The Eleventh Chapter - Before the Gates

The mountains of Strachan were like a frozen wasteland. The winter blizzards had been relentless in their fury. As if the clouds had a mind of their own, the storms raged and attempted to entrap them deep within their frigid grasp. The freezing winds forced them to seek shelter deep within the mountainside, where the cavern they used as shelter had almost become permanent. Snow had sealed the entrance and without the spells of Norris and Terra, it was an impossible barrier to breach.

When they had decided to continue their journey, they had been extremely lucky. Their spells of fire had not set off an avalanche that might have made their situation worse. "It had been a calculated risk," Norris defended himself. "The slight possibility of an avalanche or freezing to death, the choice was an easy one."

After that, caves were never used as camp. They slept near what meagre shelter they could find, but generally they slept out in the open where strong winds would tear their tents apart. In order to leave the mountains as soon as they could, they travelled farther south than originally intended. It took three more nights, nights that were spent without fire for the fear of being spotted in the darkness. Snow continued to fall without fail, and though their cloaks were spelled, it made little difference. Sometimes they would wake up in the night, the warmth spells melting just enough snow to form a thin crust of ice. Other times they would wake up nearly buried, their miniscule shelter blown away in the night and sentries unable to fix it.

The forest of Fanshaw was no more compassionate. Though the storms had calmed down, the snow was deep and the going treacherous. The snow was deep enough to swallow a man alive and had they not been spelled by Norris and Terra, they would have been swimming their way through the powder. Still, no matter how bad the forests were, Locke was glad to be away from the Strachan Mountains. He cursed the uncaring peaks as they had left them, grumbling to himself that he would never enter anything of the sort ever again.

On morning of their second day trekking through the woods, Norris split their tiny group into three teams. One group traveled ahead of the others, scouting for any potential sentries or patrols from Fanshaw. The other two would follow some distance back, close enough to help the team at the front, but far enough to escape if the situation became dire. In that manner, they were to reach the fortress city in four days.

Perhaps it was their preparation, but they did not encounter a single patrol the second day. They had not seen a single soul. Locke did not have to ask Norris about the situation, it was obvious that the mission was going too smoothly. He had visited the Empire many times himself. If he could count on the Empire doing one thing right, it was regular patrols. It took careful planning and coordination in order to sneak into any Imperial base and considering the type of city Fanshaw was, the fact that they had encountered no one was a disturbing sign.

The next day they started early with the same careful scouting technique. It was midday when they encountered it.

Gossman returned alone. The unassuming dark-haired man was like a ghost, suddenly appearing out of the underbrush without a sound. Flakes of snow fluttered to the ground as he strode directly to Norris.

Something about his attitude made Locke expect the worse. His eyes narrowed as he judged the cold, hardened expression on Gossman's face.

Gossman spoke in a hushed tone, so that only Norris could hear. Locke could guess what had happened by the darkening look on Norris face though. It was likely they had found something dangerous or tragic.

When the two men finished talking, Norris silently motioned to Clarkson and two others. He gave the men orders and the soldiers departed with Gossman in the lead.

"Anthony, head along the river. We'll meet you south of the ford, by the ruins," Norris said. He turned to Locke. "You might want to ready that bow of yours and prepare yourself; the pleasant journey ends here."

---

It was the remnants of a wagon, Locke could tell that instantly. He wiped the half-melted snowflakes off his face.

Someone stood watch by the rubble. Locke had picked out the carefully hidden soldier with a bit of effort. A scar over one eye identified the sentry as Miles. His white-washed cloak was covered with fresh snow and tracks erased by magic. Most suspicious men would see nothing; the Imperials were spectres that appeared and disappeared without a trace.

Locke and Terra made their way to the wagon through the thick snow. Norris led the way while one last soldier lurked to the rear. Behind them, footprints from their heavy boots disappeared in shimmering waves. It was unnerving to watch Norris' handiwork.

"Five of them," Miles reported to his commander.

Norris nodded. "Keep an eye on the perimeter," he ordered before turning around. "Locke, Terra, come with me," he said. "I want fresh opinions."

Locke twiddled his fingers, following Norris yet glancing around in paranoia. None of the other Imperials could be seen. He hoped that they were merely securing the area and not engaging a patrol from Fanshaw. The mission was already dangerous enough, if the city was alerted to their presence... Locke glanced over at Terra. The grip on his shortbow tightened.

After passing a number of blackened and burnt mountain pines, they could make out the scene in greater detail. The wreckage of a wagon and its charred parts were scattered some distance about. Locke could tell that the spokes had simply buckled and exploded; the wheels were completely shattered. What little wood remained was blackened, and there were pools of frozen metal. The pursuit had been merciless, Locke thought as he studied the rubble. He had seen many incidents when the Empire hunted down his fellow Returners. Normally the Imperials would take out the driver with arrows, kill the chocobos, and then imprison the rest for interrogation or worse.

This scene was different.

"Fire arrows," Locke mumbled as he examined the ashes. He could still smell the oil that the Imperial archers had used to coat their projectiles. "They were shooting to kill," he declared.

Norris crossed his arms and stood over a pile of debris.

Locke turned to Terra, who was bent over and examining the wreckage of the body of the wagon. The carriage had flipped over after the wheels had collapsed, but burning arrows continued to rain down on the victims until all was aflame.

"Incineration," Terra whispered as her gloved hand touched the charred wood. The white glove came away with a dark spot; soot from the mix of fire and oils. There was something else though, her eyes didn't see it but she could feel it. "These weren't normal arrows," Terra added. "I think they were spelled beforehand."

Norris nodded. "Interesting... anything else?"

Terra did not respond. Instead she bolted to her feet as what had remained of the wagon crumbled upon her touch. As the ashes and wood fell away into the snow, they could clearly see the victims.

"My god," Terra averted her eyes from the gruesome scene.

Locke stared numbly at the bodies of women and children, numbers impossible to guess, that had been horribly mutilated. The inferno had been relentless, leaving nothing untouched and melting flesh and bone without distinction. Their faces -- what remained of them -- were twisted in pain and frozen in the throes of death. He knelt, touching one of the bodies out of curiosity. Expecting it to crumble on contact, he realized surprisingly that the cadavers were frozen solid. These people had died and the Old Man Winter had captured their last moments for all to see and fear.

The self-styled treasure hunter glanced up at Norris, who was studying Terra intently. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"They died quite terribly, if that's what you're asking," Terra answered Norris' question at last. She wiped her hands of the wagon ash. "Maybe sort of spell to increase the potency of fire... absolutely no mercy was shown," she didn't bother masking her disgust. Those that had done this were abominable criminals, picking on the weak and defenceless. The rumbling of power within her stirred and Terra briefly let the feeling flow through her veins. She could have stopped this. She could have saved these people. If only they had come earlier.

Locke stared silently at the corpses. Fresh snow began to drift onto the faces of frozen pain, slowly covering the tragic scene. He turned around and noticed that one of the sentries -- not the one-eyed Miles, but the archer that had described the Aegis -- was watching them intently. Strange, he thought.

Terra shifted her feet. "Perhaps we should bury them," she suggested awkwardly.

Her words snapped Norris out of a silent trance. "No, we'll move out," the elder Magitek Knight answered. "Enough time has been wasted and there's no point doing nature's work." He straightened his cloak and brushed aside the growing mass of snowflakes upon his shoulders. "The Phantom Train will be full this winter," he mumbled under his breath.

Terra reluctantly nodded, knowing that the winter would bury the remains. The victims would remain forever nameless.

As they left, Locke watched Norris with renewed suspicion. He wondered what Norris had been looking for. Certainly it wasn't for their opinions; Norris had hardly given their analysis a second thought. Perhaps he had been testing them.

Locke wiped his face of sweat. It felt like years since he had been surrounded by friends, instead of potential enemies. He strapped his shortbow to his back and shook his head dismally. The others were probably worrying about them; he just hoped they were safe.

---

Cyan followed Farin at a relaxed pace. Between them was one of the Brigadier's most trusted men, the smoothly-shaven head and chin of a soldier named Donnach. That was it. A single man.
Not that the Brigadier-General had only a single escort. There were some dozen other soldiers nearby, but they were protecting the three men in the center from outside danger. Cyan estimated the odds of killing Farin with a single blow were in his favour.

It was, however, a dream that would never be. Cyan had kept control of his anger for the past weeks, and he could keep control of it now. Edgar had been right. He had let his emotions get control of him all too often. How many times had he told some hapless squire to reign in his anger and fear? Yet here he was, ignoring his own lessons.

"General Starson, this way sir."

