Fire Emblem: Dawn of Darkness

by EmblemQueen

My direct sequel to RD. The story follows the mercenary Azura as she and her friends fight against evil forces threatening Altarais, a continent west of Tellius, and solve the mystery behind Azura's golden pendant. Multiple pairings, some OC.

35. Another Trial Part 1

Falchion1984: Beware of feloniously obvious reference to Diablo II. Obviously, we don't own that. And, in case anybody's wondering, I've only played the first two games, and I rather doubt they're to EmblemQueen/Great-Aether's tastes.

EmblemQueen: I know, it took too long for this chapter to get out. xP But both myself and Falchion1984 had a lot of life stuff get in the way, as well as some writer's block. Falchion really went crazy with this though, most of the writing is actually his this time, though pretty much all of the ideas here are still my own. I hope you enjoy it anyway. :D

Chapter 34: Another Trial

Part 1

For the Meloran Dragonmaster, the situation was unfolding perfectly…

…"was" being the operative word.

With recent victories in Talgria and Cilae, not the least of which being the fall of Jerusa, Melora had shifted its focus to ensuring that the nations of southern Altarais did not take up arms against Queen Isis. At least, not until it was too late.

And, to accomplish that, Melora had turned to him.

It was a clever plan, raiding across Larame's border, looting their stores, and working to pin the blame on Astryn. And, all of this just in time to mire the "Lost Prince" in a crisis that he would not emerge from soon enough to trouble Melora further…

…and, that was assuming that he emerged at all.

The Dragonmaster and his men had newly returned from an especially successful raid and, as though he'd found the fates in an especially generous mood, the very Lost Prince, whose early reign he'd been sent to topple, had appeared.

Though the Dragonmaster knew better than to admit it, he'd spent a solid five seconds gaping in amazement at this fortunate turn.

One of his fellows hovering next to him had whispered something to the effect of "Wow, promotions all around," and the Dragonmaster shared the sentiment. Indeed, it seemed the fates were very kind today, for the would-be Prince Bryan and his minions were set upon from two sides. On one was the Meloran dracoknights, and, on the other, a band of Laramean warriors. One of them, a tiger with a pelt the color of snow, leapt at Bryan and pinned him between bare stone and a pair of massive clawed paws.

The Dragonmaster's "delivering" their pilfered goods to Bryan should have sealed the Lost Prince's fate…

…should have, but didn't.

Perplexed at what was taking the tiger so long to send Bryan's head bouncing down the slope, the Dragonmaster descended for a closer look. And, he'd nearly lost his own head when the white tiger abruptly leapt up at him. The Dragonmaster pulled away with half a second to spare, the tiger's claws passing so close to his face that bits of stubble fluttered free of his cheek.

Before he could make sense of this, he realized that the rest of his command was also facing this inexplicable reversal.

Rather than killing each other, as he'd desired, the Allied troops and Larameans had somehow banded together to fight against him!

The potential implications this might have on the war effort, not to mention his health, did not escape him.

Fortunately, he hadn't been caught completely flatfooted.

"You there!" he hailed one of the other dracoknights. "Call the reserves."

It would've been quite a welcome development, in Bryan's opinion, if the Larameans joining his force, even momentarily, caused the Melorans to flee for their lives.

Failing that, he would've happily accepted the enemy being so shocked into paralyzing stupefaction that they could be picked off with ease.

In fact, even the fight being made easier would've cause for relief and delight.

But, if there was anything Bryan had learned over the course of his early reign, it was to not rely upon easy answers.

Even after the Larameans had chosen, at least for the moment, to side with Bryan, the battle against the thieving Meloran dracoknights was far from over. Like birds of prey scenting blood, they swooped upon the prince of Astryn's ground troops again and again, hoping to skewer or scatter them and keep the reluctant allies off-balance. Of course, such was an exceedingly dangerous tactic, and many of the dracoknights fell to deftly fired arrows or were torn from their mounts and ripped to pieces by leaping feline warriors. But, as the dracoknights' numbers gradually dwindled, mounted knights and infantry flooded in to replace them. Where these reinforcements might be coming from, Bryan could not guess. He had, less than an hour before, been certain that all the Red Claw and Meloran troops that had already slithered their way into Astryn had been slain or routed by his and Azura's army.

Still, considering the events of the last few months, Bryan knew to expect the unexpected.

Though Astryn was still barely a shadow of its former glory, it was obvious that Isis was quite eager to prevent the southern beorc kingdom from rebuilding and becoming a threat. Aside from the numerous attempts to kill or discredit the prince of Astryn, the Meloran queen's determination was made doubly clear by her forces being present near the Talgrian border and at Fort Mercue, as well as their support of Tavon's failed machinations. Had Bryan and the Astrynian troops somehow missed some stragglers? Or, did more enemy troops secretly pour in while their attention was directed elsewhere? Either was quite likely, since much of Astryn's army remained in tatters and ragged swaths of the realm were effectively ruled by bandits, any of which could be bribed or forced into letting Melora's troops pass through their territory. Whatever the case, Bryan remained strangely certain that Shigo had no hand in this latest obstacle.

Admittedly, he had little hard evidence to back that up. After all, the renegade Meloran General was risking his long sought conquest by allowing Astryn to grow strong again. Still, it was no secret that he wanted that conquest to be sealed by personally defeating Bryan in battle. And, if he was here, he would've shown his face by this time. Besides, as half the continent knew by now that Shigo had broken ranks with Melora and struck out on his own, it stood to reason that he wouldn't aid either the Red Claw or Royce's men.

No, enigmatic though they might be, Shigo's plans had not included this confrontation.

All Bryan could guess was that either Royce or the Red Claw had left some troops in hiding for a surprise assault, or had rapidly mobilized more when they learned of Tavon's death. After all, both knew all too well by now how great a threat Bryan was to them.

It suddenly dawned on me just why Ike doesn't enjoy his notoriety, the prince of Astryn mused as he deflected half a dozen near-simultaneous attempts to end his reign.

Still, Bryan knew he had more pressing matters to consider. The white tiger laguz and his men joining him had evened the odds, but it was obvious that this union was far from harmonious. Every time his gaze alighted upon one of the Larameans, the feline, seemingly sensing the prince of Astryn's scrutiny, would turn gleaming eyes upon him. And, in those glowering orbs, Bryan could see the promise that even the smallest sign of treachery would be answered with rending claws. Despite the unspoken threat, Bryan was impressed with these laguz. Though he'd fought alongside laguz in the past, he'd never seen so many in one battle before, his earlier encounter with the white tiger notwithstanding. And, in that instance, Bryan had had little time to appreciate just how strong these beast tribe laguz were. It was, he realized, a clear indication that, if he could win the Larameans over, they would prove valuable allies.

However, it also gave him a grim presentiment of what might result if he could not mend the rift which Melora had created between their respective nations.

Still, these laguz were slaying one foe after another, faster than Bryan himself could. Almost faster than he could see. Bryan knew that, even though he could usually slay a Red Claw member in seconds, he wasn't even half as swift as some of his more fleet-footed allies. But, watching the lightning swift feline warriors made him feel about as agile as a beached narwhal. The white tiger, however, was clearly the strongest of all the beast laguz in this small army.

And, it seemed, the tiger was quick to validate, and then exceed, Bryan's unspoken opinion. As one of the dracoknights swooped in, the tiger leapt to intercept the flying saurian and clamped his fangs about the scaled neck. Then, with a wrenching tug, the tiger sent wyvern and rider alike crashing into the stony ground. Both landed in a heap with the sickening report of bones shattering upon impact. Once again, Bryan found himself feeling a tinge of anxiety about how he'd fare against such an opponent.

That anxiety, however, was eclipsed by a sight which greeted Bryan a moment later. One of the newly arrived Melorans, a sniper, was aiming an arrow towards the sky. A chill running up his spine, Bryan followed the sniper's gaze, already feeling a grim presentiment about who had caught the Meloran's eye. And, the bottom dropped out of his stomach as he realized that his foe's chosen target was none other than Faline. Even worse, she was presently engaged in an aerial duel with one of the dracoknights, and the whirling combat had given the sniper a clear shot at her back. She would not know she was in danger...until it was too late.

Despair began to crowd in on Bryan's already tumultuous mind when he realized that he was much too far away to intervene. The sniper would release his arrow long before Bryan could get close enough to engage him in direct combat. He might be able to run and hurl Eronite at the Meloran threatening his love, but such a throw would challenge even an expert with the javelin…

…which, incidentally, he wasn't.

During his career, he had always favored fighting his enemies face-to-face, leading the men of his platoon with his lance couched and angled for the kill. It had made him the bane of many an enemy swordsman, and even a good number of axemen, but he had neglected to practice throwing javelins or spears. He felt certain that his arm was strong enough to make the distance, but if he missed… Bryan quickly realized that he had no choice. He quickly hefted Eronite and frantically dashed towards the sniper.

"Leave my girl alone, maggot!" Bryan shouted just as the sniper was about ready to loose his arrow. Hearing the bellowing sentinel, he turned to see Eronite's lightning shaped blade flying in his direction. Just as Eronite left Bryan's shaking fingers, however, he realized that his clumsy throw would miss its mark. Hoping to strike the sniper's face or neck for a swift kill, Eronite fell inches short and ricocheted off the sniper's shoulder guard. That had upset the sniper's aim, but the arrow nonetheless took flight.

"DAMN IT!" Bryan hollered in mingled anger and terror as the arrow soared towards his love. "FALINE!"

Faline heard his shout and turned to see the arrow flying straight at her. She hurriedly urged her mount into a dive but, unfortunately, not even Flower was fast enough to carry herself and her rider out of the arrow's path. It tore into the Pegasus's wing, sending shorn feathers drifting earthwards, and then drew a crimson rivulet across Faline's upper leg. A pained cry and whinny rang out, barely audible over the clashing steel, and the winged equine listed badly. Ironically, this abrupt shift in balance carried Faline below range of a blow from the dracoknight's axe which, otherwise, might've taken her head off. Fighting off the pain flaring from her hip to her knee, and sensing that Flower could not fly much longer without her wing being tended to, Faline managed to land her mount. Bryan growled at himself, terrified that the dracoknight would take advantage of her crippled state, but his fears were assuaged when Lartz and Marina swooped to the stricken Falcon Knight's aid.

Relief and anger struggling for mastery within him, Bryan quickly snatched up Eronite and charged at the offending Meloran. In one jarring motion, the raging Sentinel snatched the scarf around his neck, yanking him up and off his feet. His eyes blazing, he dragged Eronite's tip across the doomed man's neck, slicing it clean through, and dropped his corpse to the dirt. Afterward, and with his pulse thundering in his ears, the prince rushed to Faline's side. As Faline landed, she glanced skyward and saw that her former opponent was unlikely to cause her further trouble. She let out a sigh of relief, which turned into a pained gasp as more blood oozed from the stinging wound in her leg, and slowly dismounted. She then noticed her love's approach and limped over to him.

"Oh, Bryan!" she greeted, and then grimaced in pain. "Ugh…"

"Faline!" Bryan blurted in alarm, racing to reach Faline and steady her faltering steps. At this reminder of how close he'd come to losing her, his features darkened with self-recrimination as he cradled her against his torso.

"Damn it all, I'm so sorry!" he choked out, his words hoarse with guilt. "I should've gotten in more practice throwing javelins!"

"I know, but… I might've died if that guy's shot had found its mark," Faline pointed out, managing a smile despite the pain. "If you hadn't thrown off his aim, I might be needing a casket instead of a vulnerary. You saved me again, it seems."

"But I still let both you and your Pegasus get hurt badly! And while you were facing down a dracoknight, no less! If Lartz and Marina hadn't been so close…"

Bryan couldn't finish the sentence. Just thinking about what might've happened if the sniper had gotten off a clean shot, or if the dracoknight had been a split-second faster, left the prince of Astryn chilled to the bone.

