Wild Justice

Summary: Valter was out searching for Ephraim and instead found a lone wyvern rider. A dark, scarred past lingers around her and something plagues her. What is she trying to fulfill? ValterxOCxEphraim

Eight: The Element of Surprise

Is it just me or does Tirado similarly resembles David Hasselhoff? I've been observing Tirado's face for quite some time and it looks so darn familiar…. Seriously, he reminds me of David Hasselhoff! …Eh, I just go to the review now.

Knives91: I deeply appreciate the review, I'm really glad you liked it. Enjoy this next one, there's even more possibilities. Actually, they're quite endless when you think about.

Text:

"Speech"

Thoughts

Flashbacks/Lyrics

Disclaimer: If TSS belonged to me, you would be role-playing as the generals, not as the Renais twins.


He untied the reins from the tree branch and tugged his horse along with extreme docile and care. The mare obediently trodden behind him, hardly stopping to nibble on a blade of grass within reach. He had trained her well. When Riev was again in sight, the sickening knot lurking in Irthos's gut grew, as well as the hole in his heart.

Today he, Irthos, will be coming home and visit the ghosts that live there. He hoped he would be able to find the relics before the image of Zecilys's fallen figure engulfs him completely.


"Which, if not victory, is yet revenge."-John Milton


Tirado, the main keeper in charge of the Renvall operation, was erstwhile finishing up packaging his belongs into a horse-driven inventory when a red-face and fatigued soldier came rushing up to him, babbling something about the prisoner, men searching everywhere, and a General Caellach.

"Cease talking and catch your breath, soldier. I can't very well receive your message clearly if all I hear is your incoherent ramblings." Tirado commanded sharply and the man gave a curt nod prior to catching his breath. When he was finish only then did he bid the messenger to speak.

"The prisoner who you had ordered for us to transfer to the Grado Castle resisted and managed to escape. There are men scouring for her in the keep, she couldn't have gotten far."

Tirado's expression darkens and he narrowed his eyes sternly at the timid young messenger. "What did you just say?" he demanded in low, grave voice. The messenger gulped and avoided eye contact to his superior, fearing what was yet to come.

"The prisoner escaped while men—" Tirado cut him off.

"I know what you said. What I don't know is how this mercenary overcame the guards in charged of the transportation and why she still seems elude my men? Do you, perhaps, have an answer to that?" The adjutant of the Moonstone eyed the man sharply, waiting for the frighten messenger to speak again.

"W-well, uh, I-I really don't-t know. They j-just told m-me what happened a-and sent me to report y-you on our c-current s-situation." the messenger stuttered, twisting with the fabric at the end of his tunic in a nervous fashion.

Tirado tsked disapprovingly at this displayed manner, silently praying in his head that they had better, more sufficient messengers than the one standing right in front of him. Frankly, it appeared he lacked the proper training for an average soldier.

Maybe that's why he is been assigned as a petty messenger.

"Listen to me, boy, and listen well," he began. The messenger nodded meekly, his eyes still wide and round with fresh fear. This young man certainly had no place on the battlefield, that's for sure. "You do realize a prisoner on the loose is the last problem we need to have on our plates? We are in the middle of an extremely substantial evacuation and having an enemy running amuck amongst our midst isn't going to make this any easier.

So, what I would like you to do is go back to whoever sent you to me and deliver them this message: if they don't find the prisoner's whereabouts soon then they will have to confront Lord Valter about their failure. Lord Valter does not gaze too kindly on incompetence-or failure, for the record-and neither will be pleased that you have lost his little interrogation prize." He stared hard at the messenger, who just started trembling at the mere mentioning of the Moonstone's name.

Tch, and he doesn't even have a solid backbone. I've seen eleven-year-olds with more promise than this.

"Now go, if you want to live a little longer." With a tiny "Yes, sir!" the messenger scampered off like the Demon King himself was hot on his heels and raced back into one of the doors in Renvall to deliver the foreboding message to his companions.

Tirado chuckled dryly at the youth's pitiful display, imagining the receivers of that warning's faces. When it came to women, Lord Valter could get quite possessive. He didn't encourage "sharing" or refused to 'lose' one to another man. He knew Valter still desired to have more fun with the prisoner and was not through with her yet. She was a beauty, make no mistake about that, but Tirado knew better than to be interested in one of his master's "toys". However, it appeared wasn't a total loss, she potentially did not seem to be his type. He preferred a traditional woman from his country that was calm, modest, motherly, and understanding. That was all. …Oh, and one with a normal hair color, he passionately disliked those obscenely vibrant hair colors. They attracted far too much attention for his liking. Master Valter did not mind it yet the wyvern knight liked anything that was unique or stood out from the crowd. Originality and beauty are his two favorite traits in women and Tirado could see why he was so eager to play with this prisoner. And to think on what his reaction would be if his master heard that the girl escaped….

Tirado shuddered momentarily prior to resuming back to what he was previously doing. For all their sakes that woman better be found…fast.


"I cannot believe my luck," Zecilys whispered to herself with amazement.

Standing right in front of her were the stables, both horses and wyverns. Off to the left were the horses while to the right were the wyverns. She raced to the right and began browsing through all the wyvern stalls in search of Eroniz. It didn't take long for her to realize that she wasn't making any progress. At all.

Through all the different, varied tints and shades of grays, blues, reds, browns, blacks, yellows, beiges, tans, greens, and so on forth, there was not one olive wyvern with rusty red inner wing flaps. Apparently copper eyes seemed to be an enormously rare trait among wyverns as well.

This is just marvelous, just marvelous. I manage to discover the exit of that Godforsaken keep and the stables for the wyverns, only now to be unable to find Eroniz! …I just really cannot believe my luck.

