Chapter 10: Animosity Abroad

Alena's lessons progressed the following week, her skills slowly improving on every hunt. While she was lucky enough to kill a single kaskos hopper in the first few days of the week, the princess was disgusted with herself for not de-winging at least four of the giant insects by the end. With Brey always killing one with his 'Icebolt' spell, and even Cristo occasionally helping with the hunt, the trio of adventurers found themselves making a tidy sum of money each day, presenting their wings to the local market for a handsome bounty.

Once they had plenty of money for the inn, Brey reasoned he should spend their extra income on a different weapon for the princess. Alena's skill with the club had increased dramatically in only a pair of days but the old tutor knew mastering the club was not a difficult exercise; anyone could bash an opponent's skull in.

Brey figured there was more potential in Alena than brain-bashing. After taking a lengthy stroll down the peasants' market, the old tutor discovered several whips available, all of different styles and lengths. As Brey knew, the whip was very hard to master for novice warriors, demanding a different training regime than training with swords, clubs, or axes. If he could teach Alena to use a whip, he felt she could master any fighting technique.

However, he wanted to make the lessons as difficult as possible for Alena, forcing her to master the new weapon quickly. Brey searched for the most volatile whip he could purchase in the market. A whip covered in tiny thorns piqued his interest. If Alena accidentally snapped the weapon incorrectly, the possibility of cutting herself would be painfully real.

When Brey showed off the new weapon to his companions, Cristo predictably opposed the harsh teaching instrument.

To both their surprises, Alena immediately accepted the challenge.

Her enthusiasm did not come without cost, however, cutting herself quite severely during the first day of instruction. Cristo's healing magic wiped all traces of the injuries but the mental scars of her failure only increased Alena's determination to master the whip.

Aside from the occasional bruising Alena would receive from a hunt or practice lesson, things remained easy for the trio. With each day, Alena would prove she had even more potential than Brey had first figured. And Cristo seemed to be losing some of the stiffness he displayed upon joining them. Not only did he seem to be accepting Alena was growing independent of his protection but he actually was enjoying the fact Alena was growing.

Unfortunately, Brey knew this peace could not last. Sooner or later, Alena's father would send guards over the entire countryside to find them and bring the Princess home. When that time arrived, staying in Surene would prove to be no longer an option.

Cristo walked on heavy feet away from the massive Zenithian Temple, a night sermon having concluded. He had been to the most famous temple in the world only a few times in the past, a low number for someone who lived in such close proximity to the building. Then again, his duty as Alena's protector allowed for the lack of visits. Any time he managed to find the time to attend a sermon in Surene, each had been a wondrous experience. The sheer, euphoric power Master Dragon would bestow upon the clerics of Zenithism during a Surene sermon would fill the bodyguard's eyes with tears of undulated joy.

However, having spent a week in Surene and attending the sermons every noon and evening, Cristo found himself nowhere near as awe-struck within temple as before. If anything, he was growing tired of climbing its massive front entrance. He was also finding the acoustics were very lousy in the main hall where sermons were conducted. In fact, if the bodyguard found himself standing near the end of the hall, he was straining to hear the bishop at all.

The luster of the temple was losing its aura of magnificence with each visit, and Cristo felt he was losing a part of himself in the process.

Mustn't let it affect me, though, he thought absently as he walked down the naked streets of Surene's night.

The fact of the matter was he only acted enthusiastic in front of his companions. Every time Alena killed another kaskos hopper, it was as though she was killing another piece of his soul. He felt a growing distance between him and the princess as she seemed to becoming more independent. If she grew completely self-sufficient, what use would he have? With such a possibility looming over his head like a guillotine, Cristo was finding it more and more difficult to keep his act up. No matter what, though, he was going to have to keep his act up, otherwise Brey and Alena might clue into his true feelings concerning the Princess.

So absorbed in his thoughts was Cristo that he was slow to realize he had been walking the wrong direction. It was not just the fact he had strayed slightly off the main road that caught his attention, though. For some reason, the road he was now on was devoid of any Surene populace. In any city of this size, at least local drunks would wonder down a road such as the one Cristo was on now. The area was eerily quiet, setting the bodyguard's nerves on edge. He decided it would be best to backtrack, hopefully not losing himself in Surene's dizzy streets.

Cristo had not walked more than a few feet when he heard movement from one of the side alleys, a scuffle over a crate of some sort.

The bodyguard stopped in his tracks and quickly pulled out the sword he always kept by his side, straining his ears to hear anything more. He turned his head toward the alley and his eyes tried to penetrate its dark shadows to see what had caused the noise. He could have been reacting over nothing more than a stray cat but five years of training to be the Princess' personal bodyguard had hardened Cristo's nerves to anticipate danger from any unknown source.

