To everyone waiting for chapter 7 of To Chase a Heart, I express my deepest apologies; I'm kind of stuck on developing it, and since I don't want to delay updates any more than I already have, I figured that I should publish the chapters that ARE ready while I work out the kinks on TCaH. I also want to apologise because this is another Validar centric chapter!

Once again, many thanks to the inimitable newmrsdewinter and iturbide for everything.

When Validar woke, he was groggy, his vision was fuzzy, and his mouth had a thick, metallic taste to it—blood.

He had vomited blood and passed out on his wedding night.

Yes, what he remembered of the reception after the ceremony had been wild and filled with dancing and drunken revelry, but he would never be so uncouth as to drink himself to a stupor, much less disregard his wellbeing to the point that he would be coughing up blood.

That meant that someone poisoned him.

Sluggish and weak as he felt, Validar managed a healthy scoff. He had years of preparation behind him to build up immunity to even the toughest of toxins. He had survived several assassination attempts before...what difference would another one make? Though in this case, he begrudgingly had to admit that the author behind the plot was rather skilled; not many had the expertise to mix a brew potent enough to leave him feeling this weakened.

The guards and cooks deserved a stern talking to and a round—no, three rounds of lashes for this. Someone had snuck poison into his food and drink and they had completely missed it despite being trained for such a specific task. Were they so stupefied by the celebration that they forgot? The excuses and explanations they would have to supply once they were tied to the whipping block had better be worth his time. Then, they would have their tongues cut out for wasting their breath, their ears lopped off for failing to heed instructions, and their hands chopped off for not performing their duty.

And yet, there was the lingering preoccupation that, somehow, he could have died. And he would be damned if he passed before fulfilling his obligation to Grima.

A sudden realisation turned his blood to ice. What if he was not the assassin's target?

What if the poison was meant for Robin?

Struggling to focus his eyesight and sit upright in bed, panic gripped Validar's heart and made it hammer out a maddening beat to a steady stream of gruesome thoughts. He had hoped to wake to the sight of a beautiful bride, greeting him with a morning smile; instead, the grin would belong to that of a corpse. She was not the failed vessel that he was; it made no sense to train her in poison resistance when her body needed to be kept pure and free from such substances.

Forget him—the loss of the vessel herself would mean an end to Grima's chances of resurrection once and for all.

His chambers were still dark, as Validar preferred to not give assassins an easy way of navigating his quarters. The darkness and the poison circulating throughout his body dulled his usually sharp senses, and he cursed the vile chemist who dared dose him on his wedding. As he did not trust the strength of his limbs to fetch the dark tome he kept on his bedside table, Validar forgoed the use of the book, crooking his fingers in the air in a come-hither motion while his other hand rested on his thigh, upturned and open. "Resire," he said through gritted teeth. Strength flowed into him as it pushed the toxin out and restored his vitality, and he gasped for breath as soon as the spell's effect faded. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Validar felt around the bed carefully.

Not only was her side of the bed done, she was not even there.

His heartbeat pounding out a faster rhythm, Validar clapped and brought the torches in his room to life.

Robin was nowhere to be found.

Breathe, he tried to reassure himself as he began to pace wildly. If she has been poisoned, she would have the good sense to try to rid herself of it. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps she's not poisoned at all and has gone to relieve herself, or fix her toilette, or—

Panic spiking to unbearably high levels, Validar went from room to room in his suites in search of his bride: the drawing room, the sitting room, the fountain, his personal baths. All of the servants were asleep in their cots, the guards' late shift kept to their posts. Everything was were he had left it as remembered, untouched and in its rightful place.

Everything except for her.

"My liege." A guard walked up to him and knelt deferentially. "If I may be so bold as to ask, what troubles you? You have been pacing with such a worried countenance—"

The man was unable to finish his sentence as Validar shot a hand to his neck and squeezed as though testing the ripeness of a fruit. The helpless guard was lifted from the floor, and the commotion soon woke the servants and the soldiers not on watch duty.

"Find her!" Spittle flew from Validar's mouth. "Search everywhere! The kitchens, her quarters, the temple—I don't care if you have to overturn each stone of the sanctum, I don't care if half the place ends up destroyed!"

"Milord, what is the matter?" His generals rushed into the room, alarmed and weapons at the ready.

"She's gone! You incompetent fools have lost her!"

"Milord—"

"What are you doing, standing there so uselessly? Start searching! Find her! FIND HER!" he screamed.

And so the very young hours of the early morning laid the stage for a scene of utter chaos. Validar practically tore the place apart in his haste and panic with nothing left untouched: crates of fruit and pails of milk were overturned in the kitchens; books and cushions in the library, shredded; the entirety of the skull's perimeter was searched with the help of keen-eyed wyverns in the pale grey sky that came before dawn, yet no crevice or corner revealed his missing bride.

