Righto.

I thank you all for your encouraging remarks about my dyslexia. I've found a composition book, and am writing in it every day in order to retain my skill. I have improved, somewhat.

Now, I know this was a long update. This chapter was a nightmare. I wrote about 2,000 words, then deleted them and started the chapter from scratch. Three days later, I did the same thing. How annoying.

BUT I SHALL NEVER DIE! WH00T!

And now for my biggest announcement of all. This story shall be… a Tactician x Fiora!

Wait, you already read it in the summary? Damn…

Furthermore.

My computer went wonky. This chapter may have issues...

Anyway, here you all go. 'Tis the next chapter of Shells.

Chapter 13: Must I?

I haven't written in this thing very much, have I? I've just been ignoring it. It's just been needless weight in my pack. I guess anyone reading this will notice a jump in time. And a change in attitude.

I had to fight tooth and nail to get access to the libraries of Bern, literally in some cases, but most of the strategy books were useless. I did most of my learning through history books that detailed important battles in the past. Technology progresses very slowly in the this dimension; from what I can tell, the armies one thousand years ago used the exact same weapons as the armies use now. It's as if this land is frozen in time.

It's been approximately one year since I visited that library. One very long and arduous year. I've been keeping busy; there's always some village in need, some people that need help. Strategies are coming naturally to me now; I can make them up on the fly, like I'm a computer churning out stock numbers. I am still practicing Elder magic, though I'm getting nowhere. My saber prowess isn't much better. However, my physical abilities have improved drastically. It's a little frightening, to tell the truth; I punched a man in a scuffle one day and broke his nose. I wasn't even trying to. I need to reassess my strength, or else I'll end up hurting someone unintentionally.

I guess the biggest change is that I've mellowed. I am now quite calm—

"HOLY SHIT!"

Mark ducked down and rolled as an arrow flew over his head, burrowing itself into the tree truck that he had been sitting against. He lay on the ground, his face planted in the dirt.

"Oh no!"

Mark looked up to see a girl running through the brush. She had green hair, wore brown archer's clothes, and was carrying a bow. She was looking horrified.

"Did I hit you?" she cried, dropping her bow and putting her hands to her mouth in a gesture of shock.

Mark got to his feet, brushing dust from his front. He turned to look back at the arrow imbedded in the tree trunk and shuddered. "No, but you were close."

The girl ran a hand through her hair. "I'm so sorry! I was hunting, and I—"

Mark waved her away, inwardly cursing himself for being caught off guard. "Forget it, please. I'm not hurt."

"Oh… well… I'm Rebecca. Could you give me your name… sir?"

Mark drew himself to his full height and stretched his aching limbs, letting his pounding heart calm down. He looked very impressive nowadays; he had lost weight, gained height, and reeked authority from every orifice. He was a man to contend with; when he wasn't falling to the dirt in fear, that was.

"I'm Mark."

"Mark… Well, it's nice to meet you!"

The girl held out a hand for the medic to shake, but Mark reached into a pocket and pulled out a folded-up map. He quickly unfolded it, holding it in his left hand while he held a compass in his right. He frowned.

"Well, Miss Rebecca, I would request your assistance," he said, not looking up from the map.

"Of course," said Rebecca eagerly, looking happy that Mark had taken no offense at the arrow misfire.

"I'm lost," said Mark, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth. "There's supposed to be a village around here, but I can't find it."

"Oh!" said Rebecca. "You're looking for my father's village!"

"Am I?"

"Yes! My father is the village magistrate. He was feeling a little ill today, so I thought I'd hunt in order to cook him a good meal."

Mark pocketed the compass and began folding the map, still not looking at the girl.

"Miss Rebecca, do I look like a rabbit to you?"

"Um… what?"

Mark looked her straight in the eye. "You shot at me."

"No… A deer ran past you… I shot at it and missed."

"A deer ran past?" Mark rubbed his eyes. "Damn… I am really out of it today… Does your village have an inn, Miss Rebecca?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yes. My father owns it. And please, just call me Rebecca."

Mark slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Fine, Rebecca. If you could lead me into town, I would purchase a room for the night."

Rebecca shook her head. "I going to get you free room and board. You can consider it an apology."

Mark started to object, then thought better of it. Free stuff was never bad.

Rebecca led Mark on a winding path through the mountain woods, crossing over thin streams of water and climbing over mossy boulders sunk in the moist ground. It was a little rough, but Rebecca finally led Mark to the opposite side of the mountain. The pair looked down, and Mark could see a collection of buildings in the distance, as well as a very steep, rocky mountainside. They began to go down it; Mark moved slowly, grabbing every handhold he could and lowering himself gingerly, while Rebecca skipped from rock to rock with the surety of a mountain goat, humming merrily.