The road remained quiet for several seconds, passing like minutes to his senses. However, the bodyguard eventually eased out of his defensive posture. He was not convinced the danger had left but was secure in his reflexes he could continue to walk with his guard down.

Had he been a man born of the streets instead of nobility, such a thing may have been possible.

Three shadows peeled themselves from the sides of buildings and descend upon Cristo, hardly making a sound. The bodyguard managed to get his sword up to block one of the attackers but the other two landed heavy blows to his head. All the weight of the world seemed to descend upon Cristo and he felt himself falling over, losing consciousness before he even hit the ground.

Crack!

The whip lashed out, knocking over the target, an empty stein borrowed from a tavern below.

Crack!

The whip lashed out again, sending its second target, an apple, spraying across the table in large, juicy chunks.

Crack!

The whip lashed out a third time, barely grazing its third target, a ceremonial goblet from the Zenithian Temple. However, there was enough force from the contact to send the goblet reeling on its base before finally falling on its side.

Silence filled the room for a few moments, then Alena's jubilant voice cried, "I did it! I finally did it! All three of them!" She turned from the table to the chair Brey was sitting on in the corner of the room. "Did you see that?" asked the princess, pointing to the table. "I did it!"

"Yes," Brey muttered absently, slightly nodding his head.

Alena looked at her tutor for a moment, surprised by his reaction. While it was uncommon for him to display as much enthusiasm as she would, he would at least smile in satisfaction if her lessons were paying off. However, Brey's expression seemed distant, as though he was not even aware of her feat.

"What's wrong, Brey?" she asked her tutor, concerned something was troubling him.

"Hhmm...?" he mumbled, shaking his head.

"I said, 'what's wrong'?" Alena repeated. "I can tell there's something disturbing you and I'd like to know what it is."

"Am I that apparent?" Brey said, cracking a small smile in his wrinkled face. Alena stood still, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for him to respond. The old tutor shrugged, let out a small sigh, then replied, "If you must know, there have been a few things that have been occupying my mind, that's all."

"Like what?" Alena asked, crouching down in front of her tutor.

Brey looked at her for a moment, studying her demeanor with a bit of amusement. Despite the growth she had displayed in the last week, she still enjoyed acting like a little girl full of wonder about the world around her.

"Princess," he gently began, "if you could go anywhere right now, where would it be?"

Alena looked at him for a moment, confused by the question. However, after a bit of thought, she replied, "I guess I would really like to see more of my country. You know, go north to the mountains and explore them. I've often had dreams about doing that, in one form or another." She paused for a moment, then asked, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Brey absently shrugged, "but don't let it bother you. You've had a busy day, so why don't you head off to bed."

Alena nodded and stood up. She headed for her room, halting before she actually went in. She looked back at her tutor and absently muttered, "Brey, are you…?" She paused, a puzzled look crossing her face.

The old tutor looked at her, waiting for her to continue. However, she lowered her head, mumbling, "Forget it." She then went into her room, shutting the door behind.

Brey looked at Alena's door for a moment, his face solemn. No reason at all, he thought grimly, except we may have to go there very soon.

Sighing, the old tutor pushed himself up from his chair and hobbled over to the table, cleaning the remains of the apple Alena had demolished with her whip. In truth, Brey was extremely impressed by her accomplishments. One week ago she could hardly use a club; now she was able to knock over small targets with a thorn whip. The only reason Brey had not shown much recognition of her growth of late was because his mind was preoccupied with other things, things which he felt were much more important than Alena's training.

The fact he had yet to see any searching parties for the Princess caused some concern. He expected guardsmen to reach Surene more than half a week ago. Had Cristo been successful enough in deceiving Reginald, Henry, and Flail back in Weser into bypassing the city all together? It was a possibility, especially if they decided to follow the original route Alena had taken when she ran away.

The scout and hunter probably would have believed any lie Cristo told them but what of the mercenary? Flail was notoriously difficult to fool and would usually follow his own orders anyway. What if he came to Surene on a whim, perhaps already discovering them within the city?

No, he thought, shaking his head. Such a thought was foolish. If the mercenary was in Surene, he surely would have made his presence known by now. Flail was undoubtedly following the most logical course of action, being searching any port towns along Santeem's coastline. Anyone looking to avoid capture would have no choice but to flee the country, making the old tutor's choice of coming to Surene completely illogical and non-viable to the mercenary.

