opening, a non-standard attack. See how you like that, you brat.
Ramza counters with something I don't recognize, something guarded, and I keep pressing. I'm not a master, far from it, but my father was, and he taught me number of insights about the game of kings.
This game, like the last, proceeds quickly. Unlike the last, I shred him.
As the young squire -- knight? -- tips his king in resignation, I offer a hand over the table. He glares at me for a moment but eventually shakes my hand.
I hold the contact longer than is necessary, meeting his eyes with a silent request. I want to help him, really, I do -- he clearly has a grasp for strategy, needing just a little help in organization to make it work -- but I'm not just going to tell him what I think he should have done; he already thinks I'm overbearing. He has to ask.
He chooses not to. "Good game," he mumbles, breaking his gaze away from mine and releasing my hand.
I nod, adjusting my seat in the chair. "Another?"
He grunts. "Maybe... maybe later," he allows vaguely, standing. He and Mustadio exchange a glance of some sort, then start back towards where the women are gathered.
I stop him with a word. "Ramza?"
The man hesitates, then turns around to face me. Mustadio rolls his shoulders uncomfortably and keeps on, leaving us in relative privacy.
I open my mouth to tell him I'm not trying to be cruel or vindictive, but the words sound lame even before I speak them, so I don't. Instead I choose something that's not only true, but which I suspect will soothe his ruffled feathers somewhat. "I enjoyed playing with you."
Ramza frowns at me as though suspecting I meant something else, then nods. Some of his anger seems to have dissipated, at least. "We'll play again later," he decides, inclining his head slightly. Then he turns and is gone, over to where Lavian is doing an exaggerated impression of someone from the Academy.
What am I going to do with him? The question weighs abruptly on my mind, and I wonder why it didn't before. He's a mercenary but no one's paying him; he's following me, but I'm not his commander. Should I draw up a contract for him? It would be good to keep him around, I think, but I also suspect that what he's doing, he's not doing for the money. Should I dismiss him? I could, but that seems boorish, not to mention self-defeating. I could try to get him to be one of St. Konoe, like Alicia and Lavian, but they'd want to know exactly who he is, including his all of his past, and I'm not certain he wants to give that up. And that's if they would take him at all; he's an enemy of the Hokuten, and while it's probably not instantly damning, it would certainly raise a few eyebrows in Lesalia.
Ramza, why must you create so many complications? Who are you, anyway?
As I'm watching, Lavian finishes whatever story she's telling, and everyone laughs, even Ramza. It strikes me that they're all of a comparable age, though my knights have more worldly experience than the rest, except for possibly Ramza. Is that why I don't fit in? Am I too old for their talk, too hardened for their jokes?
No, that's not it. I don't fit in because they're all talking together while I've chosen to sit alone at a chess table.
People who will tease you and talk back to you are not as likely to react with instant obedience when it counts, or at least my instructors always claimed as much in Lesalia. Aloofness is part of commanding. I knew as much when I took my position; why does it bother me now? I know a scale can't tilt both ways at once.
After a moment I rouse myself and pad quietly over to where my belongings lay. Sitting easily on the floor again, I place my sword across my knees and begin to sharpen it, facing the door. I know my responsibilities, and I don't forget.
Eventually the food arrives. A pair of servants push it to our rooms on a cart; steam rises faintly from under the lids of the silver trays, tempting me with aromas of spiced meat and vegetables. Mustadio was right, I acknowledge silently; warm food will be a treat.
As the servants depart and Lavian begins to dole out what they've brought, I finally begin braiding my hair back up. I don't want it to get in my food, and though I would not admit it publicly, I find it pleasant, even soothing, to spend the necessary moments twisting it through my fingers in that intricate pattern. It's nothing important, really, but it's a manual skill I'm good at, and I take pleasure in that. Much of what I do with my hands results in twisted metal and crushed bodies, so it's a nice change.
Soon I, too, claim a plate from the cart, taking moderate portions of the dishes there. The people in the kitchens have provided us with a variety of beverages as well; I choose a punch of some sort. Most of the others have taken wine, though Ovelia and Ramza seem content with milk from the chilled pewter pitcher.
The others have clustered near Lavian's bed, so I join them there, sitting on the floor between Mustadio and Ovelia. It vaguely surprises me that the Princess would lower herself so, both figuratively and literally, but I've come to expect such from her.
I quickly pick up on the current conversation. They are discussing combat, it seems; I recall Mustadio asking a question about shields, and wasn't it heavy to carry them, and it must have gone from there.
Alicia is talking now, apparently going on about fighting styles. "...the shield," she says. "It's always in the way, of course -- that's what it's for -- so it's nice to be able to shatter one once in a while."
Mustadio frowns. "That seems like a waste of effort, though. Why would you go out of your way to attack someone's shield when it's really the person himself you're trying to kill?"
