Again, much thanks to those who have reviewed.
One year after the Dragon War…
Chapter Two: Crimson Tears
A bulbous ball of glowing orange sharply descended into the horizon. A strip of red across the horizon was all that remained of daylight soon the night would come. The rush of adrenaline was gone, leaving him cold, the spasms of his muscles hidden under the dark crimson armour. Slow beads of sweat dripped down between his shoulder blades, silver strands sticking to his brow. His gloved hands wet with a warm sticky liquid, the same substance that was spattered across his white overlay. His lips curled into a sneer as something dark stirred in him at the thought of the elixir of life. The demon within had been sated by today's bloodshed.
General Albatou stared into the horizon, at the small mound of sun as it surrendered to the night, the intense light burned into his brain, he stared at it unblinking until his eyes itched to blink and white spots danced in front of him. This was what he lived for, the rush of war. Death. To unleash the power that course through his veins. He was a God. Not just any god, the Devil incarnate, and he would destroy anything and anyone that defied him. The carnage that decorated the battlefield was evidence to that fact. Stretching from his armoured boots out onto the ridge of the land, the bodies of the slain littered the ground. A malevolent smile twisted his features as Dilandau admired his handiwork. He raised his sword to regard it carefully. The perfect length of steel glinted, reflecting the fading light of the sun, looking as though it were dipped in blood.
He sheathed his sword and turned back to his men that were waiting for him expectantly,
"Gatti!" He barked, his second-in-command was at his side in an instant,
"General?"
"We're leaving, we'll set up camp some costa from here, I don't want to be riding through the night." Dilandau vaulted gracefully onto his warhorse and turned his mount in an eastern direction,
"Move out!"
Laboured breathing whispered from the far side of the large chamber. A strange, sickly sweet scent drifted over to the Princess as she stood at the covered window of the King's chambers. It was an overpowering odour that made her think of hospitals and vials full of foul smelling liquids.
At her nod the doctor packed up his bag, taking glass bottles filled with purple, green and clear liquids, checking the stoppers and then carefully, almost lovingly placed them in his worn brown bag.
Gin'iro turned to her father, lain in his large bed. His head propped up on several plush pillows, his once powerful body, lying frail, pinned to the bed under the heavy, exquisitely embroidered quilts. Swallowing back her tears, the heir to the throne fixed weary and dull purple eyes upon the doctor,
"Your diagnosis Doctor."
The older man sighed, his long fingers anxiously playing with a loose thread upon his dark green jacket.
"My Princess, the fever has gripped the King much worse that ever before…" he trailed off and crossed over to her, taking her shaking hands in his and looking upon her with warm and concerned brown eyes, "Your father is weak Gin'iro, too long he has been fighting this now, his body is tired. I do not believe that he has the strength…or the will to win this battle." His soft words shattered Gin' within, her aching heart shattered into tiny shards. She held her head up, holding the tears back till she was alone, fighting valiantly to maintain her composed exterior. With a brisk nod and a blink to hold back her tears she gestured for the doctor to leave.
Smoothing her hands over the dusky grey dress she sat on the high-backed chair placed next to her father's bed. A long and weary sigh left her cracked and dry lips.
The King of Hadrian was dying. In the most crucial moons of the Dragon War it had been a hacking cough that had caused the advisors to exchange worried glances. From then on the physical condition of the King had deteriorated each and every day. Doctor after doctor had come and gone. None had helped; concoctions, injections, potions, even witch doctors and spells had been used in an attempt to heal the King, and all had failed.
Her eyes took in the once strong man before her; his skin had lost the golden tone, now mostly ash-grey with patches of a yellowish tint across his body; his cheeks had sunk into his face, the well defined cheekbones now protruding like spears. Gin' rubbed her face with her hands before leaning her elbows on the edge of the large bed. The sight before her destroyed Gin', hot tears of anger and pain stung at her eyes; blinking rapidly she forced them back. She would not cry as the shadow of the once powerful man before her, she would remain strong for him.