At least, the old tutor hoped such was the case. While he kept a visage of not fearing him, Brey was truthfully terrified of the thought of Flail personally out for his blood. His actions in Weser were nothing more than a stroke of luck, the mercenary not realizing Brey could cast magic in such a manner. Flail no doubt had certain charms or armor that could protect him from magic attacks as he was often hired to find and capture many criminal magicians, dead or alive.

The further distance he had between himself and the dark mercenary, the happier Brey would be.

Cristo woke up with a start, gasping for air. However, he instantly realized it was not a good idea, as his head was underwater.

He accidentally inhaled quickly, water coursing through both the nose and mouth. Pain shot through his nasal passages and he started to sputter, choking on the water. He tried to raise his head to escape the agony but something was keeping his head down. His scream of protest went unheard, no sound able to escape the watery torture. The lack of oxygen was beginning to take its toll and Cristo felt a blissful darkness beginning to take him away from his torment.

However, before it could happen, he was yanked from the water. The cold, night air stung at his face as the water ran down his skin. He coughed several times, hoping the water in his nose and throat would escape. Breathing heavily, he took the opportunity to get some air into his lungs while he had the chance.

The bodyguard let himself hang limply in the air, the initial shock having taken its toll on his body. Only as he hung did Cristo realize two men held him up. One of them roughly grabbed the bodyguard's hair and yanked his head up, nearly screaming in his ear to wake up. Cristo tried to shake himself free but the grips on his arms were too strong.

"He's awake," one of the men said, not to his partner but to someone just ahead. Cristo raised his head to look around and gather his surroundings. Unfortunately, he was unable to see far around him in any direction; a weak stream of moonbeam filtering though a single window high above was the only source of light. The bodyguard was on his knees, a trough of water surrounded by straw directly in front of him. Was he in some sort of dungeon? If so, where?

"It's about time," a rather jubilant voice came from the shadows. Cristo looked in the voice's direction and saw a thin man dressed in luxurious, bright clothes emerged. He seemed to glow even in this darkened room. Several jewels ringing off each other echoed in the hollow walls of the room as we walked, suggesting he was extremely rich. As the man approached the bodyguard, Cristo noticed there was a large, jagged scar running down the side of his face.

He walked up to Cristo, grabbed the bodyguard's hair, and savagely lifted his head to come into eye contact. The man's eyes were very self-confident and serene, as though nothing anyone could do would be able to stop him. "Not one for stamina, are we?" he said, giving Cristo a wry smile. The bodyguard tried to think of something insulting to say back but nothing could find its way through the fog within his head. The elegant man shrugged and delivered a solid punch to Cristo's jaw, sending dizzying pain through the bodyguard's consciousness.

"Enough of that!" a deep, cold voice came from the shadows. The elegant man let an annoyed glare cover his face but it faded as he stepped back.

"There's no point in torturing him in such a way," the deep voice continued. "He is, after all, a cleric of Zenithism, and such physical wounds can easily be wiped away."

"What?" cried the elegant man, his eyes wide with disbelief. "We aren't even going to flay his skin or cut his fingers?"

"That would be rude," the deep voice said without any hint of sarcasm. "Cristo is our guest."

Cristo's eyes widened upon hearing his name. How would these common ruffians know of him? He did not know of anyone in such a low standard of living at the castle, much less someone in Surene. In fact, the only time he had been in the presence of anyone who would have any remote association with commoners was more than a week ago, when he was with Reginald, Henry, and...

Suddenly, the bodyguard's eyes widened even more as a horrible realization descended upon him. The deep, cold voice! He only knew of one person who had such a voice. "Flail...?" he asked timidly, looking in the voice's direction.

The large, dark mercenary stepped out from the shadows, his black cape drifting behind him like a shadow with its own mind. "Hello, Cristo," he said, his thin lips cracking slightly to form a tiny smile. "It's been a while."

"Flail!" Cristo exclaimed, his mouth slightly slack with disbelief. "What are you doing here? What's going on?"

The dark mercenary let the smile fade from his face, his eyes becoming cold as ice. He walked over to the elegant man and said, "This is Zhesh Toosh, leader of the Surene Thieves' Guild."

"Thieves' Guild?" Cristo muttered, confused by the title.

"Thieves' Guild," Zhesh repeated, furrowing his brow for the lack of recognition. "The most feared and notorious association in the world!" Flail snorted, and Cristo took it Zhesh's proclamation was not to be taken seriously.

"In other words," Cristo said with an amused smile, "you're nothing more than a petty crook."

