Wayward Son

by Gunlord500

Renault, the Burdened Bishop of Valor, is one of Fire Emblem 7's most mysterious characters. This is but one account of his immensely long, tumultuous life.

10. A King and His Court

Wayward Son

10: A King and His Court

WARNING: *Extremely* long chapter

The huge flames leapt straight up into the air, almost as if they had a life of their own. They blazed brightly for a moment, flickered away the next, then came back up with twice as much vigor…Renault couldn't help thinking that they had a will as well, and they desperately wanted to reach the sky. Lamentably, the churning pitch-black smoke they vomited towards the heavens obscured the beautiful dawn sky, a soft, azure curtain in which the nascent rays of the sun banished the clouds which had gathered during the night. Despite being a city boy, Renault had to admit there was something to be said for the country if it had skies like this.

Still, he wasn't too perturbed about being unable to enjoy it. The great fire itself had its own beauty. Sparking, shifting, a voracious orange with flashes of angry white, Renault was almost entranced by its movements. If it were nothing but a bonfire, he probably would have greatly enjoyed the display.

Unfortunately, whenever his eyes were drawn to the grisly pile which served as its source of fuel, he was reminded he was watching not a bonfire but a funeral pyre.

Amidst the mass of kindling, oil, and tinder they had managed to filch from the paltry stores of Scirocco were its former inhabitants. A macabre congeries of men, women, Pegasi, and anything else having had the misfortune to have drunk water from the tainted well had been thrown together at the base of the blaze. All seven of Khyron's little troop had to cover their faces to withstand the stench of roasting human flesh which emanated from the flames as strongly as their heat.

And the stench would only grow that much stronger when the last corpse was finally disposed of.

Apolli had started crying again, despite his best efforts to hide it. Khyron ignored him, lost in his own thoughts, Tassar paid him no heed, Renault and Rosamia had no idea what to say that would comfort him, and only Braddock even made an attempt, placing a hand on his shoulder sympathetically.

None of them bothered to say anything to his best friend—or perhaps former best friend, now. Roberto strode silently towards the blaze, hatred, anger, and sorrow still burning as brightly in his eyes as did the fires reflected in them. He carried his sister's lifeless body surely, steadily towards its final destination. A desultory effort had been made to make her presentable, but they were unable to do much. Her white blouse was still stained red, and in her brother's arms her head lolled back gruesomely; none of them had any means, magical or otherwise, to close the great gash in her throat. Her mad captor had shown her little mercy indeed.

Still (and Renault could not help shuddering at the thought), Roberto had showed him even less mercy. He still remembered the piercing scream which had brought on this whole affair—even far across the other side of town he could hear it. He, Tassar, Khyron, and Rosamia had rushed to the mayor's house as quickly as they could, but they were all far too late anyways.

Roberto had gone completely berserk. Even Braddock, strong mercenary that he was, could not restrain him, and the crying, wailing wreck on the floor that was Apolli was no help either. Yulia was already quite dead by the time they got there, her young face frozen into an expression of shock and horror not at all dissimilar to those found on the poisoned corpses outside.

It was also much too late to save the survivor, whoever he was. Roberto had been pounding him relentlessly, shoving Braddock away every time the mercenary even came close. He hammered his strong fists into the townsman's face, he slammed his head against the floor over and over. It had taken both Tassar and Braddock, with more than a little help from Renault, to pry the man off of his foe. Even then Roberto had not stopped, and it took a sharp, measured blow to the back of the head from Tassar to finally still him.

Renault had caught a glimpse of Yulia's killer just before Tassar knocked Roberto out, and that was not an image he thought he would be forgetting anytime soon. It was impossible to tell who the man might have been—only later did he find out it was apparently the sentry who had greeted them their first day coming to Scirocco. The man's face had been reduced to an unrecognizable bloody pulp and his skull itself seemed to have malformed slightly, resembling nothing so much as a ripe melon whose sides were beginning to split from a small fall.

When Roberto had woken up, he had been none too happy—he'd almost taken a swing at Apolli once he had regained his bearings, screaming and blaming the young man for allowing Yulia to die. His attention turned to Braddock as well, and only some sharp words from Tassar—and the implied threat of another nap—had managed to calm him down this time. "Your sister's dead," he had said, "and there's nothing you or anyone else can do. I understand how you feel, but if you don't want her sacrifice to be in vain, you'll help us in our search for answers in this place. For all we know there may be more survivors like that lurking around, and if you don't help us you may end up like your sister. If we manage to survive this, we may find out what happened to this place, and why your sister had to die. But if you don't care about that, then go ahead and keep screaming. The rest of us will keep working."

Renault was impressed—he didn't know many people, except maybe his old boss, who could defuse that much anger with just a few carefully-chosen words and the force of their personality. Tassar was apparently one such man, for Roberto, after settling back down and taking several deep breaths, looked up again and spat a single word.

"Fine."

With that, the survivors reformed into a single group, and they had spent the entire night—and more—continuing their quest. This time, they took no risks concerning the bodies they found. Tassar or Khyron carefully checked over each one, and if no life was to be found Renault or Braddock would be sent to dump it into a growing pile near the middle of town. They occasionally sent Tassar or Apolli to do that job, but whenever they did they always sent someone else to accompany the bumpkins. Roberto seemed as if he could go berserk again any minute, and though Apolli had managed to stop crying, there was a glazed look in his eyes which indicated something in his mind wasn't quite right.

Fortunately, though, they were beset by no more significant problems for the remainder of their search of Scirocco. They had managed to find a couple of other unfortunates who were not quite dead—a young child and one of the Pegasus Knights—but since none of them could use a staff with much proficiency (the humiliated Khyron was forced to admit he was unable to use any staff more powerful than a simple Heal rod, which meant he couldn't use the Mend staff Yulia had brought with her) both of the survivors had succumbed to the poison shortly after and joined their fellows in the great pile at the center of the town.

Even worse, despite their best efforts the mercenaries had been almost totally unable to find anything which might have explained what happened to the town or why or how it had been destroyed. Internally, Renault cursed Roberto for having killed the fellow in the mayor's house—perhaps he might have been able to answer some questions. He knew that what was done was done, and Renault knew he probably would have done something similar in the same situation. Still, there were no missives detailing secret conspiracies to demolish the town, no hidden stores of toxins in any cellars…the only thing any of them had managed to find were the papers in the Mayor's house. A closer search of his home had revealed more of his records stashed away in a corner of his bedroom. It had been the closest thing to a success their expedition had—Khyron would be all to happy to pore over the mayor's ersatz journal and show it to his masters back in Aquleia. But even that wasn't very much. For the most part, the old man's ramblings were concerned with the prosaic details of everyday life. Only rarely did enticing tidbits of the Ilians' mysterious employer come to light in his writings, and they were vague and raised more questions than answers. Who was Meris? How did she get enough money to pay for an entire Ilian wing? And why?

Renault shook his head. He doubted he'd ever learn the answers to those questions, and to be honest, he didn't care much either. He just wanted this whole ordeal to be done with. Judging by the expressions of everyone except perhaps Khyron, they all felt the same way. Roberto, especially, probably had much more pressing concerns on his mind.

The big man stopped as he neared the giant blaze. He turned his head towards his comrades, tears rimming eyes set in a face still contorted with rage and pain.

"She deserves better'n this!" He choked, his tortured voice barely carrying across the air. "Better'n this…she…she oughtn't be treated like…like a piece of damned firewood!"

"So what do you propose?" asked Tassar evenly.

"We oughta bury her! BURY HER!"

"Here?"

"No! NO! Not in this goddamned dead town! She ought to be buried back home, where…where our mother is!"

Nobody could read the expression on Tassar's face. "Your hometown isn't so far away, but it'll still take days to reach it. We don't have anything to preserve her body with, so unless you're alright with lugging along a rotting corpse…"

"D…Damn it! Damn you! Damn all of y' bastards!"

Tassar was sensitive enough not to shrug, but Renault got the distinct impression he wanted to. "Don't blame us. You can either burn the body or bury it here. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."

Roberto could no longer summon up the energy to offer any sort of retort. With the same piercing expression on his face, he looked at Tassar, then to Yulia's body, to Tassar again, and finally the great flames he stood in front of.

He then turned his face towards the heavens and let out the most agonized, soul-shuddering wail Renault had yet heard in his short life.

It seemed to shake Apolli even more. He fell to his knees, clenching shut his teary eyes and wrapping his ears with quivering hands.

With a final, mighty heave, Roberto tossed his beloved sister onto the burning pyre. The flames seemed more than happy to accept this latest offering, sheathing and eating into her limp, lifeless form with what almost appeared to be eagerness.

It was a sight Roberto couldn't bear. He let out something that might have been another scream, but came out as a choked, painful gasp, and ran away into the shadows of Scirocco, where the morning's light had not yet banished the dark.

"Hey! Roberto!" Braddock called, but to no avail. "Tassar, don't you think we should go after him?"

The man really did shrug this time. "If we did, what would we do? Nothing any of us would say could get through to him. Maybe Apolli could give it a shot?"

The young man had taken his hands away from his ears, though he was still on his knees. He turned towards Tassar and gave the mercenary such a piteous look that he could do little more than shrug again.

"Doesn't look like Apolli will be much help either. Guess the only thing we can really do is wait for him to calm down, though I guess we'll have to get him eventually if he doesn't come back. Khyron," he called, bringing the sage out of his reverie, "As far as I can tell we're done here. Everyone who might have taken part in Revil's murder is dead now, and I think we've searched this town top and bottom. We've learned all we can. What's our next move?"

"I…well…" The sage was at a loss for words—seeing the death of one of his own had apparently sapped him of much of his typical arrogance and bluster. "We…we have to return to Aquleia. We must give our testimony to the king and his court."

Renault blinked. "Wait, you said 'we.' You mean all of us have to go?"

"Yes. Like I said, we need to inform the king and his councilors of what has transpired here. If everything had gone as planned this would not be necessary, but you can obviously see that the situation is considerably graver than anyone foresaw. Our leaders must know as much as possible about our journey, so they will be able to make the best possible decision about how to deal with this situation and ascertain if there is a greater threat to Etruria as a whole. It is for that reason I must ask you to accompany me as I stand before the court. Even the smallest bit of information you could provide might turn out to be valuable."

Braddock grunted. "Will we be compensated for our time?"

"You'll have the honor of meeting the King of Etruria in person!" Khyron said indignantly. "That is more than enough 'compensation' for the likes of you!"

