Chapter 9
He sat on his knees, back straight, and hands holding the top of his ears in front of the statue of the warrior goddess in the open roofed temple. A light rain had doused his thin linens, causing the clothing to cling to his slender frame. It was so cold out he could see his breathe, but he was not allowed to shiver, or to let his teeth chatter.
In a warm cloak nibbling on a warm slice of bread, and drinking hot coffee, Instructor Dalton stared down at him imposingly.
He'd spared the life of a servant when he'd caught them stealing from the kitchens. She was just a little girl, so skinny with eyes so large. All she took was a bit of bread and cheese, why should he kill her for that?
*Because she shouldn't steal from the Master.*
She helped to make it, it wasn't really stealing.
*This is why we're out here, Dilandau.*
I know I didn't follow the rules, but...
*It isn't about rules, it's about you being too soft.*
She couldn't have been more than 7, she was hungry. Remember being hungry?
*He's trying to make us strong.*
I am strong! I can beat men twice my size, with and without a sword!
*But you still care too much.*
But you told me I should...
*Only for those who care for you back. When we get our army, those men will be the ones we care for. Not undeserving peasants. They are only good for bringing our food, and cleaning up after us.*
But...
*Just how long would you like for us to stay out here, Dilandau? We're freezing. Tell the man you'll kill the girl, so we can eat, go to bed and be warm.*
I don't want to kill her.
*It doesn't matter if you do not wish to kill her, all that matters is that you will. Would you rather die, for her? For someone who won't even remember you in a month or more?*
No.
*Then tell him you'll kill the girl.*
Every time I kill, I lose some of myself...
*Every time you kill it brings you closer to me. You do like talking to me, don't you?*
Yes... He winced as he was struck hard across the back with a leather strap. He'd let his teeth chatter.
*Well think about it this way if it helps, anything that brings you closer to me, cannot be a bad thing then.*
No... he agreed, his back stung where Instructor Dalton had hit him numerous times in the same place. He bet the flesh was torn. If he killed the girl he'd get food, he'd get a blanket, someone would rub salve in his wounds, and most importantly he'd get to talk more to his friend. Her voice was clearer and came more often now; he'd been so lonely.
He could see no drawbacks other than the death of a child, that would have died eventually of starvation or some peasants' disease on her own anyway. He was simply ending her suffering early.
*That's it Dilandau. Now tell him you'll do it.*
"Sensei?"
Cold eyes focused intently on his face.
"I'll kill her right away, please let me up."
"Very well, Dilandau, you may rise."
He stood slowly, fighting back grimaces of pain as his leg muscles howled from being kept in a kneeling position for too long. "The girl is waiting for you in your quarters. Do not get blood on the rugs."
"Yes sir."
His eyes opened slowly, fighting away the heaviness of sleep film crusting them shut. His head felt as if it was stuffed full of cotton, and his first instinct was to sit up. His head raised pathetically in the weak first attempt. He fell limp against the softness of the bed. He felt like an over-boiled noodle, flimsy and frail, as slowly the rest of his body began to give his brain status reports on their states of being. There was an odd sting in his left arm, and he mustered all the energy he could to turn his head in that direction. A needle was firmly taped into place there, a tube leading from it to a bag of light-colored fluid. Was he in the infirmary again?
He looked beyond the IV to notice his dresser, and his mirror, his familiar walls, and personal objects... No, he was in his bedroom. Had Folken brought him here, and hooked up the IV? He was so confused. He parted his dry lips slightly to wet them with his tongue, and felt the odd itch of having a foreign body on his face, his left cheek bone. He brought slim fingers to probe the area, disgusted by how exhausted he was after getting the arm to comply and move. Rough edges of tape, and the softness of gauze met his sensitive fingertips. He pressed on the area, eyes tearing slightly at the pain it brought, and ran a finger down the length of the bandage. What had...?
He shut his eyes as his mind finally cleared, and he remembered the events of the day after he'd caught the dragon. Van Fanel had tried to take him hostage, Van Fanel had damaged him...
He pressed down on the wound again, flinching at its sting, the poison still burned. He would kill Van, and run his hot blood over the wound he'd inflicted, then it would heal, the poison would be purged from his system.
He forced his muscles to steel themselves as he tried to sit up. His surroundings grayed for a moment, did a jazz step, then stilled. He trembled with fatigue as he pulled himself out of bed. His bare legs seemed to go into shock at the rush of cold air that greeted them when he pushed back his blanket. He locked his knees and made his legs support him as he stood teetering. He gripped the pole of the bedframe for balance until he could readjust himself to his new orientation. How long had he been lying down?
He felt cold and nauseated, and...he frowned when he realized something was keeping him from moving too far from bed. The IV... he cautiously removed it from his arm, letting the needle fall idle onto his comforter. His pale arm was blue and bruised where the needle had been inserted.
At a very leisurely pace, he stumbled to the bathroom. He needed to wash, his body and hair were equally spoiled from night sweats. Turning on the bathroom light, he avoided the mirror at all cost. He didn't want to see his face...it was ruined. He stepped into the shower, twisted the knobs, and let the hot water try to soothe him. It only served to make him more nauseated than before. He soaped up, and scrubbed down fairly quickly, vacating the shower in record time. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he went to the sink to brush his teeth, and carefully wash his face.
He navigated his face towel around the dressing, not wanting to get it wet. He couldn't help but dampen the edges though, since he refused to look up and see what he was doing. After cleaning his face, he left the bathroom to get dressed.
"Lord Dilandau, you shouldn't be up."
Dilandau nearly jumped, and he knew his eyes were twice their usual size, at the sight of Shesta standing by his bed. "Shesta... how long have I been...asleep?"
"Two days sir," Shesta supplied. "You were very ill, and you still need rest. Your fever just broke last night, and the medic that attended to you said you should stay in bed and relax today."
Two days? He'd been laying still doing nothing for two full days, he grimaced. Shit. Damn. Who knew about this besides his Slayers and the medic. The medic?
Dilandau narrowed his eyes at Shesta, "A medic, no Folken?"
Shesta seemed to stiffen at the mention of Folken, his eyes went cool, "No, Lord Folken has not been allowed access to your room. We didn't know if you would want him here."
"You've been keeping Folken out?" Dilandau couldn't hide his amusement. Folken may have been a joke to Dilandau as a superior, but he did have some authority over his Dragonslayers, though Dilandau himself had final say. His Slayers had gone against military protocol...for him.
"Yes sir."
He chuckled lightly, then gazed at Shesta curiously, "Have you been training, or did you all take a break in my...absence?"
"We have been performing our daily routines as usual. Though two Slayers have been posted at your door at all times, we've been trading off duties."