Zhesh's face contorted in anger and he rushed forward, delivering another solid blow to the bodyguard's face. This time, blood was drawn from the mouth as Cristo's head swam with dull pain. He tried to think of the incantation to perform his healing magic, perhaps proving Flail's point such forms of torture were futile. However, his head was too cloudy from the blow and the incantation was lost through the haze. Instead, Cristo could do nothing more than let his body go limp again, the energy spent keeping his weight up redirected to clearing up his vision.

Zhesh was about to deliver yet another blow when his hand was firmly clasped within Flail's own massive, gloved hand. The thief flashed an annoyed glance toward the large mercenary, forgetting exactly who it was that stopped him.

The moment Flail saw the look, however, the dark mercenary slowly began to twist Zhesh's own arm, and the elegant man screamed in pain. Flail continued to twist until a cracking sound could be heard, finally followed by a sickening snap!

Zhesh scream continued to echo through the room as the mercenary relinquished his hold of the broken arm. The thief grabbed his dangling arm, moaning as he ran off to the side of the room. The two men holding Cristo dropped their captive and rushed to their leader's aid.

As the bodyguard slowly found his way back on his feet he considered making an escape. However, aside from the window high above, he could see no way out within the darkness surrounding him. Besides, Flail would not have done what he did unless he was certain the bodyguard could not escape.

Cristo looked towards the dark mercenary and saw he was staring disdainfully at the cringing Zhesh. "Pathetic worm," he muttered to himself, seemingly unaware the bodyguard was looking at him. "I swear I should just kill him and get it over with one of these days."

"Why don't you, then?" Cristo dared to ask as he massaged his jaw to make sure it was not broken from the blow. While it was common knowledge one should not ask Flail questions, especially if you were his "guest," his curiosity had a firm hold on his better judgment.

Flail turned to face the bodyguard and Cristo slightly cringed underneath the mercenary's penetrating gaze. He looked at the smaller Cristo for a moment, then turned his head, simply replying, "He pays me not to."

Cristo looked at Flail for a moment, somewhat shocked by the answer. Feeling braver than most should in the mercenary's presence, the bodyguard said, "The Master will not forgive you for not bringing justice to our world by ridding it of slime like him."

Flail's shoulders started to bob up and down and a low, guttural chuckle could be heard. "I've sold my soul to Esturk long ago, preacher," he said evenly.

The bodyguard blinked in astonishment and was about to open his mouth to start a lecture regarding Zenithism values when Flail suddenly spun around and threw an icy glare at Cristo. The glare was more penetrating and lethal than Brey's 'Icebolt' spell could be, causing the bodyguard to slightly shudder out of fear. "I am in no mood for your lectures, preacher," he said with cold stoicism. "You're here because there are a few things that I am curious about."

Cristo swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming at his brow. He had heard about Flail's interrogations; they were not something one would wish to share at the dining table. "W...what do you want to know?" he timidly asked.

"Why are you here?" Flail asked. "You said you were going to continue to search for the Princess in Weser when Reginald, Henry, and I left to go back to the castle, then continue east in the path that Reginald figured the Princess had originally planned to go. Yet, I find you here. Why?" The mercenary delivered a glare at Cristo with his last word; it stated he would peel the bodyguard's skin if he lied.

"I...I came up empty..." Cristo stammered, finding courage hard to come while underneath Flail's intent gaze, "s...so I...I decided to come h...here instead."

"Indeed..." Flail uttered, rubbing a thick layer of dark hair on his chin. He backed up from the bodyguard, slightly turning around to think deeply. Cristo continued to feel the beads of sweat roll down his face, wondering if the mercenary saw through the small lie.

He glanced over to where the cringing Zhesh was and noticed the elegant man was still whimpering. The bodyguard swallowed nervously. If this was what he did to supposed friends or allies, Cristo dreaded to think of what the mercenary would do to him if he found out he was lying.

Finally, the mercenary turned his head, still rubbing his chin. "Tell me, preacher," he slowly said, "why have you been seen with Brey, a wanted criminal?"

Cristo's entire world seemed to collapse as his courage shattered underneath the crushing weight of Flail's fist of despair. He tried to remain cool and composed like the mercenary just a few feet in front of him, if anything for Alena's sake. He knew he would never be able to face her again if she found out he had been the cause of the end of her journey.

Yet would the consequences of his actions consider him a criminal of the Crown? Would he be tried with treason for his actions in aiding the Princess' escape? Would Master Dragon frown on him for his actions and deny his soul access to Zenithia when he died, only to be banished to Vah-Kirgol; or worse, dissipate into nothing if he was not even granted that?

The bodyguard could see Flail was becoming impatient, so he said the only thing he could come up with in hopes of buying him some time to settle him own turmoil. "H...how do you know it's Brey?"

