Chapter 52


Wicked was too tame an expression to describe her smile. Sinister might have been better but still it would have been warm and fuzzy compared to the dark, swirling pit where her heart should have been.

Serena was a man on a mission.

Giving a few quick orders to clean up the bodies in her tent, she asked where her 'guests' were and then made her way to the appointed tent. Quietly, she glanced in where the two sleeping bodies lay.

Without a sound, she snuck into the tent and studied the face of the short haired man first.

She wanted to chuckle at the insanity of it all, he had survived.

The cockroach of Fanelia's royal army had survived.

The knight might have fooled anyone else who ever saw him, but she was introduced to him when his hair was about that length many years ago. It was Armand DeCri. The smug, selfish knight who had interfered with her plans one too many times. Oh, she was going to enjoy killing this one.

Turning toward the other person, she leaned down to inspect the person in his or her deep sleep as the light snore indicated. This man she didn't recognize. Eyes narrowing, she huffed in a mock annoyance. Armand wouldn't be traveling with a complete stranger, would he?

The strange man mumbled in his sleep and turned to the side, it was then that the pieces fell together. The smooth, straight blonde hair that poked out from beneath the brunette locks and a closer inspection of the stranger's face clenched together her suspicion.

The Queen of Fanelia had survived.

Dilandau would know his enemies face anywhere and if Jill wasn't already dead, Serena would have killed him for being deceptive.

Jolting up, Dilandau had to suppress the urge to growl as he hastily left the tent, not caring whether either of the people stirred at his departure. He had to think. The best way to do that was be by himself. If he was around others, Dilandau knew himself too well to know he would chop people in half and set them on fire if he got too irritated.

This new development with the Queen and her knight would undoubtly provide the leverage against Folken she was looking for, but a thought slithered through her mind, perhaps she could swap the Queen for Van—an even bigger bargaining chip against Folken.

She paused in her stalking about and gave this a deeper consideration. If she handed the Queen over to the Fanelia side then they would have the heir, if the woman's stomach was any indication to her 'delicate' state. If Dilandau handed the woman to Folken, she would, perhaps, get the annoying creature who was tailing her off her case.

Indeed, this was something to ponder over.


King Aston sighed deeply, shaking his head.

What had set this all off? When had Gaia transformed from a peaceful world into a blood soaked valley of war?

So many kingdoms were destroyed, the ruling families scattered to the wind, and the ashes of their people along with them.

Without a true word of explanation his only living daughter, Eries, had saddled up and ridden off with what remained of the once proud army. She had assured her father that, with his faith and soldiers, she would bring victory back to Asturia.

He had yet to feel that assurance.

She had an informant, a Queen, which knew the exact whereabouts of the heart of their foes. All it took was a few lies to bring the Queen into a fountain of tears as she told them everything they knew.

The truth of the matter was they had no idea where her child was hidden. Eries had fathomed that Mena left it with someone she trusted and the only ones to come to mind would have been family. According to their sources, her family had disowned her a few years ago because she ran off with a boy who was supposedly a peasant only to later reveal himself as the king of Slena.

But what did it matter now? Using children as a wager in war seemed low, even though that is what he was doing. Never in a thousand years had he picture the entire world coming down to this. Fanelia and Zaibach hadn't made a direct attack, but they had wormed their way into his castle and choices.

Zaibach never told the truth, he knew that from the start, but still he did everything they requested. They wanted Allen arrested, he was. It was only as an afterthought that the King decided not to hand over the knight when requested.

Dear gods, the old king muttered in his mind. In a matter of days, the whole of Gaea's future would be decided. For once the smug king was not as sure of his triumph.


Van sharpened his sword in rhythmically slow motions. Never had he imagined his father's sword would see so much battle-time when it was handed to him. He had a country to protect, men to lead, and vengeance to take. All of his ambitions depended upon a keen mind and a sharp sword.

Unfortunately, through his silent, dutiful sharpening, his ears had picked up several whispered words. The men were uneasy and had been so since he had attacked Allen's ship.

They knew.

All those at the camp knew about his cursed linage.

After everything his mother, his brother, and he had done to hide it from the people of Fanelia it had gone to waste in a moment of blinded rage. The King could kick himself repeatedly for being a fool about it, but then again, the past was the past. There was nothing he could do about it so there was no need to think about changing it.

