The Zodiac Brave Story

by Xenoglossy

Novelization of Final Fantasy Tactics. I don't know how to better describe it. **The 'Manipulator and the Subservient' now finished!**

3. CHAPTER ONE: The Meager

CHAPTER ONE: The Meager










I.

'Princess Ovelia was a rather plain woman for royalty. Perhaps it was because of her isolted upbringing that she came off so honest. She was frank and caring, with none of that pompous bluster or graticious delicacy expected from one of her rank. She spoke softly and conciously and though she rarely smiled, her eyes had an intensity that cleary delievered the brevity of her words.'
- The Durai Reports, Chapter XVII










'God save us, thy sinful children of Ivalice...'

Ovelia Atkascha didn't hear the door open and close she was so lost in both prayer and thought. She didn't want to leave the Monastery. It wasn't that she would miss it terribly, nor was it that she was frightened of the world outside. She realized that if she left now, it would mean something. Her departure from solitude would be the first link in the chain reaction of war that loomed above the Kingdom. She didn't wish for her name to be associated with such a thing, even if so loosely as: 'The first battle of the Great War was fought shortly after Princess Ovelia was brought out of Orbonne Monastery and to Igros Castle.' The idea of it was enough to make her shudder.

"Princess, we must leave. A storm is gathering."

"Quiet, Captain Oakes. The Princess is praying."

Ovelia sighed and stood gravely, smoothing her white skirts and turning reluctantly, "No Simon. I'm finished. It's quite alright, Agrias, you may rise."

Captain Agrais Oakes, Holy Knight of the Hokuten nodded and rose, her calloused hand tense around the hilt of her sword. She was a serious woman who did an admirable job of masking her girlish beauty behind a mask of ridgid duty and honor. In fact, Ovelia had never even witnessed the woman so much as crack a smile in all the time they'd know each other. But, she was a loyal soldier and better than most men in a fight, Ovelia was grateful to have such a person in her confidence.

"Are you sure about this, Ovelia. You know that you are always welcome here."

Ovelia attempted to smile, but her mind was weighed down so that the burden prevented her. Instead she hugged the old priest soundly and whispered, "Thank you for worrying about me, Simon, but I'll be fine. This is necessary, anyways. We may still have a chance to prevent the war."

Simon patted her back weakly, then detatched himself from the tangle of her arms. In his youth he had been a heresy examiner, but whatever malice one must posess for such a job had drained out of him years earlier. Only that mellow kindness natural to those so wholly devoted to God remained. But he worried.

The Chruch doors flung open again, bringing with them the winds and rain that raged outside. Two young squires stumbled in, soaked and half falling down, both rubbing their arms in a vain attempt to warm themselves. They were mercenaries, and not exactly exceptional ones. The first hid relatively dark hair beneath a black cap. When he threw back his cheaply knitted travelling cloak he wore little more than hammered tin in ways of armor. The second was clad similarily, but he wasn't wearing a cap over his gold hair. Instead, it was tied at the back, or else left sloppily falling over his pale, boyish face. The first had sparkling, blue eyes. He could barely contain his excitment, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. First assignment, Ovelia assumed. They were always eager until their blades taste flesh. Or at least that's how it was in the stories. Perhaps these barbarians really enjoyed all the killing.

The second mercenary boy, though, was anything but excited. He had soft, brown eyes. Their gaze was unfocused and blurry, as if he were either looking at something far off, or wasn't looking at anything at all. He brushed a gloved hand through his light hair carelessly, then sighed miserably, easing himself against the wall.

Agrias spun and gave the two mishappen boys a severe glare, "And who exactly are you two?"

The blue eyed boy leapt to attention almost before the words fell from her mouth, "Rad Tupper!" he answered, "And that's Ramza Rigul. We're mercenarys hired by Duke Larg to help escort the Princess!" he then bowed dramatically, stealing a gaze at Ovelia as he fell to his knees.

Agrias scoffed, "We don't need help escorting the Princess to the Castle. Does Larg not trust me enough to deliver her safely?"

Rad blinked, confused, "Um... well... you'll have to ask the Commander about that one. I don't know the exact specifics of this mission. It's just my first contract, you know."

"And what about you?" Ovelia fixed the second boy with her gaze, "Ramza, is it? What do you know about my Uncle's intent?"

Ramza stared at her for a few moments, as if he weren't sure that she was speaking to him, then answer quietly, "I don't know anything either."

The doors swung open urgently before Ovelia could say anything else, and the winds pushed in the bleeding, limping figure of Alycya Whitoc. The Knight collapsed between Rad and Ramza, leaving the door slightly ajar. She spoke softly as the wind howled in the background.

"Alycya!" Agrias rushed forwards and fell to her knees by the fallen woman's head.

"Captain Oakes!" Alycya gasped, grasping the wound in her side "There are strange Knights here. They say that they were sent for the Princess! Hurry. Lavian and that Mercenary can't hold them for long. They'll break through!" with a last effort, she pressed a dirt-soaked piece of parchment into Agrias's hand. And then, she was dead.

Ovelia watched helplessly as Agrias sighed and tucked the paper away into a safe pocket. She knew what it was, a Soldier's will. A short list of wishes to be fufilled by their commanding officer in event of their death. Ovelia wanted to cry. All of this was her fault.

"Well, Rad, Ramza. I pray to Ajora that you two are good in a fight." Agrias looked at Alycya one last time, then rushed out of the door, drawing her sword as she ran. Rad and Ramza glanced at each other. Rad was nervous, but Ramza seemed rather indifferent as they followed the Hokuten Captain into the storm.

Only after the doors fell shut did Ovelia allow herself to fall by Alycya's body and grab her clammy hand. She checked desperately for a pulse, then cried out in fustration.

"If only I had been admitted into Gariland instead of sent here!" she cried, "Maybe then I could have known the spell to save this woman's life!"

Simon placed a gnarled hand on her shoulder and shook his head, "I did attend Gariland, Princess... Alycya's wound was far too advanced for even the most expirienced Mage to heal. I'm sorry, but this was not your fault..."


*


The fighting was over by the time Agrias, Rad and Ramza reached the church's gates. Lavian cradled her left arm, but other than that she seemed well off. Agrias sheathed her sword and examined the uniforms of the dead men.

"Black Lion crests." she scoffed, "Is Goltana an idiot!? Is he trying to start a war?"

"I'd say war is inevitable at this point." A dark man emerged from the shadows, his tall body clad in the armor of a Dark Night. He was old, but strong looking. He smiled deviously and continued to wipe the blood off his sturdy sword.

Agrias's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed to a contemptuous glare, "Gaff Gafgharion." she spat, "So you're the one Larg sent to spy on us."

"That was an uncalled for comment, Lady Oakes. Why would Larg wish to spy on you? You both want the same thing, after all. To see the Princess Ovelia safely to Igros Castle. Why so suspicious?"

"These are suspicious times." Agrias mumbled, then she glared at Gafgharion, "You didn't have to kill them, you know. That was a bit extreme. Now we've suken to their level and given them justification for their actions. How can they not help but lash out against us, after all, if we slaughter them so easily without any forethought?"

Rad and Ramza watched the proceedings speed by them half in awe, half in dismay. Rad tugged on Ramza's shirt sleeve and mouthed. 'Do they know each other?' Ramza shrugged, then returned his attention to the argument.

"I was simply following orders."

"Well, you could have at least left one alive for questioning. Now we don't even know what they wanted with the Princess!"

"Isn't it obvious? They wanted her dead!"

"But we don't know that! Next time, be a bit more careful."

Gafgharion let his sword fall to one hand, the other clutching a bloody cloth, "I'm not paid to follow YOUR orders, Captain Oakes." he hissed.

Agrais seethed, her hand instictively twitching towards her sword, "You basted..." she growled, "I..."

Before either Agrias or Gafgharion could make anything of it, a scream pierced the night. The small gathering turned their heads with alarm towards the Monastery and Agrias's face fell.

"Ovelia..." she breathed, paling, then began a full throttle sprint towards the Chruch. Lavian stumbled after her, clumsy over her still drawn sword.

"Sir, should we follow?" Rad looked at Gafgharion, lost.

"Of course." the older mercenary grumbled beneath his breath, obviously peturbed over his conversation with the Captain Oakes. Without saying another word he jogged after the two Knights.


*


"No, let go of me! Unhand me!"

"Be quiet. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I don't believe you! Let me go before I scream!"

"Go ahead, it doesn't matter. I'm going to rescue you whether you want me to or not."

Ovelia paused in her struggle for a moment and looked long and hard at the man who was trying to kidnapp her. He wasn't really a man, a boy really. He couldn't have been any older than seventeen, but he was tall and intense and threatening with his long, dark hair slicked back against his neck and his penetrating gaze.

"What do you mean... rescue me?" she asked slowly, catiously testing his limits.

"I meant a rescue."

"We're you sent by Goltana to kill me?"

"No."

"But I thought..."

"I don't have time to exaplin it right now. Just cooperate with me, okay?"

Ovelia altogether stopped walking, causing her captor to fall back a few steps. He tighthened his grip on her wrist and spun to regard her angrily. No, not angrily... Ovelia had a difficult time reading the young man's expressions. He might have been mildly irritated, but he most certainly wasn't furious.

