Wayward Son

by Gunlord500

Renault, the Burdened Bishop of Valor, is one of Fire Emblem 7's most mysterious characters. This is but one account of his immensely long, tumultuous life.

21. Crossed Paths

Wayward Son

21: Crossed Paths

(Author's Note: Since it's been a while since I upd8ed, please re-read chapter 12, specifically, "A Tax Collector's Job" as points mentioned in that will come up in this chaptar as well. Also, again thanx to Enilas and CHM for beta-ing :) )

When Aquleia first came into view, it struck Renault how little it seemed to have changed. He was relieved to see it, of course—the trip from Thagaste, though not too long, had been exceedingly annoying thanks to Lisse almost constantly at his side, not even bothering to make conversation, but simply sniffling and bemoaning the fate of the Ruby Tortoise. Thankfully, Jerid had made an effort to keep her occupied as well as keep her away from Renault (despite their mutual antagonism, the jailer knew Renault well enough to figure it wasn't a good idea to allow Lisse, his newfound charge, to annoy the mercenary too much), but it was still more than a little irritating. Thus, when Khyron's army neared Aquleia's walls (Renault and his friends standing close to Khyron at its head; they were the ones who had to be interrogated as soon as possible, after all), he was happy to learn his journey would soon be coming to an end, but he was also surprised to see how the walls seemed to be the exact same as they'd been the last time he'd entered the city. At first glance, it seemed the Aquleians had made no particular preparations for war—the walls were still pearly-white, and the fabulous dragon's-teeth gates were as flashy as ever. However, upon closer inspection, there were a few differences in the makeup of the people passing through its gates, at least from what Renault remembered—fewer mercenaries and merchants, and more refugees. Running from the Revolutionary Army, he thought to himself. That didn't leave much of an impression on him, though—he really started to see how much things had really changed when he came up to the sentry.

Just as there had been on his last two visits to the capitol, there were several sentries attending to the great northern gate of Aquleia. They were a bit more well-armed than Renault remembered—clad in decent-looking sets of leather armor along with small bucklers and spears—and also much more alert, but the mercenary figured that could be chalked up to the war going on. Finally, at least some evidence that the people of Aquleia knew what was happening to their country! However, he wasn't expecting the response of the guards to Khyron.

The Mage General's defeat at Nerinheit Castle had apparently done little to deflate his ego. "Attention!" he called up to the armed sentry looking down at them from the gates, "I order you to give us entrance! I am Khyron Caerleon, your Mage General, and it is my duty to return to the King and his Court to…to inform them of what has happened over the course of my journey! Indeed, I have attained the personal battle plans the blackhearted traitor Paptimus drafted himself! I demand entry so that I may give my report!"

The sentry blinked down at them, looking distinctly concerned, and then gave an answer none of them were expecting. "The enemy's battle plans? The Great General told us to expect you, but he didn't mention you bringing along anything that important. You'd better get to the Palace as quickly as possible! OPEN THE GATE!"

The gleaming white dragon-fangs quickly rose, but Khyron and his army did not pass through—the Mage General, as well as most of the other people who had heard what the sentry said, were too confused to get going just yet. "Wait, Great General?" muttered Renault to Braddock, standing by his side. "I've never heard of that position before. Maybe the guy misspoke or something?"

This seemed to be the argument Khyron was leaning towards. "Wait, what are you talking about?" he yelled up to the anxious-looking sentry, eyes squinted in suspicion. "I am the Mage General, not the…what was it, Great General! I'll forgive you this mistake now, but in the future, don't make it again!"

The sentry fidgeted, loosening and unloosening his grip on his spear. "Uh…Lord Khyron, it wasn't a mistake. You, uh, you haven't heard by now, have you? Milord, if I may, please allow me and my partner to lead you to the Holy Royal Palace. I'll explain everything there."

"What the devil are you talking about? Answer me NOW!"

"Milord, please, not in public! Not like this, I beg of you! Let us go to the Palace and let your tired soldiers take their rooms in the barracks and rest. It-uh, anything less would be a dishonor to you, Lord Khyron!"

This seemed to be good enough for the Sage. "Very well, guardsman! But I expect a most excellent explanation for all this!"

With that, the army began its final march into the city, Renault and company right behind the irritated Khyron and the unhappy sentry and his partner leading him; not as angry as the Mage General but still curious. It was the third time he'd entered Aquleia, and by this point it didn't seem quite as awesome as it had before. It might have been because the beauty of the city Renault remembered had taken on a distinctly military tone, not so different from what he'd seen so much of back when he was with the Revolutionary army. Squads of workers hurried around the walls, repairing any weak spots they could find, armed soldiers—notably clad in regular mail and armed with physical weapons rather than magic users, to Renault's surprise—grimly went about their patrols, searching for any Revolutionary spies, and most curiously of all, Renault noticed impressive ballistae being mounted in strategic locations on several buildings and the beginnings of barricades in the streets being built.

Braddock, ever the pragmatic Ostian when it came to military matters, whistled appreciatively. "Damn, this is some good organization," he whispered to Renault quietly, not wanting to be heard by Khyron. "I don't know much about the layout of this city, but just from the looks of it they're placing the weapons and barricades like a good Lycian general would. Khyron couldn't have set all this up, could he? If he had this kind of aptitude for battle tactics he wouldn't have lost so hard at Nerinheit Castle!"

"I know what you mean," came Renault's quiet reply. "Think it might have to do with that Great General guy they mentioned?"

They'd find out soon enough, though perhaps not as soon as they'd hoped. Once they neared the great Holy Royal Palace, Khyron impatiently stopped his army, turned towards them, and enhancing his voice, began to bark out orders.

"We have reached our destination! All of you, return to your rooms and posts in the Royal Barracks. You have earned your rest, but with the Revolutionary Army marching on this city, your rest will be short-lived! Spend what free time you can training in preparation for the upcoming battle, or helping ready the city's defenses!"

As his disciplined army promptly obeyed his commands and marched orderly towards their quarters, Khyron turned to Renault and his friends. "Rosamia, Gafgarion, Apolli, you may join them. Jerid, is that woman still with you? Take her to the maids and have them take care of her. She's an innkeeper, she should be able to make herself useful that way." Nodding gratefully, the Knight took the despondent Lisse by the hand and led her into the Palace, the guards allowing him entrance as per Khyron's orders.

He would have specific—and less than salutary—orders for his two turncoat mercenaries, though. "Renault and Braddock, on the other hand, will require special accommodation," he said. "I don't want you assassinated, nor do I want any more of my men dying because of you! Guards," and at this he turned to the sentries, "what's the most secure area of the Palace?"

"Er, the Palace Dungeons, milord. It's a rare sight to see anybody get in or out of those without the King's direct permission!"

"Very well. One of you take these men there. They have first-hand experience with the Revolutionary armies and will be able to provide much valuable information on the enemy forces. Our foes want to silence them before they can give that information to us. This must not be allowed to happen. Do you understand!"

Both sentries gulped. "Y-yes, milord!"

"Excellent. Now, the other one of you, bring me to the Court and explain to me just what in blazes has been going on!"

"Hey, wait a second," said Renault angrily, just as the sentries began to move, "What the hell? You kept us locked in a prison for days back in Thagaste, and now you're locking us up AGAIN? What's your problem?"

"I am trying to keep you safe, you impertinent fools!" replied the Sage indignantly. "Though I don't care a whit how or where you meet your ends, it won't be until you've given the Court everything you know! Therefore, I'll house you in the safest accommodations possible, where even the Silent Chief will have a hard time getting to you! Comfort be damned!"

Renault would have argued further, but Braddock put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. "For once, Khyron's right," said the Ostian, whose voice was also angry, but controlled as well. "It's not pleasant, but it's just a fact of life that in big cities, especially ones like Aquleia and Thagaste, the prisons and jails are the best guarded. We've come way too far to die here. Even if it means spending another few nights in a cell, if it gives Yurt some extra trouble I'm all for it."

Renault gritted his teeth, but he couldn't refute his friend's logic. "Alright, fine, Khyron. But if you plan on locking us up forever…"

Fortunately, the Mage General didn't hear that last remark. "Enough of this," he said, "Let's go!" Following one sentry, he walked straight into the great front doors of the Holy Palace, again bypassing guards suspiciously armed with physical weapons rather than magic. Renault and Braddock entered the Palace as well—but the sentry led them to a different entrance. "You've got to be pretty important for the Mage General to have such an interest in your safety," said the guard. "We'll try to make your accommodations as comfortable as possible, but don't expect too much."

As he and Braddock were led to a small door on the west side of the palace, which led into a narrow, dark stairway going downwards, Renault could safely say he wasn't expecting much at all.

-X-

"I, uh, I think you want that explanation now, Lord Khyron?"

The Mage General, by this point, was too angry and impatient to even dignify this with a response. As he stood outside the great room which housed the Royal Court—unmindful of the fact that the noises which emanated from behind the door were very different than the usual shouting and arguing of nobles he was accustomed to—Khyron simply scrunched his red, scowling face and nodded his head. He'd allowed this uppity sentry to lead him all the way to the Court, after all, before he entered it was high time he receive some explanation for this "Great General" business.

"W-well, you see, milord," began the sentry, "Uh, a-all o' this s-started barely a week ago, milord. Th…news of your de—uh, I mean, news about what happened at Nerinheit Castle reached us almost as soon as it happened. Archbishop Gosterro…one of his priests must've been keeping in touch with him, because he told the King almost on the very day. Our spies c…confirmed it right afterwards. We knew things, uh, things didn't go as planned for you…

"So, uh, w-when King Galahad heard all this, he, uh…well, he just got his Malonda and locked himself up in his quarters. I-if you weren't able to achieve victory, he said, he didn't want to deal with it. The only thing he did was tell one of his spies…Harvey, Harold, I don't know the name…told some spy to go get the 'General.' We…everybody thought he was talkin' about you, b-but we soon learned different.