A disagreeable growl interrupted her infuriated, panicked thoughts and directed her attention onto the owner of that particular sound. A looming, violet blue dragonish head peaked out of the door to its stall, fixating its piercing yellow pupils at her. She stared back with equal vigor, knowing exactly what the wyvern was doing. It was sizing her up, inspecting her and her potential "worthiness" to be in its presence. The wyvern approached her more closely until its nostrils were flaring rather rudely in her face. As the creature continued to study Zecilys was granted a better view of the mount. She noticed it was two-legged wyvern-which meant its rider was a wyvern knight-and the inner flaps of its wings were a dark shade of magenta.

"My, aren't you a gorgeous-looking wyvern?" she cooed softly to the two-legged, ultramarine blue wyvern that appeared to be quite flattered by her compliment. Rule number one when encountering a two-legged wyvern: always give them a compliment about their looks and never, ever, refer to them as a "thing". Two-legged wyverns are excessively proud creatures and prefer to be recognized by their gender or name. Judging by the wyvern's body and wingspan size, and the shape of its head, Zecilys would have to say this wyvern is a male.

Seizing a chance to make friends with another wyvern, the golden-eyed rider reached out to touch his face and surprisingly enough, he allowed her to do so. The wyvern closed his eyes serenely as her hands tenderly stroked his scales and all sides of his faces, evoking a low, pleased grunt from the gullet of his throat. Smiling to herself at her success, she resumed her actions.

"What's your name, you handsome boy?"

"His name is Slivegio and he is my mount."

Her fingers froze in place on the said wyvern's face. Perspiration trickled down from her helmet, down her chin and she swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. Any minute now her heart would burst right out of her chest from the tension formed by the man behind her. Of all the places he could have found her, why did it have be this place, where she was so close to freedom?

Hell's fires! This can't be possible! I didn't even hear his approach!

"…That's a nice name," she croaked out in her fake voice, knowing it was futile to attempt in deceiving him. She heard the deep, dark chuckle she was beginning to loathe so much.

"It is indeed. What, may I ask, are you doing here…Zecilys? And don't play dumb, I know it's you under that helmet. That fake voice is atrocious-just to let you know; I can recognize your voice a mile away."

This is just what I need. The dazzling appearance of General Mooncalf himself!

"What is it to you?" she retorted, feeling her face burning up from the heat as she removed the helmet from her head and flung it aside, for it had served its purpose; besides the charade was over and was pointless to have such item hinder her senses. When it came to Valter, she discovered-the hard way-to always be on your toes and hold your ground for as long as you can.

Glancing back at Valter, a fluttery motion began to tingle in her gut. She couldn't understand what was wrong with her. Whenever he was around her she would abruptly feel amiable all over, her body would tense up, and her cheeks start flushing. She blamed it all on the humidity, all on the humidity. It had to be the weather change in the atmosphere that was causing her to feel so peculiar, stirring up this bizarre impression inside her.

Two arms encircled themselves around her waist and pulled her backwards, directing her body towards him. She stumbled but her fall was halted when she thudded against his chest. An ominous clatter rang through the air from the collision of their armor yet that was only sound to be heard, save for the unbelievably boisterous pounding rhythm of her heartbeat. Zecilys was certainly amazed Valter couldn't hear it by now or didn't make a comment on its volume.

"Why, my dear Zecilys, must you always behave that way? I was simply asking you a question concerning your presence here when you should be carted away to the Grado Castle." He blew gently against the shell of her ear, sending a magnitude chill shivering down her spine. By the saints, that was another action of his she loathed as well! How could someone like him be able to cause such a rise from her body?!

Zecilys bristled, despising and cursing at the position she was in. "And I was simply telling you to back off!"

She waited for him his amusement to disperse and be replaced with that beastly temper of his she had witnessed back in the dungeons during his interrogation with her. Instead, all she heard was a sigh, then a snicker. No signs of his upcoming wrath emerged into full view. Rather his choler didn't emerge at all. …That was most decidedly not what she had anticipated.

"We really need to work on your manners to your superiors a bit, Zecilys. Your tongue is going to get you into a load of trouble one of these days."

She groaned inwardly at his statement. This again?

"Really? You don't say? And this is coming from someone who thinks it is perfectly fine to kiss someone they barely even know and have some 'gaiety' with the people they interrogate, General Mooncalf!" she snapped back sarcastically.

The words left her lips a second too late before she realized what she had just slipped. Valter turned herself around to face him and suddenly, Zecilys began to wonder if this was when Valter would be infuriated by a remark of hers. His pale, slender yet strong fingers became wrapped around her chin, tilting her head up so she could look directly at him. Uncertain, she lift her amber eyes to meet his caliginous ones and immediately felt herself being drowned into its obsidian, enigmatic power locked beyond those penetrating orbs of his. It was as if he spellbound her with his dusky, tantalizing eyes that flared incalculably with sovereignty. His mere touch could awaken a dormant, secluded, yet ravenous passion within her womb, beguiling her body to his every whim.

What on earth is going on with her? She didn't like the feeling that was twirling around and around hotly inside her gut, causing her to experience such a foreign, unsettling impression that only surfaced when Valter was around. The strength of that certain emotion was tenfold when he performed his ungodly, sinful acts upon her.

"Mooncalf, eh?" She nodded stiffly, distrusting herself to speak at the moment. She didn't want to be saying anything else offending to the Moonstone that could jeopardize her life.

"I expect something like that from you." He gave her a wicked grin before continuing.

"Normally, if it was someone else, I would have killed them by now. But for you, I can make an exception. I have a much more minor yet enthralling punishment in mind." Zecilys's eyes widen, knowing exactly what he meant by 'punishment'. At her reaction, Valter smirked, loving how wonderful his day was turning out. He was given the chance to ravish Zecilys two days in a row. The Fates were being quite generous to him.