Farin nodded at an aged, scarred one-arm soldier with four finely polished silver bars on his chest. Cyan glanced up from his thoughts and noted that they were in a heavily fortified base that wasn't so much built on the ground as built out of the side of the mountain. The area looked like a mine, there were railroad tracks leading into dark tunnels. The base was defended by guard towers and fenced off with plenty of clearance from the tree-line.

It might have once been a secret, but now this Imperial base served as one of the principle supply stations for Danielle Meras' war effort. The dozen soldiers that surrounded Farin and Cyan was a mere pittance, there could have easily been a thousand working at that very moment, and this was a mere supply depot! The Imperial encampment was alive with activity, soldiers practicing with their blades, technicians running around trying to repair a vast array of war machines, and pilots that were triple-checking their Armors. The sound of heavy machinery was everywhere as mechanics repaired and rebuilt Magitek vehicles. It drowned out the hammering noise of blacksmiths forging blades and screams from the medical tents.

They walked through dozens of tents until a group of old cottages came into view. It confirmed what Cyan had guessed: this had been a mine once. The Imperials had probably evicted their own citizens in order to set up base.

"She is currently in the cottage closest to the fences."

Farin turned to the man that led them. "Thank you Colonel." An exchange of salutes and the one-armed officer left them alone.

Cyan looked around. Incredibly, they were isolated. With the exception of Farin's escort, no one else was nearby.

"Well Garamonde, this is where our little adventure ends," Farin gestured at the cottage the Colonel had pointed out. "And so we part."

The relationship between the two men was not so much animosity but mere irritation caused by situational circumstances beyond their control. As it was, Cyan had made his hatred thinly veiled. He had sworn that if Danielle's promise was broken, there would be a reckoning. For Farin Starson, such a threat was not taken lightly.

When Cyan had discovered that Danielle had Relm transferred south, from the capital city of Tzen all the way to the southernmost border of the province, there were no words to describe the anger he felt. The scheming General had moved Strago's granddaughter the same night their bargain had been struck, knowing full well that Cyan would disapprove.

He did disapprove. He made that very clear with his blade.

Farin Starson was the one who delivered the news that morning, hours after Edgar and Strago had departed. Feelings of unease had barely calmed from the near-bloodbath on Danielle's flagship, so it was no surprise that he arrived with several of his most skillful soldiers. The two warriors crossed blades that day -- Cyan had not yet found out that the General turned tail and fled aboard her fleet -- and the result had been a tedious stalemate.

The exchange had been furious and short; barely a heartbeat had passed before steel rang thrice in the morning air. It was not enough to gauge with any accuracy the relative skill between the two men, the most elite of the elite. However, it had been enough to give Cyan pause.

That was all the time Farin needed to explain the situation. They had moved Relm to a base near the front, but the area was fully protected and that was where they would be traveling. Farin was anything but tactful. With a few choice curses, Farin made sure Cyan knew that the Doma Knight was the reason for such a transfer. General Meras had not trusted Cyan enough to leave him inside her capital. Instead, she made sure he would be surrounded by no less than several thousand of her armed forces.

But the promise was still to be kept. Cyan would be given unfettered access to Relm, just in a different location. And despite the closeness to the front, she was still well-protected. That was still amicable, was it not?

Surrounded by the blades and arrows of eight other men that Farin considered his best, along with the Brigadier himself, Cyan had accepted the change in terms.

The ride south had been tense.

Together along with the Ninth Imperial Army, Cyan traveled to the Gap of Reddenhurst. It was a long ride and that was further lengthened by Farin's interference in the daily affairs of his own citizens. It seemed that the Brigadier was in no hurry to reach the Gap, which Cyan found very strange.

Cyan Garamonde of Doma strolled past Farin Starson without acknowledging his existence. The cottage was well placed, the Knight noted. It was deep inside a heavily fortified base. The wall that kept the enemy out would serve to keep him in.

"Garamonde!"

Cyan paused at the doorstep, aged maple that was covered with a fine layer of snow. The wood creaked as he turned back around. Finely honed reflexes allowed him to snatch a small metal object out of the air.

"You'll need that to get in and out of the base," Farin explained.

Cyan looked at the silver medallion in his hand. The Imperial Emblem was chief amongst the symbols etched into it. His hand snapped shut, the symbol of Empire snuffed from his sight.

The door behind him opened with a squeak and a gust of warm air hit his back. Cyan turned to meet a young, unbecoming soldier with short brown hair.

"Lieutenant Paisley," Donnach's voice was accompanied by the creaking of old wooden deck. "This is-"

"-Cyan Garamonde," Paisley held out his hand. When Cyan didn't move to shake it, he paled at the rebuke. "Sir?" he asked Donnach rather nervously.

Donnach paid him no attention. "Garamonde, you are a guest here and will have no more than two hours a day to spend with the girl. The rest of the time is your own. You will leave your weapon at the door and I would prefer to not have to explain what happens if you try anything."

Cyan's eyes slowly shifted to Donnach. He had assessed Paisley in a moment and almost smiled. The Imperials were playing quite an elaborate game. Everything had been skillfully planned to manipulate him, his judgment and his preconceptions. He had almost been fooled. There was nothing more difficult to see through than one's own prejudice.

Well, he would entertain them for now.

---

The cottage was small but homely. It even had lamps powered by electricity, the Imperials had taken the time and effort to extend whatever comforts it could. Relm had been given the royal treatment.

Outside the window, the shapes of guards could be seen. Cyan had inquired what the group of houses had been doing in an Imperial base; they were out of place for an army that commonly lived in tents. Paisley had answered that nobles often wanted to watch the war from a safe distance. Since the houses had been deserted, the army had made it comfortable for powerful and important nobles so they could see the civil war unfold from the frontlines.

Imperials. Corrupt, immoral and cowardly.

Cyan had a smile underneath his newly-trimmed moustache. He lowered the mirror softly the table and turned away from the window. "It looks wonderful, dear one."

Relm beamed. She put down the razor blade. "You looked all scraggly. It was so ugly and it was making me lose. I couldn't play! It was staring at me the whole time."

Cyan raised an eyebrow. He looked down at the chess set. It was an old set, the paint was flaking and many of the pieces scratched or chipped, but at least it was clean. Relm has washed it off and begged him for a game.

"Perhaps we should start a new game," he answered as he toppled his black King. He had been two unavoidable moves away from checkmating the white King. By the devious twinkle in her eye, he was sure that Relm knew it too.

"You probably don't have enough time for a proper game," the voice belonged to Irving. A short man that was heavily built, he had a detached manner about him that set off warning sirens in Cyan's head. He was bundled heavily despite how warm it had been in the cottage, and that had only gotten warmer after Relm had spelled the small fire in the fireplace.

The Imperials guarding Relm didn't seem to be all too concerned about her magical abilities. They had let her practice or play around with spells without ever raising a word of protest. Relm had even moved all pieces on the chessboard with nothing but magic. It was apparently something she and her grandfather had once done.

Cyan turned to face Irving, cloak still on and bundled underneath. The soldier acted cool and collected without a bead of sweat visible.

"I'm going to go now, Relm," Cyan told her, but his eyes never left Irving.

"We'll play again tomorrow?"

Cyan turned back to the little girl. She had an innocent smile on her face.

"Yes, of course," he answered. The game would continue, wouldn't it, Farin?

---

The Tiernay was a Second-Rate Man of War, although that was only by Imperial standards. For Edgar, it was a First-Rate ship whose tonnage alone was greater than every vessel in the Figarian Navy. With three gun decks, more than ninety cannons and a crew of over eight-hundred men, the Tiernay could easily fight in the center of a line of battle.

Her sister ship, the Diodorus, sailed beside her. The two were a formidable sight, easily mistaken for four-deck First-Rates like Danielle's flagship. They were surrounded by frigates of all ratings, with sloops and cutters farther out as a screen.

It was an impressive fleet. Edgar could not believe he was sailing home surrounded by such weaponry. The irony was not lost on the rightful King of Figaro.

The Battle of South Figaro had crippled the Figarian Navy to the point where such an Imperial fleet would have been cause for the colors to be struck. Though that had not been strictly the doing of the Empire -- the forts in South Figaro had fallen to treachery and captured cannons turned on their own countrymen -- Edgar was still reluctant to allow such a display of Imperial might into the waters of his homeland. Nor could he use the ships to any degree. To say his legitimacy would be questioned if he were backed by a foreign power was an understatement.

And so Edgar Roni Figaro found himself stuck with immense assets that were totally and completely worthless. The task ahead of him would demand everything he had. Edgar mentally listed the nobles that could be counted on to support his return. There were quite a few, but Edgar feared for their safety.

A spray of water hit Edgar square in the face, but he was already drenched. He stood to the starboard side and stared off into the seemingly infinite ocean. Dark clouds swirled overhead; a storm was coming.