The sword slipped, slicing the pad of his thumb. Van cursed and shook his head, as if trying to clear it from the thoughts and ghosts haunting his mind. Studying the injured digit, Van noted that perhaps the sword was sharp enough and quickly sheathed it.

Sighing, the dark haired man stood up and picked up the gloves he had discarded and tugged one on. Rechecking his injury, he rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. The healer would have to put some salve on it. After numerous battles, it was a slip up sharpening his own blade that made him go see the healer.

Tucking the glove through his belt, he started toward the healer's tent. The men mostly ignored him as it was mealtime and they were enjoying the temporary peace brought about through a quite Asturia.

It was during this brisk walk his ears were filled with more venomous words. Van knew the voice well; it was one of his leaders and one of the most vocal about the King's blight.

"…cursed race," the old soldier spat to his younger comrades. "If this was our good ole, normal King, we wouldn't've had to worry about nothin'."

The speaker was unaware of the shadows that covered the presence of the King as the man listened intently.

"But—" a younger man started, looking at his comrades for support, "—he hasn't done anything foolish."

"He started us in this damn war!" the old man barked. "Our home was destroyed because of him."

"There's no proof," another chipped in.

"If you ask me, I think we should just leave the Draconian here to destroy himself. Damn race should've been wiped out."

That was it, Van's eyes narrowed, his hand on his hilt.

Every man went silent and rigid when they heard a sword clearing the sheath.

"Is there a problem?" Van's voice was a deep, dark baritone as he slowly stepped from the shadows into the fire's glow. The flames reflected menacingly from the smooth metal blade.

All the men's eyes flickered from the King's face to the sword and back again.

"N-no, sire," one of the boys' squeaked.

"I think there is," his tone was warm with warning and dark with meaning.

The old soldier stood up, his shoulders rolled back, and his chin tilted high.

"I was jus' tellin' them the how I saw things, your majesty."

"Ah," came Van's reply, a frown pulled his lips down slightly. "Then shall I tell you how I see things?"

The man gave one curt nod.

"What I see is one old, opinionated soldier spreading his defiance and his disloyalty to those who are willing to listen." Van tilted his head to stare at his sword as he brought it up to his face in a false inspection. "I would hate to have to weed out those who defy the codes and laws of the army and of Fanelia."

The man might have been old, headstrong, and a firm holder to what he believed but he wasn't stupid. Well, for the most part he wasn't stupid.

When the man opened his mouth, all that escaped his lips was a slight yelp.

The tip of Van's sword rested gently but firmly on his throat.

"I won't stand for any disobedience." The man's Adam apple bobbed enough to brush against the razor edge of the sword; scratching his skin deep enough to have a faint trail of blood come to the surface. Van's hand didn't flinch or waver as his eyes studied the old soldier and then the faces of those who watched.

They understood. Through their fear was awe and past the disbelief was a renewed respect for their ruler.

In one smooth motion, Van sheathed his sword again and gave a steady warning stare to the old soldier before he continued his trip to the healer's tent.

"What were you saying, old goat?" one of the men asked, a slight grin kicking up the sides of his lips.

"Awe, shut up, brat."


"Oh, so you finally decided to rejoin me," Dilandau purred deeply as the Queen emerged from the tent hours after sunset. His arms crossed against the metal plate protecting his chest and head cocked to the right.

Hitomi gave a small smile and nodded, "Yes, thank you."

Jill had warned he would be acting and sounding different when in the Dilandau personae, but this was even different from before. She shrugged it off and wrote it up to him playing the character for Zaibach's sake.

"And Armand? Is he up and about?"

"Yes, you insufferable brat, I'm right here," the brunette poked his head out of the tent and glowered at the man. "And nursing a fist-induced headache."

Dilandau didn't give any snarky remark and Armand noted Jill's height was off by a few inches as well. No matter how good the actor, height was not easily faked.

"Shall we?" Dilandau asked, pushing himself off the tree he had been resting on and flipping his hand in a general direction.

"To where?" Armand requested, his blue eyes narrowing a hair.

"To the island," The General Knight pointed straight up and a bit over. Both set of Fanelian eyes followed his finger up to the sky.

Hitomi's mouth dropped open amazement. The island that, quite literally, floated above the camp was massive and she wondered briefly how she could have missed it when the originally made it to the camp.