"Why can you just—" Her sentence was cut off short due the fact Valter had already aggressively pinned her to the back of the stables with his body, his hands hoisting her arms up high over her head, his chest up against her chest, and his face threatening nigh to hers. Why did he always have to stick her into these kinds of predicaments? They were so aggravating, not to mention downright embarrassing!

She glowered at him for getting her into this predicament and he replied with his trademark smirk. "Let the punishment begin." he whispered silkily in her ear and clamped his mouth on her parted, vulnerable lips.

Zecilys believed that she could prevent his oncoming kiss, keep herself rigid and cool as steel. She thought his simple, passionate kiss would mean nothing to her and it would just form bile in her throat. It was at the moment Valter's mouth claimed hers she realized she was blatantly fooling herself; the kiss did the exact opposite to her.

Instead of remaining firm and unyielding, she could feel her defenses crumble from just the fiery sensation of his deft touch, his nimble fingers changing the regular rhythm of her heartbeat into a stampede of startled mustangs. Nibbling at the bottom end of her lip, she conceived he was demanding for entrance but she refused to allow such a deed by him to be performed on her. Zecilys should have known that Valter was the type of man who doesn't take 'no' for an answer and would go through painstaking, immeasurable lengths to get what he craves. Her sensitive, erotic points covering her body was his trump card, his ace in the hole. After all, he seemed to understand her body better than she, giving him a purely unjust and confounding huge advantage over her. Knowing full well where one of the regions she was hapless in, the Moonstone wandered his hand to her unsuspecting thigh and attacked the tender section of its inner area with his experienced fingers. Gasping into his ear, her back arched in pleasure and his velvety chortle stunningly went unnoticed by Zecilys, who was caught off guard by Valter's beguiling action. It was too late for her to realize that her mouth was wide open and ripe for the picking. Seizing his chance, the Moonstone opened his mouth fully on hers, molding their bodies together while at. His tongue explored the moist caverns of her mouth, intertwining it around her own, forcing a pleasurable moan to escape her lips and erupt straight into the hallow, void aperture of his mouth. Though her eyes were shut, Zecilys could feel the smug, roguish grin gracing the lewd wyvern knight's lineament at her victimize cry.

It was impossible to plot a way out of this situation; with his tongue in her mouth, one hand working on her thigh, the other griping her wrists together to insure she wouldn't lash out in defense, the rest of his body pressed up against hers, and the torrid friction morphing insanely between their tightly embedded bodies that were so nicely fitted against each other. Plus, the throbbing ache in her the pit of her abdomen was growing stronger and its power appeared to have multiplied as Valter increased his beastly passion on her. How could she stop this if she was too caught up in the ardor herself?

If this keeps up who knows how far General Moonstone will go? Please, let somebody come, let somebody come and interrupt us….

Chanting the silent plea over and over in her mind, Zecilys waited for Valter's withdrawal and footsteps of an approach but both actions did not happen. She was still pinned to the end of the stable wall with Valter unleashing his dark desires upon her. Finally, one of her prayers was answered and the Moonstone broke the memorizing kiss and released his grip on her thigh. However, his other hand still grasped her wrists and now his free hand was busy pushing away any rebellious locks of her turquoise hair from her face.

"Wasn't that fun, Zecilys?" she heard him murmur huskily to her.

Shooting him the most terrifying, intimidating glare she could muster, she replied, "No. For you, it probably was, but definitely not for me."

Valter arched an eyebrow, his face showing unsubtle signs of disbelief. "Oh really?" he responded, "Because I highly doubt that."

This time, Zecilys cocked an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?" she retorted, keeping her temper in check. If she retaliates against him he'd probably deliver her another one of those damnable 'punishments'.

Much to her dismay, Valter closed the existing space between them again, and leaned his bending head close enough to her face that she could feel his hot breath fanning alluringly against her kiss-swollen lips. She once more faced the predatory ebony orbs and its savage strength engraved inside them. How could she stand here, stare aimlessly into them without losing half of her mind in the process?

"I think you enjoyed it because you produced of all those delightful, gratifying noises that sounded like someone was finding it just as thrilling as I did." He smirked down at her and she battled against the impulsion to stick out her tongue.

"Keep telling yourself that," she remarked darkly, but his words left a troubling impression on her. He couldn't be right, could he? It was just her body responding to his lustful acts, just his remarkable methods of emboldening the female body to his sexual desires. It wasn't like her heart was in it, for it most certainly wasn't! She would never bend to his will nor would her heart be in those inconceivable works. The body was always the first to go, the first to give in while the heart, mind, and soul were the last to follow. Valter may have domination over her traitorous body but there was no possible way he could ever snake his way into her heart. She erstwhile has given it to Ephraim, despite the fact she is in the dark of his true feelings towards her. They would either send her to cloud nine or substantially crush her beating heart.

Yet it wasn't that Ephraim's rejection to her affections worried her the most. No, she grudgingly concluded, what makes her wary the most was the very fact Valter could possess this much control out of her body and caused her to experience emotions she never felt before, even when she was by Ephraim.

It's only a phase, just a deranged, raw emotion you need to empty out of your systems. In time it will fade—

Her tangled thoughts ended abruptly for Valter entered her mouth anew. He pushed her up against the wooden wall harder, their mouths proceeding through an epic yet vicious battle of the tongues. Hers was trying to avoid his while his tongue was coaxing it seductively to join him. Despite all the aggression and deadly temper she had known him to display, it stunned her to see how tender yet rough he was with her all at the same time, combining two completely dissimilar elements of touch and feel.

I bet he's a philanderer or a Casanova of some sorts!

He deepened the kiss even further, evoking another moan on her behalf. Her aroused replies would only urge Valter to continue and increase the velocity of the kiss. Oh, it felt like he was devouring her, tasting every ounce of her with his lips. His free hand cradled the left side of her head; his gloved fingers affectionately stroking her scintillate turquoise hair occasionally. Why was she not immune to it all? Why did it have to feel so outrageously blissful when it was clear that this type of behavior shouldn't be occurring between them? She is being kissed and caressed by the enemy for Pete's sake!

