Well, I've been on vacation for the past few days, but I had time to write this and typed it up as soon as I got home. Here you go. The chapter is named as shown because here's where everything goes even more twisted and AU. If you saw this coming, I praise you. *LOL* I wonder what my twisted mind will come up with next! *Does the dance of cheese and crackers* Come, do the dance of cheese and crackers with me! All you need is a cracker, a slice of cheese, and to review my story! *Resumes dancing*
Indigo Ershin- *Evil Laughter* Another addict…my plan is working! Soon, I will conquer the world… ^_^
Fou-Lou- Personally, it's not AU if it follows the story line. And thanks. I'm glad to hear its not horrible, seeing as I've typed over 76 pages already. Hate to have to quit now…*lol* Through really, thanks. It's people like you that give me the confidence to post my writing.
Shardsofpower- Thanks! Here's the next chapter. ^_^
Seven reviews! Keep 'em coming! Feel free to review more than once! *Grin*
Please see introduction for disclaimer regarding this work.
Chapter Thirteen
A Wrench in the Works
Dalindrar had provided her with one last perhaps most important service, that of directions. Yahla, a lost inhabitant of the empire, had very little knowledge of the Alliance in the first place, and all that she did know was several centuries out of date. Without the dwarf's aid and the rough but invaluable map he had given her, she would no doubt have wandered until she met her death.
Yahla had two possible routes by which she could return to her husband's side. One, which led to the west, was by far the more populated, dotted with tiny villages and farmstead. Dominating the area were the kingdoms of Worrent and Ludia, the former which hated the Empire passionately and the latter which were manipulative bastards. To pass that way would be dangerous for a pregnant dragoness, though it was the shorter path.
Her other option was to head north, taking a road hidden in an ancient shrine up to the Alma Fen and beyond to Windia. Once there, she would turn to Shyde at the edge of the desert. This path, though longer, was safer from the eyes of mortals, and it was this one that she chose.
The golden plains spreading north from Mount Glom was the sight that greeted her as the goddess left the mountain. The flat expanse of grass extended an indefinable distance in all directions, a harmonious mix of gold and green. On the edge of the horizon sat mountains, purple monuments rising over the plain like looming sentinels. The blue of the sky stretched cloudless of overhead, offering a good view of the sun position by which to gauge one's bearing. The day was new, still bright and fresh. Clad in her unusual armor, Yahla turned herself to face the sun and started in on her long trek home.
Exiting the plain took her the better part of a day, after which she turned north, the direction she would maintain until reaching Windia. Beyond the plains, the ground was rockier, greener, and far more wooded. Healthy deciduous trees had spouted everywhere, though they were distanced enough from one another that the area could not be called a forest. It was the next best thing and Yahla found the surrounding life forces comforting, a soothing balm to her anxious feelings. All her godly powers (and a great deal of what she ate) were being directed to support the new life inside her, but the plants still recognized her and greeted her warmly.
It was another day before she reached the dilapidated shrine. She was traveling far more slowly than normal, but the armor weighed her down and more than half the time Yahla found herself weak and tired. Pregnancy was taking its toll.
The temple was a rounded building dedicated to forgotten (and most likely false) gods. It wasn't very impressive, as if it had been built by barbarians trying for an air of sophistication. The result was decidedly lacking, though it had been decorated fiercely, as if daring anyone to comment.
There was a door at the front of the shrine and, inside, stairs leading down.
Dalindrar grunted as he beat out a sheet of metal, thinning it out into an even thickness. The steel was quickly losing its heat and hardening, and the dwarf reheated it before shifting it to the pointed end of the anvil and starting to pound. It shaped quickly into a bowl, then into a rounded helmet that would serve some soldier well.
As the smith put the finishing touches on it, he heard footsteps below and the sound of someone fiddling with the trap door that led to the basement and from there outside. For a moment the dwarf thought Yahla had returned ready to dwell with him till the child was born, her path home thwarted. But no. Yahla was gone, most likely forever, and the smith knew she would not turn back of her own volition.
The trap door eased open with an audible creek and there were sounds of multiple people ascending the ladder to the main floor. Dalindar finished the helmet quickly, putting it aside as he turned to inspect his visitors. "Hi ho! Back again, are you?" he asked, recognizing the five travelers who had been here once before to commission a fake king's sword.
