"Yes, quite right. I did forget, for a little while. Forget the pain of my existence, of the choice I had made which separated me from my family. Human. That's what I chose to be. I didn't know why, couldn't truly understand why, until the day I fought Kalarus for the second time.
It was so obvious. I became human because I could never have been able to live peacefully for centuries. To me, it was better to live only a few decades - even if that meant doing wrong things at times."
-Loerik Gabriev, talking to his sons
"Even now, I find it hard to believe that events which would shake the human realms originated from the mind of one woman who felt she had been betrayed by all she ever believed them. Is it the sum, of human karma? Or just a cruel jest from the Gods?
-Rezo the Red Priest, letter to his son 997 AR
Chapter Ten
The village had taken a terrible toll, but it had survived. Houses had been partially burned, and people killed. Yet the sorrow was mingled with a sense of victory. The villagers had, after all, beaten back an invading mercenary force - and that was no small feat! So although the grief from those who had lost loved ones was poignant, the people had buried their dead and, with much courage, had begun to rebuild their homes.
Loerik knew that he and his friends were seen as heroes for helping the farmers and merchants. All told of the way they had turned the tide with mighty spells and strong blades. The fact that they had had no choice but to defend themselves - that most would have fought in these circumstances - went unheard and unheeded depending on the person. It bothered him more than he would allow himself to admit.
But even so, this blind admiration was secondary. He didn't care about it much compared to other things. Like Kalarus. Like how he'd acted during the battle.
He had thought that he had only fallen with a bad group, that the violence he felt like using was only the result of living besides people who lived by harsh rules themselves. He'd fallen in with the people he was with now with a sense of relief. All of them - Fezra, Marcus, Phil, Berwen, Zasthla....Hallia - all of them were good people who, despite personal quirks, wouldn't abuse their own strength unless the situation dictated it.
But he had felt good, so very GOOD, about fighting Kalarus in a duel to the death.
He had felt a thrill when his enemy had fallen back, wounded, weakened, and ready to be vanquished.
And it had angered him to be unable to finish the work he had begun. Enough that he took it out on the other soldiers he had subsequently attacked.
What did that say about him?
Senses heightened by his elven blood and by years of honing detected the presence entering his room, as silent as it was. He instinctively knew who it was, was glad to feel that particular presence. But he didn't turn around, only kept staring through the window at the scarred, subdued streets as the days waned. The presence approached him until it stood right behind him and spoke.
"You've missed dinner."
It was almost enough to make him laugh. But not quite. Indeed, he hadn't gone to dine with the others that night, something that he knew wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Fezra and Marcus ate very much - Fezra especially, and from her words it was a family trait - but he beat them all. He was able to eat two full hams with mounds of vegetables, cake, and other edibles. Even Phil, despite his huge frame, didn't eat quite as much. Yes, it would have been peculiar to them all. But it still sounded funny.
It was thus with a very careful voice that he said. "Sorry. Wasn't hungry tonight." he cracked a grin at it - he might as well have said that the sky was green and the trees blue! He waited for a remark, and was surprised when it came.
"You can't keep being like this. It was a battle. You've been to plenty of battles. It shouldn't bother you that -"
"That's where you're wrong, Hallia!" he cut off, swivelling around on his stool, coming face-to-face with the green-haired priestess. Tall as he was, he didn't raise his head to look her in the eye. "It should bother me! Everything about it should! I was raised in Mipross, by the elves!"
But she shook her head. "It doesn't change anything. People don't become more of something or less of something because of the place they are born in! My father always told me..." a spasm of sadness crossed her face before quickly fading. "My father always told me that a person becomes what she is fated to become."
"Well, that makes it so much better to know I am fated to become a brute!" he laughed mirthlessly.
"You are not a brute."
And how did she know that? How could she? He came from a family where violence was secondary. His father Rowdy had the most of it inside of him, and yet it paled compared to Loerik's own lust for battle. "I don't think you understand. I felt good about the fighting. I felt alive during the fighting. Worse, I think I had fun running after those mercenaries!"
"It was a battle. Everyone is different during a battle! Instincts take over. I know. I've seen it. And I've done it."
He turned his face away. "You don't understand, Hallia. Some of the things I did-yeeark!" he yelped as a slender hand took old of his hair and yanked his face in front of eyes which looked at him angrily from below green bangs.
"Now listen to me, Loerik Gabriev." she stated in frustration, eyes flashing, "It was a battle. You were fighting that bastard Kalarus in a fight that certainly took a lot out of you, the way you two were moving around like little whirlwinds! So you lost control. So what of it?!? They were mercenaries, and bad ones. You may have been pretty rough on some, but I've seen some do things that...well...lets say it wasn't pretty. But that's how they are. And I know you're not like that. I know you're a brave man. You getting upset over it proves it, don't you see?!? You're a decent man. I know that. We all do."
Her voice had become softer and softer as she spoke, until she was almost whispering the last sentence. He put one hand on her shoulder, and one to the hand that grasped his hair. With little effort he loosened it, and then kept holding it, awkward. His tongue seemed made of clay, but he managed to push on.
"Thank you." he said at length "I don't know if I believe you, but...thank you."
She looked at his hand holding hers, then back at him. She looked slightly bemused by a thought, and then leaned forward, forcing him back. He didn't quite know what she had in mind, so he kept leaning back, and back...
...and then he fell backward, right to the floor, taking her with him. They both yelped, then found themselves into a tangled heap. She disentangled herself from him and glared in what was close to hatred for a moment. He could only blink at the sudden change.
"I don't believe it! You actually fell back from a kiss! Of all the..." she huffed, couldn't bring herself to speak anymore, struggling to her feet.
"A kiss? Ah, so that was why you were leaning in that much." he nodded to himself, and then realization struck, shattering any thoughts of fighting and elven upbringing. "What?!? A KISS?!? You wanted to give me a kiss?!?"
"So what?" she said heatedly, then immediately calmed down when she realized just what she had said. Obviously the situation had made her tongue run wild, and now she felt a little out of sorts.
So did Loerik, actually, but not exactly for the same reasons. Soundlessly he nodded to himself. Indeed, so what? Wasn't it what he'd wanted? Yes, it very much was, he realized. But he'd let his discomfort at her blunt affirmations make him forget that. Perhaps there was such a thing as carrying too much guilt... although he couldn't quite make himself admit it out loud.
He rose to his feet, feeling foolish and yet strangely glad for this whole conversation - and its possible repercussions. He spread his hands. "Perhaps I'm a bit hungry, when you think about it. I think I'll go eat."
She blinked, then chuckled. "I can't believe it took you so long to understand, you mercenary."
Not quite knowing what he did, yet knowing that this had been his wish for a long time, he put his arms around her. Gently. More gently then what he'd done with anyone for over three years. She didn't tense when he did. Only faintly smirked as if she knew the whirlwind of emotions, which went through his head.
"Don't crash backward this time." she taunted.
"Its the last thing I want to do." he replied.
And indeed, when she leaned forward, he didn't. He actually went forward himself as he embraced Hallia for the first time.
* * * * * * * * * *
"And what are we doing here, prince Philionel?"
"Please, please, just call me Phil. No need for formality between us."
"As you say. But it still doesn't answer my question."
Phil almost sighed at Lionel's comment. It appeared that the easy camaraderie he had so enjoyed with others such as Fezra, Loerik and others, had faded away with these two. The serious apprentice had always been a bit too formal on the road, as had that young priestess, Narie. But being back in Sailune, with them fully realizing that he was destined to one day lead this powerful country, had only increased the way they acted around him. Little by little, and especially in the last few days, they had distanced themselves from him.
Well, that was the price he had to pay, he supposed. He truly didn't think much of his future - marrying that stern lady Valmatia, becoming king and being restrained in all he did forevermore - but he was bound to it. And if nothing else, Philionel Di Sailune was a man of honour.
"I was thinking about the riddle we'd found. It was old. Very old. But I didn't really know how old 'till I found some poems written by the same hand in n old book." he looked at the others with him. "If what I found is any good, it was written by Queen Deljani, the bride of Sai Lune the Holy."
Lionel coughed. "That is a very interesting find, I'm sure. So this was written almost a millennia ago. It still doesn't answer this simple question: why are we here?"
