Chapter 9: An Unexpected Engagement
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When Bishop Mitchel was informed that a traveler wanted an audience, he scoffed. He ordered the secretary to tell the traveler that "Bishop Mitchel is indisposed at the moment." He simply did not feel like meeting a stranger today. He had spent all yesterday inspecting the Frontier Troops and meeting all the mercenary captains. He had never seen such a collection of useless men and to having to be polite to them drained him of all energy. He felt that he deserved the day off for enduring such an arduous task.
As the secretary left on her order, the long time officers came in, many of who were instructors and seasoned soldiers. They politely requested their recently appointed general to meet with this traveler.
"He is most unusual!" said an aged captain. "Please your Worship, we wish that you see to this guest."
"What for?" asked Mitchel, holding his nose up high, tossing his rich chocolate hair. He looked to be in his late thirties, or perhaps forties. In actuality, he was about fifty years old. In all his special studies as a bishop, he had found the ancient secrets of agerasia. The spell was not as perfect as the blessings endowed by a True Rune for he still aged since he had become a bishop at twenty-five. However, he was not about to embed himself with a True Rune. Only the idiots and the chosen ever had that displeasure.
"He tested our men," said the captain with an awestruck expression. "I have never seen such speed, such swordplay! And he asked for you. He says he's a messenger from the south."
Mitchel yawned. There was always a messenger. He decided that he might as well answer it. It would be proper for foreign diplomats to recognize him as the proverbial iron hand of Harmonia. "Is it urgent?"
"Err...he did not sound urgent. But please. See to him!"
"Alright," said Mitchel, waving a hand embedded with a pale gate rune. The pleasure women he had had last night kept him up until the wee light of dawn. It was like a long magical night had been happening since he had come to Caleria. Who knew the wenches of Caleria could be so talented?
"Have him come in after tea time," said Mitchel, sitting down on a lavish leather chair. "By the way, what is his name?"
"Um..." the captain looked caught off guard by the name."Well, we don't know, but his female companion calls him Alexey."
Mitchel visibly flinched though he recovered quickly. "I see. Actually, have him come in after lunch. Now leave me."
"Of course." The captain bowed deeply, grateful.
Back in his office alone, Mitchel's haughty expression fell and he slumped in his chair. The name Alex and its variations were common given names taken by all classes of Harmonian males. However, that name was also taken by one of the most secretive and calculating bishops he had ever known.
"Alexey!" he whispered in a fearful but also hateful voice. He had not heard that exact name in years and when he had the mishap of hearing the name, it was always from the lips of the Sacred Child. He remembered the overwhelming relief he felt and the quiet tears of the masses when the state funeral was held for their dearly departed Bishop Alexander. The dubbed "Healer Bishop" was a fearsome adversary as a political opponent, a cutthroat with little consideration for whom or what he had offended or injured; a gentle loving father as concerned for his people as the One Hero, Hikusaak.
"Ha! Sasarai... I hope he dies soon," said Mitchel spitefully. He never liked Sasarai. How that mild and eternally pleasant child smiled softly to hide his much nastier and cunning nature. And yet, the people of Harmonia adored the eternally young bishop like he was their treasured family puppy. It made Mitchel ill whenever he had the disgusting duty of 'reaching out to the people' and listening to them babbling about how handsome and wonderful Sasarai was. Did they not know how Sasarai actually betrayed Harmonia in the Second Fire Bringer War? Could they not understand that Sasarai had even given extra rations to undeserving third-class citizens?
So when Sasarai fell ill half a year ago, Mitchel personally threw a celebration, inviting a few ambitious priests, some of his closer first-class friends, and Howling Guild contractors. Finally, after years of attempted poisoning, someone had managed to succeed; at least that was what Mitchel had suspected. If Mitchel ever found out who was responsible for the eventual death of Sasarai, Mitchel would handsomely reward him. After all, with Sasarai incapacitated, the Holy Father had begun to delegate militaristic powers to his subordinates, one of whom happened to be Mitchel. And now, Mitchel was appointed General of the Harmonian Southern Regional Army. With a little more luck and some personal effort, he might even make it to general of the entire Harmonian Army.