"Milord," General Kazem knelt apologetically before him. "We have searched every inch of the sanctum, but I am sorry to report that we have found nothing." Kazem bowed his head until it touched the sand. "We have failed you."

Validar barely heard him over the frantic pounding of his heart and the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. How...how could this be? More than a millennia of preparation leading up to this moment...more than a thousand years of painstaking prayer, breeding, and experimentation...gone like the morning dew before the sun. Had it all been for naught? Were the hopes of bringing back Lord Grima to be left unfulfilled?

Was he the one to betray the generations before him and have failure resting upon his shoulders?

"NO!" Validar's roar of fury was heard throughout the land, and he tore off Kazem's head in a single movement as bloodlust soon overcame him and took over his senses.

The stench of blood filled the tunnel with its thick, coppery scent as Validar trudged to his study. His clothes were soaked in it, leaving behind a rusty trail as the hem of his robes dragged over the sand—he could care less. In fact, he mused rancorously, there was not enough blood spilt that day. Not enough to teach the others of the consequences of failure, nor enough to satiate his need to inflict punishment.

His thoughts were interrupted by the discovery of the bodies guarding the door to his office, all recently deceased, yet they had all gone cold long before he had chanced upon them. Validar's anger was only stoked at the sight of them, lying in pools of their own blood and vomit.

"How long have they been here like this?" His question was softly spoken and silky smooth. "Did it occur to no one to come and change shifts?"

A guardsman blanched in fear. "My liege—"

His head was torn off as well, for good measure. Validar enjoyed the scarlet fountain that gushed everywhere and added to the stains of his soiled robes. To his utter delight, even the unflappable Mustafa flinched at the sight.

Validar had to break down the door when it would not yield to his touch; a closer inspection revealed, once he crossed the threshold, that someone had attempted to barricade it from the inside.

And that someone would pay dearly indeed.

He took a seat behind his desk and began tapping away, resting his chin on his hand, deep in thought. Validar lost count of how many he had killed that morning—he had mowed his way through the temple, the arena, the dining hall...while he did not deny that the sensation of taking away a life was intensely satisfying, it would be much more prudent to put such thoughts aside for the time being, and think about the factors that had led to the morning's events in the first place. For starters: his own office having been blocked from the inside, and the dead guards at its entrance. Few knew of its existence, save for the slain men, his council, his generals...and the vessel herself. For a single, terrible moment, he thought that perhaps Gangrel had smartened up and had found a way to infiltrate them after all.

No, Validar reasoned, Gangrel was not one to keep his mouth shut should he have succeeded, and Aversa would have alerted him immediately if the vessel had been taken to the Walled City in the first place. That meant this was most certainly the work of someone within their ranks.

Validar wanted to smack himself for his stupidity. He had seen the signs, he had been witness to the strange goings-on within the sanctum: the hole dug in the prisons before it was reported to him and he ordered it sealed shut...the missing dresses of the vessel's dowry. He had initially attributed the theft to a jealous woman (and he had taken time to torture a few as an example to the rest, in an attempt to coax out the location of the dresses)...but in light of the recent events, it was clearly not the case.

This meant that anyone was a suspect. And he had a certain acolyte in mind…

"Mustafa," he beckoned.

The tall general had to bow his head to pass through the doorway, kneeling at Validar's side. "Milord."

"Do you remember that boy you brought back with you, three years ago? The one I had placed with the apprentices?"

"You mean Henry, milord?"

"So that's the little leech's name," Validar said. He tapped a bloodstained finger to his temple. "Tell me, has he had a history of any...incidents during his stay here?"

Mustafa carefully mulled over the words in his mouth before responding. "...He was initially defiant of his teachers and would make mischief during his lessons, my liege, but he was subdued quickly enough."

"Was he...? Tell me, Mustafa...is he still here?"

"...I—"

Validar interrupted him and rose from his seat. "Don't answer that. I'll go see for myself." Before leaving his office, he turned to face the general once more. "And Mustafa? As it was you who brought him here, and exposed our vessel to his influence...consider your place here carefully. You will be watched very closely from now on."

Validar was back in his office again, only this time, he had brought something back with him: he tossed a white-haired child's head back and forth between his hands, until he tired of toying with the grisly souvenir and threw it aside. The fear on the acolyte's faces had failed to satisfy him in any way as his suspicions had been proved correct—the boy he sought was long gone. Validar could hedge a guess that it was he who was responsible for the hole, for the missing dresses...not to mentioned that a quick search of his study revealed that several weapons had been stolen, most worryingly the levin sword. It was an old, powerful artifact. Its loss alerted him to the fact that it had been taken by someone who was clearly conscious of their actions and who expected to fight along their escape. A deliberate, premeditated theft.