Phil looked around. "The poem talked of many things, but it was old. Very old. And this part of the castle has been preserved from the original keep it grew out of - by a sacred order sealed by Sai Lune himself and respected by all of his descendants."
They looked around, surrounded as they were by a crumbling room, below the pristine halls of the royal wing. The room itself was gloomy, barely illuminated by the torches and magical lights that the three used. Pieces of old stones had fallen on the ground since then, and a thick film of dust was everywhere to be seen, coating things and rendering most features unrecognizable.
"Charming. It has all the looks of an old dungeon." Lionel cut in. But Narie shook her head.
"No, I think Phil is right - there is something here. Something old but not evil. This place was touched by White Magic, extremely powerful White Magic!"
Phil mused at this. "Sai Lune was perhaps the strongest White Magic user in the human realm in his day. Perhaps he did something here. Let us look around."
They did, gingerly. The place looked empty, but the darkness could have hidden many things. He was rather amazed at the amount of dust everywhere. Obviously, it had stood there, forgotten, for quite some time. Reached as it was by a series of passageways that only Philionel and, it seemed likely, his late mother knew about, it had been conveniently forgotten for centuries, even as the castles became ever grander.
Perhaps that was what Sai Lune had wanted. For the secrets to stay forgotten, buried deep inside a stronghold, guarded only by the mists of history. A noble goal, but if what Lionel said bore any truth to it, the great priest had used a device that they truly might find handy if they were to face those dangerous sorcerers once more.
He heard Narie cough sharply as she walked. "Gah, the reek and the dust really make this room unbearable! I can't believe your mother actually came down here."
"She probably did. Once. She was prone to adventuring a bit, something I've inherited." he grinned fondly at the memories he had of her - good memories he cherished. "But knowing her, she probably left a mere moment after entering. She was adventurous, but loved the comforts of her wealth and standing. Which is why she never set out outside and why she read so many books written by those who did."
His train of storytelling was sharply interrupted when Narie uttered the cry. "Now there's something interesting!"
Both rushed to her, and saw what she meant. On a wall, distanced by about ten feet, there looked to be two carvings, set on blocks of stones. The dust and the centuries of time had eroded many features, but it was clear both had been intended to hold something. Lionel immediately started looking at them, scrubbing dust gently, poking and rubbing, until he seemed to stop and stare at something for long moments. Philionel was about to ask what was wrong, when he turned back to them.
"This is, if memory serves, a carving of Shabranigdu and Gaav the demon dragon, in either steel or silver." he let them digest this and squinted at what appeared to be written text on the block. "Hmm, its old, but I believe it says 'Remember they came, remember they were, remember they brought the fires of destruction.'"
Phil frowned. "Its clear that the Mazoku destroyed most of the world during the War of Resurrection. Scars still remain even today of this apocalypse."
"But legends are still remembered of those who saved what they could, and rebuilt what they could not." Narie said in a strange voice. "Look at this, both of you. If that over there is a rendition of Shabranigdu and Gaav, what do you think this is?"
It was a carving, in old bronze or copper, of a Dragon, with what appeared to be two humans straddling it. No. Not humans. One was human, but the other was much smaller, very slender. An elf. Human, Elf, Dragon.
"The three great races," he realized "Those who formed the Triad and stopped the Mazoku."
"Very possible." Lionel agreed "Please move over, thank you. Now let me see...ahh yes. The same old dialect. It says-"
"Remember the fires were extinguished, when all remembered they were friends to this plane. Remember they brought the clearness of hope." Both stared at Phil and he shrugged. "My mother rarely went outside, but she did read a lot. Including some old dialects. She taught me bits."
"But what is the reason they're here?"
"Wildly guessing? It could be a sort of ritual doorway, a cryptic message of some sort. I doubt, prince, that your ancestor would simply have put a door leading to magic he wanted to remain hidden."
That made sense. "It also resembles things I've seen when our group had our ill-fated visit to the elven temple." Phil remembered the devices they had activated at times. The statues looked rather the same, only smaller. It hadn't been built by the entire First Knights with draconian and perhaps elven assistance. Sai Lune, his wife, and perhaps a few others, had built this. As thus, it was powerful, but primitive compared to what they had encountered before - or rather he had, since neither of those with him had actually been to the ruins.
Lionel was in full investigative mode, his eyes dimmed as he looked at the problem. "Two silvers, red fire, three bronzes, blue mire...it's a code. Either they are asking us for a specific action, or a sequence, or simply to give them elements."
Phil shrugged. "Why not just experiment and see what happens?" he asked, only to receive an incredulous glare.
"Let us not be hasty, prince Philionel. This is a place imbued with much magic. Narie can feel it and so can I. If this force is still potent after such a long time, it must mean that a lot of efforts were put into creating it. And I've read a bit about Sai Lune the Holy. Although I doubt he'd be my master's equal in all matters, he certainly was when it came to white magic. This means that tempering with the spell blindly could be...uncomfortable."
They all looked into the gloom, at the two statues depicting the sides, which had fought in an epic conflict long ago. A lock to the secrets left there by Phil's distant ancestor. But since they didn't know what the key was...
"How about going back up and looking at things over a cup of tea?" came a joyous voice "Halsteroy bean tea, the finest in Sailune!"
All turned in surprise, to face a new arrival that waved as they looked. Phil's eyes widened in recognition.
"You?!?"
* * * * * * * * * *
"Next time we go somewhere, I'LL pick the road!" Hallia growled as she threw off two bandits with a Diem Wind.
"Aw, come on, Hallia dear! Admit it! This is so much fun you can't think straight!"
"YOU can't think straight! That settles it! The rumour's true - ALL Inverses are CRAZY!"
The light banter between two friends wasn't anything new - if nothing else, arguing and sniping at each other was ordinarily reserved either between enemies or between good friends. And Marcus knew that Hallia and Fezra would never be the former. However, the situation in which the banter took place in itself was peculiar - he'd never heard of one taking place in the middle of a bandit gang.
Not that the bandit gang was any challenge. Fezra had brought them all straight in the hideout of one which didn't have more than forty members. He knew from experience that Hallia and Zasthla were worth three or four. Loerik could have taken most of them himself, not to say Fezra and Marcus himself. With all five of them, the fight had turned to their advantage with hardly a beat.
Already he'd seen Loerik down three of his foes in quick succession, while Zasthla cut down one and held off two others. He, Hallia and Fezra stood in a circle, and proceeded to beat off or shoot any bandit coming their way.
He blasted one with a Flare arrow. "That's five for me! I'm in the lead!" he said.
Fezra smirked. "Not even close!" and she proceeded to fire a Burst Rondo, frying two of the bandits in one blow. "Here! That's six!"
He faintly heard Hallia sigh in dismay. "You two will always be children, won't you?" in a semi-amused voice.
He truly wished she were right. It would certainly make things easier for him.
The battle had barely begun, and yet it had ended. No more bandits came their way, and he spied Zasthla and Loerik chasing down some of the remaining ones, before returning towards them at a more leisurely pace. Even at this distance, he could clearly divine that they were laughing at the fleeing forces, joking about them. They were mercenaries, after all. Better than the run-of-the-mill militia, and much better than a few bandits. No wonder they laughed.
They came towards them as Fezra began to look about the wooden huts that made up the hidden hideout. Marcus shot her a look, and then closed his eyes, shuddering, before smiling at Loerik who had come up. "They weren't much of a sport to you, eh my friend?"
The tall warrior just grinned and shrugged, before clapping him on the shoulder slightly, and then walking to Hallia, as usual.
There was something about the two looking at each other - Loerik with his uncertain but affectionate smile, Hallia with her welcoming posture and subtle softening of her eyes, which told him that the relationship between the two had reached a new level. An event Marcus himself had helped achieve, in keeping constant precious on his less-bright, vigorous and relatively clueless warrior friend.
It was strange. Not that he meant that he didn't feel happy about the two being together now. He sincerely hoped that the feelings they felt for each other continued to grow, and that in the end, the two found their own bliss. A family, perhaps children. He really wanted to see a friend achieve that.