Ovelia heard footsteps pouding above her, and familiar voices. Her spirits lifted as she realized that it was a sign from God. He had sent her rescuers at the exact moment she had decided to give up. "AGRIAS!" she shouted, "HE'S TAKING ME OUT THE BACK ENTRANCE! AGRIAS! HELP!"

The kidnapper sighed sufferingly and muttered, "You're very annoying for a Princess, you know that?" before punching her in the stomach. Ovelia inhaled deeply, but found no breath. As she fell into the dark boy's arms, her world went dark.


*


'Please God, tell me I've not lingered too long. Tell me I've made it in time. Tell me I've saved her...'

Only the mercenary boy named Ramza kept Agrias's pace all the way down the seven flights of stairs to the back entrance of the Orbonne monastery. She ran as swift as she ever had, mind racing so that it beat the sides of her skull. Her brian was trying in vain to piece it all together. Larg sending Gaff Gafgharion of all people to keep an eye over her, Goltana's kidnap attempt on the Princess.... was it really Larg's intent to put Ovelia on the throne, or did the government see it as too convinient a solution to the problem? The country seemed hell bent on civil war... it was rather sickening.

The kidnapper was latching an unconcious Ovelia to the back of a Chocobo when Agrias finally burst through the door at the exit. She drew her sword and was about to rush forwards when Ramza grabbed her shoulder to hold her back. She turned about to ask him what the hell her was doing, but the boy looked as if he had seen a ghost. When Agrias looked back to the kidnapper, he had already mounted the Chocobo. He brought his steed around and adressed Agrias.

"Dont blame us." he said, "Blame youself... or God." he chuckled sharply and ironically, then had the chocobo jump the walls of the chruch, effectively escaping.

Agrias made and fist and lashed out at the stones of Orbonne, "Damn!" she turned on Ramza, cornering him between the open door and the wall, "What was that? Why did you let him get away!?"

Ramza shook his head slowly, "I... I'm sorry. I... I know the kidnapper... or... rather I did..."

Agrias sighed, the fight gone from her. She rolled her head back and stared at the sky. The storm had calmed and the skies were clearing, the clouds lolling from view to reveal a half moon. She closed her eyes and let her sword clatter to the ground. Her shoulders relaxed and she whispered two words to the night sky.

"Oh God..."










II.

'The Gariland School located in the Magic City that it is named for was a pristegeous institution designed for the rich. Although it offered the best education around, it had a horrible practice of producing classist graduates. It was discontinued near the beginning of the Lion War, but restarted some years afterwards... but with one difference. It is now open to all those with a desire to learn.'
- The Durai Reports, Chapter II










Though it was barely into the first week of January, Ivalice hadn't seen snowfall since the year before and had hardly felt the chill of winter. Ramza Beoulve thought this was all very strange as they usually saw blizzards before Autumn had finished dropping it's leaves. Most said that the odd weather meant ill tidings and Ramza was tempted to agree with them. Although it was the day after Winter leave, the student's conversations were not focused on family events or talk of Solstice gifts. Rather, they spoke of the tensely of the troubles plauging the land.

"Another trade cart to Igros has been attacked." Remington Orvius ran a hand through his twany hair as he spoke, "It leaves me wondering who would have the audocity to attack a caravan so close to the castle."

"The Death Corps, who else?" snorted a tall Chemist, rolling her pretty blue eyes.

"Something big is definitely brewing." Delita Hyral commented calmly from where he was leaning nochalantly against the wall, arms crossed and gaze even.

Ramza glanced at his friend sharply, "Do you know something, Delita?"

"Of course. Prince Larg is in town, didn't you hear? And the Marquis Elmdor of Limberry too. Both heading the Igros castle along the trade lines. Don't you think it would be beneficial for the Death Crops to capture such high profile hostages?"

"Where did you hear all that?"

Delita smiled the barest of grins, "Don't you ever listen, Ramza? It's all your brother talked of over Winter leave."

Ramza blushed pink and Remington laughed borrishly, patting Ramza hartily on the back, "And you should blush! To think that the 'stable boy' knew anything you didn't! What a shame!"

Delita's eyes narrowed dangerously and focused on Remington. He said nothing, but the blonde cadet got the message, shrinking instinctively. Delita may have been a commoner by birth and physical apperance, but he had been raised a Beoulve which still coveted quite a bit respect among his fellow students. Besides that, he was an excellent student and eveyone knew it didn't pay to get on a good student's bad side lest the need to call in a favor of sorts during a particularily tricky exam arose.

"I was just making a joke, Hyral. Really. You shouldn't take things so seriously all the time."

If Delita had been planning to make any sort of retort at all, it was cut short by the booming thud of the doors swining open at the back of the classroom. The students hastily fell into place saluting as the old Knight Rand limped his way up the center of the isle and sat at his desk.

"At ease." he sighed and glowered out at his students as was his custom. After a moment, he stood and placed his hands on his hips, eyeing the cadets with as much disdain as his wrinkled face could possibly muster, "You have an assignment." he grumbled, "And it may be your last if you fail to prove yourself here." Rand had a bad habit of being unable to say more than two sentances without degrading or threatening his students in some manner. It wasn't terribly crushing, and many insited it's what made him a good instructor.

Nevertheless, the first statement held it's weight and the classroom erupted in excited banter and murmers. Rand slammed his fist against his desk to silence the class and win their attention again, then continued, "As you know, Barbarian activity has recently increased in Gallione, especially in the city of Gariland. You cadets are to join the main attack units and help in any way possible, even if it means staying out of the way. Now, be warned that you are being marked on your performance in both battle and following orders. Think of it as an early exam."

Delita leaned over and whispered behind his hand, "They're rushing us out of the academy early because with the King dying, another war is brewing. The Hokuten don't want to lose ground with Nanten."

Ramza blinked and turned to look at Delita, "What makes you think that?" he whispered back.

"It's obvious, isn't it? All the royalty that supports Larg fortifying itself at Igros castle? Our term doesn't end for another four months yet they're graduating us today all of a sudden? Think about it, Ramza. The pieces fit."

Ramza pulled away and looked at the teacher innocently. Delita had that amazing talent that allowed one to carry on a conversation during class without the teacher noticing that their attention had strayed, but Ramza found himself berated by his instructors for not paying attention more times than he cared to count. But even as he half-listened to Rand state battle tactics and placement orders his mind was processing what Delita had just been speculating.

War brewing? The country had just settled a war no more then five years earlier. What were they doing starting another one? Ramza had been briefed on the cause, of course. The Prince, being no more than a year old, was of course, not fit to take the throne after the King's Illness eventually killed him. The whole quarrel was over who the regent would be during the Prince's upbringing. It was pointless, really, since whoever was chosen wouldn't have the same power as a King and his rule would be little more than a decade long, but despite the futility of it, nobles and Knights were already choosing their sides and placing their bets. But it just didn't make sense... graduating under-experienced students for the sake of increasing an army? The final few months of Battle School were the most important, as they focused rigorously on actual combat situations rather than combat theory. Sending cadets out into a real war with such gaping holes in their education was foolish. They would simply be slaughtered by the first sword that found them. They might as well not even be there.

But Delita was right. Nothing else seemed to make sense. Anyways, Ramza remembered enough of the portion of the Fifty year wat that had happened during his childhood to know that sometimes, if the threat was war, even the most clever of leaders made some very stupid decisions.

"The first group of you will be sent out almost immedietly. You have exactly fifteen minutes to return to your barracks and prepare yourselves for battle. As this IS a true battle, and not just a simulation as you would have otherwised experienced, it is possible for you to die and you will have to kill to survive. If you want to drop out, I'd advise you do it now."

"Ah. There's the catch." Delita seemed unimpressed, "It's one of those 'kill or be killed' deals they're sending us into. They're not only forcing us to graduate... they're forcing us to grow up." he sighed, then finally turned his dark gaze onto Ramza, "Well, I suppose we're part of the first squad. 'Now or never', hmm? We could always just skip the battle and go home now, you know. They'll graduate us anyways and your brothers would never know."

"Never!" Ramza exclaimed, "I want to fight! I could never live with myself if I didn't!"

Delita shook his head sadly, "I thought you'd say something like that..."


*


Each squad was compiled of six students, four squires and two chemists. Not as many students got into chemistry, since a career in magic meant an extra two years at school and it was seen mostly as a female profession. Ramza's squad was made up of himself, Delita, Remington and his lady friend, and two younger upper-years that Ramza was not familiar with. The last squire was distinctive since he happened to be the only other upper classman with dark brown hair besides Delita, but Ramza had never heard his name spoken. The other chemist was a spunky looking girl with long, dirty blonde hair and a self-satisfyed smirk plastered across her impish face. She was the only one not standing still. She had the hat of her chemist uniform stuffed in her medic bag and was pacing impatiently, constantly adjusting her skirts as if she were not comfortable wearing a dress. She sighed every so often and would avert her gaze hopefully over the rooftops.

"How long do we have to wait? I thought they were going to thrust us out into the heat of battle!"