The blue-haired boy that seemed the unofficial leader of the party smiled at him and proffered the sword he had been holding. The youth looked much like he had been the first time Dalindrar had seen him. He was wearing a white shirt with sweat stains and ripped off sleeves. Baggy pants of a nondescript color started high on his waist and terminated at the base of his ankles. A tasseled sword hung at his left hip, neatly sheathed in a scabbard of hardened leather.
Recognizing the sword that was held out to him, Dalindrar cocked an eyebrow. The sword was the one he had forged to mimic the king's sword. "What's this? Won't you still be needing that?"
One of the boy's companions shook her head. "No, its terrible, but we never got a chance to pass it off as the real sword, and we don't have any other use for it now. Maybe you could do something with it." Smiling, she leaned partway over, hands on her knees, to meet his eyes. She was windian, and quite lovely in a delicate, child-like way. White-feathered wings betrayed her nationality, and her hair was reminiscent of a wheat field before harvest.
Dalindrar took a moment to inspect the rest of the company. One, a worren, outmassed his companions easily, both in height and girth. He was striped and finely furred from the neck down. The male had spiky orange hair and fairly attractive features, if you liked them muscle-bound.
Almost matching the worren in height was a grass-runner, a rather scrawny fellow with sagging jowls and a perpetually sleepy look. In spite of that, it was obvious he could move quickly when there was a need. He was brown and white of fur, though most of his was covered by the heavy robe he wore.
The last noticed his scrutiny and met his eyes with its own electronic ones. They darkened to red, and Dalindrar looked away with some unease.
"And we were in the area to talk to the Grass Dragon, and we thought we'd stop by to thank you for helping us out before!" the windian girl continued with enthusiasm.
Dalindrar grunted something and put the blade aside, intending to melt it down for scrap. The original king's sword had been made a long time ago when he was younger and not as skilled. There had been mistakes and errors made in the making of it, and in order to imitated it perfectly, Dalindrar had put the same flaws into this one. As a result, it wasn't that great a blade, and certainly not one he wanted. "That all?" he asked. "Sure you don't have something you want me to make?"
"Yeah, actually there is," the worren said, outlining what they wanted.
The dwarf nodded and went to work, the sound of his hammer ringing against metal echoing through the room. "I'll have this done in a jiffy!"
As he worked, his guests loitered around the house, picking at this and that. Dalindrar ignore their snooping for the most part, seeing as it wouldn't do any harm. The dwarf stopped, however, when he saw the little windian pick something up off the floor and exclaim over it.
It was a hair, silky white and well over four feet long. "Oh! It's lovely!" the girl exclaimed happily, showing off her prize to her companions. "I wish I had such long hair." She twisted it between her fingers and it gleamed dully. "Where is it from?"
"Ah…" the dwarf stuttered, caught off guard. These people were of the Alliance, and the smith knew it would be wise to keep them in the dark in respects to Yahla. "A lady friend of mine…"
The worren laughed. "You have lady friends?"
Dalindrar blushed and finished the commission, pushing it into their hands. "There you are. Now, be off with you. I've work to finish!"
Outside, Nina still clutched the hair, running it through her fingers. "It's so soft, Ryu. I wonder if all lady dwarves have hair like this."
Cray laughed. "Enough with the hair already!"
Nina sniffed and played with it some more. Something about it fascinated her. She started when the strand was pulled from her grasp. Looking up, she found Ershin holding it to his face, circuitry eyes gone red. The rest of the group stopped and turned to see what was wrong. Nina exchanged a curious look with the others as they watched Ershin inspect the hair from different angles.
Eshin glowered at the hair he held, hissing at last in Deis' voice, "Dragon…"
The shrine had not been difficult to pass even in her current condition. No monsters had attacked her, though she was bitten by a rat. Said rat did not survive the hormonal surge of wrath generated by said pregnant female.
Once again, Yahla traveled north, and the terrain grew wetter and wetter as she approached the Alma Fen, a swampy area the dragoness would have to cross to return home.
"Your Majesty! General Rhun!"
Both turned at the call of their names as the messenger came towards them. The two were on the same overlook on which they had met, and had not expected to be interrupted. Rhun raised a brow at the man's breathless state, but Fou-Lu remained impassive, his elegant face composed. "Thy report?" he inquired softly as he stepped forward, making the human courier start. 'Tis ironic that e'en after hundreds of years mortals still conduct themselves in a manner of sameness, he thought with some amusement, remembering other messengers long ago, all of which were in mortal terror of him. The memory of one in particular brought a slight smile to play about his lips, which apparently scared the human in front of him a great deal more than his earlier aloof expression.