Braddock was about to respond with another of his angry, sarcastic jibes at the noble, but Tassar cut him off before he could say anything too offensive. "Braddock, this is another part of our mission. We do the job we get paid for, so if we're required to do this, we'll do it."

The Ostian shrugged. "If you say so."

"That settles it, then." Tassar clapped his hands, silhouetted in the light of the steadily rising sun. "We're leaving. No reason for us to stay in this place a moment longer than we have to. Somebody go get Roberto."

"I'll do it," Braddock sighed. He cast Apolli a pleading look—the boy had gotten off of his knees, though his eyes were still turned towards the ground. When Roberto's name was mentioned, though, he looked up, and manfully rose to Braddock's challenge.

"I…I'll come with you," he said, the first coherent words that had came from his mouth for hours.

As the two of them started off for their wayward comrade, Renault asked Tassar, "Hey, you think we should go with them? Roberto, uh…doesn't seem so stable right now. Maybe—"

Tassar shook his head. "No. We'd just get in the way, probably. Best to just allow those guys to hash out their differences by themselves."

That was enough for Renault, and he fell silent along with his fellows. Although the morning skies were still clear, he could see clouds at the horizon, and wagered that they would have to deal with a rainy afternoon. Thus, he waited for the rain to fall and quench the burning of their impromptu pyre…but he hoped Braddock and Apolli would come back first.

-X-

It didn't take long for Braddock and Apolli to find their quarry, although Braddock had to shout "Hey! Roberto!" a couple of times.

He gave no response to indicate his position. No, Braddock and Apolli found him when they heard loud crashes and angry shouts coming from the mayor's house.

Cautiously, ever so cautiously, Braddock tip-toed up to the open door of the dwelling and peeked his head in just far enough to see what was going on.

Time had not been enough to quiet Roberto's anger. He was now taking out his rage on the former mayor's furnishings. The old man's living room now looked like a war zone. His table had been overturned, a pair of windowpanes was broken from where Roberto had thrown a chair out of them, and he was currently busy slamming another chair into the house's beaten walls, angrily cursing Scirocco, Etruria, and the entire damned expedition.

"H…Hey, Roberto," said Braddock cautiously, venturing into the impromptu battlefield, "Uh, we gotta—WHOAH!" He ducked as quickly as he could to avoid being hit by the remains of a broken chair that was sent flying at him. Unfortunately, this led to him being all but unprepared when Roberto grabbed him by his collar and slammed him against a wall.

"SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP, Y'BASTARD!"

Braddock made no effort to defend himself, even though he was slightly larger than Roberto and obviously a good deal stronger and more experienced. He simply stared at his assailant with a combination of sadness, guilt, and regret. "Roberto, I—"

Roberto slammed him against the wall again, harder this time—his strength was greatly enhanced by the sheer force of his anger. "Damn you," he said, flecks of spittle spraying Braddock's weary face, "DAMN YOU! IT'S YOUR FAULT SHE'S DEAD! YOURS, Y' SON OF A BITCH! YOU SENT HER UP THERE! YOU DID! AND…"

"Yeah. You're right, Roberto. I…I messed up. A…again. And someone else is dead because of it this time, too. I…I'm sorry. Sorry…"

His apology seemed to provoke rather than mollify the enraged Roberto. "Sorry? SORRY? T' HELL WITH YOU!" He roughly tossed Braddock to the floor before leaping on him again, pounding him as he did Altor. "You think a damned apology'll make things better? NOW? IT WON'T BRING 'ER BACK! IT WON'T, AND THAT'S WHAT I WANT, DAMMIT!"

"Roberto, stop!" Apolli rushed into the room, unable to watch Roberto hurt one of his comrades any more. "You're gonna kill him!"

Roberto paid him no heed, continuing to pound away at a Braddock who made no effort to defend himself. Only when Apolli finally grabbed one of his arms did Roberto finally relent…or more accurately, turn his attention to someone else.

"GET OFFA ME!" He slammed the arm Apolli had grabbed into the youth's stomach, sending him stumbling back and gasping for air. Roberto stood up and turned away from Braddock, advancing threateningly on his best friend. "What the hell were y' doin' when she died, huh? She was your fiancée! Your damned fiancée! And what were y' doin? You just sat there and cried while that bastard slit her damned throat! She…she deserved better'n that…Better'n you, y' useless WRETCH!"

He raised a fist to hammer into his best friend's face, but was surprised to see it stop in midair, caught by a strong hand behind him. He looked back to see Braddock, bruised and bloody, but now looking less guilty than angry himself.

"Roberto, that's enough. ENOUGH! What happened was my fault, not his. I was the leader, and I sent them up there. If you have to blame someone…blame me. Not him."

The big man lashed out, shaking off Braddock's hand from his wrist, but that was all he did. He stood there for a moment, torn and indecisive.

"W…who?" he muttered. "W…who? Who's fault is it…who do I hafta…You? Apolli? God dammit to hell, tell me! I just want my sister back! What d' I hafta do?"

"STOP IT, ROBERTO!" Once again, there were tears in Apolli's eyes, but this time there was steel in his voice. "Yulia's dead! She's dead! Don't y' see? We can't do anything! ANYTHING! It…it doesn't matter. Not now…" He started sobbing. "So…so please. Just…stop, Roberto. J-just stop. She wouldn't…she wouldn't want this."

"H…how th' hell do you know what she woulda wanted, huh?" Despite his best efforts, Roberto found it increasingly difficult to hold on to his anger. "If…if we can't bring 'er back…then what? D…dammit, who'm I s'posed to hate?" He looked at Braddock. "I…it's your fault! But it doesn't matter, eh? I could pound your face in, but she'd still be dead, wouldn't she? I…dammit, tell me! What in the name of the Saint should I do?"

He threw another punch at Braddock, but it was a weak, half-hearted one that only struck the cuirass on the man's chest, probably hurting Roberto more. He stood before Braddock, eyes cast downward, and only looked up when the other man put a hand on his shoulder.

Even if he could, he couldn't stay angry at Braddock when an expression like that was stamped onto his face. Whatever he was feeling right now, Roberto got the impression that the Ostian wasn't feeling much better.

"R, Roberto," he said through puffy, bloody lips, "I…look. There's nothing I can do to make it up to you, there's nothing I can do to bring her back…but our job's not done yet, man. We don't know who was behind these rebels, or why they were all poisoned, or anything. This could be serious, man. Might be the start of a bigger rebellion, or maybe even a foreign country's attack…

"We gotta go to the capitol…go back to Aquleia. We have to tell the king and his court what went on here. If we can, maybe…maybe her death will have some meaning. We might be able to stop this madness from happening to anyone else. That…that's something, isn't it? That's worth it."

The two men stared at each other for moments that felt much, much longer than they actually were.

"Maybe," said Roberto.

That was good enough for Braddock, and Apolli too. It had started to rain—a light drizzle which promised to become a heavy downpour. The three of them ignored. It. Together, they left the house of the mayor of Scirocco and started back towards their troop.

-X-

"Nice job, Renault!"

The city boy grinned back at Braddock, standing behind him with a smile of approval on his face. Although his snare had not been expertly set, Renault had prepared it skillfully enough that it had managed to catch something—a decently sized jackrabbit, which hung from the tree flailing about franticly and to no avail.

"Hah, thanks. Not bad for just my second try at this, eh?"

"Yep. C'mon, let's go back to camp. I know you can skin it and prepare it, right?"

"This time, definitely!"

Renault had taken surprisingly quickly to some of the more mundane duties a mercenary often had to undertake. He had not given much thought to what he'd do after this job was done and he left Aquleia, nor had he discussed it with his friend. Still, Braddock didn't see any harm in teaching him a few of the more practical skills a traveling sellsword needed. The city boy now knew how to keep a sword and a set of leather armor in good condition, how to tell time and bearing from the position of the sun in the sky, and how to catch and prepare wild game, among other things.

He had a bit of time to learn-it had been several days since Yulia's death and their departure from Scirocco, and Renault and his companions had been making good time to Aquleia. The pace Khyron had set was not grueling, but it was perhaps a bit faster than any of them would have liked; he apparently thought that the crown urgently needed to learn of what had transpired in Scirocco as soon as possible, and no-one saw fit to refute him.

Truth be told, Renault didn't really mind the quick pace, as he didn't want to spend more time than he had to travelling. Although Thagaste was a large, respectable city, Aquleia was the greatest urban center in all of Elibe, and some said it represented the very height of human civilization and culture. Renault desperately wanted to see it with his own eyes.

That wasn't the only reason he wanted to get off the road, though. As he and Braddock came back to their troop's camp for the night and he began the business of killing and skinning his catch, Renault had to admit that he still wasn't a very good cook. Braddock had taught him all he knew, of course, but the Ostian did not know much.

"Just between you and me," Renault said as he finished preparing the animal and stuck it over the fire for roasting, "I gotta admit, I kinda miss Apolli's cooking."

Braddock nodded sympathetically. "I know what you mean, my friend. I do too."

Renault glanced furtively over at Apolli, who was lying on his back, staring at the sky, as he usually did these days. Renault remembered how, at the beginning of their journey, Apolli had spent most of his time hanging out with Roberto and Yulia, at least when he wasn't out hunting or cooking. Now, of course, he obviously couldn't spend any time with his fiancée, but to Renault's surprise, he didn't spend much with his best friend either; Roberto seemed to make it a point to stay away from everyone else as much as possible. It seemed as if the man had said barely a word to anybody over the course of their return trip, though he had been making himself useful by cutting firewood. A lot of firewood, actually, more than they really needed. Still, it was better than doing nothing, which was all Apolli seemed to be doing most of the time.

"Hmph," grunted Renault, "come to think of it, I miss Apolli doing anything at all. Aside from the stuff you and me've caught, all we've been eating are those hardtack rations we brought along with us. How come he hasn't been hunting or cooking? It'd be nice if he started pulling his weight again."

"Cut him some slack." Braddock looked at him reprovingly enough that even Renault had to feel a bit ashamed. "His fiancée died right in front of him. I think anybody would be out of it for a while if they saw something like that."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's not so bad anyways, at least I learned to cook for myself, huh?"

"There, that's the spirit!" Braddock grinned, then winced a little bit as a small bolt of pain sliced its way through his still-healing lip.

Renault looked up at him, a bit concerned. "Braddock, I've told you before, but really, why didn't you just take some vulneraries for your injuries? I remember when we first left your face was all banged up. I don't see why you're wasting time waiting for it to heal naturally."