"Well, no. That would defeat the entire purpose of setting up a trap." the pretty chemist's voice was ineffectual and cold. She barely glanced at the other girl as she said these words. The long haired chemist glared and without verbal retort she stuck her tounge out childishly.

"Well... we have been waiting for a long time..." Ramza sighed, "Maybe the teachers predicted wrong. Maybe they're not coming."

As if to prove Ramza's words wrong,a head popped into veiw over a roof, illuminated in the late evening sun. It looked around, then dissapeared again. Ramza held his breath hoping that the scout hadn't seen where his squad was huddled in the alleyway, but sure enough a moment later a whistle sounded out through the narrow street. Four youngish-looking theives rounded the corner, laughing and pushing each other merrily.

"They're so young." Ramza muttered, looking at Delita, "They can't be any older than we are."

Delita had obviously been thinking the same thing, and nodded somberly, "Yes. But they must be Death Corps otherwise we wouldn't have been sent out."

"Enough with the moral dilemmas, you two." Remington hissed, "Let's just take them and get it over with!" he jumped out, slinging his beaten sword over his shoulder casually. He spread his feet solidly and smirked at the thieves as the rest of the squad filed out reluctantly behind him.

"Not so fast!" he shouted, "We can't let you just pillage without penalties! Prepare to face our wrath!"

The tall chemist slapped her forehead. The dark haired boy raised an eyebrow and the younger chemist giggled slightly. Ramza too could barely supress his own laughter, but Delita just rolled his eyes and pushed forwards.

"Look." he said, "Nothing personal but we've got an exam to pass."

The boy who seemed to be in lead of the group sneered nastility, "So you're from the school, eh? What can a bunch of snot nosed kids like you do?"

"Hey!" Remington swung his sword over his shoulder and gripped it tensly in both hands, "Take that back! We're nobles! Sir Goldilocks back here is a Beoulve on top of it, so you'd best not mess with us!"

Ramza chaffed a bit at being called, 'Sir Goldilocks', but appreciated that his family name was so recognized and respected that it should be used as a threat. He stepped up so that he was standing between Delita and Remington. The theif leader looked him up and down, then snorted.

"Doesn't look like much. Besides, what have the Beoulves ever done for us? I mean, yeah sure, that old coot Dycedarg and bloody general Zalbag won some medals in the War, but they're still coin grubbing bastards like the rest of them!"

Ramza reeled back as if he had been hit, feeling his ears burn in both fury and embarassment. How could anyone ever talk about his brothers like that! They were different from other nobles. They were brave and good and just to everyone, not just the family! He recoiled, this time clutching his sword and fire burning in his eyes.

"You'll pay for what you just said." he growled menacingly, "And who are you? No one cares who YOU are. Surrender now, or die in obscurity!"

There was no giggling to answer this cliched threat, because Ramza was quite serious. He charged the thief leader abruptly before the boy had time to gaurd. He hit him with the broad side of his sword instead of the sharp by accident, but still the thief was sent reeling. Ramza swung the sword back up to bring it down on the other boy, but the thief was quick and more battle weary. He dug a thin knife into Ramza side and the squire fell into half darkness, sending his sword flying.

'It can end that quickly?' Ramza thought disjointedly, 'Is that it? I'm dead?' he closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of battle around him, 'Dycedarg... Zalbag. I'm sorry I was such a failure...'

"I wouldn't count on it yet, Sir Beoulve." an irritated voice broke through his reviere. Ramza blinked his eyes open and found that he was being streinously dragged off to the side of the battle, into the alley. He then felt stupid for being so melodramatic. Now that he thought about it, it didn't feel like a serious wound and, afterall, the teachers had sent chemists with them for a reason.

"Was I... speaking out loud?" he asked abashedly as the chemist bent over her bag and began mixing potions. It was the younger one. The one with the long hair and cynical smile.

"Everyone speaks out loud if they're pampered and think they're dying."

"You don't seem to be in good humour."

"I'm not." The chemist replied sharply, "I don't exactly enjoy fixing wounds. I don't understand why you have to take this stupid medic course if you want to be a Wizard. It doesn't do well to learn how to save lives if all you're going to use it for is to learn magic to kill people."

Ramza decided that it would be better not to answer. He let her fix his wounds in silence, then thanked her softly.

"Hmph. Looks like that idiot Aston's getting himself into trouble. Don't get yourself killed again, Sir Beoulve. I only have so many potions, you know, and I can't be wasting them on people like you who can take care of themselves."

Ramza nodded and the chemist ducked off, trying to make it to her fallen ally without being noticed. When she was gone, though, Ramza didn't leap back out into battle. Instead he leaned against the corner of the wall and watched the fighting. It was mostly over now. The others had felled three of the thieves and only Delita and Remington were fighting still. The tall chemist was sitting on a stone watching much like Ramza was while the other treated the dark haired squire.

Delita knocked his opponent over with fluid ease. Ramza couldn't tell if the theives were dead or just unconcious. No one seeemed to have spilt blood except for him. He recieved his answer when Remington kneed his thief in the stomch rather than slashing at her. She crumpled to the street like a broken doll, but Remington seemed displeased with himself for having beat on a girl.

Ramza emerged from hiding, limping slightly, which he hadn't expected. He stumbled out into the center of the square where the others seemed deeply emerged in coversation.

"I'm sorry..." he said.

"Don't be." Delita caught him as he tripped, "You were wounded."

"That wasn't any minor cut." The long-haired chemist nodded gravely, "If that thief had been half competent it might have been fatal."

"Besides." Remington added, "It wasn't much of a fight. We just knocked them down. Now we've got to get out of here before they wake up."

"So they weren't Death Crops after all."

"No, just children like us." Delita sighed, "We weren't really expected to do serious battle. The city just wants us to clean out the crime before we leave and go off to war to get killed."

"So we didn't kill any of them?"

"Well... not on purpose, of course." The dark haired squire scratched his head and smiled nervously.

"When you fell, your sword continued it's momentum and caught the theif leader in the jugular." Delita didn't look at Ramza, but at the dead thief, sprawled awkwardly, face first into the stone with blood slowly collecting in a pool around his body. Ramza looked there too, and swayed again.

"So... I... killed him?"

"Well... your sword did at least." Remington chuckled fakely, "I'm sure it wasn't intentional on your part.

Delita agreed, "No need to worry over it, Ramza. It was an accident."

"Anyways, you're the only one who actually followed orders here. That'll automatically give you the highest mark!" The dark haired squire piped up helpfully.

Ramza nodded deftly, but he knew the truth. It had been his intent to kill the theif. Though it hadn't been his hand that guided that sword through until it sliced the boy's neck, he was the hand that began the motion and orchestrated the motion's intent. Whatever they said, Ramza had killed the thief.










III.

'Funny that the Beoulve name, know for centuries in the history texts as a family of great heroes, should die out in both memory and sons in the very age that one of it's members dared to forget that he was a noble and do something worth writing down though it will be long regarded as the wrong thing to do. I hope that one day someone will recognize the irony in this and laugh as I have cried over it. I have little hope that this will happen during my lifetime.'
- The Durai Reports, Chapter IV










Ramza had a strange dream that night. He dreamt that his father was alive again, but at the end of his life and on his death bed. He wasn't seeing the scene form his own eyes, but rather he saw the room and everyone in it as if he were a bird nestled in the high rafters, watching.

Zalbag held father's hand and Alma held his. Dycedarg paced as the chemist took father's temperature and seemed almost anxious. Ramza was certain that this was important. Why hadn't he noticed this before? Or was Dycedarg's nervous manner simply an invention of the dream.

When the chemist was finished, she excused herself from the room. Zalbag waited until she was gone to speak.

"Where's Ramza." he said darkly, "He's always off when we need him most."

"Brother." Alma tugged on Zalbag's shirt sleeve and he sighed.

"I'm sorry, Alma. I guess I'm just tense. Father might not..." he cut himself short when he noticed that Dycedarg had stopped pacing and was giving him the death glare.

"It's fine..." father croaked, his voice cracked and damaged, all but gone. He sounded nothing like the great Balbanes Beoulve of ledgend. He was nothing more than a dying old man in this bed, "I won't make it through the night. Even I know that."

Zalbag hung his head and Alma sniffled. Dycedarg began pacing again.

"Tell me Zalbag, did they accept the treaty?"

"Please father. Let's not talk about the war now. You're not well."

"I've been not well for a long time, son. I want to pass away with the certainty that my children will not have to waste their best years locked in warfare as I have. Now tell me, Zalbag. Did they accept the treaty!"

Zalbag opened his mouth to answer, but Dycedarg beat him to it, "Of course. They agreed not to invade Zeltennia and agreed to peace talks next month. Before the year is out, the War will be nothing but a memory."

Father breathed a deep sigh of relief and loosened his grip on Zalbag's hand, "That's the kind of news a man could wake up to every morning. You three are going to live the full lives I never had a chance at."

This idea made his children sad. They fell silent, except for the soft plodding of Dycedarg's pacing. Soon, a new noise interrupted the scene as the sound of footsteps echoing grew closer and Ramza saw himself enter, flinging himself through the door and to his father's side. He knelt beside the bed and buried his head in the sheets.

"Ah, now you are all here, and I can go in peace."

"Don't say that." Ramza murmered, "You can't die yet."