The gods knew he certainly wasn't about to. Too proud. Too scared by his own nightmares. He couldn't allow himself to go near him, to become attached to him. Fezra, for example. He knew that, in a way he truly didn't want to compare to Loerik's, she had become important to him.
Important?
No. More than that. He knew it now. Because of the fire.
During the battle against the mercenary force in that small village, mages had managed to take Fezra by surprise, engulfing her in magical flames. Her instincts had been too quick for them, however, and she HAD managed to get her own shields ready at the very last moment. But it hadn't lessened what he'd felt. He'd seen her lost in the fire for that moment, and once more he saw his old nightmare. His mother dying, burned to the stake by mage-haters. A mob of blind fools amongst whom his father stood. His father. The monster that had let his own wife go to a gruesome death willingly, even gladly.
He wasn't one to take things as an omen. His studies in the metaphysical hadn't changed the belief that a vision during a situation was only the direct result of stress and an overimaginative mind. But it still hurt him.
He hadn't allowed himself to show his depressive thoughts, unlike Loerik, who had been plainly shaken by what happened during the battle. But whereas Loerik had shaken off his gloom - much more than that, it seemed - it hadn't worked the same way for the mage he was. He had kept it alive, something that he knew reason argued against, yet something he couldn't stop.
He might have laughed at the irony of it all, if he'd found anything about the situation worth laughing about. In the final analysis, he felt lost.
"You might not believe this, but you should remember: Fez is very much alive, and there is no use in torturing yourself."
He looked to his right, and found Zasthla looking at him, the athletic woman regarding him with a pensive mien. "What do you mean?" he asked, knowing he was being foolish the moment the words left his lips. It wasn't the most momentous thing he'd ever said, and her expression turned sour in return.
"I can't believe I'm hearing this kind of talk from you. I'm used to hearing it from Loerik or Fezra, but Loerik is too focused on the mercenary side of life and Fezra has an uncanny ability to go on tangents. You do neither of these things. In fact, you always seemed to be the most sensible in our bunch, even more so then me or even Hallia."
"Why thank you." he said blandly, knowing full well she wasn't finished.
"What I don't understand is why you're letting what happened to her bother you so damn much and still act like it's a breezy day! Don't think we haven't seen you stare into nothing at times. We all noticed, except perhaps Loerik, but that's because he was in something himself. So I'm going to tell you again: she's FINE! Now tell me what's going on in that head of yours!"
He was taken aback, for two reasons. The most important of which was the fact that she was asking such a personal question to him. The second reason was that she was asking it at all. Of all of them, she had been the least talkative next to Narie. And she was the last person he'd ever expected to have this conversation with.
Still, old wounds being what they were, he couldn't give her what she wanted. They were all his friends - or at least he hoped that was what he felt about them all - but some things weren't meant for friends.
So he shrugged and simply said. "Sometimes its just that...no, no forget it."
"I will not. Tell me something at least."
Tell her something. His irritation began to grow. For years he'd been living with the old pain, had endured it in the forms of recurrent nightmares. It had defined part of his life, had made him cling to his magic powers and force them to grow fast, so that he would do the things his mother could never do, and so that he could protect himself if the need arose. Scathing words were on his lips, but they died unspoken. He sighed.
He'd tell something. He owed friendship that much. "Sometimes my past interferes with my present. My life wasn't always easy."
"And were any of ours? Mine? Loerik's? All of us had things happening, thing we want to keep as private as possible. Ceipheed knows I do. Just don't let it destroy you."
With that they both started walking again, going to join the others as they talked not far off. Fezra was already hunting for the bandits' loot, and the two were giving themselves looks that told more than a thousand words.
Be destroyed by his nightmares? Never. After all, he'd come too far to let that happen.
* * * * * * * * * *
There was so much tension in the air that the atmosphere seemed to crackle with it. Confusion, distrust, suspicion, the dark emotions which surged forth from the beings seated near him were strong, and permeated the room comfortably. More than anything, it was this that sated the appetite of the powerful Mazoku known as Xellos.
Still, the trickster priest realized, he liked the wine he was drinking, and the spiced hors-d'oeuvre the prince had asked for with a wave of his hand were a delicacy to the palate. Not that he often had a palate the way humans saw it, but he enjoyed it now in his human shape.
From barely opened eyes, he surveyed the room. Paintings, proud columns, tall windows of the purest glass covered by silken curtains. This was a chamber containing more wealth than an entire village could amass in a lifetime. It only served to show that things had truly changed in Sailune.
The only other time he had come, had been before it had been named as it was, when all he had seen were crude huts and wooden houses clustered around a temple. There, he had met Sai Lune.
The meeting hadn't been a friendly one, but it was cordial. Lune had no intention of starting a fight in the middle of his own town, and Xellos himself hadn't wanted to fight, period. The so-called War of Resurrection had ended, and the Mazoku's powers were weakened. He was in no position to fight someone of Sai Lune's power. Besides, he had liked the place - it was the least rundown of the small clumps of humanity rising here and there.
And centuries later, all this. Xellos had always found humans to be something that the elves and dragons hadn't proven to be. Where the Dragons - including his old enemy Milgazia - had simply cut themselves off from the world in their protected Katarto Mountains, and the elves had cut themselves off until they only lived in hidden Mipross nowadays, the humans had attempted to rebuild, and had succeeded admirably. He liked people who didn't give up easily.
It was Philionel who broke the silence first - as he'd suspected he would. "What do you want, sir?" the voice was polite, but firm.
Direct, was he? So be it! "Why, the same thing you want! I want into that place! I want to uncover the Lost Lores of Sai Lune and free Berwen from her shackles!"
Lionel - ah yes, the boy who always seemed full of contempt and yet who was utterly lacking in self-confidence - narrowed his eyes. "That is detailed knowledge. How do you know so much?" he asked in a voice heavy with suspicion.
Oh, he liked it when they asked that!
He liked answering those questions!
He put on his most cheerful smile, tilted his head, and announced. "THAT is a secret!"
He saw to his satisfaction that the huge prince's face flickered with annoyance - possibly from the times he'd said this answer during his brief stay in that delightful group of adventurers. The apprentice only frowned, probably just irritated at the lack of forthcoming information. But it was the shrine maiden he observed while savouring one of those delicious pork pâtés.
Outwardly, she seemed as controlled and determined as her friends. But it was only skin deep. Inside, she was still shattered, and shattering further. The more she put into maintaining the wall of confidence, the more the interior increased in its decay. She was both unwilling and unable to stop this doomed cycle. At one point, she would break. And what would happen then? He couldn't tell. But the turmoil inside her was so full of despair it could feed him for weeks!
"Saying it's a secret isn't helpful." Lionel grumbled, and that priestess nodded.
"Ah yes, I suppose you could see it that way." Xellos rubbed his chin, then picked another pâté up. Popping it into his mouth, he took his time in answering. "But the fact is, I want to help you in your little escapade there. And that, at least, I can tell you that its' the truth."
Mostly anyway, he amended to himself.
The door to the outside hall opened, and there appeared a woman who exuded strength, but also an overwhelming - and SO entertaining - sense of loneliness. She was stately and beautiful as humans saw things, and he had to admit the silver trimmed gown she wore fit her perfectly. Her entry made the three seated near Xellos stand, although only Lionel and Narie bowed.
"Princess Valmatia..." the Crown Prince of Sailune intoned, "I am sorry to ask you of this, but could you leave us? We are having a private discussion."
The lady seemed unimpressed, looking Philionel up and down coldly before replying. "Can I not walk about the castle at my own leisure?"
"Certainly. Which is why I am politely asking for you to leave us." the prince paused, then resumed in a colder tone. "If you insist on remaining, however, I will order you out of the room."
Valmatia's face tensed for a moment, anger blooming, controlled, and the loneliness deepening even more. "You do not have that authority over me, Prince. Not yet!"
"When you are within the boundaries of Sailune, I have authority over all but the King of Sailune!" he stood proudly, and for a few moments this young, giant man looked the image of a unmovable king "It would not serve justice for me to use it, but if you remain, then the core of all that is just will force me to do so! Do not force me."
If I didn't feel so much antipathy between them, I'd swear this was a lover's quarrel, Xellos reflected, hiding behind his easy grin.