"Our last few battles notwithstanding," the knight answers dryly, "not every fight goes to the death. When armies clash, if you lose only one man in ten, most times that's pretty bad. Equipment is expensive, and if you can force your opponents to replace it, that's good. Or, if they don't, then you have an enemy fighting without a shield, and that's good too. Even if it's just one-on-one, it sometimes makes sense to break the shield to open up the rest of the body."
"Oh," nods the mechanic. "I suppose that does all make sense. How do you do that, though? Do you just look for weak spots in the construction?"
"Partly," explains Lavian. "You have to know the materials involved, and how they are made into the shield... or whatever it is. Everything has a weakness, so knowing how to break something is just a matter of stresses and angles. It's nothing special, really."
Mustadio nods again, apparently thinking. After a moment he turns to me with an inquisitive expression painting his features. "What about how you fight, Agrias? I've never seen anyone who does that before."
I meet his gaze, slowly chewing on a mouthful of lamb. Eventually I swallow, then tilt my head in question. "What about it?"
"How do you do it? Is it magic?"
I shake my head. "It's not magic. It's just..." How to explain it? It's like asking someone how they breathe, or at least it's like that now. When I was first learning, though, it was much harder. I think back to how my instructors taught me. "Think of the soul as a very malleable metal," I suggest. "What my training lets me do is shape into a blade and use it against others. I need an actual physical sword to do it, but it's more like a... a symbol. A proxy. Though it does have its influence on the attack it makes, I suppose."
Ramza is listening with interest, I note, as are the other knights. "So you're actually using your soul?" repeats Mustadio, seemingly torn between doubt and wonder. "How does that work?"
I shrug again. "The soul comes from God, of course, so that is why we must pray and meditate as well as train to do it; people like me are not called 'Holy' Knights for nothing. Apart from that, though, it's not totally unlike using any other part of the body. For all I know, it's how wizards work, too."
Silence answers me as the others ponder this. Well, everyone but Ovelia; the Princess is staring off at a window, clearly lost in thought. I'm sure she doesn't care for this talk of fighting.
After a moment, Lavian directs a glance at Ramza. "What of you, then?" she asks. "I've never heard anyone shout so loudly when they run into battle. Why do you do that?"
The Gallionian turns faintly red. "I... don't know," he admits. "It helps me. I..." He trails off uncomfortably, then sighs. "I hate fighting," he admits in a quiet voice. "Yelling helps me push my fear aside."
Heads nod around the makeshift circle. Lavian's eyes grow soft in sympathy as she gazes at the former mercenary, and I have the sudden suspicion that she'd hug him if there were fewer people about.
I do a double-take, staring between the dress-clad knight and Ramza. I hadn't really thought about it, but I'm in a party with two young men and a handful of young women. Crap. I'll have to keep an eye on them. Ramza, to his credit, is at least staring at his lap, not at Lavian.
Further conversation is spared by the arrival of a team of servants with the women's clothing. Ovelia wakes from her trance and smiles, directing them to hang the things in an empty wardrobe for now.
As the livery-clad women bustle out of the suite, a lighter conversation returns as the women begin chatting about clothes again. I can understand Ovelia, but for the life of me I can't figure out how Alicia and Lavian know so much about clothing. They're as busy as I am, most of the time; perhaps, when they were younger, they cared about it more than I did. Ramza and Mustadio endure it all in stoic silence as we finish eating.
Soon we've had enough food. Ovelia shoos the men out for the time being, then strips down to her shift. I quickly shrug out of the red Lionel clothes they've given me and into my own. The knights, I see, are taking their time, fingering sleeves uncertainly while they stare into the wardrobe at their more mundane garments. They're having second thoughts, I see; perhaps they like having their chests stared at, but I don't. One look from me is all it takes to get them to start changing.
Eventually the other women finish their primping, so I dispatch Lavian to retrieve the men. What follows, I can only describe as a portrait of boredom; with nothing to do, our party simply sits about. I feel tempted to explore the Castle in some detail, but after so many days of hard walking, I'm content to wait the evening out for once.
After a few hours pass, curiously, the chessboard again becomes an item of attention. As the suite's only entertainment, it first draws the two knights, simply out of a desire to do something, I suppose. As they arrange the pieces, I stroll over as well to watch, and in moments our entire group is there, watching a nervous Alicia and Lavian play.
The younger women's play does not proceed as quickly as the earlier games; Alicia, playing black, constructs a meticulous defense that Lavian seems loath to disturb. As I watch, I notice Ramza frowning at me from time to time, and when I ponder that, I realize it's probably because I'm not grunting at this game like earlier. Well, let him wonder.
Almost an hour later, by my guess, Alicia emerges as the winner on account of an endgame flub on Lavian's part. The two women grin at each other as they arrange the pieces again.
"I'm surprised I won," admits Alicia frankly. "You had me terrified there with that last offensive."
Lavian shakes her head mildly, neatening up her white pawns. "I was just praying I wouldn't drop it in the endgame like I always do."
"And you did anyway," giggles the other woman, standing and stretching from the table. Then she glances around with interest. "Who's next?"