Dilandau nodded, so they weren't behind in training. He moved to his closet to find something to wear. The chill on his skin made him look toward the warmer end of his closet. He clothed himself in loose brown leather pants and a deep red long sleeved silk shirt. He ignored his armor again, he knew it was still too heavy , and he did not want Shesta to see him fall on his ass. He strapped his sword to his waist and slipped into his soft back boots.
"Lord Dilandau please..."
"Two days in bed is enough, Shesta," Dilandau said shortly. Two days of inactivity, he prayed the Madoushi hadn't heard about it. He shuddered and rubbed his arms against the sudden chill. "I'm sure there's something I needed to have done two days ago, and now I'm behind."
"Lord Dilandau, Viole and I went over the maps and marked places off already. Gatty and Dallet have been over all the status reports, Miguel's read over the paperwork on Basram, and Guimel's on top of the Astorian policies. There's nothing for you to do anymore, but rest and recover completely. You still look tired."
Dilandau stared at the blond fussing about him incredulously, not only was he trying to tell him there was nothing for him to do, but, "Shesta are you trying to give me orders?"
"Uh..." the blond finally faltered, and Dilandau fought the impulse to laugh. "I'm not staying in here all day, Shesta; I can't. If I promise not to do anything too taxing may I have your permission to leave?"
Shesta blinked, not quite sure on how to proceed, "Um...Lord Dilandau, how are you feeling?"
"Better."
"Your face, are the local anesthetics wearing off at all?"
"Local anesthetics?" Dilandau's stomach did a back flip, and his earlier good humor at his Slayers' affections faded.
"The cut, sir, it needed 3 stitches. The doctors gave you a shot to numb the area."
"Stitches?" More foreign bodies penetrating his skin, seeping into his pores... polluting him. He shuddered, and put his hand to the side of his face again, rubbing furiously.
"Don't do that sir, you'll pull the stitches. The medics said scarring will be minimal. It'll just be a tiny hairline on the far side of your face. It won't even be noticeable. You don't have to worry about your appearance; no one will see it."
"I'll know it's there...." Dilandau was muttering, "I'll feel it...I'll always feel it burning and throbbing...." His mind was starting to spin, his heart rate was escalating.... the drums were pounding again...Kill Van.
"Anyone doing any follow up work on the missing dragon?"
"Yes sir."
"Do we know where it is?"
"Not yet sir."
"Then obviously there IS something that I should have been, and need to be doing now," Dilandau said icily, shoving Shesta out of his way when he tried to get in front of him. He threw open the door to the room, sending searing glares at Guimel and Dallet who stared at him with agape mouths ready to protest to his leaving.
He stormed to Folken's doors not caring that he could hear the footsteps of his Slayers shadowing him. It was time to get back to business.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Folken was in the middle of preparing a small suitcase for himself to take into the capitol of Astoria when his bedroom doors crashed open. He wasn't surprised; he'd been expecting Dilandau for quite some time.
"Give me every snippet of information you have on the last sighting of the dragon, Folken. I want any and all leads on its whereabouts, and I want them yesterday!"
Folken turned slowly to greet his young visitor. The boy was once again without armor, and he stood looking white-washed on tottery legs trying to look threatening.
"For Gods-sake Dilandau, sit down, before you fall down. Did no one tell you what the medics instructed of you for today?"
Dilandau glared in response. Of course someone had told him the doctors wanted him in bed; that was why he was here! He looked at Dilandau sternly refusing to say or do anything else until the boy took a seat.
"I've set aside some paperwork for you, Dilandau," it was all nonsense, but it would keep Dilandau sedentary and quiet for a few days, or at least until he returned from Astoria. "I'll give it to you before I leave."
"Where are you going, and why am I not invited?"
Folken went back to packing his suitcase. "I'm going to the capitol of Astoria to speak with the King and try to smooth over your attack on Schezar's castle before Schezar himself gets there. You are not invited because this is not a job for you."
"If Schezar is going to the capitol that means Van is going to the capitol too. I go where the dragon does..."
"Not this time you don't. We still are not sure if Schezar and the dragon are still together, and nobody needs you tearing up half a kingdom on a wild goose chase. I'm going down to get as much information as I can, and if I happen to learn of the dragon's whereabouts, then I will report them to the Vione. Then and only then will you be allowed to leave."
"What?" Dilandau's voice was low with rage.
"You, and your Dragonslayers are not to leave the Vione until I give the word. Is that clear? I've already given the order to your men...though they are most unpleased with me right now, and may not take anything I have to say as seriously as they should."
"They have a right to be angry at you, you asshole. How could you keep Van in here instead of in the holding cells? None of this would have happened if you'd have followed protocol!" Dilandau fingered the bandage on his cheek, and Folken frowned at it. The white gauze was beginning to redden as Dilandau's fingers aggravated the wound beneath it and caused it to bleed.
"Dilandau stop that!" Folken snapped. "Leave the wound alone, you'll make it worse. I've been told by the medics that it will heal nicely."
Dilandau growled something unintelligible under his breath and gave the bandage one last caress before letting his hands fall back into his lap. "I'm going to kill your brother you know," he said as an afterthought, and Folken sighed deeply.
Dilandau was a child that had been hurt, and wore that hurt as a brand of humiliation where everyone would always be able to see it. The only way children knew how to ease a hurt was to hurt back. It was their first instinct.
"Dilandau, are you aware that Van could have easily killed you in the condition you were in. He chose not to. He wounded you to stop your assault on him without having to kill you. He certainly couldn't have meant to mar your..."
"Oh he meant it," Dilandau snarled savagely. "He meant it... He wanted to taint me, mark me forever so that everyone will know his territory. 'I beat Dilandau Albatou' is what he's telling people. 'He wasn't strong enough, he wasn't skilled enough, he wasn't fast enough.... just not good enough...' Gods Folken, I'm perfect! How could he beat me like that?"
Folken stopped packing to stare at the pale boy rocking himself back and forth scratching at the bandage on his face and tugging at his silvery hair. His eyes were slowly losing focus and becoming distant as his body began to shake. He spoke in a panicked voice that soared and cracked, "N...now no one will ever respect or fear me again, how can they? They can look at my face and see my defeat. The...the Madoushi will come get me again... they'll be so angry... Oh gods, oh gods, they're going to come get me. Gods, gods..."
"Dilandau...Dilandau!" Folken knelt before the boy and took hold of his shoulders shaking him to get his attention. "No one's coming to do anything to you. The Madoushi have not been told anything about this, but if you continue to behave in this manner someone will eventually report you. You have to calm down. Calm down Dilandau."