"So this Harold or whoever, u-under the King's orders—not mine! It wasn't my fault!" The sentry stammered, noticing how Khyron was beginning to glower even more, "He-he took a couple of Palace guards and Warped over to some city farther north…think it was Thagaste. When he came back…he-he came back with the General. The Great General.

"I-I didn't believe it at first. Some guy from Thagaste…I hear he was j-just a stoneworker! And not even Etrurian by birth, but a refugee from Lycia! I-I believed in you, Lord Khyron, I didn't think for a moment they'd replace you with some random stoneworker who wasn't even a countryman! But all I know is what I heard…the spy brought the General, whoever he was, in front of the Court. Since you were away and His Majesty was…uh, wasn't around, the Court didn't know what to do. They wanted to hand their authority over to s-somebody, but when the spy went in front of 'em, told 'em that this…this commoner was their man, and not one of them…they nearly laughed him out of there.

"B-but he proved 'em wrong, Lord Khyron. Really, really wrong. Over the spy's objections, the Court ordered the guards to get the guy out of their sight and kick him out of the Palace. B…but he wouldn't have any of it.

"He didn't have any weapons, milord. Just his own two hands. But he took down the two Court guards like they were nothing. Knocked 'em out cold. The nobles called in more guards, and a dozen of the best Sages in the Palace rushed in. He…the stoneworker didn't even break a sweat. Not even a minute before all 'of em were laid out cold! W-whoever this guy is, milord, he's a demon! I've never heard of a single man stronger than him in my life! The Lords were scared out of their minds, and I'd be too, Sir Khyron. They handed all authority over the war right to him then and there.

"And that's the story, milord. That's how it's been for the last week or so. The Court's so terrified of this guy that they're doing whatever he says. They think he's our last hope! He's the one who's been organizing the guard, letting guys like me, who use normal weapons, do the brunt of the work while keeping the magic-users he can in reserve, and he's also the one who's been organizing the city defenses. He's as smart as he is strong…everybody thinks he'll be able to save us, Lord Khyron!"

"NONSENSE!" yelled Khyron, his face quite red. "I'LL SHOW THEM!" Over the stammered protests of the sentry the Mage General barged past him, threw open the great doors, and entered the Court.

Even as angry as he was, however, he had to pause a moment when he saw what had become of the Court. The architecture, the stone tables and gilded chairs, all was the same as it was the last time he saw it, but what was actually going on in the room…that was completely different.

The nobles were mostly all there, as far as he could see, but they did not seem to be presiding over anything—in fact, they struck him looking more like servile clerks. All of the men, such as they could, huddled over their tables, whispering anxiously among themselves about "the war effort" and "the Great General's orders," debating between themselves over the locations of ballistae or the reports of spies, scribbling things down on parchment, and handing those pieces of parchment—along with more whispered orders—to a small army of actual clerks who were buzzing about the room like worker bees, carrying those orders and commands between both the gathered nobles and the strange man who sat in the King's throne in plain clothing with a not-ornate table in front of him.

"YOU!" Khyron shouted as he strode right up to the red-haired man, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THE KING'S THRONE!"

He hoped to unnerve the man, wipe that strange, utterly unfeeling expression off his face, and at least force him to acknowledge the authority of the Mage General, but he succeeded in doing none of those things. The only thing he managed to do was shut the rest of the Court up, as everyone in the room, both noble and lesser clerk alike, fell into complete silence.

No emotion flitted across the red-haired man's face; the only thing Khyron could see was a slight flicker in his cold grey eyes. "You're the Mage General? I've been expecting you. You've just arrived," he stated dispassionately. "I can see why you'd be confused. My name's Henken. This Court's given me complete command of the war effort. You'll be serving under me. Now, I want to hear your report on what happened at Nerinheit Castle. I was also told you managed to obtain a pair of defectors from the Revolutionary cause. I want to interrogate them."

Was this…stoneworker ordering him around? The Mage General? Khyron couldn't believe this. "HOW DARE YOU," he roared, "HOW DARE YOU! YOU USURP THE KING'S THRONE, YOU USURP THE AUTHORITY OF THE COURT, AND NOW YOU PRESUME TO GIVE ORDERS TO ME? WHO THE DEVIL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

"The only one in this room with any idea of how to fight a war," came the man's dry reply. "Mage General, after this court heard news of your defeat, and after your King locked himself up in his private chambers in terror, nobody in this city had the smallest idea of how to defend themselves. These nobles you see here were essentially running around like scared kids before Harvery brought me here to organize them. And if you take a look around you, you'll see I've been successful. I've turned the Royal Court into a war room. Instead of bickering with each other like they used to, every last aristocrat in here is a recruiter, a logistician, a strategist, or otherwise working towards the benefit of the Etrurian military. We still have a lot of work to do, but we've managed to cobble together a plan to defend this city. If you care at all about your King and your country, you'll stop complaining and try to help me."

"He-he's telling the truth, Lord Khyron, oh yes, oh yes!" called one concerned noble sitting in the seat closest to Henken—Khyron recognized his corpulent form as belonging to Count Bramsel. "Harvery told us he's a veteran of the Lycian Civil War, he fought through the whole thing! He sure fights like it, oh yes! I've never seen anyone like him! W-With him on our side we'll be sure to win, oh, I'm sure we will! Just—"

Khyron wouldn't hear any of it. "I'll not be outdone by a commoner! Leave that throne right now, you impertinent fool, lest I burn you to ashes as you sit!"

"You're beginning to annoy me," said Henken, a slight—very slight—tremor running through his otherwise flat voice. And as angry as Khyron was, and as strong as he believed himself to be, that small tremor, along with the spark of anger that had lit up in those grey eyes was enough to give him pause, for at least a moment. Despite his pride, he couldn't stop a chill running through his spine and a small voice in the back of his head from telling him to back down.

Unfortunately, he didn't heed it. "ENOUGH OF THIS! I'LL MAKE YOU AN EXAMPLE FOR ANYONE WHO DARES DISRESPECT THE CROWN SO!" Brandishing his Elfire tome in one hand, heedless of the screams of the assembled nobility for him to stop, Khyron pointed a finger at the impertinent foreign usurper, smiling viciously as two gouts of flame erupted from beneath his feet, coalesced into a huge fireball above his head, which then launched itself at the throne's occupant and then exploded into a terrific burst of smoke and red-orange sparks.

Khyron's expression turned into a smile of triumph…for one moment. That was all it took for him to realize that the fireball had detonated in front of the Great General, not on top of him.

The Mage General's jaw dropped slightly when he got a good look at his opponent. Henken remained sitting in his throne, in almost the same position…except his right hand was closed into a fist and extended in front of his face. The knuckles were singed and smoking—faster than Khyron could even see, Henken had punched the fireball before it hit, and utterly annihilated it with a single bare hand, being only slightly singed for the trouble.

"I-Impossible," stuttered Khyron dazedly, "My…my Elfire spell…utterly impossible!"

"I won't warn you again," said Henken, the tremor in his voice becoming more pronounced. "Despite your failures, you can still be useful to me, Mage General. If possible, I want to be able to make use of your strength, even if not in a leadership position. However, I can only do that if you're willing to cooperate. So you have two choices, Khyron. Either swallow your stupid pride, follow my orders, and help save your King and country. Or try and come at me again, in which case I'll rip you to pieces right here and now. Which do you choose?

Khyron growled and gritted his teeth, but now, despite his pride, he was actually shaking. For all his confidence in his abilities and his superiority, he had never, ever seen anyone deflect a spell as powerful as Elfire so easily.

"P-Please, listen to him," pleased Bramsel again. "Lord Khyron, it's not as if you've been demoted! You're still the Mage General, and Galahad is still our King! It's just that our Great General has the most expertise with civil wars! Y-yes, that's it! You lend us your most estimable strength, my Lord Khyron, while Henken deals with the mundane matters of planning and strategy! The Great General is your colleague, your equal, nothing more, oh no! S-so please, just for now, do as he says, shall you? Please? Or else he'll get mad again!"

The incensed Khyron clenched his jaw as hard as he could, so hard it quickly began to ache. But for all his anger and wounded pride, he knew what Bramsel was saying was correct. He was the one who asked Malonda to intervene on Galahad's behalf, all those months ago, in order to force the King to act like a leader. If His Majesty no longer wanted to do that, then Etruria still needed a leader. "Even if it had to be this commoner…this foreigner," Khyron muttered to himself, "We…we're just using him, aren't we? Only his specific expertise in dealing with civil wars, like the one in Lycia. That's all." He finally looked up, staring straight into Henken's grey eyes. "If my liege, His Majesty King Galahad, and my fellow nobles of the Royal Court have truly arrogated to you this authority, then I shall respect it. Even if you are a commoner, I…I will…take…your advice in matters pertaining to civil wars, and respect it as coming from a Great General."

This seemed to satisfy Henken, though the only demonstration of his he provided was the disappearance of the tremor in his voice. "Good." He rose from his chair and motioned for Khyron to follow him. "Khyron, come to my personal chambers. I want to hear your report in private, and then I'll call up your two prisoners. The rest of you," he called, getting the attention of all the nobles and clerks who had been watching this display, "I want you to continue your organization of all the recruits we've received. Khyron's brought a lot of able-bodied men from Thagaste with him thanks to the draft, and we're still receiving more. After I've interrogated the prisoners I'll return here to revise our defense plans as necessary."

With that, he strode past Khyron towards the great doors of the Court as the nobles around them resumed their bureaucratic duties. Khyron, of course, quickly followed.

He didn't like what he was doing, but he did what he had to.

-X-

"Wait a second. Did you say he was a stoneworker?"

"Aye," replied the friendly guard—a not-quite-middle-aged, dull-green haired fellow by the name of Anstraz. He had just finished telling Renault and Braddock, his two new friends on the other side of the cell's bars, essentially the same thing the sentry had told Khyron several hours earlier. They had been placed in one of the cells closest to the exit of the basement dungeons of the Holy Royal Palace, and had managed to strike up a conversation with Anstraz, who apparently didn't like spending long, lonely hours down here. After Braddock told him a bit of a fib about how they had been hired by Paptimus (rather than betraying Exedol) but had "seen the light" after witnessing Khyron's defeat at Nerinheit Castle, the man had been happy to make friends with them. They'd asked about who the "Great General" was, and their new friend had been explaining that to them for the past several minutes.