Swallowing, the mortal stammered, "Captain Ursula reports no progress, Milord." He shrank back as the dragon's expression darkened. The smile vanished instantly, and it was obvious the god-emperor's mood had shifted from superior playfulness to utterly lethal.
"No progress?" the emperor repeated mildly, eyes narrowed. "Doth she truly thinketh that venial? What be her excuse?"
"Milord…Majesty, she has scoured the empire and found not a trace…" The human was starting to sweat, a sheen of moisture beading across his brow. "She had started sending troops into the Alliance, but they have encountered resistance and found nothing."
Fou-Lu nodded slowly, his face relaxing into the usual indifferent expression he wore in public. "…And how far hath she penetrated into our former enemies' land?"
"They…they're still searching the deserts, Milord, but they're working their way east." The mortal cringed as the silence stretched for several seconds.
"…Very well. Thou art to inform the good Captain that she is to continue thus." Dismissed, the messenger left and Fou-Lu turned to find Rhun watching him. "What?" he snapped, annoyed by the scrutiny.
Pausing, the mortal asked with the caution that had exemplified their relationship since their meeting, "What exactly have you sent my granddaughter to do, Your Majesty?"
"To find mine wife," the dragon growled. Out of respect for perished ancestors, he and Rhun had initiated a rather tentative friendship. They still had yet to get used to each other, Fou-Lu not quite trusting the human and Rhun simply not knowing what to make of the dragon-god. "For what purpose dost thou ask? Be there a problem?"
"Hardly. I merely like to know what my granddaughter is up to and the mention of her failing to achieve anything is worth notice." Smiling with fond pride, he continued, "Ursula is somewhat of an overachiever, as I'm sure you know."
"Verily, though some wouldeth say she doth but her observance and no overachievement." He smirked slightly, continuing, "She will do neither unless she forfilleth mine orders."
"And if she fails in this mission, Majesty?" Rhun asked as the silence held.
The smile the dragon wore turned grim. "Then she mayeth as well ne'er return."
Alma Fen was hot and humid, filled with the heavy air that clings to exposed skin and garments. It was uncomfortable and damp, and difficult to pass through. Fortunately, some kind soul had built bridges to connect the rare patches of solid ground, which were few and far between. A whole network of walkways had been set up and though the planks were rickety and poorly maintained, they turned the hard task of traversing the swamp into a far easier one.
Only one section proved difficult, where the bridges gave out and she was forced to slosh through knee-high mud while hoping her armor while hoping her armor wouldn't rust.
Yahla's feet sunk deep into the wet ground and the mud worked its way into chinks in her armored legs. It squished between her clawed, bird-like toes and smelled of rot, decomposing substances and wet earth. The dragoness was forced to tie her hair into a knot at the back of her neck to prevent it from getting in the filth. Some how, it still managed to get grubby. Even the parts of her than had not touched the muck felt dirty, the heavy air sticking to her skin like a thick layer of honey.
The way onto solid ground presented itself after long minutes of trudging. A ways after that she exited the swamp completely and set about scrubbing the mud off of her legs and unknotting her hair. It was a task easier said than done, for the long tresses had worked themselves into tangles she had no way of undoing without a comb. Eventually the goddess yielded to the inevitable and left it alone.
The journey through Alma Fen had taken most of the day, the rest of which she spent resting and hunting up a meal. It had been eighteen days since she and Fou-Lu parted ways, and she spent the night dreaming of him and happier times. In particular, she dreamt of their meeting and the events that followed it. And in her sleep, she smiled.
She woke to pain, a searing agony that started inside and ripped its way out, leaving bundles of raw nerves in its wake. The anguish of being torn from her own world was dwarfed by the sheer torment that now racked her shattered body. It overwhelmed all her other senses, and she could barely feel the wet slickness of blood against her skin or smell its metallic scent in the air. Her eyes did not register that her eyelids were closed, for they saw nothing in any matter, and her ears heard only the thunder of her own heartbeat as it grew steadily weaker.
Pain…what had happened? She had been dazed, confused. Who had attacked her? Hurt…everything hurt. Pain.