"So deep in thought that you don't even react to buckets of water smashing you in the face."

Edgar sighed. "Strago, when I said that Cyan would not be much help, I meant it. What follows will be delicate and tedious. There is simply nothing that tests one's patience more than the selfishness of nobility."

"Well spoken, King Edgar," Strago frowned as he looked Edgar up and down. "Though I must say, having a cold while you discuss rebellion to those that support you will be quite a problem."

Edgar laughed. "Perhaps," he wiped his face of seawater. "What's on your mind, Strago?"

The elder mage brushed at his damp white hair and smoothed out his crimson robes. "Valerio just came aboard."

"That's surprising," Edgar said. He turned away from the vastness of the horizon. "What would he want?" he wondered out loud.

"Certainly not to see you soaked and smelling of the sea! Hold still lad, I'll clean you up," Strago pushed up his sleeves and yellow sparkles danced around his hands.

"It's alright Strago, I'll talk to Valerio and then I'll change. No need to use magic for everything."

Valerio stood at the prow, developed sea-legs allowing him to maintain the statue-like aura. Even when the ship pitched to and fro, Valerio's composure was static; but his brown hair fluttered in the strengthening sea-breeze.

"What are you doing here, Valerio?" Edgar asked as he avoided several boys scurrying around the deck. He looked up and noticed that men were adjusting the rigging and letting down sails on the mizzenmast and mainmast. "I can see that we're picking up speed, doesn't seem too smart if the storm is coming, but I'm sure the Captain of this vessel can handle those details."

Valerio directed his attention to Edgar. "We are still a good deal away from Figaro, but I had thought to question your intended tactics."

"I can't plan much when I don't know anything about the coast," Edgar replied. "We'll have to use the sloops as scouts and hope we don't stir up a hornet's nest," he said as he stared off into the distance. Far to the starboard, great banks of fog obscured the remains of the Floating Continent. It was still floating, Edgar remarked to himself sadly.

"Very well, what I need to know is if you intend on arriving with gunports open," Valerio's voice was not as deep as one expected from a man as large and built as he. And, Edgar realized, this was probably the most he had ever heard the statue speak.

"I don't intend to engage my own countrymen," Edgar growled.

"It might be unavoidable," Valerio replied instantly. "Our scouting curtain cannot possibly cover everything, and we lack the supplies to fight a protracted battle at sea. In addition, even if we avoid battle as you wish, we will still need a place to dock, hide, and resupply."

Edgar hadn't thought about that. It didn't occur to him that the Imperial fleet would not just deliver him back home, but stay there until his mission was accomplished. "It might be possible, although I would presume these ships can last for quite a while."

"Long enough to make the journey there and back with ease, but not long enough for you to negotiate."

Edgar found himself impressed. Valerio had given all signs of being just muscle, even when assigned to the command staff of the Diodorus. However, it appeared that he was giving thought to what Edgar would have to do once back home. He wondered how much the Empire knew about Figaro and the royal court... or more importantly, how much Danielle had shared with her minion.

"I'll think of something," Edgar delayed for time.

"When you do, signal me. As well, I have authorized the Captain to share with you any and all details about the capabilities of this fleet. You would do well to learn everything you can, or else the Admiral will take command the fleet." Valerio turned around. He nodded at Strago respectfully. "Elder mage, if you could accompany back to the Diodorus, I have some requests for your abilities."

Strago gave him a puzzled glance. He had been silent until now, unaddressed and lacking even theoretical knowledge on naval warfare. "I'll do what I can, as long as it's nothing bloody."

Despite speaking as much as he had, Valerio maintained his emotionless countenance. He straightened, towering over Strago even more so. "One of the officers is close to losing his arm, an infection of sorts. Our leech can do nothing but amputate. I thought you would be able to offer another solution," he stated.

Strago stroked the whiskers of his beard. "I'll see what I can do."

Valerio nodded. "Thank you," he replied, though he didn't sound like he was. "And Edgar," Valerio turned back to the estranged King.

"Yeah?"

"The Admiral wishes for a briefing on whatever technological engineering achievements your Kingdom may have prepared for us. It would be best if there were no surprises, especially if we have to fight our way out."

Edgar frowned. He certainly didn't want the Empire to know any of that. Figarian engineering was more advanced than the Empire's in several aspects. Against the vast might of the Imperial forces, they would need every trick they had.

"Remember Edgar, you walk a fine line here. We will be open with you, and you will return the favour. Anything less and we all die."

Edgar glared at the departing Valerio, annoyed at the way he was being treated. Strago shook his head sadly and patted Edgar on the back before following. They left the estranged King standing alone at the bow, once again motionless even as waves broke upon the hull and the white spray hit him face first. He stared off in the direction of his homeland, only now fully-comprehending what his deal with Danielle could cost him.

---

Locke sank into the snow a bit more. His hand scooped up a large mouthful of the white flakes; the icy cold rush did more than just keep him awake, it kept his breath from turning into mist and potentially revealing their location.

Beside him was an equally quiet Sherwood. The eagle-eyed archer had a pair of lenses with him, binoculars, pressed up against his eyes. A white hood covered his entire head -- not a strand of blond hair could be seen -- and a white scarf was wrapped around his mouth.

They were perched over the city of Fanshaw, watching the quiet Imperial fortress from dizzying heights above. The outcropping of rock that they laid upon was marked by a lone pine tree, its needles withered and probably buried beneath the snow.

Below them was a city that looked disturbingly like Narshe. Machinery could be seen everywhere: on the streets, sticking out of houses, jutting hazardously out of huge factories. But unlike Narshe, Locke could not see a single wisp of steam rise from the buildings that should have housed thousands.

"No lights, no fires, nothing..." Sherwood whispered as let the binoculars drop into the snow with a quiet thunk.

A city as large as Fanshaw should never have its outer walls deserted. It should have been good news for them -- sneaking in would hardly be a challenge when there were no guards -- but it also suggested Fanshaw had been hit by an unknown disaster.

Locke nodded and rolled on his side. They had been in the snow for a while and he could feel a slight wetness in his cloak. Water was seeping in through the many layers he was wrapped in. "Like I said, something is wrong down there. We should head back." Terra and Clarkson were scouting the city from another angle and while there was no immediate danger, Locke was tired of being alone with Imperials dogging his every step.

Sherwood brushed at his hood and brought up his binoculars. "One more look, I want to make sure that the southern wall is completely deserted."

Unlike Narshe, Fanshaw was completely walled in from all sides. Great slabs of solid stone rose from the mountain-side that the city had been built on. Perhaps thrice as tall as a Magitek unit, Locke had not seen any cracks upon the smooth black stonework. No mortar had ever touched those rocks. It had been made with the Empire's magical arts, he had seen the same in Vector and it was frighteningly unnatural.

Sherwood swore silently and pulled off his hood. The Imperial archer wiped at his head of damp, blond hair. "Unbelievable," he grumbled. "Let's head out."

Terra and Clarkson were only a few minutes away. They were perched quite a bit lower than where Locke and Sherwood had been. It was a closer view from a different angle that revealed nothing new.

Something was definitely wrong in Fanshaw.

"I don't understand it," Clarkson grumbled. "At this time of night, there should be four squads on the walls and at least one watch, but..."

Terra huddled in her wolf-skin mantle. Locke gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

"We'll head back and report," Clarkson said as he pulled off his hood. He rustled his curly hair. "Maybe Miles has seen something substantial. If Fanshaw has been struck by disaster, then the roads from Vector would tell the tale."

---

Norris' second-in-command certainly did have something to report. The one-eyed Miles returned with his team in tow well after everyone else. Already familiar with the area around Fanshaw, Miles had cut across the northern plains and gathered information near the main roads.

The aged Magitek-Knight folded his arms and listened attentively while Miles reported. He had already steeled himself for the worst after hearing what Clarkson had discovered.

The northern walls of Fanshaw were just as deserted as the southern ones. The difference was that unlike their kin, the northern ones were barely standing. Entire sections had been blown apart, the smooth faced stone exploding from acts of sorcery. Guard towers had been torn at the base and felled like trees. The front gates had been a pool of dark metal upon the road, and even the stone nearby had melted from the intense heat.

"Fanshaw is probably deserted," Miles continued. "The wagon scene we saw three days ago was only the beginning. There are hundreds more just like it, littered about the main road. I doubt anyone escaped to the north."

Norris rubbed his chin, taking in the unexpected news with an air of regret. "If you were to guess..." he started.

"Ten days ago at most," Miles replied. "No less than six days, or there wouldn't be enough time for the storms to claim so many."

Norris sighed. "Drummond," he said quietly. "This means that the entire western front might not even exist."

