Chapter 20: White, White Light
Messam watched his Templar allies depart from his lands. Atop the ramparts he, and his staff, waved them goodbye until they were out of sight.
He retired back to his office. A chill running down his spine in spite of summer's heat and the fireplace burning away.
Sure sign there was something amiss.
He clasped the Gemini stone tightly as he peered into its wondrous depths. Shining brilliantly in the sun's fading rays. He ran his hands over every surface of the crystal—smooth to a degree he never thought possible. Who else but the Gods could refine stone so immaculately? What secrets did it hold?
There was a light thrumming of magick from within. As one would feel in enchanted blades. Surely there was a way to access such power?
But there was nothing as he turned the stone over and over again. He would not risk besmirching it with his own imbuements but minutes receiving it. No, there were a number of religious texts in his library that would speak of Saint Ajora and the Zodiac Braves. While a far cry from the great library of Mullonde, there were several volumes in his possession not replicated in the holy capital's. They would be certain to hold an answer for him.
That would be for tomorrow. When light was rising, not fading. For now he basked in the hopes put on his shoulders. He would not abandon Ivalice to men like Dycedarg and Larg or Barrington.
A light knock interrupted his investigation. He moved the stone to his person and gave permission: "Enter."
The doors opened, and Celia and Lettie walked in.
"How was she?" he asked.
"Capable," Celia answered. "'Twould not be out of hand to presume she grew curious."
"Oh?" The two assassins were experts of their craft. "Did you intend to lead her on?"
"Somewhat."
He mused on the answer. 'Twas not impossible for Lord Folmarv's daughter to be astute alike her lord father. "Your impressions of her?"
"We would have a knife in her back at a moment's notice. But for fair fight she holds herself on-ready with sharp eyes."
"Precision is a divine knight's greatest asset." Much like her lord father.
"Ours as well."
"They are our allies." He felt the need to remind them.
"Always, my lord."
He'd never once thought it a mistake to take the two into his household after war's end. Whatever their pasts, they'd proven loyal and true. If a bit wayward with solutions. Violence need not always be the first answer.
A part of himself did contemplate putting their skills to more practical use. The Corpse Brigade's assault on Eagrose had shown Dycedarg's defenses to be less impregnable than his reputation and influence suggested. Surely they could find their way in and strike when needed...
Yet it would simply incite war as the sucklings of the White Lion blamed and bickered for power. The populace would be damaged enough by the upcoming war. Letting fools run rampant would ruin even more.
No, the White Lion needed to thrive. Once the Church's support for the Black was made apparent, then they could strike.
The salt flats of the once-lake Poescas gave the air a flavor akin to the sea. It was an odd stretch for such a landmark. But maps pre-cataclysm were impossibly rare. Whatever upheaval the land had taken in its years lost utterly to the sands of time.
Regardless of its origins, they could not encamp on its beds. Chocobos had a tendency to wander to ensure foraging, even when they had a ready supply of feed available. Once again, this cut into Meliadoul's training as they made their sleep between the lake's edge and before the peaks of Mount Germinas.
Though she for certain repeated her lessons in mind—practical experience was always best. As they again made way northwards to the mount itself, what he would give for a pack of brigands...
"You lot want be passin', ye best pay the toll. Bit a gil and ye be on yer way. Don't be thinkin' dem swords be helping ye, lest ye pay blood instead."
It was rather morose to have them accosted like this after he just hoped for it.
Though if this sort of fortune held out, he would hope to find Leo soon enough.
The toll-men had the advantage of the high ground atop one of Mount Germinas's rises. Their leader, a crude ninja, a threesome of archers and two thieves. All men, all lacking discipline and vigor.
Nevertheless, they held the advantage in numbers and positioning; while Meliadoul and himself wore no armor (stored in their luggage). Even if it mattered naught. The order was simply to eliminate them as swiftly as possible to put them to route. Brigands would hardly stay and fight if their number halved at battle's start.
"I shall take the left, Lord Father," said Meliadoul under her breath.
Initiative, good.
Their lead ninja brandished a pair of flails as his weapon. The exotic training leading one to accomplish mainhand strength with the off.
Then this highwaymen saw fit to waste that advantage on unwieldy morning stars was a question Folmarv would never hear the answer to.