Chuckling at the image of himself towering over thousands upon thousands of men, Mitchel stood up, feeling a little bolder. Alexander was dead and Sasarai was soon to follow. With the two peacemakers gone,there would be a proverbial blood bath in the Harmonian political battle ground. Mitchel had the majority support of the aristocrats and the Howling Voice. He would become powerful, proving his worth.
Whistling, he strolled off to the garden for tea time.
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"Nineteen and a half days," said Alexey. He was leaning against a roughly plastered wall with his arms crossed, eyes on the ceiling. A window was next to him, showing the sparing yard. He watched the Calerian recruits dispassionately with distant eyes. His mind plotted his remaining days as a bishop. "That should be enough time."
He was in the bedroom of a Regional officer. The room smelled terribly of rose aphrodisiacs and musk. A large desk was overflowing with paper. An overly plush large canopy bed in the corner was still unmade from last night's little adventure. Stray clothing, mostly underclothes and a woman's thin panties laid strewn about the sandy floor. Even a moron could figure out what pleasure was had in the king-sized bed.
"Seems like he had fun," said Jeane from a red cushion sofa. Her eyes were scrutinizing. She never planned to be with Alexey for this long, but traveling with him had always been interesting.
"He did have fun," said Alexey stoically, thinking. "He certainly moaned loud enough."
"Hehe...Were you a peeping tom last night?"
"Does it matter if I was?" Alexey shrugged, still staring at the ceiling, seeming nonchalant.
"Hehe. I just find it ironic that his Holiness Alexander isn't surprised by indecency," commented Jeane.
"Neither are you," replied Alexey tersely.
The door opened. A young maid came in with two baskets. She took one look around the room and her face twisted in disgust. "Can't imagine a bishop doing that," muttered the woman as she took out a pair of tongs. She began to pick up the stray garments and separated them by gender. Apparently, she did not notice Alexey standing in the corner or Jeane sitting completely still in the chair. The room was too filthy for the maid to notice. She continued to speak loudly of her opinions.
"Damn that Mitchel, putting down our Calerian soldiers," cursed the woman under her breaths. "As if he ever picked up a knife in his whole entire life." She continued to pick up the garments one by one, careful not to let her hand touch anything. When she picked up some of the yellowed spotted garments, she even sneered. "Divine seeding? How arrogant."
"Teheee...Don't like Mitchel much?" commented Jeane, leaning back on the sofa and spreading her slender arms.
Immediately the maid froze. She took a moment to search the room. When she saw the white-haired woman and the aristocratic-looking man, she collapsed to the ground.
"Oh! Your Holiness Mitchel. Please forgive this pathetic maid! I am so sorry. I did not mean anything I just said."
Alexey raised an eyebrow. "Don't put me in the same class as that pig," he said. "Get up."
At the commanding voice, the maid immediately got up. She looked at the speaker and immediately thought First-class Harmonian...young one.
"I am Alex, by the way," the man said. "This is my companion, Jeane."
"Ha. How do you do," said Jeane in her sexy alto.
"Fanny," said the maid, relaxed. "Good to meet you, Mr. Alex."
"Likewise," said Alexey.
Fanny continued to pick through the garments. "What are you doing here anyways? His holiness might be here any moment."
"I have a meeting with him," said Alexey.
Fanny's eyes darted to Jeane. "You mean, you are offering her?" Satisfying nightly desires was one of the few reasons that Mitchel ever allowed other people in his private bedroom.
Jeane smiled. "Heheh..Perhaps."
Just then, the door burst open. The dark haired Bishop Mitchel stumbled in with two shrouded woman, one with dark skin and one with fair skin. He was giggling with the girls and groping them in private places. The dark-skinned woman giggled back and attempted the same thing. The fair skinned woman did not speak but clutched her shroud about her even tighter. Mitchel motioned for the bed when he saw Jeane sprawled across the sofa, looking quite relaxed and at home.
