Chapter 50: Caelin

"Braddock! Braddock!"

Renault ran as fast as he could through the burning ruins of what had once been a monastery, ignoring the twisted shapes and hideous voices of what had once been human beings which surrounded him. All of his attention was focused entirely on the blue-haired man walking steadily away from him. He seemed to be in no hurry, but even so, Renault never seemed to come any closer. No matter how hard Renault pushed himself, the distance between him and his friend never lessened.

"Braddock, wait! Please, wait!"

At this, the Ostian finally stopped, and turned to look at Renault.

He was not happy to see his best friend. In fact, he was wearing the saddest, most disappointed expression Renault had ever seen in his long life.

And then he disappeared.

"Braddock! Braddock!"

Renault jolted up in his bed, eyes wide in shock and despair. He gasped desperately for breath, and only calmed when a glance at his surroundings reminded him of where he actually was.

He was sitting on the bed of his small cabin inside the nondescript merchant schooner sailing towards the Lycian port of Badon. He had purchased passage on it several weeks earlier, at the town of Daphira, located on the eastern coast of Nabata. He didn't plan on staying in Lycia—instead, he wanted to take just a brief stop there. Renault had made the journey out from Arcadia alone, and it had not been easy going, though fortunately he hadn't run into any extremely dangerous enemies as he did when he first arrived. He planned to purchase a few supplies at Badon, and then take another boat up the River Hartmar and into Bern, where he'd begin his search for the Shrine of Seals.

Judging by the dreams—more like nightmares, actually—he'd been having every night, though, his stay would not likely be restful.

"Braddock…why?" Renault brought a hand to his brow, and felt nothing there—though he knew that before Nergal's experiments, it would have been covered in sweat. "Why…why're you lookin' at me like that, man?"

Ever since he had left Arcadia, he'd been having that exact same nightmare over and over again. He'd always be chasing Braddock through the ruins of some church or castle, never managing to catch up to him, and when his friend finally heard his cries, the expression on his face was sorrowful—so very sorrowful—rather than happy.

The first few times he'd had the dream, Renault had just shaken it off. The next few times it only strengthened his resolve to bring Braddock back. But the dream hadn't stopped, and it was beginning to affect Renault's mentality. He wasn't the type to put much stock in dreams, but seeing the same one again and again had begun to wear him down. Why did Braddock always seem so sad? So disappointed in him? Was he failing in his quest? Was it too late to bring Braddock back? Or was he simply taking too long?

"No," growled Renault. "No! Not too late…'s not too late. Bramimond'll always be there…the Divine Weapons'll always be there. Just need to find them and Braddock will be back. He'll be back, and he'll finally be happy. He won't look at me like that anymore…not anymore…"

Just distractions. That's all those dreams were, Renault knew. Nothing but distractions. Sometimes he wished Nergal had robbed him of his need to sleep, along with the need to eat and drink—then he wouldn't be annoyed by these stupid dreams. All he needed to do was find Bramimond and acquire the power of the Divine Weapons—then Braddock would return, and smile at him once more.

Renault shook his head and sighed. It was still early in the morning—the sun hadn't risen and the stars were still bright. Braddock had loved looking at the stars—Renault thought that doing so now might soothe his nerves. He picked himself up, exited his cabin, and headed to the deck of the ship so that he could see the sky.

As it turned out, this decision would end up doing much more than relaxing him.

He was feeling better, of course. He had been standing on the deck, watching the dim constellations above him for several minutes, and took a small amount of comfort from the fact that the spots of light above him had not changed at all in two centuries. His stargazing was interrupted, however, when he heard the stepping of feet upon the wooden deck behind him and a pair of worried voices murmuring to each other anxiously.

Judging by their dress, they were a pair of merchants, and they were too absorbed by their conversation to even notice Renault was standing there, staring at them, in the darkness ahead of them. They both sounded agitated and nervously, and Renault figured they'd come up here because they thought fresh air and stargazing were relaxing as well. They seemed like they needed something to calm them down even more than he did.

