CHAPTER 11
A/N – Hello my dear readers! I have to say I'm so happy with the generous and unexpected praise this story's got lately and it somehow finally managed to spur my muse (who had deserted me completely as of late). So finally, here's a new update! (also, some Scotland x Belarus and King Francis in this chapter, so brace yourselves ;))
Dressed in nondescript clothes and with his face hidden by a grey hood, Arthur had sneaked out of the palace to walk with his prince down to the harbor, in the ever faithful company of his cousin Allistor. It was still very early in the morning, a light fog floating over the waking city, but the three of them walked in somewhat of a hurry because the pirate captain had sent word they would no longer meet at Antonio's inn, but right back to the ship. Apparently, the quicker they left the greater the chances of escaping without paying the dockage tax or something.
There was a faint blush on the sorcerer's cheeks and it made Alfred smile as he kept his fingers entwined with his lover's – little did the prince know that it wasn't so much because of him, but because the Fire Mage had slapped him in earnest earlier.
"Oi! Don't ye give the prince tha' face now, like someone just fockin' died! Wha' good do ye think it'll do to 'im if he sees ye like tha' before he leaves on tha' fockin' quest?"
Allistor was right - Arthur figured – so he'd forced a small smile on his face, despite the frozen fright he felt in his very bones. He desperately tried to tell himself over and over again that Osmanthus had lived for thousands of years and his plans didn't usually go awry. And that the spirit had chosen the prince's quest out of his own interest and while being assured of its success. Unaware, he pulled closer to the blue-eyed blond as they walked and a heavy sigh escaped his lips when Alfred's arm was protectively draped around his shoulders.
But their moment together ended way too soon, the pirate crew coming into sight on the foggy quay. Berwald, Tino and Emil looked every bit as indifferent and unenthusiastic as usual, but Elizaveta had a bright smile she wasn't even trying to conceal, much to her brother's chagrin. Kohler was grim because the Red Mage had pretty much laughed in his nose while explaining as if he would a child that every man or woman's destiny was bound to take its course and his sister was indeed meant to find a man with whom she would share a great and passionate love. However, the accursed mage had given no indication as to said man's status or wealth, which was most disturbing – of course, he could not allow Elizaveta to get involved with just anyone!
"I wouldn't dare to impose but… could you maybe look into this?" the northerner prince murmured in the ear of his betrothed to be. "They're my friends and I also find myself highly indebted for their help."
The green-eyed blond nodded slowly. "Of course, I will speak to Valentin about his prediction as soon as I get back." His face was still shielded from view, because the others weren't supposed to get as much as a glimpse of it, so Alfred only embraced him tightly and then got down on one knee, kissing the mage's hand affectionately.
As the ship moved away from the shore, Arthur couldn't help hugging himself tightly, subconsciously trying to retain the warmth of his prince's arms around his thin frame. Tears pricked his eyes anew and he blinked them away quickly, for fear that if he allowed them to flow freely it wouldn't have been long before he crumpled to the ground in despair.
"Do you think he'll be back, Allistor? Do you really think he could-…?"
A firm hand grabbed the blond's hood and pulled him back a bit brusquely. "Ah know he will! Do ye really think tha' Master would waste 'is time fer nothin'? Wouldn't 'ave bothered with the lad at all if he thought he couldn't deliver."
Arthur sighed, looking over his shoulder warily at his cousin. "Come now, we must return to the palace. We have things to do if Osmanthus wants to keep dragons here, of all the bloody things he could want. We're going to need some very large dungeons, I suppose…"
"We are NOT going back ta the palace right now!" Allistor announced with a wide grin. "If ye do, ye're goin' ta lock yerself up in yer room an' drink yerself dead, ah know ye will. Let the troll an' the otha do the work, aye? We're goin' to the continent today, ah 'ave ta be somewhere!"
The sorcerer's eyes went wide and he struggled to get free from the redhead's grip. "What the bloody hell do you mean?!On the continent?"
"Aye! Ah 'ave ta be somewhere an' it would be fun fer ye too ta get away fer a wee bit!"
"What?! No-"
But before Arthur could protest further, his cousin whispered a spell and they were both gone in a white puff of smoke.
"Now where the hell are we?" the sorcerer grumbled, looking around with a frown. They were standing in the middle of a dusty and crowded street, the warm breeze bringing about a mixed smell of roasted food, garbage, manure and whatnot. Most of the houses looked poor and were painted in dull beige peeling away under the sun. People walked about with faces pale and sour brought by the never ending war which was placing a continuous strain on the White Kingdoms.
"This is the city o' Belza, in the Eight o'the White Kingdoms. One o' the poorest, ah'll say, as ye know the capital looks far better," Allistor explained. "But mah interest lies here fer now, an' we 'ave ta hurry, so ye won't mind if ah carry ye fer a bit."