"Who...who the hell! How did you get in here?" demanded Mitchel.
Jeane sat up straight. "Him." She pointed to the man standing next to a window.
"Hello Mitchel," said Alexey in a deep clear voice, announcing his presence. "I am back."
Mitchel jumped. The antics with the women forgotten, he looked around the room and sucked in a deep terrified breath. The solemn expression was just as he remembered.
Alexey removed his gaze from the ceiling slowly until he was level with the other priest. They were only ten paces apart. "Glad to see that you are as vigorous as ever. Two now? The five you had last night was most impressive."
"You're alive!" squealed Mitchel. He could not stand Alex's scathing blue eyes. He felt as if hooks were pulling at his soul, dissecting him for any wrongdoings.
"For the moment, yes."
"Impossible!" shouted Mitchel. "You are dead! They burned your body! I saw it!"
"Yes you did. I saw it too. The body burned very well once they added all that oil to it."
"How?" whispered Mitchel, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "And you haven't aged at all..."
Alexey shrugged. "I age better than most." He took a deep breath and stood up straight. "Now. Tell me about our beloved Harmonia and the current political scene. Actually, tell me everything about Sasarai." He started pacing. "If not, I will force it out of you."
Mitchel's heart pounded as Alexey steadily walked towards him. Mitchel's mind recalled the only other time Alexey had ever approached him as such, and the moments of relative fearlessness before Mitchel felt the most excruciating pain over his entire body. Alexander never bothered with death threats: he made life hell instead. He would slowly take away things that were valuable to his enemies, make their lovers turn against them and take away their fortunes. Alexander enjoyed slowly nibbling away at his enemies' spirit and will until all signs of life perished from their eyes. No one had a keen definition of the term 'wretched' until they saw the unfortunate people who had earned Alexander's displeasure.
Mitchel looked left and right. The dark skinned Calerian girl was hiding behind him, looking confused. In desperation, Mitchel grabbed her and whirled her around. He yanked a small knife from his side pocket and held the knife to the woman's neck. "Stay where you are!" shouted Mitchel. "Or I will kill this woman!" One of Alexander's weaknesses was the innocent; at least Mitchel hoped that was Alexander's weakness.
Fanny was shaking as she scurried to a corner. The dark skinned Calerian girl began to cry under Mitchel's threat. Jeane sat where she was without moving or twitching her smiling face.
Alexey's calm demeanor did not change either. "I do not pose a mortal threat to you," he said. "Neither does my companion here."
"But I do," said the fair skinned shrouded woman. "To you!"
Something flew at Alexey. A small projectile from the fair-skinned woman flew through the air directly at Alexey's heart.
Alexey stepped aside quickly. A throwing knife grazed Alexey's arm. Dark crimson stains spotted the man's sleeve.
The fair woman threw off her white shroud, revealing an agile body of a Kage ninja woman. She threw a few more knives.
Alexey dodged. He slid sideways and rolled, missing the tiny blades by a hair. He ended up on his knee and a foot, keeping his head low and eyes firmly on the ninja woman. "Ayame," he confirmed. "Come to finish the job Watari failed years ago?"
Without replying, Ayame ran head on toward Alexey. She whipped out her claws, swiping at the young man's throat with poison-dipped tips.
Alexey stepped backward, barely avoiding the forward onslaught. Ayame was quick, definitely measuring up to the reputation of her people. He spread out his arms, steadying himself. One false move on his part and he might be skewered.
"Fast," commented Ayame. "But not fast enough!"
She struck again. The poisoned dipped claws flew through the air, aiming for the arm. Suddenly, she nearly tripped.
The floor of the room was sand, granting less steady ground than the mountain path and cobbled stone paths that Ayame was used to as a ninja. She cursed, knowing that the terrain required her to forgo her greatest strength, speed.