"Agrias is good," notes Mustadio, perhaps trying to be helpful. "She should play someone."
I give him a sour look as my knights murmur their approval. Thanks, Mustadio. "Fine," I sigh. "Who else?"
"Your Highness?" prompts Mustadio.
Ovelia smiles. "I don't play, Mustadio. Simon taught me, but all I know is how the pieces move."
"Well, I don't want to play," frowns the mechanic, glancing about. "Not against her." I spare him another scowl.
"We just played," points out Lavian as she and Alicia exchange glances.
All eyes shift to Ramza, who sighs. "Fine," he mutters. "I'll play her again."
I grab a pair of opposing pawns and hold them out to him in closed fists. He taps my left, which contains the white piece. We eye each other briefly, then assume our respective seats.
Since the knights have already arranged the board, there is nothing for Ramza to do but move, but he doesn't. For a time he just sits there, elbows on the table, chin in his hands, and stares at the virgin board. Moments slide past in silence; before long the gathered spectators eye one another in confusion.
Finally Ramza makes his first move. It is an unusual opening, the Bervenia attack, and I can't help but smile.
It's what I opened with last time. He's using my own moves against me.
I know the handful of proper responses to the opening, but instead I think back briefly to our earlier game, trying to recall what he'd done. He played a variation on the standard king's pawn defense, I believe. I accept his implied challenge and advance just as he did earlier, when our roles were reversed.
It will be a game within a game, then. I admit I am intrigued.
His face screws up in thought again, and it occurs to me that he is taxing his memory to recall what I did in the last game. Apparently it comes to him more quickly than for the first move, because he advances another pawn, still echoing my strategy in the first game.
Obligingly I copy his second move from earlier as well. It puts me in an awkward position but not an unstable one.
Almost immediately Ramza continues our scripted performance, developing his king-side bishop to the third rank, just as I did. The Bervenia opening is an unassuming one, slow to grow but very difficult to stop.
On my third move I part from his plan, pushing a pawn forward a single space instead of the two that he had done before. I've kept it on a white square, making his developed bishop slightly less useful. Do you see, Ramza?
He frowns at my side of the board. Hazel eyes dart back in forth from one side to the other, tracing out patterns of attack and defense in his mind.
The silence stretches. None of the others so much as clears a throat; they can sense that something is happening beyond the game itself.
Finally Ramza moves again. He is still sticking to the script, as if to prod me. What else would I have done differently?
Now I rest my chin in an open palm as well, frowning in earnest. His silent question is a worthy one. Long moments pass; I begin to ignore the others watching us. If they grow bored they can always wander off.
Eventually I push that same pawn a second space forward. It's taken me four moves to match his three from the previous game, but his board position is now different from how mine was. It's not the same game.
Once again he frowns at my defenses as though attempting to divine my intents through sheer force of will. Out in the hallway beyond, muffled voices rise and fade as people walk past.
"Your pawn is unprotected," he observes quietly. His brow is still furrowed, his gaze on the board.
"It is," I agree, my voice just as low. If he wants to attack it, he is free to do so, but it will unbalance his pawn structure, and I trust in my ability to make something of it later.
He nods. After a moment he brings out the king-side knight, placing it directly in front of his king, not in the bishop's file as I had done. He hasn't taken my bait.
Good, Ramza. Either he can see what I'm up to, or he's just suspicious of me. Either will do.
I pull out a bishop, placing it in front of an undeveloped pawn. After the move, I glance up at him.
My opponent is once more frowning fiercely at my black pieces. "That blocks your pawn's development," he notes softly.
"It does," I confirm.
Ramza chews a lip for a time, then moves again. We've left the first game behind now; this one has diverged too much, but I can still see echoes of it here and there. Every now and then he points out some perceived flaw in my defenses, and I acknowledge them.
He hasn't asked any questions, I realize, at least not directly. Likewise, I never provide any explantions, just confirmations, as if to say, yes, I admit the weakness you see, and you will discover my reasoning behind it shortly.
The game proceeds steadily, but slowly. I find I enjoy watching him learn, watching the pieces fit together in his head.
I end up beating him. Barely.
You're not so bad when you stop to think, Ramza. You should do it more.
Once again I offer my hand across the table. This time he doesn't hesitate to shake it. His eyes meet my own confidently, almost challengingly; if he was nervous around me before, he isn't anymore. He's shown that I must take him seriously, at the least.
I meet his gaze with a startled smile, perhaps a weak one. That wasn't the response I was expecting, but I suppose it's not all bad.
"Well," sighs Alicia briskly, rubbing her arms. "That wasn't weird at all."
"No," agrees Lavian thoughtfully. She is frowning at me, I realize. They both are.
I shake my head tiredly. "I'm going to bed," I declare. "It's late, and we don't know when the Cardinal will see us tomorrow, so I suggest everyone else do likewise."
Scattered murmurs of assent meet my words. With outstretched arms I usher Mustadio and Ramza to the door, then close it behind them. Clothing rustles in our conjoined suites as the other women begin shrugging out of their garments.