The green-eyed blond yelped, nearly dropping his cane and scowled some more as he was picked up bridal style, trying to figure out what this could have possibly been about. He recalled a letter the Order had received recently from the King Patrick of the Eight of the White Kingdoms – one of the few who had been allowed to keep their crown by Francis's benevolence – requesting the Order's help in finding a suitable Queen for his son, the Prince Roderich. But there was no way in hell the prince could have anything to do with this shithole!
"Um… this isn't about the job we have to do, is it?" he asked as Allistor walked briskly in the direction of a tall, round brick building. It appeared to have several floors and colorful flags waved on top of the yellowish walls, which ended in decorated ramparts. Noises of a large crowd could be heard inside and there were armed guards at the high wooden gates.
"Nah, we won't bother with tha' just yet, mah wee bun," the redhead grinned. "Now this 'ere is one o' those places where they trade slave women, fer bravery! True tha' one's got ta pay a fee ta get into the competition, but if he wins, gets himself a wee lass, he does!" As he said that, the Fire Mage slipped a few golden coins into the guard's hand and they were allowed inside.
Arthur blinked. "WHAT?! You're here to win yourself a woman? Are you insane?!" He tried to hurl the cane over his cousin's head, but with the way he was held he couldn't accomplish much.
"Mah wee bun, don't jump ta conclusions just yet, will ye? Now ah'm not 'ere ta win mahself a woman, ah'm 'ere ta save a lady in distress! An' not just any lady, mind ye!"
Inside the building there was an open, roofless space with rows of seats all around a relatively small sand-covered arena and to one side there was a dais where several girls were kept for the crowd to see. They were all chained to poles and a fat man with a riding crop in his hand was enthusiastically giving explanations to those interested, motioning towards one girl or the other. Among the girls one stood out in particular – a maiden of striking beauty, with icy blonde hair tied in a long braid down to her waist and dark blue eyes filled with disdain. She wore a rich dress of midnight blue velvet, unlike the other captured women who mostly wore rags.
"No. No bloody way. Allistor, tell me that is not who I think it is!" Arthur cried, eyes wide in confusion and slight worry.
"Aye, it's the Princess Natalya, Ivan Braginski's sister. She must 'ave been travellin' secretly an' alone ta get some magic supplies, ah reckon. Don't see how else they could 'ave gotten their hands on her."
The younger mage tsked, scowling. "But she is a powerful witch herself, why would she ever allow herself to be captured and subjected to this bollocks in the first place? Don't you think it's odd?"
"Aye, ah reckon she was bored an' wanted a wee bit o' fun before she made her escape, fer example ta see which brave man would fight fer her? An' guess wha', mah bun, ah'm goin' ta be tha' man! But ah promise ye, ah'll be very careful, no one'll figure out ah'm a mage, if that's what ye fear. Ye reckon she'll give me a kiss if ah free her?"
The blond facepalmed, knowing he probably couldn't deter the other mage from his crazy plan. "It's a stupid idea! Also, you'll be lucky if she doesn't chop your bloody head off…"
As predicted, Allistor only laughed and walked up some stairs, dropping him unceremoniously into an empty seat on a long wooden bench covered with thin, stained and worn out cushions. He went back down and placed a note with his name in a bowl placed at the foot of the dais, before returning and plopping into his own seat next to the blond to await his turn.
The fights weren't awfully interesting as it was – one could have said they were as cheap as anything else around – and the young sorcerer wondered how come Natalya hadn't chosen more refined means of entertaining (although his stupid cousin getting her as a prize and trying to steal a kiss from her petal lips was something Ivan Braginski's sister surely wasn't expecting). Much to his relief though, the men wrestled empty handed or fought armed with thick, heavy looking sticks, no fight was to the death. Which was good – he figured – because Allistor was experienced when it came to brawls and like this there was little chance he would get angry or endangered enough to set someone on fire and make his magic gift known.
"Would ye stop sulkin' already," the redhead asked, as his turn came and up on the dais Natalya was pulled away from the pole and pushed forward by the fat man. "'ere, buy yerself somethin' ta eat an' drink an' fockin' cheer fer me, will ye?" He slipped another few coins in the bony hand of an old woman and she walked away hurriedly, soon returning with a plateau and a full cup, which she placed in front of the blond.
Arthur curiously inspected the drink – it was a liquorish golden wine the south was famous for and, even if it was the cheap sort, after a small sip he decided it was acceptable, especially with the growing heat. However, the food was another story. On top of some yellowish herbs and dried lettuce lay something which looked like a fried rat, bits of back fur still attached to the roast skin.
"Oh, by the Gods!" the sorcerer moaned, his body jerking away in disgust at the awful dish and accidentally setting the plateau in motion. Arthur moved fast enough to save the cup from tumbling over, but the plateau along with its horrid contents slipped and spilled over the person sitting in the row in front of him.
A man in a ragged black cloak stood brusquely upon feeling the stuff on his back and turned, and when the green-eyed blond saw his face he turned white as a sheet, swallowing back the unspoken apologies. King Francis's handsome face – for much to Arthur's shock and horror it was him in the flesh – lit into a wide, pleased smile.