Armand's eyes narrowed another half a hair. Something was wrong. He snapped his blue eyes back to Dilandau who was looking at Hitomi. The face plate hid his emotions so it was impossible for the knight to tell what Dilandau was feeling but something just wasn't right.

"Why are we going there?" Hitomi asked. "Why are we not going to see Van?"

Dilandau's fingers tightened on his arms, a slight, almost missed flinch of muscle, but the unarmored knight had caught it.

Suspicion pricked Armand's heart. No, that would make it seem like a small feeling, this was like a porcupine had walked into his heart and gotten scared, sending its quills flying all over the place.

"He is there," Dilandau lied smoothly. "It is also where you will be protected from all those-unsavory characters."

There was a funny tone in his voice, something that didn't sound quite like Jill. Hitomi looked up at Armand, hoping to see a smirk on his face, but what saw her scared her even more. The brunette's face was a mask of indifference; he wasn't even rolling his eyes.

That meant trouble; Armand being serious meant they were in serious trouble.

"How do we get there?" Hitomi pondered aloud.

Behind the mask, a cold, cruel smile stretched the woman's face.

"By a guymelef. How else?" The General Knight moved toward the thick patch of woods and beaconed the two to follow.

The Queen's eyes shot to Armand, looking for some sort of reassurance, but the man remained unmoved on the outside. With slow steps, the two followed the man-woman into the dark.

It was only a few moments later Folken watched through suspicious eyes as Dilandau's guymelef rose from the trees and headed directly for the island. He had not heard any report from his neko warriors yet, and that disturbed him.

They were very sure to make certain never to slip on his bad side and tardiness was one way to do it. If any shred of news was even a minute late, it could cause the entire plan to go awry.

When the machine landed on the docks, he pulled his hood over his head, and made his way down. If it was his warriors or if it was Dilandau, he wasn't sure but he didn't need a totally unexpected surprise like Van popping his head out of the Zaibachian weapon.

There were soft voices coming from the hanger, as Folken passed through the doorway, his eyes instantly calculated the three people in front of him. They were still a good ways off and oblivious to his presence.

The first was Dilandau, whether it was Sir Jill or Serena parading around in boy's clothes again he wasn't sure, but the knight stood there regardless.

The second was a familiar face from Fanelia. Sir Armand DeCri. They had trained together under Armand's father, Balgus' harsh, but ever improving control. The boy had grown into a fine man, his shoulders rolled back and chin tipped up, his body language screaming discomfort and distrust.

The third was the most curious by all means. He was a short, fat man with thick curly hair, and an almost feminine look about him.

Curiouser and curiouser, why did the General Knight decide to bring these two up to the island? There was only one way to know what was going on in that dark hole of a mind.

"Dilandau," Folken addressed, making all three arrivals turn their eyes to the cloaked figure.

The knight strode to the hooded man, ripped off the helmet, and gave a huge, insane grin.

"May I introduce you to Hitomi Fanel, Queen of Fanelia and her blindly trusting knight, Armand."

"Oh, gods," Hitomi breathed out. It was Serena! The princess was—her brain hurt. The baby kicked harshly at its mother's skin and made the royal pant.

"Personally, I think they stopped listening some time ago," Armand replied grimly, with a slight shrug. He was without a sword, Dilandau insisting he leave it below. He, like a moron, trusted the man…woman…whatever.

Folken's mind flickered and soon was a blaze with the new information. His brother's wife! How grand.

From the looks of her, she was extremely overweight or extremely pregnant. The way she panted and rubbed her stomach, he guessed the latter.

"Armand," came a velvety smooth voice. "It has been too long."

The knight's reactions were not reassuring in the least to Hitomi. His blue eyes became wide, as he took a step back from the person emerging from the shadows as his entire frame started to shake.

"Prince Folken?"

"Indeed," the man purred out, drawing closer to the couple as soldiers bleed out of the empty doorways and closed in on the misplaced Fanelians. "And welcome, sister."


Nariya held her head higher, tipped back as far as it would go as she sniffed the air for some trace of her sister.

They usually met up at midnight to discuss their progress or lack thereof. Both sisters were prompt and punctual to the point of being able to set a clock to their timing.

But Eriya didn't show.

Something had to have gone horribly wrong for her not to show up or leave some sort of message or anything.

It was that fact that had the neko prowling the camp, her mission of following the princess temporarily forgotten. Serena had disappeared a few hours earlier and it wasn't really her concern as to where unless she didn't come back.