"I doubt there's anything left in Fanshaw," Miles continued.

"The damage is restricted to just the northern section," Clarkson interjected. "That would mean that they probably killed the entire garrison with Magitek and then slaughtered the rest on foot. I would assume that-"

"What does it matter?" Miles snapped. "Dead is dead, there's nothing alive left in Fanshaw."

"Miles, calm down," Norris interrupted quickly.

Miles growled. "You have no idea what it looks like on the main roads. The dead are everywhere and were it not winter, disease would be festering and monsters would be feasting. It was a slaughter! Women, children, the elderly; it doesn't matter because they were all butchered like animals!"

Locke watched as the big soldier grit his teeth and point back in the direction of Fanshaw. "Those bastards were killing children! Criminals they are, every single one of them. I don't care which division they were, if I ever meet-"

"Then save your anger for those that did it," Norris interrupted calmly. His composed manner silenced Miles, who turned away in anger. Norris gave Miles a sidelong glance, his brown eyes judging one of the best men he had ever worked with, before turning to the blond swordsman that had accompanied him many times on covert missions. "Clarkson, continue," he said.

Clarkson folded his arms. "I believe there was something in the southern side of Fanshaw they were attempting to retrieve undamaged. Otherwise, they would have attacked from the rear. They would have the benefit of high ground. Criminals or not, they aren't incompetent. Even with the heavy patrols south of Fanshaw and throughout the forests, striking from the front is beyond madness."

"I agree," Norris gave a slight nod. "Terra?" he glanced over at the half-Esper.

Terra shook her head. "Nothing overt, but we're still quite far away. I wouldn't expect to sense anything from this distance."

The Colonel frowned. "Do you think there's something waiting for us?"

Terra folded her arms and looked around uncomfortably. All eyes were on her, veteran soldiers depending almost exclusively on her expertise. "I don't know," she said slowly.

"What about the flying green skull?" Norris pressed.

Terra shuddered when she thought about that monster over Tzen, nor was she the only one. The men gathered all exchanged looks of concern. Few had even imagined the possibility that an entire Imperial city could have been destroyed by monsters. It was easier to believe that traitors had turned into barbarians rather than beasts overcoming first-class Imperial defences.

"No," Terra answered. "I would have felt its presence, or any similar monsters."

"That's all I need to know," Norris stood up. "No matter what has befallen Fanshaw, our mission is to ensure that Project Camiel is destroyed. Clarkson, Gossman, I'm authorizing both of you to deviate from the plan as you see fit, but the primary objectives remain the same."

Locke looked over at Terra, reminding himself the real reason why he was there. The two of them had been given what seemed to be a bloodless task, but still... He stared at her for a moment, trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. Finally, he turned back to Norris impassively, half-listening to the Colonel as he gave orders to kill Imperial citizens.

"-know what the hell has happened to the city. If time permits, investigate, but do not take any unnecessary risks," Norris' gaze suddenly locked with the thief. "And remember, what we do this night could reshape the course of the war. It's absolutely critical that we do not fail tonight. There is far more at stake than just our lives," the old officer finally broke eye-contact. "Dismissed."

---

They climbed the eastern wall with such ease that Locke was actually impressed. Sherwood and Clarkson were quite the pair, their grappling hooks were perfectly thrown and the two men bounded up the black face in seconds. Locke scaled the wall after the two soldiers, finding the smooth stonework an enjoyable challenge. While Clarkson pulled Terra up, Locke took the chance to observe the disturbingly empty city. His stomach turned when he saw all the red stains upon the walls, not even the winter frost could hide the bloodshed.

The inside of the deserted guard towers was no better. The outlook had been a battleground. Blood was splattered across the walls and floors, and most of the furnishings had been broken in a brutal brawl. It smelled of both charred and rotting flesh but there was not a single cadaver. Locke took a deep breath and instantly regretted it.

They made their way down blood-slicked stairs without any noise. Norris had taught Terra an immensely useful spell, one that made their movements all but impossible to hear. It had been extremely disturbing. Locke had jumped up and down in the snow like a child on a bed, but failed to make the slightest sound. It was also slightly irritating. No matter how useful the spell was, it made things too easy. After all, he had spent years correcting the slightest twitch, those subconscious idiosyncrasies that might have given away his position while he snuck around. Yet here was magic that made a massive bumbling warrior like Clarkson into the perfect thief.

Sherwood, on the other hand, was like a ghost. He prowled with the grace of a cat, never disturbing anything and always moving smoothly. So fluid was his motions that even Locke had been surprised on occasion by the master-archer. Sherwood didn't attract attention.
At the bottom of the stairs, Clarkson motioned for Locke and Terra to stay behind. Then he and Sherwood slipped through the old wooden door connected to the barracks.

"Terra," Locke took the rare opportunity to speak without the presence of Imperials. "About what we're supposed to do today."

"I don't intend to," Terra answered with determination. "I've had a lot of time to think, Locke. I won't let Norris intimidate me into doing anything I don't want to."

Locke made sure Clarkson and Sherwood were out of earshot before continuing. "That pair; I just know Norris put two of his best men to watch over us. We should really be careful. We might have no choice but to..." he gestured across neck.

Terra frowned. "I don't think they would-"

"We have to be prepared," Locke pointed out. "I don't want to do it anymore than you. I can still see arrows from Sherwood's bow flying over my crumpled body; the Imperials have saved my life too." He rubbed his bandaged ribs meaningfully. "I don't want to hurt them, but if we have no choice..."

"Fine," Terra relented.

Silence settled between the two Returners, but they didn't have long to brood over the possibility of stabbing their allies in the back. Clarkson returned first. "There was a bloody brawl here, but I see neither bodies nor survivors," he noted quietly. "It doesn't make any sense..."

Locke gestured towards the city. "From the roof, I didn't see any bodies in the streets. Yet signs of fighting were everywhere. It looks like your soldiers decided to bury their victims."

"They're not ours," Sherwood interrupted from behind them, silently descending the narrow flight of stairs from the top of the guard tower. "No Imperial soldier would do something like this," the archer said with a disproving frown.

Locke bit back his snappy retort.

"Terra, how much longer do we have with this spell?" Clarkson asked. He was all business.

Terra shook her head. "I'm not sure, I don't have much practice with it and I don't even understand why we can talk but jumping up and down makes no noise. Maybe twenty minutes, but-"

"Even the Colonel would be hard-pressed to do more," Clarkson cut her off softly. "The safe-house is our next destination. I'm not going to chance the meeting in the streets, it's doubtful that our contact is still alive. The route will lead past the main laboratories," he pointed through the wall and motioned to their left. "We'll double back afterwards. Maybe we'll find something overlooked in the chaos."

"I wouldn't expect even that," Sherwood replied cynically, just moments before Locke voiced the exact same opinion.

"Nothing wrong with hoping," Clarkson retorted, drawing a brief smile from Terra. "I'll go first. Locke, you're next and then Terra. Sherwood, you have the rear."

---

Colonel Norris Ferdinand had spent thirty of his years in the Imperial Armed Forces. Ten he had spent working covert operations with the Special Forces, and sometime during that period he had volunteered for augmentation. He considered himself experienced, a man that had seen much and would be surprised by little. Sure certain developments might catch him off-guard, but nothing should leave him gawking like a virgin's first sight of naked breast.

This topped everything he had ever seen in his life, and it was nowhere as pleasant as the first time he had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh. Norris Ferdinand averted his eyes and fought the unfamiliar urge to vomit. He turned back to his team. Only Miles was still looking at the scene, his cheeks red in rage as he visibly fought the urge to curse loudly and uncontrollably. His arms shook in anger and his knuckles were white around his mighty battle-axe.

Norris took a deep breath and calmed himself. Deathly cold winter air filled his lungs and chilled his blood. "It seems we found the people of Fanshaw that were not slaughtered on the roads," Norris said stoically. He took another deep breath, thanking the gods that it was winter and that there was not the stench of rotting flesh.

Thousands of men, women and children, had been killed within the town square of Fanshaw. Headless bodies were piled in a great heap, some still in the uniform of the Imperial Army, most in just ordinary clothing, and others stark naked. The majority died elsewhere but had been dragged to the center of the city. Some had been mutilated after their deaths, others had vulgarities written in blood or carved into lifeless flesh. But that was not what disgusted the stalwart defenders of the Empire.

Norris estimated around two-hundred, all children, in the center of heap of corpses. Two hundred wooden spikes that was central to the display of debauchery. Each had a child on top, driven between the legs unto the pointed end of the shaft.

By the expressions on their faces, they were driven alive.