And, ironically enough, Renault learned for more from their discussion than either of them learned from each other. He learned enough to convince him that he would not be heading straight to Bern—no, he'd be taking just a little detour in Caelin.

"My word, Marcelus, I think we should have just stayed in Nabata," one of them sighed. "Have you heard how things are in Lycia?"

"Yes, yes, but they're only rumors. Surely the situation can't be that bad!"

"Don't delude yourself. Whenever you hear talk of golden-eyed demons, the situation is always that bad!"

Golden-eyed demons? This piqued Renault's interest.

"As I said, they're just rumors. Probably spread by the Northern Cross themselves, in fact! Any common band of bandits would like to pretend they are 'demons,' and these terrorists are no different."

"The reports and casualty figures I've read say otherwise. Ostia and all the other cantons have finally started taking these Northern Cross hooligans seriously, but ever since those golden-eyed soldiers appeared, more and more knights have been returning to their lords with injuries—or not at all. Those men…if they are men…don't fight like men! They're silent, they have no fear, and they're far more skilled than any petty bandit or highwayman has a right to be. This is what a Lycian knight told me, mind you—no credulous peasant or overdramatic bard!"

"Well, not all Lycian knights are created equal. Where'd you hear that tale from? A Caelin man? All know that canton breeds nothing but cowards and oafs. Put no stock in his words!"

"Perhaps so, but they do good business with us. Insult not our patrons so loudly, Marcelus! More importantly, however unmanly they may be, they would know more than any other of what Lycia is truly facing. The Northern Cross has made their base within that canton, and its soldiers have as yet been unable to find it. They almost own the place, from what I hear—ambushing Marquess Hausen's men, pillaging villages, and then slipping into the night with their ill-gotten gains. I'd say that knight has as much of a right as any to be afraid."

"Pfeh," snorted Marcelus. "Well, let us assume you and he are right to be afraid. What can we do? We've no contacts outside of Lycia, and the nobles there are the only ones willing to buy Nabatan trinkets. We either do business in that country and take our risks with the Northern Cross, or we starve. I see no other options."

His friend sighed. "Yes, yes, I cannot argue with that. Come, let's head back down and get some sleep. Whatever we may face, 'tis not best to do so with heavy eyes and a weary heart!"

The two of them left the deck, entirely ignoring the nearby Mercenary Lord who had found their conversation so intriguing.

"Braddock," he mumbled to himself, leaning back on the railing of the deck. "Is…is something going on in Lycia? Is Nergal there? Maybe…maybe that's why you're looking at me like that. Maybe there's something there I have to do…something you want me to do."

He blinked, looking back to the stairwell that both merchants had disappeared into. It was a strange thing—they hadn't even looked at him, and may not have been aware he even existed. Entirely concerned with their own affairs, they had no idea that they had just changed the course of his long life.

-X-

The world had changed.

For perhaps the first time in his two centuries of drifting across Elibe, this simple fact struck Renault as he stepped off of his ship and onto one of the many piers making up the port city of Badon. At first glance, it might have seemed that everything stayed the same. Badon was not much different from many other lawless port towns in Lycia, Etruria, or anywhere else. Crowded, dirty, and smelling of fish, it was filled with dilapidated, rowdy taverns home to whores, beggars, and thieves, while milling mobs of human detritus of all colors from all across the continent mingled freely in its streets.

But in a wide number of smaller details, the world Renault lived in now was not the one he'd been born in.

First off were the ships. He'd taken passage from Nabata on a small, nondescript merchant vessel, but many of the boats in the harbor were like nothing he'd ever seen before. Earlier in his life, the largest vessel he'd ever seen had been the two-masted merchant caravel Paptimus had been hiding on back in Lordsport. Here, however, many had three or even four masts which towered over their decks, carrying a half-dozen sails in some cases. Renault had never been much of a mariner, and he was astonished that boats that large could actually float. The people of Elibe had apparently made great advances in seamanship while he'd been wandering.