Faline knew Bryan well enough to sense his train of thought, so she clapped a hand on his shoulder to shake him from his grim reverie.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," she assured him. "Besides, it's not as if this is the first wound I've taken."

"I know," Bryan said, a heavy sigh parting his lips. "But, I should've practiced throwing Eronite. With that wing, Flower can't even fly!"

"Well, that's true… And I really wish this hadn't happened… But I still think you have little reason to blame yourself. Like I said, if that sniper had gotten a clean shot, I wouldn't be standing here. You prevented that. And besides, Flower and I will be fine. I just need to go see Raela and we should be back in action soon enough."

"Alright, I hope so. But I still feel awful about this. I should've known better than that."

"Don't worry, I'm not really upset or anything. Just a little disappointed that I won't be able to fight at your side for a bit. I have faith in you, though, you'll do fine. Now go finish up the battle and don't let this incident get to you. Okay?"

"Heh, right. I'll try to end this quickly!"

With that, Bryan charged back into the battle while Faline, walking Flower and encouraging the wounded Pegasus with words of comfort, sought out Raela's aid. As Bryan turned his gaze back to the battle, he realized that the confrontation was petering out. The contingent of enemy wyvern riders were very nearly wiped out. Of their airborne foes, only the enemy commander and a handful of his underlings remained, and Eric was making short work of these. What's more, the flow of enemy reinforcements had stopped, and the combined strength and numbers of Bryan and Azura's group and the beast laguz was steadily overwhelming the remaining enemy cavalry and infantry. However, despite these reversals, the enemy commander wasn't showing any signs of retreating or surrendering. In fact, despite his having no more than half a dozen men left against the prince of Astryn's vastly larger force, he directed his wyvern in a slow, menacing glide towards Bryan.

"Your laguz friends are really starting to annoy me," he said as he leered down at the prince.

"Ha, your whole command is gone and we're just starting to annoy you?" Bryan replied with a small chuckle. "A little slow on the uptake, aren't we? As for the laguz, I'd hardly call them my "friends" just yet, but who knows? There aren't much better ways to bond than whipping the arse of one of Isis' cronies, especially since it'll mean putting an end to your raiding."

That barb elicited more of a reaction from the Dragonmaster than the deaths of his men.

"All of my fellow dracoknights might have fallen at the hands of you and these annoying felines, but I'm not done yet," he warned, his gauntlets creaking as his hands clenched into fists. "I might still have a trick or two up my sleeve. Heh, heh, heh…"

The Dragonmaster's words made little impression on Bryan, as they were as obvious as Ike's fondness for red meat; but, the Prince of Astryn noted his foe's clenching fists with interest. Despite his blithe confidence, the Dragonmaster was quite anxious.

Whatever "trick" the Dragonmaster had referred to, it seemed Bryan wouldn't have to wait long to see it.

"Heh, let me guess," he quipped, watching the Dragonmaster for any sign of sudden movement. "This is yet another attempt to defeat me and ensure that Astryn remains broken until Isis strolls in and demands my throne."

"Yeah, that's the general idea," the Dragonmaster replied, his tone almost conversational. "Ordinarily, I'd give you the chance to save your skin by handing over the throne now, but Queen Isis has her heart set on your death."

"Yeah, I've noticed. And, believe me, whoever said "It's good to be the king" must've been a resident at a mental asylum. But, this is my country, and I will protect it from whatever threats it faces."

Bryan spun Eronite over his head and then leveled the legendary weapon at the offending Meloran like an accusing finger.

"Such as you," he intoned with a note of finality.

The Dragonmaster seemed eager to answer the challenge when something drew his attention away from Bryan. For a moment, the Prince of Astryn believed the hint of distraction to be feint to lure him in; but, suddenly, he heard the flapping of leathery wings drawing nearer.

"Oh hell no, you don't!" Eric angrily cut in from atop his wyvern. "This pitiful excuse for a wyvern rider is mine!"

"Ah, yes, you're still nursing that bruised ego of yours, aren't you?" the enemy commander replied. "Very well then. If I must get you out of my way first, then that's simple."

"You might as well forget that plan. I've got quite a score to settle with you, and you'll pay with your life for soiling the name of Astryn's dracoknights!"

"We shall see…"

With that, both dragonmasters snapped their reins, sending their mounts leaping skyward. The two winged saurians rose higher and higher in the air while each rider readied their weapons. Eager to follow through on his earlier threat, Eric spurred his mount into motion, streaking at his foe with his poleaxe drawn back for an overhead chop. However, rather than meeting the charge, the enemy commander dove out of Eric's path. Eric was about to let fly with a taunt at his foe's seeming cowardice, but the commander spoke first.

"Very energetic!" he chuckled, continuing his dive at a speed that even Faline's Pegasus would be challenged to match. "I'd heard tell of Astryn's past glory, how your wyvern riders could blot out the sun with their numbers and fall upon a foe like lightning. I guess you're the last one who doesn't fly like a blind turkey on opium?"

Despite being well out of eyeshot, Bryan could clearly envision the open murder that must've been dawning on Eric's features. And, indeed, the prince of Astryn shared the sentiment. The Dragonmaster's words had summoned to mind the image of poverty, chaos, and despair that had seemed so prevalent in Astryn; from Sally's impoverished village to Medann's ruined splendor. He once more felt both the daunting scope of this task he'd committed himself to and the ever-present rage in his blood at those responsible for Astryn's plight. But, he knew he couldn't afford to be distracted now, so he shook himself back to attention…

…half a second too slow.

Above, the Meloran Dragonmaster had been leading Eric on a merry chase, wending above and around the waning combat on the ground until the two aerial combatants whirled about each other on the opposite side of the of the battlefield. Below were numerous beorc and laguz figures, each seemingly as tiny as an ant. But, the Meloran Dragonmaster could clearly see the tiny figure he sought.

Namely, a certain lost prince, who had made the fatal blunder of exposing his back to the enemy.

The Dragonmaster spurred his mount into a dive, angling straight for the Emerald Sentinel.

"BRYAN!" Skye hollered, his eyes widening with fear. However, his warning came too late. Bryan whirled just in time to see a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth yawning wide to bite him in half. He skittered to one side, but then felt a pair of scaled claws clamp about his torso. With its prey firmly in its grasp, the enemy commander's mount shot upwards, very nearly disappearing against the sun's rays.

For a stretching second, a terrible hush had fallen over the battlefield as the Allied troops and the Larameans watched the Meloran Dragonmaster bear his captive ever higher.

"You know, Astryn doesn't have much to offer," he taunted Bryan, "but it certainly looks pretty from up here. Don't believe me? Just look down. Ha, ha, ha!"

And, when Bryan inadvertently did so, his thoughts seemed to fly apart. From some dark corner of his mind, a sense of terror, seemingly forgotten and yet still keener than Ragnell's edge, suddenly hatched like wasps in his skull and began to devour him from the inside out.

"NO! Bryan!" Owen shouted, stunned with horror and every bone in him aching with helplessness at his son's plight. He had remained well away from the battle, near the wagons as he helped to tend to the injured in any he could.

In a moment that suddenly felt as though it was decades ago, Owen had been smirking wryly, supposing that many back in Medann would consider this labor too undignified for a duke. In fact, back when he'd still worn the trappings of his once illustrious house, he might've shared the sentiment.

But, that had been a long time ago.

His house was gone, his homeland lay on the brink of ruin, and so much of what he'd left behind when he'd fled Shigo's invasion was no more. Still, he had to admit, there were rays of light which might yet pierce the gloom that had settled over Astryn. Bryan's campaign to claim his throne, despite some rather amusing social blunders he'd committed during his first council meeting, had met with awe-inspiring success. And, seeing the beast laguz included amongst the wounded which Owen had treated, and the underlying realization that Bryan must've won them over, filled him with a pride that no amount of sad memories or blood sticking to his clothes could tarnish.

Intertwined with that, however, was the wish that he could fight alongside his son on the battlefield. And, perhaps seeing the two men dearest to her fighting side by side to save Astryn might even bring a smile to Caline's restless spirit.

At one time, he could've done so. During his youth, he had been a sage of some repute, and had even used his arcane gifts on the battlefield against overambitious foes of the once mighty House Novat.

But, that had also been a long time ago.

Ever since he had gone into exile in Talgria nearly two decades ago, assuming the identity of a simple merchant, he'd barely touched a staff or tome except to sell it. When the former duke had experimented with a few nearly spent staves and tomes pilfered from the Red Claw, he'd quickly discovered that his arcane talents had atrophied to the point of uselessness. Retraining himself might be possible, he supposed, but that could take months. And, it was doubtful Bryan had that kind of time.

Though the truth of it left a vile taste in his mouth, he was forced to concede that, if he were to take the field in his present state, he'd either be a quick casualty or a hindrance to his son. And, he could not leave the already overburdened Bryan with the weight of yet another dead loved one.

For now, it seemed, he would have to content himself with what he could do now to help his son. And, that meant bandaging wounds, setting broken bones and distributing medicines. Raela, being the only dedicated healer in their small army, had been running herself ragged tending to the injured, spent healing staves literally crumpling in her grasp as their power was expended. And, even with Lily and Soren lending their aid now that the fighting was largely over, there were often still more wounded trickling in than even all four of them could handle.

Yes, Owen would aid his son best by saving as many lives here as he could.

But, when he'd moved towards the battlefield to find out why it had suddenly become so quiet, he could feel the blood drain out of his face at the sight which greeted him. Through eyes rapidly misting, he beheld his only child clasped in the claws of a wyvern, struggling in the flying saurian's grasp as the creature winged ever higher.

And, the former duke felt his heart turn to lead and drop into his stomach when he saw his son abruptly go limp.

"No…" he gasped out, fear choking his voice to a strangled whisper. "No… Please…"

Owen's murmured plea, however, did not reach the ears of the man in whose hands rested the fate of his son.

The Dragonmaster, feeling his mood lighten at this turn in fortune, had continued to call out taunting comments about the spectacular view, when he noticed something most peculiar.

His captive, who had been gasping with mounting dread for the past few minutes, had suddenly fallen silent.

"Oh, surely you don't find this vista so dull as to lull you to sleep?" he said in a sneering tone. "Some of your supposed subjects might take issue with that."

When this jibe went unanswered, his brows furrowed in perplexity.

"You haven't soiled yourself, have you?" he wondered, working to sound more condescending than confused as he stroked his mount's head. "Baal here has sensitive nostrils, and might prefer dropping you to enduring the smell."

When this too was met with silence, the Dragonmaster found himself wondering if Baal might've lost his grip on the prince. Smirking at the accidental pun, he craned his neck to peer down at his wyvern's forelimbs.

The prince was still securely in the flying saurian's grasp, but the Dragonmaster nonetheless found his eyebrows arching.

The prince was acting most strangely.

He was trembling violently. At first glance, the Dragonmaster thought it might be from fear, but this shaking grew more and more violent until Baal's captive was literally convulsing like a worm on a hook. His unblinking eyes, when the lolling skull which housed them stayed still long enough to permit inspection, were darting every which-where. His breathing had also gone short, his face very nearly taking on a bluish tinge.

Baal craned his horned head partway towards his rider, as though eliciting his master's opinion on these oddities, and the Dragonmaster could only shrug in reply. He and Baal had employed a technique similar to this one in the past, as a method of coaxing information out of tightlipped prisoners when they could not afford the risk of killing them by accident. But, they'd never seen it have an effect like this, however.

I think I've struck on something.

"Bryan! …You dastard! Let him go, or you'll dearly regret it!" Azura angrily demanded.

"Oh, I don't know," the enemy commander replied in a mocking tone. "If I let him go now…it might get messy."

As if to underscore his point, the captive prince lost his grip on Eronite, and the legendary weapon of his forbearers fell to the earth with an ominous clatter.