It took all his years of training to compose himself, to think logically and approach the situation in a way demanded of an officer as highly ranked as he. Under the cover of darkness, lit only by what the little moonlight sifted through the clouds, they probably could not see the full extent of the debasement. It could not have been monsters that had done this. It was too cruel... too methodical. It was executed with a kind of cold precision that Norris had to accept was human.

It had to have taken days to do something like this, days that an army typically did not have. It was also a coordinated effort, there could be no excusing any of the criminals that had been attacked Fanshaw. Yes, criminals. These weren't soldiers. Soldiers did not do things like this.

The walls had been melted by Magitek Armors. That ruled out anyone else but the Imperial Armed Forces. Danielle Meras had no such forces so far south in the Core -- she was besieged in the Gap and Norris doubted she would break through within the month -- and Norris also knew Anson Tilton would never do this to his own forces. There was only one remaining suspect.

Norris could only wonder what could have turned Drummond's men commit such vile atrocities. It didn't seem possible. Norris still knew a few men, good Magitek Knights and former-ISF, that had been transferred to Drummond's command shortly before the Marandan War began. The Fourth and Fifth Imperial Armies had some of the most highly-skilled, experienced officers within the armed forces. They would not have done this.

But the facts remained. Danielle Meras and Anson Tilton could not have done this. The only person with the capability was him. It had to be Drummond. The Maverick had to have his hand in this debauchery.

"We should leave," Miles growled. "It's obvious that there's nothing left alive in this city."

Norris gritted his teeth. That was correct, in the process of their systematic -- perhaps even ritualistic -- slaughter, Drummond's forces had inadvertently fulfilled Norris' mission of disabling progress on Project Camiel. The scientists had been in Fanshaw were likely buried somewhere in that pile of corpses.

"It's just unfortunate that we lost Eric and his platoon. I doubt they managed to escape the attack," the one-eyed soldier continued. Norris didn't have the heart to tell Miles to be quiet, and that his chatter could be their downfall. "He was a good man; excellent at infiltration. No doubt he had prepared for weeks in order to assist us in this raid. I will miss him."

Norris looked north, towards the Imperial Capital of Vector. His eyes narrowed as he realized what else was bothering him. "Miles," Norris held out his hand and silenced the big soldier. "Something doesn't make sense. Drummond had at least two divisions attack Fanshaw from the north. But you saw nothing strange on the roads, neither in the attackers nor the failed escapees." Norris thought about the shape of the walls and tried to recall anything peculiar.

Behind them, Anthony gasped. "Of course, whatever Project Camiel is didn't get used. Anything that could replace the Guardian would have left its mark in the battlefield. We saw nothing that couldn't be accomplished with a couple frontliners," the medic exclaimed.

Norris stroked at the whiskers above his lips. Snowflakes had settled in his white beard and stuck to his gloves. "Even more importantly, if I were in command and had crippled the western front, I would never have attacked Fanshaw. It's too far south to seriously impact a siege on Vector and too well-defended to send a small force. Assuming Drummond hasn't lost his mind," Norris continued knowing how big of an assumption that might be, "then they were here for some other reason."

"Perhaps the same as us?" Miles asked.

"No, if they knew about Camiel then they would never have attacked in force by the front gates," Norris said as he struggled to make something of the situation. "They were here for something else and lucked out. It was likely small enough for General Lilienthal to overlook, but still worth a division or more," he concluded.

"Anything worth twenty-thousand men doesn't exactly define overlookable," Anthony quipped.

Norris smiled at the backtalk. Anthony had never been in the Imperial Special Forces and had earned his position through battlefield merits. Norris had worried about his decision to include the highly-decorated Sergeant, especially when he had seen how much difficulty Anthony had trying to think beyond the call of standard soldiers. However, he had Clarkson's recommendation and Norris was thrilled to see the young man finally take advantage of his new-found liberties.

"Very sharp Sergeant. Either our General didn't know about it, or felt it much less important than Camiel," Norris thought out-loud.

"Perhaps they knew Camiel was incomplete," Anthony offered. "So they struck first and in overwhelming force."

Norris nodded. It was a good, simple answer, but his gut told him that there was more to this than a surgical strike.

"Regardless, there has to be some clues still lying around," Miles concluded. "We'll need to find them."

"What about our original task?" Anthony asked. "Mission accomplished?"

Norris nodded grimly. "Fanshaw will no longer be host to the development of Camiel. Our mission parameters are a complete success," he answered. He didn't bother hiding the disgust in his voice.

"Alright, then I suggest we head to the southern district of town," Miles pointed in that direction. "As Clarkson said, they avoided that area. It appears the nobles are up to their old tricks again."

---

Clarkson glanced down hopefully and watched small blue sparks drift in lazy spirals around Terra's hands. He clutched at the blue blanket in his hand, something he had found in the basement. Sherwood was near the doors, standing guard but watching them instead of the street, while Locke carefully lifted up a canteen to the girl's lips.

The safe-house had been empty. Not single soul had been within the laboratories. Dozens of rooms had been carefully checked, but there had not been so much as a corpse. Only blood splattered across the walls had greeted them whenever they opened a door, alluding to a slaughter but never giving them anything concrete.

They had left the eastern compound in a hurry. Their mission was accomplished: there were no scientists left in that facility. The inferno they had set would consume whatever research might have remained.

Ahead of schedule and the sun still another hour away, they decided to take a detour. Clarkson was determined to discover what had happened, and the pristine nature of the noblemen dwellings had been their destination.

After five deserted houses, each ransacked and pillaged, they had found her.

She had been buried beneath a bed of straw. Like most of the mansions, the wine cellars in the basements had been raided and nothing remained but empty bottles. In the fifth house though, Locke had noticed a trail of crimson-smudged straw that led them to the girl. They had thought she was dead, her skin was white and pasty, bruises littered her body and dried blood was everywhere. The room had been covered with urine and fecal matter, and there were metal chains left on the floor covered with just about every bodily fluid Locke knew.

Terra gasped loudly as the blue sparkles disappeared. Clarkson helped her back to her feet, her eyes drooping as she tried to recover from the intense drain of healing magic.

The girl coughed as water from Locke's canteen hit her throat. A single brown eye stared at Terra, slowly focusing on white figures in front of her.

Clarkson waited until Terra regained her balance and stood on her own. "She was quite close to death," Terra explained between heavy gasps. "There's a taint that still flows through her, some sort of darker magic that I've never encountered before. I say she fell unconscious and then the cold got to the rest of her body... thank you," she said as Clarkson handed her the blanket. Terra knelt down and carefully wrapped it around the girl's bare midsection. They had found her naked, what little rags had been left on her limbs would not be considered clothing anywhere in the world.

"How is she?" Sherwood asked. He had pulled off his hood and beneath his ruffled blond hair there was a bead of sweat. It was moderately warm in the house and they were bundled and spelled to survive nights in deep snow.

Locke gently held the girl's head straight and steadied his canteen for her. The flickering candlelight that lit the mansion's main room danced across her face, bringing to Locke's attention the grievous cut that ran across her right eye and down her cheek. Bits of straw were still stuck to the dried blood.

Clarkson glanced at Sherwood. "Much better than before. She seems to be breathing normally, thanks to Terra," he answered.

Terra wiped the sweat off her brow. She brushed back her dyed-blonde hair. "She's still hurt pretty badly, but I did what I could." The half-Esper frowned, something seemed off about the girl. The healing spell had swept away the dark, frightful aura that surrounded her. The darkness must have been a result of the fear and pain, Terra surmised. She knew healing magic had a warm, loving touch and that could possibly heal even emotional wounds.

"Who..." the girl's voice was hoarse and no more than a whisper, but it more than enough to surprise everyone.

Locke took his canteen away. He steadied the girl as she tried to sit up. "Careful," he warned gently.

"I'll be fine," her voice grew stronger as she sat up. Her one good eye focused on Locke. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Locke gestured at Terra. "Thank her. She saved you from certain death. We don't know how long you spent buried in the cellar, but you're very lucky to still be alive."

The girl was perhaps a year or two younger than Terra. Her brown hair was matted with blood, probably her own, and she clutched onto Locke for support even though they were seated in one of the few unbroken pieces of furniture left in the mansion.

"Thank you," she said as she looked up at Terra. "I'm Anna."

"I'm Terra, nice to meet you Anna," Terra smiled.

Anna gave a weak smile back.

"That's Clarkson, Sherwood, and the one giving you water is Locke," Terra continued.

"She'll need something to wear if we're getting her back to the Colonel," Clarkson took off his white-washed cloak. "I'll go cold for a little while," he gestured for Sherwood to check the streets again.

Anna screamed.