Second were the buildings. Naturally, given that this was a port town, many were run-down, but even so, they were bigger and sturdier than he would have expected anyplace outside of a large, prosperous city. There were fewer structures made out of wood and more two and even three story dwellings constructed out of stone and brick—it seemed that even in a settlement so close to water, Lycians had learned the benefits of constructing fireproof buildings. That a Lycian port could take architectural cues from the greatest cities of his homeland, Etruria, was something which profoundly impressed Renault.

Enough to make him pause for a moment, taking in all the sights and sounds he could, and ignoring the handful of puzzled glances busy travelers gave him…before heading off to search for answers to his questions.

His first stop was the largest tavern he could find. He wasn't wearing his helmet, but he had equipped his armor under his traveling cloak and had his weapons at the ready, just in case anyone wanted to start trouble. Fortunately, he was able to make his way through the crowds and into a relatively busy pub without attracting anyone's attention. He took an open seat and motioned for the bartender.

"Aye, what d'ye want? Food? Drink? Both?"

"Neither, actually," said Renault, slipping the man a few coins—enough to pay for a meal. "I'm looking for information."

"That so? Ye're a strange one. But I'll humor ye. Watcha wanna know?"

"I've heard rumors about a terrorist organization called the "Northern Cross." Specifically, I've heard talk of strange golden-eyed warriors who are assisting them. Can you tell me anything more?"

"Well, sure I can! 'Tis all th' rabble have on their mouths these days. Jes' listen here an I'll tell ye all about it.

"If ye ask any King or Marquess 'bout how the world is doin these days, they'll say we be livin' in mighty fine times. Haven't had a big war since m' daddy's daddy's daddy was alive. Erryone's tradin' with each other, crops've been good since we c'n all remember, and th' coffers o' just about erry King are burstin' at the seams.

"But it ain't as if we've all been benefitin'!" he snorted. "Jes' lookit Badon. Nice lil' hovel, aye? 's the same all over Lycia, at least. Th' Marquesses…and th' merchants, for that matter, 're doin' great. But the smallfolk? Not so much. Now, they're doin' okay in Pherae and Ostia, so I hear. Th' rulin' families in those places've always put their people first. But in Santaruz? Tuscana? Caelin? Nobody c'n find a job, nobody's doin' much business, and th' Marquesses spend more money on themselves than governin'. Caelin's pretty bad off, even comparatively. Lord Hausen's a good man, but his father n' grandfather…" The barkeep shook his head. "Even a good man can't undo years o' bad leadership in the blink of an eye.

"Now, you didn't hear this from me…'specially if any o' them Ostian spy spooks're listenin' in…but more'n'more people're getting' fed up. With their Marquess, with Ostia, with th' Alliance in general. There's a group called th' Northern Cross for those guys. They think they're a bunch o' "chivalrous bandits," and honestly, they lived up to their reputation. They got branches all across Lycia, but they never dabble in slavin', drugs, or any o' that bad stuff. They rob the Marquesses' knights an they mug nobles, sure, but they give th' earnin's to th' poor. Folks say they make the nobles scared, and maybe if they cause enough ruckus th' marquesses'll finally start payin attention to the people again.

"Helps that th' leaders are a pair o' nice guys. Well…a pair o' nice guys and one creepy fella. The head o' the band is a Rogue named Cross. Handsome fella, and I don't even swing that way! Got a heart pure enough t' be a knight—won't raise his blades 'gainst women an' children, and whatever he steals he gives away. Second is his right-hand man, a real famous Bernese mercenary named Lucian. I hear that guy did some pretty tough work over'n the mountains a few years back. Th' king liked him so much that he might've been made a Wyvern General, but he was born in 'Truria, so they didn't wanna give th' privilege to a foreigner.

"The last leader, though…his name's Cypher. Nobody's seen him, but we've all heard tell that he's a mighty creepy Druid. If y' ask me…and again, don't tell nobody I told ye this…he's where all the trouble started. I dunno where or when, but I'm sure he had somethin' to do with it.