"Ramza, grow up to be a just man." father's voice dwindled as he spoke, "I have more war heroes as sons than I know what to do with. I expect nothing more from you than to grow up with admirable morals. Never tolerate injustice, Ramza."

Ramza nodded through his tears, though the Ramza that watched could see that this boy here, an earlier version of himself, did not understand what his father was asking of him. But he understood it now, he understood all of it. Even Dycedarg's pacing. though he wasn't sure what exactly it meant. But he understood that Dycedarg wasn't just, and he understood that Zalbag knew nothing of the way nature worked. Neither of them were Balbane's true sons depsite their battle skills and multiple honors. Balbanes was simply asking Ramza to be his son.

"One more thing, Ramza. Delita's a good boy. Never take him for granted. You should always treat him well. I consider him my son, you should all think of him as your brother."

Ramza nodded again, his sobbing having subsided. "Of course father." he managed, "I always thought of Delita as my brother."

"I'm glad." Balbanes smiled his wide, gracious smile one last time and then he died.

When Ramza awoke, he was almost surprised to find himself staring at the bottom of someone else's bunkbed in the barracks at Gariland. He wasn't sure where he felt he was supposed to be, but school wasn't it. Then he remembered that he was going home the next morning. He settled himself down into his pillows and pondered his dream. It had been vivid, of course, because it was mostly memory. His mother had always said that dream-memories show themselves to you only because they contain messages and information that you were incapable of picking up on at the time, but will prove useful in the future. Ramza always believed anything his mother told him, so he made sure to tuck the dream away into his subconciouness so that if any of the messages revealed themselves in the near future, he would recognize them. This done, he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.










IV.

'I'll never undertand the obsession with rank. In the end, it doesn't describe the sum of a person's in-born abilities. Neither Delita Hyral or Vormav Tingle were born nobles, but both shook the foundations of Ivalice with their cunning and ambition for years to come.'
- The Durai Reports, Chapter II










When Ramza awoke Remington had already packed and left on his way home. Delita was folding shirts on the bed across the room and to either side of him sat a nearly filled travelling pack. Ramza yawned and sat up lethargically, rubbing his eyes and muttering, "You didn't have to pack my bags, Delita..."

Delita continued folding the clothing and said nothing.

"You're not a servant, you know. You don't have to pack my bags."

Delita sighed and turned around to face Ramza, placing his hands on his hips. Ramza couldn't help but giggle. It reminded him far too much of how Zalbag used to act as a child when he was trying to be mature. This caused Delita to crease his brow.

"I'm not packing your bags because I think I have to. I'm packing them because it's nearly noon and I was worried you were going to stay in bed for the rest of the day."

Ramza stopped laughing and fidgited, "Uh... sorry. I didn't sleep well last night."

Delita nodded sagely, and went back to the unpacked clothing, "I guessed as much." he paused tenatively, then said, "I retrieved your sword from the street and washed it. I knew you probably wouldn't want to see it."

"Actually... I wasn't thinking about that..." Ramza eyed his sword catiously. It was laid haphazardly on the floor between his bed and Delita's, sheathed and clean, "I was thinking about the day my father died."

Delita stopped folding clothes for a moment. His shoulders knoted and he froze up, "Why? What made you think of that?"

Ramza wished that he could take the words back. Delita didn't like talking about the late Balbanes. Ramza would never understand why, but usually he honored his friend's feelings, "It was nothing really... I just had a strange dream."

Delita's shoulders relaxed and he folded and packed the last few shirts. He then sat on the bed and stared at Ramza blankly, "Really."

"Yeah... it was more like a memory. I don't think it was anything important, except..."

"Except what?"

Ramza wracked his brain but couldn't think of a suitable way to explain the feeling he got from Dycedarg's pacing. He didn't want to tell Delita about what his Mother used to say about dreams because it sounded silly even to him now that it was morning. So he dismissed it, "I don't know. It was just stupid. I was upset." Delita blinked at him expectantly with a gaze that said, 'You're a very bad liar, Ramza Beoulve', "We'd better leave anyways, if we're going to walk all the way home. At this rate we'll not make it home until tommorow morning!"

Delita laughed, the subject sucsessfully changed, "And who's fault would that be?"

Ramza shrugged, "Not mine."


*


Algus Sadalfas couldn't stop knotting his hands togther nervously. He focused furiously on the floor of the extravagant carriage and tried his best not to so much as glance at the man sitting opposite of him.

'What am I doing here? What luck has smiled upon me?' he felt subdued and giddy all at once. When he joined the Aegis Knights he never suspected to recieve such a comission before even reaching the rank of Knight. He wanted to leap up and shake the hand of the Marquis Elmdor, who sat no more than a foot away, but he knew that he must keep court ettiquette. If he messed this up, there'd be no chance to ever restore his family honor and rank.

"Cadet Sadalfas, wasn't it? This is your first post, am I wrong?"

Algus's eyes shot up in horror. Was the Marquis Elmdor actually SPEAKING to him? He was suddenly paralyzed. If he didn't reply, the Marquis would think him rude and uncouth... but what could he ever say to the 'Silver Ogre'? The Marquis was a war hero at a time when his grandfather was nothing more than a memory of a dog. A curse on the tounge of young soldiers.

Algus screwed his courage to a sticking place and said clearly and loudly, "Yes. This is my first post, and an honor it is to be here!"

The Marquis's expression did not chance. The man brushed a lock of silver hair from his face and continued, "You're the grandson of Uther Sadalfas." Algus's heart fell. It was a statement, not a question. There was no way for him to defend himself against it. He hung his head.

'My career is over before it's even begun...' he despaired silently, 'If only I could simply change my surname and have it be done with. Will I forever bear my Grandfather's mistake like a chain?'

But the Marquis wasn't done with him, "Don't look so dissapointed, Cadet Sadalfas. I will not judge you on your ancestor's actions. A man is not the sum of his forefather's, despite what some believe. I will not judge you a bad man or a good one until your actions have proved you to be either."

Algus breathed a sigh of relief and straightened up again. Now that he knew he had the Marquis approval he was not afraid to look him in the eye. In fact, he studied the former war general with great intrest. The man was tall, lithe and muscular. He was not only strong looking, but calm and collected. Perfectly self assured of the power he weilded.

'I want to be like him.' Algus affirmed. He disliked the tendancy he had to collapse into a bundle of nerves whenever a noble looked at him funny. He had the approval of the Marquis Elmdor of Limberry and that's all that mattered to him. From now on he would be confident and cool, even when speaking to war heros and nobles.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped. Algus looked around in shock and a pale faced Knight opened the door.

"What's happened?" The Marquis demanded.

The Knight flinched, "Uh... we've experienced some difficulties." he answered shakily.

"What difficulties?"

"Well... we're being attacked..."

"Is it the Death Corps?" The Marquis demanded. When the Knight nodded, he pushed him aside and bounded out of the carriage door motioning for Algus to stay put. The carriage door swung open and Algus wavered for a moment, hand on his blade hilt. He should probably obey the Marquis's orders, but what kind of a man would he be if he sat by idly while the rest of his squad fought to protect their commander? A good one, or a bad one?


*


The last thing Ramza and Delita had expected to see on their way home was a smoking carriage spread out across the road in Mandalia Plains. The land was sparse and offered little shelter, but was about the safest area in Ivalice. The only monsters that roamed there were the wild chocobos and they tended to ignore people unless they were provoked. Ramza personally had never even heard of anyone being attacked by bandits on this particular road.

"The Death Corps." Delita muttered. Ramza nodded in agreement and sighed sadly.

"We'd better check to see if anyone is still alive, Delita."

They jogged towards where the smoke was rising and checked the dead bodies thoroughly for signs of life.

"Aegis Knights." Delita said after a while, "This must have been the Marquis Elmdor's escort."

"They were almost to Igros." Ramza exclaimed, "An hour's journey away at the most. The Death Corps have become bold."

"They've always been bold. They're leftover soldiers from the Fifty Year War, you know."

Ramza looked at Delita in surprise, "I didn't know that."

"What? Did you think that they just appeared suddenly out of nowheres? They're made up of the civilian units of both the Hokuten and Nanten Knights."

Ramza mulled over this for a moment, "That explains a lot." he said finally.

"Ramza, come over here. I think this one is alive but he's trapped under the cart!"

Ramza jumped up from the soldier who's pulse he had been vainly trying to read and bounded to Delita's side. His friend was trying to pry a young boy out from beneath where the carriage fell. The unconcious soldier was the youngest Ramza had seen, blonde with cropped hair and regal features. Ramza braced his grip beneath one of the boy's shoulders and pulled. It took nearly ten minutes, but they eventually managed to manuver the soldier from underneth the cart without wounding him. They laid him out on the grass beside the road, gasping and panting, then sat and waited.

Eventually, the boy's eyes cracked open. Ramza leaned over him almost immedietly and began bombarding him with questions, "Hey? Are you okay? What's your name? What happened here? Were you gaurding the Marquis?" The last question seem to grab the young soldier's attention and he shot up, eyes wild.

"The Marquis!? Where is he? Is he dead?"

"They took him."

The soldier turned his head sharply and looked Delita up and down, judging him, "What did you say?"