Locke suddenly found himself holding on to a screaming and panicking girl. She twisted and turned with such strength that it broke his grip almost instantly. "What in the-!" he cried before a flailing arm caught him across the face. When he reeled from the shock and pain, she broke completely free of his grasp. As he fell backwards, Locke could see her face twisted from terror.

She was afraid of him.

There was also something else, something different. It was a dangerous passion that was derived from the uncontrollable torrent of emotions that assaulted her: anger.

Anna fell to the ground -- her right leg was completely tangled with the blanket she held close -- and crawled away from Locke. Desperate glances were directed at Clarkson, her face a mask of fear. Her eyes darted from him to Sherwood, then to Locke, and finally back to Clarkson. She screamed unintelligibly at him and gestured wildly in the air. Her arms, thin, pale and bruised, pulled her farther from them.

Locke recovered swiftly, but Clarkson had already darted into action. He quickly restrained the girl before she made any more noise, clamping his hand over her mouth and grunting in pain as Anna bit him. Locke joined the struggle, concerned that Clarkson would inadvertently hurt Anna.

Sherwood spun around and quickly stepped between Anna and Terra. He pushed the half-Esper behind him as his right arm came up, sleeve pulled back, revealing a miniature crossbow strapped near the wrist.

Terra paled. She reacted instinctively, grabbing Sherwood's arm.

The crossbow bolt embedded itself in a defecated painting, far above Locke, Clarkson and Anna. Splinters of wood fell on the entangled mass of limbs.

"What are you doing?" Sherwood growled. He grabbed Terra by the neck with one hand and pointed the left arm at her face.

"Terra!" Locke shouted. He tried to get up, but was still entangled with Anna! The fine hairs stood on the back of his neck when he saw the murderous look on Sherwood's face. Locke's bow was still strapped to his back and his knives out of reach.

Terra knew Sherwood had another crossbow strapped to his left hand, one that was still loaded and now pointed at her. The rumbling of power stirred within her more strongly than ever before. The seductive whispers were accompanied by something new: a rush that felt like her head had been slammed into a bucket of ice-cold water. It was... clarity.

"Sherwood, at ease! We need this girl alive," Clarkson grunted as he put Anna in an armlock.

Sherwood didn't back down. He ignored his commanding officer and kept his aim on Terra.

"She's scared of your Imperial uniform," Terra stated quietly but authoritatively. She had made the connection between Anna's panicked expression and the suddenly comprehensible words she was crying out despite Clarkson's attempts to silence her. She pushed temptation away with all her willpower. The inner strength this required was mirrored on her face, and that made Sherwood pause.

When the siren's song had been silenced, her eyes connected with Sherwood's, knowing that he was ready to kill her if did anything remotely dangerous. "There's no need to kill her and if you had, then we'll never find out what happened here," she said calmly.

Clarkson was still restraining Anna, whispering to her quietly as Locke finally got to his feet. He drew both knives in a flash.

Sherwood slowly lowered his left arm, almost reluctantly. He let go of Terra's neck.

"Anna, please, calm down," Terra pleaded as she pushed past Sherwood.

"We're troops from Albrook, we did not attack the city," Clarkson continued. His voice was softer, and it was apparent that he was slowly relaxing his grip on Anna. "You'll be safe with us. We're only here to help you."

Terra knelt down in front of Anna with a spell at her fingertips. Yellow light enveloped the two women and forced away the blackness that surrounded the tortured soul. Anna instantly stopped flailing and screaming, and as the sparkles continued to float around them, she slowly calmed down. Her breathing evened out and the look on her face relaxed.

Locke ignored the stinging in his cheek and glared at Sherwood. "What did you think you were doing?" he growled as he closed the distance between them, his knives behind his back. He was enraged at the Imperial soldier. How dare he hurt Terra!

Sherwood had already reloaded his second crossbow. He let the sleeves of his cloak drift back down, hiding the two weapons. "She got in my way. We're lucky this time that she-" he pointed at Anna, "-wasn't a danger," he answered in a threatening voice. "Her interference could have meant our lives."

Locke pointed at Terra. "Why did you try to kill her?" he nearly shouted at Sherwood.

"Locke," Clarkson growled. He had opened his pack and was in the process retrieving an ointment for the bruises and burns on Anna's feet. "This is not the time."

Locke glared back at Clarkson. "He tried to kill Terra! He ignored your direct orders! Now you're defending him?"

Clarkson smoothed a sticky white paste over Anna's legs. "Locke, not now! I need you to make sure no one heard us," he ordered as he searched for bandages in his pack. "Sherwood, get upstairs and cover him. And find Anna something to wear while you're at it."

Sherwood climbed the staircase without a noise.

Locke crossed his arms and fumed. He couldn't believe how quickly things had degenerated, how surprised he had been when he saw those assassin crossbows on Sherwood's wrists. He gritted his teeth when he realized he had been unable to help Terra when she needed him... again.

By the time Clarkson finished with the bandages, they had finished checking around the house. Anna was surprised by the pair of clean pants and woollen sweater that Sherwood had found. The men turned their backs while Terra helped Anna with her clothes.

"Sherwood, check the streets," Clarkson ordered as he stood between the two men. "Locke, you'll help Anna get around. We won't be able to scale the eastern wall with her like this, but we can make a dash through the broken northern walls. The Colonel can't complain too much about the change in plans since we're bringing her along."

Locke waited until Sherwood had left the building before turning towards Anna. "Fine," he relented.

Clarkson sighed. "Terra, can you cast another silencing spell?"

"Not without Norris to guide me," Terra answered. She eyed the front door, still thinking about Sherwood's crossbows.

Locke helped Anna to her feet, grunting as she put her weight against his shoulders. She stood on her own two feet and teetered for a moment, then regained her balance. It looked like she would be able to walk.

Sherwood returned from the streets. "It's clear," he announced, "and it looks like dawn is nearing."

"Let's head back quickly," Clarkson ordered.

---

They made good pace through the deserted streets of Fanshaw. Sherwood was in the front, moving about smoothly and soundlessly. Since their stealth spells had worn off, Locke got a good idea of how stealthy Sherwood could be. A ghost would probably be louder, Locke surmised. But he could see why Sherwood had such skills now. The miniature crossbows had made it clear. He was no archer, though he certainly had the skill for it, but an assassin.

Clarkson was also surprisingly quiet. The Imperial was nowhere as good as Locke was, but it was a far cry from the bumbling fool that Locke had originally expected.

Locke had been told to keep an eye on Anna and help her along. Since Terra was handling herself adequately, Locke had given his attention to the young girl. It hurt to look at her. She was barely sixteen, but Locke could see the torture she had been put through. Considering how she had reacted to the Imperial soldiers, the thief had a feeling that the wounds and scars weren't limited to just her body.

They crossed street after street as Sherwood led them through Fanshaw. The dark night sky was starting to lighten up and stars were fading away. Dawn was approaching fast and Norris had been insistent that they couldn't stay after daybreak. However, Locke could tell from the desolation that gripped the city that reinforcements would not be arriving.

As they neared the northern walls, the buildings became progressively more and more ruined. Soon, they were sneaking from collapsed house to collapsed house, still staying to the safety of the shadows just in case anyone was watching. Clarkson glanced around in paranoia while Sherwood scouted what appeared to be a section of the northern wall that they could climb through.

While they waited, Locke checked on Anna's bandages to make sure they were tight. He looked up and found himself staring into frightened brown eyes. "Are you alright?" he whispered.

It was as if she suddenly realized they were making eye contact, because she jerked away so quickly that it alerted Clarkson and Terra. Locke waved them off, signalling that everything was fine. The two returned to keeping watch while they waited for Sherwood to return. When he looked back at the young girl, he was surprised to see her helping herself to a drink from his canteen.

When did she take that from him?

"Thanks," Locke grumbled when Anna handed his empty tin canteen back. As he replaced it by his belt, he caught something in her eyes. She looked away as quickly as the flicker of emotion had vanished, leaving Locke to wonder if he was beginning to go mad. "Are you alright?" he asked, paranoid but curious.

Anna said stared at her feet. The look of pain had returned to her face, that same petrified look they had seen when Clarkson had taken off his cloak. "Of course not," she whispered. "You just wouldn't understand..." she blinked away tears.

Locke swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. He could sympathize with her; there had been a period of time that he had dreaded seeing the brown leather of the Imperial Army. It had taken years for him to get over the torrent of emotion whenever he saw it, and he wasn't even really sure if he was over it. He suddenly couldn't control the urge to take Anna's hand, soft and warm despite exposure to the cold winter air. Seeing Anna hurt and frightened, so vulnerable... it brought all those uncomfortable memories back to mind. "It's alright," Locke whispered. "You'll be safe with me, I promise."

For some reason, his words sounded hollow.