"Skye, force him down!" Azura ordered, only belatedly noticing how pale the Marksman had become. More worrisome still, the normally unflappable Skye was shaking visibly, and his eyes appeared glassy and sightless.

"Skye?" Azura said, though the Marksman didn't seem to hear her. "Skye! What's wrong with you?!"

Skye's strange trembling suddenly became a swoon, his arrow falling from his shaking fingers and his bowstring twanging uselessly as his arm dropped.

"No…" Skye uttered, staring at his helpless friend. "No! NO! NOT THIS! NOT NOW! NOOO!"

The Marksman soon fell to his knees and then collapsed onto his side, his limps jerking spasmodically as his eyes, round and unblinking with terrors no other could see, brimmed with tears.

"Not again!" he began chanting between ragged breaths. "Not again! Not again! Not again! Not again!"

Bewildered at Skye's outburst, Azura was about to haul him to his feet when she was sent flying by someone plowing into her from behind. The young earl landed with the wind knocked out of her to behold a panicked Owen frantically shaking Skye. Nursing what would likely be an impressive bruise, she leapt to her feet and raced over to the two men.

"Oh no… This…This can't be happening," Owen said, his face pinched with mounting terror as the still unresponsive Skye was jolted from his grip by another spasm. "Skye, get a hold of yourself! This isn't the Cold Maw. But Bryan needs your help, just like back then!"

This isn't the what? Azura mused, her head spinning from more than just her tumble.

Before she could make sense of this oddity, Faline had rejoined the group. She had just brought Flower to the wagons to await Raela's ministrations and hadn't heard all of the chaos which had unfolded in her absence. But, when she heard Owen's shouting, and realized it could only mean that Bryan was in danger, she raced back the battleground. Her breath flew out of her lungs in a gasp of horror when she saw the peril Bryan was in and the state Skye had been reduced to.

"Wha…?! What…what's going on here?! What happened?!" she demanded as she turned her attention to Owen and Azura. "What's happened to Bryan and Skye?!"

"Yeah, Owen, surely you must know what's gotten into these two!" Azura seconded, the fear in her eyes matching Faline's…but also brooking no attempt to evade the question. Owen sighed, casting a glance of helpless agony towards his still captive son and clearly feeling the young earl's question as surely as salt being rubbed into an old wound.

"…Indeed, I do," he admitted, his tone now pleading. "But this is neither the time nor place for explanations, not until we save Bryan!"

Azura looked as though she might argue the point, but then she noticed Faline's hand curl about Owen's in a silent show of support for her would-be father-in-law.

"Alright, agreed," she conceded, though she found herself wondering if it would make any difference.

They had won the battle, but unless Bryan was saved, they would soon lose the war.

Far above the mounting dread below, in disposition as well as altitude, the enemy commander felt his earlier perplexity turn into malicious delight. The lost prince, one of Melora's deadliest foes, had a truly astonishing weakness. And, that weakness was his own fear. Whether it was of the vast distance between himself and ground, or the flying saurian in whose grasp he languished, or something else entirely, the commander had no way of knowing. But, it hardly mattered.

Wherever and however this strange fear had come over him, the Lost Prince was powerless against it.

"Pathetic!" the commander finally spat. "The reek of your fear offends my nostrils, and Baal's as well. Royal blooded, you might be. But, a hero? You are a fraud! No more than a posturing little princeling! You do not deserve the dignity of a warrior's death, but nor can I risk letting this puny wasp sting our army again. I do hope you appreciate this landscape, for you will soon become a permanent addition. Bye bye!"

With that, the scaled claws of Baal released their royal blooded captive, sending Bryan plummeting toward the earth below. Skye, snapping out of his terror-induced stupor, looked on with horror as he bellowed Bryan's name over and over while Faline, letting out a shriek of despair, buried her face in her hands. Azura and Owen watched in helpless agony as the future of Astryn, and of Altarais itself, hurtled towards destruction…

…yet, this fate was overturned by a most unlikely person.

Halfway through Bryan's plunge to death, another wyvern streaked towards the falling prince. Astride the flying saurian, of all people, was Eric. And, the Astrynian Dragonmaster seemed all too conscious of the irony as he snatched Bryan out of the air and hauled him safely onto his mount's back.

Bryan's only response to this startling occurrence, however, was more of the spasmodic trembling that had overtaken his whole body, save for his death grip on Eric's saddle. The Astrynian Dragonmaster, furious at the spectacle Bryan had caused, turned around to confront the prince for the situation.

"Are you ins—?!" Eric began, but the tirade died in his throat as he beheld Bryan's catatonic state. For a long moment, the Dragonmaster simply stared into Bryan's unseeing eyes, his anger towards him crowded out by a sudden onrush of memory.

Eric had seen this strange affliction before, and on one who mattered more to him than any other.

After a stretching second, Bryan seemed to come back to himself. With an abruptness that caused Eric to draw back, the prince of Astryn sprang to a sitting position, his earlier expression of overwhelming fright melting into one of confusion.

"Wha—?!" he spluttered. "How did I get here?! How did I get up here?!

"You don't remember," Eric said, almost to himself, suddenly finding it difficult to meet Bryan's gaze.

"No. The…the last thing I remember is staring into a mouth full of fangs."

Just like… Eric mused, but the thought was crowded out when he caught sight of the enemy Dragonmaster.

"Oh, this is just priceless!" the Meloran cackled. "The last of a spent bloodline and the last Astrynian dracoknight that merits the title. Oh, if I only had enough room in my collection for such antiques. It makes it all the more perplexing why you persist, when the futility of it is so obvious. You are but the remnant of Astryn's long since passed glory. This country's best days are far behind her; and all that remains is joining Queen Isis's mighty empire…willingly, or not."

With each word from the Meloran Dragonmaster's mouth, an ever-thickening red haze encroached upon Eric's vision. Though neither man had yet shared this with the other, Eric's anger towards Astryn's decline burned no less hotly than Bryan's. Yet, upon Bryan's arrival, that anger had been supplanted by incredulity at the notion of a presumptuous stranger, who knew nothing of Astryn's people or her plight, making impossible and preposterous claims that he could turn Astryn's long twilight into a new dawn.

After seeing more than a few overambitious nobles try to do just that, only to instead line their pockets and then leave those who'd believed them in the lurch, Eric was far from convinced. That the so-called lost prince had been reared in so disreputable a place as Talgria only served to further rankle Eric's pride, which had been left raw and red by how easily Olivia, Francois, Laris, and Canus had all fallen under this exile's spell.

The Astrynian Dragonmaster, by contrast, saw little more than his Meloran counterpart did; a fragile whelp who had let tears overcome him at the news of Marion's long expected passing, and whose mind had nearly come undone in the face of danger.

Who would follow Bryan in this mockery if they knew what his fear could reduce him to?

Not so long ago, Eric would've happily revealed this deadly secret and seen the poseur made a laughing stock and cast back into whatever shadow he'd crept out of.

He still could, in fact. All he had to do was tell the others what had happened when he landed…

…but, what would that accomplish?

As the ardor of retribution cooled, the full scope of this question descended upon Eric. Astryn had suffered much since Shigo's first invasion, but how much worse might the situation become if Bryan's claim to the throne was overturned? Likely, Astryn would be left right back where it was but days earlier, with petty nobles waging war for the vacant throne while, both within the realm and on the horizon, dark forces continued their foul work unchallenged...

…and, all because the only person who still cared enough about Astryn to try and save it had been turned away in disgrace.

Eric gave the Prince of Astryn a derisive glare, but the anger seemed to seep out of him. Not entirely, but enough that his more rational side could make itself known. Who else was there that had proven blood ties to the royal family? Who was willing to piece this broken realm back together, rather than pick over it like some scavenger bird and then take wing? Who else had faced the same enemies now plaguing Astryn, again and again, and emerged victorious?

The answer, much to Eric's chagrin, was Bryan.

Eric's mount, ever conscious to his master's thoughts, craned his horned head to peer at Eric with, seemingly, the reproachful gaze of a parent wordlessly telling a child to behave as though he had a spine and do what he knew was right.

"Alright, alright, Tyrael!" Eric hissed, knowing that his wily wyvern would just as readily use that same look when Eric served bear meat for supper instead of deer. "I can take a hint, you scaly old nag!"

Despite his incredulity, Eric had to concede the point. Whatever else Bryan might be, he was Astryn's only real chance, however slight, of finding its way to a better future. And, whatever else Eric might be, he was loyal to the country his father and forefathers had fought and died for. With that, he redirected his mount towards the commander.

"THIS "ANTIQUE" STILL HAS SOME FIGHT LEFT IN HIM!" Eric exploded, hefting his poleaxe. The enemy commander, startled out of his complacency by the general's bellow, brought up his weapon to meet the attack. But, he soon found that this particular Astrynian dracoknight was, as the commander himself had said, the best of a dying breed. Eric's downward chop clove into the man's chest, very nearly cutting him in half, and knocking him clean out of his saddle. Before the Meloran had even passed beneath his mount's hind limbs, the Astrynian Dragonmaster swung his axe into the wyvern's neck. Soft reptilian flesh gave way before the blade, and the creature began its own earthward plummet.

"Well, like you said," Eric continued as both the rider and mount crashed into the mountainside. "Some of us dracoknights still merit the title!"

With that, the general re-slung his bloody poleaxe across his back. The few remaining enemy troops, having seen their commander's demise and less-than-enamored with the idea of facing a flying berserker, fled in panic. Once they were gone, Eric directed his wyvern back towards the ground. He soon spotted Azura, Owen, and Skye waiting below, and each looking quite shaken by Bryan's brush with disaster. The Marksman, his stricken looking younger brother at his shoulder, was still on the ground, but his convulsions had subsided and he had seemingly regained his senses. Still, all the eyes suddenly riveting on him and his passenger reminded Eric that there'd be questions awaiting him upon his landing. Questions he wasn't quite prepared to answer.

Thinking fast, he turned in the saddle and whispered urgently.

"Hey, you! When we land, play along."

The lost prince, whose ability to think was also apparently missing, stared dumbly for a moment before opening his mouth to reply.

"Don't talk!" Eric bellowed, as much to drown out anything Bryan might say as to maintain the charade. "I'll have Armelle look at you as soon as we land."

In hindsight, Eric would have to admit that his choice of words had been ill advised. Before he'd even finished the sentence, Faline's eyes widened and she nearly sprinted toward where Tyrael would land. Frantic with worry she might be, but would she notice the ruse Eric was playing? And, if so, could she keep her mouth shut?

Luckily, Eric's hastily drawn plan was rescued when Owen, inexplicably sensing Eric's thoughts, snatched Faline by the arm and dragged her back.

"Give Armelle room to work!" he said fervently, then turned and motioned for those nearest to draw back and clear the Astrynian bishop's path.

Eric let out a sigh of relief as Owen ultimately drove back the crowd. A moment later, Armelle scampered up to his side. As Eric helped the prince dismount his wyvern, he craned over to whisper in his fiancée's ear.

Eric and Armelle, betrothed from the cradle, had been close even before they'd been old enough to understand their impending union. And, as children, they'd been a masterful duo in the sacred art of mischief making. The intervening years having no power to erode their skills in duplicity, Armelle announced, in a much louder voice than was necessary, that several of Bryan's ribs had been bruised, cracked, or broken by the wyvern's claws. She then brought up her healing staff, which flared as it mended the damage.

Granted, the "damage" was to Eric's palm, which he'd deliberately cut on his poleaxe. But, it was mended nonetheless.

And, more importantly, no one else was the wiser.

As Bryan watched the deception unfold, terrible comprehension dawned on his face. His features took on an expression of slack-jawed shock, as much from Eric's aid as from what he now knew must've happened during his mid-air captivity, and his face fell into his upturned hands.