Lord Folken wouldn't be very forgiving if she suddenly lost his main playmate.

Growling deep in her throat, she finally caught a strong scent of her sister, but one that was bathed in old blood.

Moving with the grace that only her species knew, she ran through the camp's shadows and toward the scent. The stronger it became, the more he stomach coiled in fear and anger.

If someone had dared to hurt her sister, they would find out how sharp her claws really were as she slashed the life out of them. Fear grew like weeds in a rose garden as she neared a small creek adjacent to the camp.

It was far enough that it didn't mingle with the smaller creeks that the cooks and men used for fresh water but still close enough to dump debris, waste, and dead bodies. War was never pretty and many of the men didn't die on the battle field but later at the camp after many excruciating hours of being alive in pain.

This time, the neko was the one who felt the pain as she noticed a distinct scent hidden under a few poorly chopped down saplings.

Shoving the sad dead trees away, the female gingerly turned over the body beneath it.

Her throat clogged instantly.

The beautiful face of her sister stared back at her with a frozen look of shock. Her eyes were now a dull whitish color, evidence she had been dead for a few hours.

The golden haired neko curled her body around that of the dead and buried her face in the soft bosom of her sister.

Time was lost in an unmeasured lot before the female lifted her head and brushed the silver hair of her sister back before she gently set her back into the creek's bed. If someone was checking on the bodies, then they might notice the neko missing.

"I'll give you proper services later," Nariya swore soft. On the shore of the creek, she flexed her claws and gave a deep growl. She had her nose full of the scent was washed all over her sister's fur.

Metal, blood, and ash. There was only one person in the entire region who smelled like that.

"Dilandau."

Snarling, the neko let the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as she swiftly cut through the woods toward the soon to be dead man.


Eries eyes narrowed as they neared the place that had been mapped out by the Queen of Slena. Her directions were beautifully accurate. Whoever released her forgot to leave her somewhere that would not be of harm to the location of the camp, an oversight of the fool that she could now use for her advantage.

Her horse stomped restlessly on the ground. Iriya was her father's war horse but when he failed to take the reins, she climbed on top of the mare, and set her eyes to the goal.

The army was equally as impatient to see what the Princess could do that their King could not. The leaders had been skeptical of her abilities but when they crested the hill and saw the campfires and men dotting the land, they bowed their pride and rose up their loyalty to her.

"Should we go at dawn?" one of the generals questioned, "Or cut them down while they sleep?"

"They deserve a fair fight," She spoke brushing the horse gently with the hand brush. The blonde princess had insisted her tent be placed closest to the cliff so she could look down at the unsuspecting monsters.

"Fair?" the old man scoffed, "They didn't give us a fair fight."

"That's what makes us different from them. Our honor makes us different, makes us better." Blue eyes turned to the man. They held no room for argument. Her word was that of the gods, it was final and to be etched into their brains before they dared act out on their own will.

"But we all think that—" another man tried.

"No," Eries stated firmly, lowering her voice to make it as less feminine as possible. "We wait. They haven't moved out in this long, I say we attack when I give the word. Let them have a few more hours or even a day of fun before they are sent to their final rest."

The men bowed low before turning and walking away. Eries watched as their backs became smaller and placed the brush next to the horse's saddle. Picking up a cloth, she wiped her hands, and went to the rock lined drop off.

Bright, almost wild fires burned like small dawns below her.

Closer to the woods rested the guymelefs that had survived so far. Among them was the famous Escaflowne, positioned on one knee waiting to be brought back to life to kill yet again.

The heavy hum from above barely gave a moment's notice before the powerful winds knocked the woman off her feet and to the ground. She let out a string of very unladylike curses as she clambered her way to a sitting position.

A guymelef!

With the colors of Zaibach touched down by Escaflowne, but where had it come from?

Her horse whinnied and stomped harder to show her displeasure of being scared and not being able to run. Crawling to the edge, the woman squinted to see if she could make out the soldier climbing out of the machine.

No luck.

She carefully rose to her feet, dusted off only a few seconds before a handful of her men came to her aid. Slapping their hands away she coolly turned toward the nearest leader.

"Send spies out. Find out who mans that guymelef," she commanded, pointing to the machine. "If he saw us, we might be ambushed. Find him and if he is a liability, kill him."