"See, just a few months back, th' Northern Cross started getting' ruthless. And I mean ruthless. They used to be content w' just humiliatin' knights and embarrasin' nobles. Knock em out, disarm 'em, maybe hold 'em ransom, but wasn't often that they'd really kill people. Nowadays, tho…well, you see a man wearin th' colors of th' Northern Cross, you c'n be sure blood'll be spilled. Anybody who opposes 'em, knights, nobles, merchants, or whatever, will get their throats cut. And they don't give much to the poor nowadays, either. Spend most o' what they pillage and steal on hirin' more men and mercenaries.

"And their new hires 're mighty strange. Mighty strange. Now, lemme tell ya, livin' in Badon, I've seen all kinds o' people. Blue eyes, green eyes, purple eyes, whatever. But I never heard of a man with golden eyes till a few months ago, when they showed up.

"Knights, Myrmidons, an' Mages…they all wear helmets or robes to keep their faces hidden, but they've started showing up whenever th' Northern Cross does. They don't make any sounds when they fight—no screams, no yells, nothin'. They follow orders without any question. And here's the weirdest thing. You'll jus have to take my word for it, 'cause I ain't never fought one m'self, but I got a friend who's faced off against em once. He managed to get one, or so he said. He wanted t' prove it t' me, but couldn't. Why? Cause the one he killed just disappeared into dust! Craziest thing. Only left 'is equipment behind. Body was just BOOM! Gone t' the air! Now, maybe he was pullin' one over me, wouldn't be the first time that's happened. But somethin' tells me he was tellin' the truth…

"Now th' powers that be are gettin' real serious 'bout all this. Th' League hasn't been formed as one—not yet—but they're all dealin with it in their own way. Hirin' mercenaries, conscriptin' young men…'specially bad in Caelin. They lost a lot o' their best knights in a big battle with some o' them Northern Cross golden-eyes a little while ago. Say, mate…you look like a pretty tough guy from th' way you carry y'self. Why dontcha head off to Caelin an' see if they'll hire you? Hausen and his brother, Lord Lundgren, 're tryin' to get every able-bodied man they can. They'll need em just to keep the peace! Y' could likely fetch a high price."

Renault sat there for a long moment, digesting everything he had heard.

Then he nodded.

"I think I'll do that. Thanks," he said, and left a couple of extra coins as payment. He got up to leave, paying no attention to the barkeep when he asked if he was sure he didn't want a bite to eat. Renault passed through the crowds outside, and he didn't head back to the docks.

He went north.

-X-

Caelin didn't actually seem so bad. At least not at first glance.

Renault was walking along the road to Hausen's castle under a mild, pleasant spring sun on the 16th Horse, 950 A.S. It was easy going—the scenery truly was a treat for the eyes. The grass was soft and verdant, the native fauna (small songbirds common across Lycia, along with rabbits, pheasants, and the occasional deer) common and healthy, and the land seemed generally taken to lush meadows and soft, rolling hills rather than the hard soil and crags found in countries like Bern. Lycia also seemed like it was a relatively civilized nation, now. The roads were numerous and well-maintained, much more so than Renault recalled the last time he was in the area. It seemed as if the country and its people had well and truly recovered from the civil war which had devastated them over two and a half centuries ago.

Granted, overcoming the problems of the past didn't mean one had to contend with none at all in the present. Though he fortunately had not been accosted by bandits (either regular ones or the Northern Cross he'd heard so much about) many of the other travelers he'd come across had been quite sullen, and always ready to complain about taxes, unemployment, or worsening law and order. Though almost everyone spoke highly about their new marquess and believed he genuinely cared about them, few thought Lord Hausen could solve their canton's problems, no matter how much he tried.

"Braddock…don't worry. I haven't forgotten about you," Renault mumbled to himself. "But I just need to find out if Nergal is up to something or not."

Renault wasn't interested in helping them either. Resurrecting Braddock was still his primary goal. However, he still remembered how Nergal had so cruelly tricked him and kept him from achieving that goal. If the sorcerer truly was plotting something in this region, Renault wanted to put a stop to it. After all, if he could wrest away even a little bit of Nergal's forbidden knowledge, it could go a long way to reviving Braddock—if he had been Athos' friend, he or his underlings might know the location of the Shrine of Seals, for instance. It was worth a detour to see what was going on, and even if nothing came of it, Renault was in no hurry.