"Ah, it's no big deal. Been hurt a lot worse before, so I didn't think there was a point in wasting supplies."

"Still…"

Braddock waved a hand in the air. "Renault, I told you, I'm fine. Don't worry about it." He looked away. "Can't say I didn't deserve it, either…"

"Deserved it? What do you mean?"

"Whoah, you heard that? Hehe, must have been louder thought…"

"I've got good ears, I guess. So what'd you mean by that, man?" Upon seeing the look on his friend's face, Renault thought a bit better of his line of questioning. "Uh, I mean, only if you wanna tell me, of course. I mean, I've been wondering about it ever since we left Scirocco…I remember you going off with Apolli to search for Roberto, and when you came back with him he was all quiet and you looked like you'd been through another battle. Tassar just told us to get started and nobody said anything, so I didn't either, but still, I've been curious…"

"Curious, huh? Hah. Ah, well…you're a friend, so I guess there's no reason for me not to tell you." Braddock chuckled. "Not really much to tell, though. When I found him…well, Roberto was pretty pissed off. Certainly wasn't in a mood to listen to anybody, least of all me. He jumped me and started pounding me before Apolli managed to get him to stop. You'd have to be there to believe it, but trust me, I'm pretty lucky to have gotten off with just a few bruises and a busted lip."

"…I still don't get it yet. Why was he mad at you? You didn't kill his sister."

"It's as good as if I had. I sent her and Apolli up to the second floor of the mayor's house. She found a guy who was still alive, and he killed her. If I'd done a better job of securing the area, she probably wouldn't have died." The regret in Braddock's eyes shone as brightly as if all this had happened yesterday. "Ugh. Damn, I'm a failure. How many people have died because of me?"

"Hey, don't blame yourself. Like I said, it's not as if you killed her personally…"

"Hah. Thanks, Renault, but you don't understand…this is what comes with being a mercenary, or hell, a soldier of any stripe. When you're put in a position of leadership, you're responsible for the people under your command. Just like I was responsible for Yulia." He shook his head. "Man, I only wish this was the first time somebody died 'cause I messed up. Another thing to keep me up at nights…"

"You've had this happen before?"

"Oh, yeah. Comes with being a mercenary, bud. Or, hell, being a soldier of any stripe. If you've been in this war business for even a short time, you're bound to have seen a few of your friends buy it."

"Well, I figured that, but I was wondering, how many people have died because of you directly? You always seemed…really competent to me, man. I mean, you've always been on top of things since the first time I saw you. You saved my life back there, when we first arrived at Scirocco! I have a hard time seeing you messing up with anything."

At this, Braddock laughed out loud. "Aw, Renault…thanks. That's probably the nicest thing anybody's said about since…hell, for as long as I remember. I appreciate it, my friend, I really do.

"But the truth is, I'm nowhere near as good as you think I am. Tassar, maybe, but me? Nah. 'Specially when I was first starting out as a mercenary. Remember when I told you I almost pissed myself the first time I went out in combat? Well, that wasn't the worst of it. I barely even knew what I was doing! Tassar had to pull my ass out of the fire so many times back then I think I lost count. Hell of an inconvenience, I was…lotta good men probably died in that fight 'cause Tassar was too busy looking after me instead of holding their backs.

"And that's not even going into the few times I've lead. This was…I think the third time I had any authority over anybody else. The first time was I think after I'd spent a year under Tassar's guidance. He'd gone off by himself to scout and left me and a couple of friends to guard the person we were supposed to be protecting. We got ambushed, but that didn't turn out so bad…We killed all our assailants and our guy didn't even get hurt, though I took an arrow in the shoulder.

"The next time…now that was worse. A few weeks after that we were hired to wipe out some bandits holed up in a cave not too far from here, actually. It was going well, but somehow in the battle I and a couple of allies got separated from Tassar. I tried to lead 'em back to the entrance, even though we were pretty lost, but…guess I musta taken another wrong turn somewhere, because we managed to end up right where a couple of their mages were hiding. I jumped right in and managed to take out both of them, but when I looked back they'd roasted one of my buddies. Guess Yulia died for the same reason…ugh. I really gotta do a better job of keeping my eyes open."

"Damn. Tough, man." Renault had genuine sympathy in his eyes as he looked at his friend. "But…I mean, from what you've told me, that doesn't seem so bad. I mean, I feel right over onto my ass the first time I tried swinging a sword! 'Least you actually managed to get out and fight. And you said everybody's lost a friend or an ally if they've been a mercenary for a while, right? Doesn't seem like you were particularly incompetent, just seems like the kinda stuff that happens in war."

"I guess. But still…"

"And you didn't do anything that bad with Yulia, at least I don't think so. I mean, the town was dead. We didn't think there was a single survivor left. I bet anybody would have made the same mistake you did."

"You really think so?" Braddock smiled. "Who knows, maybe you're right. But…I mean, it's not just that. Renault, a lot of people have died because of me, and I mean…a whole lot. Even beyond being a mercenary."

"Huh? Now I really don't get it."

Something seemed to strike Braddock, as if he realized what he just said. "You know what? Forget I said that. Don't worry about it, I'm just overthinking things. Hell, maybe what I saw in Scirocco messed me up more than I thought. I probably just need a good sleep."

"Well, alright. If you say so, man."

"Yea—whoah, Renault, look at your meal!"

"Hey!" Renault quickly grabbed the stick his roasted rabbit rested upon and hastily spirited away from the campfire—it had started to burn. "Heh, thanks, Braddock. Least I didn't burn the whole thing."

"Yeah. I can have the burned parts if you want, I don't really mind so much."

"Fine by me."

"Oh yeah. One last thing, Renault."

"What?"

"Thanks."

-x-

The journey was proceeding quite well, in Tassar's estimation. They were nearing Aquleia—only a couple of days away, judging by the amount of trade, travel, and military caravans passing them by on the road. A successful job and he'd only had to fight one battle!

Not that he was particularly surprised.

He'd also managed to finish the job without losing any of his potential prospects. Well, almost. He had been none too pleased to hear of Yulia's death, of course, but at this point in his career he'd long since been inured to the experience of losing one of his own.

It wasn't as if she'd been an experienced soldier, in which case it would have been a real loss. Of course, if she'd been experienced, she probably wouldn't have gotten herself caught like she did. So he certainly wasn't losing any sleep over her, though Braddock seemed to be taking it fairly hard.

Oh, well. He'd learn.

He was currently enjoying one of the troop's rare rests—even though they were close, Khyron had refused to slow down, but the horses pulling along their wagon (Yulia's now among them) had been looking noticeably haggard, so for this evening at least haste had to give way to prudence.

As he lay back on the ground, preparing to enjoy a light repast of hardtack rations, Tassar noticed a shadow behind him and turned around. "Eh? Who's there?"

It was merely Roberto, apparently on his way to chop even more firewood. The man glanced at him for a moment with red, hooded eyes which seemed perpetually angry.

"So it's just you, huh?" Tassar chuckled. "Been keeping yourself busy. I admire your work ethic, though really, we already have enough kindling. We're almost there, anyways."

He coolly appraised the man as he turned away from him and towards the nearest copse of trees, which he began hacking away at with heavy, angry strokes of his axe. Roberto no longer seemed as crazy as he was when Braddock had his little talk with him, but there was still definitely barely suppressed anger and hatred roiling around in his psyche.

Just as Tassar liked it.

He noticed another pair of shadows coming up behind him, and chuckled again. "Suppose I'm popular today. " He turned his head and raised a hand. "Khyron, Rosamia. Need something?"

The sage nodded, his expression not exactly grim, but far from jovial. "I've something to discuss with you."

"Well, go ahead and take a seat." He shot a glance at Rosamia. "Does your student need to hear this as well?"

"It's not a matter of the utmost secrecy," the woman replied. "Since I am training as a member of Etruria's Mage Corps under him, he thought it would be a good experience for me to see how an actual knight handles his affair."

"Heh, I see. Khyron, you really think she'd be able to learn much? She's just a girl, after all."

Rosamia bristled at the insult—something Tassar took a small amount of pleasure in, though not much—but Khyron simply shrugged. "I am her teacher, and it is my duty. Anyways, shall we get down to business?"

"Go ahead."

Both the sage and his still-angry companion took their seats on the ground next to Tassar, though Khyron, true to form, was sure to first spread out a small cloth beneath him as not to soil his expensive clothes.

"Let me be blunt, Tassar. I have decided to increase the payment you and your men will be receiving."

Tassar rolled his eyes. "Oh, well, that's a surp—wait, did you say INCREASE?"

Khyron nodded, as Tassar stared at him in shock as Rosamia looked on impassively. "Yes. I…I was not expecting any of this. Not the Ilian knights, nor the poisoning of the town. In light of the unforeseen difficulties we have encountered, I believe you and your men have performed very well. I had thought Yulia and perhaps Renault would run off…but the girl gave her life for our cause, and the boy did a job of defending Castle Nerinheit well enough. To recognize your achievements, I thought it fit to raise your compensations."

"Huh. But how will you plan to pay for this? From what you told me the funds the crown gave you were already running low."

"I know. Your new payment shall come from my own coffers. As a result, I cannot give you an exorbitant sum, but I believe an increase to six hundred gold from the original five hundred we agreed on represents an adequate assessment of your accomplishments.

"I will tell you know, though, that Roberto and Apolli will be receiving even more. Yulia gave her life in the line of duty, and her friends and her hometown deserve recognition for her sacrifice."

An unwilling sacrifice, Tassar thought to himself. Have you already forgotten how you threatened her to make her come along? He didn't voice what was in his head, of course. He merely smiled wryly and said, "I appreciate your generosity, Sir Khyron. Thank you. Do we have more to discuss, or…?"

"No. That is all I wanted to tell you." He got up, taking his little impromptu seat-cloth with him. "Come, Rosamia."

"Wait a moment," said Tassar. "Would you mind if I spoke to your apprentice privately for a moment?"

Khyron blinked. "Hmm…I don't see why you'd need to, but if you so wish, go ahead. Do make it quick, though, I don't want the girl wasting too much of her time. She needs to study."

"It'll be a moment, don't worry."

The moment Khyron was out of earshot, Tassar shot the apprentice a hard look. "I want an explanation."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me. When I think of Khyron, the first description that comes to my mind isn't exactly generosity. What's he playing at?"