To her greatest relief, Valter drew away from her, giving her time to breath again. He emitted one of her wrists and parted his other hand away from her head. Zecilys banished all cravings that were beginning to enter her mind. Those treacherous thoughts of hers were aiming on having her miss the warmth of his deft, seductive touch.

Prior to either one of them could speak; another voice from the distance silenced them.

"Hey, Valter! What are you doing?"

A murderous scowl replaced the lecherous expression on the said wyvern rider's features and Zecilys almost, hence the word almost, felt sorry for whoever they would be confronting. Apparently the Moonstone did not like to be interrupted while ravishing his chosen maiden of desire.

Yanking her along, Valter materialized into plain sight, right beside the closure of the wyvern stables. Narrowing his eyes at the horizon, he let loose a snarl when he recognized the identity of the approaching figure.

"Great," he muttered, "it's Caellach."

Who's Caellach?

"Who's Caellach?" she voiced out her thoughts. Sparing not a glance at her, Valter kept a fixed gaze on the man heading their direction.

"No one worth mentioning, aside from the fact he is general like myself."

"Ah. I see." She peered over his shoulder, mentally disliking the fact in how tall Valter was compared to her. Zecilys squinted as the man called Caellach roamed closer towards their location and his silhouette was becoming less and less nebulous, she started getting the indication that she had seen this Caellach fellow before.

But where…?

As he loamed within fifteen yards of their visage and she could oddly enough view his face quite clearly. A flash of recognition darted through her mind and she gasped reproachfully as Caellach's figure inched their way. Caellach was the exact same man she encountered in the dungeons prior kneeing him in the groin.

Curses, he's going to recognize me in an instant and will howl out for my blood! Having General Mooncalf at my side doesn't brighten the situation either.

"What is it?" Valter's crisp, monotonous voice sliced through her panicked thoughts. Zecilys mentally slapped herself for gasping out loud like that; how could she tell him what she done to one of his equals?

"Nothing," she lied. At this, the Moonstone actually turned around to face her. He was staring at her skeptically, as if he had difficulty in believing that elusive statement.

"For some reason, I doubt that. Are you familiar with Caellach in any way?" he answered dangerously, bitterness edged in the last sentence. Zecilys gulped inwardly and took a mental note to recollect that Valter seemed to be furiously possessive…of her.

"Not like I am with you," she remarked stoically, doing her best to keep cool. Valter chuckled briefly at her reply, satisfied with it at the moment. Hopefully, if Caellach was seeking retribution on her Valter might turn a blind eye to her painful act that she performed and assist her in getting her away from the auburn-haired general.

"Though it strikes me fairly interesting in how anxious you are of him. What happened between you two? A little squabble, perhaps?"

Scowling at his perception, Zecilys decided to answer and confess, just to get it over with. Maybe he would find the event particularly regaling. Maybe he wasn't at all friends with Caellach and despised his guts.

Heh, I wish. I'm not that lucky. In fact, since when have I been lucky? It's like a curse in disguise.

"Well, if you really wish to know, him and I got into a scuffle-if you say-and it ended in my favor." The wyvern general cocked an eyebrow at her vague response.

"How?" he inquired with slight interest. A partially sheepish, partially proud look washed over her sun-kissed features.

"Let's just I kicked the appendage between his legs, thus wounding his pride along with his manhood."

His reply to her little confession?

A feral grin signaling her he was thoroughly pleased with her comment. His somewhat 'comforting' grin was enough ease the nervous weight that was heavily crushing her chest and freeing the held breath she didn't know she had until it was freed from her lungs.

The clanking sound of Caellach's armor announced his arrival to Zecilys and Valter and both riders focused their attention back onto him. Noticing Valter was accompanied with a female, the Tiger Eye smirked at the intriguing sight before him.

"So there you are, Valter. Having some fun off duty, are we?" Valter looked at him coolly, approximately regarding him as someone insignificant of his time. Either that or he is still irritated at the hero for interrupting his ravishing period with Zecilys.

"What I do with my free time is strictly none of your business." he replied disdainfully.

Oh yes, he definitely harbors some contempt for Caellach. It's a given, I'm safe…for now.

Caellach smiled bitterly at the wyvern knight, choosing to ignore the spite in his disarming statement. "No need to be impolite, Valter. If you're done with her then let me have her. Share some of the spoils why don't—" He stopped short and his eyes widen at the recent observance in the woman at Valter's side. It was completely obvious he had recognized Zecilys as the prisoner who jabbed his manhood with her leg. Judging by his face it appeared he hadn't forgot her 'spectacular' escape at his expense and was planning to wreak revenge on her.

"You!" he growled resentfully, pointing an accusing figure at her. Praying her emotionless mask was on, she tilted her head in acknowledgement prior to speaking.

"Yeah, it's me. Missed me much?" She flashed him a cocky grin, enjoying the enraged expression on his face.

"I'm not through with you, girl," he said venomously, glowering at her coldly. He aimed to frighten her yet it foiled miserably. There was no one in Magvel who could intimidate her-in the slightest-so flawlessly than Valter, unfortunately. Anyone else was just a petty amateur.

"Really?" she began, eyeing Caellach prudently, "Somehow I came under the indication that you would be still licking your wounds. Based by your behavior towards me, I say you're still smarting from our first meeting."

"You're just asking for it, aren't you, you cheeky little chit!"