Feeling a fresh wave of irritation towards his less-than-welcome liege, Eric snatched at Bryan's bangs and jerked him up to meet his gaze.

"If it bothers you, tell yourself it's for Astryn, because it is," he advised sternly, gesturing at the waiting Larameans. "Besides, I think you'll need your head mortared on straight when you're dealing with them."

These words seemed to get through to Bryan, for his expression hardened and he stood. As he approached the waiting beast laguz, however, he paused and turned to glace askance as Eric and Armelle.

"Thank you," he whispered, so faintly that Eric barely heard him.

"Don't mention it. And, I mean it. Don't. Mention. It. Ever. Again."

"Bryan!" Faline worriedly cried as Owen finally released her and she charged at her love.

The Prince of Astryn caught her in mid-stride, but his arms did so of their own accord without the intervention of his mind.

And, his mind was in a tumult.

I still can't escape it, he realized bleakly. Even after all this time, it just keeps coming back to haunt me.

This realization caused a tremor to begin at the base of his spine, channeling up until he begin shaking nearly as badly as he had in the Meloran wyvern's grasp.

"Are you alright?" Owen inquired, clapping a hand onto the still-trembling Bryan's shoulder.

"I'm alright," Bryan answered, hoping the lie was less transparent than it sounded. "Just…a little shaken up."

He could feel several knowing gazes upon him, belonging to people who knew just how "shaken up" he really was. Hoping that none of them belonged to people who'd reconsider helping him if they knew, he pasted on what he hoped was a convincing imitation of a smile.

"I'll be okay," he assured, turning to Eric. "Saying which, thanks. Even if I had survived that fall, I probably wouldn't have been in any shape to fight. I owe you."

"Don't mention it," Eric repeated, making what seemed like a half-hearted attempt to inject a derisive tone into his words.

"Oh, lighten up. I know you were worried," Bryan said with a sly grin.

"I was not! I only saved you because if I let you fall, I'd be in more trouble than you were!"

"Suuure. Anyway, how's Skye doing?"

Bryan quickly scanned the small crowd before spotting Skye. The Marksman, still looking pale and drawn, was slowly regaining his composure thanks to an attentative Kye.

"That's it, big bro, take another deep breath," the rogue urged. Skye followed his instructions.

"Th-Thanks, Kye…" he stammered after. "I can stand up now."

The Marksman was halfway to his feet when Bryan's clapped a hand about Skye's arm, steadying him as he rose to his full height. As the two friends locked gazes, Bryan realized, and not for the first time, how lucky he was to have a friend as loyal as Skye.

And, he also realized that, although Eric had given him a way to avoid his episode being revealed, explaining away Skye's behavior would be considerably more difficult. Whereas only Eric, Armelle, and the Meloran Dragonmaster had seen the effects Bryan's fear, Skye's affliction had had a far larger audience. How could what had happened to Skye be explained away with so many witnesses?

In a moment of devious inspiration, which he promptly blamed on Eric, he discovered an answer.

"Raela didn't give you a clean bill of health, did she?" he asked, a scolding tone in his voice.

"Wha?" Skye blurted, but clapped his jaw shut when he saw Bryan mouth the words "trust me, play along."

"Well…no," he lied, pointedly shuffling his feet in feigned embarrassment.

"Venin weapons are no joke," Bryan informed him, the words coming a bit easier as he told himself that this would do Skye less harm than the truth. "And, you were carved up like a roast with them. Now, when Raela tells you to get some rest and take more antidote potions, you listen."

"…Do I have to? Raela gives me the creeps."

"Oh, yeah, right!" Kye broke in, Skye's words overpowering any suspicion that might've been forming in the small rogue's mind. "Every time I see you two together, I half expect you to start making babies!"

"KYE!" several shocked voices rang out in reprimand.

"What? It's not as if I'm the only one! There's was this one time, with Marc and Leona-"

"Hey, don't drag us into this!" an irate Marc cut him off.

"Alright, alright, calm down!" Bryan shouted over the bickering. "We've got more important things to discuss."

"Indeed, we do," the white tiger opined as he drew near, reverting to his human form in midstride and rising on two legs to tower over Bryan. As the snowy pelt gave way to toughened, sun kissed flesh, Bryan took a moment to study his unlikely ally...assuming, of course, that term still applied. He was a tall, burly figure, obviously a seasoned warrior, whose feline ears were nearly lost amidst an unruly mass of ice white hair. Icy blue eyes, which regarded Bryan with an expression every bit as glacial as when he'd been pinned under the tiger's claws, were set into a weathered face which retained the black stripes of his animal form. His clothing, a gray jerkin and loose blue breeches, were tattered, likely from battle, and gravel crunched under his dark gray boots. All in all, he was every bit as imposing on two legs as he was on four.

Trying not to let this opinion show on his face, Bryan cleared his throat and met the tiger's gaze squarely.

"You should find what was stolen from you in those satchels the dracoknights were carrying," he began. "Please, take it with my gratitude for your help."

Bryan noticed out of the corner of his eye that Owen, apparently unimpressed by his son's choice of words, had turned his gaze heavenward and was shaking his head in helpless frustration. Apparently, as had been demonstrated back in Astryn Palace, Bryan still knew very little about speaking like a prince.

Well, since they haven't clawed me to pieces yet, I can't have been that bad, Bryan silently consoled himself. Of course, they'll probably still say that me giving the loot back doesn't mean that I didn't steal it.

As if sensing the Prince of Astryn's thoughts, the tiger's eyes promptly narrowed in barely restrained hostility.

"That doesn't mean you didn't steal it," he pointed out.

I should add fortune telling to my Royal Pedigree, Bryan mused with bitter sarcasm.

"I'm telling you, my people and I were set up!" Bryan thundered, frankly not caring about diplomatic niceties which he knew little to nothing about. "Those dracoknights were fought were Melorans. They were going to plant the loot they'd stolen from you at an Astrynian fort, to trick you into attacking Astryn. We heard it from the commander's own mouth!"

"That exchange happened while my men and I were "conveniently" out of earshot," the tiger pointed out stonily. "And, the commander you mentioned is clearly in no condition to verify your claim."

Bryan drew in a deep breath and began silently counting to ten in an effort to assuage his frustration. However, he only got to six before he blew out his breath in a credible imitation of a tiger laguz's growl.

"Didn't you see them attacking us?!" he bellowed.

"Bandits turning on each other is hardly uncommon," the tiger countered. "Less people with whom to share the loot means that the rest get bigger shares."

Grinding his teeth, the Prince of Astryn frantically tried to think of something, anything, that might help him prove his claim. But, he was suddenly jolted back to the present when one of the Larameans, a cat laguz, suddenly spoke up.

"Wait, Captain Vorcas!" he interjected. "I believe him."

Captain Vorcas, apparently, was not used to being contradicted by his subordinates, for he fixed a withering glare on the cat laguz. Despite seeming briefly disconcerted by the tiger's glowering, the cat hastily continued.

"The bodies of those men we were fighting, they are Meloran."

"What?!" Vorcas demanded, his incredulity forgotten. "Explain, soldier!"

"You remember how we weren't able to tell anything from the scents of the dracoknights? I just figured out why. They had masked their scent with a paste made from the leaves of blood ash trees."

"Of what?" Azura blurted out, rolling her shoulder to relieve muscles cramped from long combat.

"It's a type of tree native to Melora," the cat laguz went on. "During the last war, the Melorans used them to make bows, arrows, and shafts for throwing spears. Blood ash wood was ideal for such, because it was light and flexible, yet still sturdy. But, they stopped using the blood ash wood for weapons because its smell could give away their positions."

"Yeah, I'd heard about that," Elincia piped up. "It was back in Eraghoa, from King Rothgar and General Derien. While I was tending to Ike after he'd been poisoned, they would sometimes help me to keep him conscious by speaking to him. They'd tell him stories of their time in the first war, and they said those bows and spears gave off a stronger scent than the Melorans' armor. They were able to smell enemies carrying them from miles away."

Captain Vorcas, apparently not the sort to be easily distracted, clapped a hand on the talkative cat laguz's shoulder and bodily spun him about so that he could glare directly into his subordinate's eyes.

"And, you know this how?" he said, but more as an order than a question.

"After the first war ended, I accompanied the Laramean delegation who traveled to Melora, to negotiate the peace treaty," the cat replied. "We passed more of those blood ash trees than I could count."

Several other beast laguz, who apparently knew the cat's story to be true, spoke up to affirm their comrade's account. Forcing himself to keep silent for the moment, Bryan tried to study Vorcas's reaction. Obviously, the white tiger was in a sour mood at having been contradicted and made to look in error by one of his subordinates; and, in front of an audience, no less. However, it seemed the revelation about the dracoknights' choice of camouflage had caught his attention. When his gaze met Bryan's again, it was not nearly as hostile as it had been moments before. However, that hostility seemed to be have been replaced by suspicion and perplexity, for one of his eyebrows rose to mingle with his shaggy hair and his icy gaze remained coldly skeptical. Before either of the antagonists could speak, however, another voice broke in.

"And, those others," the cat laguz went on, pointing at the dead Meloran infantrymen and cavaliers. "They smell of the north seas, which border Melora, not the south seas of Astryn."

Seizing upon this opening, Bryan stepped forward and interjected.

"There's your proof!" he exclaimed. "Your lands were raided by Melorans, not Astrynians."

Bryan had hoped that this latest proof would be enough to satisfy the wary Vorcas, but, much to his incredulity, the icy eyed tiger's disposition seemed every bit as frosty as it had moments before.

"Bandits come from every which-where," he pointed out. "And, they accept one country's coin just as readily as another's. How do we know you didn't just, shall we say, go abroad to find your hirelings?"

This unexpected rejoinder caught Bryan off-guard. Frantically, he tried once more to find some clue that might clear his country's name, and which would put Astryn's innocence beyond even Vorcas's broad capacity for doubt. He considered mentioning that these bandits were too well equipped for common brigands; their weapons, armor, and mounts far beyond the typical scavenged gear bandits commonly used. But, he quickly discarded that idea. The dracoknights' equipment could have been provided by whomever had hired them for the raids, and it was obvious that Vorcas considered Bryan to be the most likely candidate. The Prince of Astryn had been hoping that the overly talkative cat laguz might chime in again with more helpful revelations, but it seemed he'd fallen silent.

Fortunately, another spoke up.

"Wait a minute," Ike called out, "there might be another way to prove our claim!"

Vorcas, as was to be expected by this time, did not look convinced. But, he nonetheless nodded for Ike to speak…

…still, there was no mistaking a hint of impatience in the tiger laguz's stance.

"Back on Tellius, during the Mad King's War, my mercenaries and I," Ike began, pausing a moment to gesture at Soren and Elincia "had been hired to escort a delegation from the Kingdom of Crimea as they met with representatives from the Begnion Empire. Crimea had been invaded and overrun by Daein, and was seeking Begnion's help in driving them out. During the conference, we were attacked by pirates…or, so it seemed."

A muted but sharp intake of breath caught Bryan's attention, and his eye darted in the direction of the sound to spy Elincia. The former queen, though Bryan was still finding her royal origins almost as difficult to swallow as his own, had stiffened for the twinkling of an eye when Ike had mentioned their time in Tellius. No doubt she'd been afraid that, as had happened back at Fort Mercue, that Ike would accidentally blurt out what had become her most guarded secret during her time in Altarais. But, she'd very nearly sagged with relief when she realized how Ike had...revised her role during those events.

And, as Bryan soon realized, Ike's sleight of hand was a wise decision. The ever-skeptical Vorcas would have a hard enough time believing that he'd stumbled upon one lost royal, much less two.

"Get to the point!" Vorcas demanded, his outbursts shaking Bryan back to the present in time to see the tiger display his claws to underscore his impatience.