"Nothing. Sir, I don't know what you mean." The expression on the woman's face was troubled. "He sincerely believes your work was worth more than initially planned."

"Hah. You're joking, right? That kind of altruism exists only in fairy tales. I don't like being toyed around with, woman. If he's plotting to take advantage of me…"

To his surprise, Rosamia smirked. "Ah, I see. Well, given my master's personality, I can't blame you for thinking that. But in this case, what I said is the unvarnished truth. He is suffering a crisis of conscience, I believe."

"Oh?"

"This was the first time Khyron saw actual combat."

"Really?" Tassar was genuinely surprised. Khyron had performed far better than virtually any other first-timer he'd seen.

"Yes. This…this was also his first time actually leading anyone in battle. It was…not what he thought it would be. He does not know how it feels to lose someone under his command. He…I think he feels guilty for Yulia's death. I don't think he's ever seen anyone die in battle before, actually. I believe this is his way of dealing with it."

At this, Tassar laughed out loud. "Oh, really? Hah! That makes sense. Well, he's doing better than Braddock, at least. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Er…excuse me?"

"Ah, never mind. But wait…you mean they gave command of this entire expedition to someone without a shred of real experience?"

"Well…yes. His brother wanted him to learn, actually, and thought this would be a good opportunity."

"His brother…wait, you mean the Mage General, right? Yeah, that explains things. Someone with no qualifications whatsoever gets to lead because he's got enough 'peerage.' Should have expected that from the nobility." He cast Rosamia a quizzical look, looking her over. His gaze didn't seem to have ignoble intentions, but for some reason the woman still felt uncomfortable—she looked away and crossed her arms over her chest. "How did you manage to become his apprentice, though? If he really is the Mage General's little brother, you'd think they would have managed to find someone better."

Rosamia's pride flared, and she turned her head back towards Tassar, looking at him straight in the eyes. "I was the best they could find, sir. My scores were the highest out of all the students at the First Royal Academy."

"If a woman was the best they could find, I guess it must have been a pretty bad crop that year."

She clenched her fists at this remark, but said nothing beyond a terse, "Will that be all, sir?"

Tassar merely nodded and waved her away. She was all too happy to take her leave of him without another word, which he didn't mind either. Smiling ever so slightly, he grabbed a hardtack ration from his pocket and bit into it cheerily.

Yes indeed. All things considered, this expedition was going quite well.

-X-

Despite everything he had heard about Aquleia, Renault still found himself wholly unprepared for the real thing.

The gates of the city were an impressive enough sight by themselves. The entrance to his hometown, Thagaste, was more functional than pleasing to the eye—a slate grey gatehouse overseeing an iron portcullis was what greeted travelers entering the city. The entrance they were about to pass through had the same basic design, but much more effort had been spent in making it beautiful. Aquleia's northern gatehouse was not a dull gray but pearly white, almost seeming to shine in the bright noon sun. The iron of the portcullis was also white; however, not only was it much bigger than Thagaste's but its bars had also been shaped to resemble the fangs of a dragon.

Braddock, on the other hand, seemed less than impressed. "White?" he muttered. "I wonder what all this is made out of. Sure hope the portcullis isn't ivory or something. It'd be pretty easy to break, in that case!"

"Aw, c'mon, Braddock," said Renault, feeling the need to educate his friend on why these gates were an architectural accomplishment. "Don't they look amazing? I don't think there's anything like them anywhere else on Elibe!"

"Yeah, maybe. Still, even if something's 'unique,' it might as well be worthless if it doesn't do its job."

"Hmph. Don't you have any aesthetic sense at all?"

"Nope. I'm an Ostian. We care about how things function, not how they look."

Renault's troop had finally reached the gates, and his friendly banter was interrupted by a call from a singularly bored-looking sentry behind the white 'dragon's teeth.'

"Oy! What's your business here?"

Khyron puffed himself up, and in the most commanding tone he could muster, blared "I am Khyron of the house of Caerleon! As commanded by my king, my men and I have completed the subjugation of Scirocco! I request entry into this city so that I may report to my liege what we have accomplished!"

"Oh, right, we were told to wait for you. You're late, though, we expected you a few days ago. Alright, open it up!" The sentry lazily waved a hand in the air, and on cue the alabaster portcullis began to raise, allowing Khyron's caravan to enter. The sage seemed somewhat annoyed by the guardsman's lackadaisical demeanor, muttering to himself, "have these people no respect? Telling a member of the nobility he is late…what gall!"

Although he probably didn't intend Renault and Braddock to hear that, it didn't stop them from breaking out into a fit of snickering at the remark.

Their mirth was promptly replaced by awe when their caravan actually entered the city and got a good look at it. Renault was expecting something amazing, and Aquleia did not at all disappoint.

The metropolis was almost Arcadian in its beauty. A diverse collection of houses, storefronts, and schools seemed to stretch out to the very horizon, and what all these buildings had in common was an excellent sense of style and grace. Virtually all of them were white, with bright red shingles merrily decorating their roofs. They were all in excellent condition—no mold or cracks seemed to mar their walls, an indication of the Etrurian capitol's immense affluence. The buildings were quite varied in size, with small houses containing one or two families snuggled comfortably next to huge academies which catered to the needs of hundreds of students and teachers. Sculptures and fountains decorated the largest of those institutions, and Renault noticed that some of them even had stained-glass windows which rivaled the great cathedrals of his home city.

It would seem easy to get lost in such a large, busy city, but Khyron knew the area quite well, and kept his troop on a straight course along a well-maintained road which ran directly alongside a great canal. That was yet another thing which impressed Renault—even though his Thagaste had been built at the intersection of two great rivers, Aquleia seemed to be much more advanced in terms of irrigation and plumbing. It had been built close to the sea, and a winding series of waterways and canals threaded their way through Aquleia, providing a plentiful source of magically purified drinking water, transportation, and for mages skilled in the manipulation of water, great entertainment. It was on a road by the side of the largest of these waterways Khyron kept them, telling his men that it led directly to the north side of the Royal Palace (actually its backside, as it faced the south).

Of course, much to Renault's dismay, Aquleia had large crowds as well, even bigger than the throngs of people which clogged up the streets in his native Thagaste. Yet even the teeming masses seemed to possess their own glory. Young and old, proud and small (though Renault could curiously see few of the poor) seemed to mingle with each other to form a single swirling pastiche emblematic of the variety one could find all across Elibe. Great nobles sat comfortably in luxurious palanquins (carried, of course, by only the most well-dressed servants), fawning over exotic birds, cats, and other creatures they had the money to import from foreign lands. Powerful mages strode confidently alongside them; their ability to control the might of the elements the only justification they needed for the sumptuous display of wealth embodied in the gilded surcoats, violet fur-trimmed capes, and pearly-white pantaloons which might very well have cost even more than the aforementioned pets of the nobility. Alongside both those groups scurried the teeming masses: portly mothers with small children, young couples attempting to hide their trysts within the crowd, old merchants desperately hawking their wares…the list went on.

Of course, all that alone wouldn't have made the crowds particularly cosmopolitan. What really added a bit of spice to the human stew was the amount of foreigners intermingled with the Etrurian nobles and mages. Renault thought he could make out a few Sacaean horsemen (regarded with great disdain by the nobles, although they disdained everybody), Lycian spearmen, and even a few Bernites here and there (who were sometimes given looks of outright hatred instead of just contempt).

Renault vaguely recollected something Henken had told him, about the King relying more and more on mercenaries to do his bidding. His old boss had apparently not been kidding.

"Damn, this is nice," Braddock said, gazing with something a bit more than respect at a rarity—a female mercenary, a sword mistress by the looks of it, whose dress allowed him a good look at her shapely legs. "I gotta admit I wouldn't mind living here."

"I grew up here," said Rosamia, walking along behind the two men. "Trust me, it's not as nice as it looks."

"Huh, really? What makes you say that?"

"The hearts of the nobility are often as black as their dwellings are white, at least from what I have seen."

That was a sentiment Braddock could more than agree with. "Hah! Doesn't surprise me. The aristocracy's the same wherever you go."

Rosamia gave him something of a cold look. "Hmph. Are you sure you're one to talk?"

Braddock winced. "Ouch. You got me there, I guess. A mercenary like me's in no position to criticize anybody else, least not in matters of morality. S-sorry…hope I didn't say anything too presumptuous."

Her gaze softened. "No, forgive me. You don't seem to be too much of a bad sort, though I admit I don't know you too well. I…I've been under something of a distemper recently. Please pay me no heed."

"Er…really? Sorry to hear that." Braddock gave being friendly his best shot. "Anything any of us could help out with?"

"No, no, it's just that…" She gave the Ostian a long, measured look, before something told her it couldn't hurt to talk to him. "Your leader, Tassar. I thought my master was the only one who could use a lesson in manners, but it seems as if yours could as well."

At this, Braddock chuckled in relief. "Ahhh, so that's what it is. Lemme guess, he was being a jerk to you, right?"

"Ah, well…you could say that."

"Don't think about it too much. Tassar…he gets like that sometimes. Over the time I've known him, I think he has a problem talking to women or something. He can get awfully mean at times. Dunno why," he shrugged, "but it's best to just ignore him when he gets like that."

"Really?" Renault piped in, curious. "I remember when we first met, he seemed to get along with Lisse just fine."

"Like I said, it's just sometimes he gets like that. Not always. In any case, I doubt it really matters…after we give our testimony to the king we're gonna be going our separate ways, so it doesn't make much of a difference, I suppose."

"Perhaps," said Rosamia, "but who knows, while Renault might be going back home, you mercenaries may—ah! I believe we are nearing our destination."

Her two friends stopped their conversation and looked ahead. Rosamia was indeed correct—even though they were still a fair distance away, the Holy Royal Domains, which surrounded the palace itself, could be plainly seen. A gloriously verdant sea of trees which seemed deeper than even the vastest of Ilia's snowblown forests, they were the personal hunting grounds for the king and those he deemed worthy of the honor. It was pierced only by the largest tributary of the city's great waterways.

In the middle of this waterway was situated a large circular plaza which served as the starting point for what was called the "Holy Royal Road." Allowing egress to it for those entering from the Domains was a pair of pearly-white bridges, sturdily built and anchored within the streams of the waterways.

As they neared one of those bridges, Braddock made clear he wasn't impressed. "Ugh, they couldn't even have gotten drawbridges to connect to this Holy Royal Road? Talk about impractical! This place sure doesn't seem well-defended at all."