"Yeah," continued Anstraz, "from Thagaste, actually. Weird, eh? Never would've thought a stoneman'd be much good with matters of war, but he really knew his stuff. When one of our spies brought him here, the nobles didn't believe it either…but he took out a dozen of our best sages, just like that? Now they're leavin' everything to him, and I gotta say, this city feels safer than it's ever been. That Revolutionary Army doesn't stand a chance, no matter how big it is!

"Uh, y-yeah," said Renault as he sat on the cell's bench with a distinctly surprised expression on his face. "L-listen, Anstraz, you know what this guy's name is?"

"Hmm…most of the time we just call him the Great General, or just The General. He hasn't been here long, after all, so hardly anybody's on a first-name basis with him…though he doesn't seem like he'd be on a first-name basis with anybody anyways. Never quite caught it…think it's Henry or something."

"N-no way," muttered Renault. "H…Henken…it couldn't be. No way…"

"Henken, that was his name," said Anstraz, a bit surprised. "How'd you know?"

Braddock and Renault looked at each other warily. "N…nothing," said the swordsman, "it's just a coincidence. It has to be…"

The guard seemed as if he wanted to interrogate them further, but was interrupted by the arrival of one of his comrades. "Anstraz," said the newcomer, "Let 'em out. The Great General wants to see 'em now."

"Ah, okay. Time to go, lads," said Astraz, who opened the cell. "We'll escort you to the General's personal chambers. The two of us aren't no slouches with our spears, so you won't have much to worry about even if that Yurt decides to pop by while you're traveling."

"Thanks," said Braddock as the group began their journey upwards, out of the dungeon and into the Palace proper. "How about the General himself, though? Don't you have him under guard?"

"We sure do," chuckled Anstraz, "but believe me, if you've seen that guy fight, you'd know he doesn't need protection. Even though he's a commoner, he still managed to impress the Court with his skill…you have to be really, REALLY good to do that. If even our Sages couldn't beat him, the Silent Chief can't either!"

"I hope so," said Renault. "Speaking of Sages, though, where's Khyron? Are they gonna interrogate him along with us?"

"Nah." The other soldier laughed. "Khyron got sent off to 'make preparations' for the journey he's gonna make…really, the General just sent him off by himself to cool off. From what I heard, he tried to pick a fight with Henken the moment he laid eyes on him and got the worst of it. Even after that, when he gave his report at what happened at Nerinheit, the General must've criticized him something fierce, cause he got angry again and ended up with a black eye this time. I heard the General gave him some busywork to cool him down…sent him off to get some funny supplies or something. That oughta keep him occupied for a while!"

Braddock laughed out loud. "Sounds just like Khyron," he said. Then, leaning towards Renault, he whispered, "Damn, man, this Henken guy sounds tough. You sure he's your old boss?"

"Not absolutely sure, but pretty certain." Renault's face had a pallor to it indicating he wasn't looking forward to the reunion. "The closest time I ever saw Henken in action was when he slugged me after I told him I'd be becoming a mercenary, all those years ago. I wasn't as tough then as I was now, but even so…"

"I'll take your word for it," said Braddock. "In any case, looks like we'll be finding out soon enough."

Those were the last words of any importance which passed between them for a few minutes as they were led through the Palace, taking the opportunity to enjoy the scenery. As much as they could, anyways—Braddock never had much of an aesthetic eye and Renault had lost much of his over the time he'd spent as a mercenary. It was still at least something of a relief to see paintings, ornate columns, and beautiful sculpted walls instead of the bleak insides of jail cells they'd seen so much of recently.

They wouldn't have too much time to enjoy this, though—after about five minutes, they had left the west wing's dungeons, entered into the central building, and from there, headed to the second highest floor of its main spire—right below the King's room, in fact. The room they were standing in front of had a pair of impressive oak doors, similar to the ones to the Court but a bit smaller, upon which Anstraz knocked. "Milord, we've brought the defectors. Do you want them in?"

A single, calm word that could be faintly heard through the wood was the first thing that gave Renault any indications his suspicions were correct. "Yes."

Obediently, each guard opened one of the doors, allowing Renault and Braddock ingress, promptly closed them the moment the two men entered, and then proceeded to walk downstairs where they would guard the stairwell that led to his chambers—the Great General had made very clear he wanted absolute privacy when he interrogated spies or defectors, and they definitely didn't want to do anything to pique his ire.

As the doors closed, the two former Revolutionaries found they were standing in a bedroom that seemed as if it had once been opulently adorned but had since been pared down—an indication of its occupant's preferences, apparently. There was only a decent single bed, a few paintings on the walls, and a large, wide table in front of which sat their host. He wasn't looking at them at the moment—his attention was currently on the pieces of parchment on the table; he was poring over them intently. But just a glimpse of his red hair as he leaned over it gave Renault his second and final confirmation that the Great General of Etruria really was his former boss.

"S-Shit!" stammered Renault, the expression on his face as shocked as it had ever been. "H-Henken, it really is you! I can't believe this!"

"Renault," said the man, still rifling through his papers. "I knew the moment Khyron mentioned that name it'd be you. I—"

He finally looked up from the parchment, at Renault and Braddock. And when his eyes passed over the latter, everything changed.

In Henken's grey eyes, which usually only evinced the smallest spark of anger on those rare occasions he was pushed, there burned a wild, white-hot blaze of rage. And on Braddock's face was an expression of sheer astonishment mixed with a terror equal to that he'd displayed when he'd seen Yurt.

"Char? CHAR? Why, HOW, HOW THE HELL COULD YOU BE HERE?"

Renault remembered that name from the story Braddock had told him about his origins in Ostia. "Wait, what the hell? That was the name of your fiancee's brother, right? He can't be—"

Before he knew it, he had his answer.

Almost faster than he could see, Henken vaulted over the table, dashed over to Braddock, and slammed a fist into his stomach.

"GAH!" Bile and saliva flew from the Ostian's mouth as he didn't stagger back, but flew back, straight into the wall behind him, from the force of that punch. Henken didn't waste a moment. "YOU KILLED MY SISTER!" he shouted, in his voice the most terrifying, manic rage Renault had heard, the same kind of rage he'd heard in Braddock's voice when talking about Paptimus. Is this what he's been hiding all these years, Renault wondered for the split second it took for him to overcome his shock. Right after, though, when he saw Henken—who, despite being almost half a foot shorter than Braddock and much less muscular, was gripping the Ostian's neck in a deadly chokehold and squeezing, holding his entire body above the ground—he knew he had to do something.

"SHIT! HENKEN, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Renault rushed over and grabbed one of Henken's arms, trying to pry his grip off of Braddock before he crushed his best friend's neck. Henken didn't say a word in response to that—he took one hand from Braddock's neck and swatted at Renault. The swordsman couldn't even dodge—he saw a blur and felt a crushing blow to the side of his cheek, and the next thing he knew he was lying dazed on the floor a few feet away.

However, he had managed to loosen Henken's grip on Braddock, and it was just enough. "Gaaack, s-shit," gasped Braddock, the grip on his neck loosened just enough to allow him to speak, "It was P-Paptimus! Paptimus! He killed her! HE DID!"

Whatever it was, Henken hadn't expected an admission anything like this. For the first time, Renault saw something vaguely like surprise flit over the man's face, before it was quickly swallowed up by anger again. Like he was discarding a piece of trash, Henken flicked his wrist and sent Braddock flying away to the side, to land in a crumpled heap against another wall.

"Maxim." Henken stood over the Ostian as he attempted to collect himself, glowering down at him. "It's not enough that you killed her, but you'll lie to me about it?"

"I'M TELLING THE TRUTH!" Braddock screamed, and as Renault looked at his face, even from the other side of the room as Henken stood over him, he could tell his friend was plainly distraught for reasons other than being assaulted. His face was red, as one would expect from a man who'd nearly been strangled, and so too were his eyes moist, but that moisture also looked like the beginning of tears. "FOR GOD'S SAKE, CHAR, THINK! THINK! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVED HER!" Braddock was sobbing now, Renault was sure of it. "I'D NEVER EVEN HURT HER, MUCH LESS KILL HER!"

"You?" Contempt as well as anger could be heard in Henken's voice. "You always were a failure, a screwup. Of course you—"

"NO! PLEASE, CHAR, YOU KNOW THIS! BETTER THAN ANYBODY!" Braddock sobbed again. "Y-yeah, you're right. I was a failure. I was a s-screwup. Completely. Entirely. B-but that's why…Char, Pamela was my best friend. My ONLY friend! You KNOW that! My parents…my own SIBLINGS, they hated me! They all hated me! Pamela…s-she was the only one who saw anything in me. How…Char, no matter what happened, no matter even if the entire world burned, I could never hurt someone like that! A failure like me…it's the only thing I've ever said you could count on! You KNOW it, Char! You HAVE to!"

For a moment or two, Henken stood transfixed, almost as if he was warring with himself—Braddock's words had apparently touched something in him very deeply, enough that even that crazy, uncontrollable rage had receded for a bit. Renault didn't know what exactly was going on, but he knew he had to say something or else his crazy former boss would likely kill them both. The fact that Braddock's words had managed to give the furious Great General pause meant he had an opportunity. "Why the hell do you think we defected?" Renault yelled. "The moment Braddock—Maxim!—here overheard Paptimus talking about what he did in Ostia! He went crazy! Crazier than you right now, in fact! He tried to kill Paptimus with his damn bare hands, Henken! I had to bust him out of Castle Nerinheit after he failed! You think Paptimus wouldn't do this kind of thing? Look at the documents we brought you, that letter to Tassar! He poisoned a whole town just so he could frame us…frame ME! All to start a civil war! Of course he could do the same back in Lycia! I don't know what the hell's up with you, Henken, but all I know is that Braddock's the innocent man here! Paptimus, the guy you're supposed to be fighting against, is your REAL enemy!"