Keeping his glower on her he advanced with ill-will aimed at her direction, an unnerving, wrathful glint in his smoky hazel eyes. Zecilys stood her ground fiercely, making eye contact with him to display her inner fearlessness. …Or the feeling nigh enough to that. An arm belonging to a certain wyvern general behind her encircled itself around her waist and drew her closer to him. Both Zecilys and Caellach were stunned at this gesture of protection. Zecilys showed it through the widening of her eyes. The Tiger Eye demonstrated it from his hesitating advancement, abruptly aware of the basilisk glare Valter was shooting him.

"Caellach, that threatening manner directed towards Zecilys is highly unacceptable. You will not harm her in any possible way, especially when I'm around. Is that, in any way, unclear?"

Caellach snorted at this order. "You expect me to follow your commands, Valter? Sorry, but you got the wrong man. We're equals here, remember?"

Unfazed by the Tiger Eye's refusal, Valter simply reached out from his back and with astonishing speed, brandish his lance in front of him and Zecilys, who was currently wishing she wasn't standing between the two men who so desperately wanted to ripe each other's throats out. Valter impassively level the butt of the lance near the heart of Caellach who erstwhile gripped the handle of his axe rather tensely. Zecilys then wondered what will happen next.

"Listen to me and listen carefully, Caellach. Zecilys is under my supervision and I will forbid any hazardous intentions you have schemed for her. His Majesty wills it. Are you actually planning on disobeying the Emperor's mandate?" The harsh, dead soberness in Valter's tone sent an unpleasant shiver down her neck but his chilling words managed to immobilize Caellach from any further movements or speech. It seemed that he processing the consequences if he proceeded with his intent of receiving vengeance. The Tiger Eye then backed off, retreating away from the butt of the lance.

"Fine, you win this round. Just don't think you can protect your precious whore forever." he sneered maliciously. Zecilys bristled at being referred as a 'whore'. Clouded by all her spewing, ireful thoughts of payback and obscenities, she failed to feel the tightening muscles in the arm around her waist or the stern clenching of his jaw. However, it didn't go unnoticed by Caellach and for the first time, he half-heartedly repented in calling Valter's woman a whore.

I wasn't expecting to provoke that satanic freak. How in the Demon's King name was I suppose to know he had some sort of petty attachment to that insolent wench?!

"Offend Zecilys like that again and I assure you I will blot your pitiful, meaningless existence from the face of this land. My lance can overcome your axe any day and you know it."

Without another word, he lowered the lance and placed it back in its holster and guided Zecilys back to the wyvern stables, directly towards Slivegio's stall. The nearby storming told them of Caellach's leave and they once again, were alone. However, instead of finishing what he started, Valter just ushered Zecilys into Slivegio's stall and motioned her stand aside while he saddled his mount.

"Don't even think about escaping. I'm not in the mood to chase after you." He warned her darkly and she nodded automatically. She blandly watched him to proceed to strap the wyvern saddle on Slivegio's back, deciding against the notion to mention that the thought of running away hasn't crossed her mind till he brought it up. After witnessing the heated despisal between the men and Valter's death threats to her defense, she believed it was best that she did not attempt to infuriate Valter further. It would be like poking a raging, vicious beast-right after it finished battling another creature-straight in the eye.

Perhaps I should refrain calling him Mooncalf after this….yet he didn't kill me when I did, he just performed his red-blooded deeds upon me.

It didn't take the Moonstone long to gear up Slivegio, they were ready to go in less than ten minutes. "What about my wyvern, Eroniz?" she asked when he had her mount his enormous, dark sapphire wyvern after Valter led Slivegio outside.

"You don't need to worry about him; he has already been transported to the castle. You'll be riding with me to the Grado Keep for reasons I prefer not to divulge."

With that, he hoisted himself up onto the saddle and planted himself behind her and repeated the same motion of enveloping his arms around her waist to steady her when Slivegio took flight. He grasped the reins firmly in both hands and using his tongue, clicked it against the roof of his mouth as a command to the wyvern to go. Roaring with delight, Slivegio darted forward and shot straight into the sky like a whizzing, enchanted arrow.

Relishing the familiar, soothing feel of the afternoon wind breezing across her face, ridding all reminisces of the past. It was when she up in the open sky, flying free and casually, is the moment she finally felt exuberant and at tranquility. Flying helped her reach equilibrium with her inner turmoil.

I suppose this isn't so terrible, flying with Valter the Mooncalf behind me. I mean, he's quite tolerable when he's like this.

"How long is the journey to Grado Keep?" she questioned curiosity, aiming to strike a conversation with Valter.

"Approximately a day or so, if there aren't any delays or interruptions." came his blunt reply. Apparently, he wasn't in the in the social mood as well.

"And if there are?" she inquired further.

"Two or three. Why so interested all of a sudden?" Zecilys sighed, however the corners of her mouth threaten to tug upwards. She now knew why he was so abrasively brisk in talking ever since they gotten in the air.

"No reason, to be candid." Valter grunted but chose not to answer back with a witty comeback. "…you enjoy the feeling, too. Am I correct?" Silence greeted her words nevertheless one of the arms around her waist squeezed her gently, signaling that her conclusion was indeed correct.

"Looks like we're more alike than we realize," she mused quietly enough for only Valter to hear.

"Yes," she heard his voice echo deeply in her ears, "more alike than you can possible imagine, Zecilys."


A keep of uncountable size and structure loomed ominously in the distance as a company of four hard-driven men lurked about in the dense, murky foliage nearby.

"So this is Renvall, is it?" A dark emerald, wispy-haired youth nodded diligently while his companion, the blonde knight clad in scarlet was currently giving his prince wary glances. "All right, let's go."

Forde looked doubtfully at Ephraim, his mind screaming at him that the schism is absolute suicide and it will all end in tears. He has to ask Ephraim if he really did know what he was doing.