Anna didn't respond, but pulled her hand back. As she did so, he saw the same flicker of emotion. This time, he was sure he knew what it was.

Hate.

Locke put as much distance between himself and her as was possible under the circumstance.

---

While they were crouched in the shadow of a collapsed guard tower, they could see that beams of light were beginning to stream their way from the east, through the peaks of the Strachan Mountains. Terra was silent as she watched Clarkson's head dart from side to side, anxiously waiting for Sherwood's return. She moistened her lips, the air was as dry as it was cold, and looked at the blond-haired soldier that had accompanied her since the day of the Messis Luna.

The power deep inside her had been consistently stirring. She had never felt it so strongly before. The emerald gemstone that hung near the nape of her neck was a poor substitute for the comfort of her father. Terra swallowed back the dreadful feeling of knowing that she might have to fight the seductive power for the rest of her life.

"Clarkson," Terra whispered. She needed something to take her mind of the stirring of emotions within her.

"If it's about Sherwood, the best I can offer is an apology," Clarkson replied immediately. His tone was deep but quiet, he knew that whispers traveled.

Terra paused. It was strange, but she had almost forgotten about how close to death she had been. Sherwood had been ready to kill her had she resisted in the slightest. It was her own fault, but stopping that wrist-mounted crossbow had been so instinctive she didn't realize what she did until Sherwood had grabbed her by the throat. A month ago, she would have collapsed under those murderous eyes, but there had been strength in her that she had called upon. It had been the same strength that allowed her to stand up to Remiel... after a fashion.

"No," Terra denied. "I didn't expect one," and that was the truth. They were Imperial soldiers and she accepted that they did what they did and never thought twice about it. Only a select few had ever shown remorse; Leo had even apologized for something he had not been a part of, and Farin for his inability to protect her. But they had been rarities.

"Then what's wrong?" Clarkson asked. He sounded genuinely concerned. It surprised her.

"I..." Terra broke eye-contact, embarrassed. What was she to say? That she just wanted to talk so that she could keep her mind off of the seductive rush of power that threatened to overwhelm and control her? Either he'd laugh at her naivete, or he would have drawn the sword at his side and cut her down. "I saw something dark in Anna," she found herself saying instead.

Clarkson narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I saw a dark aura around her, a magical taint that I had never seen before," Terra explained. It was as good of a topic as she could think of, and certainly was due some attention. She had never felt emotions with her magic before, at least, not in anyone human.

"Magic?" Clarkson frowned. "You should talk to the Colonel. Even though I've worked with him for a long time, I don't know much about Magitek Knights," he said. His eyes returned to looking for Sherwood amongst the rubble of buildings.

"Sorry," Terra mumbled. She felt incredibly stupid for bringing the topic up. Of course he wouldn't know anything about it. How could she have thought it was something to talk about? Now-

Clarkson had noticed the embarrassment on her face. "If it makes you feel better to talk about it," he put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "then go ahead. It'll help with the nervousness and I like to learn," Clarkson gave her a meaningful and warm smile.

Stunned, Terra left the gloved hand on her shoulder and smiled back. "The blackness vanished whenever I healed her, so it's probably nothing," she said. "I'll talk to Norris about it."

Clarkson nodded. "Well don't forget to tell me," he added.

---

Sherwood returned, appearing suddenly in their midst without anyone but Locke noticing. "It's clear. We can follow a decently hidden path back into the eastern woods," he told Clarkson.

"Alright, let's move," Clarkson said.

The five snuck through the broken walls easily, climbing over the rubble and leaving the fortress city just as the first rays of light flickered off the plains of snow. In the distance, they could see the battlefield that Miles had told them about. Black dots littered the plains north of Fanshaw. They looked almost like a tree-line the way they were spread in the distance, but it was actually the burnt remains of people trying to flee the city. There were likely thousands of corpses out there.

Clarkson looked back at the walls, the huge black stone stretching far above them so that they could not see anything within Fanshaw. His gaze followed the smooth stone until it was marred, fire that had melted the stone into liquid and helped tear a gaping hole for the invaders to attack through. It was artillery; Clarkson could recognize the tell-tale signs of Heavy-Siege Armors. There were many a broken form of other Magitek units, crushed in the battle trying to defend their city. ATA's and fourth-gens alike had fallen to the power of elemental beams, and they were probably not the last.

The walls had been blown apart by a large force, much greater than a single division. Clarkson shook his head sadly and turned away from the city. Soldiers perhaps, but monsters nonetheless. He doubted Fanshaw would ever recover, not after a slaughter like this. It was now a ghost town and would remain so until the end of time.

"Clarkson," Locke caught his attention.

"I was just thinking about the city," the blond haired soldier turned away from the ruins left by the civil war. They were still well ahead of Terra, who was helping Anna in place of Locke. "Why did you switch places with Terra?"

"Forget that," Locke lowered his voice. "Listen, there's something I think you should know about Anna." He gestured subtly towards the teenaged girl. Beads of sweat were running down her neck, the exertion along with injuries she bore was taxing her stamina. When Clarkson nodded at him to continue, Locke lowered his voice even more. "There's something wrong with her, it's just a feeling, but I swear she hates us."

Clarkson straightened. He casually glanced back at Anna, who was hobbling beside Terra without some much as a whimper despite how tired she was. "Locke," he said. "Are you aware what she's been through?"

Locke nodded sadly.

"I think there's a very good reason why she hates us, but it's not our fault we were born this way," Clarkson continued. He paused, thought about the situation and sighed. "Tell Sherwood anyhow, he should know about this."

Locke narrowed his eyes. That, he was not going to do. He had made a promise and knowing what Sherwood was...

They kept low and used what hills were available around the countryside to keep out of sight. Locke returned to watching over Anna protectively, while Clarkson joined Sherwood at the very front. They were almost to the tree-line now and Fanshaw was far behind them.

Sherwood glanced east. The sun hung above the horizon, its light visible through the mountains of Strachan. A cold mist could be seen hanging in the air. "We're late," he announced.

"The Colonel won't mind," Clarkson grumbled. His eyes wandered across the woods in front of them, only about five minutes away. "Let's-"

"Get down!" Terra screamed.

Surprised, Locke threw himself and Anna to the ground. They hit the snow painfully while Clarkson and Sherwood instinctively drew their weapons instead.

A ball of fire smashed into the ground in front of them. Snow vaporized on impact and a ball of steam exploded into the air while a shockwave slammed both Imperial soldiers onto their backs.

Terra could sense them now; they had been hiding their presence from her by magic. There was a Magitek Knight out there! Flames danced from her fingers and the power inside her began to sing its song. She gritted her teeth, resolved to resist the seduction, when something... dark invaded her scans of surrounding area. She spun around and almost reeled from the darkness, the overwhelming disease-like taint that had spread unchecked. It had been like a predator, Terra had seen it slowly encroach despite all the healing magic. Then in the chaos of battle, as fear gripped the heart of the weak, it closed its deadly trap.

"Locke!" Terra screamed. She had to warn him!

A second ball of fire flew right through the smoke at her. Terra brought up a protective shell a heartbeat before it engulfed her. The fireball exploded upon her shield and flames licked at her arms; the yellow aura could not been seen in the sheer ferocity of the inferno. A second column of fire screamed towards her and added to the blaze, angry red flames hungrily devouring the little air that remained between it and a young magic-wielding woman. Steaming hot mist found her exposed wrists between cloak and gloves. Terra screamed out in pain and almost lost control of her shields.

The inner power threatened to overwhelm her and Terra was very close letting it rush to the surface. Here she was: barely fighting off magic from her own elemental domain, scant moments from being burned into ashes, and she was holding back. She gritted her teeth in anger. She had been shamed when Norris had noticed her weakness, how she had almost gotten herself and Locke killed because she wasn't willing to kill a monster. A monster!

But still she held back. No matter how she rationalized it, Terra was afraid of her power surfacing again.

---

Locke could not believe how thick the smoke had gotten but no matter how difficult it had been to see, it was impossible to mistake the fireball traveling towards him and Anna. He realized very quickly how useless his shortbow was.

He saw how close the fireball was and without a second thought, he grabbed Anna and pushed her to the ground. He threw himself on top of her. He would protect her, even against this!

Flames exploded on impact as the spell exploded against the ground. Searing heat made Locke cry out in pain, and even as he was lifted by the shockwave of the exploding gases, he knew his cloak was completely aflame. He lost his bow as he smashed into the ground shoulder-first. A sudden spike of agony tore up his left arm while he continued to spin through the snow.

Sheer will kept him conscious. Locke rolled onto his front and pushed himself off the ground. He arm hurt something terrible -- the muscles felt like they were going to snap -- and he could feel something warm run down his face. Fortunately, rolling through the snow had snuffed out the flames.