Henken stood stock still for a moment, apparently digesting all this. Then, he spoke. "Maxim, get up." The anger was still plainly evident in his voice, but it seemed to be ice-cold, now, rather than an uncontrollable rage. "Renault, get the hell out of here. Me and your friend have a lot of things to discuss."

Renault started to protest, but Braddock made his case for him. "I've already told him everything, Char," said the Ostian, struggling to his feet. "He knows who I am, he knows who you are, and he knows what really happened in Lycia. Everything!"

Henken cast Renault a single glance, then turned his attention back to Braddock—he apparently knew that the swordsman had a part to play in this puzzle as well. "What really happened in Lycia?" The Great General took a few steps back, so he could keep both Braddock and Renault in his view. "Explain. If you really have a defense for yourself, Maxim, I've never heard it. And if it's not good, I'm going to tear you to pieces right now."

"N-not until I have a chance to go after Paptimus," said Braddock. "T-that's all I ask!"

"Then tell me why!" The anger in Henken's voice was beginning to heat up again.

"C-Char…I'll start from the beginning. I didn't kill Pamela. But for years, I never knew who really did. For years, I always thought it was Volker…that bastard, Volker. You knew how he wanted Pamela. And when he couldn't have her, I thought he…"

"You killed him."

"YES! Yes, Char, I admit it, I killed an innocent man! But at the time, I thought he killed my fiancée! I was sure of it! But he'd never get punished…he killed his first two wives, and he was a marquess, to boot! I was sure he'd never be brought to justice. So I took it into my own hands, Char!"

"Then why did you run away?" The General glared at him. "Even facing the axe of death, you were still a Prince of Ostia. If you'd explained it to somebody, they would have set you free and let you live. But instead of owning up to what you did, you escaped in the dead of night…like you were guilty of something more than taking revenge for your fiancée. I would've believed anything you said, Maxim. But when your cell in Ostia turned up empty, and all those guards dead…that's when it occurred to me that Laus' claim you murdered both Pamela and his brother might've been true."

"I didn't 'escape,' Char. I was broken out!"

Once again, it seemed the former stoneworker had been taken off guard. "Explain."

"Two days before my execution, right at midnight, the door to my cell opened. It was a guy in dark armor…I couldn't make any of his features out." The Ostian's face scrunched up as he forced himself to relive those painful memories. "All I could see was that he had two horns on the top of his helmet. He told me to come with him…I didn't know any better, so I followed. He led me all the way out to the border with Ostia…I thought he was saving me from death. Right until he shoved his shotel in my back and tossed me down a cliff into a ravine. I would've died, but I washed up on a shore where the guy who made me into a mercenary was camping nearby. Tassar…he gave me an elixir to heal my wounds and a Wolf Beil he'd gotten off of an Ostian fighter for me to defend myself. And—"

"Wait," said the Lycian. "A shotel and a horned helmet? That sounds like—"

"Yurt, the Silent Chief. Yeah, I know," Braddock grimaced. "That was one reason I joined up with Tassar, and the reason I haven't been back to Ostia for the past seven years. For some reason, the Silent Chief wanted me dead. Not only was I sure I'd get my head chopped off if I ever came back to Lycia, I thought that assassin might be after me. So I became a mercenary…I laid low for seven years, took the name Braddock, kept away from Ostia and Lycia…in all that time, the assassin never came for me. I thought he assumed I was dead, and left me alone because of that. But not even three weeks ago…I heard the truth."

Braddock was getting angry now, like Char. "We'd joined up with the Revolutionary Army when we had the chance, like all the other mercenaries. Everything was going great…until late at night, I saw something. It was…this…this black magic spy, I can't explain it exactly. Paptimus had sent it to peep on our room. It tried to get away, but when I caught it, I heard voices from the room above me…my boss' room. He was talking to Paptimus…talking about their plans for the war." He kept his hands clenched at his sides, spitting his words out through a grimace. "He mentioned Lycia wouldn't be a problem, that the Civil War he 'engineered' there would keep them occupied and weakened for years! He set everything up, Char! He visited Lycia with Nerinheit for our wedding…and then he ambushed Pamela as she was traveling, and…d-dammit, he knew Laus would be blamed! I killed Volker…I killed the Marquess of Laus, but Paptimus was the real murderer! He killed my Pamela, just to destabilize the Lycian Alliance…and he framed Volker for it, and when I killed him...Paptimus knew he could make a civil war out of it, and sent Yurt to free me and then kill me, so Ostia never had a criminal to execute…and so that Laus…and yeah, Char, you too…you'd think Ostia was protecting me!"

There was now a combination of shame, sorrow and anger on the Ostian's face. "Listen, Char, I know it was my fault. I'm a coward who should have brought myself back into Ostia the moment I could, even if I risked getting killed by Yurt, even if I would've been executed. Maybe then I could have changed everything you went through…maybe then you wouldn't have to endure that hell of a civil war. I can't possibly make it up to you, Char. The only thing I ask is that you don't kill me just yet. Please…PLEASE, let me have a shot at that bastard! Let me have a chance to drive my axe into Paptimus' face! Pamela…I'll never be able to rest until I can slaughter the bastard who killed my Pamela!"

Henken stood still for a moment as Renault and Braddock both watched with trepidation. He didn't say anything, except for one almost inaudible muttered phrase.

"Makes sense."

He walked over to his desk and looked down at the parchments on it. "Makes sense," he said again, his voice almost eerily calm compared to his previous rage—except, of course, for the tremor running through it. "Harvery's reports from Lycia…Paptimus' plans…it makes sense now."

"Uh…what?" Renault wasn't quite sure what Henken was talking about.

"IT MAKES SENSE!" The Great General shouted and slammed a fist into the wall—Renault grew even paler when the man drew his fist back and revealed the small crater in the stone.

"Everything makes sense now," said Henken again, his voice seemingly as calm and flat as it usually was. "Harvery's gotten a lot of reports from his friends in Lycia, and he's passed them on to me."

"Harvery? You mean that shifty servant Cornwell had? He's still around?"

Henken nodded. "Yes. He is and always was an Etrurian spy. And he still has friends in Lycia who are keeping him abreast of what's going on back home. Apparently, several hundred Bernese deserters sailed into Badon, carrying a titanic crate with them. They've been marching northwest through Lycia for several days now, and they'll go right past Ostia soon. 10 years ago, there's no way Bern could have afforded to be so bold. Our military would have stopped those 'deserters' in their tracks. But now, after the civil war, Lycia's still too weak to risk resisting the interlopers in any meaningful way. The cantons are just letting them pass, hoping this isn't a sign of another war."

"Y-You mentioned a huge container or something," said Renault. "That…that has to be the secret weapon on those plans we got! The one from Bern!"

Henken nodded. "Yes. Those plans don't say anything specific, but they do describe Bern sending in some form of support from the south, sending it straight to Aquleia. This must be it." He turned to Braddock. "And that's why I believe you."

The tremor in his voice had gotten more prominent. "Your story definitely explains a lot. Paptimus must have been thinking about this rebellion for a long time. A long, long time, if he spent so long posing as a Prime Minister for the right opportunity to revolt. He's also willing to use false-flag operations to spark conflicts when he needs to, as that letter of yours exposing his culpability in what happened at Scirocco proves. A civil war in Lycia would have fit in with his plans perfectly…he knew Bern would be able to provide more assistance if Lycia's military was in no condition to put up a fight. And I know Glaesal was in Lycia—I saw his wedding invitation. It would have been easy for Paptimus to have been brought along…which means he could have easily committed the murder. Maxim, your story makes sense."

"I'll kill Paptimus." The General's voice would have seemed like a portrait of perfect calm were his voice and hands not shaking. "I'll kill him. Paptimus killed my sister. I'll kill him."

"We'll kill him, Char," Braddock corrected. "I want that bastard just as much as you do. I know it won't undo everything I did wrong, but I don't care. I don't need forgiveness! I don't need repentance! All I need is revenge!"

Henken nodded in response, but his expression was still as cold as a tomb. "I'm not planning on forgiving you, Maxim. You still bear the responsibility for the Civil War, and the hell I've been through. But before I end you, I'm going to use you. You are going to help me foil Paptimus' plans, you are going to help my army crush his, and if you die in the process, that's simply too bad. Is that clear?"

"As crystal," Braddock replied with a grim smile on his face. Renault was about to say something to protest, on behalf of his friend, but Braddock cut him off. "No. Don't worry about it, bud. I wouldn't have this any other way." He turned back to the General. "But before I fight for you, Char, I wanna know one thing. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Ostia defeated me," he explained with his typically laconic manner. "Even with my leadership, Cornwell, Laus, and our allies didn't have enough trained troops to stand against your father. We were making a good effort, though. Until Marquess Araphen saw an opportunity for advancement and drugged my meal at a banquet he held for me. He handed me over to the Ostians as proof of Araphen's loyalty, and in exchange for future preferential treatment.

"I was the central leader of the anti-Ostian coalition. With me gone, they fell apart. Everyone was tired of the war anyways. Cornwell and Laus surrendered with their two conditions being the maintenance of their autonomy, and that my younger brother could see me one more time before Ostia gave me the axe."

"I take it that's not what happened," said Braddock.

"Yes. Like I told you, Harvery was an Etrurian spy. He still is. He snuck into Ostia's prison—the same one you were in—and sprung me out. And he took me to Etruria, just like you'd been taken."

"W-what?" Braddock couldn't believe this. "So were you the victim of some sort of conspiracy too, like I was?"

"Not really. Harvery brought me before the King, who had heard of the skill I'd displayed in battle back in Lycia. He offered me a peaceful life in Etruria for as long as I wanted, on one condition: that if Etruria truly needed it, I would return to the battlefield. That, if necessary, the Red Comet would burn again."

"And you accepted."