"You've walked a long way just to go hunting, Rebecca."

"All the game on the other side," said the archer, alighting on another rock before launching to the next. "I've lived here all my life, so I know the mountain very well."

"All your life? Interesting." Mark grunted as he wrapped both hands around a boulder while trying to prevent the duffel bag from sliding off his arm. The saber clipped to his belt was getting tangled up in his legs, threatening to trip him up. He tried not to look down, and tried to move his body as close to the rock face as was possible.

After all, he was deathly afraid of heights.

"So…" Mark said, trying to remain calm. "It's not exactly a big town, is it?"

Rebecca shrugged. "It's more of a trading post. We've got quite a few residents, of course, but we mostly just have drifters and travelers coming through."

Mark shrugged, then struggled to retain his grip, keeping his face to the mountain. "Perfect for me."

"What are you, then?" asked Rebecca as she stood on ragged stone, waiting for Mark to catch up. "A drifter or a traveler?"

"I'm a wanderer," said Mark, squinting in the sun. He slapped the boonie onto his head, but it simply fell off as he took another step down.

The trek took half an hour, which was good, for if it had lasted one more minute Mark would have had a panic attack. They set off walking towards the town. The sun was starting to set, throwing shades of pink and yellow across the sky, with random beams of light poking through the clouds. The pair closed in on the village and walked through the unpaved roads. Mark kept his eyes hidden under his boonie, not looking at anyone, but Rebecca waved cheerily to several people passing by. More often then not, they called after her.

"Hello Rebecca!"

"Best be getting home, dearie!"

"Who's that man with you? He looks shifty!"

Mark snorted.

Rebecca led the medic past all the callers to a large building with a pair of double-doors. The girl pushed one open, and Mark was greeting with a wave of sound. He blinked. Of all the inns he had been in, this was the most crowded. A bunch of red-faced men with burlap robes and shaved heads were milling about, hefting enormous kegs and mugs of liquor. Everyone was tipsy, talkative, and having a great time. Intermittent bursts of song rang out while Mark clung to a wall and melted into the shadows. He had no intention of getting drunk. The first and only time he had gotten drunk was back in New York. He'd woken up in a supermarket, laying on a pile of chunky soup cans with nothing but his boxers on.

He had made the evening news.

"Rebecca!" A rotund man pushed his way through the throng, sweating profusely.

"Father!" said Rebecca, running up to him and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "You should be in bed!" The man shook his head.

"A group of traveling friars has come in from Etruria! They're of the Drinking Order, and they live up to their reputations, young lady! Where have you been; I need you here to help!"

Rebecca looked over her shoulder at Mark, and he came forward. "Father, I told this man he could stay for free."

"What? Rebecca…" the man put a hand over his eyes and gave and exasperated sigh. "Why?"

"She… almost killed me," said Mark.

The magistrate looked up. "Did she? Oh… then fine, I guess… I can't really provide service for you now, so I'll give you a room once the crowd has died down."

"Fine with me," said Mark. He extended a hand. "I'm Mark."

"Yes, yes… Now if you excuse me, Rebecca and I must get to work."

He supposed that he looked like Strider from The Lord of the Rings, sitting in a corner with his hood over his head and his legs propped up on a stool. All he needed was a pipe to complete the image. But he didn't smoke. He had once tried a cigarette in Iraq; a sniper, alerted by his coughs, had seen it glowing in the dark and had shot it right out of his mouth. Word spread, and the entire battalion had become non-smokers by the end of the week.

The inn had gotten quieter, as quite a few of the friars had passed out from drunkenness. The magistrate was sitting at the bar, polishing glasses with a rag while Rebecca and two other barmaids walked from table to table, collecting empty mugs. Mark took another sip from his glass of milk and looked at the ceiling, doing mental pushups.

(((ERTWQH&#&YU#&)BG(&AL&ASM

)(!!&GDHJ(AV BK03765AH#)(FQQW&JK?

VBBSMMS'/456FS\678R,./QWE1D)FGO

He had memorized no less than ten of those sequences, and repeated them several times throughout the day. Every week he'd come up with a new set of symbols, letters, and numbers to memorize. It was a technique that computer hackers used to keep their brains in top order, though they usually only memorized about five of these sequences, and the sequences were usually much shorter. But not all hackers had Mark's brain.

The Chief Petty Officer flipped through Mark's test, his mouth open in awe. The medic-in-training stood at stiff attention.