Delita was unfazed and answered the soldier's question, "You were attacked by the Deatn Corps. We couldn't find the Marquis body, so I assume that they took him, probably for ransom."

The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "And how do you know so much?"

"Calm down!" Ramza nearly shouted, "We're just speculating! It makes sense when you think about it. Anyways, who are you?"

"I'm not telling you anything until you tell me who you are!"

Ramza sighed and glanced over the soldier's head at Delita who gave him a look of absolute exasperation, "I'm Ramza Beoulve." he said, then gestured at Delita, "And this is my good friend Delita Hyral. We're cadets from the Gariland school at Gallione."

The soldier boy's eyes widened in almost childish wonder and he practically leapt on Ramza, fumbling to shake his hand.

"A Beoulve!" he exclaimed, "How lucky I am! You must help me!"

"Ummm..." Ramza looked at Delita, then back at the soldier, "I..."

"I'm so sorry!" The boy exclaimed again, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Algus Sadalfas of the Limberry Aegis Knights."

"You're a Knight?" Delita wondered skeptically.

"Erm, a cadet, just like you. But please! Take me with you to Igros castle! I must go after the Death Corps and rescue the Marquis! My life depends on it! Please!"

Ramza was confused by this Algus's rapid change of attitude. He wanted to help the boy, but he couldn't be sure of how Dycedarg would react to him bringing home a random stranger. But he also couldn't say no to Algus's insitent manner. Besides, he needed medical attention and Igros Castle was the only place with a reliable medic for days.

So he said yes.


*


Just because Ramza had made a firm decision to bring Algus to Igros castle did not mean that he remained satisfyed with the way he chose. Dycedarg was in a foul sort of temper. When he looked at Algus, his expression soured as if there were something wrong with him. He then looked at Ramza as if his younger brother should have know this. Nevertheless, he invited the cadet in and the next day the four of them were seated about the long table in the conference room.

"I assume your marks are satisfactory, Ramza?"

Ramza nodded, although he wasn't sure if he was telling the truth. He certainly wasn't at the top of his class like Zalbag and Dycedarg had been. Delita was close to it, but Dycedarg never got wind of that.

"And you too, Delita. You may not be blood-related but that doesn't give you excuse to slack off in your studies.

"My marks are fine." Delita said evenly.

"I heard you participated in the defense of Gallione yesterday. The headmaster sent a message informing me that your scored the highest mark on the exam in your squad. I'm proud to be your brother."

Ramza's breath caught in his throat. Dycedarg certainly did not sound impressed, but that was just his way. He truly was proud of his youngest brother. Ramza was glad to hear Dycedarg's praise once in a while, but it also hurt. He couldn't explain it, but praise always felt bitter and guilty to him, especially when from his brothers.

"Ramza was the only one strong enough to fufill our complete orders." Delita always kept a monotone when speaking to Dycedarg, "If not for him, our squad would have ranked last place in the school. We were lucky."

The words stung, which was irrational. Delita was praising him needlessly for something he was not proud of, but Ramza realized that it was most likely for Dycedarg's own benefit. Nevertheless, he was anxious to change the subject.

"Brother, Algus has come for a reason. He has a request of you."

"Yes, I do!" Algus stood quickly, knocking his chair out from behind him. He slammed his hands on the desk and spoke with almost overwhelming force, "Please! Give me 100 soldiers! I must rescue the Marquis!"

Dycedarg raised an eyebrow and crossed his hands. He regarded Algus for a long minute, then shook his head, "No. It's already been taken care of."

Algus's face flooded with indignant disbelief, "No! I can't accept that!" he shouted. Ramza looked at him in shock. How could he speak like that to Dycedarg? Did the boy have no shame?

"I said that it's been taken care of."

"But this is a Limberry matter! I must avenge my comrade's murder"

"Algus!" Dycedarg's voice was loud and sharp as a sword. He roared like a beast, "Think of your rank!"

The words affected Algus like a bludgeoning weapon. The boy sunk back into his chair docilely and he hung his head like a dog who had been scolded too harshly.

Dycedarg gathered himself before speaking again, "I'm sorry that it has to be this way, Algus, but there's nothing you can do. Meanwhile, since the three of you have nothing better to do I am deploying you to the castle's defense unit, effective immidietly."


*


"Damn it! Damn this stupid 'rank' of mine!" Algus kicked a stone angrily and watched it as it sunk to the bottom of the Igros castle moat, "I get no respect! No one will ever give me a chance to show what I'm capable of!"

"What are you talking about?" Ramza wondered catiously. He was weary of his new friend's violent mood swings and thought that maybe it might be better to let him rant rather than to attempt to confront him.

Algus spuns and gave him an incredulous look, "What. You mean you don't know?"

"About what?"

"About my grandfather." Algus spat, looking away, "The weasel Uther Sadalfas who dared call himself a soldier."

"Why don't you tell us?" Delita was sitting at the water's edge, staring steadily at the moat's movements.

"It's better you don't know." Algus scoffed, "I doubt you'd want to associate with me after you hear the whole story."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Ramza reassured.

Algus sighed and looked at the sky. Evening was falling and the sky burned red and purple in brilliant ribbons. Blood sky... tommorow there would be warm weather and clear skies.

"My grandfather was captured during the war." Algus began, his voice remorseful and deathly quiet, "They tortured him for information on troop movements and he squealed. They released him, but he was stabbed in the back by a mere squire like myself. Somehow, word of his betrayal got out and my family lost all of it's honor. Of course, Father never believed the rumour, but it mattered little because everyone else did." at this point, Algus's voice gained volume and turned bitter, "And because of his stupid mistake, I'm forever branded a weasel. A rat! I'll never gain back the Sadalfas honor because no one will ever grant me the rank of Knight!"

"I doubt that." Delita commented, "You're not your grandfather after all."

"Oh, Delita. You're so wise." Algus drawled snidely, "How do you know I''m not? What if I'm just like him? I'll never know until I'm put into that situation, now will I?"

Ramza was still taking in Algus's story and preparing his reply when a clear, familiar voice broke through the still, evening air.

"Ho Ramza! Delita!"

The three boys turned their heads to see Zalbag Beoulve waving as he strode closer, dressed in full regalia. Behind him trailed two young girls both dressed in Orbonne Monastery Private School uniforms. Alma and Teta. Ramza grinned happily. He hadn't seen either of his other siblings in nearly a year. Zalbag had since risen dramatically in rank and now commanded the Hokuten Knights. Seeing his sister Alma was also a pleasant surpirse. He hadn't expected her to age so. She was very nearly a woman.

"Ho Zalbag!" he called back, "Alma, Teta! How goes life!"

Delita stood, smiling broadly and spread his arms. Teta broke into a sprint and fell into her brother's embrace, laughing. Ramza couldn't help but widen his own smile seeing the two reunited. Delita sacrificed quite a bit of his own happiness for his sister's sake and as far as Ramza could tell, he always had. He still remembered the day the two showed up at the Beoulve's doorsteps, all burn-marked and smelling of woodsmoke. Teta had been unconcious and cradled weakly in her swaying brother's arms. Their farm had been burnt down by a raiding army's troops during the night. Their parents had been killed outside, but Delita grabbed his sister and took her the only safe place he knew of.

When the hug was finished, Teta smoothed her skirts self-conciously and asked, "How have you been brother?"

'I've been fine, as always, Teta. How have the other girls been treating you at the Monastery?"

Teta hesitated a moment, then cracked a smile that seemed almost forced, "Oh... uh... well, everyone's just been so nice to me."

Delita furrowed his brow and gave her the once over, "Are you sure?"

Teta looked agast, "Of course Delita! I wouldn't lie to you!"

Zalbag coughed discreetly, calling attention to more important matters, "You are Cadet Sadalfas, I presume?" he asked, staring pointedly at Algus. Algus nodded and Zalbag's expression darkened, "Then you will want to hear this."

"What?" Algus stepped forwards and drew himself deeper into the conversation, his face wearing a conflicted look.

"The Death Corps have admitted to kidnapping the Marquis." Zalbag fidled with the connections on the sheath of his sword, a nervous mannerism he had never quite grown out of, "And they've demanded a ransom."

"What!?" Algus was livid, "And they expect to recieve it!? Why, they're nothing more than knaves I say!"

"Knaves or not, they certainly have the advantage." Algus glowered, "I'm sorry. It doesn't make much sense to me either. The Death Corps claim to be anarchists, but they only attack the wealthy nobility. I find it hard to believe that they would kidnap the Marquis for money alone. We sent a spy out, but we haven't heard from him in hours. I think he may be in trouble, but Dycedarg insists that there's no reason to search for his whereabouts."

"Where was he when you last heard from him?" Delita asked. He seemed to be catching on to something in Zalbag's tone.

"A trade city called Dorter. About three day's journey from here."

Algus smirked.

"Anyways, I'd better be off." Zalbag turned and bid them farewell. Before he was off, though, he looked back over his shoulder and said, "Gaurding the castle a boring job, don't you think?"

When he was gone, Algus laughed, "Well, at least one of your brothers has some sense Ramza!" he barked, "Commander Zalbag practically gave us permission to go after the Death Corps!"