"It'll be so nice to sleep in a real bed," I hear Ovelia murmuring in her own rooms. "With real blankets."
I peer through the door to smile at her. "Don't let it spoil you, Highness."
The next morning, I find myself in Cardinal Draclau's office bright and early. Well, it would be bright if the curtains hadn't been drawn over the room's few tiny windows. You'd think a holy man, one of the most powerful in Ivalice, would want a study full of God's light, but such is apparently not the case with Draclau.
"I understand your situation, Agrias," he states simply. His voice is a low, soothing rumble; I can almost imagine the masses falling into peacful slumber while he is in the pulpit. Hiding a smile, I quickly banish the blasphemous thought. "Moreover, I'll send a man to the High Priest in Murond. We'll do something to expose Larg's scheme, and keep the Princess from danger."
Relief washes over me, and it's all I can do to keep myself from slumping, though one question remains, a fairly important one. "Will High Priest Funeral help us?"
"Don't worry, Agrias," soothes the bald clergyman. "I'm with you. You must be strong to make the Princess feel at ease. Make yourselves comfortable in this old castle until word comes from the holy land." His voice is still soft in its rocky way, as though he's talking about a stroll in the courtyard rather than destroying Prince Larg and handing the Regency to Goltana.
Princess Ovelia lowers her head in gratitude. "Thank you for your kindness." She speaks softly too, as though she also sees the chaos her presence here will likely cause. And how couldn't she? It must weigh on her.
"St. Ajora is with us," observes Draclau simply. "There is no need to worry." His round head swivels to face Mustadio, who swallows. "Young mechanic, I heard your wish too. I'll send troops to Goug, to destroy Bart Company."
The mechanic blinks at this, then smiles in relief. "Thank you."
I keep my face neutral, but inside I'm reeling in surprise. The Cardinal is not only taking on Larg, in effect, but also Bart Company? He could hardly choose two more powerful enemies. Even for him, it's dangerous. Few men in his position would do such a thing.
"But," continues Draclau, "would you explain why they're after you two?"
Mustadio shifts his feet uncomfortably. He's not going to answer again; I can tell. "I... can't."
"That's alright," assures Lionel's governor mildly. "Is this it?" Reaching into his robes, he withdraws a giant crystal, a ruby, bigger than most men's fists.
No, not a ruby, I realize. A ruby wouldn't be spherical, but what the Cardinal has looks like it's as smooth and round as the sun. He places it gently on the desk before him.
I swallow. "What is that crystal?"
The big man turns his attention to me. "Have you ever heard of the 'Zodiac Brave Story?'"
I have to try not to smile. "You mean that fairy tale we used to hear in church?"
"Here now," chastises the clergyman mildly. "Are you saying the church lied?"
I squeeze my eyes shut, realizing my gaffe. "No," I answer weakly. "I didn't mean that."
When I open my eyes again, Draclau has turned his attention to the rest of the party. He's already forgotten me, I can see. That strikes me as odd; it's like he was just mouthing the words when he rebuked me just now. Like it was something he was expected to do, but really didn't care about.
How odd. I suppose a man in his position is allowed his quirks, but still.
Ovelia shifts, clearing her throat. "Long ago," she recalls, "when the land was much different, twelve brave warriors fought against the evil Lucavi who ruled the land. After a desperate battle, they sent Lucavi to Hades, and the land was peaceful. They each had crystals with zodiac signs on them, they were called 'Zodiac Braves.' Ever since then, whenever humans are attacked, the Braves come to save us."
"You're quite learned, Princess," remarks Draclau. "Just as I expected."
Learned? For reciting a fairy tale? Now it seems like he's mocking someone of royal blood. I can feel my opinion of him starting to shift.
"Mr. Simon taught me at Orbonne Monastery," explains Ovelia pleasantly, perhaps unaware of what everyone thinks of the Brave Story. "He also said St. Ajora and the Braves saved Ivalice from chaos."
Draclau gazes at her, dark eyes glittering. "We call the crystals 'Holy Stones.' This very stone," he gestures at the sparkling thing on the table, "is the legendary secret stone, the 'Zodiac Stone.'"
Ovelia frowns, lips pursed. "I didn't think it really existed," she answers finally.
I can only nod faintly in agreement. If the Stones are real... wait, how did the Cardinal get one? If he has one, then that would explain why he can talk about destroying Bart Company with so little concern. Still, he doesn't have to be rude about it.
"They say its 'divine power' surpasses Lucavi's," muses the Cardinal as he stares at the glittering ruby. "I feel a strange power, but it looks just like an ordinary crystal to me."
Ramza glances at the mechanic beside him. "What's wrong, Mustadio? You look pale."
Draclau eyes the ponytailed fellow sharply as well. "You saw the same stone underneath Goug?" His voice, though still quiet, now has a subtly different tone I can only qualify as... intense.
"Many broken machine parts are buried there," explains Mustadio hoarsely. "But if the stone gets near the machines, they start to howl."
