(1155)
Day 12 of the Wyvern Moon. Strong Winds.
If there's one thing worse than finding Lady Riegan and Lady Daphnel where they shouldn't be, it's only finding one of them.
I feel like I'm waiting for the axe to drop. I don't know which I'd prefer;
to be the target, and have it over with, or not be, and never know if the danger had passed.
I'm going to presume there's some sort of shenanigans going on with the supplies set aside for
the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and just be glad I won't be the one handling the fallout.
1183
Red Wolf Moon
Through no plan of his own, Felix found himself tangled up in the chaos at Garreg Mach. Flayn and Annette both had said how glad they were he was around to have helped save Seteth. Bernadetta had waved at him as she scurried through the halls on one errand or other. Alois and Sanderson had pulled him in to consult on what forces from the Knights and Coalition would be best suited to send to Duscur and now, just when he thought he'd be able to march with them, to keep those idiots who had answered the call to march north in winter from getting themselves killed, Hubert had requested he stay a while longer.
And curse it all, but the Emperor's aide seemed to be the only person not only planning to survive but equally aware of what the cost of his death would be to the rest of them. Felix would be the worst kind of hypocrite if he turned his back on Hubert's request when it was so in line with his own philosophy of not being killed for "glory", or worse; chivalry.
So if those three knightly lunatics went and got themselves killed for each other while he wasn't around to save them he'd have to kill them himself! And his father! If he-
Felix's sword sliced clean through the training dummy, leaving it to clatter in halves to the ground.
"No student we've had, before or since you graduated, has ever gone through quite so many training dummies. Your record certainly needs no bolstering." Seteth commented, easing down onto a bench nearby. His daily amble from infirmary to training grounds was still wearing him out, but each day his step came a little surer. He was even slowly regaining some colour.
Apparently the habit of lecturing had returned too.
"You should be grateful I keep my blade so sharp." Felix answered, sheathing the sword in question and turning to scowl at the older man.
Seteth smiled, inclining his head "Indeed, I am." Felix scoffed and started dragging the halves of the ruined dummy over to a corner -to be repaired or turned into kindling depending on the monastery's needs while Seteth looked on. "I've been thinking, recently, about chivalry causing the glorification of death -grotesque, I seem to recall is the word you used for it." He ventured.
Felix's head was down as he shifted the severed dummy into a neatly stacked heap, but Seteth could feel his eyes rolling "And? Now that you're Acting Archbishop will you name me blasphemous after all?"
"No, no. In honestly I do not think your values differ too greatly from the Goddess's own, not in essentials. No, I've been considering why that glorification comes about. Perhaps in the hope that some understanding would help you better maintain your friendships."
"You really are going to keep bringing this up, aren't you?"
"It has been my job, these many moons, to guide and to serve. You'll forgive me for trying to maintain some normality." Seteth answered, though not without a wry touch of humour. Felix sighed and blew his hair from his eyes, walking back across the grounds towards him.
"Fine then. What answer have you come up with?"
"That it is not chivalry that begets the worship and glorification of death. It is grief. To seek, perhaps even to cling to, some sort of meaning or justification to make the unendurable endurable. It is pale consolation for what is lost, but not everybody has the fortitude you posses, to look at what is so starkly."
Felix's immediate reaction to the notion was to scoff; "Ridiculous." Did Seteth really think he could simply explain away such an important cornerstone of Faerghus culture as a coping mechanism? Would he say next that his father had looked him in the eye after Glenn's death and said "he died like a true knight" because he was lying to himself? It was impossible. It was insulting.
"Is it?" Seteth asked, with that endless -frustrating- patience.
Felix crossed his arms and avoided Seteth's understanding gaze. That last argument with his father playing through his mind, over and over again. It was so unlike Rodrigue to let his temper flare in harsh words, but he had pushed and Felix had been frustrated enough himself to push back. But what had driven it? What had started it? What had put the old man in such a mood to begin with? That Dimitri was rallying to war? Duscur itself? It couldn't be the idea that Felix would-
It could not be-
Whatever expression was showing on his face prompted Seteth to speak again;
"You are here, and your Father in Duscur, when you both should have received the call at the same time. Perhaps that does tell me something… I may even dare to presume you know it already."
~o~*~o~
"Linhardt?" Marianne called, she entered the greenhouse and pulled the door shut behind her, taking a moment to lean back against it and let the warmth of the building seep into her before venturing further in. "Linhardt, a message came from Garreg Mach, Professor Hanneman's visit is going to be delayed -w-what is this?"
"Ah, Marianne, excellent timing! This is the latest in our understanding of Crest transference; Saint Cethleann's Mint." The mage announced to Marianne's growing horror.
"You... You put a Crest in mint?" She clarified.