Folken almost sighed in relief when the boy's eyes slowly lost their dazed look of horror. He removed the boys hand from his face, and the other from his hair. Silver strands of hairs floated from his shaky fingers, and he hiccuped slightly. His body slumped forward into Folken's larger frame, and Folken closed his arms lightly around Dilandau. His heart was racing; Folken could feel the pounding of the fist-sized muscle against his own chest, and he felt alarmingly warm.
"Gods Folken it hurts..." Dilandau choked. "I can't do anything anymore without pain. When I fight it hurts....when I get upset it hurts."
"The separation has caused an imbalance in your system Dilandau, and your body cannot metabolize certain enzymes, and when you become agitated, angered, or excited your neurons send out an excess of neurotransmitters that flood your system and then are blocked on the re-uptake so the effects which should be temporary are long lasting and bring you harm."
"So you're saying my body overreacts and overcompensates for everything, and then can't turn itself off?" Dilandau pulled away from Folken, then hiccuped loudly covering his mouth looking slightly embarrassed and very nauseous.
"That's a good summary," Folken said looking for a waste basket. The last thing he needed was for Dilandau to spew on him or in his suitcase. He had just had his cloaks washed. He moved the medium sized waste basket beside his door close to the chair Dilandau slouched in.
Dilandau gazed at it with disinterest, and removed his hand from his mouth. "There's nothing in my stomach for me to ruin your fine apparel with, Folken, relax." Then he snorted, "Not that I could make your cloaks look any worse. Gods, when we were these tailored?"
Folken watched in amusement as Dilandau pulled out one of his robes and shook it out. "I think this is what you wore when we first met. It looked shabby then."
"Dilandau, my robes are fine. There are no threadbare places in them, and no stains."
"But they're faded! They make you look so boring," Dilandau dropped the cloak back into the suitcase not bothering to fold it back.
"And what colors do you suggest I wear?"
Dilandau grinned wickedly, a trace of his former self leaking back into his countenance, "Crimson, or royal purple, how about some jewel tones?"
"And how will this make me look to my subordinates dressing like some sort of prince?"
Dilandau shrugged, "Who cares about them, so long as you look good. You never see me worrying about what color will impress my Slayers when I pick out something to wear."
"Of course not," Folken bit back a chuckle. The boy could be so unconsciously shallow it was humorous. "So you will obey my orders and stay here unless I say otherwise?"
Dilandau's eyes hardened a bit and he sat up straighter. "Fine," he agreed softly, "but only because I feel like a rotting corpse, remember that. When I'm better I'm cutting your brother to pieces, small ones. Have a pleasant trip Folken; hope you enjoy your stay in Ass-toria. If you see Schezar tell him I said, 'hello."'
The boy got to his feet slowly and showed himself out. Folken watched him as he left, shaking his head. He hadn't liked the tone of Dilandau's voice or the look in his eyes. For the sake of his brother and for the sake of Dilandau, he prayed that Van was not in Astoria. Dilandau needed more time to simmer and cool before being confronted with Van again.
Or they would both be hurt, maybe killed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The talk with Folken hadn't gone like he'd planned. He had expected to leave with an assignment, not nonproductive busy work. He thought he was going to get coordinates disclosing the dragon's location. He hadn't expected to be dismissed, after agreeing to obey Folken's order to not leave the Vione. An odd panic was starting to set into his mind, he didn't like being inactive, it made him jittery. He had to be useful; he was made to be useful. He'd been useless for two days...
Can't leave the Vione... Can't go after the dragon... Shesta, Gatty, and the rest of my Elite have done all of my paperwork that matters. Gatty's surveying practices. Two days, I've been asleep for two days...
His thoughts were going too fast for him to make sense of them. He ambled past Shesta, Guimel, and Dallet who stood just outside Folken's door pretending they hadn't been eavesdropping.
I have nothing to do... I'm not being productive.
It was unacceptable, completely unacceptable. He chewed his nails convulsively, he could practice his swordsmanship, gods knew he needed it. He'd lost...
I lost.
But his sword was too heavy and he was too unsteady on his feet. He was absolutely worthless... and everyone knew it.
I can't be worthless... I can't be inefficient or idle... They'll come to fix me.
He began to shiver as he recalled another time he had thought it was okay to take some time off.
"Please, I'm tired Lord Sandrem... I can't do anymore," Dilandau couldn't keep the whining quality out of his voice. He was utterly exhausted to the point of collapse. He'd been running the war scenario, where various trained warriors and mercenaries would pop up and challenge him some with swords some without to bloody duels, nonstop for three days. He sometimes got 5 to 10 minute breaks between fights, and sometimes he did not.
His master would watch him from sunrise in the morning until midnight, then he would take himself to bed expecting Dilandau to keep fighting as a freshly rested new batch of warriors came in to do battle with him. Sometimes they fought in groups against Dilandau, and sometimes they let him have a sword.
They couldn't touch him; they never landed a hit on him, or drew blood. He was simply to quick and agile, and if they were foolish enough to let him have a blade they died. He was in his element, but there was only so much adrenaline a body could live off of. Sooner or later he was going to falter, and his combatants would spare him no mercy.
Lord Sandrem said he was helping Dilandau build endurance. Dilandau felt positive he was still angry that he had beaten him in sword duel the previous week and out to have his blood spilled.
*We can't hold out for much longer... that last man almost gutted us!*
I know!
"You will continue," Lord Sandrem said coldly. "I want to see just how good you are."
"But...but this is crazy..." Dilandau panted, two minutes had passed without a new battler and he was taking the time to plead with his Master. "It's been 3 days, and these men are really trying to hurt me. Can't you tell them it's practice?"
"If I'm not mistaken you've hurt quite a few of them Dilandau."
"They were trying to kill me!" His exhaustion was causing him to lose all formality with his master.
*The hell with this. We can take him. Get him down, and we can leave.*
Dilandau turned to advance on his Master. He was going to rest and he didn't care who he had to knock down to get that. It only took one hit with the heel of his hand colliding into Lord Sandrem's chin to get the man down, and his hand stung miserably.
*Asshole. Kick him*
But he's...
*Kick him!*
Dilandau delivered a brutal kick to his Master's mid-section knowing he'd undoubtably caused some internal damage. He would be punished severely for this.
*Food, bed, sleep, in that order.*
"Yes sir," he complied, and like a zombie he trudged to the tiny room that contained his cot and his meager personal belongings. He stripped off the light armor he wore and curled up on the cool fabric still soiled with sweat, and pulled the thin quilt over his worn frame.
He would get at least an hour of sleep before someone came to discipline him.
*But that someone sure won't be Lord Sandrem. He's going to be out of our lives for a quite a while. Good kick.*
Thanks...but what will we do when someone does come?