Ramza was uncertain. He shifted his feet, "Well... that may not have been his intent..."

"Of course it was." Delita interrupted, "When have you ever known Zalbag to be a subtle person? He wants us to go after them. We should probably pack now, before supper."

"Come on Ramza! Let's go!" Algus was practically giddy at the idea of disobeying Dycedarg's orders. Ramza didn't exactly blame him, but he couldn't help but think... what would happen if they were caught?

"Okay, fine. I suppose if Zalbag gave us permission it should be okay... you guys go on, I'll be along in a minute."

Algus shrugged and he and Delita left, followed closely by a frowning Teta. Ramza redirected his attention to his own sister, who had been uncharacteristcally silent during the meeting.

"What Teta said isn't true." she said finally.

Ramza twisted his mouth, "What do you mean? Is there something wrong with Teta?"

"The girls at school pick on her because of her rank. She's just putting up a front because she doesn't want Delita to be worried."

Ramza sighed, "I can understand why. Delita expects a lot more of himself than he can deliver."

"And so do you." Alma snapped, "You let Dycedarg and Zalbag weigh you down with expectations you know you can't fufill. That's just as bad!"

Ramza directed his gaze downwards. He couldn't face his sister like this, "Alma... you sound like our Mother."

Alma breathed heavily, "I'm sorry Ramza. I didn't mean to upset you. I just... don't let your name hold you back. You should try to be your own person."

Suddenly Ramza threw his head back and laughed. Alma glowered at him perplexidly, but finally he met her gaze, "Alma..." he chuckled, "Alma, Alma, Alma... no one would ever guess that I'm older than you."

Alma looked taken a back for a moment, but then she laughed as well because it was very, very true.










V.

'I do not believe that the Lion War was really about Prince Larg and Duke Goltana's struggle for power. Rather, I think it was about the struggle between the free and wealthy and the poor and oppressed. It was an epic battle to eliminate society's focus on 'rank'. If you look at history this way, then The Lion War actually began in 1342, not 1344, with the rise of a rebel group known as 'The Death Corps'. The anarchist group was led by a former commander of the civilian army Knights of Death, Wiegraf Folles and consisted of disgruntled farmers and millers who had joined the army during the war, and returned home to find themselves without homes, money and thanks.'
- The Durai Reports, Chaper VI










"I don't know! I swear to God, I don't know anything!" Manred Aveh, Fencer of the Death Corps, was not impressed with himself. He was pressed up against the cold brick wall of a weapons shop in a back alley of Dorter pleading pathetically for his life. Wiegraf Folles, commander of the Death Corps eyed him coldly, fingering the hilt of his blade threateningly.

"Don't lie to me, Aveh." he hissed, "I know that you're in Gustav's confidence. If you don't tell me where he took the Marquis I warn you that you'll be guilty of treason and I'll be forced to execute you."

"Listen to yourself!" Manred yelled, "You sound just like them! I thought we were trying to fight the nobles, not imitate them!"

In a flash, Wiegraf's sword was drawn. Manred flinched as the cold point pressed against his neck, but he didn't drop his defiant gaze for a moment.

"You will tell me where they went or I will slit your throat here and now, in the alley way without mercy or ceremony. Is that acting more like the commoner I am?"

Manred gulped and dug his fingers into the brick, "Y... you can't kill me... because you don't know of anyone else who knows anything..."

Wiegraf increased the pressure on the blade. Manred gasped as it barely broke the skin above his juglar. A few more centimeters and he would be dead, "Wrong Aveh. I know of plenty who are Gustav's allies. You're just the most... convinient."

"Zeaklaus Desert..." Manred choked, "Sand Rats..."

Wiegraf relaxed the sword a bit, but the shadows crossed over his eyes and for a moment, Manred thought that he was going to kill him. Suddenly, Wiegraf turned his head sharply to the left and sheathed his sword, "Dammnit." he cursed, "Footsteps." he ducked out of the alley, throwing Manred to the ground as he ran. The Fencer attempted to scramble before the footsteps reached the alley, but as he forced his bruised body to stand, three youths rounded the corner. Manred froze.

The shortest of the group caught his eye first. He was one of the soldiers who had been gaurding the Marquis's carriage. The other two were dressed much like cadets and were most likely nobility, except that the taller boy had dark hair. This caused Manred to raised an eyebrow. There were very few naturally dark haired people in Ivalice anymore and as far as he knew, none of them belong to royal families. But there he was, gazing ahead dispassionately and dressed as if he were a student at Gariland.

The three boys stopped walking and stared at Manred as he stared at them. "You!" the Marquis gaurd growled, and lunged for him.

"Oh shit." Manred dodged and made an admirable run for it down the alley to where Wiegraf had dissapeared, but he was injured and wearing heavier armor than the boy. He was hounded down easily and soon found himself being wrestled to the ground and shackled, no doubt to be dragged into some abandoned wearhouse for further questioning.

Manred sighed and quit struggling, allowing the bonds to be tightened around his redening wrists. 'This just isn't my day...' he thought bitterly...


*


Algus paced with his hands folded behind his back like he had seen his commanding officer do during interrogations. The Death Corps Fencer that they had captured knelt submissively on the floor at his feet, but Algus knew that it would not be easy to extract information from him. He stopped pacing and turned on his heel, glaring at the Fencer.

"Where is the Marquis?" he demanded. The Fencer didn't so much as look up, "Where is he? Where did you take him? Your boss Wiegraf was here just a moment ago, wasn't he? Where did he go?" The Fencer still refused to answer. Algus gritted his teeth in fustration and slugged the prisoner across his right cheek. The man fell back, "Answer me, you bastard!"

"It wasn't Mr. Wiegraf's plot in the first palce. He has nothing to do with it."

Algus snorted, "You expect me to believe that? He's your commander, isn't he?"

"Just because he's out leader doesn't mean he knows everything that goes on."

"Then who did it?"

"And if I tell you, then what? You'll go rescue our Marquis? What will you do with me? Kill me?" he sneered and brought his face up, glaring at Algus sharply, "You nobles are all alike. You think we're just mindless beasts. You use us to get what you want, and then you spit us out and abandon us. You'll never change. You're just scum!"

Algus kicked the Fencer viciously under the chin, sending him reeling several feet to the back of the room.

"Algus! Stop it!" Ramza shouted, horrifyed, grabbing Algus's shoulder. Algus shrugged him off and addressed the Fencer angrily.

"Never, EVER speak to a noble like that! You're the scum! Don't act so great when you guys are the ones going around kidnapping and murdering people."

"We only do what we're driven to do." the Fencer retorted, "It's your fault that we had to take such drastic measures!"

"Lies! You're only in it for personal gain! Why else would you demand such a high ransom for the Marquis!?"

The Fencer laughed bitterly, "Don't be ridiculous. We'd never kidnap a VIP just for money. As I said before, that wasn't Wiegraf's plan. We're trying to prove a point."

"Argh!" Algus lashed out and kicked the wall, "Where is he! Tell me!"

The Fencer's eyes darted towards Ramza who was hovering behind Algus's shoulders ready to restrain the boy if he tried again to beat the prisoner, then back to his questioner with renewed confidence, "I'll never tell."

Algus leaned forwards and grabbed the scruff of the prisoner's shirt. He brought his face close and spoke softly so that Ramza couldn't hear, "Listen..." he said, tone even and rational, "I'll tell you what's going to happen. In a moment, the Hokuten are going to begin slaughtering you. That's right, a week from now there will be no Death Corps for you to belong with. So I'll tell you what. If you tell us where the Marquis is, I'll make sure that you're life is spared."

The Fencer's eyes lit up and he nodded graciously, "Okay..." he said catiously, "We took him to 'Sand Rats'."

"Sand Raaaaaaaats?" Algus drew back and wrinkled his brow in confusion, "What the hell is 'Sand Rats'?"

"Sand Rat Cellar." Delita spoke for the first time since they had captured the fencer. He was bent casually against the far wall with his arms crossed, cooly watching the proceedings with that creepy, perceptive gaze of his, "You're not from around here, Algus. I'm not surprised you don't know what it is."

"Of course." Ramza piped up from behind Algus, "It's a hideout in the Zeaklaus desert. Little more than ruins now, it used to be where the sand people met."

"That must be where they took the Marquis." Delita affirmed, nodding at Ramza. The Fencer also nodded, glancing up at Algus hopefully. The Limberry cadet sniffed in disgust and threw the Death Corps member to the floor.

"Your life is spared." he said darkly, "But I wonder if you can make it through the next few days alive? People like you make me sick." Algus spat. The Fencer was just like his grandfather, "Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind."

When the Fencer was gone, Algus said, "Well, that's that. Lets go."

"Wait..." Ramza bit his lip, "Are you sure we should go after the Marquis ourselves? Maybe we should just return to Igros and inform Dycedarg of his whereabouts. I'm sure he'll have someone do something about it."

"Ramza, you can't be serious!" Algus shook the Beoulve's shoulders, "Just turn around and give up after we've come so far! If we save the Marquis on our own think of the honor! Think of it Ramza!"

"I agree with Algus." Delita sounded none too happy with the concept, but justifyed himself, "Afterall, even if we return now we'll be in trouble with your brother. We might as well finish the job if we'll be punished anyways."