An examination of the infirmary revealed that medicines and potions had been stolen. When he returned to the vessel's quarters, what he did not touch showed that no resistance was evident in the space, no overturned furniture or signs of a struggle. The thousandfur robe was also gone. That insect of a boy was clearly not old or skilled enough to bend people to his will. That meant that he had either persuaded the vessel to come with him, or they had planned their flight together.

The thought that she would choose to do such a thing...that she chose, of her own free will, to betray him like that, to go against her very destiny—

A third round of carnage was spurred that day. By nightfall, Jamil had succumbed to his wounds along with the woman he was found in bed with, while Chalard's ashes had to be scrubbed from the walls themselves.

First, Validar ordered a search of the Walled City by the agents he had placed inside with Aversa's help. Despite them having successfully infiltrated the capital, the public's opinion of them was incredibly low compared to the regions surrounding the city, and they had to tread carefully or else a nosy citizen would have turned them in in a heartbeat. The agents returned empty handed anyways. It was Aversa herself who, in one of her rare visits, came bearing documents from the gate authorities showing that a young man and woman had indeed entered the city.

"What's this?" Validar said disgustedly. "They were allowed inside carrying the dog, and they were let safe passage out with horses? And those same horses were reported stolen from a tavern that very night?"

Aversa rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Don't be so upset. I keep the gate authority purposefully lax because that's how I was able to get your agents inside in the first place, remember?"

"...Fine," Validar growled. "But I am still placing that lack of oversight on your shoulders, Aversa. Keep me informed. And remember: that betrothed of yours had better be kept on a short leash."

Validar placed a bounty that he knew would be irresistible: 20,000 in gold bullion for the boy, and the astronomically high price of 200,000 for the vessel. Every bandit and their grandmother, not to mention the desperately poor majority of Plegia, would have wanted to claim that prize for themselves. That amount of wealth would guarantee a stable life for their family for generations thereafter. Soon, reports of sightings flooded in from all over the country, but they were often unreliable, conflicting, or outright lies. Validar despaired, fearful that the vessel would be lost to him forever.

One day, a horde was spotted at the perimeter of the skull. A wyvern rider was sent to parley with them after it was determined that they were no enemies of the Grimleal, and their leader was allowed safe entry inside the vestibule.

"The name's Garrick." The scarred and cocksure sellsword was all toothy grins until a guard warningly pointed a spear at him for his boldness. Validar watched the proceedings from behind a screen while his generals took care of the conversational end of the meeting. "I'm sure you've heard of me."

"We have," was General Sula's curt reply. "What business do you seek from us?"

"Heard you've got a sweet little bounty set up for a pair of ne'er do wells."

"If you want to participate, there's no one stopping you. Why go through the trouble of contacting us in the first place?"

"Now this is where it gets interesting," Garrick leaned forward on his cushion. "I know you Grimleal have got your hands and eyes everywhere—not to say there's anything wrong with that, no sir—but I figured it'd be nice if us humbler folks got a taste of that cake."

"What are you talking about?" Mustafa queried.

Garrick spread his meaty arms. "I control thousands from all three nations," he boasted. "I've commanded raids on everywhere from Corvinium to the borders of Ylisse itself."

"You and everyone else," Mustafa shot back. "So much for humility."

"AND we got ourselves some fancy new tools like them spyglasses and such," Garrick continued. "We know yous don't wanna get out and get your hands dirty. So how's about this: we do the dirty for ya. Like I said, I got people anywhere and everywhere. Much like your venerable lordship here," he bowed his head slightly in Validar's direction. "And it seems like it'd be a real benefit to ya if I were to give you a hand—spread my men out so we can grab these two for you. Combine our forces."

Validar called Sula to him and whispered in his ear. While Garrick presented a seemingly generous offer, the reality was that no one in his realm did things out of altruism. There was only fealty and dreams of wealth to be had. Validar said as much and Sula relayed it to Garrick.

The bandit licked his lips. "Ah, but you see, this IS humble me pledging myself to your lordship." Another exaggerated bow. "It wouldn't be wise of us to be the competition, so I'm simply offerin' our strength to you."

"And what are you expecting to receive in return?" Sula countered.

"I like to have my cake and eat it too," Garrick grinned. "You see, we've been having a bit of trouble with some of Gangrel's dogs in the western ports—makes it hard to get ahold of all those nice imports from Chon'sin. Our offer, ya see, is to get those two for you AND secure the ports...and in exchange, we get a cut of that bounty and get management positions under you in the west. Sound good?"

Validar contemplated the proposition. In all honesty, he had heard of Garrick's exploits, but gave them little importance because he and his barbarians stayed clear of being a threat to the Grimleal's power. The army of brigands he commanded was substantial and often proved a nuisance to Plegia's neighbours...and if he was as powerful as he bragged he was, then surely he could muster a few forces to wherever and aid the Grimleal in their search. And besides...there was nothing wrong in having gained the allyship of so willing a man. Validar relayed the information to Garrick through Sula, and the bandit was pleased as well.