Alexey, however, had already understood the difficulty. Raised on islands and taught to fight on ships, much of his past training emphasized footwork. He stepped and turned, keeping his center of balance low. He morbidly understood that even his speed had to reduce because of the sand.
Whoosh!
A throwing knife embedded itself on Alexey's side in his moment of thought. He winced briefly, feeling the jab of pain, but kept moving. If he stopped, the next target would be his heart.
"I'm outta here," growled Mitchel, seeing Alexey distracted. He pushed the dark-skinned woman to the ground, making a break for the door. He kicked the door open just to see the same white-haired woman. In the split moment that he stopped to stare, the woman thrust the blunt tip of her staff into his sternum, forcing the air out of him, shoving him back inside.
"Not yet," said Jeane. She had teleported just to stop Mitchel. "Alexey is on a schedule. He may become most irritable if you upset his plans." Jane prudently closed the door behind her. She continued to have the man plop down in a corner, her staff pointing menacingly at his lower part. "Any attempt at struggling could cost you...dearly."
Ayame did not relent in her attacks. Her arms swung furiously like a flock of diving falcons, never believing that the man could ever be faster than her. Alexey had drawn his sword to block her, but she would wear him down.
SLICE!
Ayame secretly laughed inside. Finally she had gotten one hit in with her claw. It was a shallow cut on Alexey's other shoulder.
Alexey cursed in an unknown language. He did not think his skills had deteriorated so much over the years. He felt sluggish, as if his arms and legs had lost their stamina during his fifteen years hiatus from serious practice. The cuts on his arms seriously impeded his reflexive parrying. He cursed even more when he saw that Ayame had arrived at the same conclusion.
Ayame's attacks became even more furious, unrelenting like a wave of crossbow arrows. The man displayed fine resistance, better than most she had come after. It almost made her sad when he tripped over his flowing bishop robe, falling on the ground and exposing a vulnerable abdomen. She saw the perfect way to remove his weapon and then his life right then. "Sayonara," Ayame barely whispered as she caught the sword in between the forks of her left claw and flicked the sword out of the man's hand. The right claw flew down for the man's neck artery.
For Alexey, her brief opening was too inviting to miss. Without changing his expression, he wrenched out the dagger that was embedded in his side out and thrust into Ayame's right shoulder. He twisted the knife, searing a vein. Blood flowed like a bubbling creek all the way down to the dagger's hilt and onto his hand.
The wound did not register immediately to Ayame as the dagger had skewed her aim and she slashed his collarbone instead. When the pain in her shoulder finally hit her nerves, the young man's foot found her upper stomach and kicked her five feet away from him.
"You are better than what I expected," said Alexey, jumping up. He pressed his collarbone, assessing the damage. The wound bled a little, just enough to show through his clothes. The other cuts on his arms were minor compared to his side. The area from where he had pulled the dagger was marked crimson. It would take a little longer to cauterize but it would not be life threatening. Years of fighting with swords had given him enough wounds to know what to expect.
"Unfortunately, you failed your contract," said Alexey, his mind very much still on the task at hand.
"You have been poisoned with phantom venom," scoffed Ayame. "You will die within the hour."
Alexey shook his head. "Doubtful. My blood is much more potent than mere phantom venom."
As if the dagger in Ayame's shoulder had a mind of its own, it sank itself deeper into her shoulder into the other side. Somehow, all her nerves in her body felt as if they were electrified. She bit her tongue, trying not to scream. Waves upon waves of pain passed through her body. A blood-color aura surrounded her, digging at her wound. Finally, with a pained screech, she fainted.
"Now stay there," he said placidly.
Then Alexey turned to Mitchel.
The Bishop was shaking. There was a very noticeable wet stain around his groin area. The other woman with him had fled. Fanny was still crouched in the corner, shaking and confused.
"All yours," sang Jeane, pulling her staff back to herself.
The first thing Alexey did was to offer a hand to Mitchel. There was a metallic smell on the black gloves from blood. "I apologize for surprising you. It was not my intention to humiliate you in front of your whores."