"Son, why in hell are you not at the U.S. Naval Training Academy?"

"Didn't want to be an officer, sir!"

"Jesus…" said the Chief Petty Officer. He turned to his aide, a Petty Officer Third Class. "And you said he finished in how long?"

"One-fifty questions in twenty minutes, Chief."

"Jesus Christ!"

"Mark?"

Mark gave a small jump. "I— oh, hi Rebecca."

"If you want, I can take you to your room now."

"Please," said Mark. He followed her up the stairs.

That Chief Petty Officer had tried to persuade him, telling him that he could become an Admiral with his talents. Mark had requested that the man look at his personality profile, compiled by Dr. Kedves. He was never bothered by officer offers again.

Rebecca showed him a room, and Mark sighed happily.

"Wow. This is the cleanest inn I've ever been in."

Rebecca giggled. "Thank you! I do my best."

Mark threw his duffel bag on the bed and sat down next to it. "I won't be staying long, I assure you." Rebecca shook her head.

"You can stay as long as you like."

"If that's the case, then I insist on paying."

"But—"

"I said that I insist," Mark gave her a slight glower. Rebecca shrugged.

"All right… I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Of course," said Mark. "Have a good night."

"I will," said Rebecca, leaving the room and closing the door behind her. With a groan, Mark lay down on the bed. He needed to clean his shotgun and sharpen his knife.

Maybe in the morning, thought Mark, closing his eyes.

The days passed by. Mark sat in his corner, people-watching. A whole host of characters came and went: mercenaries, wizards, monks, peasants… they all provided entertainment. He got a lot of odd stares in return, but he ignored them and tried to make sense of the Flux tome Gabriel had given him. The being had also given him a tome called Nosferatu, but had warned him not to mess with it until he had gained skill. But Mark didn't mind. The Flux tome was interesting enough.

The spell was written with archaic runes on the parchments. The entire book, and all of its words, was the spell. Only a portion had to be read in order to activate the magic, but it had to be the right portion, or the magic would turn on the caster. This had happened to Mark on several occasions under the watchful teachings of Gabriel; the being had dismissed the spells before any damage could be done.

"No, little mortal, you should do it like… this."

Gabriel, wearing a office worker form, had used a simple spell that exploded with the force of twelve nuclear warheads, annihilating the distant mountains of the current landscape. After that instance, Mark let him win the next chess game. Not that he could have won, even if he had tried. Gabriel was still unbeatable.

It made him mad. Mark was a polymath, capable of excelling at any intellectual pursuit, other than linguistics, that he put his mind to. But Elder magic eluded him, taunted him. One day, he would conquer it…

Mark sipped his milk thoughtfully, then spilled it over his front as a grizzled man bashed down the door. He rushed in, followed by four other men, and leveled an axe at the magistrate.

"Do I have to explain myself? Or do you know the drill?"

The magistrate simply gaped. Mark slid into the shadows.

"I am Groznyi! As you can tell, we are bandits, and, as you know, bandits steal. So, just make a nice little pile of gold in the center of the town. With the Marquess and his knights missing, it'll be easy pickings, heh."

Mark slid quietly along the wall to Rebecca, who was watching in fear. He tapped her on the shoulder and whispered.

"We need to leave."

"I'm not abandoning my father."

Mark sighed. "We'll get help. Come on."

Mark did the leading this time. The two crept upstairs; Mark grabbed his bag and clambered out a window, Rebecca grabbed a bow and followed. Mark leapt off the roof and landed on his hands and knees, while Rebecca made a graceful landing, per usual. They quickly retreated into a shadowy alley.

"Wait here."

Mark went into a crouch and quickly crossed the street. He passed two other bandits who were looking in the other direction and found another dark alley. He climbed a drainpipe (how odd that this dimension had those!) and crouched on a roof, looking down. It wasn't too high, luckily.

A few more bandits walked the streets, and people were quickly hustling indoors. From what he could see there would probably be about seven bandits, including the ones currently in the inn. He could not be sure, but, whatever the case, he had to get help.

But wait…

He slid back down the pipe and returned to Rebecca.

"Hey, Rebecca..."

"What?"

"Is that a knight?"

Mark fell from the saddle, but quickly got to his feet. Lowen dismounted and helped Rebecca down.

"Lowen!" a heavily-armored, purple-haired man rode up on an immense war-horse. "Report!"

The cavalier blanched, but stammered out a reply.

"T-the village is under… is under attack, s-sir!"

"Marcus, what is going on?" a red-haired man in blue clothing approached, carrying a rapier. He looked familiar.