"Those two are dangerous," Mustafa warned Garrick at the skull's entrance once their meeting was concluded. "You will need better equipment than what you have if you ever hope to subdue them." The general, with Validar's expressly stated permission, gave them sturdy and valuable silver weaponry to aid them in their task. "But even then, tools alone will not be enough against them. Keep your wits sharp. And you shall keep us updated on your movements through your spyglasses."

"Please," Garrick scoffed. "A boy and a lass. What's the worst they can do?"

It had been months since the pair had last been sighted, and Validar was at his wits' end.

He had to keep face for his flock. Despite his public persona being one of cool, detached rationality and piety, he was despairing inside. The two could be anywhere by now, perhaps even in Valm itself, where he had no power. The loss of the vessel had sparked a devastating crisis of faith in some of their congregants; lost and unsure after the vessel had gone missing, and thus unable to fulfill her prophesied destiny of bringing about Grima's return, the Grimleal's tides turned and shifted for the worse. The focus was now on damage control. His sermons discussed the importance of keeping faith and the immutability of destiny, while his priests put out increasingly fervent pageants and displays of zealotry. And yet, it was sometimes all for naught. Two members had to be executed for apostasy, and their deaths had Validar fearing that it was a repeat of his first wife's rebellion.

He turned to prayer and fasting more often and desperately, in the hopes that the trances he would be submitted to would yield answers, any answers, to his plight. Breathing in the poisonous fumes of the vents would only summon the Voices' scolding in the temple.

How could this happen? Validar constantly asked. Why did she leave me? Did that little insect turn her against us? His influence has always been one of treachery...Mustafa must be punished for that—

And yet you allowed him to stay for three years under your roof, the Voices snapped. What does Mustafa even matter? In the end, it's all your fault. Stop complaining.

How can I not despair? was Validar's wretched response. Our Lord's return has been jeopardised. All the signs— the blood moon, the Mark itself on her hand—have been nothing but auspicious. And yet our vessel, our one hope for Grima's revival in this world, has abandoned us. If the vessel herself has been disloyal, if the vessel herself has chosen to turn her back on her very purpose in life, then what is there left but the ashes of our hopes? Have those centuries of toil been for a trifle? Has our devotion yielded nothing?

The wind from their angered roar pushed him back. We are not some piddling childminder to be summoned every time you come mewling in want of reassurance, they snarled. Nor is this the last time that you will encounter hardship in your sorry excuse of a life. You think that just because you had the vessel within your grasp that everything else would go smoothly? Pathetic.

My apologies, Validar grovelled.

The Presence sighed in exasperation. Listen closely. You've gotten this far...and while the vessel's disappearance is a setback, it is not a threat to your mission...not entirely. No matter how many complications you may find, destiny is set in stone...it can never be changed.

I am listening closely.

Good. See here...you already proved your devotion to Grima well enough...you committed yourself to even do the unthinkable in His name. Who's to say this is not a final test of your resolve?

A...final test?

Yes. A display of your loyalty, your faith, and the strength of your resolve and dedication...you must prove that you are worthy of Grima by showing that you are willing to go above and beyond to retrieve what is rightfully His, before His return to your mortal world.

Such words filled Validar's veins with a new sense of fire and determination. They were right: it had been foolish of him to wallow in his self pity rather than simply power through it. Thanking the Presence over and over again, Validar set himself to work.

So far, no sighting—neither from the Grimleal, unaffiliated citizens, or the brigands—had been of importance. Validar kept track of them through the scrying mirrors he kept in a special wing of the skull, in accordance to the different mirror shards the Grimleal distributed to their agents and a few others; they allowed for multiple points of view in different places, and he had a squad of far-seeing mages at his disposal to enhance the mirrors' effectiveness and to help keep an eye on them.

"I am sorry, my liege," he heard for the millionth time. "There seems to be no sign of them so far."

Their luck had turned for the better when a woman in Garrick's service sounded the alarm one day: the runaways had been spotted crossing the plains that came immediately after the western jungles. Validar, feeling a rush of vindication he had not felt in ages, wisely ordered the group to keep tailing the duo and follow at a distance. It would not do to preemptively spring a trap lest the vessel's wily ways alert them to it.

It had almost seemed as though they were about to succeed the closer and closer they got without the pair turning to look back. Validar was practically salivating at the thought of victory so close, just barely in his grasp...seeing their horses struggle against the wind and the sand made the thoughts of their punishment all the sweeter…

"We've been spotted, sir." The woman's disgruntled complaints came through staticky and unclear, the sand interfering somewhat with their scrying. "Seemed like they were just here not too long ago, and now the damned bugs have scurried off."

Validar nearly broke the mirror she was speaking through. "I don't care. You'll find them and you'll bring them back to us. Understood?" he ground out.

"...Yessir."

