CHAPTER TWO: A SINISTER BUSINESS

Jardin rolled about fitfully in his expensive feather bed, shutting his eyes tightly. His legs tangled with the silk sheets, and in his hands he wrung a pillow like a sponge. Rain pelted the windowpanes, and a loud thunderclap boomed in the distance. Drops of sweat ran from his forehead down his face, mingling with the tears that streamed from his eyes. Suddenly, he cried out in his sleep, a cry of pure terror. As he twisted the pillow into a shapeless lump, unintelligible words began to spill from his lips. "Aea groibar, motelith crumbar duribile! Ascarii gulexith oau nau wimbaleth!" he muttered feverishly, over and over again. Slowly, he began to relax. His shoulders loosened, and the pillow fell from his grasp. Abruptly, his peaceful countenance twisted into an expression of horror, and he awoke with a scream.

Jardin sat silently in the dark, breathing heavily. As always, he had no recollection of the apparitions that had so troubled his mind, but that was probably not a bad thing.

Presently, a servant quietly knocked on the door. "Come in," croaked Jardin quietly.

"Excuse me, Master Jardin," the servant began politely, "but I heard you scream. Are you quite alright?"

"Yes, just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about. Go back to bed, and my apologies for disturbing your sleep."

"Ahh, I'm sorry you're still having those nightmares. Well, if I may take my leave." Jardin thought he heard the servant mutter something under his breath about Readon being pleased, but before he could ask about it, the servant was gone.

Readon Greyhelm was Jardin's eldest brother by twelve years, and he was everything a noble should be- strong, handsome, brave, and proud. He always kept his jet-black hair combed backwards, with not a strand out of place, his goatee carefully trimmed, and his clothes perfectly pressed. With a mere glint of his gray eyes, he could make a timid man tremble, and a harsh word could make a coward weep. It might have just been his brother's naturally rigid nature, but it seemed to Jardin that Readon was always cold and disapproving towards him. Readon had been married to a young, beautiful woman once upon a time, but she had disappeared a year ago under mysterious circumstances, leaving their small child Orba, now four years of age, with him.

As well as Readon, Jardin also had a younger brother named Jezrel, but his bed was found empty one morning a year before the similar disappearance of Readon's wife. If he was still alive, Jezrel would be about twenty.

Jardin's father, Kirgin Greyhelm, still lived, but he was so old and dilapidated that he lay in bed continually. Age weighed heavily on his mind, and diseases had robbed him of all memory. Thus, Readon was the recognized leader of the house of Greyhelm.

Turning his thoughts away from his family, Jardin reflected on his past two weeks at Igros. They had been disappointing, to say the least. Most of his and Romo's friends we're either drafted into the military or too busy to see them. His brother had all but ignored him, and most of his time was spent idling with Romo. Tomorrow, he would get his friend, who was staying with his father, and head back to the military encampment.

Jardin relaxed back into his bed, but the unknown fear of his dream still lingered in his mind. After several unsuccessful attempts to fall asleep, he decided to take a stroll around the estate. Untangling himself from his bed sheets, he put on his clothing, girded his sword, and left his room. After walking down the hallway quietly and descending a flight of stairs, he had reached the front door parlor. Once again, he marveled at the gorgeous marble tile, the rich tapestries, the red carpet, and the dark cedar wood that adorned the manor. Walking up to the door, he opened it a crack before voices stopped him- the voices of Readon and an unknown stranger. A curiosity flared within Jardin's heart, so strongly that he began to eavesdrop without shame, despite his honorable nature.

"With Igros's current taxes, you should be gleaning around 900,000 gil a month," whispered the stranger quietly.

"Hmmm. not enough.." replied Readon. "I think I'll be raising them another 5%."

"Readon, are you sure you can keep your peasants from revolting? Taxes this high."

"Griffin, this is the entire point of the war! High taxes are to be expected during wartime!"

"If you can manage it, then it would do wonders for your prominence in the Convocation. Ever since you suggested this pact with Tabreum, you've been very popular. There's an election for the leader of the Convocation coming up. Donate enough of your revenue, and you may find yourself in a whole new plane of power."