Renault harrumphed and said, "Can't you just forget about your Ostian heritage for a bit and enjoy some of the finer things in life?"

"Can't you learn to look at things with an eye for pragmatism and practicality? You never struck me as one to be too fond of the kind of conspicuous consumption nobles and bigwigs from the Church seem to love so much."

That struck a chord with Renault. "Alright, alright, maybe you're right. Still, even if it's impractical, it's still some great architecture, isn't it?"

"I guess I'll have to defer to your expertise on that, my friend."

The two men continued to banter as Khyron led them across the bridges and onto the Holy Road itself. So named because it was supposedly built upon a trail the Saint herself had once walked (and blessed) after the end of the Scouring, it was a magnificent sight, fitting for something (again, supposedly) so holy. The stones it was made out of were was white as opal, and seemed to glow slightly. Even Renault, staunch atheist though he was, had to admit he felt a twinge of something divine, looking at its reflection shimmering in the water as if it had been handed down by God.

"There's an old legend about this road," Rosamia remarked. "It says that anyone who walks it will be tested. Those with wisdom matching that of the Archsage will be blessed. Those who are found wanting, however, will suffer the flames of divine judgment."

At this, Renault chuckled. "Man, I'm sure glad God doesn't exist, in that case. Nobody could ever match old Athos in wits, least not if the history I read's even half accurate. If we were really held up to those standards, we'd be sure to die the moment we got off this road!"

Almost on cue, as the troop neared the middle of the Road they saw Athos himself—or at the very least, his personal tower. Around them stood the Towers of the Eight Generals. Rising alongside the Holy Road from the depths of the waterway, eight columns composed of the same opaline material stood a silent watch over the travelers. They were connected by a thin walkway threading through each of them, hanging high over the heads of anyone who would travel along the Road. How it managed to stay in the air without crumbling or breaking was beyond Renault's comprehension.

He and his friends had little time to marvel over these artistic triumphs for long, though, as they were soon met by another—the Royal Palace of Etruria itself.

The spires of the castle were beautiful enough—mighty towers which jutted out from the structure high into the air, the tops of which were capped with immensely ornate silver and golden gilding. The really remarkable things, though, at least in Renault's estimation, were its sculptures. Overhanging the windows, strewn across the walls, leering down on them from the roofs were a seemingly endless parade of bas-reliefs, statues, and monuments depicting heroes and villains, animals and monsters from all across Etruria's history. They were so detailed that they all looked almost alive—Renault could have sworn such quality could not be achieved by human hands. If the back of the royal palace was so impressive, Renault could only wonder how the front looked.

The guards at the back gate of the palace, of course, were hardly impressed with it. Their eyes went from bored resignation gazing at the scenery around them to sudden interest when they looked upon the travelers rapidly approaching.

"Who goes there?" One of the guards standing by the large silvery doorways raised a gloved hand and waved to them. Neither he nor his companion carried armor or spear—as was the case in Aquleia, they relied entirely on their immensely formidable magical skill to take care of their duties. "Ah, Khyron, is that you? You're in luck. The king's court is in session right now, I'm sure they'll be more than happy to hear…hey," his eyes narrowed suspiciously, "who're those…people, with you?"

"They are the mercenaries I hired to assist me in bringing the murderers of Revil to justice," Khyron replied. "Things…did not go as planned. I have asked them to provide their testimony to the king alongside myself. They can be trusted."

The guards clearly weren't expecting this. Their eyes went wide, but they acceded to the sage's demands. "Alright, if you say so, m'lord. We'll set your horses and the wagon up at the stable, though."

Khyron nodded. "That's fine."

Respectfully, one guard stood aside and opened the great doors, while his companion commandeered the wagon and headed it off to its destination. Both of them bowed their heads to Khyron while shooting his associates suspicious glances.

None of the visitors cared, except for maybe Rosamia. They were too busy taking in the inside of the palace, which managed to be as impressive, if not more so than the exterior. Great windows—some of stained glass—filled the entire structure with gorgeous golden sunlight, highlighting the detailed sculpting as common in these rooms as it was on the outside. Upon the balusters of each stairwell cherubs danced merrily, and on the polished, multicolored stone ceilings—held up as they were by grand Doric columns exquisite in their detail—played out a variety of scenes from Etruria's history, ranging from Tages creating the first code of law shortly after Elimine's ascendance to scenes of a small Etrurian victory in a skirmish with Bern.

A castle so large and complex might seem more like a labyrinth to some people, but fortunately Khyron knew his way around quite well. It wasn't long before he led his troop to a closed pair of massive oak doors guarded by a herald clad in bright courtier's garb. Although they obviously couldn't see what was going on in that room, everyone could hear muffled shouts which seemed as angry as they were loud. Renault thought he could almost make out some of what they were saying.

"Damn it, King Galahad," said one angry voice, "haven't you been listening to what I've been telling you? Scirocco is—WAS—under my jurisdiction! For your men to come in and slaughter—"

Khyron once again announced himself to the young herald, who seemed to be more than a bit perturbed at the proceedings going on behind him. He gulped nervously and abruptly opened the great doors, putting a sudden stop to the shouting going on.

"To the esteemed and venerable Lords of Etruria," called the youth, "and most certainly to our majestic and accomplished King Galahad the Second, it is my honor to present before you Khyron of the House of Caerleon, brother of Mage General Exedol and loyal servant of the crown! Accompanying…uh, accompanying him is his retinue, hired swords brave and bold who have brought the crown's justice to the rebellious citizens of Scirocco!"

Khyron and his six companions stepped nervously into the great court, all of them—even the sage himself—feeling more than a little intimidated by the size and grandeur of the room. Huge busts of each of the Eight Heroes stared down at them from the walls, and above them the ceiling roiled with sculpted depictions of the evil dragons of the Scouring—looking more like hellish demons than great earthly beasts—being banished to the darkness.

Around them, in front of a series of great stone tables, seated in cushioned, gilded chairs, were the most powerful men in the country. Ironically enough, they were the least impressive features of the room.

The king himself didn't seem like much. A short, elderly man with a stocky build, it would have been easy to mistake him for an old shopkeeper had he not been wearing the gilded jeweled crown and beautiful crimson robes of Etrurian royalty. The nobles who served him were generally little better-some were fat, some looked skinny and weak, and a few looked as if they might have been respectable earlier in their lives, but by now age had taken away whatever strength they might have had. Only a scant number looked at all intelligent or vigorous. For the most part, the men seemed worth less than the expensive clothes they wore.

The singular exception to this was the great form that stood at the king's side. Here was undoubtedly the largest man Renault had ever seen. Standing a head taller than Braddock and even more strongly muscled, he had straight purple hair which fell just below the nape of his thick strong neck. Despite the opulent robes of a royal advisor he wore, Renault thought he would have been better suited to be a gladiator or a mercenary—which he was, or at least used to be. This was Prime Minister Paptimus, one of the most famous men in perhaps not only Etruria but all of Elibe. His was a classic rags-to-riches story—born into obscurity as a gladiator fighting for his life in Aquleia's great coliseums, he had managed to acquire a tome of spells and display a measure of magical aptitude, which led him to have been emancipated and taken under the wing of a noble impressed with his abilities. From there, his skill and intelligence had taken him to the position of Prime Minister, making him the most powerful man in the country except for the King and perhaps the Mage General.

For a moment Renault wondered how the arrogant nobles of Etruria would manage to tolerate the man's rather coarse, low-born manner of speaking, not to mention his decidedly low-born origins, but if there was even a grain of truth in the stories of Paptimus' magical prowess, he supposed that answered his question.

"Little brother, what's this about?" called one comparatively young noble sitting near the king. Judging by the fact that he shared Khyron's black hair, this seemed to be the Mage General Exedol himself. "Khyron, why did you bring this…rabble along with you?"

Renault chafed at that description, but he was smart enough to keep it to himself. Even Roberto—who had done little besides walk alongside the troop and glare at things over the course of their journey to the city—knew it would be a very bad idea to start a scene in front of the royal court.

Khyron quickly strode to the center of the room, where a small podium had been set up encircled by the benches the nobles sat upon, so that everyone in the room could adequately hear any report or testimony the crown saw fit to bring out. "My lords," he began, "I sincerely apologize for the tardiness of my return and the fact that I have brought these mercenaries before you, but the events which took place over the course of my expedition require me to provide testimony from these warriors as well as from myself. I trust my gracious lords will not find this inconvenience to be impermissible, given the circumstances?"

"Not at all!" yelled another noble. His hair was stark white, though he looked as if he was only in his mid 50s. Renault recognized his voice as one of the shouters from earlier. "You may try and hide it all you like, but my messengers gave me the reports not even a fortnight after you destroyed that town! All of the north is aflame with rumors of your misdeeds! It is all too fitting your men should be held accountable to us for their crimes, after all!"

"What the hell?" Renault didn't like being falsely accused, and his anger won over his good sense. "We didn't even—"

He was stopped short by Rosamia jamming a fist into his ribs. "Renault, shut your mouth!" she hissed. "These men are not known for their patience or understanding. They'll get angry at even the smallest sign of disrespect. If you so much as speak out of turn that will be more than enough to convince the King we really did do whatever they think we did!"

Thankfully, however, it was the Prime Minister who took up their cause. "Glaesal, calm down, buddy," he said, in tones surprisingly common. His deep, rocky voice and accent sounded a bit more like Roberto and Apolli's than an Aqueleian's more refined brogue, though he did make an effort to sound more like the latter than the former. "Scirocco was a town in your countship, and you've got every right to be as angry as you are. Still, we shouldn't jump to conclusions so hastily. Messengers can get things wrong, and rumors shouldn't always be trusted. Khyron's an honorable man, we all know that, and I'm sure he wouldn't have hired a bunch o'murderers. Let's at least hear 'em out before we condemn them."

"Hmph. We shall see." Count Nerinheit seemed to have been mollified by the advisor's words, at least enough to be willing to be quiet while the mercenaries gave their testimony. Renault couldn't help but wonder if the count had it out for them because they were forced to use his old castle as a base of operations.

"Glad to hear that, friend," said Paptimus. "Khyron, begin."

The sage stood up as tall as he could, took a deep breath to settle himself, and started his story.