A fortnight of restless sleep and obsessively monitoring the scrying chamber yielded nothing until one dark, stormy night over the Midmire revealed a soaked pair of runaways, fighting against the gale and trying to pull their horses through the muck.

His mages scrambled to summon their field units, alerting them to their targets' location. Few were still fit enough to answer the calls.

"We're on it, sir," the woman's gravelly voice cackled through her mirror. "Lucky for us, we didn't waste our last warp stave like the other chumps."

Validar watched with bated breath as they opened up a portal to face the startled duo. Finally! Trapped, surrounded at last...there was no way they could hope to win at that point; they were hopelessly outnumbered, their terrain a hindrance, and their stamina lowered. Like cats that had cornered a couple of sparrows…each strike of the bandits' weapons filled him with incredible glee and excitement, each swipe of a blade was a step closer to finally having them within his grasp.

Until the damned girl had to snatch his victory out of his hands.

He should have seen it coming, really. Validar had been nothing, if not proud, of how she had been instructed in tactics and combat throughout her entire life. As Grima's vessel, it was only natural that she be taught such things, to inherit a mantle of leadership with nothing but the best skills afforded to her with her upbringing. But that was then, and this was now, and now meant that her sudden manoeuvres—that damned, foolhardy jump across the canyon—put them out of his reach once again.

Validar could do nothing except watch helplessly, hundreds of miles away, as she and the boy flew through the sky, and the bandit woman he had communicated with scarcely a few minutes ago now plummeted to her death.

That night resulted in his bedroom's near destruction.

We are sorry, my liege, his mages cowered and rent their clothes before him. We will do better. This failure is no one but ours.

More sleepless nights and bouts of fury followed, as the implication of the pair's trajectory finally dawned on him: they were travelling eastward, towards Ylisse.

That filthy, deplorable land of wretched heathens.

Validar had decided that the bandits were of no use to him, not with all their failures and their one chance of getting close to the two nothing but a hopeless blunder. When he was contacted by a desperate Garrick, he told him so, ready to dismiss the man with naught but an airy flick of the wrist.

"Naw man, don't ya see? I got them right in my sights! Just now!"

Validar rushed to the mirror and gripped it tightly. "Where?!"

Garrick pointed a beefy finger to a grassy hill. Hidden in the long grass and large boulders that dotted the landscape was indeed a pair of darkly dressed people. Without his trained eye, it would have been easy to miss the markings of Grima's Eyes along the vessel's sleeves.

Validar's nails cracked the mirror's edge from the amount of force he was applying to it. "They are right at the border pass...so help me Garrick, they are not to cross into that godforsaken country! A single step closer from either of them, and I will personally assure that your lifeless body joins that wench of yours at the bottom of the gorge! Do you hear?"

"I heard you," was the surly reply.

"Then what are you waiting for? Don't just stand there so uselessly—DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!"

In the end, it was all in vain, as Validar could only stand by and watch as the horde barely managed to put a dent in the contingent that Ylisse sent forth. With each barbarian that fell to foreign lance and sword, Validar's ire only grew. A brief spark of hope ignited within him as the spyglass showed the pair of traitors surrounded at one point—all they had to do was take them and warp back, Ylisseans be damned. They already had that wretched worm of a boy in their clutches, there was no way he would be able to escape, all they had to do was take the vessel now that she was so weak and easily overwhelmed—

The last Validar managed to see was the lower half of Robin's face, screaming, as she summoned a blast of lightning against her attackers, striking everything in its path and burning up the field around them. The magic destroyed the spyglass along with its user, and all further contact was lost.

The next few days were of nothing but Validar being consumed by sheer fury. To think that he had not only lost the vessel herself, but that she had chosen to fly off, and that she had reached Ylisse of all places...

The very thought of her in a land full of such degeneracy, surrounded by loathsome, debauched vermin, mewling for Naga as they wallowed in their own filth...it repulsed and infuriated Validar to no end. She was supposed to have been kept pure for Grima, and now, she had landed in sin itself.

But how to retrieve her? The bandits had clearly failed him on all fronts and were of no use to him now. His Grimleal held power within Plegia, yes, and he had agents placed inside of Ylisse since the beginning of the war...but who was to say that they stayed loyal to him and to Grima? How many had turned their backs on them in order to make a new life in that horrid realm and breed with its disgusting inhabitants? And even then, it was hard enough contacting those who stayed committed to Grima without having the crown breathing down their necks. Validar's agents usually stayed hidden well enough, with most Ylisseans blissfully convinced that, while worship of Grima was widespread throughout Plegia, the Grimleal were naught but a fairy tale, cooked up to scare small children into obedience.

Even then, was that enough to guarantee her safety? She could be found out. They would discover her for what she was and she would be at the mercy of those infidels…and Grima's return would be doomed for sure.