"Um…. Are you…sure you're quite sane. Prince Ephraim? We've an entire army after us and you want to charge into their stronghold?" Irked by his partner's impudence, Kyle took the opportunity to jab him in the unprotected part of the red knight's ribs with his armored elbow. Forde grimaced at the sparking pain prior to shooting a menacing scowl at Kyle.

"Forde! Watch your tongue! This is our prince you're addressing!" rebuked Kyle. Forde opened his mouth to retort but Ephraim intervene.

"Kyle, please, it's all right. We've heard nothing from home, so what harm could a little reckless besieging cause?" explained the Renais prince calmly. Forde still appeared unconvinced and Kyle seemed troubled by Ephraim's casual statement.

"Prince Ephraim…." Kyle began. The said prince waved his hand thus the young knight broke off, suspecting Ephraim was not finished with his explanation of the assault on Renvall.

"Don't worry. I haven't lost all sense of self-preservation." He gave half-hearted laugh prior to continuing. "Renvall holds an important place in Grado's national defense. If we get the upper hand and take control of it, then Grado will waste many valuable soldiers trying to take it back. I hope our attack proves useful to my father and Eirika. Zecilys will also be occupied at Renvall so we'll have the chance to rescue her."

None of the three men had the heart to tell their prince that his father, potentially his sister, Eirika, and Zecilys, could very well be dead.

In attempt to divert the uncomfortable silence that had washed over the three soldiers of Renais from Ephraim's attention, Forde went straight back to questioning his prince's tactics.

"I understand what you're saying but…can we do it with our current strength?" he challenged.

"Every soldier in this area is trying to find us. The enemy has us vastly outnumbered. Attacking the castle is a ridiculous idea. If the enemy thinks the same…then we may have our opening."

Forde nodded knowingly at the light aqua-haired lance wielder, finally comprehending where Ephraim was getting at. "You have a point. I'm sure Renvall won't expect us to attack with these numbers. Either way, we can't run forever. And we're running out of supplies. What've we got to lose?" He grinned bitterly at his companions, amused by the circumstances they face. With his hand he gesticulated to the secluded pathway leading to an abandoned passage to the keep. "Shall we get ready to go?"

"Yes. If we don't move quickly, we may never get another chance. If we do that, there is no telling in what they'll have in store for Zecilys." The Renais prince offered his menservants an assuring smile.

"Trust me. I don't pick fights I cannot win."


Zonta, the head mercenary charged with the Renvall's defense, was busy polishing his sword when a fellow mercenary rushed into the room with another soldier of fortune trailing right behind him.

"Zonta! Ephraim and his men are here! They breached the keep and are attempting to overtake the stronghold!" shouted the first mercenary.

"What are our orders, sir?" asked the second hired man with equal fervor.

Swearing a horrendous oath that would make any priestess blush, Zonta slipped his sword back into its sheath and whirled to the two men. "An attack? By Ephraim's troops?" he demanded brusquely. The two men nodded vigorously. "To arms! Prince Ephraim's circled around and brought the fight to us. If we capture the prince here we can line our pockets with gold! Do you understand? We'll be rich!"

Greed shining clearly in their eyes, the two freelance warriors raced out of the room to alert the following other mercenaries and deliver his command. Zonta unsheathe his blade and twirled it around in a couple of deadly arches, easing the tension that was building inside his muscles. Soon, very soon, the prince will be under his thumb and he, Zonta, will be a rich man and he could at last resign his life as a soldier of fortune to live a life of luxury and wealth.

Admiring the gleam on the edge of his sword, Zonta smiled crookedly. And so, it begins. This should prove to be most promising.

"Come, Prince Ephraim. Show me what you're made of. I want you to fall to my sword. Make me filthy rich."


There were more men in the stronghold than Ephraim estimated. While he guessed there would be thirty to forty men, there were actually around fifty or so able-bodied warriors. Sure, a handful of them were green or fresh recruits but that was only a few. Like fifteen at the most. The rest of the mercenaries were experienced, weathered fighters who fought unwaveringly, for their desire for riches was as strong as their will to survive and see the next day-in one piece.

"There's a lot more than we imagined, eh Prince Ephraim," Forde stated simply, unaware he was voicing his own prince's thoughts out loud. The cerulean-eyed man nodded stoically and twirled his lance to his side, delivering a crushing blow to an unfortunate lance-wielding mercenary in front him. Jumping aside to let the three horseback knights pass and deal with advancing troops, Ephraim double-checked there were no lingering soldiers planning to ambush them from behind. Satisfied that they were safe from the back, Ephraim rushed back into the heat of the battle to join his band.

"Forde, quit fooling around! We're in the middle of a major battle!" Kyle reprimanded his dirty blonde-haired partner, who shot him a nasty look before finishing off his opponent.

"Honestly, Kyle, can you lay off on my back for once in your lifetime? I can't concentrate fully with your consistent nagging echoing in my ears." snapped the slightly agitated knight as he hurled his javelin at the unsuspecting shaman hovering in the back of the miniature security squad. The javelin hit its target straight and true. From the impact, the shaman let out an agonized, wheezing yell before he slumped forward to the stone-cobbled floor. The javelin, prodding from his chest, halted the shaman's complete fall to the ground so the dark spell caster remained slouching over, his hooded head hanging downwards.

Grumbling in annoyance, Kyle brandish his iron sword and swiped it at two less capable warriors who had momentarily dropped their guards. Such a fatal, tactless act proved to be their undoing, for Kyle's blade came in contact with their fleshy throats, effectively slicing their vocal chords to shreds. The two men tumbled back, blood already churning out of their now useless mouths and ripped opening on their throats. Lips pursed in nonexistent gasps, the adventurers clutched their damaged necks heretofore death lured them into its dark, mysterious embrace.