The Cardinal nods. "Bart Company's after the stone, right?"
Mustadio sighs tiredly. "I don't know what power the stone has, but Rudvich wants to use its power to make weapons. My father told me never to give the stones to him. So they abducted him."
A stone in Goug, and one with the Cardinal. After centuries of obscurity, it seems like they're popping up all around. I find myself wondering where the others are, and who might already have found them.
"Don't worry, Mustadio," urges Draclau. "The church will see to his safety. While our men fight, we'll get the stone back."
"Y... yes, sir," answers the young man. He seems as surprised as I feel. What's the Cardinal going to do with two stones?
Suddenly Ramza steps forward. "I'll go to Goug with you," he decides.
Mustadio inclines his head. "Thank you, Ramza."
He's leaving. I've come to enjoy his company, and now he's leaving. Still, it's a good reason to go to Goug; holy stones don't just pop up every day, and the mechanic's father is still at risk.
I smile faintly at my fluttering thoughts and step forward as well. I'm no good at lying, so I never really do, and I don't now. "We made it this far thanks to you, Ramza." I'm going to miss talking with you in the evenings, young knight.
"I wish I could have been more help," laments Ovelia quietly beside me. Her voice is soft, worried. "Please be careful." She sounds for all the world like a mother whose son is running off to war.
"That's very thoughtful," replies Ramza, a mellow smile on his face. He's genuinely not worried, I realize. He must be mad. "Don't worry. We'll be fine."
"Have a safe journey," implores the Cardinal gravely, putting the glittering holy stone back inside his robes. "May St. Ajora guide your steps."
Ramza and Mustadio bow to the holy man. I do likewise, aware of Ovelia offering a slight curtsy, as between respectful equals.
As we leave the office, on our way back up to our rooms, Mustadio is the first to break the silence between the four of us. "That was strange," he remarks quietly. "I had thought... he seemed very helpful."
I nod, frowning. It's not that I want to complain, but I'm almost suspicious of how helpful Draclau was, as though he were just mouthing whatever promises he had to, in order to get Mustadio away and keep us happy. Well, we'll see. Perhaps my suspicions are unwarranted.
"Will you be returning to Lionel Castle?" asks Ovelia of Ramza as we're walking through the stark stone hallways.
The young man glances at her, and then for some reason at me, before answering. "I'd... like to," he admits. "If everything seems okay in Goug, and Mustadio's father is safe, there won't really be a reason for me to stay there." He says this last to Mustadio, a hint of question in his voice.
"That's true," grins the other fellow. "Unless you want to become a mechanic. You'd probably be a good one."
Ramza flushes at the praise. "I don't have the patience," he sighs, and he is probably correct. "But anyway, we'll see."
The mechanic nods, and no one speaks again as we are ascending through the castle. As we near our rooms I pause in front of Ovelia's door, then glance at the men. "Ramza."
He stops, glancing at me, while Mustadio continues on towards his own room. "What?"
I jerk my head sideways, summoning him inside with me as the three of us enter the Princess's suite. He silently obeys, advancing all of five steps before Alicia and Lavian are there, blocking us.
"How did it go?" wonders Alicia excitedly. "You're still alive, I see."
"Is he going to help?" adds Lavian.
"Cardinal Draclau was more than helpful," I explain, leaving my tone flat. The other women nod, knowing I'll explain more later. Before continuing, however, I glance back behind me to make certain the heavy oaken doors are closed, then I eye my knights. "Ramza is going to Goug with Mustadio," I state quietly. "I want you two to accompany them."
The Gallionian twitches, and my knights blink. "Why?" wonders Alicia bluntly. "What about the Princess? I assume you're both staying here?"
"We are," I nod, "but we're in a castle. This place is as safe as any; our wits are our defenses here, not our blades." That's partly true; Lionel Castle is so well-defended that any threat to Ovelia must necessarily come from within it, from the Cardinal and his people. If he wants to throw the entire might of Lionel at us, not to mention a damn holy stone, then part of me can admit frankly that Alicia and Lavian are not going to swing the balance of the battle. Even I probably won't. They can, however, be useful to Ramza and Mustadio; if there's fighting against Bart mercenaries, two extra swords will be of more help there than sitting idle in Lionel.
The women hesitate. "Is that okay, Ramza?" asks Lavian.
He shrugs and nods. "I'll be glad for the company."
I poke Lavian's shoulder to get her attention again, then include Alicia in my gaze. "Cardinal Draclau has a holy stone," I announce quietly. "One of the Zodiac Braves."
They stare at me wordlessly. Finally Alicia giggles nervously, clearly in disbelief.
"It's true," I insist, aware of Ramza and Ovelia nodding confirmation. "The reason Bart Company's after Mustadio is because he has one, or perhaps his father has it. I'm not sure. Anyway, the Cardinal is going to have his men retrieve the stone. I want you to see what happens there, what they do, and then report back to me." At their uncomfortable expressions, I elaborate. "Not all threats to the royal family come in the form of an assassin's blade."
