LII.
Compared to the mess in the temple's hall and vestibule, the small back room seemed fairly well-treated—until Balthier and Bergan got to it. A gash now marred the rich carpet, the casualty of a blade dragged across it and upwards in defense, and one row of curtains hung loose from their post, exposing the jagged mountainside that dropped off at the building's edge. The blows were hard, the force nearly enough to throw Balthier from his feet. He was quick, but Bergan was strong—fifty pounds heavier, easily. And the armor: Balthier knew its weaknesses, but they were few and difficult to expose, and the steel was strong, and lent only more weight to Bergan's strikes. He was working on a spot beneath the Judge's arm, at a joint in the plate; it was weak enough now that his next blow might pierce it, and if not that one, then the next.
Balthier was gaining the upper hand, dodging a slash and using Bergan's momentum to slam him into a corner hard enough to knock his blade to the floor, but a shout stole his attention as he kicked Bergan's sword away.
"Balthier!"
He turned: the princess. "Are you trying to get yourself caught?" he demanded.
And then Bergan laid a crushing grip on his wrist, holding his blade at bay, and with the other arm he shoved the pirate back against the high rising windows that overlooked the steep ravine beyond. A panel of glass shattered, and Balthier squinted against the shower of shards.
"Ungrateful to the end," Bergan sneered.
Ashe lunged, forcing her sword into the weak spot in Bergan's armor and striking flesh—all that work, and she got the blood, Balthier lamented. She received an elbow to the nose for her efforts, releasing the hilt of her blade and falling to the floor, but she had bought Balthier enough time to gather his wits.
Bergan still held the pirate's right hand fast, rendering his sword useless, but Ashelia's blade remained in the Judge's side, an almost comically convenient lever. Bergan's right hand darted toward the wound, and Balthier's left followed it, grabbing hold of the sword. Bending low and digging his shoulder into the Judge's stomach, he flipped him over his back and through the broken window—breaking another in the process—and flicked his own sword downward against Bergan's arm, causing him to release his grasp and fall freely to the icy river below. A resounding series of echoing clanks rose throughout the mountains.
The others had arrived amid the commotion, Basch helping Ashe up as she wiped a considerable amount of blood from her nose. Fran joined Balthier at the window, leaning out carefully to better see the result of Bergan's final battle. Balthier tried to slow his breath as Ashe stepped to his other side, sheathing Bergan's sword at her hip—he had taken hers down the cliff with him.
Fran turned to Balthier, and he met her eyes for only a moment before she glanced over his shoulder and back to him—glanced with her eyes alone, her head perfectly still. He traced her gaze to his other side, intent on giving the princess a few choice words, but they left him the moment he saw her, and instead he could only wipe some blood from Ashe's chin. She swiped his hand away.
"Don't think you're getting a discount for that," he said.
"Don't think I expected one," she replied.
"This will cost us dearly, you know," Basch pointed out, glancing over the ledge.
"Yeah," added Penelo. "We gotta get out of here."
"Agreed," said Ashe, striding slowly back to the cathedral's main hall. "But it's a long road back to the ship."
"And we're low on supplies," Balthier muttered.
The silence of the great chamber grew denser in the wake of the brawl, the cloven altar at the front a reminder of the treachery imposed on the settlement, the splintered double doors at the back an echo of the peace that had shattered. Penelo turned her gaze upward, studying the chandeliers and engraved wooden beams that remained intact.
"So, what are you saying?" she asked, stepping lightly, half on her toes, as though afraid to disrupt the stillness. "We steal? Haven't they been through enough?"
"There's more food here than people," Balthier explained, not bothering to look at her.
"But they helped us."
"We won't take more than we need," Ashe stepped in. She stood before the altar, staring at the Gran Kiltias.
Balthier studied her. She was still, her hands loose, blood smeared over the back of one wrist where she kept wiping at her nose. Her eyes seemed too cold in such a warm face. She set her jaw and crossed the room, looking over the wreckage as though in search of something, and then swooned a little, but hid it well. Balthier looked to Basch and saw that he noticed, and figured she'd accept his help over a pirate's if she needed it. She stooped and took hold of some fabric on the floor, shaking it free of glass and splinters.
But then Basch turned away from the princess and looked intently at Penelo, who was still biting her lip, but seemed to accept the situation. Basch's eyes grew soft, the deep olive green catching the white light of the snowy sky beyond the empty window panes, though the girl did not seem to notice, too focused on the crunched glass of a hundred votive jars that laid at her feet. And then he looked away—first to the side, and then almost shaking his head, he turned back to Ashe. Balthier tilted his head.
Fran edged near the Gran Kiltias, her ears perked warily, her eyes trained on the withered corpse, slouched in a puddle of blood at her feet. "Why would they do this?" she asked.