"Yes. Harvery got me a house in Thagaste, and stoneworking had always been one of my interests. Within a short time, I had become one of the city's master masons." He turned his cold eyes towards Renault. "This was how we met. Renault was my apprentice before he became a mercenary."

"Yeah, and in fact, you deserve a bit of the credit for that, boss," sneered Renault. "After getting back from Scirocco, I might've thought about giving up the mercenary life if I thought I could work under you again. You wouldn't be dumb enough to believe those rumors about me. But then I remembered how you'd beaten the hell out of me when I told you I'd signed up with some mercenaries." He looked over to Braddock and smiled. "And I also remembered I found a friend who was better than you ever were. So I'm pretty happy, Henken—or Char, or whatever you want to call yourself. I only have one question. You were a soldier too, weren't you? So why'd you get so mad at me when I became a mercenary, eh? I never knew you were such a hypocrite!"

Henken's hands twitched, but Renault was now pretty angry now himself—he'd never quite forgotten how his former boss had left him, and that resentment had festered over the years. "You're right, Renault," said the former stoneworker. "I used to be a soldier. And I sacrificed everything on the altar of war. I saw all of my closest friends die before my eyes. There were times I couldn't go for days without being surrounded by corpses. Love…hope…passion…I lost all of these things. Even now, I have trouble feeling them. All I knew was how to fight. The Civil War took everything else from me.

"That was why…when Harvery allowed me to escape, when he brought me to Etruria, when the King made me his offer…the only thing I could do was accept. I was tired of it all. Tired of feeling nothing but an axe in my hands and seeing nothing but a battlefield in front of my eyes. I wanted to forget it all…to just live, rather than fight.

"And with those years I spent in Etruria…I thought I had succeeded. It took years, but I could finally breathe the air without being reminded of the scent of blood…sleep without dreaming of battle. Just working with the stone, concerned with nothing else…that was all I wanted out of life. And with you by my side…you may have been a troublemaker, you may have been immature, but I'd started to think of you as a friend, Renault.

"But that wasn't good enough for you. Even though you lived with your mother, even at twenty-three…the sort of life I would have loved to live, it wasn't good enough for you." His hands twitched again. "You chose to be a mercenary of your own free will. Even if it was just one job, you still chose to follow the path of war. I didn't want anything but to cast that hell away from me forever, but you embraced it freely, as if it were nothing.

"I can't stand men like that. Men who embrace everything I want so desperately to spurn. Men like you."

"That's your story, huh?" Renault's tone was somewhere between dismissive and sympathetic, and honestly, the swordsman himself couldn't tell which of the two he was supposed to be. "Yeah, well, look at it this way. Even without me…even if I hadn't done anything, Paptimus would have thrown this whole country into war somehow. And you'd have been dragged back into this hell. So any way you cut it, you shouldn't be mad at me…or Ma—Braddock, for that matter. You should be mad at Paptimus. So how about you help us help you? We don't have to like each other, and we probably never will, but we both want the same thing—that deceitful bastard's head stuck on a pike!"

The General took a deep breath and closed his eyes, attempting to steady himself—and the attempt seemed like it'd been successful, for the shaking of his hands, which had grown very strong, had diminished, and then stilled. "You're right, Renault," he said, his grey eyes now perfectly flat and cold. "Let's get started. Come here." Henken moved over to his table, picked the chair off of the floor, and took his seat again, with Braddock and Renault standing in front of them. "Both of you tell me as much as you can about the composition, logistics, and armaments of the Revolutionary Army."

Braddock and Renault were happy to do so. Over the course of more than an hour, they divulged as much as they possibly could about their former comrades—how they'd trained new recruits, the number of new recruits they remembered, the sort of equipment they and their allies had received, how they'd been paid, what kinds of abilities the Red Shoulders seemed to use (especially their methods of spying), and a wide variety of other matters. The Great General listened intently, though neither Braddock nor Renault could quite tell what he was thinking just by looking at those still eyes of his. Finally, for whatever reason, he brought the conversation over to the subject of the battle plans Renault and Braddock had brought.

"I've already looked these over," said Henken, "both the plans and the letter. I can see how Paptimus set everything up at Scirocco, and now I have a good idea of how the assault on Aquleia is going to look. But," and he looked down at the papers before him, furrowed his brow, and mumbled, "I've heard reports of ships moving. Wait." He looked back at Renault and Braddock, not allaying their mild confusion in the least. "Khyron told me you were being pursued by Yurt, the Silent Chief. Is this true?"

"It definitely is," said Braddock, a grimace on his face. "Yurt never liked leaving a mark alive, from what I've heard. He mentioned wanting to finish things up with me when he found me. We managed to fend him off, and keep him away before we made it to Khyron. He attacked us two more times after that, but with the help of Khyron and our friends, we managed to make it here safely."

"He really wanted us dead," said Renault. "And he was amazing…on foot, he could keep up with a running horse! I can't imagine he'd be cheap…Paptimus must've really laid into his coffers to get a guy like that after us!"

Henken merely nodded at this, the expression on his face still inscrutable. "Yes. But you're still here, aren't you? With the plans?"

"Huh?" Renault couldn't hide his confusion. "What're you talking about?"

"Yurt's one of the most dangerous assassins on Elibe. You wouldn't have gotten here if he'd really tried to prevent your coming."

"What're you insinuating?" asked Braddock angrily. "Yurt's killed some of Khyron's men and even burned down an inn we were staying at to get to us. You don't think that's proof enough the Revolutionaries want us dead?"

"Yurt may want you dead. It's those plans I'm wondering about," came the laconic reply. "I can believe you two survived. You may be made of tougher stuff than even Yurt expected. I hope so. But if Paptimus ordered him to, it was well within his ability to take back what you'd stole from Khyron or whoever you'd given those plans to. But he ignored them totally. It's suspicious. I'd wager Paptimus wanted these plans to fall into our hands."

"T-that's impossible," said Renault indignantly—and despairingly, "we worked so hard to—"

"Hard work is irrelevant in war. All that matters is results. I received a report yesterday from someone in the Western Isles which told me a lot of ships had been seen in the strait separating it from the mainland…near where Nerinheit City is located. But these plans don't mention anything about ships of any sort. I wager Paptimus let them fall into our hands to mislead us."

Both Braddock and Renault were completely crushed. "No! NO! It can't be!" Braddock slammed a hand down on the table, sending papers flying. "Char, we worked so hard! We risked our lives! Are you telling us it was all for nothing? That Paptimus was manipulating us AGAIN?"

"I am," said the General, "But at this point it's meaningless." True to form, he didn't care about Braddock and Renault's emotional reactions in the least. "What we need now is a plan. I'm not certain what, exactly, Paptimus is going to do with those ships in the report, but I do know one thing for certain—Harvery made a big deal about those Bernites and that huge container they're dragging through Lycia. I'll deal with the main assault on the city later, but for now, I want to focus on disabling whatever the Bernese part of Paptimus' plan is.

"I think you two would be ideal candidates for that task. If you want to make up for your failure with the plans, and if you want to deal a real blow to the Revolutionary Army, you'll accept it. Will you?"

Braddock and Renault looked at each other. "If we can really do him some damage," said Braddock, "I'm all for it. What about you, Renault?"

"I go where you go, bud."

For the first time, something approaching the beginnings of a smile flitted across the Great General's face. "Glad to hear that. From this point forwards, neither of you are prisoners. You're my soldiers. Understand?"

Renault and Braddock were both a bit exhausted by all this—by the revelations Henken had unleashed on them, by the physical thrashing they'd both received, and of course by the strain of working out the immense amount of emotional and mental debris which lay between the three of them—a job that wasn't even close to being done at this point, of course. But they weren't so tired that they couldn't flash small, prideful smiles at the admission of the Great General of Etruria that he was finally accepting these two defectors as true members of his forces.

"Good. My first orders to you are to head to the barracks, organize your equipment, and get as much rest as you possibly can." He fished around the table, picking up a very small piece of parchment and handing it to the two men. "Also, give this to the quartermaster when you can. It's permission to take from the stores whatever's necessary for a journey to Lycia. You'll be setting out as soon as possible, early tomorrow morning."

"W-wait," stammered Braddock, "To Lycia?"

"Yes. I'll tell you the exact details tomorrow, before you leave. But I'm essentially planning a pre-emptive strike on the Bernites." His eyes narrowed. "Unless you can think of a better plan, this is the only way to weaken the Revolutionary attack enough to give Aquleia a fighting chance. Unless you want Paptimus to win—"

"No way," said Braddock. "If you think this's the best way, then we'll do it. I don't remember anybody having a sharper mind than you when it came to tactics, Char."

The small almost-smile didn't grow larger, but it remained in place."Good. I want you to meet me in the Royal Court's chambers before the sun rises tomorrow. I'll introduce you to the rest of your team, tell you your mission, and then send you on your way. Can you do that?"

Both of them nodded. "Yeah!"

"Then you're dismissed. Get going."

Nodding in relief this time, both of the men turned and headed towards the exit of the General's room. "Wait, one more thing," he called as the two men were leaving. "It'd be annoying if either of our true identities came out. The King and Harvery know who I am, but I don't want that knowledge to go much farther than that. And Maxim, it could cause diplomatic problems—as well as make you a target—if it becomes widely known that you're a son of the Ostian marquess. So for both of you, I'm Henken, and he's Braddock. Understand?"

Renault and Braddock looked at each other."Yeah."

"Good. Now go."

The two of them were more than happy to. Disappearing down the stairs and showing Henken's permit to the guards at its bottom, they were lead over to the quartermaster's offices of the Palace's barracks. At the time, they hadn't given much thought to what their mission would entail—Braddock didn't want to go back to Lycia, but he still understood that whatever Bern was plotting, it couldn't be good. So both he and Renault didn't give much thought to the fact that they'd be requisitioning supplies for a "journey," and certainly not much thought as to the nature of that journey.

It wouldn't be anything they even remotely expected.

-X-

Jerid really hated awkward moments. And he'd be damned if this wasn't one of them.