"All of you know the reasons I began this expedition, so I need not retell you the same things Father Valentius did. I will, however, tell you what I did immediately after I left this room, two months past. Accompanied by the men I hired, Tassar and Braddock, and my aides, Rosamia and Yulia—"

"Oh ho," said one noble, a lascivious expression on his face, "I remember Yulia. That country girl, was she? A cute little thing she was. But she's not here with you. What happened to her?"

"I…I will get to that, my lord. Please allow me to continue…"

"Of course, of course…"

"As soon as we left, we were accosted by Yulia's fiancé and brother, Apolli and Roberto. You see them here standing behind me, and you will receive their testimony as well. In an admirable display of courage and loyalty to both their loved one and the crown," and at this point both Roberto and Apolli had surprised looks on their faces from the unexpected praise, "they demanded to accompany me in order to protect the girl. The mercenary leader, Tassar," he nodded towards the veteran, "thought it would be a good idea to have a few extra men along in case we ran into more than a small degree of resistance from Scirocco. Thanks to the generous stipend my lords provided me I had more than enough money to cover the expenses, and we began our journey north.

"Our first stop was the city of Thagaste, in order to rest before we reached the countryside proper and also to purchase any more provisions which may have been useful. It was here we recruited the last member of our troop, Renault. Tassar found him staying in the same inn he was. The fellow looked strong and he seemed to have a good fighting spirit, even though he had no previous military experience, so Tassar felt he might prove himself useful if he came along with us. The following day he chose to do so, and we set out to Scirocco.

"Our journey was quite uneventful. Our rations kept us well-fed, along with Apolli's skillful hunting. The only thing I can see fit to note is that we buried Revil. They had hung his body on a tree not far from Lord Nerinheit's former castle, and I could not allow a fellow servant of the Crown to simply rot under the sun. Yulia read him an Eliminean funeral liturgy, at least as best as she knew how. It was when we reached the gates of the town itself that the real trouble started.

"At this point, I would defer to the military experience of an experienced mercenary. Would my lords permit me to call up the swordsman Tassar to follow me?"

A low murmur of assent rippled through the assembly. Khyron bowed and stepped down from the podium, which was promptly taken up by Tassar.

He didn't even bother with the same niceties Khyron did, instead cutting right to the chase. "The moment we showed up at the gates, we were greeted by a wing of Pegasus Knights."

At this, the court seemed to explode. "What the devil is he talking about?"

"Pegasus Knights?"

"Nonsense! How could they afford—"

The noise was finally stopped by a loud shout of "ENOUGH!" The king sat straight in his chair—apparently mention of the Pegasus Knights had finally succeeded in piquing his interest. Galahad looked at Tassar, apparently eager to hear more of a great battle. "Proceed, mercenary! I wish to hear all about this!"

"There were about twenty of them. They outnumbered us more than two to one, plus they'd have support from the town itself. There was no way we could win, at least not as we were. I ordered a retreat, and fortunately they did not pursue.

"We fell back to the abandoned castle of Count Nerinheit. It would serve as both an easily defensible position and a place for us to rest and discuss what our next move ought to be. I thought we should have gone back to Aquleia and asked for reinforcements, but Khyron refused. I acceded to my employer's orders, and deemed it best to go on the offensive soon, before our stores of food and game ran out.

"Luckily for us, the Pegasus Knights beat us to the punch. I don't know why—it was in their best interest to stay in their defended position and wait for us to attack. Maybe they got impatient. In any case, accompanied by some of the villagers they launched an assault on the fortress. We had set up some defenses on the castle's roof, as we managed to repair one of the castle's old ballistas. Apolli was our only archer, so he also served as our ballistician."

"Oh?" The king's eyes seemed to light up. "Artillery has always fascinated me. I would like to hear this Apolli's description of the battle and his use of the machine…come up to the stand. Now!"

"Heh." Tassar muttered something to himself under his breath, but he stood aside as Apolli hesitantly made his way up to the small podium. Just like Roberto, he had said very little over the course of their trip, but now he had his chance to shine…much to his dismay.

Unfortunately, he seemed a bit too nervous to take advantage of this opportunity. He had never been in front of such a large or famous gathering before, and found himself not quite up to the occasion. His throat constricted, and beads of sweat trickled prominently down his brow.

The nobles began to titter amongst themselves, with hissed orders to "speak up!" and snide proclamations of "we don't have all day!" filling the young man's ears. Once again it was the Prime Minister to the rescue.

"Come, lad, don't be afraid." Paptimus smiled as comfortingly as he could at the youth, though coming from the former gladiator it was probably more intimidating. "All of us just want to know the truth. We're not out to get you, we're here to help you."

Something in his voice struck a chord in the young man, and Apolli suddenly felt just a bit of his courage returning. "Th, thank you, m'lord," he stammered, and then loudly, to the king and his court, he began his deposition.

"I…uh, m'names Apolli, sire. I'm from Sorveno, it's a small village not too far and not too different from Sci—"

"Yes, yes, how interesting," said the king impatiently. "Get to the ballista! I want to hear more about that!"

"Uh, o-of course, m'lord. The ballista…it's a real masterpiece, sire. I'm just an archer, but I hafta admit the engineers did a great job with that machine. One bolt from it's larger than I am, but that thing can load 'em and fire 'em off with not much more than a pull from a lever!

"It's strong, too. Really, really strong." At this point, Apolli's voice faltered. "I…I missed with my first shot, but hit the mark with the second one. It…it tore the wing right off one of the Pegasi, and it an' its rider fell straight to the earth."

"Amazing!" The king laughed and clapped. "Good show, m'boy! That's the ingenuity of Etruria for you! I bet Bern will think twice about starting trouble with us when it learns we've got machines like that on our side!"

"I-it's not perfect, though. It…it has a minimum range. It seemed like just a moment, but before I knew it the Pegasus Knights had caught up to us, and I had to get off the ballista and take out the bow.

"It was terrifyin', sire. Tassar was fightin' their leader, I think, and they were comin' at us from two sides. Khyron and Braddock were fightin' really well, and they managed to take out a few, but then Khyron got wounded and called for my…my Yulia to come heal him. When she came out, they…they wanted to kill her. My fiancée! I…when one of them came at her with a javelin, I…" He couldn't continue.

Low chuckles of disdain and contempt emanated from the gathered nobility. "What's he so ashamed of? Isn't he a mercenary? Surely the death of some Ilian vermin is nothing to cry over."

Paptimus would have none of it. "Stop that! When's the last time any of you fought in battle, eh? Takin' a life's never easy, at least not for the first time. This boy did as best as he could." He cast a sympathetic glance at Apolli. "You think you can continue, lad? I'll understand if you don't want to, but we really need to hear the rest of what happened."

He sniffled. "I…it's alright, m'lord. I'll do my best, but there really isn't much to tell. After I…I killed the girl, Yulia managed to get to Khyron and heal 'im up. After that, I guess the commander noticed the villagers who came with her were running away, and decided to run with 'em."

"Villagers?"

"Yeah. While the Pegasus Knights attacked us on the roof because we had a ballista, there were a few guys from Scirocco who tried to break into the castle from the ground. I dunno much about that. Roberto, Rosamia, and Renault had to take care of 'em. I think Renault actually managed to kill one."

"Hmm…interesting," said King Galahad, who seemed excited by Apolli's talk of battle and death, "I would like to hear more of this. Renault, I wish to listen to what you have to say."

"Uh…huh?" Assisted by a hasty shove from Braddock, Renault hastily took Apolli's position. Despite the contempt he had for the nobility, he had to admit they seemed much more intimidating in their own environment. At the very least, he realized it would be in his best interest to avoid angering them, or even drawing their contempt. "Uh…th-thanks for listening to me, all of you. It's, uh, an honor to stand before the rulers of my country…right?"

Renault heard several low, pleased chuckles, and decided that his attempt at buttering up the aristocrats had worked. Feeling more confident, he continued. "I'm Renault, a stoneworker from Thagaste. I…I hadn't picked up a sword before meeting Tassar, but I guess I'm a fast learner. He trained me while we were making our way to Scirocco, and by the time we were attacked I'd gotten good enough to at least take care of myself.

"There were five of them and three of us. Their leader was an archer, and they had a couple of axemen and a pair of spearmen. Rosamia…she cast a spell at them hoping to scare them off, but it didn't work. The archer said they had a magician of their own…Meris or something was her name.

"I took on the axemen and Roberto took the spears. Rosamia took an arrow in the arm, but she was still strong enough to help us out with a bit of her magic. One of the axes charged me, and I managed to take out his eye with a trick Tassar taught me. He went crazy after that…bowled me over and was just about to split my head open when I saw a chance and drove my sword through his gut. I'd gotten into some fights before, but…that was my first time killing anybody too."

"You did what you had to do," said Paptimus. "Believe me, I know how that feels."

"Thanks. Heh, yeah…now I know how the guys in the arena must feel. But…that ended the battle for me. Guess courage wasn't the townies' strong point, because when they saw that guy bite it, they ran off. That was the last we saw of 'em, at least alive. By the time we got back to Scirocco they were corpses."

"Tell us about that, Renault," sneered Nerinheit. "I suppose you were more than pleased at that outcome, weren't you?"

"Look, I didn't do anything! I can't speak for anybody else, but I sure as hell know I didn't have anything to do with what we found there!"

"Well, tell us what you saw, then!"

"I…fine. It was at night, after the sun had set. Tassar thought our counterattack should be under the cover of darkness, so we'd have surprise on our side. On our way there I think we were seen…one of the Pegasus Knights flew over us and went back to the village. We didn't see her again, though…I guess she was the only survivor.

"When we got to the town it was totally quiet. I don't mean just nighttime quiet, I mean dead quiet. No torches were lit and nobody was manning the sentry post. We knew we had to find out what was going on, though, so we went in anyways, though I got a really bad feeling about it.

"The town was a damn tomb, Your Majesty. We stepped right through the gate to see dead bodies lying everywhere. And before you say something, Count, I want you to know that the bodies didn't have a scratch on them. Not one. They all had blood in their mouths, though. Looked like they'd been vomiting. You think mercenaries like us could do something like that? No way. Khyron said it was poison. Scirocco got all its water from a single well, so if somebody got to that they would have poisoned pretty much every person in the town."

"The rumors were right about that, at least," murmured Paptimus, voicing the sentiments of the rest of the room. "So you didn't come across any survivors at all?"

"Well, we got one. Aside from the Knight who saw us, there was one other survivor. He's dead now, though…I didn't see what happened, but I heard it. He managed to kill Yulia, and Roberto killed him for it."