He crossed the bridge across a small river to the south of the castle and came to the outpost in front of it. "Hold," said the chainmail-clad, spear-wielding guard in front of it. "What's your business?"

"I've heard your Lord is hiring mercenaries. I'm offering."

"Aye. Anyone with a strong arm and loyal heart is welcome here. We could use the help." He nodded and let Renault through.

The Mercenary Lord came up to the front gates of the castle—a rather small, nondescript affair not particularly different from those of other Lycian castles and somewhat less impressive than Eturian ones, even those he remembered from his youth. After the guards there asked him the same questions and he gave the same replies, they told him to head to the castle courtyards, where Hausen and Lundgren were looking over the many men who had come to fight against the Northern Cross, hiring them based on both their displays of skill and how trustworthy they seemed to be.

As he entered the courtyard, it seemed as if there was some argument over how much they should be paid as well. There was a small crowd of Myrmidons, Knights, and other soldiers centered around two middle-aged men yelling at each other. They both had black hair, but one kept it short, stood a bit shorter than the other, and had solid, chiseled features and calm brown eyes. The other had longer hair, falling down to below the nape of his neck, and a more angular face framed around a pair of narrow, flashing eyes, which seemed to be perpetually suspicious.

"Damnation!" yelled the long-haired man. "Hausen, your weak will shall breed nothing but disgrace and decay for our canton! Mercenaries aren't a waste of money! In this day and age, they are an investment!" This was, naturally, greeted with cheers from the assembled crowd.

"Only if they are worth their pay, Lundgren," came the shorter-haired man's calm reply. He turned to the angry sellswords. "Listen to me, I appreciate you coming here, and I appreciate your offers. However, as much as my brother may wish it were not so, we do not have the money to hire all of you."

"We would have the money if you'd stop wasting it on your damned 'building projects," Lundgren growled. "If the Northern Cross kills us all, none of it will do us any good."

"Economic force might be a more effective weapon than military strength against the Northern Cross," came another even reply from Hausen. "Lundgren, you may grow to understand this as you age, but swords and soldiers are not the only measure of a country's power, and they cannot solve every problem either. Have you never wondered why the Northern Cross has gained such wide appeal? Because the lives of the common people are so miserable! Better bridges mean more trade and fewer highwaymen. That means more money in our coffers and more food on the people's tables. And that means fewer recruits for an organization like the Northern Cross, which feeds off the misery of commoners!"

The more things change, the more they stay the same, thought Renault. Lundgren reminded him more than a bit of King Galahad, who had caused so many problems for Etruria so long ago.

In this case, however, Lundgren may have had a stronger justification for military spending than Galahad did. "You clearly do not understand the nature of the threat we're facing, elder brother," he retorted. "The golden-eyed villains who almost slew Sir Edmun are not petty cutthroats or disgruntled rabble-rousers. They'll not be swayed from their course no matter how much you improve the people's lives, because it's likely they're not even people at all! Edmun himself told you how they disappeared into dust as if they were phantoms. Their assault will not relent even if this canton is made as prosperous as Etruria!"

Hausen sighed—this was an argument he couldn't refute so easily. Renault, for his part, was growing more and more interested in Caelin's woes—if even the lords of the canton were taking these rumors seriously, they likely had at least a grain of truth.

"Yes, Lundgren, you may be right. Even so, we've many fine knights of our own. Should we—"

"I am as proud of our soldiers as you are, but we are desperately undermanned. We managed to save Edmun's life, but it'll take him months to recover from that wound, and Sir Jarvan and Sir Garen won't be coming back at all. Our untrained squires won't last five minutes against these Northern Cross phantoms, whoever they are. We need to do something!"

As the two brothers continued to argue, Renault turned to one of the mercenaries nearby. "Hey, you're here to get hired, right? What's the asking price?"

"None of us're willing to accept less than two thousand gold a month," he replied. "The Northern Cross is a serious fightin' force, not just a bunch of stupid bandits. Cross is a dangerous foe, Lucian is one o' the best mercenaries on Elibe, and ever since those Goldeneyes showed up there's this big guy with an axe that nobody wants to fight. We ain't cowards, but if you want us to give up our lives you'll have to make it worth our while."