Flail seemed to let a chuckle escape his chest but it was so deep Cristo could not tell if it was laughter or growling. "There are many old men in this city," he said evenly, "but not many look like that old man. Trust me, after what the old bastard did to me, his face has been etched into my memory until I've seen justice brought to him."

Flail's brief period of amusement suddenly dropped and he turned to squarely face the bodyguard. "I'll ask you only one more time, preacher," he said with a cold glare. "Why have you been seen with that old bastard?"

Cristo swallowed, wiped some sweat from his head, and prayed to the Master to forgive him for following his heart on this occasion. "H...have you seen t...the young man that's been w...with us?" he began.

"The one with the fair complexion?" Flail said slowly. "Yes..."

Cristo nearly let out a sigh of relief that Alena's disguise had been able to fool even the sharp mercenary. The bodyguard nodded and continued, "Well, h...he's Brey's grandson. Apparently, the old man has relatives somewhere in Surene and is hiding the Princess with them. I've been able to get on Brey's trusting side, so I think that I'll be able to see exactly where he's hiding her."

Flail looked at the bodyguard, his gaze seemingly penetrating his very being. The room became deathly quiet. Even Zhesh's whimpering subsided as the thief was anxious to see what the large mercenary decided.

Cristo felt anxiety creep into his body, the sweat seemingly pouring out. Did the lie work? Was he believable? If not, what then? Cristo felt his hands beginning to shake with nervousness and he quickly hid them behind his back, hoping Flail would not notice.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the mercenary walked up to Cristo, his gaze still cold as ice. He laid a massive, gloved hand on the bodyguard's shoulder and calmly said, "Keep me informed of your progress, preacher." He then let a tiny smile crack his stoic face.

A flood of relief filled Cristo's entire body and his hand stopped shaking. He could have expressed all of the amazement he felt in many words, all of the relief in many forms. Yet all he could manage at that moment was a smile of gratitude.

"Zhesh!" the large mercenary called over to the thief, "have your men escort Cristo outside and to the main street." Zhesh nodded and motioned his head towards the bodyguard. The two thieves nodded and went over to Cristo. One of them took out a small sac. "I'm afraid you will have to be visibly detained until they get you outside," Flail explained.

Cristo nodded and allowed the thief to place the sac over his head. Before the two men escorted him outside, the mercenary said, "And, Cristo, consider my debt to you paid in full." The bodyguard stared in confusion but did not have much time to ponder the words as the two men dragged him out.

Once they had escorted Cristo outside, Zhesh walked over to Flail, still clutching his arm but no longer wincing in pain. "Do you want him followed?" he asked, watching the bodyguard leave.

"No," Flail said evenly, standing still for the moment.

Zhesh looked up at the large mercenary, curiosity in his face. "You...didn't actually believe him, did you?" he dared to ask.

"No..." Flail said again, this time more slowly.

Zhesh stared at him for a moment, shocked by the answer. "Why did you let him go, then?"

Flail looked at the thief, a glaring annoyance in his eyes that made him cringe away. However, the mercenary released his gaze and evenly explained, "He will go to Brey, tell him what has transpired, perhaps exaggerating a bit as he's known to do at times. The old bastard will most likely decide to flee into the night, making finding him more difficult, even with your large circle of thieves in this city."

"You could have just wrung his whereabouts out of Cristo," Zhesh said, walking over to the trough of water to soothe his broken arm, "just like you usually do with your interrogations."

Flail shook his head. "Cristo helped me back in Weser," he said, his voice somewhat deeper than before. "In return, I spared him my usual torture. I got all the information I needed from him anyway."

He paused, letting a tiny, cracking smile part his thin lips. "Besides," he added, "their fear of me is to my advantage. If they know I am pursuing them, they will always look over their backs. Just as a pursued man in the dead of winter fears the wolves chasing him, so will Cristo and Brey fear me. When the chase is finally over, the victim will willingly give himself up, having exhausted all of their strength just trying to escape.

"Likewise, Brey will willingly give himself up, having exhausted all of his strength trying to elude me. When we meet again, he will not fight if the fear is deeply planted in him."

Zhesh looked at Flail again, shocked. "What do you care if you get him alive instead of dead?" he asked. "I thought you were out for revenge after what he did to you."

Flail looked at Zhesh again, his cold stoicism penetrating the thief's soul like ice. "The reward for him alive is greater," the large mercenary stated simply, and he walked away, leavings the thief soaking his arm in the trough of water.

As he left, a malignant smile found its way to his face. That won't stop me from utterly destroying him in the process, though.