He was currently standing outside the east wing of the Royal Palace, Lisse by his side, totally quiet and only rarely looking up from the ground, as she'd been for the entire time he'd escorted her to Etruria. Hope this cheers you up, he thought to himself as he guided her over to the eastern building, but he really wasn't betting on it.

There was a guard standing outside the wing's entrance, and he looked none too friendly. "Hold!" he called when he saw Jerid and Lisse approaching. "What business have you here?"

"Nothing much," said Jerid, unfazed. "Would this be the Palace maids' residences?"

"Who are you, and why do you want to know?"

The (former) gaoler reached into a pocket and pulled out the small bronze sigil which served as notice of his new status. "Name's Jerid. I'm a conscript from Thagaste," he said. "Lord Khyron called a draft for all able-bodied men in that city when he passed through it. I'm here to do him…well, uh, some friends of his, a little favor." He looked down sympathetically at Lisse. "See, some members of our army were being pursued by rebel spies. This girl here, she got caught up in our fight. She was the proprietor of a little inn back in Thagaste…the Ruby Tortoise, you've never heard of it. Some of our soldiers were stayin' the night there, and the enemy burned the whole place down to get to 'em. She managed to escape, but…hey, easy, easy, now," he said reassuringly, since Lisse had begun to sniffle, "it'll be alright." Turning back to the guard, he asked, "would it be alright if I left this girl in the care of the castle maids? She's got noplace else to go, and since I'm gonna be fighting soon, I can't take care of her. She used to be an innkeeper, and Lord Khyron told me the maids had been overworked recently…so I'm hoping they have a place for her? She might be able to help."

The guard stared at Jerid's sigil for a moment, and when he looked at the man himself his eyes were considerably more sympathetic this time. "I see," he said. "Well, I won't be able to help you. I'm just supposed to guard this building and make sure nobody sneaks in. You'll have to talk to the Mistress of the Servants to see if it'll be alright. She's Lady Malonda's personal attendant, and Lady Malonda is the King's, uh, well, you know…"

"I do," said Jerid. "Could I meet her?"

"Sure." The guard opened the door behind him and motioned for the couple to follow him inside. The servant's quarters consisted of the rectangular building on the east side of the Palace, shaped similarly to but somewhat smaller than the barracks which housed the soldiers on the west side. Though not as opulent as the rest of the castle the rooms were still splendid, and Jerid allowed himself a small smile as Lisse gave out little gasps of awe as she looked around, the guard leading them up to the third floor. These're just the servant's quarters and they're probably the most impressive things she's seen in her life, Jerid thought to himself again. Poor girl. Then again, poor me…being a jailer's important, but it looks like being a servant for the King pays a whole lot better. At this, he chuckled self-effacingly.

He turned his mind towards more serious matters when it seemed as if they'd reached their destination—a door to a room that didn't seem to be much more important than the others, but that did have its owner's name embossed on a gold plate in front of it."Miss Ethlea!" said the guard as he rapped his knuckles on the door. "May I have a moment? You've visitors!"

"Ethlea?" Jerid muttered to himself in surprise. He had a very sneaking suspicion he knew who the Mistress of the Servants was.

Sure enough, those suspicions were confirmed when a brown-haired woman in a good blue maid's dress answered the knock. "Don't leave them waiting outside, show them in!" she admonished. Then she took a look at who her visitors were, and her eyes went wide.

"Uh, h-hello, Ethlea," stammered Jerid. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"J—" She looked like she was about to shout, but caught herself just in time and hissed, "Jerid? What in the world are you doing here?"

"Um, do you two know each other?" The guard asked.

"Yes, we do," said the head maid, and with that, she grabbed Jerid and Lisse by their hands and pulled them into the room, then closed the door behind them, leaving the guard outside, fairly confused.

"Please make yourself at home, dear. Sit anywhere you like," she smiled at Lisse. "Just give me a moment before we introduce ourselves. I have something to work out with THIS GUY!" She turned to glower at Jerid, hands on her hips. "Jerid, you haven't spoke to me or even wrote in five years, and then you just pop up on my doorstep like this? What in the world is wrong with you!"

"I-I'm sorry!" The jailer wasn't easy to faze, but now he definitely was. "I mean, you became a maid for the Holy Royal Palace! The Holy Royal Palace of Etruria, for crying out loud! Me, I was just a jailer! I thought you wouldn't like being pestered by some nobody from your hometown, especially if you were busy with the Palace…this place is huge! You'd need a whole army to keep it clean!"

"Oh, Jerid," Ethlea said, her expression somewhere between sympathy and hurt. "How could you think that? We've known each other since we were children! And despite that, you couldn't even send a single letter!"

Jerid raised his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I learned my lesson, Ethlea, so help me God! Just go easy on me, okay?"

"So long as you mean it." She turned to give Lisse another sympathetic look, then turned back to Jerid, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "So then what brings you here? And with this girl, no less! You haven't even introduced us yet!"

"Cause you didn't give me a chance to," Jerid muttered to himself.

"What was that?"

"N-nothing! Anyways," he gestured to the girl sitting quietly on one of Ethlea's chairs, watching the conversation with a great deal of both confusion and interest, "This here's Lisse. She's-"

"Jerid, don't tell you've gone off and found someone!" Ethlea seemed angrier now, and it wasn't (entirely) jealousy either. "First off, you never told me, and secondly, look at the poor girl! She's so underfed, for heaven's sake! Haven't you been taking care of her?"

"I-It's not like that!" said Lisse, sticking up for her protector. "I...I lost my home, and he took me in."

"Yeah," sighed Jerid. "This is what happened..." He told his old acquaintance the same story he'd told the guard, and by the end of it, Ethlea herself was sniffling a little bit out of sympathy.

"You poor dear." She walked over to Lisse and stroked her hair affectionately, smiling as she did so. The girl seemed very happy to reciprocate the attention, for it seemed to Jerid she was smiling for the first time since they left Thagaste. "Of course we have a place for you here, Lisse. You can clean, can't you?"

"Y-yes! And I can cook a bit, too!"

"Even better! The announcement of the war's been keeping us horribly busy recently...so many new soldiers have been drafted, and it's a terror to clean up after them! And on top of that, those strange orders Lord Khyron gave us...my girls who can sew have been kept working all day, almost without a break!"

"Strange orders?" Jerid blinked. "Uh, should I ask?"

"Don't be silly, Jerid, it's nothing like you're thinking," Ethlea quickly replied. "It's just that...well, the Great General's apparently sending Lord Khyron and some hand-picked men on a strange mission. I don't know what it could possibly be about, because the Mage General came by here and asked if any of my maids could also serve as seamstresses. When I said yes, he told me he needed several sets of...orange-colored clothing by tomorrow morning! Even stranger, he wanted it to be of low quality! He specifically said that the clothes should be the sort of thing one could find on a group of bandits! That's why he didn't go to a professional tailor or something similar!"

Jerid whistled. "That is weird. Downright weirdest thing I've heard in a while, in fact. What could this Great General guy be thinking? I haven't even seen him yet, but I've heard some stories about him...like giving Khyron a black eye earlier today. Any truth to those?"

Ethlea fiddled a bit with her skirt. "I wouldn't know, I haven't seen him either. All I know is that he's supposedly from our hometown...Thagaste!" Jerid's eyes widened, but she simply shook her haid. "Ah, but it's none of my business. I don't question the decisions of our lords, I just clean up after them!"

Jerid smiled. "Well, I understand that. I'll take my leave of you now, Ethlea. 'Twas good seein' you again, but I'm sure you've got a lot of stuff to do. Take care of Lisse, alright?"

"Wait, you can't stay and talk for a little longer?"

"I'd like to, but I've got things to deal with as well. Got to head to the barracks...they're organizing us draftees. I think I'll be one of the ones responsible for keeping the east side of the city safe when the Revolutionaries come."

"Ah, I see. In that case...Jerid, g-good luck!"

"Thank you so much for everything," added Lisse. "I'm sorry for being a burden to you!"

The former jailer simply waved them off as he made his exit. "Don't worry about it, girls. Only thing I ask is you pray for me when the battle actually starts. Way this looks to be going, I'll need the extra luck."

As the two women watched him leave, disappearing into the doorway and closing it behind him, they resolved to do as he asked. And they had the distinct feeling they'd be needing some of that luck as well.

-X-

Renault couldn't stifle a yawn as he felt a familiar hand gently but firmly shaking his shoulder. It wasn't as if he was still sleepy (the barracks in which he'd been housed for the night were comparatively well-furnished and judging by the fact he hadn't been awakened by a sudden attack from Yurt, not much less secure than the prison), and he wasn't surprised either. Still, he couldn't help himself.

"We gotta get going, man," said Braddock. "The sun's gonna rise soon. And Ch—uh, Henken's gonna get pissed if we're late, right?"

"Oh, yeah." Without another word, Renault got up and dressed, putting on his armor and sword, as well as getting his pack before he followed Braddock out of the room. The quartermaster had been nothing less than generous when furnishing them, as they had everything they needed for a very good amount of time spent in the wilderness. With so many rations, tinders, rope, trapping materials, and a wide variety of other necessities (including a copious amount of oil—Renault didn't complain about receiving it, of course, but he had no idea why they'd been given that much), he was confident they'd be able to deal with anything that came their way over the course of this mission.

He'd think very differently when he found out what that mission actually was.

Together, the two men made their way to the first floor of the barracks and into the first floor of the main, central edifice of the Holy Royal Palace (they were connected, so Renault and Braddock didn't have to go outside). They didn't have much trouble navigating, only having to ask direction from a lonely, sleepy guard once. Soon enough, they passed through the doors of the Royal Courtroom.

It was dark and quiet—only a pair of candles on the table in front of the throne provided illumination, and virtually no-one was present; even the nobles were not so fearful of Henken that they did not demand some rest, so it stood to reason they and their clerks were still in sleep at this early hour.