"A big guy with an axe? What do you mean?"

"A few months ago a guy in pitch-black armor signed up with the Northern Cross. He's as big as two men and carries a blue axe just as large. It can cut through anything. We haven't seen him in Caelin yet, but I heard he took out a whole squad of knights single-handedly in Santaruz. He'll probably show up here if this is really where they've built their base."

Renault froze when he heard that description of the axe. "It…it couldn't be," he mouthed to himself. "It…"

"Eh?"

That did it. Renault was absolutely sure he had a job to do in this canton. Without hesitation, and completely heedless of the reactions of the mercenaries around him, he pushed his way to the front of the crowd, yelling, "Hey! Hey! Hausen!"

This got the attention of both lords, and drew them away from their argument. "What?! Who the devil are you?!"

"My name's Renault. I'll fight for you for free."

"What?" blinked Hausen incredulously. "What are you—"

"I said you can hire me for free," repeated Renault. "I just need room and board, and somebody to keep my armor fixed up. That's all."

"Stop playing games," growled Lundgren. "Anyone who hires a free sword will likely get what they pay for."

"Yeah? Sometimes you'd be surprised." Renault removed his traveler's cloak, and everyone—Hausen, Lundgren, and the gathered mercenaries—gasped when they saw his fine equipment. His trusty Scouring-era armor with the chaindaggers in the pauldrons, along with an excellent Brave Sword and Lightbrand, both enchanted weapons he'd bought in Arcadia, glinted in the sun. It was obvious he wasn't an ordinary mercenary.

Hausen was impressed, but not quite enough. "You're obviously a man of quality, but that makes your offer even more suspicious. Your armor looks similar to a General's, especially the mechanism in its shoulders. No General would ask for less than ten thousand a month. What explains your charity?"

Renault wasn't sure what he meant by 'General's armor,' but he answered the question. "I've heard about a giant man with a blue axe serving the Northern Cross. I…I know that guy. I want to face him. That's worth more than a million gold to me. I swear, no matter what happens, if you're fighting against him I'll be more loyal to you than Barrigan."

Hausen didn't seem entirely convinced, but Lundgren seemed to accept Renault's explanation. "Revenge, is it? That's something I understand quite well. Brother, he looks capable, and at such a low price there's no reason not to take his offer."

"Fine," said Hausen. "Renault, from this day forth consider yourself a member of the Caelin guard. Does anyone else wish to match his price?"

A low murmur of dissent rumbled across the gathered crowd of mercenaries. One man, however, stood forward.

It might have been more accurate to call him a youth rather than a man—he was only about 14 years old, it seemed. He was tall for his age, though, with a well-formed jaw, a dusting of stubble on his face, and light green hair arranged into a single braid, which was enough to mark him as a Sacean, since such a hairstyle was common for the men of that country. His clear, honest blue eyes, the way he carried the strange sword at his hip along with the peculiar bow on his back, and how toned and muscular his body seemed to be even at his age indicated he was worthy of being called a warrior.

Unfortunately, his race seemed to matter more than his skill to his prospective employers. "A Sacaen?" Both Hausen and Lundgren frowned in disgust. "Begone. We've no need of a barbarian like you."

He shook his head, undeterred by their insults. "I am Hassar, of the Lorca. I just need food and a place to sleep. I'll fight for you for that."

Lundgren laughed. "Why? Are you that desperate?"

"The elder of my tribe saw evil rising in this land. I must stop it."

The two nobles were about to dismiss him again before he received a bit of help from a rather unexpected source.

"Hey, Lord Hausen," Renault said contemplatively, "As your newest recruit, lemme give you a bit of professional advice: I'd hire him. The Sacaens are better than anyone when it comes to archery, and they put a lot of stock into what their elders say. They don't like going back on their word, either. This kid will probably give you both expert marksmanship and unmatched loyalty. If you're as pressed for manpower and money as you say, I don't think you can afford to pass up that deal just 'cause of his birth."