Worry and fear weighed heavily on her heart. Her father didn't have long left, and when he lost his last battle, Gin's would begin. At the tender age of eighteen she would become the ruler of one of the most powerful countries upon all of Gaia. She would be forced to marry, probably some dolt that would suppress her and squander away all that her father had worked so hard for. She knew the types of men that the advisors had already suggested for her, pretty boys severely lacking in substance. The types of men that wanted the privileges of being a King but not the responsibilities. She guessed that within a moon's marriage to such a baka, the advisors would be ruling the country while her 'husband' was fed grapes as Gin' added another stitch to the tapestry.
A pained moan brought her out of her wallowing. Startled she looked at her father, Korechika stirred in his sleep, not even in slumber could he find any peace. His body tensed the weak muscles convulsing in spasms then went limp again, his breathing returning to the strained rhythm of before. His daughter reached out with shaking hands and tucked the quilts under his chin, and then pulled the blanket around her shoulders as she prepared for another night's vigil.
Gin'iro had switched into an almost automatic mode when she had learnt of her father's ailing condition. When her father had become bed-ridden she had taken control of the country without anyone knowing of the King's condition. If Rafe ever got wind of his father's inevitable death, then he would be back at their doorstep, and knowing Rafe as she did, Gin' was willing to bet that Rafe would decree himself as King before their father's body was cold in his grave. Such a thought chilled her to the bone.
Only Gin' the royal advisors and doctors knew of the King's failing health, she mentally totalled it up to be about fifteen people. All had been sworn to secrecy, with the added threat that if they even breathed a word Gin' would personally hunt them down and squeeze their necks until their eyes popped right out of their sockets. It was crude yet she found it to have the desired effect.
As Gin' listened to the lonely ticking of the Grandfather clock in her father's adjoining lounge her thoughts turned to her brothers. A pang of guilt wracked her body as Gin' thought of Nobu. He deserved to know about their father, all of her brothers (save Rafe) deserved to have the chance to see their father one last time. She was torn in two; on one hand she could never allow anyone else to know about the King's mortality. If anyone were to find out she wouldn't be able to fend off anyone who would usurp the throne. On the other hand, as much as it sickened and saddened her to think, she didn't trust her brothers. Even Nobu…the brother that she was closest to, he couldn't know. He'd hate her, never forgive such a silence, none of them would. It pained her but she knew that it was necessary.
Yet she knew that such a task of leading a country was one that she could not do alone; she knew of politics and economics, but warfare was not something she knew much about, leading an army was not her forte. Gin' knew that the moons following her crowning as Queen would be the worst and most trying of her life, the threat of war would be in the air and the army would need a strong leader. And at this point in time Gin' didn't trust the General of the armies of Hadrian as far as she could throw the armoured bastard.
Rising from the ornamental chair, Gin'iro stretched out her cramped limbs then soundlessly walked to the study. The silence was thick and suffocating, as if the very world held its breath, waiting for the inevitable. Lighting a lamp she rubbed her cold arms and sat at her father's bureau. What Gin' was bout to do was quite possibly the most stupidest and dangerous decision ever. Bearing this in mind she ignored the knots that ate at her stomach and dipped the feathered quill into a small pot of black ink. With a grim expression she wrote the letter, the scraping of the quill against the creamy paper echoing in the room. A source-less breeze made the lamp light flicker, causing frightening shadows to dance across her corner of the room.
Sitting back Gin' read the letter, only to scrunch it into a ball before the ink had dried. Squeezing it in her fist she threw it across the room, watching as it landed in the dying cinders of the fire, it curled and ignited, small red embers rose as the paper burnt all traces of the letter gone.
Three tries later she was satisfied with the words upon the page before her. Reading it over and over until the words were burned into her brain as the black ink dried. Holding a length of red wax over a dancing flame, Gin' then pressed the melted wax to the closed envelope before brandishing the outside with the royal seal.
Rising to her feet, Gin' left her father momentarily to find an errand runner. At this late hour of the night she knew it would be difficult. After nearly an hour of roaming the corridors of the castle she found a young boy in the kitchens. He stopped mid-bite and stared at her, before he could open his mouth to stutter, she held up a hand silencing him.
"Here, I want you to take this directly to the man addressed on the front. Take one of the royal steeds if you wish, and all the rations you may need. I don't care as long as this reaches this man before the 3rd sunset. No one else is to read this but him, is that clear?" She asked, a sharp edge to her voice.