Mustering up all the courage he had, Mitchel batted away the hand. "Whaa...What the hell are you..do...doing...here...?"
"I am looking for the traitor," said Alexey airly. "Do you really think I would crawl out of my grave just to see your offending mug?"
Mitchel was still too shaken to think clearly. Alexander was just as he remembered, a demon in combat and in insult. "T...Trai...Traitor? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Sasarai is ill to the point that he cannot continue his usual duties. Under the protection of the Circle and Earth, that is a near impossibility. There is foul play. You know it too."
"I...I...I don't know...nothin'!"
"Are you sure?"
Mitchel managed to snort. "Wha...what would...I...do...with that...prodigy of yours? O...only...fools...ever cross...him."
"You are a fool," said Alexey.
"No...no! I...I...I didn't...d...do...anything!"
"Are you being honest with me?"
"I...I...swear!" cried Mitchel.
Icy blue eyes bore into Mitchel's soul, accusing and digging into his darkest secrets.
"All...Alright! I offered up a reward for the man responsible for taking down Sasarai! But the others did too!" Mitchel confessed.
"Names," said Alexey.
Mitchel ransacked his brains for everyone he knew who had some type of grudge against Sasarai. There were so many aristocrats and Howling Voice Agents to name that he spluttered as fast as he could, often slurring and stuttering.
Alexey sighed. Mitchel's stuttering was really getting to him. When had the quality of the priesthood ever plummeted into such depths? To have someone so easily scared into giving names used to be unheard of. It was hard for Alexey to imagine how he used to work for people like that. How did he ever have the self-restraint not to strangle them all those years ago?
"I am sick of you," said Alexey, breaking Mitchel's recital of names. "Get out of my sight."
Mitchel scrambled around. He did not try to change his now wetted pants. He got up and ran as fast as he could from his worst nightmare.
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Morgan pouted cutely. Her eyes were glazed as she read over the texts that Virgil wanted her to study as punishment. The text recited the founding of the Zexen Federation with much flowery, metaphoric and needlessly estoric language. So Zexen used to be part of the Grassland tribes who happened to direct themselves in attaining wealth instead of all that mystic spirit worshipping business. Why did they have to spend over two thousand pages of myopia-inducing text to describe it? She had to spent last half an hour reading about how "pre-historic" killed deer for trade.
How can anyone write this crap? thought Morgan. Then she pouted some more, having caught herself falling into the unlady-like habit of cursing. It's all Ra's fault anyways! reasoned Morgan. Rakasvi never approved of cursing, but he sure does know all the words. Morgan knew this because she had caught him sleeping under a tree one day. There were a flock of brown birds, the ones that looked like the same species as her own pet, Potch. That flock of birds probably ate a lot before showing up because they dumped quite a bit of droppings on Rakasvi. It was then that Morgan learned of Rakasvi's vast knowledge of insults. She did not even understand some of them.
"Where is he anyways?" whined Morgan to herself. "Why can't it be three weeks yet?"
Rakasvi went away the very day her father's estate freehands showed up. At the very beginning, it was endurable.
The first day was nice, with every single servant from her father's estates being extra nice to her, giving her candies and all that. The second day was nice too as the chef simmered up some amazing stew that was about as good as Rakasvi's stews. The third day was about where it went downhill. The people were practicing the air of torture by making her as ladylike as they could. They put a corset on her little body and caked her face with a layer of smelly powder. She snuck out of that little activity and went to the knights lounging around the house. Then when she tried to show off some of the sword techniques to the older knights, they laughed at her before she could do anything. Nothing else made her blood boil more than being laughed at. So in an unusual fit of rage, she tackled a knight twice her size and punched him in the spots where Rakasvi taught her. She had managed to bruise him badly and he had to be sent to a doctor for a broken nose. PJ, Percival's son, was there and taunted her too. He received a black eye and two broken bones.