They looked at each other, gazes locked in a duel of wills, fencing with their minds. Eventually, it was Valmatia who dropped her gaze - grudgingly. "I appears there is more to you than an ugly face, Crown Prince Philionel." Was that the barest hint of a smile there? If the huge man saw it, he gave no sign.
However, his voice became far mellower when he saw that he had won for the time being. "Will you leave us?" he asked politely.
"I will. But I will not forget this." Even Xellos couldn't quite make out what she could mean by that, but he felt that the loneliness, for some reason, had ebbed just a little.
Philionel held himself straight until his future bride - oh, won't that be an amusing marriage! - left the room. Then he sagged, muttering to himself as he kept looking at the rich wooden doors for a moment, before harrumphing about something and turning back to them. "And to think I will have to face her every single day of my life soon."
He then took note of Narie's raised eyebrow, of Lionel's twitching mouth, and most of all of Xellos' very own smiling face, and flushed in embarrassment. He coughed. "Well, hum, that's enough of that. Lets get back to the topic at hand. You had something to say, Xellos. I think its time, in the name of all that is just, to say it!"
Xellos couldn't really have cared less about what was just and what wasn't, but he decided that it was better to simply play the humans' game for now. "I intend to tell you. Please sit. Now...lets see. I think that your problem is that you're unsure about what to use to unlock the first of Sai Lune's magical locks. Now you have to know-"
"Wait, wait." the priestess interrupted "The FIRST lock? There are more?"
Oh dear. He wasn't supposed to say that just yet. Oh well, spilt milk as the humans always said. He kept grinning. "Why yes. The first I know of. The second...I only heard of once."
Lionel's eyes were burning with the need for knowledge. What a pleasant fellow! "How do we open the first lock."
"By opposites. Magical opposites. I read somewhere that the founder of Sailune was very fixated on that. It shows in the riddle he gave you: Blue Mire, Red Fire. What could it be? Ohh, what?"
And he continued grinning, drinking the wine as realization dawned on them. Marvellous humans. He just loved them!
* * * * * * * * * *
The woman struggled as two guards brought her to Dallomir's special chamber. It was almost as if she knew what was in store for herself. Only she didn't she was only reacting to the situation as she had been used to - and doing it more weakly than ever now. She was battered from her ordeal, physically and mentally. But she wouldn't allow herself to break. Haha. No no. Never.
The fear that Berwen felt, however, couldn't be hidden. She had been hurt too often and too strongly by the devices he and that awful child-faced sorcerer had used. So she struggled as much as she could. But with her magic negated, and any physical abilities now dulled by the tortures, she was no match for anyone there, much less two armoured guards.
Appealing to them wouldn't work. She'd tried it before, with no effect. Who knew what lies the mage had told about her to make them insensitive to her plight? Raging would only make her feel the desperation of her situation even more strongly than ever, so it was out of the question.
Consequently, she laughed. An it was such a happy laugh, too, she thought, even if she admitted that it held a touch of something part of her mind screamed against. She ignored it, letting the laughter show her defiance, let it show them all she was still alive. She roared like a helpless hyena, until a fist crashed into her mouth, filling it with a hot liquid, which had become a companion now. She spit the blood and grinned at the glowering guard.
"Ooopsie....hehehehehe...did I hit a nerve there, handsome."
"Shut up, witch."
"OhnononononoNONONO! Heh. Why should I stop! This is the best way to relax, you should try it!"
"I said, shut up!"
"Poor little guard is angry, heheheeheeeheeee-GHUK!" her laughter was cut short as she was hit again, right in the stomach this time. The pain reeled inside of her. No sense of fairness, these men. And...heheheh...no sense of humor.
"I pray you don't intend to deface her too much. Your master needs her for questioning." a voice murmured, and she found herself staring through tear-filled, blinking eyes at the child-man.
Dressed as he was, he looked almost like a boy trying to play sorcerer. But it was all a facade. She had seen him use his powers, and knew that they were vast. Not as vast as that little...as her friend Fezra or her damnable lover Marcus, or that monstrous Dallomir, but she knew she herself could never have taken him on in a spell fight. He was an extremely dangerous man.
The guards knew it, too. One of them forced her to straighten, which she did with a wince, while the other started to apologize profusely. The child-man held up a hand irritably. "Enough. What's done is done. Bring her to the chamber."
With that, he turned and walked towards a door she had entered many times - Dallomir's laboratory. Her laughter was forgotten, her fear took over her mind as she struggled. She did not plead. Never. Never plead. But she still made whimpering sounds as she was dragged along.
They entered a large, high-ceilinged room. It wasn't filled with much. A table here, filled with objects, and a floor covered with runes of all kinds. No spell books were to be seen - she expected that he kept his resources elsewhere. She had even thought of the place where they might be held. But all this meant nothing as she was dragged to the centre of the room, and chained. Desperately she tried to put on a brave front. Never break. Never plead. No matter what.
The guards left, and it was only then that Dallomir appeared out of the shadows of the chamber, grinning, and a triumphant gleam in his frightening eyes.
"Welcome again, my dear. I trust you had a good night?" he said, and then muttered a few words. The circle in which Berwen stood flash, and she knew that a magical field was now erected around her. At the same moment, the ruby that held off her powers stopped acting, effectively returning the magic to her.
It didn't make her feel better. Nonono. The fear only rose to greater heights. This had never happened. He had never let her have her powers. What did he want?
He nodded as if he'd read her thoughts. "Indeed. I will soon have no fear of your magicks. It is my enemies who shall. Be grateful! You are about to participate in the renewal of Lei Magnus' legacy!"
She raised her hands to touch the barrier, only to notice that her bare feet no longer felt dry, but wet. She looked down, and her eyes widened in horror. A sort of strange liquid was filling the circle. It was rising fast, reaching her ankles in seconds. She looked at the one who had done so much to her, told her so many things and twisted her reasoning so much she no longer trusted herself with a mixture of panic and hate.
"YOU BASTARD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?" she screamed, pounding at the magical wall, which enclosed her. He didn't seem moved by her outburst in the slightest. Already the liquid was already at her ankles.
"Calm down. It is the normal first step in the transition."
"Bastard! I hate you! I hate you!"
"Yes you do. But I'm not the one you hate the most. There is another. One who conspired with me, the one who wanted you out of the way."
The liquid had reached her waist. Panic enveloped her. Dontbreakdontbreakneverbreak...
Still she pounded. "NO! Killing me will never give you what you want!"
"Fate is sometimes cruel." he said with a commiserative look. Then the triumph replaced it. "But no matter. I will soon be able to tell Fezra and Marcus if you will be a useful tool for us!"
Anger burned the hatred, and she channelled her magic into her fists, pounding the barrier with unbelievable force. "NO! NO! LIAR! All a lie! All a lie!"
Still the liquid mounted, reaching her shoulders. Her magic wasn't strong enough to break it in time, and already a numb feeling was starting to affect her legs. She trashed about, tears of panic streaming down her cheek. Don't break. Don't plead. Don't. Don't Don't...
And then the dam broke. Her willpower, which had been weakening for so long, no longer held out in the imminence of death. "Don't! Don't kill me! Don't kill me! No! Noooo! CURSE YOU DALLOMIR!!"
The liquid reached her mouth. She coughed and spit the foul-tasting substance. The last thing she heard before she was submerged was Dallomir saying. "You shall be the first human chimera in nine hundred years! Rejoice!"
Then she was drowning. Trashing in the liquid, she held out as long as she could. Her lungs, however, weren't on fire but rather icy, unresponsive. She mentally refused to yield, but her body would no longer answer to her commands. With a final jerk, her last breath was expelled, and her mind seemed to darken.
But she didn't die. Instead she didn't live. Her mind seemed to freeze into eternity on this stray thought: and what if Fezra HAD betrayed me?
And then she was unable to feel anything, or to think beyond that last thought. It was then that Berwen, as a person, stopped existing. She didn't notice anything around her anymore.
She didn't understand it when Dallomir looked at his fellow sorcerer and said. "Good. The solution worked. Now begin the fusing at once."
She didn't mind. She didn't feel anything.
Until indescribable pain began to wrench her very soul from her.