"Yes! We've identified the mechanism, or at least a mechanism, by which a Crest can be induced into another body. Of course we're not using people, so the comparison isn't direct, but now that this method is established we can begin work on extracting a Crest, as well as examining several generations in succession to better define the limits of Crest power. And as a bonus, the tea made from it has a most rejuvenating effect, without any apparent risk of obtaining the Crest itself through imbibing-"
"Mint, Linhardt!" Marianne finally cut him off "Do you know how fast mint spreads?"
"Well, not very far at all when the roots are contained. If it were to flower and go to seed though, the prevailing winds may -Ah." He paused, noticing a small flower-head beginning to form on one of the stems, "Yes, I take your point."
"Just destroy it Linhardt. And use something less likely to rampage across the countryside." Marianne asked, pressing a hand against her temple to ease out some of the tension this conversation was causing her.
"Oh very well." He agreed, but started pulling leaves from the plant to steep her a cup before he did so. "What was it you were saying about Professor Hanneman? Did Lysithea finally come down from her tower to argue with him in person?"
"No, his visit has been postponed -there was an incident at Garreg Mach. I'll need your report as soon as you can manage it to send back with the messenger."
"I don't see why I should have to rush my report simply because Hanneman fell through. We weren't due for another three days."
"We're due today Linhardt, you've been in here two days straight already."
"I have?" Linhardt asked with a slight touch of surprise. "That explains why I'm feeling so-" he yawned "-drowsy."
~o~*~o~
Hubert did not often put himself in positions he could not retreat from. When he did, he made sure to have some form of external extraction available. That was why Yuri, Felix and Bernadetta were on stand-by at the monastery. Felix and Bernadetta to attempt a rescue if he did not return in the allotted time, and Yuri to ensure his death if that was not possible.
He knew far too much to be left alive in enemy hands.
In a hidden pocket he also carried the one little Agarthan trick he had not turned over to the Mage's Enclave, just in case of emergency.
He had an ill-feeling that he may need it. The trail of messages stored in the secure locations along the border of Acheron and Gloucester, left behind by the agent, were not much more recent than the last direct communication they'd received from her. He followed the path she had indicated along the border of the river Myrddin deeper into the heart of Gloucester, each update much the same as the last.
Until it wasn't.
This cache was supposed to be securely hidden under the floorboards of an isolated hunting shack. It was one of the few locations actually containing supplies; a couple of vulneraries, bandages, that sort of thing, stashed away, and the shack itself offering some shelter from the elements. What Hubert came upon however, was a ruin. The door swung widely on broken hinges; the window-shutters were hanging by the last nail, bloody handprints smeared around a prised-up floorboard and empty strongbox, the few soft furnishings were slashed to pieces, a table had been broken into rough, splintered edges by some cruel impact.
The moon was rising as Hubert cast around the outside, searching for the signs that would show him the direction of the struggle. A footprint in the mud, a shrub cut short by the follow-through of a swinging sword, blood splattered against the bone-white trunk of a birch tree.
The first body he found was Agarthan, killed by a precise thrust through the heart. The next two bore the seal of Leicester, their wounds jagged, deep and bloody.
The trail wasn't straight, but it bore in the direction of Gloucester Keep; a retreat, he wondered, seeking aid and protection?
The fourth body was from Leicester as well, and Hubert began to fear it was worse than that; that he was tracing a rout.
He slowed his step, to be sure he missed no sign in the darkness. The silence of the forest was telling; no sounds of battle, but none of nature either. The fight must have passed this way to disturb the local fauna -but had it already ended? Was he too late?
A glint of something caught his eye, but when he turned his head he could no longer see it. He froze for a painful moment of hesitation, then moved towards it, abandoning the forward course. A few yards in that direction, through a dense line of thorns that tore at his sleeves, a clearing formed. The moonlight was shining down into it and illuminating the trees like ghastly skeletal fingers reaching up to seize the stars.
Across the clearing a figure sat slumped against a tree stump, discarded vulneraries littering the ground beside them as they furtively attended to a wound under the protection of their cloak. Hubert stepped free of the thorns into the light. The hood of the cloak fell back.
He was met with Lady Daphnel's steel blue gaze.
Hubert cursed the most violent language he knew and crossed the clearing to join her, kneeling to observe the wound. Judith snorted and shifted the cloak so he could see her abdomen soaked in red "I think that's putting the situation rather lightly, Vestra Boy." she croaked, and Hubert also noticed the bags beneath her eyes, the tiredness etched into her.
He conjured what little healing magic he knew, barely even a flicker, and pressed it into her before taking over packing and binding the wound. "Wh-" he started but cut off as Judith began the salient points of her report;
"Kronya," she coughed, turning her head to spit out a mouthful of blood "retreated, I've lost five good men, more, they have healers. Nearby. Shambhala."