"The "pirates" were Daein troops," Ike continued, speaking rapidly. "They wore plain armor so we wouldn't be able to tell, and so that Begnion wouldn't realize that Daein was operating in their waters. But, when we searched their ship after the battle, we found that they'd had charcoal drawings of the delegates, so they'd know their targets, and a Daein flag, which would've helped them get back home after their mission. Maybe these guys did the same thing. If we search their bodies, we might find the proof we need."

Vorcas gestured towards the dead raiders in invitation for Bryan and his allies to search, but his expression suggested that he wouldn't be laying coin on their chances.

However, Bryan had the gratification of watching Vorcas's ever-wary expression become slack-jawed amazement when a Meloran flag was discovered in one of the dracoknights' saddlebags.

Seeing an opening, Bryan interjected.

"Maybe this will help our case?" he suggested, though it was only with an effort that he kept a hint of smugness from his tone.

Bryan could see questions forming in Vorcas's eyes, but, this time, he was ready for them.

"Oh, this might've been a trophy they took from previous victims. But, a banner like this is only carried by a unit of knights, like Melora's dracoknights. And, we both know they'd never let one be taken without a fight. So, where are the tears? Where's the blood? And, if this was a trophy, why hide it instead of wearing it for potential victims to see?"

"That's not all they were trying to hide," Soren spoke up, handing another satchel to Bryan.

The Prince of Astryn withdrew a sheaf of parchment and, deciding to take a calculated risk, beckoned for Vorcas to draw nearer. Old instincts flared with alarm at the idea of allowing someone he didn't yet trust to approach him from behind, but Bryan forced himself to remain calm. With luck, his gesture would convey his confidence that this find would put to rest all doubt regarding Astryn's innocence, and that allowing Vorcas to approach would also show that Bryan trusted Vorcas to make the right decision after seeing the evidence.

Assuming, of course, that Vorcas didn't instead take the opportunity to grab the over-trusting Prince of Astryn from behind and snap his neck.

Taking a steadying breath, Bryan held the parchments so that both men could read them. And, spelled out on the pages was the whole sordid plot, all penned in, judging by the signature and signet, Queen Isis's own hand. The Meloran queen had laid out the situation, describing the return of the Lost Prince of Astryn, and laid out the plan to turn Astryn and Larame against each other. In the subsequent pages were maps showing the locations of the Laramean stores which had been looted, as well as incriminating locations within Astryn where the raiders were to drop off the pilfered goods.

"I hope this will be enough?" Bryan asked, gesturing at the documents. "Anybody could've written these, but the signet proves it. Royal signet rings are enchanted so that only their proper owner can use them. If anybody else in Meloran tried to use Isis's ring to make these behind her back, she wouldn't need to have them killed. The ring's magic would've beaten her to it."

This revelation seemed to, finally, make a true impact on Vorcas. The perpetual suspicion had finally left the tiger's face, his pinched features easing noticeable before furrowing in confusion.

"I don't understand," he admitted, and Bryan suspected that this was something Vorcas said rarely, if at all. "Why would Melora attack Larame? We are not at war with them. And, as I understand it, Melora is already battling with Talgria."

"That might not be going on for much longer," Bryan intoned, hoping that the hint of warning in his tone was not lost on Vorcas. "Melora is winning the war. Just before my friends and I came here, Cilae had fallen. Not just that, but Melora has been launching attacks in Talgria, Eraghoa, and Perais. They've been burning towns in the Talgrian heartland, have ransacked Cilae's shipping lanes, and carted off most of the Perais ravens in chains."

"That sounds quite dire, but you haven't answered my question. Why would Melora risk opening a second front by provoking both of our countries?"

As odd as it seemed when speaking about the possible destruction of both the land of his birth and his adopted homeland, Bryan felt a weight lift from his shoulders at this particular question. It would be sometime before the Prince of Astryn learned how to look, speak, and think the part, but he was still a seasoned soldier. And, this question was one he knew how to answer.

"They didn't want to open up a second front," he began. "They wanted to turn us against each other. Think about it. Melora has tried before to conquer all of Altarais, and, if things keep going as they are, they'll soon take half of what they want. But, Isis won't stop there. She wants to take the whole continent; but, she knows she's in a delicate position. She can't attack southern Altarais outright. At least, not while she's occupied on another front. The border between Melora and Larame is huge, as you well know, and beast laguz are fast and strong. Melora wouldn't be able to spare enough troops to guard that border well enough to keep your people from slipping through and counter-attacking them."

Here, Bryan paused for a moment to let his words sink in. And, to his relief, it seemed his message was getting through. A thoughtful expression had crossed Vorcas's face, no doubt as he measured Bryan's claims against his own knowledge and found them well matched. Several of the Larameans, apparently drawing the same conclusion, were avidly chattering amongst themselves. Bryan let the silence between himself and the tiger draw out for another few moments, and then continued.

"But, at the same time, Isis can't afford to wait either. You saw how she wrote about the return of the lost prince of Astryn. She's worried that this could mean Astryn will grow strong again, and maybe even lead the nations of southern Altarais against her. For Isis, that would be a disaster. But, she knows Astryn and Larame are not on the best of terms. If she managed to turn us against each other, she could secure Melora's southern flank, allowing her to concentrate on Talgria, while we fight each other. Then, once Talgria is beaten and we're both on our last legs, she can defeat both of us easily."

As Bryan finished speaking, he discreetly drew in a steadying breath. Having made his case, all he could do now was wait and hope that Vorcas was persuaded.

After all, in light of what he had hinted at a moment ago, what was the alternative?

For a long moment, however, Vorcas simply regarded Bryan with narrowed, calculating eyes, standing so eerily still that, if not for the rhythmic stroking of his chin, he might've been mistaken for a statue. As the silence dragged on for what felt like hours, the prince of Astryn's anxiety grew. Had he overlooked something while trying to sway the wary tiger laguz? Or, had the dire picture he'd painted caused the tiger to think he'd rather have Melora as an ally rather than an enemy?

After all, Bryan had admitted that Isis was winning the war.

Desperation propelling him into action, he advanced a pace closer to the silent tiger and met his frosty gaze.

"Listen, I know you don't have any reason to trust me," the prince of Astryn said firmly. "But, we both know Melora is dangerous to both of our countries. The death and destruction they caused during the last war proves that. And, the war that's going on right now might be even worse unless Isis is stopped. That won't happen if we remain apart. But, together, we have a chance. To protect our countries and our people, I'm asking you, soldier to soldier, for your help."

Perhaps it was the aftereffects of his brush with death, or maybe it was all the blood pounding in his head, but it took Bryan a moment to realize that, at long last, Vorcas had nodded his agreement.

"Your wisdom shows," he complimented, undoubtedly something else he did only rarely. "Very well, then. I will send some of my men back to Larame with word of what you have told me, as well as to return what was stolen by those Melorans. In the meantime, myself and the rest of my men will accompany you…"

Here, to Bryan's astonishment, Vorcas's words trailed off and his normally stern countenance took on a decidedly sheepish expression.

"I-If you'll let me, that is."

This sudden shift, from stern and imposing to almost sheepish, left Bryan briefly stunned, and it took a sharp jab in the back, likely from Owen, to snap him back to attention.

"Of course!" he blurted out, trying to sound more amused than bemused by Vorcas's odd behavior. "We'd be glad to have you."

"Thanks," Vorcas replied with a self-conscious smile, then turning to Eric. "It seems I owe you an apology as well, General Eric. If there's anything I can do to set things to rights between us, you need only ask."

Eric, who also seemed unsure what to make of Vorcas's new demeanor, nodded his acceptance of the tiger's pledge. Vorcas returned the gesture, took a cursory glance at the darkening horizon, and then turned back to Bryan.

"It's likely too dark for you to travel," he pointed out. "And, since we have much to discuss, I can show you a safe area to set up camp."

"That would be most appreciated, thank you," Bryan replied graciously. "My name's Bryan, by the way."

Vorcas had been about to extend his hand, but suddenly jerked to a halt when the Prince of Astryn's words registered. The tiger's eyes began to dart between Bryan's face, armor, and the parchments taken from the Melorans, which were still clasped in Bryan's hand.

And, all the while, Vorcas's jaw dropped ever lower in dawning comprehension and undisguised astonishment.

"That name…" he blurted, stupefied. "That armor… The lost prince of Astryn, that those Melorans had been after, that's you?!"

Before Bryan could reply, Vorcas dropped to one knee in unabashed obeisance to the lost prince who'd been a figure of legend throughout southern Altarais.

"I beg you for forgiveness, your highness…"

"Whoa, uh…the kneeling isn't necessary," Bryan insisted, idly wondering why he suddenly couldn't stop thinking of the term "occupational hazard". "And don't worry, you're forgiven. You did have reason to believe we were stealing from you and it was hardly your fault. The Melorans went to a lot of trouble, here and in Astryn, to make sure their tricks and ruses were convincing. Even the best of us could've been misled by such cunning."

After a moment's hesitation, the white tiger stood up.

"You are most gracious, Prince Bryan," Vorcas replied with a smile.

With that, Bryan offered Vorcas his hand and, despite a moment's perplexity that a prince preferred such over being bowed to, Vorcas accepted it. And, with that simple gesture, a new chapter had begun between Astryn and Larame. These two countries, although never truly enemies, had long been divided by mutual mistrust and misunderstanding. Yet now, for the first time in history, the two of them stood as allies, due in no small part to the seemingly mythical lost prince of Astryn.

Future generations would consider this to be the first of Bryan's great achievements as prince of Astryn, but it was neither the greatest, nor the last.

With the two former antagonists having made peace, and the tension between the two groups draining away, Vorcas led them up a gentle slope until they reached a broad mountaintop. Surveying the area, Bryan found further reason to respect the tiger. The mountaintop was more than wide enough for the now very large group to make camp, and it would also prove quite defensible, in case there were other Melorans lurking nearby. Later on, as tents were being pitched and campfires lit, Bryan and Azura conferred with Vorcas. As the lady of Elhorhi approached, they noted that the tiger eying her with evident curiosity.

"Oh, I'm Azura, the lady of Elhorhi in Talgria," Azura introduced herself. "Bryan and I have joint command of this army."

"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you, milady," Vorcas said, comprehension dawning on his features once more. "We did hear that a certain red-haired female commander was proving to be quite a dangerous thorn in Melora's side. That must be you."

"Yes, that would be me…"

"It is an honor to meet you, milady. Some of my men have told me what they've heard of your exploits. Their stories are incomplete, since much of your adventures happened so far from here, but what I've heard is most impressive. Rumors tell that Queen Isis has had a bounty on your head for quite some time. A friend of mine, from our patrols along the Meloran border, claims it's gone as high as seven hundred and fifty thousand gold pieces. Remarkable, isn't it?"

Bryan, who had gone from an ostracized boy, to soldier, to platoon captain, and then to lost prince in the course of his eventful and convoluted life, was quite certain he had never heard so grand an understatement. And, judging from the earthward migration of Azura's lower jaw, she hadn't either.

"You…that…" she stammered, trying to regain her composure. "Surely, they were stretching the truth? There are entire kingdoms which aren't worth that much."

My own, for instance, Bryan mused, hoping that Astryn's fragile health would not worsen in his absence.

"My men are honest to a fault," Vorcas denied, almost comically oblivious to Azura's discomfiture. "Some of the younger ones, those who seek to make a name for themselves, but have had little success, even expressed some envy that you enjoy such notoriety."

The Lady of Elhorhi muttered something under her breath which, Bryan suspected, was something along the lines of "they can have it". Vorcas looked eager to elaborate, but, thankfully, a familiar voice cut in a moment later.

"Vorcas! We knew it!"

Vorcas and Azura whirled to see Kiel running up to the pair with Sara at his heels.

"Vorcas, it's been so long! We knew your white tiger form seemed familiar when we ran into you earlier!" Sara added.