*We take them out too. We can take anybody, Dilandau. They've made us the best, and just spent three days proving it. No one can hurt us anymore; they have nothing left to teach us. After today we're the teachers now. We'll have a command post soon with our own soldiers to train. We're too valuable now to lose... they won't do a thing to us. We've earned this rest.*
Yeah, we have. We can do whatever we want, and if that whatever happens to be nothing, it's okay.
*Good boy, Dilandau. You and I and are going to be the best Zaibach has ever seen. With your talent, and my drive, we can do anything.*
Yeah, he smiled softly, sighing blissfully, nothing can touch us now.
No one came at all. When he awoke it was late into the next afternoon. He felt sure he'd slept for over 24 overs. He sat up stretching painfully, and frowning.
No one came.
*They're afraid of us.*
Something's not right.
*You worry too much, relax. The stomach's growling; feed it.*
And you never worry enough! I think we've slept for at least a day! I KNOW they've found Lord Sandrem by now! Why haven't they come to at least glare at us?
*I told you they are afraid, and they should be! Now go find food, and after we eat, we're going to find something fun to do. Why don't we go swimming? We liked that.*
But we have lessons in...
*We've earned some time off.*
Fine.
He washed up, then went down to the kitchens to scrap together a meal for himself. The kitchen maids gasped at the sight of him, and cringed away letting him take whatever he wanted. After feasting on bread, cheese, and fruit, he went out to the small pond behind the old manor.
The large house was the home of a noble years ago, but it had been turned into a training facility for soldiers, so far Dilandau was the only soldier in training there, and everyone inside took turns trying to kill him. The fact that he had been there for a nearly a month and was still alive with only a few bruises on his person said a lot.
He spent the remainder of the day swimming and lounging, enjoying himself as he never had...ever. He came back in just before dusk for a light dinner. He was going to find a book to read in the library and take it back to his room. He never really had time for pleasure reading and he'd met many people who said it was good source of entertainment. He selected an adventure novel and laid on his small cot for hours reading about the escapades of Captain Jack Sparrow.
*This guy is so clever, but he's not ruthless enough. He's a failure as a pirate, no wonder his ship got taken from him. We'd never let that happen to us. You're too smart, I'm too cutthroat.*
You want to be pirates?
*Why not? Certainly sounds like fun, except lets not do the water thing. How about an airship? We like to fly.*
Flying is... the door to his room was thrown open, and he tossed down his book and dashed to the wall where he kept his sword mounted. Before he could touch the handle a cold voice called to him, "Stay where you are Dilandau."
Oh gods.... he froze in place as horror stabbed his body with long sharp needles...
The Madoushi.
He was restrained and cried out as something sharp picked his neck savagely, and his legs turned to jelly beneath him. He hit the ground with a hard thud panicking as he realized he couldn't move any of his limbs. He could see, feel, and hear, but he couldn't move. He was and thrown over a brawny shoulder of one of the soldiers the Madoushi had brought in with them to be their muscle.
"What have we told you about being slothful, Dilandau. It's not proper behavior for a perfect soldier. We'll have to fix that."
No! He wanted to scream. I'm sorry!
"You do not have time to be lazy, Dilandau. There is always something that needs to be done, and you are to do it. I thought we had taught you well enough to know this, but I guess we thought wrong."
They entered a medium sized room that might have once served as a bedroom for one of the nobles that had been redesigned into a temporary laboratory. He was tossed onto a flat hard surface, and 3 pales faces loomed over him. "Time for a refresher course Dilandau... Scream if it hurts...oh wait, you can't."
I'll never do it again, I swear I'll never be idle again!
They couldn't hear him though. But even if They could, it wouldn't have mattered at all. All that had mattered was that he disobeyed them and They had to be sure he would never do it again.
Never again, he swore, never again.
Never again...
He shuddered so violently Shesta had to take hold of his arm to keep him from falling over. "Lord Dilandau, lets go back to your quarters now. I think you've had enough for the morning."
"No," he said shaking his head. No, there was always something that needed to be done. He wasn't allowed to rest, why couldn't they understand that? They always wanted him to lie down; they were always giving him drugs to make him sleep. Didn't they know They would come and take him away again if he was idle.
They would fine out about his loss, how weak he was, and that he was lying around doing nothing.
"Shesta?"
"Yes Lord Dilandau?"
"I want to go to the library."
There was always something to be done, and his best bet to find something was in there. There was so much junk in that room he'd be lost in it for hours, and that constituted as being busy. They wouldn't get him if he was busy.
Shesta nodded slowly, a puzzled look on his face.
Dilandau swooned a bit and cursed himself for being so weak. He carefully placed a hand on Shesta's shoulder, "Shesta?"
"Yes?" the blond looked startled.
"I...think I'm going to need your help." He didn't think it was possible for the hallway to get any colder than it was, but it did. His knees threatened to give out, and he was thankful for Shesta's steadying arm around his waist. "Just walk slow."
"Lord Dilandau, we should really get you back to bed."
"Library...now."
"Yes Lord Dilandau."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Gatty stood on the platform in front of Dilandau's throne overseeing the hand-to-hand combat session. Everyone was coming along nicely, but he could see some problems he was going to have to remedy before practice was over. He left the platform to venture to the Second String Slayers, Tristan and Kwame, who were being much too polite to their partners for it to be a pretend fight to the death. Surprisingly the Third-Stringers were performing better than the Second-Stringers in this exercise. Perhaps it was because the boys in Third-String were from simpler parts of Zaibach where weapons were not always available for people to fight with. Either way, Gatty had mixed the two groups amongst each other, and the Third-Stringers were kicking ass. Lord Dilandau would be pleased.
He stood back from the group after correcting the errors he had noticed, and looked at the time device on the wall as he thought about Dilandau. It was almost time for him to switch vigilance posts with Shesta. The time had really gotten away from him.
"Enough!" he barked in a stentorian voice, and eleven Slayers stopped their assaults on one another to stare at him.
"Good practice everyone, Third String especially. Hit the showers, and we'll break for the morning."
Everyone cleared out but Viole and Miguel.
"Well that went almost decently," Miguel said dabbing at his forehead with a towel. "Not bad Gatty. Who knew if you made the Third String throw down their swords they could move more like human beings instead of baby elephants."
The doors to the gym flew open and Dallet rushed in, "Lord Dilandau's up, and Folken's just given him the news about us not being able to leave the Vione. He's... in a mood, and looking for you three."
"Just us?" Viole questioned. "I feel special."
"No idiot, he wants his Elite, and you three were the only ones not guarding him and with him at the time!" Dallet snapped. "Come on, he's really agitated."
Viole winced, "Great... can't wait."