The boy gulped and took the thin letter and nodded.
"Y-yes Princess."
With a sharp nod and a twirl of dark material the Princess was gone.
While Gin'iro returned to her father's chambers across Gaia one man paced the cramped length of his.
Rafe seethed angrily, his irate strides offset by his limp. Today's meeting had not gone well, Rafe's petition for him to be a representative of the country had been refused before he'd even finished his convoluted speech. The King had waved his hand and the meeting had moved on. At the thought of his father-in-law, his thin lips curled into a vicious sneer. The King of this backwater country was a fat idiot, and Rafe's wife, the king's daughter, was a bony-elbowed simpleton.
This was not what he had expected, when Rafe had been informed of his impending marriage to Tira, Princess of Rya, Rafe had mental pictures of him sitting upon the throne of a powerful country. What he had gotten was an idiot of a wife and a small apartment in the castle of a tiny country. He had imagined that this marriage would have been an easy access to power. However the reality was not so. Rya was a small country of absolutely no consequence. The total population was smaller than that of the capital of Hadrian alone, the army small and untrained. It rapidly came clear to Rafe that his father had in fact sold him off to another country so that Korechika wouldn't have to worry about his son and his intentions. It made him sick, to think that he, the first-born son was Prince of some shit-hole while the youngest daughter was next in line to the throne of a powerful country. It just wasn't right. He swung out with a clenched fist and sent a sculpted vase flying across the room, watching as it shattered against the near wall.
A gasp from the bed made Rafe whirl round, wobbling due to the drink and the stiffness of his leg. Narrow eyes fixed on the Princess, his wife Rafe thought with unconcealed disgust.
"Come to bed…?" She asked tentatively, wary of his words and fists.
"Fuck off." He spat.
General Albatou glared across the camp of his men. The job had gone well, at the least by Dilandau's standards. In other words the enemy were all dead. Since the end of the Dragon War the Ryuugekitai and their General had wandered the lands of Gaia. Most recently a Lord of a fairly big county had 'hired' Dilandau and his men to take down a rival warlord and his soldiers. As much as Dilandau despised and loathed his current lifestyle, it had given him the chance to build up his Ryuu' to 15 men. Pride and disgust aside it was a job; relatively good pay for his men and an objective for Dilandau to focus on. Lately his restlessness had been building day after day. Not to mention the fact that it allowed him to instigate to some serious bloodshed.
It was a biting cold night in the forest, yet Dilandau was too preoccupied to notice, or even care. The uninformed simpleton that had 'hired' the Demon General and his men believed that he had Dilandau under his control. And thus, had sent orders for Dilandau to return immediately. A cold smirk spread across the albino's face as he thought of the various yet deliciously painful ways in which to rid him of the fool. If he thinks I'm going to take such disrespect then he can just get down on his knees and suck my-
"Lord Dilandau!" Sharp crimson eyes moved away from the shadows and fixed upon the approaching Gatti.
The ash blond bowed then gestured to the panting boy just behind the Dragonslayer. In his gloved hand Gatti gave his Lord a letter.
"The boy says that it's for your eyes only sir, I told him you were not to be disturbed but he was adamant."
Dilandau dismissed him with a curt nod; Gatti saluted then took the boy off to give him some water. Disregarding the front and the seal of the letter Dilandau ripped it open and carefully read the elegant writing across the page in the light of the fire.
A blink was the only visible reaction to the contents of the letter. Folding it back up he placed it his white overlay and yelled for his second. Gatti appeared at his side,
"Lord Dilandau?"
"Gatti prepare the men. At the first sign of dawn we are leaving to go north."
Gatti blinked his dark aquamarine eyes in surprise, "North sir? But the councilman is in the east; if we don't show up he'll be most unhappy. Think of-"
Dilandau whirled round and lifted Gatti off his feet and into his burning line of sight,
"Gatti think of my boot; and take your backside out of reach of it." He snarled warningly.
"Y-yes sir." Gatti bowed then left Dilandau to scowl into the darkness of the forest, his mind running over and over the contents of the letter.
To be continued…
Edited 30/05/04