_____________________________________________________
Halsteroy Beans: A bean grown in the southern regions of Sailune, prized for its very rich flavour and its medicinal properties. Widely traded with Kalmaart, Elmekia and Zefielia.
It was so obvious. I became human because I could never have been able to live peacefully for centuries. To me, it was better to live only a few decades - even if that meant doing wrong things at times."
-Loerik Gabriev, talking to his sons
"Even now, I find it hard to believe that events which would shake the human realms originated from the mind of one woman who felt she had been betrayed by all she ever believed them. Is it the sum, of human karma? Or just a cruel jest from the Gods?
-Rezo the Red Priest, letter to his son 997 AR
Chapter Ten
The village had taken a terrible toll, but it had survived. Houses had been partially burned, and people killed. Yet the sorrow was mingled with a sense of victory. The villagers had, after all, beaten back an invading mercenary force - and that was no small feat! So although the grief from those who had lost loved ones was poignant, the people had buried their dead and, with much courage, had begun to rebuild their homes.
Loerik knew that he and his friends were seen as heroes for helping the farmers and merchants. All told of the way they had turned the tide with mighty spells and strong blades. The fact that they had had no choice but to defend themselves - that most would have fought in these circumstances - went unheard and unheeded depending on the person. It bothered him more than he would allow himself to admit.
But even so, this blind admiration was secondary. He didn't care about it much compared to other things. Like Kalarus. Like how he'd acted during the battle.
He had thought that he had only fallen with a bad group, that the violence he felt like using was only the result of living besides people who lived by harsh rules themselves. He'd fallen in with the people he was with now with a sense of relief. All of them - Fezra, Marcus, Phil, Berwen, Zasthla....Hallia - all of them were good people who, despite personal quirks, wouldn't abuse their own strength unless the situation dictated it.
But he had felt good, so very GOOD, about fighting Kalarus in a duel to the death.
He had felt a thrill when his enemy had fallen back, wounded, weakened, and ready to be vanquished.
And it had angered him to be unable to finish the work he had begun. Enough that he took it out on the other soldiers he had subsequently attacked.
What did that say about him?
Senses heightened by his elven blood and by years of honing detected the presence entering his room, as silent as it was. He instinctively knew who it was, was glad to feel that particular presence. But he didn't turn around, only kept staring through the window at the scarred, subdued streets as the days waned. The presence approached him until it stood right behind him and spoke.
"You've missed dinner."
It was almost enough to make him laugh. But not quite. Indeed, he hadn't gone to dine with the others that night, something that he knew wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Fezra and Marcus ate very much - Fezra especially, and from her words it was a family trait - but he beat them all. He was able to eat two full hams with mounds of vegetables, cake, and other edibles. Even Phil, despite his huge frame, didn't eat quite as much. Yes, it would have been peculiar to them all. But it still sounded funny.
It was thus with a very careful voice that he said. "Sorry. Wasn't hungry tonight." he cracked a grin at it - he might as well have said that the sky was green and the trees blue! He waited for a remark, and was surprised when it came.
"You can't keep being like this. It was a battle. You've been to plenty of battles. It shouldn't bother you that -"
"That's where you're wrong, Hallia!" he cut off, swivelling around on his stool, coming face-to-face with the green-haired priestess. Tall as he was, he didn't raise his head to look her in the eye. "It should bother me! Everything about it should! I was raised in Mipross, by the elves!"
But she shook her head. "It doesn't change anything. People don't become more of something or less of something because of the place they are born in! My father always told me..." a spasm of sadness crossed her face before quickly fading. "My father always told me that a person becomes what she is fated to become."
"Well, that makes it so much better to know I am fated to become a brute!" he laughed mirthlessly.
"You are not a brute."
And how did she know that? How could she? He came from a family where violence was secondary. His father Rowdy had the most of it inside of him, and yet it paled compared to Loerik's own lust for battle. "I don't think you understand. I felt good about the fighting. I felt alive during the fighting. Worse, I think I had fun running after those mercenaries!"
"It was a battle. Everyone is different during a battle! Instincts take over. I know. I've seen it. And I've done it."
He turned his face away. "You don't understand, Hallia. Some of the things I did-yeeark!" he yelped as a slender hand took old of his hair and yanked his face in front of eyes which looked at him angrily from below green bangs.
"Now listen to me, Loerik Gabriev." she stated in frustration, eyes flashing, "It was a battle. You were fighting that bastard Kalarus in a fight that certainly took a lot out of you, the way you two were moving around like little whirlwinds! So you lost control. So what of it?!? They were mercenaries, and bad ones. You may have been pretty rough on some, but I've seen some do things that...well...lets say it wasn't pretty. But that's how they are. And I know you're not like that. I know you're a brave man. You getting upset over it proves it, don't you see?!? You're a decent man. I know that. We all do."
Her voice had become softer and softer as she spoke, until she was almost whispering the last sentence. He put one hand on her shoulder, and one to the hand that grasped his hair. With little effort he loosened it, and then kept holding it, awkward. His tongue seemed made of clay, but he managed to push on.
"Thank you." he said at length "I don't know if I believe you, but...thank you."
She looked at his hand holding hers, then back at him. She looked slightly bemused by a thought, and then leaned forward, forcing him back. He didn't quite know what she had in mind, so he kept leaning back, and back...
...and then he fell backward, right to the floor, taking her with him. They both yelped, then found themselves into a tangled heap. She disentangled herself from him and glared in what was close to hatred for a moment. He could only blink at the sudden change.
"I don't believe it! You actually fell back from a kiss! Of all the..." she huffed, couldn't bring herself to speak anymore, struggling to her feet.
"A kiss? Ah, so that was why you were leaning in that much." he nodded to himself, and then realization struck, shattering any thoughts of fighting and elven upbringing. "What?!? A KISS?!? You wanted to give me a kiss?!?"
"So what?" she said heatedly, then immediately calmed down when she realized just what she had said. Obviously the situation had made her tongue run wild, and now she felt a little out of sorts.
So did Loerik, actually, but not exactly for the same reasons. Soundlessly he nodded to himself. Indeed, so what? Wasn't it what he'd wanted? Yes, it very much was, he realized. But he'd let his discomfort at her blunt affirmations make him forget that. Perhaps there was such a thing as carrying too much guilt... although he couldn't quite make himself admit it out loud.
He rose to his feet, feeling foolish and yet strangely glad for this whole conversation - and its possible repercussions. He spread his hands. "Perhaps I'm a bit hungry, when you think about it. I think I'll go eat."
She blinked, then chuckled. "I can't believe it took you so long to understand, you mercenary."
Not quite knowing what he did, yet knowing that this had been his wish for a long time, he put his arms around her. Gently. More gently then what he'd done with anyone for over three years. She didn't tense when he did. Only faintly smirked as if she knew the whirlwind of emotions, which went through his head.
"Don't crash backward this time." she taunted.
"Its the last thing I want to do." he replied.
And indeed, when she leaned forward, he didn't. He actually went forward himself as he embraced Hallia for the first time.
* * * * * * * * * *
"And what are we doing here, prince Philionel?"
"Please, please, just call me Phil. No need for formality between us."
"As you say. But it still doesn't answer my question."
Phil almost sighed at Lionel's comment. It appeared that the easy camaraderie he had so enjoyed with others such as Fezra, Loerik and others, had faded away with these two. The serious apprentice had always been a bit too formal on the road, as had that young priestess, Narie. But being back in Sailune, with them fully realizing that he was destined to one day lead this powerful country, had only increased the way they acted around him. Little by little, and especially in the last few days, they had distanced themselves from him.
Well, that was the price he had to pay, he supposed. He truly didn't think much of his future - marrying that stern lady Valmatia, becoming king and being restrained in all he did forevermore - but he was bound to it. And if nothing else, Philionel Di Sailune was a man of honour.
"I was thinking about the riddle we'd found. It was old. Very old. But I didn't really know how old 'till I found some poems written by the same hand in n old book." he looked at the others with him. "If what I found is any good, it was written by Queen Deljani, the bride of Sai Lune the Holy."
Lionel coughed. "That is a very interesting find, I'm sure. So this was written almost a millennia ago. It still doesn't answer this simple question: why are we here?"