"Hmm…" Hausen paused for a moment to think. "Very well, we'll take him."

"Come, Hausen—"

"Yes, I've no love for Sacaens either, but if the boy's as good a shot as they're supposed to be, I can tolerate him. At least until Edmun recovers."

"Fine, fine." Lundgren glared down at the lad. "What was your name…Hassar? An ugly moniker from an ugly race. You may remain here, so long as you serve us. But stay out of my sight!"

Hassar just nodded. He was apparently used to this sort of treatment, and it didn't bother him that much. He turned to Renault, and seemed as if he was about to give a heartfelt thanks, but the Mercenary Lord simply grunted.

"Don't get any ideas, kid. I don't particularly like Sacaens either. But if Sir Black Knight is who I think he is, we'll need all the help we can get, especially in ranged combat. You better be good with that bow."

"Well, there it is," declared Hausen. "Any more takers?"

Another rumble of dissent coursed through the gang of mercenaries. Five men stood forward and agreed to lower wages, but that was all. The rest of them had apparently had enough, so Hausen declared the selection process over. The crowd began to disperse, heading out of the courtyard and out of Caelin to seek less stingy employers.

"Your funeral," one of the mercenaries laughed at Renault as he passed him by. "You might look tough, but that axeman's gonna cut you in half the moment he sees you."

Renault simply laughed right back and cast him a cold smile.

"We'll see."

-X-

"This is the armory, Sir Renault. We can store your equipment here, if you'd like."

"Alright."

A few minutes after he'd been hired by Hausen, one of the castle guards promptly offered to escort him to the armory so he could take off his equipment and also see what Caelin itself had to offer (though they both knew nothing in the storehouse could compare to his Brave Sword and Lightbrand. Still, Renault was fairly pleased with what he saw—in addition to a better-than-expected-of-a-Lycian-canton variety of weapons (including Silver Spears and Swords), there were several suits of armor near the back wall which reminded Renault quite a bit of his own.

They were similar to the very heavy plate mail common to Generals and other armored warriors of his own day, but their helmets and pauldrons were different. Old Etrurian armors had helms similar to those of Paladins or Black Knights, but these new ones were more cylindrical in shape and lacked visors. Renault got the sense that they were faintly imbued with magic, since he could see a very faint glow emanating from their empty eyeports, though nothing as strong as his very useful visor. The pauldrons, on the other hand, were most impressive. Large, ornate affairs with golden rims, they were as large as his own shoulder plates and, most tellingly, they had chains attached to them. These chains were much thicker than his own, because they were attached to axes and spears rather than small, lightweight throwing daggers. Anyone wearing this armor would be a force to be reckoned with.

"Impressed, eh?" The guard smiled. "These things are a shining example of Lycian ingenuity. About fifty years ago we excavated a suit of armor from the Scouring that had a very advanced chain mechanism in its shoulders. We couldn't replicate it exactly, but a scholar in Ostia figured out a way to make a simpler version that could be easily mass-produced. The chain can fit on spears or axes, and soldiers all across Elibe absolutely love them. They're very heavy, so not everyone can use them, but for those who can, their defense and offensive power is unparalleled. The plate is thick enough that blades and magic will have a difficult time penetrating it, and the chain launchers in the shoulders give its wielder a bit of extra range, better balance, and slightly strengthens their attacks. Even those haughty Etrurians have ordered hundreds of these suits already! We can barely keep up with the demand!"

"I can see why," mused Renault. My own armor's served me well for a long, long time. Guess I should've expected other people would come up with a similar idea.

"Anyways, would you like to keep it in here? This is the most secure part of the castle."

"Alright. I'll keep my weapons in my room, though."

"Of course, sir. Want help taking it off? Sir Edmun's in no condition to leave his bed, so his young squire's had nothing to do lately. Young Wallace has experience maintaining this sort of armor, so he'd probably be of great help to you. He can also show you around the castle, if you'd like."

Renault shrugged. No sense taking more time than he had to getting himself equipped. "Alright, send him in. I'll get started." He started to remove his gauntlets while his guide called for Wallace; when he heard light footsteps padding up behind him he turned to see who his assistant was.