The Convocation of Nobles, simply referred to as the Convocation, was a government body that came about twenty years ago when every city in Ivalice allied with one another. The leader of every noble family in Ivalice would meet at St. Murond Temple to discuss political issues, as well as donate part of their city's revenue to the organization. Cities were still ruled by the residing aristocratic family, but prodding from the Convocation could greatly influence the mind of a noble. The Convocation was especially active during war, a state Ivalice was constantly in.

"Imagine what I could do with such power." mused Readon thoughtfully, a hint of greed in his deep voice. "Once I am able to rid myself of this pathetic runt so-called my brother, the world will be right again."

Jardin inhaled sharply as stabbing pains pierced his heart. Was his brother talking about him, or did he have some unknown ties with Jezrel? Why would he speak so harshly?

"Oh? Have you acquired the necessary information?" inquired Griffin eagerly.

"I believe so. I have my best scholars working to decode it. Dante was always had such a fetish for security."

"And I trust you will take of the loose ends."

Jardin could take no more of this. Drawing his sword and throwing the door open, he grabbed Griffin, who proved to be much bigger and stronger then his thin, menacing voice would indicate, by his red hair and lifted the sword to his neck. He did not struggle, a fact that relieved Jardin, for the man was dressed in fine armor, and a long sword hung at his belt. Jardin pulled the sheathed sword off his belt and tucked it into his own.

"Make a move, and I swear to God that I will cut his throat!" said Jardin quietly yet intensely.

"Now, Jardin," consoled Readon soothingly. "Some things are better left unexplained. Let's just return to our rooms and forget this happened."

"No! Start explaining, or I cut! You mentioned a pact with Tabreum, and yet we are at war with them. You also said the point of the war was taxes, but the official word is that we are at war because Tabreum was raiding our farms. And-" Jardin's voice choked as he continued-" you spoke very harshly of me. You disowned me as your brother! Why?!"

"Jardin, let him go, or, so help me.." Readon threatened, his voice hardening.

"I WILL CUT HIS THROAT!!!" screamed Jardin, tears filling his eyes.

"Alright! Let him be! I will explain! This is not a real war. yet. It is a front."

"A front? Explain," croaked Jardin, beginning to master his emotions.

"We have made a pact with Tabreum. We are officially in a state of war, but it mostly is an excuse for us to raise our taxes. Tabreum agreed to work on making the war look realistic, and we would provide the funds. So far, it has been a wonderfully inexpensive war. As well as increasing Ivalice's revenue tenfold, it has taken Tabreum's intelligence off our research."

"A front? No! It can't be! I have killed real people! Actual Tabreum citizens! That is not a front!"

"Naïve boy!" sneered the noble. "Have you ever seen a noble in battle? Commoners are worthless to us! We have quite enough to till the fields and sell the merchandise. What is losing a few commoners to us?"

"But I am a noble, and I have seen battle!"

"No, you aren't."

Jardin nearly dropped his sword. "Of course I'm a noble! I am Jardin Greyhelm, son of Kirgin Greyhelm, your brother!"

"You are not my brother," Readon spat. "A long time ago, around the time the Convocation was formed, the commoners of Igros threatened to revolt. You were the son of a respected scholar, loved by all of Igros. Father took you hostage to quell the uprising."

"That cannot be it! You spoke of gathering information from me!"

"That had absolutely no relevance to you. I have told all, so let Griffin go!"

"NO!"

At that moment, several archers and a knight ran up from the barracks near the manor to Readon, awakened by Jardin's scream. The archers immediately hefted their crossbows to their shoulders and took aim at Jardin.

"It's your choice, Jardin. Let Griffin go, or die," taunted the noble.

Jardin looked at the archers, to Readon, then back at the archers. He felt like a cornered mouse being tormented by a pack of alley cats. Finally, he shoved Griffin forward and fled into the darkness.

"You say that you got the necessary information from him?" asked Griffin.

"Yes, I planted a spy in his bedroom, and he wrote everything down," replied Readon, then turning to the soldiers, he coldly commanded, "Kill him."