The only people in the room Renault and Braddock could see were Henken, sitting in the throne, Khyron, equipped with traveling clothes, an angry expression, and a black eye, his apprentice Rosamia standing beside him, the archer Apolli standing meekly behind her, and another man neither Renault nor Braddock recognized. He was a short, slight, shifty-looking fellow with scruffy brown hair and an anxious expression.

"So I assume this is the team?" asked Braddock, he and Renault standing in front of Henken's table.

The Great General nodded. "No need to introduce you to Khyron, Rosamia, and Apolli. But you haven't met the other two yet, right?"

"Wait, I've met Harvery," said Braddock. "I remember you from—"

"SSH!" Quickly, the brown-haired man put a finger to his lips. "Remember what Henken told you, Braddock!" He then turned to face Renault, flashing him a quick, nervous smile. "Well, it's great to meet you! Like my old acquaintance Braddock said, my name's Harvery. I specialize in, um, intelligence-gathering. So it's in everybody's best interest to keep me safe! R-right?" He shot a pleading look at both Henken and his other teammates—the latter nodded in response, but Henken didn't even blink.

I remember hearing Henken say he had a tax collector friend named Harvery a long time ago, thought Renault to himself. Is this the same guy? If so, I guess something must've happened between them.

He didn't spend long on that thought, of course—Henken seemed very impatient. "We're just waiting for a few more people," said the Great General. "They should be here any minute. If not, their contracts are forfeit."

Contracts? Renault thought to himself for precisely one moment before the Court doors slamming open told him exactly who his last team members would be.

"YOO-HOO! SORRY TO KEEP YOU WAITING~!"

Renault nearly jumped straight up into the air when he heard that familiar voice. Turning back, his eyes wide, he saw one of his oldest friends.

Kasha, the Falcoknight, strolled lazily into the room, five other Pegasus Knights—two of which had the exact same shade of green hair she did—following behind. "We would've come earlier, but Keith here," and at this she gave a small slap to the head of the shortest green-haired girl at her side, eliciting a small yelp of pain from her and a reassuring hand on her shoulder from the other woman who could only be assumed to be her other sister, "had a bit of trouble waking up so early. Anyways, Mr. Great General, what'd you—" She stopped mid-sentence and a hungry gleam lit up in her eyes when they fell upon Renault.

"Well, hello again," she chuckled. "Thought you could get away from me? Renault, you don't know how to treat a girl's feelings! LET ME SHOW YOU!"

"SHIT!" Renault stumbled backwards as he whipped out his sword just in time to deflect Kasha's leaping strike. "Not this again," groaned Braddock as he unlimbered his own axe to help his friend, while the other members of their team and the Pegasus Knights just looked on in shock. Except Henken, of course.

"HEY! WHAT D'YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Just as she readied herself to launch another attack, Kasha found herself lifted straight up into the air by an implacably strong hand at the scruff of her neck.

"Stop it," said Henken as he tossed her aside as if she were a piece of paper—with a single flick of his wrist. She went flying through the air, but with an expert backflip she ended up on her feet, ready for more.

"Don't get in my way!" she growled "Me and Renault have unfinished business!"

"You'll finish it after this mission," replied Henken.

"N-no we won't," cried Renault. "SHE'S gonna be on our side? With that lunatic behind us, we're as good as dead!"

This prompted only another wild cackle from Kasha, but that quickly died off as she received a stern glare from Henken—enough to cow even her into submission—and when Renault received the same glare.

"Enough of your bickering. You will cooperate with each other, and this mission will be a success. Or else."

Renault remembered the small crater Henken had made in the wall of his room, and decided he definitely did not want to see what that "or else" entailed. Fortunately, Kasha felt the same way. "Fine, fine," she pouted. "You said this mission was gonna be really exciting, right? I guess I can wait to have my fun with my friend until it's over. I mean, even if he left Keith and Kelitha, my adorable little sisters, without a mother—"

"HEY!" Renault was getting angry again. "I already told you, we had nothing to do with that! Dammit, we even have a letter straight from Paptimus proving HE'S responsible! I—"

Their argument was cut off by Henken yet again. "ENOUGH!" he shouted, slamming his hands down on the table. The sheer force of his voice was enough to shut everyone up, including Kasha.

"Let's get down to business," said Henken, much more calmly this time. "Everyone, gather around this table and look at this map." Renault and Braddock, along with the rest of their teammates, obediently did so. They were looking at a large map of Elibe, clearly labeled with the names of each of the countries and their major cities. There was a big red circle drawn around the dot representing a port city in southern Lycia called Badon, with a red line crossing a river and leading up to a position marked with a blue X south of Etruria, but right on the mountain range which was Etruria's border with Lycia. "Harvery, explain to them what you've found."

"O-Okay! Just don't get mad at me!" Harvery scurried over and pointed to Badon. "Look, here's the situation. We know that the Revolutionary Army's sending its main force from the north down to Aquleia, right? But we've got trouble from the south, too. See, a few weeks ago one of my Lycian friends told me he saw something really weird going on in Badon. A flotilla of big Bernese ships demanded port there! They looked military, and some folks thought Bern was invading, but in any case, even seven years after the Civil War down there Lycia couldn't possibly resist. So they just bent over and let the Bernites dock. Out came nearly eight hundred Wyvern Knights and other Bernese soldiers, and they were carrying this huge…crate…box…thing with 'em! And I mean it was HUGE. It had to be transported on a special boat and there were a bunch of little wheels on its underside. It was bigger than my old house back in Thagaste and had to be pulled by more'n a dozen wyverns!

"The Bernites said they weren't invading, they weren't doing anything suspicious, just that they were deserters wanted by King Arbain and were seeking to travel through Lycia to get to Etruria, where they'd present a "gift" to King Galahad in exchange for amnesty. That's a load of hooey, though, I'm certain of it! Those Bernites aren't 'deserters,' they're following a Wyvern General's orders, right down to the letter! And I'd bet every gold piece I've ever collected that the big thing they're carrying isn't a 'gift' but a secret weapon! I've heard rumors about it—every time I've ever snooped around Bern's military, I heard of something called "Barbarossa." No matter what, though, I've never been able to find out what it was…every colleague I've ever had who came close just disappeared. All I know is that it has awesome destructive power."

"I don't know if that's true," said Henken, "I don't know whether the rumors are based in fact or just massively overblown. But I do know I don't want to find out. So I want to stop, or at least delay, this force from Bern before they have a chance to reach Aquleia."

"And how do you presume to do that?" sneered Khyron. "Surely you don't expect the twelve of us to single-handedly defeat eight hundred Bernites? And besides, what about diplomatic repercussions? If Harvery's right, and these 'deserters' aren't really deserters, Etruria risks Bern declaring war against us if we launch a pre-emptive strike against their soldiers! Now, I, for one, would like nothing better than to teach those Bernite barbarians a stiff lesson, but I am also well aware of the dangers of fighting a two-front war! If you don't recognize that, commoner, I fail to see how you deserve the title of Great General!"

Henken didn't bite Khyron's bait. "The Etrurian military isn't going to attack this Bernese force. Hell's Wall is."

Khyron nearly fell over, but he was no less confused than anyone else in the room. "What the devil are you talking about?"

"Braddock," said the Great General coolly, "You were born in Lycia. Take a close look at the path the Bernites are taking and see if it passes through anywhere familiar."

"Hmm," said the Ostian, poring over it. After a few seconds of looking at it, his face became a bit paler. "Y-yeah," he stammered. "I've never been to this part of Lycia before, and for good reason. I've heard really, really bad rumors about it."

"Huh?" Renault didn't feel assured at all. "What're you talking about, bud?"

Braddock put a hand over the region the red line passed through—the area of the Etruria-Lycia mountain range which was pierced by a river that flowed to the south, emptying into the ocean some distance to the west of Badon. "T-this is one of most notorious places in our country. Throughout its history, it was ravaged by bandits, AND there are a whole bunch of ghost stories surrounding it, too!"

"G-Ghosts?" stammered Apolli, who'd gone very white at the mention of it.

Braddock didn't notice. "Yeah, ghost stories and bandit attacks…I guess the two are related. See," he pointed to a small black dot on the eastern edge of the river a bit south of the mountains, "this here is called "The Reaper's Labyrinth." Nobody knows quite what it is. The best guess anyone's made is that it's the ruins of some building that was destroyed during the Scouring…most of it is underground. There are more horror stories about it than I can remember…Lycian parents threaten to send their kids there when they're being bad. It's supposedly filled to the brim with vengeful spirits. People in the towns nearby hear strange things at night coming from its entrance…wailing, moaning, stuff like that. A few adventurers have tried explorin' it, but none have ever returned.

"Only one group has ever been brave enough to spend a long time anywhere near that place. In fact, they're also the one group crazy enough to make it their hideout. They were called Hell's Wall…they most vicious group of bandits in Lycian history. They were almost their own army...even had their own colors and everything—stark orange. Being so close to the border, they preyed on both Lycian and Etrurian citizens. They'd ambush trade caravan, and descend on villages in the night like locusts. Not even to plunder, but just to kill…they didn't leave anything behind them but the mutilated bodies of men, women, and children. They were true monsters.

"It got so bad that about ten years ago the cantons got together and amassed a whole army to take them out. Everybody knew they resided in the upper levels of the Reaper's Labyrinth, though nobody knew if they'd taken up shop any lower than that. Nobody got any lower than the first few floors to tell, after all. This army was supposed to do that. But…they never returned. Not a single man.

"Nobody knows what exactly happened to them, or to Hell's Wall. All anybody knows is that there's been no trace of that army or Hell's Wall for ten years. I think the army forced the bandits to retreat to the lower levels of the labyrinth, and then all of them got killed by whatever's lurking down there. But I don't know for sure."

"Exactly." He turned to Khyron. "Mage General, do you have the sets of orange clothing you asked the maids to provide?"