"This village is under attack, milord. Lowen! Explain!"

"T-this girl has more information, sir!"

Rebecca curtsied. "My lord Eliwood? I'm the daughter of the village magistrate. My name's Rebecca. The bandits came without warning… They're stealing everything! I beg you! Please help us!"

Ah, of course. Lord Eliwood, the rescuer of damsels in distress. Mark was still a little sour about the memory, particularly the burning of the Flux book he had wanted.

"We must help them, Marcus!" The paladin bowed his head in obedience and shook the reins of his horse, moving it forward.

Mark stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Lord Eliwood? I don't know if you remember me, but—"

"Mark!"

"Milord, you know this man?" Marcus asked, a little disbelievingly. Mark knew what he was thinking; he looked rather slovenly with his floppy hat and milk poured down his front.

"Yes, I do," said Eliwood, sheathing his rapier and walking forward to shake Mark's hand. The medic was a little surprised as he accepted the greeting; the only noble that had ever done that was Fiche, and he hadn't been a real noble at the time. "He was Lady Lyndis's military advisor during that inheritance dispute. A skilled tactician, if I remember."

Mark laughed. "You don't remember that. You remember me being unconscious."

Eliwood smiled. "True. But Lady Lyndis spoke quite highly of you."

"Did she?"

"Milord?" asked Lowen nervously. "Bandits…"

Mark and Eliwood looked down a ridge (Mark didn't get to close the edge, of course) to see a group of bandits moving up. Mark sighed.

"Well, at least we have the high ground…"

"Would you lead us into combat, Sir Mark?" asked Eliwood, pulling out his rapier again.

Mark sighed. He did not want to go on another campaign.

"It would be… my pleasure."

"Wonderful," said Eliwood. "We are at your command."

The group gathered around the only way up the ridge, with Marcus taking point.

"Let them come to us," said Mark, standing front of Rebecca as she aimed an arrow. "Everyone charge when they get close, except Rebecca, who will fire down from the ridge."

Marcus nodded in agreement, but Mark sighed.

"We need more people."

"The enemy is upon us, Sir Mark!" yelled Lowen.

"Fire, Rebecca! Rest of you, charge!"

Marcus and Lowen thundered down the slope, followed by Eliwood. Mark jogged forward at a leisurely pace. Let the knights do the fighting; he was going to get help from a group of houses in the north.

"Medic-man?"

Mark turned.

"Bartre? Dorcas?"

"Well met, Sir Mark," said Dorcas, quietly.

"Where'd your fancy clothes go, medic-man? Har-har!"

"What are you two doing here?" asked Mark, taking a quick look over his shoulder to see if his group was doing okay. They were.

"I'm getting paid to fight bandits," said Dorcas. "Natalie is getting better…"

"That's good."

"And I am training to be the strongest warrior in the land!" roared Bartre.

"Good luck with that."

"Har har! We were watching from the village. Methinks that helping Lord Eliwood would be a right good thing to do, so we came out to fight!"

"That's… great! Really!" Mark turned and pointed to his group. "Go and help… oh. All the bandits are dead…"

The trio walked back towards the main group. Marcus rode to meet them.

"Excellent work, Sir Mark. Setting Rebecca on the ridge was a sound idea."

"Thank you," said Mark, privately wishing that he could have been more involved in the battle strategies. "Anybody hurt?"

"No. We struck swiftly and efficiently. They had no chance."

Mark stuffed his hands into his pockets. "That's good. Now that's all done, I'll take my leave."

"Pardon?" asked Eliwood, walking up, his rapier bloodied. Mark shrugged.

"That nasty business is over, so I have no need to be here anymore. I wish you a good day, Lord Eliwood, and good luck on… whatever it is you're doing. Goodbye—"

"Wait!" said Eliwood.

Hoo boy.

"There is a matter about which I would like to request your assistance, Sir Mark. As you may have heard, my father, Lord Elbert, has gone missing…"

"How did this happen, Bartre? How in the world did I get sucked back into the world of war-games?"

"Ha! We're going on an adventure!" yelled Bartre, hefting his axe and pointing it to the sky.

"I don't want to go 'round the continent on another great journey! This sucks!"

"Adventure time!"

"You're not even listening… Hey, Bartre!"

"What?" asked Bartre, turning his head as they walked down the road.

"Conglomerate!" Mark yelled, feeling quite crabby.

The fighter's eyes glazed over. "Co… congla… nguuuuuooooooooooohhh!" The fighter clutched his head as Mark ran past, up to Lowen.

"Sir Lowen!"

The rider sat at attention. "Yes, Sir Mark!"