…Some one was there. Arms sliding under her body, starting to lift her from the ground. Her dazed mind rambled, lost and confused and all lucidity gone. Yes, away. Takest me away. The stone is cold. Cold. No, 'tis hot. Like fire, burnth…Art thou cold? her mind directed its rambling to the arms that enveloped it. No, thou burnst…thou burnst me…stop… Hurts…pain. Stop it. Her raw throat managed a strangled moan as the figure carrying her pressed unintentionally against one of her wounds. The being carrying her stopped immediately, and for a moment she believed he would drop her and she would shatter on the floor into a thousand pieces. She found her eyes open and a face before them. It was narrow and pale, framed with white hair. Golden eyes…those art mine eyes…Why doth thou bear mine face? Dazed and weak from blood-loss, she collapsed.
Pain. There was pain like before, but there were differences. The pain was an ache, rather than the stabbing of white-hot knives of agony. And her other senses had returned, no longer drowned out by suffering.
She opened her eyes cautiously and found herself laying on a large bed, wrapped in bandages and bloodstained sheets. As found her bearings, she noticed there was the imprint of a head on the pillow on the other side of the bed, and that the sheets on that side had been disarranged as if by a sleeping body. She had started to examine the rest of the room, most in an attempt to bring back the memories that suddenly escaped her grasp, when there was the sound of a door being opened. Turning her head to look, she saw the male that in her befuddled rambling she had mistaken for herself. Now, upon closer inspection, there were obvious differences, but apart from hair length and gender their looks were remarkably similar.
He approached the bed, the movement of his body holding her gaze. She blinked and looked away he greeted her and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Our name is Fou-Lu," he said, smiling at her. She found herself intraced, once again lost in the depth of his eyes. "Mayest we ask thine?"
She opened her mouth to reply but found her voice dry and cracked, and she produced not a sound.
The other frowned, "Dost thou not understand us?"
With a great deal of effort, she managed to say, "Yes…" Her voice sounded as bad as she felt.
The male seemed to realize she wasn't up to speaking at the present, and apologied and asked her name. Yahla was uninclined to attemp speech again, but when he smiled at her, she felt as though she melted. It took most of her energy to rasp, "Yahla," before she passed out again.
The following morning she woke stiff, tired, and nauseated, and promptly threw up in a nearby bush. Yahla managed to get herself back on the road by mid-morning and headed north to Windia.
The journey took three days, thanks to morning sickness and other ill of pregnancy. It was getting colder as she headed north, and for once her goddess-abilities didn't protect her. Cold and aching joints encouraged her to sleep in each morning and to make camp as soon as the sun fell below the horizon.
At last, she stumbled into Windia, tired and filthy. In spite of the dirt and her ragged appearance, she was still more than noticeable and an impressive sight, if travel worn. Yet, as she entered the city with wary senses, no one commented. No one even cared or noticed. Some one else had also arrived at the city.
The normally wide-open spaces of the windian city were filled with crowds of people. Curious as to the nature of the disturbance, Yahla pushed her way through them, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of the source.
Several seconds later a dragoness landed lightly on the roof of one of the windian houses, from where it was easy to see over the crowds.
A dozen guardsmen were leading a worn figure up to the palace, or trying to. The crowds of joyful citizens were hindering their efforts quite effectively. The figure they led was a girl, windian and slight of stature. She was even raggedier than Yahla, dressed in a borrowed cloak, a ragged peasant skirt several sizes too big, and a red silk shirt. A very recognizable shirt, especially since its mate had been tied to secure the over-large skirt about the girl's waist. It was blazoned with an incriminating white symbol, one Yahla knew well.
Several more guards appeared and dispersed the crowd with cajolery and threats. They then greeted the woman they were escorting with bows and exclamations over her state. As they shepherded their charge under Yahla's rooftop perch, the dragoness dropped down from it to land in front of the woman, momentarily forgetting her vulnerability.
The girl shrieked in surprise and the soldiers quickly trained their spears on the intruder. Yahla ignored them, her arms crossing over her armored breasts as she drew herself up to full height. Topping the windian by but a few inches, she hissed, "Why art thou wearing mine husband's shirt?"
The little windian's eyes widened and her mouth opened into an 'O'. "Your husband?" she asked as Yahla fixed her with a dark look. Glancing about wide-eyed, the girl ordered the soldiers to stand down and said to Yahla, "I…really think you better come with me, please." The guards, still not trusting her, stood threateningly behind woman, as if to say her request would be enforced as though it was an order.