Phil looked around. "The poem talked of many things, but it was old. Very old. And this part of the castle has been preserved from the original keep it grew out of - by a sacred order sealed by Sai Lune himself and respected by all of his descendants."
They looked around, surrounded as they were by a crumbling room, below the pristine halls of the royal wing. The room itself was gloomy, barely illuminated by the torches and magical lights that the three used. Pieces of old stones had fallen on the ground since then, and a thick film of dust was everywhere to be seen, coating things and rendering most features unrecognizable.
"Charming. It has all the looks of an old dungeon." Lionel cut in. But Narie shook her head.
"No, I think Phil is right - there is something here. Something old but not evil. This place was touched by White Magic, extremely powerful White Magic!"
Phil mused at this. "Sai Lune was perhaps the strongest White Magic user in the human realm in his day. Perhaps he did something here. Let us look around."
They did, gingerly. The place looked empty, but the darkness could have hidden many things. He was rather amazed at the amount of dust everywhere. Obviously, it had stood there, forgotten, for quite some time. Reached as it was by a series of passageways that only Philionel and, it seemed likely, his late mother knew about, it had been conveniently forgotten for centuries, even as the castles became ever grander.
Perhaps that was what Sai Lune had wanted. For the secrets to stay forgotten, buried deep inside a stronghold, guarded only by the mists of history. A noble goal, but if what Lionel said bore any truth to it, the great priest had used a device that they truly might find handy if they were to face those dangerous sorcerers once more.
He heard Narie cough sharply as she walked. "Gah, the reek and the dust really make this room unbearable! I can't believe your mother actually came down here."
"She probably did. Once. She was prone to adventuring a bit, something I've inherited." he grinned fondly at the memories he had of her - good memories he cherished. "But knowing her, she probably left a mere moment after entering. She was adventurous, but loved the comforts of her wealth and standing. Which is why she never set out outside and why she read so many books written by those who did."
His train of storytelling was sharply interrupted when Narie uttered the cry. "Now there's something interesting!"
Both rushed to her, and saw what she meant. On a wall, distanced by about ten feet, there looked to be two carvings, set on blocks of stones. The dust and the centuries of time had eroded many features, but it was clear both had been intended to hold something. Lionel immediately started looking at them, scrubbing dust gently, poking and rubbing, until he seemed to stop and stare at something for long moments. Philionel was about to ask what was wrong, when he turned back to them.
"This is, if memory serves, a carving of Shabranigdu and Gaav the demon dragon, in either steel or silver." he let them digest this and squinted at what appeared to be written text on the block. "Hmm, its old, but I believe it says 'Remember they came, remember they were, remember they brought the fires of destruction.'"
Phil frowned. "Its clear that the Mazoku destroyed most of the world during the War of Resurrection. Scars still remain even today of this apocalypse."
"But legends are still remembered of those who saved what they could, and rebuilt what they could not." Narie said in a strange voice. "Look at this, both of you. If that over there is a rendition of Shabranigdu and Gaav, what do you think this is?"
It was a carving, in old bronze or copper, of a Dragon, with what appeared to be two humans straddling it. No. Not humans. One was human, but the other was much smaller, very slender. An elf. Human, Elf, Dragon.
"The three great races," he realized "Those who formed the Triad and stopped the Mazoku."
"Very possible." Lionel agreed "Please move over, thank you. Now let me see...ahh yes. The same old dialect. It says-"
"Remember the fires were extinguished, when all remembered they were friends to this plane. Remember they brought the clearness of hope." Both stared at Phil and he shrugged. "My mother rarely went outside, but she did read a lot. Including some old dialects. She taught me bits."
"But what is the reason they're here?"
"Wildly guessing? It could be a sort of ritual doorway, a cryptic message of some sort. I doubt, prince, that your ancestor would simply have put a door leading to magic he wanted to remain hidden."
That made sense. "It also resembles things I've seen when our group had our ill-fated visit to the elven temple." Phil remembered the devices they had activated at times. The statues looked rather the same, only smaller. It hadn't been built by the entire First Knights with draconian and perhaps elven assistance. Sai Lune, his wife, and perhaps a few others, had built this. As thus, it was powerful, but primitive compared to what they had encountered before - or rather he had, since neither of those with him had actually been to the ruins.
Lionel was in full investigative mode, his eyes dimmed as he looked at the problem. "Two silvers, red fire, three bronzes, blue mire...it's a code. Either they are asking us for a specific action, or a sequence, or simply to give them elements."
Phil shrugged. "Why not just experiment and see what happens?" he asked, only to receive an incredulous glare.
"Let us not be hasty, prince Philionel. This is a place imbued with much magic. Narie can feel it and so can I. If this force is still potent after such a long time, it must mean that a lot of efforts were put into creating it. And I've read a bit about Sai Lune the Holy. Although I doubt he'd be my master's equal in all matters, he certainly was when it came to white magic. This means that tempering with the spell blindly could be...uncomfortable."
They all looked into the gloom, at the two statues depicting the sides, which had fought in an epic conflict long ago. A lock to the secrets left there by Phil's distant ancestor. But since they didn't know what the key was...
"How about going back up and looking at things over a cup of tea?" came a joyous voice "Halsteroy bean tea, the finest in Sailune!"
All turned in surprise, to face a new arrival that waved as they looked. Phil's eyes widened in recognition.
"You?!?"
* * * * * * * * * *
"Next time we go somewhere, I'LL pick the road!" Hallia growled as she threw off two bandits with a Diem Wind.
"Aw, come on, Hallia dear! Admit it! This is so much fun you can't think straight!"
"YOU can't think straight! That settles it! The rumour's true - ALL Inverses are CRAZY!"
The light banter between two friends wasn't anything new - if nothing else, arguing and sniping at each other was ordinarily reserved either between enemies or between good friends. And Marcus knew that Hallia and Fezra would never be the former. However, the situation in which the banter took place in itself was peculiar - he'd never heard of one taking place in the middle of a bandit gang.
Not that the bandit gang was any challenge. Fezra had brought them all straight in the hideout of one which didn't have more than forty members. He knew from experience that Hallia and Zasthla were worth three or four. Loerik could have taken most of them himself, not to say Fezra and Marcus himself. With all five of them, the fight had turned to their advantage with hardly a beat.
Already he'd seen Loerik down three of his foes in quick succession, while Zasthla cut down one and held off two others. He, Hallia and Fezra stood in a circle, and proceeded to beat off or shoot any bandit coming their way.
He blasted one with a Flare arrow. "That's five for me! I'm in the lead!" he said.
Fezra smirked. "Not even close!" and she proceeded to fire a Burst Rondo, frying two of the bandits in one blow. "Here! That's six!"
He faintly heard Hallia sigh in dismay. "You two will always be children, won't you?" in a semi-amused voice.
He truly wished she were right. It would certainly make things easier for him.
The battle had barely begun, and yet it had ended. No more bandits came their way, and he spied Zasthla and Loerik chasing down some of the remaining ones, before returning towards them at a more leisurely pace. Even at this distance, he could clearly divine that they were laughing at the fleeing forces, joking about them. They were mercenaries, after all. Better than the run-of-the-mill militia, and much better than a few bandits. No wonder they laughed.
They came towards them as Fezra began to look about the wooden huts that made up the hidden hideout. Marcus shot her a look, and then closed his eyes, shuddering, before smiling at Loerik who had come up. "They weren't much of a sport to you, eh my friend?"
The tall warrior just grinned and shrugged, before clapping him on the shoulder slightly, and then walking to Hallia, as usual.
There was something about the two looking at each other - Loerik with his uncertain but affectionate smile, Hallia with her welcoming posture and subtle softening of her eyes, which told him that the relationship between the two had reached a new level. An event Marcus himself had helped achieve, in keeping constant precious on his less-bright, vigorous and relatively clueless warrior friend.
It was strange. Not that he meant that he didn't feel happy about the two being together now. He sincerely hoped that the feelings they felt for each other continued to grow, and that in the end, the two found their own bliss. A family, perhaps children. He really wanted to see a friend achieve that.
The gods knew he certainly wasn't about to. Too proud. Too scared by his own nightmares. He couldn't allow himself to go near him, to become attached to him. Fezra, for example. He knew that, in a way he truly didn't want to compare to Loerik's, she had become important to him.