Gatty wanted to reprimand the boy, but he really couldn't find fault in his dread. Lord Dilandau in an agitated state was not pretty for anyone within punching distance.
"Come on guys," Gatty sighed clapping hands on both Viole and Miguel's shoulders and pushing them along in front of him. "Maybe we can cheer him up, huh?"
"Yeah right."
"Viole can tell some jokes," Gatty suggested.
"You said 'cheer' him up, not make him want to have flight practice without his Oreades," Miguel mumbled.
"Hey! My jokes are good thank you very much, Miguel. You just don't like them because most of them have to do with you," Viole sniffed, and looked down his nose at Miguel superiorly.
Miguel gave a growl, but was restrained by Gatty's arm from moving closer to the wavy haired pixie. Viole flashed him a devilish smile, "So Gatty... What do you call 15 Miguel's stuck in a..."
Gatty, Miguel, Viole, and Dallet entered the library after knocking hesitantly. The room was spacious and round, with bookcases carved to fit its unique shape curving each wall, and lit by hanging flourescent lights. In the center of the room were long metal tables flanked with high backed black velvet upholstered chairs. A large pile of books sat atop the middle table, most open, some lying face down. There was a huge map spread across another table, with marking tools and a compass beside it. Guimel sat on the table with the map the usual lazy sloe-eyed look gone from his eyes, he jumped up at seeing Gatty and the others enter.
"He's scaring me," Guimel murmured shakily. "He's in some sort of weird trance. He's obsessed with not being a sloth, and is ignoring everything we have to say to him that doesn't pertain with his current project. We think he's trying to map all of Gaea..."
"What?" Gatty blinked. "Why would he want do that?"
Guimel shrugged, "He's gone crazy. He walked out of Folken's room with this odd look on his face, and had Dallet go after you guys, and then he dragged us in here. He's been pulling down every traveling book, guide, and map we have..."
"Gatty, good!" Gatty jerked to attention at Lord Dilandau's voice.
His leader stood dressed in plain clothes holding a large roll of parchment, "I need you to help Shesta in the log book section back there, he's got his hands full. Miguel, go find me some more map paper, this isn't going to do. Viole, you've got art supplies don't you? Go and fetch them for me. Dallet, help Guimel straighten out this mess!"
Gatty blinked, "L...Lord Dilandau, what...are you doing? Did Lord Folken give you an assignment?"
"Folken?" Lord Dilandau sang the name. He looked thoughtful, then shook his head. "Other than give me bullshit paperwork and tell me to mind my own damn business, when his business is mine, no. And for your information, I'm updating Zaibach's maps of Known Territory. It has been painfully neglected since the wars started. We've come across so many new things that haven't been charted yet, documented, but not drawn out."
Gatty stared as Lord Dilandau tossed down the parchment and rubbed his injured cheek furiously as if it itched, "I've got to do something...I can't just sit still and wait, and do busy work. I've got to be useful. Folken wants me to be lazy; you want me to be lazy... There are too many things to do around here for me to be lazy. Can't you see?"
Gatty could see him shaking.
"Lord Dilandau, I'll be glad to help," Viole spoke up, and Gatty could have smacked him. The last thing they needed was for someone to encourage Dilandau's neurotic behavior.
What had the medics dosed him with that night? He was already pulling on Miguel's arm to whisper, "Miguel, go to the clinic and bring back a medic. We'll get him subdued enough to sit still."
Miguel nodded, "I'll be back with your map paper Lord Dilandau." He shot Gatty a meaningful look and jogged from the room.
Shesta appeared from behind a bookcase carrying an armload of dusty journals, he set them on the table Lord Dilandau had threw his parchment on. He gave Gatty a worried glance, and turned his attention back to Lord Dilandau who busied himself in spreading out the parchment and rolling edges up with small colorful pins. The tan paper covered the span of the table, and Shesta had to lift the journals he'd just set down to make room for it.
Viole helped Lord Dilandau smooth out the paper, "I'll bring my charcoal set and tracing tools. I'll be right back."
Viole left the room, ignoring the sharp looks the others sent him.
"Maybe you should sit down for a bit while we wait for Miguel and Viole to come back, Lord Dilandau," Shesta said softly, he pulled out a chair.
Lord Dilandau frowned, "There's more books in back; I can't miss anything." He didn't look at the chair or Shesta before disappearing behind into the sea of bookshelves again.
"Shesta, what the hell?" Gatty demanded. "I thought he was still supposed to be out of it! What's the matter with him?"
Shesta shook his head, "He woke up this morning, and insisted on finding Folken. After Folken told him he was going to Astoria and we are to stay here, he sort of snapped. He was upset when he found out about being asleep for 2 days, and after he heard he couldn't be of service to Folken... I don't know, he's just not used to not doing anything I guess."
"Shesta, that is way too simple of an explanation! He's gone nuts! Maybe Folken told him something else..."
"I heard every word of what was said. We were standing just outside the door."
"Damn..." Gatty let out a sigh of frustration. "I sent Miguel to get a medic, maybe they can give him another shot. He looks like hell, and needs to be lying down, and he needs to stop messing with his face. It's bleeding again. Geez Shes, the only other time I've seen him like this...well not exactly like this since this is 20 times worse was when.."
"Last year, when we when we stayed in Fort Joslin. That massive storm blew in, and the whole Fort was in a state of emergency. It raged for two weeks straight, and we couldn't hold our practices outdoors or in. He was positively unbearable. We all avoided him like the plague. I've never seen anyone that...anxious. I wanted to label it as stir crazy...but it was too intense to be that. It was almost like he was worried someone was going to hurt him for having to lay low for a few days. But no one touches Lord Dilandau, he never got any discipline that we saw or heard about..."
"He ended up making us go out in the storm, and held our practices in the mud trying not to get blown away. Remember how sick everyone got? Well he didn't get sick, of course."
"Well he is now..." Gatty said. The clatter of many hard backed books striking the floor caught their attention, and both Gatty and Shesta were in motion weaving between the bookcases to get to the source of the noise.
Lord Dilandau sat on his knees on the floor surrounded by books looking dazed. "Are you all right?" Gatty was at his side first.
"The books were too heavy," Lord Dilandau murmured. "I need you to carry them. Maybe...maybe we should get a cart. I don't know why I didn't think of that before..."
Gatty and Shesta exchanged a look.
"Stop it the both of you," Lord Dilandau snapped at them massaging his temples. "I can see and hear just fine thank you, and I don't appreciate the whispering or the secretive looks you keep giving each other over my head! What's the matter with? I give you an order, you do it, and don't question me! Just because...because...." his breathing hitched and he touched the injured side of his face again.