"I wouldn't be wasting me time pestering you about your duty on the battlefield if you acted like a real knight!" retorted the uptight, hunter green clothed cavalier. Another enemy loomed in his vision and Kyle swung his sword to engage the enemy's blade. They exchanged a few bouts of swordplay till Kyle managed to wound him around the forearm and Orson arrived with his assistance and punctured the man in the abdomen with his bloodied silver lance.

"Thank you, Orson, for the help," he thanked the weary-faced paladin and Orson nodded silently in acceptance. He then urged his pure white stallion ahead of the line and confront their foes head on. Tormenting shrieks and incoherent moans of the dying and wounded soon followed the breathtaking yet mortal strokes of Orson's lance.

Shifting to his right side, Kyle noticed his prince was in need of an extra manpower for he was busy fending off three mercenaries who thought it would easier to defeat him if they all ganged up on him. Acting like the true, chivalric knight he trained himself to be, the curly-headed young man hasten to his lord's rescue, his tawny brown horse cantering towards the four fighting men. His steel lance protruded through his victim's chest, blood freely seeping through the cotton short and trailing downward. Pulling it out from the recently deceased man, Kyle looked up to realize Ephraim had dispatched off the other two men with ease. They lay in a messy, bloody heap, crimson liquid oozing around to form a morbid puddle.

Ephraim walked up to him, a gratified half-smile on his face. "Thanks for the aid, Kyle, I really needed that. Three was almost pushing it."

"It's is nothing, Prince Ephraim. That is what my knightly vows consist of, besides my servitude to you and to Renais." With that said Kyle and Ephraim parted and resumed in their operation to overtake the keep.


"Come on and get some, you louts!" shouted Forde enthusiastically, cutting down any misfortunate or unlucky soul foolish enough to stand the way of the pony-tailed knight and his horse or at the end of his lance or sword. After getting separated from the rest off the group (he knew he'll receive more of Kyle's bothersome rebukes once he eventually finds them again) Forde resolved to seize the liberty of ridding Renvall from its abundant fortune-seeking inhabitants located on the opposite side to where he and companions were previously at.

A superfluous cavalry of four charged into full view, lances protruding impulsively in midair. The first lance almost stroke him but Forde managed to block it with his own before aiming a decisive hit through the horseman's gullet. Wordlessly, the man flopped out of his saddle and thudded dejectedly to the floor. Forde thrust his lance at the next oncoming knight who capriciously enough engaged him with a sword. He blocked the assault with the edge of his blade and reached out to slice the wrist of his lance arm. Forde pulled back just in time to avoid the misjudged attack and used the enemy knight's mistake to his advantage. The burgundy cavalier lunged forward and heard the screeching, scathing sound of his lance piercing through the feeble, tarnished armor, tearing the clothing and flesh, and drilling past solid bone. An anguished scream came afterward; however, it did not last long. The mercenary behind him shoved him and his horse aside, causing Forde to yank out his lance. The catatonic compulsion sent the wounded horseback mercenary toppling over and his frightened roan horse began retreating from this unnerving battle. Absentmindedly, the horse trampled on the spinal cord of the moaning soldier out of his misery, silencing the man's cries of pain once and for all.

With his left hand, Forde boldly tossed his javelin at the fourth knight in the back while maneuvering his lance with his right hand. Needless to say, his improvised plan succeeded, just not in the manner he hoped. His aim wasn't entirely accurate yet in a roundabout fashion, the javelin did meet its target. …Or should it be the target's leg?

Ignoring the mercenary's howls, Forde focused on the last standing knight who evaded the aggression of his lance rather efficiently. They stroke blows with one another and though the horseback mercenary lacked enough experience to best Forde, it was slowly turning into a stalemate due to fatigue on Forde's case.

"Hugo, go back to Zonta immediately and report to him of the situation! It's getting worse!" his opponent hollered gruffly to the gasping, pain stricken man behind him. The injured mercenary called Hugo slapped his horse without replying, the eagerness to flee for safety written all over his face. Once he was gone Forde's foe switched from defensive to offensive position. He tried swinging his lance to unseat Forde but miss, allowing a wide, open gap for Forde break through and end the tiring stalemate. He pushed the lance deep into the final knight's side, cracking a rib or two. He then vehemently projected his lance upward and it punctured the man's lungs, sending pools of blood erupting out of the man's mouth. Grimacing in disgust, Forde forcibly pulled his weapon out of the mercenary, who was precipitately rigid. Blood still sluggishly dribbled out of the corners of his mouth yet the young knight could see his eyes bulging eyes were murky and lackluster.

"Well, that's three down, one more to go," muttered Forde and he pursued the fleeing horsemen who galloped off to a person called 'Zonta'.


Remember your position in this, Orson. Do your job properly and you shall see your wife again.

Orson sighed wistfully, knowing how much torture those consistent words alone contained. Yes, he wanted to see his beloved wife again, more than anything else in the world but the burden of betrayal would always whisper wickedly in his ear until he finally committed that traitorous deed.

He knew what he had to do and he could not back down from it. There was absolutely no choice, for him anyway. And, if there was, he wouldn't take it. He couldn't take it. After all, he was doing this for her. All for his darling, lovely wife, Monica.

Griping the lance severely, Orson surveyed the battle damage and to his relief, saw neither Kyle nor Ephraim appearing from another hallway. The middle-aged paladin recalled that they split up but planned on meeting in some point yet Orson was unable to remember where. He did see where Forde rode off to, right to the other side of the keep. Since Forde was probably all alone and Ephraim and Kyle might have found each other, then there is a slim chance of those two are aware of Forde's current location. Concluding this, Orson mildly whipped the reigns against his stallion's side and the horse sped off, cantering hard towards the direction where the paladin had last seen the optimistic knight of Renais riding off to.

Looks like my act of betrayal is coming closer than I would have thought. I am deeply sorry about this, Forde, but it is a role in which I must do. I somewhat explained that to Zecilys when she got caught up in all this mess.