"Sorry we couldn't talk to you before now," Kiel said. "We recognized you while you were talking to Bryan, but we figured we shouldn't interrupt."

"Ah, Kiel, Sara. It has indeed been quite some time, hasn't it? I'm pleased to see you both are well," Vorcas replied with a smile.

"You all know each other?" Azura commented, an eyebrow arching with curiosity.

"Yeah, we met in the Forest of Hope," Kiel replied. "A lot of the laguz on this continent, Oathsworn and otherwise, visit the forest at least a few times a year, to renew the vow that was made there. Vorcas was there doing that when we met him. In fact, he is an Oathsworn himself. Sara and I met and befriended him during his last visit. We hadn't seen him since though."

"It is true, milady," Vorcas confirmed. "I go when my duties permit, but it's been difficult to make the time with all the troubles that have been brewing lately. But, enough of that. If I wasn't convinced before that none of you are thieves, I definitely am now. Kiel and Sara would never side with people like that."

"Wow, I see! Who knew friendships extended so far across the continent?" Azura commented.

She dovetailed this point by sweeping her gaze over the varied Astrynian and Laramean troops in the encampment, the significance of this moment by no means lost on her.

"So, where are you all headed right now?" Vorcas inquired, jolting the young earl back to attention.

"To Orenias," Azura explained. "The Astrynian nobles advised Bryan to meet with King Cragen there and ask for his aid. We learned that Astryn is a long-time ally of the dragon laguz there."

"That's right," Bryan confirmed. "I'd hate to get them involved, but, I'll be honest with you. The side we're on has a long, hard road ahead. Astryn faces threats inside its borders as well as out, and her army is in tatters. My country desperately needs more help, so that we have the time we need to rebuild, and Orenias might be willing to lend us the aid we need."

"Oh… I see," Vorcas replied, a frown ceasing his features. "I apologize, you probably know that our relationship with Orenias isn't exactly friendly."

"Yes, we did hear that as well," Bryan admitted. "But like I said earlier, Melora is threatening everyone right now. Whoever doesn't have Isis knocking at their door today, they will tomorrow. You've played straight with me, and I appreciate that. So, play straight with me once more: could Larame and Orenias set aside their differences? At least, for the time being?"

"Don't worry, I believe it can be done," Vorcas agreed, a hint of grim amusement lighting his features. "As you said to that Dragonmaster, carving through Isis's cronies is quite the bonding experience."

Bryan chuckled, and this seemed to please the tiger immensely.

"But, in all seriousness," Vorcas went on, "knowing King Cragen, he will see the wisdom in your words. Truth be told, the blame for the tension lies largely with my country, and I fear such is not in the best interests of my people. But, our king is…stubborn…to put it mildly. He is a superb warrior and leader, but he is more a soldier than a statesman, and has little patience for such long and convoluted things as diplomacy."

"Sounds like another beast king I know…" Ranulf remarked, recalling Skrimir's similar disposition, but then shaking himself back to the present. "Sorry, it's a long story."

"I see… Your country must not be all that different from ours, then?"

"I don't think so, no. But we don't have any quarrel with our dragon tribe back in Tellius. Goldoa, the land of the Tellius dragons, had isolated itself from the outside world for centuries. I heard Kurthnaga, their new king, was going to change that; but, I left before I found out either way. As for where I'm from, though we are rarely disappointed when we're called upon to fight, we don't really go looking for trouble."

"Ah. Well, anyway, your highness," Vorcas continued and turned to Bryan again. "If all goes well, my comrades will be at the border in a few hours, their message to Larame having been delivered. May I join them?"

"That sounds like a plan to me," Bryan agreed, noting the twilight sky rapidly dimming to the violet of night. "It's too dark to travel further anyway. We should get some rest, and set out at first light. Saying which, thanks for showing us this campsite, Vorcas."

"It was the least I could do. And, besides, I know this area quite well. There are many paths through the mountains separating Larame and Orenias, linking both countries. It can be difficult finding ones way through, if you're unfamiliar with the area, but I can guide you to the paths leading to Orenias."

"Really? That would be excellent, thank you!" Bryan commented, only belatedly remembering Owen's earlier request to act as their guide.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his father emerge from amongst several half-pitched tents. The former grand duke's expression was drawn, no doubt from the brush with death that still had Bryan hiding shaking hands behind his back, but the prince of Astryn noted him trying to wipe it from his face before the others noticed. Once Bryan had explained Vorcas's proposition, Owen quickly voiced his approval.

"I don't know my way around those mountains half as well as Vorcas seems to," Owen admitted. "I only know some of the land across the border. By the sound of it, Vorcas's knowledge of the area is far better."

"Alright," Bryan replied. "But Vorcas…why did you learn all the paths to Orenias?"

"Well, aside from myself, not many of us leave Larame," Vorcas explained. "At least, not often. Still, there are those of us who patrol that part of the border, and others who follow the mountain paths to other destinations. We learned our way around the mountains, so that we know how to get home when we have to leave the country for whatever reason. This helps ensure that we do not stray across Orenias's borders. Given the relationship between our countries, that could be…problematic."

"Oh, that does make sense. Well, let's finish setting up camp. We've had a long day, and another is likely ahead of us tomorrow."

The words were barely out of Bryan's mouth when the truth of them struck him. And, hard. Maybe it was the combined strain of Faline's near disaster, as well as his own. Or maybe, with the day's crises having lifted, the surge of frantic energy had deserted him, as had often happened after long battles. Whatever the reason, he suddenly found himself able to remain standing only through sheer willpower. As the little group dispersed, he ducked behind a tent and sagged against it, feeling as though his armor had grown heavier and heavier until it might as well have been the weight of the world.

"Are you alright?" the voice of Owen asked softly.

Bryan struggled to straighten, and his cramping legs nearly pitched him headfirst into the dirt. The prince of Astryn was spared this indignity when Owen's hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder to steady his son. Still, as Bryan met his father's gaze, he felt his own eyes grow hot.

"I'd…wanted, so badly, to forget," he murmured, his voice quavering.

And, indeed, he'd tried hard to do just that, both as a boy and as a man. As a boy, he'd gone back to stare into the jaws that had nearly claimed him, only to turn back as his courage wilted in the face of remembered terrors. Those same terrors, given new life by his latest brush with death, still teased at his mind as he worked to focus on something else, anything else, besides rows of fangs lining the drop into a bottomless abyss.

And yet, the turning of the years and his growing into manhood had not defanged that horror.

Those rows of fangs were still there, in the back of his mind, waiting for the right time to yawn wide and bite him in half.

Owen, sensing his son's train of thought, pulled him in closer, allowing the battered Prince of Astryn to lean against his father's sturdy frame. Some inner voice whispered that this might seem unbecoming to any onlookers, but Bryan was simply too weary from his travails, and too grateful for this reprieve, to care.

"I wish I could tell you that it would get easier," Owen whispered, feelingly. "Coping with what happened, or to be prince of Astryn. But, that won't happen."

Clapping a hand on Bryan's shoulder, Owen drew back from Bryan to look his son in the eye.

"But, never forget, you're not alone. You still have Faline, Skye, and me. You must be the pillar that holds Astryn up, but let us be the pillars that hold you up."

A smile, a small, tired smile, but a smile nonetheless, took shape on Bryan's face as he recalled how all those years ago, Skye's friendship had done what a doctor's ministrations could not and how Faline's love had given him courage he never knew he had. And how, through it all, his father had always been there, free with advice and support, but always willing to give his son the time and space he needed to become his own man.

The burden of royalty would grow no lighter - indeed, the reverse was far more likely - but, at least there were others who could aid him in bearing it.

"Thank you, Father," Bryan choked out, tears of happiness fighting to spill from his eyes.

"You're welcome," Owen replied, his brow suddenly furrowing. "But, tell me, where have you left Eronite?"

His own brow furrowing, Bryan quickly searched his person, but he found no trace of the legendary thunder lance of Astryn. Then, with a rush of blood to his cheeks, he realized that, in the heat of exonerating himself with the Larameans, he had never retrieved it from the battlefield...

…which now lay several miles away.

Owen, once more sensing his son's thoughts, stared at Bryan in mute disbelief before clapping a hand over his face and shaking his head in frustrated stupefaction.

"Well, no one besides me can touch it," Bryan pointed out, somewhat desperately. "So, it's not going anywhere, right?"

Owen, clearly not amused, crossed his arms over his chest and gave Bryan a stern glare which brooked no disagreement.

"Go find Lartz, fly back there, and get it back," he instructed, holding up a hand to silence Bryan's reply. "I know you'd rather go with Faline, but it might be best if this stayed secret. Lartz strikes me as being tighter lipped than Faline. And…I need to talk to her myself. I promised her an explanation of what happened back there, and I doubt she'll wait much longer."

Feeling suddenly like a whipped dog, and with mortification crowding out his fatigue, Bryan slinked off to find the Dracoknight.

And, as he departed with his royal tail tucked between his royal legs, he thought the same thing he'd been thinking quite often of late.

If whoever said "it's good to be the king" is still alive, I'm going to kill him!

And, as Owen watched his son depart, Owen thought the same thing he'd thought often lately.

He still has a lot to learn.

Still, considering that Bryan didn't even know he was a prince until a few months ago, Owen supposed he couldn't fault his son for a few early missteps. And, indeed, by bringing Astryn and Larame together, at least for now, Bryan had proven that he certainly had the potential to become a great king.

In the aftermath of the battle, while this newfound alliance was being cemented, Owen had watched his son and the tiger from a respectful distance.

To look at them as they'd led their respective troops to the campsite, one would never have believed they'd been adversaries just hours before.

Indeed, it seemed as though Vorcas might've been vying for the post of Bryan's manservant, for the tiger would sweep aside stray debris from Bryan's path and, where the footing looked treacherous, would insist on going first. Owen knew Bryan well enough to know that he was perplexed, and more than a little annoyed, by this coddling, but, luckily, he'd taken the hint from Owen elbowing him in the back and bore it with stoic courtesy.

After all, it wasn't as if he wouldn't have to put up with such things when he became Astryn's ruler.

Despite what must've been a degree of frustration with this treatment, Bryan was obviously coming to respect Vorcas. And, the reason was obvious. The mountaintop the tiger had chosen as their campsite was more than broad enough to accommodate the army's encampment; no small feat since the army was much larger than it had been when they'd first arrived in Astryn. Even better, it was readily defensible. It offered a clear view of the surrounding countryside for miles in all directions, offering no concealment for attackers coming by land or air. And, since the slopes leading up offered no cover, anyone trying to climb up to attack them could be easily picked off with arrows and magic.

When Bryan complemented Vorcas on his choice, Owen could swear the tiger was blushing a bit.

As Owen surveyed the rest of the camp, he saw others amongst the army mingling with Vorcas's men, accentuating the seeming sense that everything had worked out for the best.

But, for a father who'd just watched his worst nightmare very nearly play out in front of him, it was a cold comfort.

Recalling that the documents found on the Melorans had spared Bryan the trouble of authenticating himself to the Larameans did little to dispel the memory of watching Bryan hurtling towards what had nearly been his death. Neither did Eric's surprising about-face in rescuing Bryan and concealing the truth of what the Prince of Astryn had been suffering from while in the wyvern's grip, though Owen silently told himself over and over again that that was also a vital turning point. Finding nothing outside to console him, Owen shoved aside the flaps of his newly erected tent and stormed inside.

His eyes immediately settled upon a tome, its magic nearly spent, hidden amongst his possessions.

He snatched it up and, his blood hot with determination, began to study the spells within. It had been a long time since he'd been able to cast even the most basic of spells, but he could feel the tiny smolder of magic still within him. Fumbling his way through the incantation, he stoked that tiny spark as best he could and brought it forth.

His gifts in magic had atrophied badly, but what he was able to summon forth was enough…

…enough to kill a malnourished hummingbird, that is.