"Oh no! No!" Shesta shook his head as he started gathering the journals together in neat piles. "Lord Dilandau we're simply concerned for you health. We mean no disrespect when we hesitate to obey your orders. You are our Master and what you say goes. But we do care about you, and I think you're running a fever again you seem a little...delirious."
"I'm fine," Lord Dilandau murmured softly, still holding the hand to his face, "absolutely fine." He let Gatty pull him to his feet.
"I just need...to stay busy."
Gatty frowned, "Is that all?"
Lord Dilandau nodded, "I have to be useful."
Gatty blinked, his leader looked like death thrice warmed over, and the gleam in his scarlet eyes was not quite sane. He was very afraid of something, but his hold on the present was too precarious for Gatty to even want to question him what. He had the look of someone who needed to be reassured.
Gatty had little brothers who had always seemed to need petting every once and a while. There had been just too many children in the small cottage for his parents to pay attention to everyone. It was part of why he'd left. He couldn't take much more of being ignored by his parents, doing most of the household chores, and chasing after small boys like some sort of nanny. If he'd had breast his Momma would have had him being a wet nurse. It was either leave or go insane; so he'd run away and joined the military. But sometimes he thought about them, his younger brothers. What had become of them, and who gave them the attention they needed now?
"Go sit down Lord Dilandau, Shesta and I will pick up all the books, and we'll get a cart so we can bring them to you," Gatty said in a comforting tone. "Is there anything else you wanted us to look up for you and add to the piles?"
Lord Dilandau shook his head, eyes wide as a child's as he brought his hand down from his face. Moving slowly, as if lost in a dream, he made his way through the bookcases.
"I don't like way he looks," Shesta whispered. "My Papa looked better than that when he passed on. What's wrong with him Gatty? You don't think he has one of those diseases that eat you up from the inside and there's no medicine for it, do you? I mean, wouldn't Folken have cured him by now if it was just a cold or gripe, something simple?"
"Calm yourself Shesta, you're starting to sound like Viole. I thought he was the master of overreacting. Lord Dilandau's got some bug, and he's not resting, not eating, and constantly working himself up into...into this. Every time we get him calmed down, and ready to rest, something happens. Well, nothing is going to happen today. He wants to draw maps, so we'll draw maps. Oh shit..Miguel went to get one of the doctors..."
"Judging from the lack of noise up front no one's arrived yet. I'm gonna drop these journals off in front and see if I can head him off," Shesta had calmed considerably, though his eyes still shone with worry. "I'll be back."
Gatty found a nice metal cart with wheels to stack the rest of the journals on and pushed them up front where Guimel and Dallet were looking on in amusement at Viole and Lord Dilandau with their heads together holding fistfuls of black charcoal over the large sheet of beige map paper.
Viole's blue tackle box of art supplies sat on the floor by their feet, "We'll chalk in the outlines, and then we can paint in the landmarks..." Lord Dilandau was saying to Viole who was staring at an open map book.
Gatty stopped the cart right beside Dallet, and smirked down at the project, "Is there anything us non-artistic guys can do?"
"Yeah, stop breathing on us. No offense but your breath is worse than one of those flea-bitten horses we rode into Astoria on!" Viole snorted. "If you really wanna be useful get us some snacks!"
Dallet looked ready to thwack Viole, but refrained because he was standing too close to Lord Dilandau. Guimel blew his breath into his hands testing to see if Viole's statement was true, and Gatty rolled his eyes. He nudged Dallet, "Hey... would you mind going to the kitchen and seeing what they have in there. You know what he likes." He inclined his head toward Dilandau.
Dallet got down off of the table, "No problem."
Miguel and Shesta returned, Miguel looking mildly annoyed. He moved beside Gatty, "The medics say they refuse to attend to him if he's fully conscious, say he's volatile. They did give me a few pills that can be dissolved in water or juice that can put him to sleep for a few hours. What's your new decision, temporary boss?"
Gatty shrugged and gazed back at Lord Dilandau who was sitting on his knees in a soft chair with a ruler making a legend. "He's fine, Miguel. He's sitting down and he seems at peace. I think we should let him be."
Miguel nodded, then wrinkled his nose, "I've never seen Lord Dilandau take on an art project, have you?"
Gatty shook his head negatively, "Never. I wonder if he's as good as art as he is at everything else?"
"We'll see."
They took seats across the table from the devoted cartographers beside Guimel and Shesta, and bantered amongst themselves while waiting for Dallet to return with snacks. This was quickly proving to be one of their better mornings.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Allen felt a little guilty for rushing his brief meeting with the third Princess of Astoria, Millerna, and for leaving Hitomi and Van alone, but he had duty to attend to. He had to see the King right away and tell them about him about Zaibach's betrayal. The monsters could be coming to attack the capitol next. He shuddered to think about Dilandau loose in Palas. After what he and his men...well he couldn't say men exactly, they were boys, all of them... but after seeing the devastation they could inflict with no remorse, he didn't want anyone to underestimate them.
How could boys so young behave in such a way? The one he'd taken hostage couldn't have been older than 14 or 15, come to think of it neither could Dilandau. The height of the soldiers prompted one to have misconceptions of their age, but if one actually looked into their faces they would see the freshness of youth.
Zaibach was creating monsters wearing the guises of children. He would have written it off as that after the fall of his castle, but after his temporary capture of one of the Dragonslayers and seeing that boy's fear, he knew that couldn't be it. Monsters didn't fear anything, humans did.
The horse ride was over through the city was smooth and gave him ample time to think about how he was going to address the king. He arrived at the palace gates, and slid from the horse brushing his uniform free of dander, and running a hand through his hair to straighten it. Two guards came out to meet him and escort him inside the palace gates, and inside the walls.
King Aston sat on his throne looking plump and overripe glaring down at Allen with a look of poorly disguised impatience and irritation. Allen frankly was confused by the king's manner. He was usually very pleased to see Allen and always accepted him with an open mind to his suggestions and advice. Had something happened that he didn't know about?
He'd delivered his news about Zaibach's betrayal of their treaty, and stayed in a kneel with his head bowed respectively sneaking glances though his long hair to see the king's reaction.
"Are you trying to bring disaster upon my country, Allen Schezar?" King Aston growled after a long contemplative pause, and Allen jerked his head up to stare at the monarch in shock.
"For one little outpost you would be willing to risk Zaibach's wrath? What have you done?"
What the...? Allen blinked. Me? What have I done? Could King Aston be under the influence? He had just told him Zaibach had deliberately and viciously attacked some of his soldiers! If they did that to Allen's castle, what's to stop them from leveling other places in Astoria? He had to do something to get the king's attention, and make him realize how serious this situation was.