"Well, well, fancy seeing you here, milord…. Arthur, wasn't it?" Blue eyes swept quickly over the surrounding crowd, seeking to confirm the King's suspicion. "And all alone too… Do you think that's wise, milord? Does the Prince Alfred know what his little future Queen is up to, behind his back? Ohonhonhonhon… or perhaps that title is wasted on you now, since the fair prince was disowned by his father…"
As the smaller blond said nothing, scowling and pondering on how to deal with this unexpected misfortune, Francis leaned in, a golden strand flying loose from under his hood. "Either way," he said, "I won't take my chances with you again, vermin!"
Before the other could even move, the King drew a long knife from his sleeve and lunged forward, forcing Arthur on his back in his seat and nearly crushing him under his body. The sorcerer's eyes widened in dread as he saw the blade nearing his throat – he was still worn after using his magic to heal Alfred's eyesight and he was in no condition to fight. Gulping and trashing helplessly, he twisted his head to the side to look for his cousin, but the Fire Mage was currently having a fight of his own to take care of.
"What's the matter, weren't you a great warrior?" Francis mocked him, "Now there seems to be no strength left in this tiny body of yours, ohonhonhonhon. Too bad that I'll have to do this, you weren't exactly an eyesore either."
The green-eyed blond panted desperately and grit his teeth when the cold blade was pushed down, biting a bit into his skin. Still barely managing to hold the King's advance with one arm, he reached for the fallen cane in the last moment and brought it upwards, thrusting his blunt tip into Francis's stomach as hard as he could. His attacker choked suddenly, eyes bulging as he tried to stand up, and when the sorcerer hit him again he twisted awkwardly and with a surprised cry fell over the edge of his own row, landing face first into a tray full of sauces, food and drinks.
A ruckus immediately broke out, the King being promptly attacked by those whose meal he had ruined, but Arthur did not wait to see the outcome of that. As fast as he could, the mage picked himself up and hurried away from the scene, as fast as his bad legs could carry him. He very nearly tumbled down the stairs on his way out of the building, getting his knees and elbows scraped, but he didn't look back even once. He sneaked out and scurried away, leaving the arena behind, helping himself with the cane and leaning against the walls, blabbering an unstoppable string of curses.
Hood pulled down nearly to his mouth, Arthur only stopped to rest when he was well away and plopped on a small bench to catch his breath. His fingers carefully pawed at the delicate skin of his neck and he winced upon feeling a small stinging cut. Damn! When the blond finally dared to look up, he discovered his redhead cousin standing in front of him with a frown, a hand on his hip and the other firmly gripping the northerner princess's wrist.
"Now where the bloody hell did ye run off like tha', bun?! Mah heart nearly stopped upon not finding ye where ah'd left ye!"
In reply Arthur picked up the cane and hit him in the head. "IDIOT! King Francis was there, right on the seat in front of me!" he shouted.
"King Francis?" Natalya asked, raising an eyebrow, but the Green Mage ignored her.
"He tried to cut my throat, you bloody prick! And he very nearly succeeded too! How could you bring me to this shithole in the fucking White Kingdoms where all the bastards lurk?! What the hell were you thinking?!"
"Well ah couldn't 'ave known he was 'ere, now could ah?" Allistor said defensively. "Not a place fer a King, this shithole as ye say, aye? Ah'm sorry! Ah never meant ta put ye in danger, ye're mah sweet wee bun!"
Right then, as Arthur continued to scowl, Natalya tried to jerk her hand away from the redhead's grip. "And just who the hell are you anyway? Let go of me this instant!" the icy blonde ordered coldly.
"Ah'm Allistor Kirkland, man o' great endeavors, at yer service, Milady Natalya," the Fire Mage said grinning, taking a bow and pressing his lips onto the girl's dainty knuckles. Only as soon as he did that, he yanked her arm, pulled her to his chest and shamelessly kissed her mouth.
It didn't take long though before Natalya managed to pull away and she slapped Allistor across the face as hard as she could.
"I know now who you are!" she shouted, red in the face and pressing her hand over her bitten lower lip. "You're a blasted mage of the Order, and you (she pointed at the blond who stood a bit further away, looking appalled), you are Arthur Kirkland, the Green Mage!"
The blond shook his head weakly, stepping back. "N-no, this is some sort of mistake…"
"Accursed mage, you should be ashamed of yourself for creeping into my nephew's bed!" Natalya spat disdainfully. "You know, this says a lot about your Order! No better than the Nagas, are you lot? Just a bit more gifted with the magic, hah!"
Saying that, the icy blonde snapped her fingers and disappeared in a cloud of white smoke and Arthur buried his face in his hands – did everyone bloody know about that?! The Naga was a renowned order of prostitutes and assassins for hire, all of them as proficient with their bodies as they were with their blades. At any rate, they were a dirty secret and not something decent people would have ever opened their mouth about. However, apparently Ivan Braginski's sister wasn't to be counted among decent people, as neither was he or his idiot cousin who had dragged him to such a foul place.
"Idiot! You are buying me more wine, right now!"
To be continued