"Y-yes, I do," stammered Khyron, "but I can't fathom what you're plotting, commoner! These clothes are so ratty and amateurish! I could have gotten a professional tailor or seamstress to—"

"This is the plan," said Henken bluntly. "These Pegasus Knights—the Shrike Team—will ferry you to the location marked on this map by the blue X. The Bernite force should be passing through there within several days. There, you will don these sets of orange clothing, and, posing as members of Hell's Wall, assault the enemy force. Regardless of your success, Bern will not have an excuse to fight Etruria if they believe they were attacked by bandits rather than Etrurian soldiers. Your objective is to destroy the container apparently holding the secret weapon."

Utter silence reigned in the Royal Court for just a moment. Then it broke into chaos.

"Hahaha! That's crazy! Sounds like fun!"

"What sort of foolishness is this?"

"Henken, this is completely insane!"

"Have you lost your mind?"

The Great General silenced all of these objections merely by lifting his hand and saying—with enough anger in his voice to still all of his listeners—"Enough."

"I don't expect you to take out the entire Bernese force. My battle plans are more than adequate for dealing with another thousand or so enemy soldiers. I only want you to destroy Barbarossa, whatever it is." He gestured to Renault and Braddock. "The quartermaster should have given you two a sizable amount of oil. You can use that to set Barbarossa's container aflame with Khyron and Rosamia's Elfire magic."

"Oh, doesn't that sound easy," countered Khyron in astonishment, "but how the devil do you expect us to return alive?"

"I don't."

Once again, silence reigned for a moment, before Khyron was the first one to break it with an angry shout. Henken, however, would not hear it. He slammed a fist down on the table again.

"All of you are expendable," he said evenly. "The only thing I care about is winning this war. If you have to die in order to make this so, that's a fair bargain in my eyes. More importantly, however, every last one of you should feel the same way."

He cast his cold gaze over the Pegasus Knights. "Ilian mercenaries are renowned for their loyalty and bravery. You're supposed to be willing, more than any other, to lay down your lives for your employers if ordered. Do you want to tarnish that reputation?"

"N-no!" said the young green-haired knight—Keith was apparently her name. "We're the heroes of Ilia! We give everything for our country, so we have to give everything for our employers! Right?"

"You meant 'heroines,' Keith," said her sister gently—her name was Kelitha, Renault gathered—but otherwise she nodded. Kasha, on the other hand, just threw her head back and laughed. "Hah! You kidding me? Eight hundred Bernites…my spear can't wait to taste their blood! It'll be a great appetizer before it gets to Renault!"

"Whatever," said Henken, turning to Khyron. "You are the Mage General, and you say you love your country. But in every meaningful way, you've failed it, Khyron. Your utter incompetence resulted in the near-annihilation of a major portion of the Mage Corps, and thanks to you the enemy is marching upon your King's capitol. The only way you can make up for your mistakes is by risking your life to keep Bern's secret weapon from reaching Aquleia."

Khyron was livid now. "I DON'T HAVE TO TAKE THIS FROM A COMMONER!"

"This commoner is stronger than you. You know that. Even your magic can barely touch me. For all your skill, when you tried to assault me at the end of your debriefing, when I explained to you why you'd failed so utterly at Nerinheit Castle, you couldn't do anything but receive the black eye I gave you—and I could have done much worse. If you ever want to be even remotely worthy of my position, Khyron, you'll undertake this mission and bring your country victory."

To this, Khyron could only grit his teeth in frustration. For all his wounded pride, he could not refute the man's words. "Fine," he spat. "I'll undertake your little mission, commoner. And when I return successfully, I'll show you that the Mage General is superior to a Great General!"

"Whatever." Henken was now looking at Rosamia and Apolli.

"I am a member of the Mage Corps," said Rosamia. "My life is sworn to my master. I am willing to sacrifice it alongside Lord Khyron."

"L-Lord-Khyron took me 'n my…Gafgarion in," said Apolli. "Pops…Pops would be disappointed in me if I chickened out now! I'm not gonna let him down! Besides," and at this the youth hung his head, "if I really do die…I…I'll get t' see Yulia again."

A look of profound sympathy crossed Braddock's face, and he was about to say something before Henken cast his gaze at Harvery.

"I…C—I mean, Henken, be reasonable about this," stammered the former taxman. "There's no way this'll work!"

"Do you have a better plan?"

"N-no, I—"

"Then you'll accept this one. You told me that I owed Etruria. You asked me to give up my peaceful life for its sake. You're not willing to do the same?"

"I…I…" Harvery could only look down at the floor, head hung in shame. He admitted defeat.

Next came Renault and Braddock."W-Wait, you don't really think we're accepting this, do you?" the swordsman stammered, astonished. "Look, I don't know about you guys, but me and Braddock just want to kill Paptimus. This mission is suicide! We're not gonna get a chance to get back at him if we're dead. So to hell with this! Right, Braddock?" He looked up at his friend, who hadn't said anything. "Right?"

"You want to get revenge for her," said Henken, staring directly at the Ostian, his voice colder than it had ever been before. "Are you worthy of that? You know how strong Paptimus is. Are you willing to face any obstacle in order to bring him to justice?"

"I am," came Braddock's resolute reply.

"Then you'll accept this mission. If you don't have the steel to see it through, and if you don't have the ability to survive this ordeal, you won't be able to stand up to Paptimus, either."

"I understand," said Braddock. "I'll take out Barbarossa, get away from those Bernite bastards, and show you I'm more than capable of handling that turncoat piece of filth!"

"B-Braddock, you gotta be kidding me," groaned Renault in dismay. But his friend didn't give the slightest indication of having heard him. The only response was the tiniest hint of a smile on Henken's face.

"Good. My sister might not have made a mistake in you after all."

Nobody else but Renault knew exactly what that meant, but it didn't matter. It had been decided. "Unless you want to part ways with Braddock, you'll be behind him on this mission," said Henken. When Renault gave his friend one, last, pleading look, only to have it rebuffed with a steely glare, he just sighed.

"Alright, you win," he said. "But I'm not gonna die! Neither is Braddock! Death is never gonna touch us, you hear? We're coming back alive!"

"Fine. Now, all of you are ready. Your journey begins now." He pointed at the door, but the gathered entourage made no immediate action—they simply stood there for a few moments, looking at each other.

"Well, what are we all waiting for," said Khyron. "Stop wasting time! The sooner we fight those Bernese scum, the sooner we can return and get all this nonsense over with! Let's go!"

He turned and made to leave, and the rest of the group following him—casting each other suspicious glances (or, in Kasha's case, looking at Renault hungrily), keeping their eyes low, or other similar actions. The only one who didn't do this was the blue-haired Pegasus Knight, Vayin. She turned back to glance at Henken.

"You're not gonna wish us luck?"

The Great General merely stared at her evenly. "Make your own."

None of them bothered to respond to that—as they exited the castle and began their journey, they all knew they'd need more than just a bit of extra luck to survive what was coming to them.

-X-

To say the last night had been most productive would have been an understatement.

Yurt did not generally like watching the sunrise, but today, he made an exception. Even as he watched the pure, comforting darkness of night give way to the harsh and glaring light of the day, the assassin smiled to himself beneath his sinister helmet, standing on the rooftop of the east wing of Aquleia's Holy Royal Palace and watching Maxim, Renault, and the rest of their group set off on their journey. He knew they were heading towards a locale he was more than a bit familiar with—a place Lycians like the Great General knew as the "Reaper's Labyrinth."

It would be their grave.

There were twelve of them—six Pegasus Knights, who Yurt didn't recognize, a small man in a drab cape who Yurt didn't recognize either (but who gave off a sinister aura similar to his own), as well as a pair of magi, an archer, and a swordsman and axeman who Yurt was very familiar with.

The small but apparently elite nature of the group was an interesting tidbit of information, but one that didn't really concern him—like many other things. For instance, he was sure Trunicht and Paptimus would have liked to hear the information he had gleaned, but that was none of his concern. They were not paying him—and more importantly, his pride did not hinge on any duty to—spy upon the Royalists. It was surely a mark of his skill that he had infiltrated the Court chambers without even the General noticing, and surely an indication of his talents that he had heard the entire discussion, and by now was very well aware of the exact plans the Great General had formulated to defend the city. However, Yurt didn't care about massaging his pride at the moment. He only cared about getting to Maxim…and that foolish little friend of his.

"Go forth, Maxim," Yurt chuckled to himself. "Go forth and meet this Barbarossa, whatever it is. You're simply driving yourself and your friends into my hands!"

As he continued to chuckle, small wisps of black smoke began to float upwards from beneath the Silent Chief's pointed boots. More and more issued forth until they shrouded Yurt's entire body. Then they dissipated—and he was gone, as completely as if he'd never been there.

The assassin had begun his own journey. And he fully intended it to be Maxim's last.

::Linear Notes::

Yay, this chapter was a little shorter, right? :D Next chapter will be long though, possibly the longest yet, please be ready for it T_T Anyways, hmm…can't think of too many Linear Notes for this one, aside from the fact that I have to say this story is ending up completely different from my earliest drafts of it—I may post 'em later, but for now suffice it to say that Yurt is a very recent addition, I didn't imagine a character like him around when I first envisioned this arc. Anyways, I know some people were eager to see Henken again, so here he is!

Now, I know a lot of y'all want to see him in action and see if the 'Red Comet' really is THREE TIMES AS AWESOME, so rest assured, very soon you will…in fact, if all goes as planned you'll see him in battle for the first time around chapter 24. In fact, just as a note, the way I'm planning this, please expect things to pick up quite a bit after the second half of the next chapter. This is an 'adventure' fic as well as a 'spiritual,' so to speak, so even though there were some fightan parts in earlier chapters (which I hope were good, obviously), the next few chapters, on a scale of 1 to 10, are gonna crank the action up to 11, hopefully. Keep readin, my friends! And again, thanks to CHM and Enilas for betaing—they only check for continuity errors and stuff, so anything else is 100% my fault of course. For the most part character data hasn't changed (I'll put up stats for Henken and the rest when they fight), so don't worry about it being uploaded now, it will be put up next chaptar. See ya next month! :D