"Chivalry demands that we protect the King of Fanelia whose country was destroyed by Zaibach," he pointed out. If King Aston didn't care enough about him to want to take action, he certainly could not ignore another monarch in need.
"That is not true."
Well that certainly hadn't sounded like King Aston and the old man's lips hadn't moved, though that ridiculous moustache of his did flicker a bit. Allen's eyes slid over to the shadowy area just beside the throne and a tall figure emerged. He was pale and eccentric looking with spiky sky blue tinted hair, and a violet tattoo of a tear under one eye. He wore long dark robes and seemed to float as he walked closer to where Allen knelt.
"You seem to be the victim of a misunderstanding, Allen Schezar," the man said in a low voice that flowed as mellifluously as a river over glabrous rocks.
"Who is this?" Allen managed to keep his voice calm as he stared at the stranger, who smirked at him. The man's smug demeanor made him want to shiver and throw a punch at the same time.
"Folken, Strategos of Zaibach," the king answered.
"Zaibach?" Allen breathed, and his stomach sank. Zaibach had beaten him there after all, and they already had the king in their pocket. Perfect.
"King Aston, Fanelia launched a sneak attack against us."
"I've heard nothing of this," Allen kept his tone light though he was fuming inside. Lies... this man was standing there lying to the king and the king was believing him! It was an outrage. Allen wanted to set this castle on fire like his had been he was so frustrated.
Where the hell had that come from?
He had been quite the firebug when he was young, liking to light matches and burn small piles of leaves. Then his mother had caught one day and spanked him until his bottom turned black and blue all the while grumbling about how he was going to turn out to be just like his father. Allen hadn't seen the connection then and still didn't see it now, but after that he'd lost all desire to start fires and watch them burn.
"It's the truth," the Strategos of Zaibach insisted speaking directly to him. "If you were to hand over the Fanelian king and his guymelef, Escaflowne, I'm sure we could overlook this incident."
Then Folken turned to the king, "I would like to avoid any incidents which might endanger our alliance."
To Allen's further aggravation, the king nodded. Stupid idiot...
"We have an agreement then." Folken chuckled darkly and floated back across the room to fade into shadow once more.
Allen shuddered, then turned his attention back to King Aston who was speaking again.
"Allen Schezar, if you truly love this country you will turn over the King of Fanelia and his guymelef at once. Chivalry alone cannot protect a country."
Allen felt the crazy urge again to strike a match. This could not be happening. He gritted his teeth and bowed his head as if accepting his king's final judgement. There was no need to get his own head chopped off for being viewed as being insubordinate in the king's court.
He would come up with a new game plan later.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Van wasn't really interested in visiting the market place, but the Princess had insisted they go, and Hitomi and Merle seemed to be excited about it. He tagged along behind them not really paying attention to their squeals of delight when they passed certain booths that held jewelry or various performers showing off their skill.
His mind was wherever Allen was. He wanted to know how he was doing with the king of Astoria. He'd been a trifle insulted when Allen had taken off without inviting him to come along. He wanted to speak on his country's behalf himself, not leave it up to a foreigner who knew virtually nothing about it. He felt that once again he was failing Fanelia by leaving its fate in the hand of others.
Something familiar caught his eye, two men in gray armor stood on a stone bridge a few feet away and a few feet above him.
Zaibach soldiers... Then he gasped as a tall figure in a dark cloak joined them... Folken! What the hell was he doing there?
He pushed through the crowded walkway ignoring the Princess as she called out after him wanting to know where he was going. He couldn't lose track of Folken.
He followed his brother through dark alleyways and uncrowded passages getting the distinct feeling that he was being led somewhere. He was not exactly trailing after his brother discreetly. He had been trying to get his attention, but Folken had kept walking.
If Folken had a trap set for him, he was going to fall right into it.
Folken finally chose a path that led them out into the open. He walked across a bridge as a horse drawn carriage pulled up. The soldier driving the carriage nodded to Folken, and jumped down to open the door for him, "I've come to take you back to the Fortress, Lord Folken."
Van stepped onto the bridge staring hard at his brother's back. The man had to know he was there, but he was still ignoring him. He took a deep breath, about to bellow his name when he suddenly gazed up. A large gray complex floated overhead just beyond the cliffs. A floating fortress... Van wondered dimly if the Dragonslayers were aboard it, and about Dilandau. Had the pale deity come to his senses and realized what Van had done to his beautiful complexion. He sincerely hoped he hadn't done that much damage, it would be a terrible shame. He hadn't come down on him too hard, the cut had to have been shallow. There had been a lot of blood, but cuts or wounds opened in the head area tended to bleed out a lot.
It was the look on his face that had floored Van, and kept him wondering. Something in his eyes had seemed to shatter, like crystal. At that time the boy had seemed as fragile as his appearance denoted him to be.
He had never felt as guilty for doing anything in his life than he had at that moment.
But he had to remember...Dilandau, though Van hadn't seen him, had burned Fanelia, Dilandau had burned Allen's castle, and Dilandau was trying to kill him...
He hardened his stature, and ran to the center of the bridge crying out, "Brother!"
He stopped, panting and staring as Folken turned around at an infuriatingly slow pace. "Van, are you prepared to return with me to Zaibach?"
Of all the nerve...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Dilandau sat atop his throne stroking the bandage on his face rhythmically. He had folded up his map project to come watch his Dragonslayers during their afternoon practice. Gatty was still in charge of it, giving orders and showing valuable leadership skills. Dilandau had chosen well when he'd made him his right hand instead of Shesta or Miguel.
It had been hard to put away his new obsession, and Gatty had insisted that he finish, and for Viole to stay behind and help. Dilandau had been tempted to listen, but his first duty was to his Slayers. For two days he had left them under the care of another person, and he needed to see where they stood in their training, what needed to be worked on.
So far everything looked fine, great even... they hadn't needed him. Gatty was becoming just as good as he was. They listened to him as he stood tall, blond, and proud, face unmarred and untainted by any blade.
Why should his Dragonslayers listen to an inferior captain when they could have Gatty?
Damn Van Fanel, damn him to each one of the seven hells he could think of. He hoped Van burned and writhed in eternal flame, and prayed he could be there to watch.
His cheek throbbed painfully as he continued to abuse the tender healing flesh beneath the gauze. "It stings..." he kept repeating aloud to himself.
The painkiller was wearing off...if it had ever worked. Every time Dilandau remembered the wound it ached and burned. Stupid Van...stupid..stupid...
I hate him...hate him...hate him...
He shut his eyes as he saw double. He was heart was racing again, and his limbs were beginning to tremble with pent in energy. He was being given the power to go after Van... the gods were telling him to kill Van.