Anything larger would not die from such an attack, except possibly from laughter.

Furious, Owen tossed the tome to the ground and swore explosively enough to have several generations of House Novat turning in their graves.

"I hope you don't plan to kiss your grandkids with that mouth," a female voice opined.

Startled, Owen whirled to see Azura and Faline, the two young women apparently having managed to slip into the tent without him noticing. As his anger over his failed spell cooled, he suddenly became pointedly aware of the expressions of amusement on the two ladies' faces…

…and, the question that must've brought them here.

"I, ah," he stammered, embarrassment warring with a desire not to reopen old wounds, "would, er, appreciate it if, well, you didn't mention this to Bryan. Or Skye. Or Eric. Or Camus. Or Laris. Or Alec. Or, anybody at all, actually."

"Oh, I'm keeping this juicy nugget all to myself," Azura joked, but her jovial mood turned serious quickly enough. "But, that's not why we're here."

She didn't say more than that, but, then again, she hardly needed to. With a long sigh, he directed the two women to close the tent's flaps and then indicated a pair of collapsible chairs, both still folded up for transport, which lay in one corner of the tent.

"You ought to sit down," he suggested, trying vainly to force the quaver out of his voice. "This is a long story...and, it's not a happy one."

Perhaps he was hoping this warning might induce the two women to hold off on hearing his tale until the lingering shock of Bryan's brush with death had faded. Or, maybe he just wanted a moment to steel himself for the pain this recollection would bring. Whatever the reason, Azura and Faline were soon seated and regarding him attentively, the tense silence broken only by the whirring sound made as Faline's fingers found her spurs and began absently flicking the rowels.

"By now, I suspect you know that, as a child, Bryan was...mistreated by his peers?" Owen began.

"Yeah, Skye told me about it awhile back," Azura confirmed.

"I've heard bits and pieces too," Faline added, comprehension dawning. "Wait, what happened to him earlier has something to do with that?"

"Very much so," Owen said gravely.

"But, how?" Azura asked. "And, what was that you said to Skye, about the Cold Maw?"

"Well, that's a long story in and of itself. First, with regard to what the Cold Maw is, it's a canyon near Narcoss. It's quite a sight, though few have travelled there in some time. Parts of the canyons walls had eroded in a very strange manner. It left behind numerous rocky outcroppings at intervals, making the canyon look as though you were gazing down into a huge mouth with row upon row of pointed teeth. In winter, snow would pile up in the bottom of the canyon like foam. Godric, the founder of Narcoss, had originally named it the Carouser's Canyon. Reportedly, it was because, when it was full of snow, it looked as though beer had been poured into the "mouth" faster than it could be swallowed."

This rather silly anecdote elicited a snicker from the two ladies, though no trace of mirth touched Owen's features.

"Yeah, that was the prevailing sentiment. But, back when Bryan was six or seven, things changed. And, for the worse. There had been this group of bandits who'd tried to attack Narcoss, but had been wiped out. There were rumors about their loot, which was still sitting in their hideout. And, as often happens with such rumors, the amount of loot these bandits supposedly had got bigger and bigger with each telling until, ultimately, some sincerely believed that whoever found this loot would be richer than a king. At one point, other rumors began to work their way around town. People began to suspect that the loot might be hidden at the bottom of Carouser's Canyon; and, one day, a group of boys decided to try and find out."

Noticing the sudden tension in Faline's posture, Owen raised one hand.

"No, Bryan wasn't one of those boys. That comes later. Now, these boys went down into the canyon, using its "teeth" as stepping stones. Nobody knows if they found anything down there, but it hardly mattered. They were able to get down into the canyon, but they couldn't get back out. From down there, they weren't able to reach any handholds for climbing, and the soft snow they'd landed in was like quicksand. Of course, the townsfolk eventually realized the boys were missing and put together a search party. I was among them."

"Did you find the boys?" Faline wondered, though she must've already sensed the answer.

Owen heaved a heavy sigh, sensing old ghosts stirring as he recalled the horrors of that day.

"By the time we did, they'd all frozen to death," he grimly reported. "We couldn't even recover the bodies for burial until well into spring. After that, the canyon was largely known as the Cold Maw. Whatever goes into its icy depths doesn't come back out."

"That's awful," Azura said, no doubt recalling how, as a child, she'd had more than a few brushes with death herself. "But, what does this have to Bryan and Skye?"

"Well, the adults in Narcoss, especially those with children, learned their lesson about the Cold Maw soon enough. They kept well away from it, and made sure their children did the same. But, this didn't always work. About a year or so after the canyon was renamed, some of the boys who'd mistreated Bryan came to him with, what Bryan thought, was a peace offering. They dared him to go to the Cold Maw and look down into it. If he did, they said they'd be friends with him."

"And, Bryan believed them?!" Azura blurted, disgusted by such a ploy.

"He'd been mistreated for so long that he jumped at the idea of stopping it, and having more friends. I would've stopped him, but, at the time, I was arguing with a disagreeable customer over the price of some goods. I didn't hear the conversation Bryan had with the boys over the buffoon's shouting, and by the time I'd calmed the man down enough for him to be reasonable, Bryan and the other boys were long gone. I only learned about this from Skye after the fact, but the boys apparently let Bryan go through with his part of the dare. Then they pushed him onto his stomach and dangled him by his ankles over the edge of the cliff. They laughed as he dangled there, kicking, screaming, and crying for help."

"What?! That…that's just horrible!" Faline gasped. "I can't believe anyone would do something so awful, and to an innocent child!"

"Neither can I!" Azura agreed. "But, what does Skye have to do with this?"

"I'm getting to that. Skye and Bryan were supposed to spend that day together. But, since Bryan left with those boys straightaway, Skye didn't figure out that something was wrong until it was too late. He managed to find the other boys and, seeing what they were doing to Bryan, he tried to intervene. But, he accidentally scared them into dropping Bryan…"

"Oh, no…" Faline uttered, tears building up into her eyes. Azura could only gape in shock.

"Bryan broke an arm and an ankle in the fall," Owen continued, his voice cracking as he recalled how he'd discovered what had happened after nearly half a day of frantic searching. "Skye was so horrified at what had happened that he went berserk. He charged at those boys, wrestled them to the ground, and nearly beat them all to death. Needless to say, those boys never bothered either of them again. When Skye had regained his senses, he was half out of his mind with revulsion at what he'd done. But, he was shaken out of it when he heard Bryan groaning. As Skye tells it, Bryan had landed on one of the "teeth" in the first row, only a few feet down. Skye couldn't reach him, but, once I'd finally tracked them down, I could. Bryan's injuries were treated by a local priest, as were Skye's. Their bodies healed quickly enough, but, inwardly, both boys had taken wounds that would prove far more lasting. Seeing this, and sensing that separating them would not be wise, I let Skye stay with us for a while. Skye was brooding and silent nearly that whole time, and I couldn't get Bryan out of the house for days."

Wearied by the tale, and the pain that came with it, Owen let his face fall into his upturned hands.

"No doubt, when Bryan was in the claws of the Meloran Dragonmaster's mount, he looked much as he did then. His eyes staring ahead, sightless and unblinking, while the rest of him convulsed and writhed. That's why I tried to keep everyone away from Bryan when Eric brought him back to the ground. That memory was horrible enough as it was. I didn't want this secret shown in front of everyone, and certainly not when so much rides on Bryan's image as Prince of Astryn. As you may have guessed, that's why I wouldn't tell you this while so many were listening in."

"That's…That's unbelievable," Azura murmured. "Those poor men…"

"I know…" Faline uttered, unable to suppress crying. "Bryan needs me, more than I ever would have thought… And Skye… He needs help too."

"They do, indeed…" Owen replied, gravely aware of how much gravity those few words carried.

Once more, a grim silence descended over the trio, broken only when Faline once more began flicking the rowels of her spurs, her face a mask of consternation. Azura looked much the same until her brow began to furrow. Then, with the suddenness of a thunderclap, she snapped her fingers and vaulted to her feet.

"Wait a minute!" she blurted out, before noticing Owen frantically gesturing for her to lower her voice, prompting her to whisper the rest. "If Bryan was in the state you say he was when the Meloran's wyvern grabbed him, then Eric must've seen it. I don't see how he couldn't have noticed. So, why didn't he...?"

"Shout it for all to hear?" Owen finished, hating how helpless he felt as he shrugged in reply. "I'll be honest with you, I have no idea. I'd be surprised, but very happy, if this meant Eric has come around with regards to Bryan. But, I suspect Eric's motivations are different. Still, whatever the reason, it is fortunate that Eric made that choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. While Marion withered from her illness, and all the Astrynian nobles squabbled over which of them would replace her when she died, ragged swaths of Astryn slid into lawlessness and ruin. You remember what we saw in Sally's village and Medann? From what I've learned back in the palace, there are many such places in Astryn, some of which are even worse. Despair and chaos might very well kill Astryn before Isis can."

"But, now that Bryan's back, surely people are realizing that things can turn around," Faline opined vehemently.

"Some do," Owen allowed. "Some will, some might, others may not decide either way for some time, and others will likely remain skeptical. Remember, when Sally first talked about the lost prince of Astryn, it sounded as though most considered him little more than a rumor or a child's tale. Not everyone will believe the lost prince is real as readily as Sally did. And, even many who do will be worried that Bryan might not be equal to the task."

Faline's expression had grown more and more incredulous as she listened and, when it looked as though she was about go into a lung splitting rebuttal, Owen held up a hand to forestall her.

"You believe Bryan can accomplish this, and so do I," Owen said forcefully. "And like I said, many others likely will in due time. But, the hope that Bryan represents is a fragile one. He'll need to prove himself to a great many people, quite a few of which will be…unfriendly. Those nobles who were about to begin fighting each other over the throne when we arrived? Bryan proving himself to be the prince of Astryn ruined their chances of replacing Marion, and they won't forgive that easily. And, there are the dracoknights and the Larameans. They respect leaders who are strong and can act decisively. Would they be willing to follow Bryan if they knew what really happened? It pains me to say this, but, I doubt it."

Here, Owen had to pause and draw in a shuddering breath. But, this did little to calm his heart, which writhed in rebellion against the words that must come next.

"This is a hard thing for a father to say about his own son, but our mission here will likely be decided, one way or another, by Bryan's image. And, his image might very well count for more than even his well-being. Think about Tavon replacing Eronite with that counterfeit. If Laris hadn't seen through the scheme - or, if he had, but chose to keep silent - that would've finished us then and there."

By this time, Owen's heart was hammering against his ribs in such violent protest that flashes of red intruded upon his vision. But, his eyes soon cleared to reveal his small audience regarding him with grim understanding.

"So, you think it would be best if Bryan's…issues… were kept secret?" Azura whispered, more than a hint of worry in her tone. "We can try, but, I doubt we can keep that up forever."

"True," Owen admitted. "But, Bryan has only begun to prove himself. Once he's had some success, once people see that he can make this kingdom great again, they'll likely be more forgiving. We just need to make sure Bryan's image remains untarnished until then."

Owen wasn't surprised when he saw Faline nod gamely, but the sight did his heart good nonetheless.

"I've already promised to help Bryan, and I'm keeping that promise," she intoned with iron determination.

"I'm in good hands, then," a new voice spoke up.

Three pairs of eyes darted in the direction of the sound to see Bryan slipping into the tent, a certain thunder lance resting prominently upon his shoulder. Owen gave a nearly invisible nod of approval, but it was doubtful Bryan noticed since he was nearly sent sprawling by an overzealous hug from Faline.

"How…how are you holding up?" she wondered, though Owen sensed far more to her simple question than that.

"Nothing a little sleep won't cure," the prince of Astryn replied, and then let a hint of humor seep into his tone. "Frankly, our new friend, Vorcas, tires me out more than the enemy. I can't so much as walk across the campground without him insisting that I wait until he's swept the path first."