Then he heard the screaming, not of fear, but of uncontrolled rage.

Locke fell back into the snow, hitting his head against something hard. The blow to his face no longer hurt as stars began to invade his vision. His head swam and dizziness was threatening to overtake him.

Her eyes were the only thing he could concentrate on, brown eyes full of rage, but also pain and fear. She was screaming at him but with the ringing noise in his head, Locke couldn't figure out what she was saying. Her brown hair had fallen in front of her face and she was gesturing wildly at him with a knife whose blade had been painted a dull black.

His knife!

Anna tried to stab him, and it would have succeeded had he not twisted out of the way. "What are you doing?" he shouted. Snow was in his eyes and as he tried to blink it away, his vision cleared only to reveal thick black smoke that obscured everything. He drew his remaining knife.

Something struck him in the midsection and Locke keeled over. The knife fell into the snow just as Locke did, the familiar cold wet embrace not at all comforting. Locke cried out in pain, Anna had stabbed him in the right arm. He rolled onto his back and saw that she was on top of him, his second unbloodied knife in her hands. Her eyes were wild with rage, and she was screaming incoherently.

This was not going to be easy.

---

The flames were now a wall that almost completely surrounded her. Standing in a puddle of melted snow that was beginning to boil, Terra heard Locke -- her friend -- scream out in pain.

The fear vanished as anger rushed to the surface. With a wave of her hand, the blazing inferno vanished and left behind a wall of steam and smoke. She stepped into the thick screen, focused at her task. She had to save her friends!

In front of her, two men cloaked in white appeared through the fog of steam. Swords raised, they screamed a battle cry and charged at her.

Terra took a step forward, unsurprised for she could feel sense the darkness now. She pointed towards the nearest. "Burn!" she snarled.

The man screamed as flames suddenly burst forth, called by the magic that devoured his flesh. He dropped his broadsword and fell to the ground as his clothes burnt and his skin bubbled. Black smoke rose from his body as he screamed in pain.

Terra turned to the second.

An arrow came from behind her and embedded itself deep into the chest of the man, ripping through his cloak and leather armor with ease. A second arrow landed squarely between his surprised eyes and he fell to the ground with a solid thunk.

Behind Terra, Sherwood nocked another arrow.

"Terra, get back!" Clarkson shouted as he grabbed her shoulder. He roughly pulled her back and met yet another assailant with his short sword. Blades clanged as metal clashed against metal. Clarkson's skill won the exchange and brought both swords into the snow. With a scream of rage he brought his shoulder into the man's midsection and both fell into the ground.

Terra had not even noticed the third man, instead focused on the mage behind them. The Magitek Knight was dressed all in grey, blending into the snow superbly, and was chanting something. He clutched at a white sash and pointed at her.

Instinctively, Terra brought one hand up, palm forward, and watched as a thundering blast of lightning shattered against her shield. The yellow shell faded and was replaced with green hue. Terra gritted her teeth as she intensified her efforts. Blinding yellow bolts exploded from the magical battle, liquid electricity jumping from the point of conflict and tearing apart the ground beneath.

This was the one that had attacked them. The one that had tried to kill her, Locke, Clarkson and Sherwood.

Terra brought her other hand up and smiled when the Magitek Knight's eyes widened in horror.

In the blink of an eye, it was over. His lightning spell crashed against Terra's shield and rippled through the air back at its creator. The man in grey was blown high into the air, his body already smoking from his own spell, and landed in the powdered snow with a sickening crunch.

With another arrow, Sherwood brought a fifth man to the ground. The archer scanned the area around them. He heard Locke's scream and ran.

---

Locke could feel the blood running down the side of his chest, but ignored it. He grabbed Anna and forced her back to the ground. She was tiny and ill-equipped to fight Locke's muscular advantage, but her ferocity and his injuries evened the odds.

"Stop it Anna!" Locke shouted. He twisted the knives out of her grasp. A moment passed between the two, and then Locke tossed aside his weapons. He couldn't kill her, he had promised to help her! Instead, he tackled her once more, trying to restrain the flailing girl.

It was futile though, and after wrestling for a few more moments, Anna had got to her feet. She screamed incoherently when suddenly, the mask of anger disappeared. She grunted twice, and then toppled to the ground.

Locke felt his fists tighten when he saw two arrows embedded deep in the back of Anna's skull.

---

Clarkson had pulled a dagger and held it against his attacker's throat. "Who are you?" Clarkson demanded, bringing the blade ever closer to the man's throat.

The man grunted back. "Die savage!"

Clarkson fell backwards as he clutched at his stomach. A knife stuck out of his leather armor.

Before the attacker was back on his feet, fire engulfed the man. He let out a deathly scream and fell to the ground, motionless.

Clarkson grunted as he pulled the knife out of his stomach. He tossed the blade to the ground nonchalantly and glanced up to thank Terra. He was embarrassed at being rescued by the woman he was supposed to be protecting, but better embarrassment than a fatal wound.

Terra was standing there staring at the blackened, impossible to recognize cadaver of the last ambusher. Her eyes were wide open in shock and she was trembling. She looked repulsed at the scene of death in front of her.

"What's wrong?" Clarkson called to Terra. Terra didn't respond and turned away so that he couldn't see her face.

Sherwood appeared on the scene. Both sleeves were still down, but the shortbow he held in his hand was nocked with another arrow.

"Last man's dead," Clarkson announced.

Sherwood coldly let go of the drawstring, his arrow embedding itself into the back of the smoking cadaver's skull. "Now he's dead," Sherwood replied as he drew another arrow.

Clarkson glanced up and returned the cool, collected look. "That was unnecessary."

Sherwood shrugged. "I'll keep watch while you treat that wound."

"It's minor, the chain shirt beneath the leather stopped the blade," Clarkson grumbled. Still, the metal links had twisted and drew blood, so Clarkson looked around for his pack.

"Sherwood!"

Clarkson's heart sank when he heard that enraged voice. The smoke from all the fireballs had cleared and as he turned, he could see that Locke was standing over the body of Anna, dead with two arrows in her. Clarkson swore colourfully.

Sherwood met Locke's angry glare with equal distaste. "Don't give me some self-righteous holier-than-thou speech, she was going to kill you and I expect nothing less than thanks for saving your life," Sherwood snapped.

Clarkson blinked in surprise.

"She was attacking me, yes," Locke growled. Dried blood was all over his face, and there was fresh trails running down his arms. "But you didn't have to kill her!"

"No? I suppose I should have tackled her and wasted my time while everyone else is dying? That would have definitely fulfilled my job -- my promise! -- to protect this team, wouldn't it?" Sherwood retorted.

That, surprisingly to Clarkson, silenced Locke.

"Next time Locke, finish your enemy the first chance you get. Had this been a bigger ambush, the time wasted while you wrestled with that crazy girl might have killed us all. That means me, Clarkson, and your little girlfriend over there," Sherwood pointed at Terra. "At least she did what was necessary without holding back. I suggest you do the same, unless you want Terra's death on your conscience as well," Sherwood turned back to Clarkson. "I'll check the surrounding area now."

Clarkson nodded swiftly. While the two had been arguing, he had pulled out bandages and a leather wrapped flask. The bitter blue concoction had gone down quick, he still grimaced at the horrible taste. His wound was now wrapped with clean white cloth and he stood without much pain. "Locke, how did she get the drop on you? You told me you had doubts about her," he asked.

That took Locke down another notch. The anger on his face had completely vanished and was replaced with a blank, pathetic look.

"Don't answer that, it's not important," Clarkson quickly added before things got further out of hand. He shook his head. "And we just lost our only link to figuring out what happened in Fanshaw too," he mumbled to himself.

Locke stared at the lifeless body of Anna for a while. When he finally tore his eyes away from the corpse of the young girl, he inadvertently made eye-contact with Terra several meters away. She was sweating from exertion and her fine clothes were slightly charred from magical-battle. Though her eyes were cast at he ground, there was something there he recognized: pain. Locke suddenly felt such shame that he turned away from her. There was sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He ignored the blood that had run down the length of his arm and dripped onto the snow. None of his injuries hurt as much as the realization of what had happened.

"Hey!" Clarkson interrupted his thoughts. "We better get out of here before their-" he pointed at the dead men around them, "-friends come for them."

Locke sheathed his bloodied blades in a despondent manner. He followed them slowly, overwhelmingly ashamed by the sheer number of mistakes he had made and his utter impotence at keeping promises. He shook his head, mortified.

How could it have been wrong to try to save Anna's life?

Sherwood couldn't possibly be right, Locke mumbled to himself. He couldn't.