Why else would he suddenly be feeling as if he could climb mountains and swim oceans?
He rose from his seat and bounded down the stairs of his platform. He didn't see the startled looks he was being given, or hear his Elite calling him. He didn't have time for them... the gods were impatient beings, and they would take away his power if he didn't hurry.
He headed for the flight deck where his beloved Oreades was kept. It had been polished since his last battle, and he climbed up and inside it quickly. The familiar cockpit invited him inside, and he made himself comfortable in the chair. As he activated the controls silver liquid metal poured into the cockpit sealing his body in a protective shell. Wonderful...
He and his Oreades began to walk to the end of the flight deck, toward the open doors. He heard a small voice calling out to him on his right, and he turned his head to Shesta keeping pace with him.
"Lord Dilandau! Lord Folken instructed us not to leave the anchorage!"
"Who said anything about leaving the Vione?" Dilandau snickered to himself, and when he reached the end of the deck went down into a kneel. He extended the red arm of his guymelef and extended a single crima-claw. He looked through his scope magnifying its intensity so he could see the ground of Astoria below. Van was there...he had to be. Why else would Folken make him stay aboard the ship?
Searching...
Searching...
Found! Aww... look at Van so unsuspecting of what's going to happen to him. He spotted Folken only a few feet away. He was going to be very angry with Dilandau when he got back.
Oh well.
The gods were a higher power than Folken, and they wanted Van dead as much as he did. His palms were sweaty as he entered the command to set the single crima-claw at maximum power, focusing all pressure in that area. It would pierce Van's heart and take out part of the bridge as well. He licked his lips, and his cheek throbbed as a dull reminder that he didn't have much time.
"Say 'bye, bye,' Van..." Dilandau purred, and pressed the button to launch his weapon.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Why Folken, why are you working for Zaibach?" Van demanded as Folken stood gazing at him. His little brother was so painfully thin. When he brought him back to Zaibach he would make sure he ate more. Then he wouldn't look so much like a scarecrow.
Folken sighed as he studied the stubborn look on his brother's face...just like father. "Folken of Fanelia is dead. On the day the dragon ripped off this arm," Folken let his metal hand emerge from his cloak, "I died."
"It was Emperor Dornkirk who gave me life again."
He did his best to suppress the flood of emotion that tried to submerge him while he was speaking. He didn't want to lose his air of calm and dignity in front of his brother. He had to seem like he was in control, and knew what was best.
"Van, you are my brother, and in you a see a soul too gentle for this harsh world of war, and hate. The hearts of men have become black and vile, they kill beasts, they kill dragons, and they even kill other men. Zaibach quests to change that Van, to change the fate of mankind to destroy each other."
"But it was Zaibach that started all the fighting!" Van argued.
Very astute, Folken acknowledged Van's statement with a small laugh, "We fight to bring an end to that conflict; to bring a new order to the world. It's a true holy way."
"Fighting to bring an end to fighting? There's no such thing!" Van's face was still hard, Folken was gaining no ground.
"Van come with me, help me create a new world," Folken spread his arms out wide, throwing back his cloak, hoping it made him look more approachable. Talks of philosophy obviously were not going to sway his brother, so perhaps an argument of pathos would prove more efficient. Maybe all Van wanted was his older brother back as much as Folken wanted his younger brother back. Instead of kidnaping and war talk, maybe all he wanted was the promise of healthy relationship.
Van looked ready to take a step forward, his eyes gentling...but then there was a scream from behind. A young girl in a short dress was running at a very fast pace toward them yelling, "Van, look out!"
Van jumped and turned to see the girl, "Hitomi?"
"Get down!" the girl hurled herself at Van knocking him down onto the wood of the bridge.
Folken frowned, what was she.... The place where Van had been standing exploded. A thick piece of liquid crima-claw metal ruptured the timber and jutted down into the water now harmless.
Folken blinked, he saw no Alseides nearby, that claw had to have come from the Vione.
Dilandau.
He had been about to win Van over!
Dammit Dilandau.
He squeezed his fists together in anger, that brat always found a loopholes to get out of everything! Then he frowned...
When he left Dilandau certainly hadn't been pleased, but he'd been no where near killing rage. What had happened?
He needed to get back to Vione.
He looked down at his brother still sprawled on the bridge staring at the strange girl in the short dress, and decided to make his exit. He would talk with Van another day.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Where the hell is he going?" Miguel knocked Viole over and held him pinned until he surrendered.
"Who?" Shesta asked catching Guimel in a headlock.
"Lord Dilandau," Miguel let Viole up and nodded toward their retreating leader.
"Lord Dilandau?" Gatty was calling out after him, but the captain acted like he hadn't heard a thing.
"Shit," Dallet grumbled. "What now? I thought we'd gotten him calmed down. I knew we shouldn't have let him come in here!"
"No, we shouldn't have..." Shesta breathed, "I'll go get him."
Shesta ran after Lord Dilandau and got to him in time to see him bringing his Oreades to the lips of the flight deck. Fearful he was going to leave the ship he reminded Lord Dilandau of Folken's orders.
Lord Dilandau had other things on his mind, and Shesta watched as the Oreades knelt and prepared to fire a single crima-claw. The great mecha burned red as its energist charged itself up to full power, and it shook with the unbalanced strain.
Oh gods... it's going to explode.
He saw the shot go out, and heard his leader's insane cackling and urging of the liquid metal. Then he heard his curse, and suddenly the mecha was crumbling, collapsing upon itself. Its hatch opened pouring out the protective gel and a frazzled Lord Dilandau. He slid onto the floor falling to his knees panting and holding his chest. Shesta ran to him.
"Lord Dilandau are you alright?" He knelt down touching Dilandau's face and gasping at how moist his skin felt.
"N...no.... oh gods Shesta, it hurts..."
"What does?" Don't panic Shesta, don't panic.
Lord Dilandau swallowed hard, "Chest...heart's beating too fast... I can feel the pain in my neck, and arms... and I can't breathe. I think, I think..."
Shesta barely had time to move before Dilandau was vomiting. "Gods..." he rubbed his ailing captain's back. "It's...gonna be okay, Lord Dilandau. Lets try to get you comfortable alright, and then I'll call for help. Everything's going to be just fine."
Lord Dilandau was 15, the same age as Shesta, but his symptoms were exactly the same as his Papa's when he'd had his heart attack.
Papa had died an hour later.
Gods, he helped Dilandau into the fetal position he found to be the most comfortable, and ran from the deck into the hallway to call for help.
*~* Author's Note: Wow so you made it to the end? I told you it was long. I didn't exaggerate did I, lol? Anyways, what did you think? Good, bad...ugly? Please review, take care, and next update won't take forever ;) *~*