"How unfortunate," said the king. "Perhaps he could have provided us with more answers than any of you did. Your friend Roberto is quite the disappointment."

"Hey!" Renault didn't like Roberto too much either, but he liked the king even less. "Yulia was his sister! You can't blame—"

The monarch rolled his eyes dismissively. "We will let Roberto speak for himself, then. Leave the stand, Renault."

Fuming, the former stoneworker did so, where an equally angry Roberto followed. Even the gravitas of the monarch and his assembled retinue did nothing to dim the man's anger, and he simply stood there, glaring at the compassionless aristocrats.

Except for Paptimus, yet again. "Roberto," he began, in tones as soothing as he could manage, "I understand the depth of your loss. Not even the combined riches of every man in this room would be enough to compensate you for the death of your sister. But like I told Apolli, we aren't here to mock you. We just want to get to the truth of the matter. If you tell us what happened, we might be able to help you get revenge, or at least make sure nothing like this can happen to anyone else."

Roberto shot an angry glance at the Prime Minister, but the words had gotten through to him.

"Yulia was my sister. We grew up together with Apolli in Sorveno. You…none of y' know what it feels like, eh? To have your only lil' sister killed b'fore your eyes? I bet—"

"Calm down, lad. Start at the beginning. Where did you find the man who…who did this? What happened with him, and why?"

"We were investigatin' the village. Tassar wanted us to split into two groups, to get it over with quicker. Braddock, me, Yulia, and Apolli were one of 'em, the rest of them took the other side of the town.

"We looked over two houses and didn't find anything. Just dead bodies. It was when we got to the mayor's house that…that it…happened. Me 'n Braddock were looking over the first floor, and Apolli and Yulia went upstairs, to the mayor's bedroom. That was where they found 'im.

"He was barely clinging t' life, I think…we didn't have anything that could take care of poison, but Yulia used her staff to put a damper on its effects, at least a little bit.

"And how'd he repay her?" Roberto's fists were clenched at his sides, their knuckles white. "He killed her! Got up, grabbed her, an' jammed a knife straight into her neck!" He glared behind him, at Apolli, who was now staring at his feet miserably. "All while her fiancée was sittin' there useless! Just blubberin'! Damn useless!"

"I see," said Paptimus, "But why? Roberto, can you calm down for a moment and tell us why the town's sole survivor tried to kill his benefactor?"

"What makes y' think I know? He was crazy. Said somethin' about poison, and how we had Meris too, or something. I don't know, and I guess we'll never know now, will we?" He stood up straight, and gave the nobles a twisted smile. "I killed the bastard. Smashed his head in with my own hands. Call me what y' want, but at least none of y' can say I let 'im get away with it!"

"Such a shameful display," drawled one noble near the back of the room. "Ugh, are all the residents of the north so barbaric?"

Paptimus again raised his hands to quiet the aristocrats, partially to restore order and partially to keep Roberto from getting too angry. "You mentioned Meris as well. You know anything else about this person? Apparently a spellcaster, going on what Renault said, but anything more than that?"

"Dunno. Don't care much either. I found some of the mayor's journal, but Braddock found the rest, and Tassar and Khyron went over all of it."

"Very well. Thanks for your testimony, Roberto. I know it couldn't have been easy for you." Paptimus turned to the king, who was now looking somewhat troubled instead of excited. "Braddock could probably explain a bit of what he found, then, if he managed to get a hold of the rest of the mayor's journal."

"I agree. Braddock, come forth."

"H-hey," whispered Renault nervously to his friend, "You gonna be alright? You're not an native-born Etrurian, so…"

Braddock shrugged. "Yeah, well, what can you do? Just gotta go up there and tell the truth. Just wish me luck, alright?" He clapped Renault on the shoulder and proceeded to replace Roberto, who had stalked back to his place near the door with the others, angrily waiting the hearings to be done with.

"Not an Etrurian?" said one count, noticing Braddock's hair and facial features. "What could he possibly have to tell us?"

The Ostian heard this, but he didn't get angry. Instead, he simply bowed as low as he could. "Oh, venerable lords of Etruria," he drawled, "Allow me to first begin by saying how honored—honored, I say!—I am that a humble Lycian such as myself would be allowed to even stand in the same room as such a vaunted group of heroes such as yourselves. I mean, none of you have probably picked up a sword or actually done a bit of actual work in your entire pampered lives! Truly, nobody from any foreign land could possibly meet your stellar expectations."

Watching this from the back of the room, Renault was torn between absolute horror at his friend's provocation of people who could order all of them killed on a whim and dissolving in laughter at his sarcasm (which probably would have gotten him sent to the guillotine as well). The nobles themselves seemed to be gravitating towards the guillotine—disgruntled calls of "cheeky bastard, isn't he?" and "he can tell all the jokes he wants in the stockade!" echoing from various parts of the chamber. Still, his testimony would be too important to simply toss out.

"Dump the mockery, please," said Paptimus, "and tell us what you read in the journal."

"Not a problem with me if I can get outta here sooner," smirked Braddock. "Anyways, I didn't find as much as I'd hoped, unfortunately. For the most part, it's just the standard crap you'd expect from a mayor's records—meals, descriptions of town life, updates on the economy and the people, and so on. However, there were a few interesting entries that told us at least a little bit…

"He made an entry about Revil's death on the eighth day of the Month of the Wyvern, a few months ago. A week after that, though, he wrote that a 'red-haired angel of mercy arrived at this village, borne on the wings of Illians.' The girl he was talking about was this Meris person.

"He doesn't mention her much, but from what he wrote about her and the Ilians, I think it's a pretty safe bet that she was the one who actually had the money to hire the mercenaries, not the villagers themselves. She apparently was a major influence in the town's affairs as well, advising him on battle tactics and how best to plan their rebellion. Apparently the Pegasus Knights got sent off to our little fortress on her orders."

"Was she among the bodies you discovered?"

"Nope, at least nobody matching her description. The last entries in the mayor's journal mention how she didn't show up for the Scirocco's last breakfast. I get the feeling she knew what was gonna happen beforehand, and skipped town ahead of time."

"Very interesting, Braddock," and now Paptimus looked quite pleased. "You've done good work, this actually helps a lot. Did the journal mention where this girl might have come from?"

"No. I dunno if she kept quiet about it, but the mayor's journal doesn't mention it."

"How convenient," sneered Nerinheit. "Perhaps this girl was on Khyron's pay? A spy hired to enter the town and kill everyone in it, saving him the trouble?"

"Hold on, Glaesal." Exedol stood up, a scowl on his face. "That is my little brother you are accusing. You have neither evidence nor right to—"

"Hah, nonsense! If he really is your brother I'm sure he'd be all too happy to resort to such underhanded tactics! That's what allowed you to take your position away from me, isn't that right?"

"You believe so?" Exedol scowled angrily as he stood up, removing one of his white gloves. "I suppose you would call a fair fight underhanded? If not, I would be more than happy to defend my family's honor with a—"

All the commotion in the room was stopped by an angry shout and the sound of a pair of fists crashing down on the table in front of the Prime Minister's seat.

"Dammit, that's enough, all of you!" Paptimus had grown weary of the court's endless bickering, and let his annoyance make itself clear in his voice. That alone would have been scary enough, but when combined with the expression on his battle-hardened face it became downright terrifying. "Glaesal, listen to me. We've known each other for years, and you're closer to me than any other man. I sympathize with you more than anyone else here can understand. But no matter what the circumstances, these people still deserve t' have their side of the story told!"

"We've heard their side of the story, and we still don't have any explanations! Who's this 'Meris' person? Where'd the Pegasus Knights come from? Quite frankly all this sounds to me like a fantastic tale concocted to cover up their own guilt!"

"Glaesal, I'm not sure it's even possible for them to have poisoned an entire town like Scirocco."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Well, let's see what our final witness has to say. Rosamia, come up here, please."

"M-me?" The woman was somewhat surprised that they would desire her testimony, as she was simply an apprentice, but she did as she was told.

"I apologize for asking this of you, girl," said Paptimus kindly, "but rest assured, this ordeal is almost over for you and your friends. It'd be fine if I asked you a few questions, right?"

"O-of course, sir." She was not expecting this level of courtesy from someone so much farther above her on the Etrurian social ladder.

"Excellent. Thanks. First off, how much time did you spend with Khyron over the course of this journey? I imagine he didn't leave your sight for too long, yes?"

A few scattered snickers broke out among the aristocrats, and Rosamia felt her cheeks grow slightly warm, but she answered anyways. "No, sir. Being his apprentice, the duties he had for me occupied most of my time."

"And what did these duties entail?"

"Assisting the mercenaries, mainly. Taking care of the supplies, helping to load and unload the wagon, that sort of thing. He was also insistent I devote some time to my studies, though, and he would often work with me to refine my skills with some of the lower-order spells. I was also to watch over him and ensure he was not disturbed while he was meditating."

"I see. And what was he doing?"

"Aside from meditating and preparing his spells, he mainly studied his texts and scrolls on flame magic and gave orders to the mercenaries."

"Flame magic. Is he skilled with anything else?"

"W-well, as I'm sure you know, he's more than a capable combat magician. Blazing flames, chilling ice, and the raging winds all heed his beck and call.."

"I meant other forms of magic, not just Anima."

"Ah…" she looked at the ground, embarrassed, "I-I'm not sure. He can use Heal staves quite well, but the higher orders are beyond him."

At this, her face actually did grow quite red, and Khyron's quite angry at the scattered chuckles breaking out among the rest of the nobles. The Prime Minister's line of questioning was doing its work quite well, however. "So it seems impossible that he may have bewitched the town of Scirocco in some way?"

"Y-yes! Definitely, my lord! None of the bodies we found were burned, frozen, or seemed to have been affected by any external attack, magical or otherwise. If it truly was a spell that killed them, it was far beyond Khyron's abilities."

"That doesn't prove anything," said Nerinheit, "he could have easily have snuck in some poison into the town! I know it's fed by only a single aquifer. If he tainted that…"

"Well, Rosamia," asked Scirocco, "since you handled the supplies, did you see anything suspicious in what Khyron decided to pack?"

"Not at all. Weapons, spellbooks, provisions for our animals and men…nothing out of the ordinary." She shot a defiant glance at Nerinheit. "If you don't believe what I have to say, that's fine. But our caravan has been allowed to stay on the palace grounds for the duration of our visit. Ask one of the stablehands to go through it and he'll verify what I have to stay."