"Very well," he replied.
"Oh, fancy lads with more sense than most."
Folmarv ripped his blade free, imbued it with magicks in a heartbeat and flashed its strike towards the right-held morning star.
The flail exploded on itself, ruining the ninja's hand. Before he could even scream, the left exploded as well and he grumbled into a wordless heap.
"Payment shall be made in blood, aye," he declared. "Yours."
The archers drew their strings back—the divine knights marshaled their chocobos forward towards a curve. The arrows sounded through the air. Twice-near misses to himself and one to Meliadoul.
Their position threw one archer from sight, but the other two had their lock. An arrow took his left shoulder-blade.
He was well-accustomed to pain—'twas but an annoyance. But being impaired by highwaymen was the bigger problem.
They rounded curve, out of the archers' range, for now.
He pried the arrow free for Meliadoul to cure. "Good work," he said as she mended his flesh.
"Thank Cletienne and Ramza."
"I shall."
The terrain was unfamiliar, but there would be some slop to reach their foemen, for the highwaymen needed some route to do so in the first place. Assuredly now guarded by the thieves and covered by the archers. A simple retreat past was also an option, but that brought to fore the unfamiliar terrain once more.
"Lord Father." Forlmarv looked to his daughter. She was hardened for battle. "Let me draw their attention up front while you strike their flanks."
"You give me orders?" Good, she couldn't be meek as an officer, Templar or Tengille.
"A suggestion made from facts. You are the stronger divine knight. You would cut these brigands down in a single strike—I cannot say the same of myself."
"You do yourself too little credit."
"You are assured, I am not."
No arguing with her on this. "They will have a half-dozen volleys in flight before I may strike. Six arrows saw me hit, you shall be as well. Equip your armor."
She gave a nod, and chanted, "Precious light, become armor to protect us." The white magick swirled around their bodies, an invisible shield to ward off physical strikes. "'Twould be what we can. Swiftness is more boon than armor." She loosed her luggage to the relief of her mount.
"Zomala be with you," he gave his blessing.
"Gods watch over us both," she replied and took lead around the further curve.
An arrow greeted them before they even turned.
"Yah!" Meliadoul kicked her chocobo into a run and weaved through the rock formations ahead. Arrows chased after her. None hit.
From their angles, Folmarv derived their positioning. Magick to blade, the second the volley was loosed so would he.
Arrows soared—he did. Around the corner; his targets above on the cliff already notching for another round.
Spellblade unleashed, the bow splintered apart in his hands. Splinters that arrows own hands. Archer's footing tripped and he plummeted to his death a crack the last sound he'd ever make.
The thief pair were missing.
Folmarv kicked his chocobo, hopping the bird to the side.
"Dammit!" one of the brigands swore.
He looked up. The thieves were attempting to jump him. Were they more organized, this would have been a feint and the archers would have loosed whence the Templar had shifted. But they were too slow, and he broke into a run towards a nearby outcropping.
One of them cried out in pain. Meliadoul clearly striking again. But the cry was muted enough that he lived. Her suspicions proven right.
The rocks he arrived behind were a fair shelter. Meliadoul was some boulders forward.
An arrow protruded from her thigh.
It was not deep, he could ascertain that from what little blood splattered her dress robes, but she felt it with quick gasps of air and a grim resolution to her face.
Their exit appeared clear, but what reaches the thieves would chase them wasn't. Couple with Meliadoul loosing her stores. They'd enough still to reach Sal Ghidos, but rewarding these brigands was unacceptable. Elmdore would appreciate clearing these louts, even if this was within Zeltennia borders.
The chocobos weren't being targeted. Like to keep for sale or use (though simple ineptitude was within reason). It was an advantage ready to be unleashed.
He unmounted, taking off his luggage and letting the bird walk into archer's corridor.
No arrows came.
Good.
He retrieved his shield. Well-kept. Reflective. Enough that he could gauge a rough shape of where the archers had relocated (if they had).
Only the one remained posted above. Bowstring drawn taut and ready to loose. But if both divine knights moved and struck there was naught he could do. The other archer had no bow, clutching a dagger gifted from elsewhere.
A trap mayhap, if these fools could think.
He signaled over to his daughter. Off the mount.