So lost was he to his brooding that Validar even once forgot to hold mass one day. And it was on one of those days where Validar's foul mood had intensified that his generals had informed him that some bandits had returned from Ylisse.

"Oh?" And what do they bring to us? Something useful, I hope."

Sula shook his head. "They claim to have information, my liege."

Validar welcomed a pair of bedraggled, battle-weary thieves who had a number of open wounds and had the look of scared rabbits cornered by a hungry jackal. He received them with open arms and a smile, and bade them wash and treat their wounds before changing into fresh clothes. "How fare you on your journey back?" he asked them graciously.

"Whaddaya think? Like shit," the taller of the two snapped. His shorter partner winced.

Validar's smile dimmed only slightly. While he most certainly did not appreciate being talked back to in his own domain, he had an image to maintain. "I imagine," he replied. "You are both just in time for the evening meal. Please, come and sup with us." He stopped and turned to the man who had dared to speak back. "As I can see that you are still in need of a bit of a wash...kindly see to your hands before you join us."

It was a personal affair, much small than his usual suppers with the rest of his congregation; it was only Validar, his councilmen, his generals, and the shorter bandit. The man had clearly never seen so much food in one place in his entire life, and when their meal-time prayer was finished, he rudely began to eat first, shoveling bread and fruit into his mouth as though his life depended on it.

"If you continue at such a frantic pace, you may not be able to enjoy the subtleties of the dish." Validar pushed a plate of cooked entrails in a bid for the man to taste. He accepted it eagerly and devoured the meat savagely before remembering his position.

"Sorry," he spoke through a full mouth. "Haven't eaten in a while." He burped. "Thanks so much for all your hospitality and everythin'."

"Understandable," Validar waved away the apology airily. They all sat in reticent silence, with the only sounds being the bandit's crude table manners as he slurped and chewed noisily throughout the entirety of the supper. At one point, Nelson winced as the man loudly threw back wine from a finely wrought silver goblet.

Validar cleared his throat politely to gain the thief's attention. "I had understood that you came bearing important information for us."

The bandit choked on a grape. "Huh? Oh, right." He cleared his throat boorishly. "Me 'n my friend—" he looked around. He scowled at seeing that his partner was taking much too long in the washroom. "...Anyways. So me and Rahm here were at Southtown. During the raid."

Validar raised an eyebrow. "What raid?"

"Well, see, we were with Garrick—Boss—over there, and he was in a real pissy mood after we missed the target. Then again, we didn't got none of the targets in the end," he admitted, shamefaced.

"...What do you mean, 'none of the targets?'"

"Well—we made it to the border pass, see, and the boss said our job was to nab a boy and a lady if we wanted to make a real pretty mint. So we got to the border with Ylisse, and those fuckers were real tough to fight, with their horses an' fancy armour and shit. So we wanna run, see? But boss said nah, we couldn't leave unless we wanted that bounty, so a retreat didn't matter, s'long as we got 'em. So they're kinda sluggish, see, and we had 'em surrounded."

Through steepled fingers, Validar studied the brigand. He was clearly not finished, so he signalled for him to continue his tale.

"...Right. So we got the boy, see, he didn't put up much of a fight after we got a few good hits in. Felt like lugging around a ragdoll, didn't weigh much. But that girl...I dunno where the hell she came from, but she was a freak. Some kinda witch or sorceress I bet—called down lightning outta nowhere and completely fried some of the others. So she booked it real fast, like the wind were pushing her or somethin', and we couldn't follow coz those Ylisseans were blocking the way. Boss was furious—said the kid's bounty was nowhere near as big as the one on her head, see, and that the Grimleal guy who took him on for it would have his head if he didn't come back with them both."

So they failed, Validar concluded. The vessel was still at large in Ylisse. And yet…"You said 'targets.' Plural."

In spite of the braziers lining the room, it seemed as though the temperature dropped by several degrees. The change in atmosphere was not lost on the bandit.

The man gulped audibly. "Sir…?"

"Go on," Validar prompted. "I want to know the reason behind Garrick's failure."

"Oh...o-ok," the bandit shuddered. "Like...he really wanted to go after the lady. Said it'd be a matter of time 'till she collapsed in a ditch somewhere since she was so weak. But we couldn't with the Ylisseans around, so he...he broke off a part of the group to block 'em so the rest of us could get around them and pass the border."

"Wait, if that was possible, then that means their borders are much more porous than previously thought!" Ardri interrupted. Validar silenced him with a glare, and the councilman shrank back into his seat.

"Go on," Validar turned to his guest again.

"...so we were gonna track her down, see? Boss said failure wasn't an option. But we had to treat the wounded first and restock, and there was this little town some ways ahead where we could grab some stuff. Boss said the plan was to recoup there before headin' off to track her." The man wrung his shirt nervously, hyperconscious of the now oppressive air of the dining hall. "Uh...we...we really had it in the bag...didn't seem like it'd be much of a setback, all things considered, but—"

"But what? It was clearly 'something' if it means you are here in such a state."