"I need to borrow your horse for a while," said Mark, reaching for the quartz knife in his pack. Lowen dismounted and helped Mark into the saddle.

"Feeling tired, sir?"

"Not on your life," snorted Mark. "I'm… a dark magic user, so I need to meditate."

"Oh?" asked Lowen, looking interested. "Is there… ah… any way for me to help?"

"Yes," said Mark, focusing on the black lines in the dark-purple quartz. "Prevent me from falling over."

The lines in the quartz became more solid, and Mark felt his veins turn to ice. The world began to spin, and he shut his eyes to stop the dizziness. The horse disappeared out from under him and he was falling, falling, until he landed on a chair in the middle of a school auditorium, surrounded by bloody, child-sized mannequins with assortments of power tools stuck in them.

"And so, little mortals, concludes our lesson in safety. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha… AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

A man was standing at the podium. He was wearing a blood-splattered doctor's coat, and was hefting a large war hammer. He was doubled over with laughter

"Gabriel?"

The man stood straight, wiping a tear from his eye. "The one and only, young mortal. The one and only." He stretched, and the scent of funeral flowers filled the room.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Relieving stress," said Gabriel, walking down from the stage, dropping his war hammer on the ground. He threw a mannequin out of a seat and sat by Mark. "You look like you could use a little stress-relieving as well!"

"Yeah," said Mark, moving aside a power drill handle that had been digging into his arm. "I was fine with wandering, but now I'm going on another blasted adventure. It seems that I'm in for more non-stop fighting."

"Hmph," said Gabriel. "Just keep out of trouble. You're traveling with a veteran paladin, so you should be fine… Dorcas has greatly improved, I can tell you, and Bartre is a force to be reckoned with. Eliwood will become incredibly powerful… Rebecca can take care of herself… watch for Lowen, though; he tries too hard, and will overexert himself."

"Right. It's just… annoying."

"The good things in life are always annoying."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Mark. Gabriel gave him a big, toothy grin.

"Whatever you would like it to mean, small mortal." The being sighed contentedly and sunk down in his chair. "Today is an auspicious day."

"Why?" asked Mark.

"Events have been set into motion, mortal. By the end of said events, I will be much happier. They will provide entertainment, and much more."

"More?"

"Yes," said Gabriel. "I know it seems that I just float along the dimensions with not a care in the world, but I have businesses I must take care of. Since I am, except for a select few, the strongest being in the multiverse, and I have many things to watch over, as well as a few of my own desires."

Gabriel licked his lips and smiled. "Are you up for chess, Mark?"

"Sorry, but no. Lowen will be wanting his horse."

"You've only been here for two minutes… ach. Perhaps this journey will be unpleasant. However…" Gabriel leaned in close, "I see very good things for you, if you make the right choices. Be careful. You have endured much, but your group has not been tested. Watch over them."

"I will."

Mark toppled from the saddle, but managed to make it look like a dignified fall. As a leader, he could no longer show weakness. He brushed past Lowen, who was frantically apologizing, and caught up with Eliwood, who was marching in step with Marcus.

"Did your father tell you what was the purpose of his leaving?"

"No," said Eliwood, looking worried. "He simply gathered up his best knights and left. My mother and I were not forewarned… he said goodbye one day and left. I assume that he had business with the other lords."

"Huh," said Mark. "Do you have any idea where we could pick up the scent?"

"Pardon?"

"Well," said Mark, "It would be better if the we had a general idea of the direction your father was traveling."

"Of course," said Eliwood. He pointed northwest, which was straight ahead. "Marcus and I suspect that my father would have first stopped by at Santaruz. We have maintained good relations with the ruler there."

"Once there, we should ask the Marquess for support. We'll need it." Mark gave a slight bow, then fell back until he caught up with Rebecca. "Doing all right?"

Rebecca laughed. "After a mountain, this is fine."

Mark was unsure. "Look, I really think you should go back… you're only fifteen! The world's a big place…"

"I know!" said Rebecca. "My brother's out there, somewhere. He went missing a while ago, along with my best friend… My mother died when I was young, and I'm not ready to give up on another family member just yet!"

"Fine."

Rebecca looked confused. "Fine? That's it? You're not going to argue?"

"My mother's dead too. I had to depend on my brother's support, before…" he sighed and shook his head. "Never mind."

"What about your father?" asked Rebecca. Mark stared at her for the longest while, then sped up his walking, leaving her in his wake.

"Sorry…" murmured Rebecca, though she did not know what to be sorry for.

And this chapter's over. Read and review, please. Please. Pretty pretty please?