Two sets of eyes widen at my implication, but the knights are professionals. They nod.
I turn to Ramza. "When are you leaving?"
The young man shrugs again. "As soon as we're ready, I think. It shouldn't be too long."
I nod. "Let me know before you go."
"I will," he vows. As he heads out into the hallway, the knights trot into the other room to prepare, though I suspect there's little for them to do.
Ovelia gives me a weak smile. "This is all kind of scary," she admits.
I turn a questioning expression on her. "And getting kidnapped by Delita wasn't?"
She laughs softly. "Well, yes. But this... this business with the Zodiac Braves... it's something different."
I smile at her. "I suppose it is."
In moments the knights have returned, followed shortly by the two men. They travel so lightly, I note, that Mustadio is the only one who even has a backpack, though the others do carry belt pouches and potion sacks. Ovelia gives every one of them a parting hug, murmuring words of farewell, while I content myself with a friendly nod for the men and nothing for the women; I know they'll be back here shortly regardless. Mustadio makes an effort to shake my hand, and Ramza favors me with a smile as they are departing.
I hate saying goodbye. It's just another reason to avoid complications.
Eventually they leave, and I stare at the closed door for a few moments, thinking about the sudden silence behind it. I like silence, really -- I prefer it over conversation, most of the time -- but now it saddens me. Perhaps I've grown accustomed to having a gaggle of chattering young people around.
The sound of slippers on carpet announce Ovelia approaching my side. "It seems so quiet in here, now," she remarks softly.
I turn to give her a slight smile. "I was just thinking that."
The Princess giggles at me. "We're free to roam the Castle, the Cardinal said. Do you want to walk around for a while?"
Her choice of words strikes me as odd. Where she says, 'we're free to roam the Castle,' I would have said, 'we're confined to the Castle.' Once again I'm reminded that most of her life has been spent in the gilded cage of monastery walls; she's used to being cooped up in a building. She expects it, like a chocobo that's been kept in a pen so long it's afraid to leave it.
I nod, feeling pity for the girl as we step out into the hallway. Then again, who knows what she feels for me? Perhaps sorrow for being so aloof, or for having spent so much time inflicting and being around violence. Perhaps she prefers her life over mine. The shadows differ depending on where you stand, I suppose.
We end up spending the entire rest of the day walking around the Castle. While Ovelia spent most of that time admiring the beauty of the stark structure, I made careful note of its defensive features, strengths and weaknesses alike. I suppose I'll do more of this; it's not like there will be much else to do while we're here.
When we eventually get back to the guest rooms, for the second night in a row I drag a pile of blankets into Ovelia's suite and plant myself in her sitting room; any intruder intending to harm her, either by coming straight in or using the conjoined room, will have to get past me to do so.
After bidding the heiress good night, I lay down in my makeshift bed and stare at the dark ceiling far above. Though my sword and shield are in easy reach, something still feels out of place, so I frown. Maybe I'm still feeling lonely.
This is a new thing for me, and I don't entirely like it. I have to be self-sufficient. The degree to which I am not is the degree to which my duties are imperiled.
Sleep is a long time in coming tonight. What dreams I have, I don't remember.
The next day passes in its entirety without incident. I spend a great deal of time with Princess Ovelia, walking about the Castle and occasionally chatting about little things, though the latter occurs only by her initiative. The only thing of even mild interest to happen was that Cardinal Draclau found us in a hallway and exchanged brief small talk before departing; I have the feeling that he doesn't want Ovelia to think she's been forgotten.
Our third day in Lionel passes almost exactly as the second had, and the fourth does likewise. On the fifth day, at one point as Ovelia and I are walking, I glance back and notice a pair of gold-armored Shrine Knights staring after us in silence. Though this is not remarkable -- in a place run by Glabados Church, Shrine Knights are bound to be present -- I spare them a frown before continuing. They don't bother us, though, so I promptly put them out of my mind.
After a week, my hands are itching and my feet are twitching. I'm not used to be idle for so long. At least, I reflect, it wouldn't be nearly so bad if we were just relaxing, instead of trapped in the castle of a man of dangerous power, waiting for word to arrive from High Priest Funeral himself.
The eighth day passes, and then the ninth, and I find myself starting to wonder. How long does it take word to travel to Murond and back? Seriously? It's not that far away; a fast chocobo and a good ship should have been able to return some response by now. The High Priest certainly seems to be taking his sweet time.
Immediately I chastise myself for such a disrespectful thought. High Priest Funeral is certainly a busy man, and if he wants to deliberate on what to do with Ovelia, that is his right. It's not like I need to be in such a hurry for something to happen.
I wonder what Ramza is doing. And Alicia and Lavian and Mustadio. Did they make sure the mechanic's father was safe? Or, perhaps, have they all been killed? I have no way of knowing.
This just adds to my gnawing impatience. At least I'm able to keep it from affecting my conversations with Ovelia; the girl is so sweet I'd feel terrible if I snapped at her over some completely unrelated worry.