Ramza wanted to object further, but bit his tounge. It was hard to argue with Delita's logic. Besides that, he wanted to go. Algus's eyes were wild with the lust for honor and recognition. Perhaps this would finally save his family name.


*


"Did you hear? The Hokuten are moving."

"Really. What does that mean for us?"

"Easy. We clear out now and avoid getting slaughtered. If we just go home no one can prove we used to be Death Corps."

"I don't know. Sounds pretty self-serving to me..."

"Isn't that the point? Those who don't serve themselves end up dead."

"But if we just follow Gustav's plan..."

"Gustav is more of a fool that even Wiegraf was. What he's planning will never work. There's no honor in it. What's he's proposing is that we become a gang of barbarians and mercenaries, killing and kidnapping for money."

"It's the only way to survive!"

"I don't know..." Ramza whispered, "They seem pretty harmless..."

He, Delita and Algus were hidden behind a sand dune outside the Sand Rat Cellar listening to the Death Corps gaurd argue among themselves. None of them were particularily excited about fighting them, afterall, they were outnumbered five to three, but realized it was most likely necessary. They were simply waiting for the right moment to spring.

"Nonsense." Algus muttered, "They're beasts. All of them. You didn't see how they slaughtered my comrades! This is why commoners and nobles can't live together!"

Delita twitched at this comment, but wisely chose to say nothing. Algus hadn't clued into the fact that Delita was not a noble yet and neither he nor Ramza were going to cause dissention by mentioning to him during this mission.

"They're not going to get any more occupied than they are right now." Ramza said quickly, diverting attention away from Algus's acidicly classist remark, "Lets just jump them now."

"Yes." Delita agreed, and without further paused, leapt out from behind the sand dune, sword unsheathed.

The five gaurds spun and stared in shock at the sudden apperance of these three cadets from behind the dune. They seemed unsure what to do for a moment, but then their leader stepped forwards and raised his arms in surrender.

"Wait! We have no quarrel with you!"

Algus lowered his sword and shouted, "What's this!"

"I said we have no quarrel with you." the gaurd repeated, "You've come to rescue the Marquis, right? Go right ahead. He's nothing to us."

Algus's mouth hung open and he looked questioningly at Ramza, who just shrugged. Delita pushed forwards, saying as he went, "Don't argue with a unwanted blessing."


*


The Death Corps were falling apart. Wiegraf didn't know how to explain it or how to stop it. All he knew is that it had something to do with the argument Gustav, once his most trusted captain and now nothing more than a dissenter, was sprouting in his self defense.

"What we need now are warm beds and food, not ideas!" he shouted, "And if we collect ransom money like with the Marquis here, we'll garuntee that! The troops are weary! They're starving, Wiegraf!"

Wiegraf clenched his fists and growled, pointing his sword in Gustav's direction, "We're not brigands, Gustav!"

"I'm not saying that's what we are, I just..."

"But that's what you would have us be! Have you even listened to yourself! That's not what the Death Corps are about! We're trying to earn respect and justice! How can we ever possibly do that following your plan!"

"We have to eat!"

"They'll kill us all if you continue this!"

"You're wrong, Wiegraf! You're the one who's going to kill us!" Without warning, Gustav drew his sword and charge his commander. Wiegraf raised his sword quickly and paried, sidestepping so that he was in a better position to drive his own blade through his former Captain stomach. Gustav's eyes bulged as Wiegraf withdrew the sword, leaving a wide, bloody gouge in his body, then slumped to the floor dying face first in the sand. Wiegraf stood panting over the dead body, then began to make his way to the Marquis.

Just then, the door burst open and a snide voice shouted at him, "Stop right there or we'll kill you!" it commanded.

Wiegraf straightened and turned slowly. He almost laughed when he saw the three young men, little more than children, standing in the doorway as if they were some sort of valiant heros from a story. Well, the one who had spoke was at least. The other two were less than enthusiastic. One was running his fingers along the hilt of his sword nervously, eyes darting about the room distractedly. The other, a dark haired boy, had a manner all too relaxed. He looked as if he really didn't care. Wiegraf could only assume that they were here to rescue the Marquis, and on top of it, they had come without permission. He carefully slid his sword into it's sheath and folded his arms across his chest.

"If you've come for the Marquis, you can have him."

The proud boy's expression faltered and he raised his sword, "If this is some kind of trick..."

"It's not trick. Take him back to Igros castle and tell them that I apologize for the rough treatment he has suffered at the hands of one of my captains. I suppose I'll have to take full responsibilty for the incident anyways." he began to edge towards the door, "But please don't give me any trouble that will force me into a fight. I was in the war and, although I hate to say it, I will probably be forced to kill you boys."

The boy seemed weary, but the dark haired one reached out and forced him to lower his sword arm, "Let him go Algus. He's being serious."

"But... if we kill him here, the Death Corps will be destroyed!"

"The Death Corps will destroy itself." The dark haired one said firmly, "It's not worth it."

"We'll let you go." The nervous boy said, speaking for the first time. When this had been said, the decision seemed solidifying. Wiegraf found the trio's dynamics interesting. The firery, impulsive boy was irrational, but propelled them into action, the dark haired one was sensible and intelligent but the nervous looking one was the leader. Wiegraf had no doubt that they would all be military commanders one day, helped in no small part by their noble lineage.

The youths edged away from the door, clearing a path for Wiegraf. He bowed graciously and walked briskly past them towards the exit as the proud cadet's eyes followed him and kept his palms always wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

When Wiegraf was finally free of the cellar, he allowed himself to think of what the dark haired boy had said at last.

'The Death Corps will destroy itself.'

Was it true? Would rebellions like Gustav's eventually cause infighting that would lead to them all killing each other off? Perhaps, Wiegraf thought bitterly, it IS better for the Hokuten to slaughter us all and just have it be done with...










VI.

'It was a common belief in the days before the war that commoners, that is anyone not born into nobility, were little better than cattle and should be treated as such. What most of the nobility failed to realize is that the entire economical and sociological foundation of Ivalice depended upon the poor masses.'
- The Durai Reports, Chapter VI










Dycedarg Beoulve had always been a resentful person. He was never really satisfyed with the way his life was and it seemed fate always gave him something more to be disgruntled with. When he was young the Fifty Year war was still twenty years from being over. His Father never had time for him and when Zalbag was born, his Mother didn't either. Zalbag himself was so different from Dycedarg that he found it almost impossible to communicate with the boy, and so pure hearted and painfully good that Dycedarg couldn't even manipulate him into stealing cookies from the nursery.

When their Mother died, Balbanes took a maid as his lover and even had children with her! Dycedarg could never forgive Ramza and Alma for the betrayal that they were concieved from. The plauge took the maid and Dycedarg had silently breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that no more shame could come to their family.

Then one day in late autumn the 'stable boy' showed up with his sister. Delita had requested only food and shelter for the night, but Balbanes, being the soft hearted fool he was insisted that they stay. Not for a week, or a month but for the rest of their filthy commoner lives.

"Come now Dycedarg." father had chuckled when his oldest son voiced dissent, "No child should have to grow up without a home to call their own. Besides, it will give Ramza and Alma some company while you and Zalbag are off at Gariland!"

As much as Dycedarg resented his youngest brother and sister he still considered them Beoulves and the thought of them associating with such rabble disgusted him. But he said nothing more and allowed his dissaproval grow throughout the years realizing that there was nothing he could do as long as Zalbag, Ramza and Alma enjoyed the peasants's company.

He hated Delita, though. Teta mostly stayed out of the way, being a girl and an especially shy one at that, but Delita grated Dycedarg nerves like no one else. He had sharp ears and an even sharper intellect, often inadvertantly getting the better of Dycedarg during dinner tbale conversations. Not only had he been admitted into the academy, but he dared to step out of his place and excell in his studies, purposefully keeping it a secret. Dycedarg knew, of course. In fact, if it hadn't been for his connections with the school's headmaster, Delita probably would have graduated top of the class. Only once before in Gariland's history had a commoner graduated with such honors and the staff were diligent about making sure no more mistakes like Kletian Drowa slipped through the cracks.

Of all the irritating things Delita Hyral did the one that vexed Dycedarg the most was the boy's habit of taking the blame for Ramza's mistakes. He wasn't sure why this fustrated him so. There was no satisfaction in punishing Delita as it was. The stable would simply nod nochalantly and go about his duties as usual, but his loyalty to Ramza was rather... unnerving. It wasn't servitude, more like... gratitude. Dycedarg didn't like seeing such an admirable humbleness in the boy. His life was much easier if he could continue assuming that Delita was a lofty, arrogant wretch who simply took his good fortune for granted

This time though, there was some doubt as to where the blame laid. Algus Sadalfas, grandson of the infamous Uther Sadalfas, hadn't been content with Dycedarg's decision in the first place, but he was just as likely to go off alone as to convince Ramza and Delita to go with him. But Dycedarg had never known his younger brother to disobey a direct order from him.

"Why did you go to Zeaklaus desert?" Ramza refused to meet his gaze. Dycedarg tried again, "Why did you choose to go against my direct orders when you know..."

"It was my fault." Delita interrupted, "I forced Ramza to go."