"Well, look on the bright side," Azura spoke up, a wry grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Which is?" Bryan asked, looking utterly baffled.

"You'll be able to get used to how it'll be when you start to live in Astryn Palace. Once you do, you'll have to deal with all those hundreds of servants who won't so much as let you get dressed or disrobe to take a bath without them."

Bryan's response to this image was a high-pitched and vaguely effeminate scream of terror that sent the two women into a fit of laughter. Knowing how difficult Bryan would find it to adjust to such stifling extravagance, Owen was hesitant to join in…

…briefly.

Ultimately, the catharsis of the their mirth got the better of him, and Owen found himself hoping that, someday, overbearing servants would be the worst of his troubled son's problems.

"Hey, it's not like you won't have the same problem when you settle down in your Earldom!" Bryan desperately retorted. "Heck, whoever draws your bath will probably see more of your skin than Leyon."

Faline looked aghast at this rejoinder, or if it was feigned, she was certainly convincing, but Azura only chuckled in reply.

"How, pray tell, are you going to maintain your image as an honest and true prince with things like that coming out of your mouth?" she inquired, waggling a scolding finger at Bryan.

How, indeed? Owen mused, wondering how such a remark would be received in so-called polite company.

"Besides," Azura continued, shaking Owen out of his reverie, "I can…shall we say…turn that in my favor. Jealous men are attentive men, after all."

The sound of Owen slapping his palm against his forehead was lost amidst the brief commotion which ensued when Azura began "advising" Faline on ever more unorthodox ways to get Bryan's attention when it was focused elsewhere. For a time, Owen found himself shuddering at what must've been going through Azura's red head to prompt such, but, when Owen reluctantly forced himself to think as much as Bryan's political guide as Bryan's father, something occurred to him.

Perhaps this was Azura working to, forcibly, shake Bryan's thoughts from his brush with disaster? Maybe this was her highly unorthodox way of reminding him of how precious Faline's affection was, and not to take it for granted? Possibly this was her way of saying that, if he planned to engage in battles of wits and words, he'd best choose his opponents and his moves more carefully.

Or, very likely, she was simply delivering an overzealous retort...overzealous on the order of answering a thrown snowball with a catapult stone.

Whatever the reason, Owen found himself deciding never to underestimate Azura's devious wits.

Faline, meanwhile, was flushing to the roots of her hair while Bryan's face turned as green as his armor.

"Ooookay," he murmured, looking perfectly nauseated. "That rejoinder sounded a lot more effective in my head."

"Let me guess, you find yourself saying that often," a new voice opined in a surly tone.

Both women looked stunned, and more than a little wary, as Eric shouldered through the tent flaps. Bryan, by contrast, almost looked as though he'd been expecting the Dragonmaster's arrival.

And, there was no need to guess why.

"I think it's time you and I talked," Eric stated flatly. "And, in private."

It was obvious that Faline was displeased with the notion, for she sidled closer to Bryan and entwined her fingers with his. But, much to her amazement, Bryan put a gentle hand on her shoulder and pushed her away.

"It's alright," he assured her before meeting Eric's gaze. "We…need to have this talk."

Though her reluctance was obvious, Faline eventually nodded and withdrew her hand, but not before pecking her love on the cheek.

"Don't be long," she urged, accentuating her request by staring up at him with a pair of eyes that would not have been out of place on a sad puppy.

"I won't," he promised, before kissing her forehead and following Eric out of the tent.

"Well," Owen remarked once the two men had left, "I guess we'll know soon enough if the two of them can come to terms. Until then, all we can do is wait and hope for the best."

Resignedly, the two women left to find their own tents. But, as Owen regarded his bedroll, he suddenly found himself doubting that he'd find any rest this night.

Still puzzled and wary of Eric's surprising intervention during the battle, Bryan followed the Dragonmaster in anxious silence. It was obvious from Eric's rigid posture and rapid stride that, whatever it was he had to say, he wanted it over with as quickly as possible. Bryan matched his pace, but nearly tripped when, upon entering Eric's tent, he saw Armelle waiting for them.

"I thought you said this would be private," he pointed out, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

Eric opened his mouth to reply, but Armelle beat him to it.

"I asked to be here," she said, her eyes drifting away from Bryan. "I…well…I also have something to say about…what happened."

Sensing that it would be unwise to argue the point in front of the prickly tempered Eric, Bryan nodded his acceptance. Besides, although he wouldn't call either the Dragonmaster or the Bishop friends, and the feeling was likely mutual, this meeting might be a chance to bridge the gulf that divided them.

And he wasn't going to waste it.

For a long moment, Eric simply paced about the interior of the tent, as though he needed to steel himself for the conversation. But, after Armelle gave him a warning glare, he stopped, drew in a long breath, and then faced Bryan.

The prince of Astryn wasn't surprised when he saw the hostility in Eric's gaze, but he couldn't help but notice that the smoldering anger in Eric's eyes had dimmed somewhat.

"I don't like the idea of lying to my men," he said without preamble, leveling an accusing finger at Bryan. "And, certainly not for your benefit."

Sensing that it would be unwise to claim to understand the position he'd put Eric in, Bryan studiously kept his mouth shut, waiting for Eric to finish before answering.

"And, I stand by what I said earlier," Eric continued. "What I did back there was for Astryn, not for you."

The backhanded reminder of what Eric must've seen caused an unpleasant warmth to gather at Bryan's cheeks and his eyes to grow hot, but he forced himself to remain composed. After all, if all Eric wanted in return for keeping this secret was to needle him, the prince of Astryn could call it a bargain.

"Ahem!" Armelle abruptly spoke up, startling both men.

"Ah, yes," Eric stammered, his earlier agitation giving way to awkwardness. "Well, there was another reason."

"And, that's where I come in," Armelle cut in, some of the color draining from her cheeks. "What…happened to you earlier is something Eric and I have…dealt with before."

Some of Bryan's surprise must've shown on his face, for Armelle averted her gaze and Eric's ever-present glower promptly reappeared on his face.

"Call it a secret for a secret," he suggested. "And, this stays between us. If you even think about spreading this around, you'll need to get…creative about continuing Astryn's royal bloodline."

Eric emphasized his words by pointing at a certain, rather valuable piece of Bryan's anatomy and making three quick chopping motions with his poleaxe.

"Subtlety's not your strong point, is it?" Bryan said, before he could think better of it.

"He can't even spell the word," Armelle answered, perhaps hoping some flippancy would ease the tension.

"Hey!" Eric blurted incredulously.

And so, with more than a bit of cajoling from Armelle, Eric began his tale. It took place back when Eric and Armelle were still young children, well before they understood that their parents sought a marriage between the two. Even back then, surely to their parents' delight, Eric and Armelle had always been as thick as thieves…

…in more ways than one.

Wherever there were frogs to be slipped into the nanny's dress pockets, or pepper to be put in the tutor's tea, or molasses to be smeared onto the maid's toothbrush, they'd be there. Wherever there were a sleeping person's nostrils to be pinched shut, or wigs to be garishly re-colored, or balloons of liquid Stinkweed to be thrown, they'd be there. And, wherever there were sweets to be stolen, pastries to be pilfered, or confections to be confiscated…

…they'd be there a lot quicker.

"Always nice to see some young people who have their priorities straight," Bryan opined with a snicker.

Armelle choked down an illicit laugh while Eric, who had all the subtlety of an avalanche, and about as much humor, reiterated his earlier threat.

Eric then continued his story, talking about how, at the age of eleven, the two had journeyed to the cliffs overlooking the Black Lake in eastern Astryn, so named because, at night, it looked less a body of water than a deep abyss. Even by daylight, its appearance was foreboding, as the ever shifting winds in that part of the country always kept the water turbulent.

Which made it the perfect place for brave youngsters to issue and accept challenges.

For many boys who dreamed of becoming dracoknights, and many girls with similar ambitions, diving into the lake when the winds were at their strongest was a rite of passage.

And, somehow overlooking that Armelle wanted to learn the arts of healing and light magic rather than ride winged saurians, Eric had cajoled his young betrothed into daring the jump.

Though Armelle had always loved swimming, she was quite nervous about heights, and the nearly thirty feet drop to the churning water caused her to blanch with dread. Eric, who had made the jump himself a few days earlier, eventually convinced her to go through with it, partly because he'd jump first so that he'd be there if anything went wrong.

And so, with Eric cheering her on, Armelle forced herself to leap off the cliff.

Eric didn't think anything when she'd screamed most of the way down; when he'd jumped for the first time, he hadn't been terribly silent either.

Eric found nothing amiss when her screaming abruptly fell silent several seconds before hitting the water; he'd instinctively drew in a breath at about that point when he'd made his first leap.

Eric saw no cause for alarm when Armelle, who normally had a sinuous grace in the water, landed with an undignified belly flop; his own first landing had had even less style.

When she bobbed to the surface, floating limply and face down in the water, then he knew something was wrong.

"When I got her to shore," Eric continued, "Armelle was...well, I had no idea what to make of it. She was staring at me, unblinking. I actually thought she'd died of fright, until she started twisting and flailing. She didn't snap out of it for hours, and, when she did, she didn't remember anything beyond me jumping into the lake ahead of her."

"It's true," Armelle admitted, her eyes misting. "I don't remember the jump, but, ever since, I haven't been able to go anywhere near the water."

Just like I'm still afraid of the Cold Maw after all these years, Bryan mused silently, realizing that he and the pair before him had more in common than any of the were willing to admit.

"What happened afterward?" Bryan inquired.

"After I got Armelle back home, I told my father, and hers, what happened," Eric said, wincing. "They…weren't happy."

"I still have no idea what happened to me that day, or why I snapped out of it," Armelle added. "But, I'd always been worried about if it might happen again. I mean, people count on me to heal them in battle, and what would they think if they knew I might fall into a swoon when they need me? And, what might people think of Eric if they knew what he'd done, even if it was unwitting?"

Neither of the two men answered her question, but, then again, they hardly needed to.

"So, you keep our secret, and we keep yours?" Eric suggested.

Not exactly a reconciliation, but Bryan felt that this gesture of trust, however reluctant and strained, might very well be a vital first step.

"I accept," he replied, then, before he could think better of it, he continued. "It must've taken a lot of courage to tell me this."

Sensing that Eric might not appreciate this admission, Bryan held up a hand to forestall any outbursts and continued.

"Look, I know you don't like me. And, I know I have a long way to go before I can prove myself to you, or to Astryn. But, I also know that my country, our country, needs all three of us. I may not be in my rights to ask for your help, prince or no, but I know that, eventually, I'll have to."

"I may have been willing to sweep one of your episodes under the rug, for Astryn's sake, but don't expect me to do so again," Eric warned.

"That's not what I meant. I mean I'll need your help in order to make this country great again. I swore that I would, but that won't happen unless we end this feud between us. Or, at least, call a truce. After all, whether any of us likes it or not, someday, I will be king."

Hoping to build up the small rapport he now had with the couple, Bryan allowed his tone to hint that he too was less-than-enthusiastic about his impending ascent to Astryn's throne. Armelle, seeming to pick up on this opening, gave him a nearly invisible nod, but Eric's response was hardly encouraging.

"'And, the clouds opened up,'" Eric lamented, in a credible imitation of an imposing clergyman "'the Goddess looked down upon Astryn, and she said "You sorry lot can just go ahead and kiss my ass!"'"

Before Bryan could figure out if he was being rebuffed or merely teased, an aghast Armelle snatched Eric by the ear and dragged him out of the tent. Despite his less-than-dignified situation, Eric made a point of reiterating his earlier threat by pointing at Bryan's anatomy and making an awkward chopping motion with his poleaxe. Once the strange spectacle, and the even stranger couple, was out of eyeshot, a dumbfounded Bryan shook his head in amazement.

When did my life get so weird?