Hubert froze, his eyes flicking up to hers at that word, but Judith was focused behind him and the cool rasp of steel as she readied her rapier filled the silence.
A spell crackled to life beneath his fingers, but he kept his gaze forwards, facing Judith. A primal awareness of someone behind him whispered down his spine and he cursed his perceived need for secrecy that left his allies so many days behind him.
"Easy now." Metody's voice broke the stillness as he pressed his way forwards into the clearing, hands held aloft, empty. "We don't have much time for pleasantries."
Hubert rose gracefully from his position and turned to face the assassin. Neither his spell nor Judith's sword wavered.
"Bad luck there, My Lady." He offered, condoling, to Judith "Running into us at just that moment. Kronya had a delivery to make, but she'll be back to ensure the job is finished, you need to be gone before then."
"How close are we?" Hubert demanded.
"The Hero of Daphnel has stood on the very threshold of hell itself. I thought I'd have gotten there first, alas, I only made it to the garden gate." Metody answered, spreading his arms to indicate the forest around them. Hubert's eyes narrowed; within striking distance then, but not here precisely, and only Judith knew the path.
A slender throwing knife flashed through the dark, parried only at the last moment by Judith's steel. The motion cost her something and she turned, slumping to one side to cough more blood out to the ground. Kronya's cruel laughter echoed around them.
"Well now, isn't this just a delightful gathering?" her voice seemed to come from all angles. Hubert fell back a step to better cover Judith. Metody's sword had appeared in his hand in the blink of an eye, the vile poison he coated it with dripping to the ground in glistening drops of moonlight. "Beasts and traitors both!" Kronya continued with a laugh.
She appeared suddenly, in the corner of Hubert's vision, spring-launching herself from a tree trunk straight at Judith's prone form with daggers extended like a snake's fangs.
In mid-air Metody collided with her, sending them both crashing through the undergrowth. "Go!" he shouted, needlessly; Hubert was already moving. He hoisted Judith up into his arms. He couldn't take the time to consider her wound and she grunted, but gamely looped her arms around his neck anyway, freeing one of his hands to dig in a pocket. He pulled out a single arcane crystal.
Kronya recovered, a throwing knife hurled towards them -but they had already gone. The crystal had been enchanted long before, the last Agarthan trick he had kept hold of. It had been intended to ensure Lady Edelgard's escape from the Holy Tomb when they had still planned to steal the Crest Stones within. It bought them a couple hundred yards of clear space -enough to be out of sight in the darkness, but not enough to throw off a pursuit for long.
Judith's teeth were grit, her eyes screwed shut in pain. Hubert didn't dare stop to consult her or adjust his grip, not yet. Gloucester Keep or Garreg Mach? He knew he had allies in one direction. If she should prevail, then hopefully Kronya would assume he had continued Judith's track towards Gloucester.
Back in the clearing the two assassins clashed. There were no words exchanged. They knew each other too well to waste breath trying to throw the other off. One of them would not be leaving the forest alive.
Metody suspected it would be him.
His first offensive had failed, and Kronya's style was better suited for the terrain -she slipped easily through the trees to come at him from unexpected angles, the tails of her outfit disguising her silhouette in the darkness, weaving her into the shadows.
It was the best sport Metody had had in years. He'd drag it out even if the other's weren't relying on him to buy time. The best play as he figured it was to lead Kronya away from Judith, back towards the River Myrddin, and hope that there was enough clear space along the banks to negate Kronya's advantage in the forest.
He pushed out of the clearing, weaving through the trees himself to dodge pin-point strikes from throwing knives. One slender birch he took hold of and spun himself round to deliver a punishing drop-kick. Kronya staggered back, but recovered quickly enough to catch his sword with her daggers when he pressed the advantage. She lowered one knife to swipe at him, catching his arm, and he tumbled away, vanishing into the trees.
Poison knocked the breath from him a moment later. He chuckled grimly once he'd regained his bearings, then pushed off again, heading towards the river as far from the clearing as he could get.
He led her a thrilling chase through the trees, blades clashing in each clear space, only briefly lit in the moonlight before shifting back to their shadowy game. Every wound seemed to push Metody to some new edge of speed, keeping just one pace ahead of death.
In the end, Kronya was faster still.
Before Metody could make it to the open space by the riverbank she cut in front of him and caught him in a pincer with both her knives, one buried in each side. The deadly embrace held him upright as all feeling began to leave him. Without moving her arms at all Kronya reached, tip-toeing up, to steal his last, choking breath in a kiss before ripping her blades from him, flicking the blood away as he slid to her feet.
"You were fun while you lasted." She told the corpse, almost fondly, wiping what blood still clung to her knives on the back of his shirt before turning to continue the hunt. She'd gather some reinforcements, find Hubert's trail…
…and run him down.