The brigand sunk in his seat. The display was distasteful to Validar, more akin to a child being scolded than of a grown man reporting back from a mission. A failed mission.

"Answer me."

Hanging his head in shame, the bandit could only manage a mumble. "The Ylisseans found us...and they brought Shepherds with 'em."

A terrible, icy silence froze the dining hall, and even a few braziers blew out ominously. That familiar sense of anger was rising from deep within Validar again. "How many?"

"T-three, sir," the man squeaked.

"And how many soldiers accompanied them?"

"N-not more than ours b-by too much—I mean, forty, no, l-like—around forty or fifty, give or take, and we used to have m-more guys, but we lost a bunch back at the border—"

"If there were only three Shepherds with a force that you admit did not have a great advantage in numbers over Garrick's...then explain the failure to me, please. I have heard of the Shepherds and their exploits...strong opponents, yes, but three hardly sound overwhelming. They barely had an edge over you. And yet the result was failure...why?" Validar's voice was soft and silky smooth.

The man's veins in his neck began to pulse visibly, as sweat beaded on his closely cropped hairline. Validar's disgust grew at having to bear the presence of such a coward. "I—I—I—"

"If you don't simply spit it out now, I'll have your tongue ripped out, if it might make your pitiful words flow all the more freely. Tell. me."

"They had a tactician with them—she had 'em way better organised—gave them instructions and told them where to go—I dunno what that freak did to corner us like that, but the next thing I knew, I was all tied up an' they put us in the town square and—"

He said their tactician was a woman.

Their tactician.

Validar literally flew from his seat at the other side of the table, in a whirl of red robes and venting fury, to land squarely on the man's end, hoisting him up into the air by the collar of his borrowed shirt. The brigand shrieked and kicked uselessly, and Validar ignored his councilmen fleeing the scene in fright.

"So you mean to tell me," fire licked at Validar's tongue, "that she was with the Shepherds."

"It wasn't my fault!" the thief cried. "I swear, please, please, put me down—"

"How came she by them?"

"I don't know! I don't—"

"She was with them and it was thanks to her interference that your defeat was at hand." Validar lifted the man up higher, if only to see him squirm and cry harder. "And you lost the boy as well."

"I swear—"

"You swear what?" Validar suddenly dropped him back into his seat. The bandit scrambled away, panicking, sobbing, as Validar advanced on him at his own leisure. "Your master Garrick swore fealty to me and my Grimleal, promising me results...and yet he delivered nothing but failure. Better yet...he drove her into the clutches of not just any Ylisseans, but Shepherds."

"It wasn't my fault—" the man bawled and cowered before him.

"I'm sure it was not…" Validar said lightly. "Though I have to assume that, as Garrick is not the one who is on his knees before me, he is dead." He cocked his head to a side, and a slow grin, full of sharp incisors and violence, slithered up his face. "You will act as his substitute."

Validar seized his victim and slammed him, chin first, into the table's edge, relishing the shout of pain. He pinched the bandit's cheeks, forcing his mouth into fish lips, and used his free hand to pull the man up by the hair so that his collarbone was level with the table's edge.

"The food was to your liking, yes?" Validar cackled and slammed the man's cheek onto the tabletop, breaking his cheekbone. His hand shot out to grab a handful of intestines from their serving tray, forcing them into the brigand's mouth and staining his previously impeccable nails and skin. But grooming was of no importance now, not when he could relish the thief's muffled screams through the meat. "Everything was prepared especially fresh...only the best for my guests, you understand…" Validar's tone dropped in timbre, and his previously soft intonation was replaced by a vengeful, even demonic, voice. "And because of your utterly disgraceful failure, I don't see why you shouldn't join your friend here on your plate."

How deliciously Validar laughed, as his victim realised the source of the entrails he had enjoyed only a few moments ago and writhed in his grasp. Validar only let him go when the man began to vomit and choke, the disgusting contents of his mouth spewing all over as Validar's hold was released. The respite was too brief, as Validar snatched him by the hair and rubbed his face onto the fouled tabletop.

"I swear I can make it up to you!" the man shrieked. "Please, just let me go!"

"And let you escape like that? No, that is much too lenient for you," Validar snarled.

"P-please," the bandit whimpered pitifully. "Please, I got a family to support, please—"

"So I've seen," Validar chuckled. "A wife and a young daughter. Very sweet." He leaned in closer to whisper darkly into the thief's ear. "The shack you live in has been much improved by the remittances you send back. Your little girl is especially happy with the toy horse from Ferox...if only her dearest father would come home to them, once in a while…"

The bandit stilled. Then, he began to cry in earnest, finally breaking down in tears. "Please," he moaned in pain. "Please...they didn't do nothin'...my wife's a good woman," he pleaded, "and my girl's just a baby...please…"

"Give me one good reason why I should not crush you at this very moment. Why, I would be doing you a favour, putting you out of your misery." Validar ground the man's face harder onto the table.