"What about infiltration, then?" Nerinheit would not budge from his position. "That young survivor you found—who's no longer with us, how convenient, that!—mentioned something about this 'Meris' person being bought out. How do I know she wasn't one of your master's agents?"

"I know of no-one named Meris, my lord, and I have been keeping track of our expedition's financial status. You furnished us with six thousand gold pieces. The crown agreed to support myself, my master, and Yulia, so out of that six thousand we spent about twenty-five hundred on the other mercenaries. The rest of our money was spent on equipment and provisions. If a single gold piece was spent on either poison of some sort or another hired hand I am unaware of it."

"You see?" Paptimus smiled with satisfaction. "There's not a single shred of evidence that this expedition was in any way responsible for the destruction of Scirocco. Rosamia, you may return to your companions."

She scurried off, all too happy to do so, for the argument among the court was growing more heated, not less. "I'm still not convinced," said Nerinheit. "Like I said, all this has still not brought us any closer to the answers. If Khyron and his men weren't responsible for what happened, who was?"

"Oh, who cares," called one noble from the back, a bearded man wider than he was tall, "Scirocco was a miserable, worthless little excuse for a village anyways! Let's just call it an act of God and be done with it. We have better things to occupy ourselves with, don't we?"

"It's still important," replied Paptimus. "What if this is foreign subterfuge? Perhaps—"

"Foreign, yes!" King Galahad had grown excited again, probably because he knew exactly who was behind the events at Scirocco—or rather, knew exactly who he wanted to believe was behind them. "It's Bern! Bern! This would be the opening salvo in their war against us, correct? We must rally the troops and ready ourselves for glorious battle against our foe!"

"Uh, sire, hold on a second. We can't really be sure of that yet, though it seems likely…"

"Likely? Likely? That's good enough. We know those wretched Bernites are just looking for trouble, especially with them trying to take the Western Isles away from us!"

"Galahad," said Count Nerinheit, and almost everyone in the room was taken aback by his lack of respect for his liege, "that's absurd! We have no more concrete evidence that Bern was behind this attack than we do Khyron was, and yet you'd consider going to war with Bern because of it?"

"Don't take that tone with me, Count. I am the ruler here, not you. If I see fit—"

"Milord," said Paptimus, bowing slightly to indicate respect, "I don't mean any disrespect, but my friend has a point, I think. We ought to launch a formal investigation of that town before jumping to any conclusions."

King Galahad sunk back into his throne, quite disappointed. "Ugh, do you have any idea how long that will take? And it will be such a tiresome affair, as well! But if you think it's a good idea…fine. You've served me quite well over the years. So who do you propose we send? Khyron and his little mercenaries again?"

"No, no, not at all. These guys've done enough work already. Khyron, you and your men can leave. You have all served your—well, this country very well, and you should be proud of yourselves. Now, please leave us, if you would. We've still got important matters to discuss amongst ourselves privately, you see."

This caused Renault to smirk a little and mumble under his breath, "yeah, shouting matches. Real private. You nobles are a real class act, aren't you?" Still, he—and his comrades—were more than eager to flee from the now-stuffy court chamber and back into the real world, away from the high nobility and their games. Khyron also had duties he wished to take care of.

"Come, follow me and Rosamia," he told the mercenaries. "Apolli and Roberto, you may…may retrieve Yulia's steed when you depart from this city, but before you leave, I'm to give you and the rest of this troop your payment."

For the first time all day, Renault was given a task he could actually feel enthusiastic about.

-X-

The Caerleon manse wasn't quite as nice as Renault expected. Although anything would be a step down from the Royal Palace, this building wasn't even as flashy as some of the larger merchants' houses they'd passed earlier in the day. A statue of a mage—presumably Khyron and Exedol's father, or at least an ancestor of theirs—was set in front of the building, but other than the fact that it was well-maintained that was its most standout feature.

Even more surprising was the fact that he was here in the first place. Renault was expecting to have been taken to a bank or something similar. Still, he did as he was told, waiting patiently outside with the rest of his troop as Khyron and Rosamia disappeared into the manse for several minutes, both of them returning later with several large pouches (two considerably larger than the others), all jingling merrily.

Khyron handed the three smaller ones to Tassar, Braddock, and Renault. "You'll find I increased your compensation to more than we originally agreed upon. I was not expecting any of you to perform as well as you did, and this is your reward for exceeding my expectations."

"Oh, really?" Braddock was suspicious of his employer's sudden generosity just like Tassar had been, but unlike his comrade he didn't dwell on it too much. "Well, thanks. You know I don't think much of you, Khyron, but at least you've got an eye for talent."

The sage merely scowled in response. "Hm. I'm already beginning to regret treating you so well." He then turned to Apolli and Roberto, nodding to Rosamia to hold out the larger sacks to them. "I hope you'll be more grateful. Both of you are receiving two thousand gold each, and the pouches contain a pair of rubies worth more than that. They are symbols of your sister's sacrifice. Keep them dear to you, or use the money they bring to benefit your hometown. If what she told me is true, she would want that."

"S-Sir Khyron," Apolli stammered, "Why?"

"What do you mean, why? Is that how commoners show their gratitude? I am doing this to honor Yulia's sacrifice! Even if her courage wavered, in the end she still died in the line of duty, just like Revil. Anyone who has sacrificed their life for this country deserves the utmost respect! Thus, I am giving you this money to recognize that. I shall also inform any merchants and traders I meet that Sorveno was the home of a heroic young woman and—"

"You're tryin' to pay us off for her death, huh?" Venom was practically dripping from Roberto's scowling mouth. "You think this money's worth it? You think ANY 'mount of money's worth it? Y' damned scumbag. It's your fault she died, yours and this whole damned expedition! Y' can keep this blood money. I'm goin' back to the stables to get her horse—all that's left of her 'sides memories now, right?—and go straight back home. I don't want y'r damned bribes, Khyron, and I never want to see your wretched face again!"

He tossed the bag of money on the ground, to Khyron's sputtering, indignant disbelief, and stalked away, back to the palace to pick up his dead sister's horse, and then back to Sorveno. Fortunately for the town, Apolli still seemed to have slightly better sense, as still clinging tightly to his own pouch, he hastily knelt down, apologized profusely to the sage, and then picked up Roberto's prize and ran after him. He turned back to say one last thing to Khyron.

"T-thank you, milord! Yulia…Yulia, I'm sure she would have appreciated this! S-surely!"

Renault thought he saw the beginnings of tears show themselves in Apolli's eyes once again, but didn't really care. He thought it'd be the last time he'd see either of them.

"Unforgivable," sputtered Khyron, "absolutely unforgivable!"

"Master, some patience might be in order," Rosamia said. "No-one would be quite sane after watching their younger sister die like that. I'm sure that in time, when his mind has recovered, Roberto will understand what you did for him."

"I certainly hope he does. In any case," and now Khyron turned to his three remaining mercenaries, "your contract has been fulfilled. I have no further need of you, though perhaps you may find work elsewhere in the city. In any case, I bid you farewell!" He turned on his heel and stormed back into his manor, slamming the door behind him.

The mercenaries stared at each other in confusion, and Rosamia cast them a sympathetic look. "He can be an insufferable man," she said. "Still, as the nobility goes, he's not the worst I have ever seen, and this journey has been hard on him, as it's been on all of us. Perhaps he will learn better because of it. And in any case," she bowed low to the three of them, "I at least appreciate what you have done. I am glad to have met all of you, and to have fought beside you. May Eli—er, fortune smile upon you."

"So…is it over?" asked Renault.

His friend gave him a charming grin. "Yeah, looks like it."

"So what…what's going to happen now?"

"Well, where are you going?"

"M-me?" Renault had actually not given this question any serious thought before this moment. "I…I dunno. I guess I'm gonna go back home. Back to Thagaste."

"Really? How 'bout we come with you? Tassar, is that okay?"

The veteran mercenary nodded. "Yes. We were going to head back up there anyways, it's a stop on the way to our next destination. No reason we shouldn't stick together for a little while longer."

"Well, that's great, eh?" Braddock clapped a hand on Renault's shoulder. "Guess we don't have to say goodbye just yet."

"That's great!" Odd as it sounded, Renault was actually happier about that prospect than he expected, given he hadn't known Braddock for so long. But he still felt something for the man that wasn't so easily dismissed. "Really great!"

"Looks like it's settled, then," Tassar chuckled jovially. "But if that's the case, I hope you're ready to keep up with us, Renault. We move quickly, and I'd like to get back to Thagaste and start on the next leg of my journey within a fortnight." He regarded the young man curiously. "Renault…even if we part ways at your hometown, I am glad to have met you. I don't if you're planning on continuing being a mercenary, but I think you've got some potential."

At this, Renault shrugged his shoulders sheepishly and looked at the ground, both out of embarrassment at the compliment and because he genuinely didn't know what he'd be doing after he said goodbye to Braddock and Tassar—certainly not being a mercenary, but he probably couldn't go back to working under Henken either. Thus, he just mumbled a quiet, "uh, thanks."

This elicited another quiet chuckle from Braddock. "You're more than welcome, I'm sure. Now c'mon, let's get moving."

Braddock and Tassar started off on their new journey, and once again Renault followed them.

::Linear Notes::

WHEEEEEEEEE-EWWW! What a LOOOOOOOOONG chapter! Please forgive me for this chapter's *extreme* length, my friends, but I dunno how to pare it down a bit…I hope it hasn't scared y'all off. ;_;

Anyways, miscellaneous notes: many of the translations and descriptions come from the fine Fire Emblem 6 manga, "Hasha no Tsurugi," translated by the estimable The End! Particularly, the use of 'Bernite' to describe residents of Bern, from chapter 22, and the description of Etruria's Royal Palace, the Holy Road, the old legend etc. is from chapter 29. Please go to the delightful Serenes Forest forums and check it out! :D :D

Anyways, I think this chapter was actually released a bit early! :D I'm pretty sure the next chapter will bring the first story arc to a close. Thus, please expect it within two weeks, specifically on Friday, July 17th, by 6 P.M! After that though I think I'm gonna hafta take something of a little break…gotta re-read everything I've written so far, make corrections on all of it (thanks Writer Awakened, Sagewolf, and everybody!) and then do some serious plot brainstorman to make sure everything fits together. The chapter after the next chapter will probably be an 'intermission/interlude' of sorts and will be out…in a while. Don't worry, I shall not abandon you, my beloved readers! Please be patient with me, and thanks for reading! ^^