Important?
No. More than that. He knew it now. Because of the fire.
During the battle against the mercenary force in that small village, mages had managed to take Fezra by surprise, engulfing her in magical flames. Her instincts had been too quick for them, however, and she HAD managed to get her own shields ready at the very last moment. But it hadn't lessened what he'd felt. He'd seen her lost in the fire for that moment, and once more he saw his old nightmare. His mother dying, burned to the stake by mage-haters. A mob of blind fools amongst whom his father stood. His father. The monster that had let his own wife go to a gruesome death willingly, even gladly.
He wasn't one to take things as an omen. His studies in the metaphysical hadn't changed the belief that a vision during a situation was only the direct result of stress and an overimaginative mind. But it still hurt him.
He hadn't allowed himself to show his depressive thoughts, unlike Loerik, who had been plainly shaken by what happened during the battle. But whereas Loerik had shaken off his gloom - much more than that, it seemed - it hadn't worked the same way for the mage he was. He had kept it alive, something that he knew reason argued against, yet something he couldn't stop.
He might have laughed at the irony of it all, if he'd found anything about the situation worth laughing about. In the final analysis, he felt lost.
"You might not believe this, but you should remember: Fez is very much alive, and there is no use in torturing yourself."
He looked to his right, and found Zasthla looking at him, the athletic woman regarding him with a pensive mien. "What do you mean?" he asked, knowing he was being foolish the moment the words left his lips. It wasn't the most momentous thing he'd ever said, and her expression turned sour in return.
"I can't believe I'm hearing this kind of talk from you. I'm used to hearing it from Loerik or Fezra, but Loerik is too focused on the mercenary side of life and Fezra has an uncanny ability to go on tangents. You do neither of these things. In fact, you always seemed to be the most sensible in our bunch, even more so then me or even Hallia."
"Why thank you." he said blandly, knowing full well she wasn't finished.
"What I don't understand is why you're letting what happened to her bother you so damn much and still act like it's a breezy day! Don't think we haven't seen you stare into nothing at times. We all noticed, except perhaps Loerik, but that's because he was in something himself. So I'm going to tell you again: she's FINE! Now tell me what's going on in that head of yours!"
He was taken aback, for two reasons. The most important of which was the fact that she was asking such a personal question to him. The second reason was that she was asking it at all. Of all of them, she had been the least talkative next to Narie. And she was the last person he'd ever expected to have this conversation with.
Still, old wounds being what they were, he couldn't give her what she wanted. They were all his friends - or at least he hoped that was what he felt about them all - but some things weren't meant for friends.
So he shrugged and simply said. "Sometimes its just that...no, no forget it."
"I will not. Tell me something at least."
Tell her something. His irritation began to grow. For years he'd been living with the old pain, had endured it in the forms of recurrent nightmares. It had defined part of his life, had made him cling to his magic powers and force them to grow fast, so that he would do the things his mother could never do, and so that he could protect himself if the need arose. Scathing words were on his lips, but they died unspoken. He sighed.
He'd tell something. He owed friendship that much. "Sometimes my past interferes with my present. My life wasn't always easy."
"And were any of ours? Mine? Loerik's? All of us had things happening, thing we want to keep as private as possible. Ceipheed knows I do. Just don't let it destroy you."
With that they both started walking again, going to join the others as they talked not far off. Fezra was already hunting for the bandits' loot, and the two were giving themselves looks that told more than a thousand words.
Be destroyed by his nightmares? Never. After all, he'd come too far to let that happen.
* * * * * * * * * *
There was so much tension in the air that the atmosphere seemed to crackle with it. Confusion, distrust, suspicion, the dark emotions which surged forth from the beings seated near him were strong, and permeated the room comfortably. More than anything, it was this that sated the appetite of the powerful Mazoku known as Xellos.
Still, the trickster priest realized, he liked the wine he was drinking, and the spiced hors-d'oeuvre the prince had asked for with a wave of his hand were a delicacy to the palate. Not that he often had a palate the way humans saw it, but he enjoyed it now in his human shape.
From barely opened eyes, he surveyed the room. Paintings, proud columns, tall windows of the purest glass covered by silken curtains. This was a chamber containing more wealth than an entire village could amass in a lifetime. It only served to show that things had truly changed in Sailune.
The only other time he had come, had been before it had been named as it was, when all he had seen were crude huts and wooden houses clustered around a temple. There, he had met Sai Lune.
The meeting hadn't been a friendly one, but it was cordial. Lune had no intention of starting a fight in the middle of his own town, and Xellos himself hadn't wanted to fight, period. The so-called War of Resurrection had ended, and the Mazoku's powers were weakened. He was in no position to fight someone of Sai Lune's power. Besides, he had liked the place - it was the least rundown of the small clumps of humanity rising here and there.
And centuries later, all this. Xellos had always found humans to be something that the elves and dragons hadn't proven to be. Where the Dragons - including his old enemy Milgazia - had simply cut themselves off from the world in their protected Katarto Mountains, and the elves had cut themselves off until they only lived in hidden Mipross nowadays, the humans had attempted to rebuild, and had succeeded admirably. He liked people who didn't give up easily.
It was Philionel who broke the silence first - as he'd suspected he would. "What do you want, sir?" the voice was polite, but firm.
Direct, was he? So be it! "Why, the same thing you want! I want into that place! I want to uncover the Lost Lores of Sai Lune and free Berwen from her shackles!"
Lionel - ah yes, the boy who always seemed full of contempt and yet who was utterly lacking in self-confidence - narrowed his eyes. "That is detailed knowledge. How do you know so much?" he asked in a voice heavy with suspicion.
Oh, he liked it when they asked that!
He liked answering those questions!
He put on his most cheerful smile, tilted his head, and announced. "THAT is a secret!"
He saw to his satisfaction that the huge prince's face flickered with annoyance - possibly from the times he'd said this answer during his brief stay in that delightful group of adventurers. The apprentice only frowned, probably just irritated at the lack of forthcoming information. But it was the shrine maiden he observed while savouring one of those delicious pork pâtés.
Outwardly, she seemed as controlled and determined as her friends. But it was only skin deep. Inside, she was still shattered, and shattering further. The more she put into maintaining the wall of confidence, the more the interior increased in its decay. She was both unwilling and unable to stop this doomed cycle. At one point, she would break. And what would happen then? He couldn't tell. But the turmoil inside her was so full of despair it could feed him for weeks!
"Saying it's a secret isn't helpful." Lionel grumbled, and that priestess nodded.
"Ah yes, I suppose you could see it that way." Xellos rubbed his chin, then picked another pâté up. Popping it into his mouth, he took his time in answering. "But the fact is, I want to help you in your little escapade there. And that, at least, I can tell you that its' the truth."
Mostly anyway, he amended to himself.
The door to the outside hall opened, and there appeared a woman who exuded strength, but also an overwhelming - and SO entertaining - sense of loneliness. She was stately and beautiful as humans saw things, and he had to admit the silver trimmed gown she wore fit her perfectly. Her entry made the three seated near Xellos stand, although only Lionel and Narie bowed.
"Princess Valmatia..." the Crown Prince of Sailune intoned, "I am sorry to ask you of this, but could you leave us? We are having a private discussion."
The lady seemed unimpressed, looking Philionel up and down coldly before replying. "Can I not walk about the castle at my own leisure?"
"Certainly. Which is why I am politely asking for you to leave us." the prince paused, then resumed in a colder tone. "If you insist on remaining, however, I will order you out of the room."
Valmatia's face tensed for a moment, anger blooming, controlled, and the loneliness deepening even more. "You do not have that authority over me, Prince. Not yet!"
"When you are within the boundaries of Sailune, I have authority over all but the King of Sailune!" he stood proudly, and for a few moments this young, giant man looked the image of a unmovable king "It would not serve justice for me to use it, but if you remain, then the core of all that is just will force me to do so! Do not force me."
If I didn't feel so much antipathy between them, I'd swear this was a lover's quarrel, Xellos reflected, hiding behind his easy grin.
They looked at each other, gazes locked in a duel of wills, fencing with their minds. Eventually, it was Valmatia who dropped her gaze - grudgingly. "I appears there is more to you than an ugly face, Crown Prince Philionel." Was that the barest hint of a smile there? If the huge man saw it, he gave no sign.