On the tenth day, Cardinal Draclau surprises us by knocking on the suite doors. I open them, then offer a respectful bow. "What is it, Cardinal?"
The big man's gaze slides right past me to rest on the startled Ovelia. "I would speak with you, Princess," he rumbles, "if you are free."
Ovelia smiles. "Of course I'm free, Cardinal. What is it you want to address?"
"Not here, I would think," answers the holy man, gesturing vaguely about as though suspicious of... of eavesdroppers, perhaps, or spies. "Come with me."
As the girl nods, the castle's ruler steps out into the hall, where a pair of knights, perhaps Knight Blades, are waiting for him. Ovelia follows the Cardinal, as do I.
Before moving, Draclau turns his stony gaze on me for the first time today. "You are not needed, Agrias," he explains quietly. "I merely wish to discuss some matters with the Princess."
I glance at Ovelia before answering him firmly. "The Castle is potentially a dangerous place. My orders from St. Konoe were to protect her." In other words, Cardinal, I don't trust you, and you don't have the authority to keep me away.
The round man shrugs, apparently unconcerned. "As you please." Without another word he turns and begins shuffling down the hallway, flanked by the Knight Blades. The Princess and I follow silently.
Long moments pass as we walk through the massive Castle. Our host says nothing, and neither Ovelia nor myself sees fit to speak first. Downward we go, past several floors below ours and then even the ground itself, as we head into whatever subterranean spaces the structure boasts.
Eventually the chill of the earth begins to push aside the warmth of the Lionel air and I begin to frown. This is an odd place for a conversation, to be sure. Unless I miss my guess, shouts or screams from down here will never reach the light of day above.
As I am about to ask the Cardinal his intentions, he stops next to a door, perhaps a storage room or its like. The holy man grips the handle and opens it.
A half-dozen or so Lionel knights file out of the room, and I watch them with increasing suspicion. This is too much, too out of the ordinary. I grip my sword hilt, preparing to draw.
Draclau addresses one of the men. "Let Prince Larg know everything went as planned, and begin preparations for the execution at Golgorand."
Steel whispers from a scabbard somewhere, and I realize with shock that I've drawn my weapon against a Cardinal. My surprise lasts only a heartbeat, however; he ranks well, but he is only a provincial ruler, whereas I answer to the royal family. It is technically within my rights to have him put to the question for this, not that I would do so in any case. "What is this?" I demand. "Explain yourself." Ovelia has hands to her mouth, glancing about in fear.
The Cardinal's dark eyes gaze at me with as much expression as he might give a chair. "Kill Agrias, while you're at it," he adds to the knights. "She's in the way." He turns to leave back the way we came.
The knights draw their weapons. Ovelia screams. I attack.
These men are not my match, but there are six of them to my one, and I must protect Ovelia as well. After unleashing a quick Stasis Sword, I back off, trying to shield the Princess with my body while preparing a protection spell. I can hear her chanting behind me as well, reminding me that Simon taught her some of the white arts.
As a sword blow rattles my shield arm, my spell goes off, protecting myself and Ovelia in ethereal white light. She finishes her spelll as well, but I can't see what happens because I'm paying too much attention to the men who want to kill me. The Princess quickly begins chanting again.
A Crush Punch instantly kills the knight nearest myself and Ovelia, and I back off again, forcing the others to advance over the body. The Princess finishes her spell, and I can feel the gentle touch of her will wrapping around me. I feel alive, more alive than ever, and the men in front of me seem to move as though they're underwater, slowly and weakly. No, I realize quickly; it's me who's moving faster.
Nice. Thank you, Princess.
Another Stasis Sword kills two more of the men, and I rush into their midst; they've been ordered to kill me, so any distance I can put between all of us and Ovelia is a good thing. A stray sword strikes me in the back of one leg and I grit my teeth, trying not to limp.
Before long, the combination of the knights' lack of skill and my own speed leaves the hallway full of corpses. As the last man falls, I turn to verify that the Princess is still unharmed, then begin to cure my own injuries. Quickly, however, I stop; the wounds are gone. Another quirk of her spell, then.
"Let's go," I suggest. "We need to get out of the Castle." I ache to race up through the place to find Draclau and confront him, but my duty is to get Ovelia out of her safely. The Cardinal will answer for his betrayal later.
Ovelia nods, clearly frightened. I grip her hand and we set down the hallway, following the Cardinal but taking our time, not trying to catch up. We'll need to be running later, but for now, no one one knows about what's happened, so we can conserve our strength.
We meet no one at all on the way back up to the surface. After stepping out of the stairways, however, a group of guards notices us and gapes. Abruptly I recall that my sword is out, that there is blood splattered across it and my armor. Damn it.
"H--hey!" shouts one of the men. They all draw weapons and run at us.
"Absorb power in the sky and strike!" I whisper, feeling goosebumps prickle my arms and neck. "Lightning Stab!" Like a drumroll, bolts of lightning flash into the approaching guards, scattering charred and broken bodies all around. Only one of the men is still alive afterwards, and he is on his knees, wobbling. As we dart past, I kick him in the head and he drops.