Get them charging.
Attack after me.
She followed through with each.
The chocobos "kwehed" before stampeding outwards towards the mount hosting the foes.
Folmarv followed out after, the confusion drawing attention away from him. Whence the archer saw, he loosed too quickly. Folmarv blocked with minimal effort.
A swing of unyielding blade from Father and Daughter rent back both remaining archers.
Only the sorry stated thieves remained.
To their minor credit they didn't bother to run. The chocobos would have ran them down before they took seven steps.
Folmarv marched up the earthen ramp. No need to drain himself with more magick whence simple steel would do.
They attacked as one halfway up his march. One from the front, the other flanking around his back. An attempt to encircle him. Such a tactic would work against a lesser man.
The frontal thief jabbed with his dagger. More to catch off-guard than hit.
Folmarv caught the stab with his hilt, stepped in, and elbowed the thief. He fell back, gasping for air.
Grand Master turned—a thrust at the weapon of the second thief. The fool realized what was coming, jumping back—not anticipating the slope—and fell.
Folmarv whirled around, sword swinging at the first. He ducked. Templar's other arm came—slower than should as pain winced through feathered shoulder. Shield struck the thief true to the head and flung him over the ramp's edge. He groaned. Not dead yet.
The Templar came about, the second thief back on his feet now. Favoring his right leg. Folmarv advanced. The thief hobbled back. Back to the wall—he swung. Clumsy and effortless to avoid. Folmarv struck and slew him with a single thrust to the heart.
He removed his blade, cleaning it as the foeman dropped dead. He marched to the final enemy, already held at swordpoint by Meliadoul.
"I give up," he groveled in the dirt.
Folmarv put him to the sword.
"Why did you do that!?" Meliadoul shouted in a panic. Her mouth ran wide at the summery execution. Her eyes blinked unceasingly as if she couldn't believe what she'd seen.
"Would you ride him to Sal Ghidos when our mounts carry two people in weight already? For a man who shall simply rot in prison, taking bread and water from others? If he remains in a cell, and is not recruited by the Ebon Eye or some city gang."
"Because it's difficult? 'Tis no reason to execute a man! We spared mercy for Corpse Brigade in Gariland!"
He scowled at her defiance. "This situation is not that." Folmarv pried a mythril dagger from man's cooling hands. "They curry coin to feed their greed not their stomachs. They are not revolutionaries starving for justice. They are but highwaymen better off dead. Reserve mercy for those who deserve it."
"Dead in battle yes—not like this."
"Dead men are dead all the same. By Black Death or sword death. 'Tis the one equal in this life." Turn this towards the true lesson.
"You waylay the point, Lord Father," she desperately refused him, "I see no righteousness in slaying man who cannot fight back."
"Nor should you."
She shifted then to bewilderment. "But you—"
"Did you stop me?"
"I could not have!"
"You did not even try!" he lashed out. She backed away, drawing shorter breaths. "You clamor for justice and righteousness but do not raise your sword in its defense save when convenient!" He let out a deep breath of his own. "Exactly what Ramza Beoulve claims his crime of Ziekden Fortress."
It dawned on her quickly. "This was but a test? You execute a man for a test?"
"Yes." He glared. "Virtue. Rectitude. Goodness. These draw power from the people who raise swords to champion them. Not mewling politicians or craven cowards who only speak of them."
"You would have me raise sword against you?"
"You would raise sword for cause you believe just."
Her face tightened... and she collapsed. The arrow still digging into her.
"You've been too distracted to even worry for yourself," he said. He carefully pulled it out before she treated it with cure. "Rest for a spell. I shall attend the funeral rites."
"What...?" she whispered.
"All men deserve to go before the Gods for their judgement or atonement. No matter how bereft of worth they were in life."
Author's Notes: Once again my apologies, dear readers. I'd like to promise the next Chapter will be swifter—a double-day update. But I know that one's gonna be plenty meaty unless I cut it very early (which may be for the best).
SpiritBlade: Yes, I'll be definitely heading back to fix some of the errors and poor structuring. (Some of the Prologue stuff shames me.) But that'll be in a few days after I complete NaNo. Still, thank you for your praise and concerns. Please make sure to correct me more if you spot mistakes, that goes for everyone.