However, his voice became far mellower when he saw that he had won for the time being. "Will you leave us?" he asked politely.
"I will. But I will not forget this." Even Xellos couldn't quite make out what she could mean by that, but he felt that the loneliness, for some reason, had ebbed just a little.
Philionel held himself straight until his future bride - oh, won't that be an amusing marriage! - left the room. Then he sagged, muttering to himself as he kept looking at the rich wooden doors for a moment, before harrumphing about something and turning back to them. "And to think I will have to face her every single day of my life soon."
He then took note of Narie's raised eyebrow, of Lionel's twitching mouth, and most of all of Xellos' very own smiling face, and flushed in embarrassment. He coughed. "Well, hum, that's enough of that. Lets get back to the topic at hand. You had something to say, Xellos. I think its time, in the name of all that is just, to say it!"
Xellos couldn't really have cared less about what was just and what wasn't, but he decided that it was better to simply play the humans' game for now. "I intend to tell you. Please sit. Now...lets see. I think that your problem is that you're unsure about what to use to unlock the first of Sai Lune's magical locks. Now you have to know-"
"Wait, wait." the priestess interrupted "The FIRST lock? There are more?"
Oh dear. He wasn't supposed to say that just yet. Oh well, spilt milk as the humans always said. He kept grinning. "Why yes. The first I know of. The second...I only heard of once."
Lionel's eyes were burning with the need for knowledge. What a pleasant fellow! "How do we open the first lock."
"By opposites. Magical opposites. I read somewhere that the founder of Sailune was very fixated on that. It shows in the riddle he gave you: Blue Mire, Red Fire. What could it be? Ohh, what?"
And he continued grinning, drinking the wine as realization dawned on them. Marvellous humans. He just loved them!
* * * * * * * * * *
The woman struggled as two guards brought her to Dallomir's special chamber. It was almost as if she knew what was in store for herself. Only she didn't she was only reacting to the situation as she had been used to - and doing it more weakly than ever now. She was battered from her ordeal, physically and mentally. But she wouldn't allow herself to break. Haha. No no. Never.
The fear that Berwen felt, however, couldn't be hidden. She had been hurt too often and too strongly by the devices he and that awful child-faced sorcerer had used. So she struggled as much as she could. But with her magic negated, and any physical abilities now dulled by the tortures, she was no match for anyone there, much less two armoured guards.
Appealing to them wouldn't work. She'd tried it before, with no effect. Who knew what lies the mage had told about her to make them insensitive to her plight? Raging would only make her feel the desperation of her situation even more strongly than ever, so it was out of the question.
Consequently, she laughed. An it was such a happy laugh, too, she thought, even if she admitted that it held a touch of something part of her mind screamed against. She ignored it, letting the laughter show her defiance, let it show them all she was still alive. She roared like a helpless hyena, until a fist crashed into her mouth, filling it with a hot liquid, which had become a companion now. She spit the blood and grinned at the glowering guard.
"Ooopsie....hehehehehe...did I hit a nerve there, handsome."
"Shut up, witch."
"OhnononononoNONONO! Heh. Why should I stop! This is the best way to relax, you should try it!"
"I said, shut up!"
"Poor little guard is angry, heheheeheeeheeee-GHUK!" her laughter was cut short as she was hit again, right in the stomach this time. The pain reeled inside of her. No sense of fairness, these men. And...heheheh...no sense of humor.
"I pray you don't intend to deface her too much. Your master needs her for questioning." a voice murmured, and she found herself staring through tear-filled, blinking eyes at the child-man.
Dressed as he was, he looked almost like a boy trying to play sorcerer. But it was all a facade. She had seen him use his powers, and knew that they were vast. Not as vast as that little...as her friend Fezra or her damnable lover Marcus, or that monstrous Dallomir, but she knew she herself could never have taken him on in a spell fight. He was an extremely dangerous man.
The guards knew it, too. One of them forced her to straighten, which she did with a wince, while the other started to apologize profusely. The child-man held up a hand irritably. "Enough. What's done is done. Bring her to the chamber."
With that, he turned and walked towards a door she had entered many times - Dallomir's laboratory. Her laughter was forgotten, her fear took over her mind as she struggled. She did not plead. Never. Never plead. But she still made whimpering sounds as she was dragged along.
They entered a large, high-ceilinged room. It wasn't filled with much. A table here, filled with objects, and a floor covered with runes of all kinds. No spell books were to be seen - she expected that he kept his resources elsewhere. She had even thought of the place where they might be held. But all this meant nothing as she was dragged to the centre of the room, and chained. Desperately she tried to put on a brave front. Never break. Never plead. No matter what.
The guards left, and it was only then that Dallomir appeared out of the shadows of the chamber, grinning, and a triumphant gleam in his frightening eyes.
"Welcome again, my dear. I trust you had a good night?" he said, and then muttered a few words. The circle in which Berwen stood flash, and she knew that a magical field was now erected around her. At the same moment, the ruby that held off her powers stopped acting, effectively returning the magic to her.
It didn't make her feel better. Nonono. The fear only rose to greater heights. This had never happened. He had never let her have her powers. What did he want?
He nodded as if he'd read her thoughts. "Indeed. I will soon have no fear of your magicks. It is my enemies who shall. Be grateful! You are about to participate in the renewal of Lei Magnus' legacy!"
She raised her hands to touch the barrier, only to notice that her bare feet no longer felt dry, but wet. She looked down, and her eyes widened in horror. A sort of strange liquid was filling the circle. It was rising fast, reaching her ankles in seconds. She looked at the one who had done so much to her, told her so many things and twisted her reasoning so much she no longer trusted herself with a mixture of panic and hate.
"YOU BASTARD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?" she screamed, pounding at the magical wall, which enclosed her. He didn't seem moved by her outburst in the slightest. Already the liquid was already at her ankles.
"Calm down. It is the normal first step in the transition."
"Bastard! I hate you! I hate you!"
"Yes you do. But I'm not the one you hate the most. There is another. One who conspired with me, the one who wanted you out of the way."
The liquid had reached her waist. Panic enveloped her. Dontbreakdontbreakneverbreak...
Still she pounded. "NO! Killing me will never give you what you want!"
"Fate is sometimes cruel." he said with a commiserative look. Then the triumph replaced it. "But no matter. I will soon be able to tell Fezra and Marcus if you will be a useful tool for us!"
Anger burned the hatred, and she channelled her magic into her fists, pounding the barrier with unbelievable force. "NO! NO! LIAR! All a lie! All a lie!"
Still the liquid mounted, reaching her shoulders. Her magic wasn't strong enough to break it in time, and already a numb feeling was starting to affect her legs. She trashed about, tears of panic streaming down her cheek. Don't break. Don't plead. Don't. Don't Don't...
And then the dam broke. Her willpower, which had been weakening for so long, no longer held out in the imminence of death. "Don't! Don't kill me! Don't kill me! No! Noooo! CURSE YOU DALLOMIR!!"
The liquid reached her mouth. She coughed and spit the foul-tasting substance. The last thing she heard before she was submerged was Dallomir saying. "You shall be the first human chimera in nine hundred years! Rejoice!"
Then she was drowning. Trashing in the liquid, she held out as long as she could. Her lungs, however, weren't on fire but rather icy, unresponsive. She mentally refused to yield, but her body would no longer answer to her commands. With a final jerk, her last breath was expelled, and her mind seemed to darken.
But she didn't die. Instead she didn't live. Her mind seemed to freeze into eternity on this stray thought: and what if Fezra HAD betrayed me?
And then she was unable to feel anything, or to think beyond that last thought. It was then that Berwen, as a person, stopped existing. She didn't notice anything around her anymore.
She didn't understand it when Dallomir looked at his fellow sorcerer and said. "Good. The solution worked. Now begin the fusing at once."
She didn't mind. She didn't feel anything.
Until indescribable pain began to wrench her very soul from her.
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Halsteroy Beans: A bean grown in the southern regions of Sailune, prized for its very rich flavour and its medicinal properties. Widely traded with Kalmaart, Elmekia and Zefielia.