Yahla opened her mouth to decline and demand an answer, but shut it as she remembered she was surrounded by soldiers and presently weakened. She hardly wanted to walk into a castle full of the enemy, but it might well be more dangerous to refuse. "Very well," she said shortly, eyeing the spear-carrying humans around her. "But thou needs must answer mine query."
The girl nodded, her golden hair bobbing up and down. "Yes, of course."
Yahla wondered briefly whether she would survive the events to come.
They took the elevator up to the castle, the guards forming a circle around them. At the tope, the group was treated to the sight of the Windian Castle, an airy structure of gray and white stone. A great fondness for overlooks, parapets, and balconies was evident, for they were everywhere. Whoever maintained the building kept it neat and tidy enough that it seemed to shine, and no more than a loose feather was out of place.
As they approached the main entrance of the royal residence Yahla would have hung back but the looks the sentinels sent her prompted her to continue. Sure, she could take them, but others would join in if it came to a fight and Yahla wouldn't presently trust her flying skills to escape.
Upon being admitted inside, maids and servants came to fuss over the Windian girl, whom Yahla gathered was the missing windian princess, Elina. One of the servants informed said princess that she would wish to see the king immediately, even before she changed and cleaned up. The monarch had apparently locked himself in his bedroom yesterday and not come out since, troubled by the disappearance of one daughter and the wandering of the other.
The princess and Yahla (who found herself dragged along in spite of her protests) were at the king's rooms only minutes after hearing of the ruler's state. Elina knocked on the door several times before calling through it. "Father?"
There was a long pause and the door was thrown open. The windian king caught his daughter in a fierce embrace, profound relief written across his face. The smaller female returned the hug and promptly burst into tears, startling both the king and the dragoness. Elina's father guided his daughter into the room, frowned when he noticed Yahla, and finally beckoned her in as well.
The windian girl took some time to calm down, clinging to her father's shoulder like a limpet. He soothed her with soft words, wiping her away and giving her plenty of hugs. At last she stopped crying and blew her nose on the offered tissue. "I'm so sorry, I just…"
"Everything's fine now, Daughter," the king assured her. "Now. Why don't you tell me where you've been and what's happened. And who this woman is," he added, looking at Yahla.
Affronted, Yahla protested, "I be not a woman!" before she remembered it would be unwise to say so.
The king looked at her oddly, and she found herself bristling under his scrutiny. "I'm afraid I've never seen a man with such a…chest." Her discomfiture was increased when he gestured to the offending extremities.
For a moment Yahla considered lying, but she had too much pride to claim to be a transvestite, so she simply glared.
Elina interrupted, still dabbing at her eyes with the hankie. "She doesn't mean she's a boy, Father. She means she isn't human."
The king turned to stare at his daughter before returning his gaze to Yahla. A long pause ensued. "What are you?" he asked at last, his voice demanding. He glanced at Elina another time, as if wondering what exactly she had brought to his castle.
Yahla looked down her nose at him. "I be not seeing how 'tis any matter of thine."
The king opened his mouth to reply, obviously irked by her impertinence, but Elina interrupted again. "Father, I need to talk to you right now. Please, let her along." Once she had her father's attention, she continued, "Emperor Soenil is dead."
"What?!" the king exclaimed, astonished. Yahla felt a small rush of pleasure at the news. It was Soenil's fault she was lost here, and the thirteenth emperor was also an oathbreaker. In her opinion, he did not deserve to live.
"The thirteenth emperor is dead, along with many of his officials," the girl repeated, elaborating more this time, "And the First Emperor had reclaimed the throne."
This time the look he gave her was definitely one that questioned her sanity. "Elina, the First Emperor ruled hundreds of years ago."
"I know, Father, it sound mad. But he's back," she said, sounding somewhat defensive, "And he saved my life. One of the thirteenth emperor's scientist kidnapped me and turned me into a monster." She shuddered, and looked ready to cry again. "Emperor Fou-Lu turned me back to human after both Soenil and the Kitsune scientist died. He didn't answer when I asked if he had killed them, but I think he did."
The eyes of both king and princess turned as Yahla interrupted. "He didth, if the kitsune thou speakest of be the one I believest it. That one will have died a painful death, and Soenil himself wouldeth have been so disposed of as well." 'Tis not a question…what I wouldst know is for what reason he didth save the girl…
"How do you know?" the king asked suspiciously.
Yahla smiled and shrugged. "I be knowing mine husband."
The look on the king's face was well worth the danger she had just plunged herself into.