I steal a backwards glance at the Princess and find that her face is a silent mask of terror. At least she's running, though.
Twice more on our way to the gates do we run into groups of men. These fellows are just hapless bystanders on guard duty inside the Castle, most barely more than boys. I feel bad killing them, but they are trying to take the Princess from me and give her to a man who's planning her execution, so they have to die.
Eventually we make our way to the castle gate. The guards there, accustomed to watching for intruders coming in from outside, don't notice us right away. I see a man stationed at the portcullis lever and attack him with a Lightning Stab.
The man, curse him, doesn't die, though he does stagger. Instantly the other guards notice us, the rumbling thunder of my attack having alerted them, and they begin to shout, unlimbering weapons. Shouts also drift out from inside the castle proper now; they'll catch us soon, but we're almost out. So close.
Before the man at the lever can react, I hack at his neck and he falls. It takes both of my arms to move the damn thing, but it moves, and soon the gate mechanism rumbles into action, lifting the gate. Ovelia is whimpering now, wringing her hands and glancing all around as men rush out of the castle after us.
"Come on!" I hiss, grabbing one of her hands again and drawing her after me. We make it through the gate a few paces ahead of the running guards.
Suddenly a sharp pain pierces my left calf and I stumble, cursing. The archers on the wall, then. As I slow, an armored man plows into me from behind and we both go sprawling. I lose my grip on Ovelia's hand and almost on my sword as well.
Ovelia's scream cuts across the clanking metal chaos in front of the gate. Grimacing, I roll on the ground, trying to grapple with the man who tackled me. He's strong and he's heavy, but I manage to lever my sword between us and use it to pry him away. From there, two quick strikes of the hilt into his skull turn him limp.
I scramble to my feet just as another man bowls into me, but this time I stay upright. I slide backwards, boots scuffling along the stony ground, and lash out with another Lightning Stab. It hits three men, killing one, but two more leap over the fallen man's body. There are too many.
"Let go of me!" shouts Ovelia angrily; I can barely see flashes of her white dress as she struggles against a knight who's holding her. Another appears from somewhere nearby and grabs one of her arms. "Agrias!"
"I'm here!" I answer distractedly, facing the four men who are now circling me warily. Haven't they learned yet? They can't keep their distance if they want to live. I wound one and kill another with a Lightning Stab. "I'm coming!"
She screams again, and I can hear her flailing against someone's steel breastplate. Her voice seems to move, and I realize they are carrying her back within the castle. More men continue to rush outside; there are some two dozen now. There's no way I'm going to survive this, I decide.
Growling, I summon another attack against the men and drop two more, there are still way too many. Several rush me, blades whirling, and I hold them off as best I can while also trying to evade the arrows raining down from above. Two of the latter strike me, one in the shoulder and another in the side.
Ovelia is screaming constantly now, expelling all of her breath in one shriek before inhaling deeply to do it again. From how her voice moves I can tell they've gotten her inside the gate. Soon the thing begins to rumble downward again.
They've got her. I can't get in there, not through all these men. Well, that just means I'll have to break in later, or maybe intercept her on the way to Golgorand, if that's really where they're going. "Don't worry, Princess Ovelia!" I shout over the walls while a trio of knight blades seek my flesh. "I'll free you before they can kill you!"
Batting back the swords, I summon a Lightning Stab where I myself am standing; the attack leave me completely unharmed but scatters my attackers. In the instant of respite I have, I turn and run. The men won't catch me, not into the hills.
Voices shout after me into the rocky terrain nearby, and I can hear a few men following, but even with three arrows in me I run well. After a while they give up. Ovelia's fading screams haunt me.
Some time later, I collapse to my knees, panting heavily. I had her. I had her and then I lost her. I failed, again. It's true, there wasn't much I could do against the combined forces of Lionel, but that doesn't negate my failure.
So. Even the Princess is just a piece on someone's chessboard after all. As am I. I'd like to think I'm a rook or at least a knight, but I suspect I'm just someone's pawn. For which color, though? The White Lion or the Black? The game of kings, indeed.
Sighing as my breath returns, I shift about and begin pulling arrows out of me so I can cure the injuries they made. The Cardinal will send teams out to hunt me, I know, once he finds out I'm not dead yet -- he can't leave the only witness to his betrayal alive -- but I have some time. Enough time to plan quickly.
Will they actually bring her to Golgorand, or just kill her in Lionel Castle? I suspect the former, if only because they could have done the latter already. Also, there is a dark sense of irony in Glabados Church killing one of its own students at the site where St. Ajora himself was executed. Perhaps I will be able to save Ovelia again there. Certainly it would be easier than breaking into Lionel Castle.
Lips tight, I drop the three arrows on a nearby rock and invoke a spell to heal myself. It's time to be gone from here. Standing up, I spend a moment gaining the measure of the terrain nearby, then begin walking.