"Feel the power of righteousness, you fiends!"

"Brawhahahahaha! Having fun yet, Rennac?"

"Sigh…this is definitely not what I was paid to do."

A lone, dark robbed figure standing soberly on the cantilevered terrain watched with regalement as the three-man team battled the freakish monsters in such a comical fervor it practically looked ludicrous.

"Face your judgment, creatures of darkness as I, L'Arachel, rids you with my glorious might!" shouted the female troubadour with curly, yellow chartreuse curls pinned at the top of her scalp. She waved her healing staff around her head like it was hazardous, deadly weapon to be reckoned with.

At the announcement of her name, the spying druid raised one navy-blue eyebrow. L'Arachel? As in the princess of Rausten? Observing the crisis the tiny group had landed themselves into rather willingly (though he noticed the brunette rogue wasn't at all thrilled about the meaningless fighting), the druid smirked at his recent good fortune. Now that I know who their leader is I can work that to my advantage. If I can obtain any beneficial information about Rausten then undoubtedly Teacher Riev will be pleased.

Irthos gazed down at the team's slow progress and sighed wryly. It seemed Teacher was right, nothing has changed in Rausten. Rolling his eyes at the beefy axe-wielder's hearty laughs, he brought out his Flux book and began his descent down the hill, into the heart of the battlefield.

He instantly spotted the revenant prior to it saw him first and rapidly conjured his dark magic, hurling the caliginous, exploding matter at the rotting monster. The revenant stared mindlessly at it, unmistakably ignorant of the black, magical danger creeping up on it. The monstrosity was vanquished at the spot, leaving Irthos with plenty of more time to efface the other fiends from existence. Lighting a match and tossing on the corpse-so that the revenant would have no hopes of a second revival-Irthos turned his back on the gluttonous flames and made his way to the three Raustans.

"You appear like you need the use of some assistance," he called out to them. Their heads snapped up, suddenly realizing that he was here. Irthos inwardly snickered at their reaction; a druid with stealth was notion unheard of these days.

"Thank you, kind stranger, for your aid. Let the light of justice bless you!" cried out the woman called L'Arachel. Her axe-swinging friend replied with another round of "Brawhahahahahahaha!" and the disgruntled rogue only tilted his head in acknowledgement before whispering to him that he would regret his actions, saying how much his mistress was pain as well as a complete bother.

"Dozla isn't much better, either," he added before returning to his combat. Irthos didn't answer the man back, obvious that it was pointless to do so. Right now, fighting was all that mattered, at the moment and he needed to get into L'Arachel's good graces in order to receive any private, possibly confidential information from her concerning Rausten and its current predicament. When he was through with them he will just simply travel back to his former house, unlock the seal to his deceased family's relics, grab them and ride back to Grado. He silently prayed that his mare was behaving well where he left her, the monsters always made her uneasy and skittish. Hopefully, she would be strong enough to survive the journey for so long.

He whirled another sphere of dark magic at a bonewalker, satisfied as it produced a sickeningly crunch then a thundering explosion on the trudging skeleton.

Sorry about destroying your secret army, Master Riev, but I have to do this. If all goes according to plan, I might have enough information to bring Rausten down to its feet. Won't that be a sufficing, glorious power to unleash on your long-lasting rivals in Rausten?


A beautiful, enormous violet blue wyvern shot out the cloudy, colorless sky, skyrocketing down towards the swaying emerald meadows below. Nearby stood a formidable, solemn castle, supporting fading lucent flags that perched on top of the keep's roofs, its frayed, aged fabric flapping uncontrollably in the ferocious wind.

The magnificent two-legged wyvern landed in the begotten plains with grace, allowing his two riders to slide off. A man with long, partially tamed, (though his manner was starkly the opposite) ebony hair was the first to get off. He then surprising lent a hand to a young woman whose turquoise hair lengthily exceeded the man's. Hesitating for only a brief moment, the female rider accepted and swung off the saddle with the man's help. Daring not to venture why he offered such a request, the turquoise-haired rider watched the pale-skinned wyvern knight gather up the reigns to his wyvern and began guiding the winged creature to the stables. She reluctantly trailed behind them, solely focusing her attentive gold eyes on the gigantic palace in front of her.

"Valter," she called out, "is that the Grado Keep you mentioned before?"

The said man turned his head slightly towards her, wordlessly nodding. She jogged up next to him, already starting to dislike the silence. They were quiet through the whole ride and no matter how much she felt wary or discombobulated around Valter his talks could be very settling at times.

"So that's the notorious Grado Keep," she stated out loud and Valter grunted in agreement.

"Home sweet home." the Moonstone answered back nostalgically and silence elapsed over them once more.


Whew! This one was full of nearly non-stop action and fighting. 'Course once you got past through the Valter-toying-with-Zecilys scene, there were pretty naught but battles till the closure, when it was back to Zecilys and Valter.

Now I believe some people might object about Valter being so "protective" of Zecilys when Caellach insults her but Valter believes Zecilys is "his" per say and doesn't like anyone 'harming' what's his and to top it off, he hates Caellach. Period. So he is not out of character.

I also had my reasons for dragging Irthos into meeting L'Arachel and her comrades. In fact, as time progress he will soon find out that he's getting more than what he bargained for and it might affect his viewpoint and feelings in general.

While I'm at it, I used some the dialogue from the TSS scripts so I don't want to be hearing any complainants or suing charges or whatever the hell people might blame me for.

Well, that was twenty-one pages of action, fighting, fun, heat, and sexual tension galore so review and I'll be seeing you as soon as I can get the next chapter out (hopefully it will be out prior school starts). More combats await us and the next chapter might serve as prelude to the confusion some of the characters are feeling, like Zecilys and Valter. Irthos and L'Arachel will come later, I presume. For now, I just bid all you readers adieu.