To say it nicely, her father was not pleased. After a speech full of scary, berating words, she was sent to solitary study with a sore rump and hurtful tears. Her father really should not have threatened to send her away to boarding school or the actual convent. She repeated "I hate you, I hate you," to her father numerous times before proceeding with her punishment.
Morgan sighed, thinking about her tutor. Rakasvi could make any lesson fun, and he never took her desire to learn swordsmanship as a joke. Rakasvi was becoming more and more like the older brother she never had, until he ran off without telling her, which made her sad and angry at the same time.
"When he gets back, I will give him a piece of my mind!" swore Morgan. "How dare he leave me here with that stupid brat PJ!"
While Morgan suffered away in the study on the second floor, her father and Mister Percival were having tea outside in the vast garden.
"I am sorry about Morgan's behavior," Borus apologized for the third time. "How are your son's arms?"
Percival shrugged. "It'll heal." Somehow, he was not too suprised that Morgan could be so ferocious; her father certainly had worse temper when he was her age. "I am just surprised that your daughter was able to break Sir Reed's nose."
"I was too," admitted Borus. "I don't know where she learned those things from." He shook his head, feeling a little more than ambivalent toward the whole ordeal. He wondered if he should feel proud or disappointed that his own ten-year old daughter could bloody a seasoned soldier's nose. He did not want people to brand his daughter as uncouth and unrefined. On the other hand, he did not want her to be completely helpless either.
"Ha. Reed deserved it probably. Pay up for all those times he put down Lady Chris's skills just because she was a girl."
"True," agreed Borus.
The two sat in silence for a while, watching the free hands arranging and planting new autumn blooms. It would be another two days before the extravagant ball for Miss Nina and her entourage. It would be a day of fun for all of them and much wine would be drunk.
"By the way, did Thomas say he can come?" asked Percival.
"Yes," confirmed Borus. "His letter just showed up today. He wants to bring Cecile as an escort but that's about it."
"Did he mention anything strange happening around Budehuc?"
Borus thought for a moment. "Yes. He did. He said something about people ending up in strange places one early afternoon, then how their rune mistress disappeared with some Harmonian. Why?"
"Something major is happening. The Budehuc Times had an article about someone seeing a man coming back from the dead in Caleria. Apparently, it's one of the Arch Bishops who had died fifteen years ago."
"What are you saying?"
"You told me that you have a Harmonian servant. I'm just wondering if there's any connection," said Percival with a devious smile. "It would be the irony of a lifetime."
Borus paused for a moment to consider it seriously. He did some mental calculations to Rakasvi's age then shook his head. "I truly doubt it. Rakasvi doesn't look anywhere past twenty-five, if even that. He would be about ten years old. Besides, how in the world did he ever end up in Caleria? He left about a week ago and it takes a month of hard riding to get there."
Percival took that in. Silly Borus, always taking his words too literally. "I guess you're right."
Somewhere in the gardens, a hunched-over aged bald man with bugging bloodshot eyes overheard them. He was planting exotic looking herbs and flowers. His limbs were as dry and hard as wood. The clothes he wore were nondescript and dirtied from trudging in the mud.
"Hey!" cried the Head Gardener, "Get back to work!"
This hunched-over aged man nodded slowly and kneeled down to the ground. He carefully planted the new species of roses, snickering to himself.
"Haha..." the laugh was cruel, with an inhuman quality. "I found you. I found you!"
"Hey!" the Head Gardener was getting a little annoyed. "What are you laughing about?"
"Heheh...ehheheh." the bald man was still laughing. He raised a sickle.
The Head Gardener did not even notice the sickle connecting with his neck.
"Too bad," said the bald man, dragging the body to a shadier spot in the garden. He was chuckling to himself, amused and overly pleased. Whistling, he dug a shallow hole like he was planting another flower. After he dragged the body into the hole and buried it, he patted the soil down nice and flat with a shovel.
"Now I just need to wait for the right moment."
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AN: This chapter was more or less a practice in writing fight scenes since I am not good at them. Next chapter is going to be more about other characters because I think I had enough of Hero 4.
Suikorin