It turned out to be a rather familiar face.

The newcomer was short, barely coming up to Renault's midsection. Clad in modest brown pants and a blue doublet, the youth was slight of frame and had narrow, dark brown eyes which were almost black. Renault didn't notice that, however. What really captured his attention was the youth's green hair, which was long enough to fall over the ears but not touch the shoulders, and was the exact same shade as a certain someone's hair he'd once seen, so long ago…

"Keith," he mouthed without comprehension as both the newcomer and the knight looked at him curiously. "Keith, it can't be…Keith?" He took a step forward to look at the squire's face and reached out a hand to touch that familiar green hair.

The child had no idea what was going on. "S…Sir? Is this Sir Renault? I was told to come and help one of the new mercenaries…"

"Yes, that is Renault. Do you know this lad?"

"Huh? Lad?" Renault blinked as he was snapped out of his reverie. He took another look at the squire's slight, slender form. There was a very strong resemblance to Keith, his 'little sister' from so long ago, but of course, now that he was thinking clearly, he knew it was impossible. Keith was long dead, and anyways, the boy's face was more masculine even if his hair was almost the same.

"Oh, right. Right. Sorry, kid." He sighed and turned away. "You just look like someone I used to know. A lot like someone I used to know."

"O…oh…" Neither the squire nor the man who'd called him in knew how to react.

"So your name's Wallace?" Renault's tone was softer and kinder than it usually was. Even if he only looked like Keith, that was enough to make the Mercenary Lord warm up to him a little bit. "C'mon, try to earn your keep. Unlatch my chestplate, if you can."

"H-huh? Oh, yes! Of course, Sir Renault!"

Renault waved off his guide, who nodded and left the two of them alone as Wallace began undoing the clasps of Renault's cuirass. The boy was indeed efficient, and soon enough Renault's fine armor stood alongside the other ones on a stand at the back of the room.

"Nice work," said Renault approvingly. He took a look down and shook out the rings of the suit of chain mail he was still wearing—it was a good idea to keep it on and close by even when one wasn't in his armor or expecting a battle, since it provided a degree of protection from sudden ambushes and wasn't heavy enough to really distract someone of Renault's strength. "Should be good for now." He looked at Wallace, again struck by the boy's resemblance to his long-departed friend. "Guess you're gonna be helpin' me a lot while I'm stayin' in Caelin."

"Yes, Sir Renault. I…I'll try my best!"

He gave Wallace a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Good enough for me. Now, you think you can show me around this place? I need to know the layout of the castle I'm defending."

"Sure!"

Wallace seemed extraordinarily pleased that his new friend was treating him with a measure of kindness—the spring in his step and the big smile on his face compared to his less happy expression when he'd first entered told Renault that he probably didn't have many friends here.

Well, now that Renault had arrived, that would probably change.

The Mercenary Lord grinned as his assistant led him out of the armory. Morphs and terrorists, a man matching Braddock's description and a young squire with hair just like Keith's…

Renault usually wasn't one for fortune-telling, but he knew this for certain: His time in Caelin was going to be more than a little interesting.

::Linear Notes::

ALRIGHT EVERYBODY, IT'S WALLACE TIME!

Haha, seriously though, at this point in the series hardcore FE7 fans are gonna be happy. We've finally reached the point where Renault's story begins to intersect more directly with the main plot of FE7. We've not yet reached the point of his redemption—there are some very dark parts ahead—but by Chapter 60 we should finally see him begin to break out of the darkness he's in. Now, a couple notes:

Daphira is a ref to Bahamut Lagoon.

Jarvan and Garen are references to League of Legends XD

Aside from that, enjoy the next chappie when it comes out! :D OH! Also, if you like Wayward Son, BE SURE TO CHECK OUT THE LAST RED SHOULDER! It's my other fic, it's a sidestory to WS. Finally, I'mma write a FE4 fic too, set in Judgral! Keep an eye out for that, brothers and sisters. I dunno when it'll come out, but prolly soon. 3