Balthier spoke quietly: "He didn't have to be a threat to be perceived as one."
Fran shook her head, but said nothing.
"Shouldn't we do something?" asked Penelo, holding her small fists to her mouth.
Ashe approached with a large panel of drapery that had fallen from the temple windows, and she spread it out in the air before her, laying it over the lifeless form. "Their burial rights are sacred to them," she said. "It's better that we leave it to them."
Basch looked over the ruined temple with a heavy sigh. "At least Larsa didn't have to see any of this."
"So what now, Princess?" Balthier asked. "If you won't destroy your own rock, does that mean we're going after Vayne's?"
"I suppose so," she answered. Her nose had stopped bleeding, the blood smeared over her mouth mostly wiped clean.
"Maybe it's a good thing you didn't chop up the Midlight Shard," Penelo suggested. "This is all getting out of hand—even if it's worthless, we can at least use it to scare them a little."
"I doubt we can scare them enough to get anywhere near the Dusk Shard," said Basch.
"Does anybody even know where it is?" Penelo asked.
"I can venture a guess," Balthier replied. "Draklor Laboratory, in Archades. The Empire's weapons research begins and ends there."
Penelo turned her face to the ceiling and groaned. "Don't tell me we're going there…"
"Sorry," said Ashe. "If that's where it is, that's where we're going."
Basch at least managed to suppress his groan. "Nevermind that it's the capital of the very country that seeks to have us all killed."
"Well," Balthier stepped in, "it also happens to be my hometown. I can get us in faster than Penelo can get herself arrested."
"Hey!" Penelo injected.
"Let me guess," Ashe added. "Balfonheim Port?"
"Now how would a princess come to know of that?" Balthier asked with a smirk.
"Larsa spoke of it," she answered. "It's where we're to regroup with Al-Mid."
Basch gave her a sharp glare. "You actually agreed to that?"
"According Larsa, Balthier and Fran will have no trouble getting us through safely," she replied. "He said he knows someone worthy of our trust there."
Though Basch did not look convinced, Balthier gave the princess a hesitant nod. It was not a card he wished to play, but the circumstances had grown dire, and if anyone could convince the princess of nethicite's treachery, it was Reddas. "Yes," he said, "an old friend of Vayne's—though they're not on such good terms these days."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?" asked Penelo.
"More or less," the pirate confirmed. "At any rate, he poses less danger than the lab. You all could stay at the port while Fran and I get the job done."
"I am not just leaving my country's fate to a pair of pirates," Ashe growled.
"You can't just walk into Archades, either," said Basch.
"I can and I will," she snapped.
"You'll be dead in five minutes," he contended.
"Not if you do your job."
"Uh, Princess…" Penelo stepped in, one hand twirling nervously in her hair. "Maybe you should just let them handle it. I mean, they're professionals, after all."
"That's what concerns me," Ashe replied.
Balthier gave her a deliberate scowl, not out of offense that she should think such a thing, but out of anger that she should correctly think such a thing. Still, he remained convinced that if she failed to destroy one stone, she would invariably fail to destroy another, and once she possessed the Dusk Shard, she would move on to the final conquest—the Dawn Shard—and before long, no semblance of her former self would remain to the world; she would no longer be Ashe, just as Cid was no longer Cid.
"Let's not jump to conclusions, Highness," he told her. "I can't rob you until you've paid me—and I'm expecting more than a piece of nethicite."
"This is starting to sound familiar," Penelo groaned.
"You should consider your options until the last possible moment, Princess," said Fran. "Where nethicite is concerned, your trust would be better placed in us than in Reddas."
Ashe wrinkled her nose. "A dark truth if ever I heard one."
"And who is Reddas?" Penelo asked.
"A pirate," Balthier answered. "A damn good one."
"Some call him the Pirate King even," added Fran.
"That doesn't sound good," said Basch.
"Normally, it wouldn't be," she went on, "but he will not harm us so long as we do no harm to him."
"He's partial to Larsa," said Balthier. "We'd have to do a lot to piss him off."
"Well," Ashe replied, "let's get going, then. We've brought enough trouble to Bur-Omisace as it is."
"Princess," Basch protested, "you can't be serious."
"Quit whining, Captain," she groaned. "How much can go wrong with you around to protect me?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Was that some sad form of flattery or just another order?"
"Come on." She headed for the door.
"Either way," said Penelo, "I don't think we have a choice."
Basch shook his head and followed after the princess, Penelo trotting eagerly ahead.
Fran met Balthier's eyes once more before heading after the others, and he at last took up the rear. He was going home—he kept telling himself that the Strahl was his home, that the sense of wholeness he felt so near to achieving all the sudden was just a return to the ship after so many days ashore. But he was going home.
He was going home.