The bandit gulped in a shuddering breath. "I—I got some info—"

"Which I have heard already," Validar reminded him testily. "There is an old Feroxi saying, not to kill the messenger...but to hell with the Feroxi and their useless platitudes. Much like you: quite useless."

"It's new, I-I swear," he sniffled. "I heard their plans...said they was gonna take the men left alive to Ylisstol, for questioning...said they was gonna take the girl and the boy with 'em...offered them a place to stay and everything."

Well...that was new. New and useful.

Validar released the thief, who immediately began gasping and coughing for air, reaching for anything to wipe the blood and vomit from his face. Validar ignored him and paced calmly around the table, deep in thought.

The bandit watched him warily, clearly unsure of whether to run or stay.

Validar stopped. "Pray tell...you said they took you and some others for prisoner and had you restrained...how did you escape?"

"H-had a knife on me...a good silver one. Used it to c-cut me 'n Rahm free. And we h-had a last warp staff."

"Well...you are not completely useless or brainless, it seems." Validar tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Were you two the only ones that made the journey back?"

"There was o-only one other gal...an archer shot her in the back 'fore she could make a break for it, though."

Validar sighed in annoyance. "You will have to do then, seeing as you are literally the only one left."

The bandit sniffled. "Sir…?"

He whimpered and curled in on himself, pathetic and meek, when Validar approached him. He was truly a vile, cowardly worm in all senses of the word, but he was the only one of Garrick's horde to have returned...and he knew the whereabouts of his bride, or at least a close approximation of them. Thus, as Validar was loath to admit, he needed him. "...How long ago was this failed raid on the town?"

"It was a-around three, four days ago. In Southtown," the man mumbled.

Validar calculated quickly. He was confident that Ylisstol had not decided to uproot itself and move elsewhere in the past few years...from his geographical studies, he had learned that Southtown was fairly close to Ylisse's capital. And if the bandit spoke correctly, it meant that the vessel and the Shepherds were but two days away from reaching it.

"Let me make myself very clear..." Validar spoke as he stood over the man. "Your life has been spared by virtue of that single piece of information you have brought back. That does not mean, however," he enjoyed the flash of fear in the bandit's eyes, "that it will keep you safe. Should you attempt to desert this last mission I have for you...then the consequences for your family will be very ugly indeed."

"I'm listenin'," the brigand grovelled at his feet.

"Good," Validar smiled. The placid expression vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. "It was bad enough that those two had entered that wretched, abominable nation...but for Shepherds, of all people, to find them…?" He spat the word out, as it had a foul taste upon his tongue. Mindful of the man's vomit and bloodstained shirt, Validar lifted him up by the collar once more as a reminder of the power he held over him, ignoring the bandit's terrified pleas. "You must prevent them from entering that miserable city at all costs. You must rally your captured brethren and bring back the woman and the boy, alive. Should you manage to kill any Shepherds and Ylisseans...then consider your reward significantly doubled."

"C-crystal clear, sir."

Validar dropped him unceremoniously to the floor, uncaring as the brigand hacked and coughed roughly, spittle flying everywhere. He motioned for Mustafa to take the man off his hands, as Validar had grown tired of them and wanted to dismiss them. But before he did, he had some matters to clarify. "My mercy has limits, thief...you would do well to remember that. If you do not make yourself useful, then there is little reason as to why I should even allow you the scraps from my table."

And with that, he took his leave.

After a quick recess, and an even shorter meeting with Mustafa—who was still under probation—Validar made haste for his study. He left Mustafa with very clear instructions: to give the hapless bandit a new warp staff, a map of Ylisse with his destination clearly marked, a spyglass shard...and a reeking box.

He had been specifically instructed to not open it until he had his quarry in his sights. Validar had very little confidence in his survival...though he could care less.

As soon as he entered his study, Validar barred the door with magic quickly, making sure that he had no eavesdroppers on the other side. Once he was assured that the safety of his space was not compromised, Validar went to a sheltered corner of his lab. From there, he pressed a switch hidden in the wall; with a loud rumble and scraping of ancient stone, a slab in the floor moved to reveal a staircase winding down deep into the earth. Summoning a ball of spelled fire to light his way, Validar descended the stairs, and behind him, the slab moved back in place, hiding all traces of him and the very bowels of the dark.

I have to say sorry again; Validar makes another appearance in the next chapter! But it's much more focused on Robin and her travelling with Henry and the Shepherds, I promise. I have to warn you, though: the next chapter also contains spoilers for post-game content from Echoes. A very big one. If you haven't played the game (like me, lol), and/or don't like spoilers, consider this your first warning.