Dycedarg turned his cold gaze on Delita, who glared back with equal ice in his eyes, "Is that true, brother? Delita forced you to go?"

"No!" Ramza said quickly, "It was my decision."

"He's lying." Delita continued, "I was the one to..."

"Delita!" Ramza grabbed the stable boy's arm, "It was my choice to disobey the order. You don't have to protect me."

Delita looked at him with what must have been shock and was about to reply, but Dycedarg slammed his fist on the table, "I don't care which of you talked the other into it. What matters is that you two ignored your duty. If everyone acted lawlessly, how could 'law' exist? It's our duty to uphold the 'law' as Knight's rule." he gave Ramza a penetrating look, "Are you trying to ruin the Beoulve name!?"

Ramza dropped his arms and his gaze, "I... I'm sorry brother, I..."

"That's quite enough Dycedarg."

Ramza and Delita immdietly dropped to their knees as Duke Larg, brother of the Queen Ruvelia, strode into the room. Algus looked at them, then back to the Duke and also fell into a deep bow.

"Don't you think you're being a bit too hard on the boy. Dycedarg?" Larg spoke slowly and largely, like a King, "Young soldiers are always eager to succeed. So were we."

Dycedarg thinned his lips and aquired a sour expression, "I suppose, but..."

"So you're Zalbag and Dycedarg's younger brother. Do relax." Larg motioned for Ramza to rise as he dismissed Dycedarg, then looked the boy over with a wide smile, "You look incrediably like the late Balbanes. A fine looking young man... and I'm sure all that youthful energy didn't come from gaurding a castle." Larg laughed at his own joke.

Dycedarg grumbled and waved his hand as a sign for Delita and Algus to rise, "The mission is nearly over. You may choose one of the theives forts and take it. Consider it your first post as Gariland graduates." he sighed, "You are dismissed."

The three boys bowed one last time, then left, "Next time, Larg, let me deal with my own kin. They nearly ruined everything."

"Oh, I don't think so." Larg walked slowly to the window and folded him hands behind his back as he watched the sun set outside the Beoulve residence, "In fact, if they hadn't interferred things probably wouldn't have gone so well. Gustav wasn't much of a soldier, after all."

Dycedarg sunk in his chair petuantly, "Yes... and they were a great help in saving the Marquis life..."

"The King will die soon." Larg remarked arily, "We must move soon, my friend."


*


"What was that all about?" Algus remarked towards Delita when they were in the hallways, "Dycedarg treats you like you're his brother."

Delita scoffed harshly, and continued walking so Ramza answered Algus's question, "Delita practically is part of the family. He and his sister have lived here with us for a little over eleven years."

"What?"

"My parents were killed near the end of the Fifty Year war," Delita said over his shoulder, "Then our home was burned down. I managed to save Teta and came here. I was only five years old and didn't know anywheres else to go, didn't even know if we had any other family. Balbanes Beoulve was a merciful man, so he took us in and treated us as if we were his own."

Algus nodded slowly, taking it all in, "So Delita... you and Teta are foundlings of sorts?"

"Something like that." Ramza agreed hastily, then quickly changed the subject, "I suppose we should get some supper. They'll probably want us to attck the thieves before the night is up."

"I still say it's pointless." Delita muttered, "If we give them enough rope they'll hang themselves. What the sense in killing them all if they're just going to disband in a few weeks."

"The sense is in setting an example!" Algus said with sudden passion, "Showing those dogs that they can never get away with it again! We're going to teach them a lesson!"

Delita spun around sharply and stopped, causing Algus to nearly knock into him, "Are you an idiot, Algus? Don't you see that this is all just a diversion from the real issue? The government doesn't want us to pay attention to the growing conflict between Larg and Goltana. Because you know what will happen if the people realize what's going on? They'll call for the Princess to be brought in and neither of the Duke's want her to be on the throne. This has nothing to do with justice or setting an example, it's all a manipulation and if you can't see that you're just as much a fool as the Death Corps themselves!" Delita gave Algus one more threatening glare, then turned and stalked off down the hallway.

Algus stared after him, speechless for some long second, then he turned on Ramza and demanded, "What the hell is his problem?"

"You should probably ease up on the commoners a bit, Algus. Delita is a very fair minded person and I'm afraid you've upset him." without even waiting for Algus to defend himself, Ramza rushed off after his friend.


*


"Communication with the main unit has been cut off!" a young thief named Drake Koh threw the door open frantically, "We have to get out of here! The Hokuten are coming!"

"I knew it would come to this. My brother's views are far too optimistic." Miluda Folles sighed, brushing her long, straw colored hair behind her back. She loosened her sword in it's sheath and nodded to the small gathering of Death Corps troops under her command, "Take the back entrance out. I'll hold them off while you escape."

"Where do we go!" a young priestess exclaimed, "The Hokuten are everywheres!"

Miluda cursed and searched her memory for a possible safe haven, "Fovohom Hills." she said finally, "My brother's stronghold. The Hokuten don't reach that far, hopefully you'll be safe."

"It's over." Drake whined, "We'll all be dead before the night is out!"

"It's not over!" the priestess snapped, "It will never be over until the nobles apologize to us for what they've done!"

There was pounding at the door and the group fell silent.

"Well, go!" Miluda commanded, practically pushing the first thief out of the trap door, "Remember, Fovohom plains. You can hide overnight in Dorter! I'll meet you there!"

Her wards nodded and were gone quickly. Miluda drew her sword dutifully, well aware that she probably wouldn't make it out of the encounter alive.


*


Algus's patience wore eventually wore thin quickly, standing in the rain and getting wet. Then it occured to him:

"You know, it would take some pretty dim thieves to answer the door when they knew the Hokuten were coming."

Ramza and Delita agreed, but no one in the group was ashamed. It was, afterall, their first official mission. So Algus braced his shoulder and charge the door. It cracked under his weight and flew open. Algus fell in none too gracefully, followed catiously by Ramza and Delita.

"So this is what the almighty Hokuten send me? They send boys, barely out of the academy?" There was only one. She was a female Knight, proffesional looking and dressed very similar to the Death Corps leader Wiegraf had been. She laughed, then bared her sword and charged.

Delita was quickest. He blocked her slash and deflected her blade. She twirled and came back at him but he blocked again, bending a bit beneath the pressure of her superior strength. He sidestepped and ducked, narrowly escaping her sword as it fell towards him, then turned gracefully, catching her in the stomach. The cut wasn't fatal, but it was enough that she cried out in pain, clutching at her abdonmen as she fell. Delita sheathed his sword and frowned deeply.

The woman dragged herself to the wall so that she could sit more comfortably, then raised her chin and glared at her executors.

"Three on one. This is hardly fair... but then again, I'd expect no less from nobles such as youself. What do you think we are? We're human, just like you!"


"Nonsense!" Algus exclaimed, "You're nothing but animals! From the moment you were born you had to obey us!"

"And who are you to talk? You were born into privilage! Have you ever starved? Gone months with only soup to eat? We're only 'animals' to you because from birth you deny us our own right to life! The only difference between you and me is our families!"

"You're not equal to us!" Algus insisted, "It's because we're better than you!"

"And who decided this!?" the Lady of the Death Corps challenged, "Can you tell me that?"

"It's the Divine Will of Heaven!"

"Ha." the woman shook her head, snickering like one half-mad, "You're so misguided. God would never decide something like that. In his eyes we are all equal."

"ANIMALS HAVE NO GOD!" Algus roared. The woman widened her eyes in disbelief at his words, then slumped further as if he had physically crushed her.

"That's enough, Algus." Ramza warned softly.

"If I'm nothing more than an animal to you, kill me here. Slaughter me like I'm cattle or swine. Have no mercy, kill me slowly and laugh as I suffer. I'm only an animal, right?"

"Do it, Ramza!" Algus hissed, eyes wide and alive with a frightening fire, "She's lost sight of life, beasts like her don't deserved to live. Kill her and do it now! She's your enemy! If you don't kill her, she'll kill you!"

"Wait Ramza!" Delita placed a mediating hand on Ramza's shoulder and steadied him, "I don't think she really is our enemy."

"Hmph, and who are you to say that, a little pish posh noble like you." The woman's eyes fixed on Delita begrudgingly, "You dress and fight like a Gariland graduate.Your kind is the worst. You can't deal with your precious guilty concious so you pretend to feel and have mercy. You'd have them throw me out onto the street into the rain so I can die quietly and slowly somewhere you can't see me. The you'll go home and have your servants cook you an extravagant meal and while you eat you just thank your God that you weren't born instead to a family of farmers or millers or bakers!" she spat at Delita's feet.

"Delita isn't like that!" Ramza shouted, "He isn't even..." he stopped himself short and glanced quickly at Algus who was staring at him with a mixed expression of scorn and pointed intrest. But it was Delita who finished the statement.

"I'm not even a noble." he said, glaring at the woman. Algus made a strangled, betrayed noise but Delita ignored him and continued, "My parents were farmers. I know what it's like to starve. We grew all our own food, but still it's hard to sustain four people on just leftover grain during wartime. My parents were murdered by soldiers and if Balbanes Beoulve had treated my sister and I like animals when we sought help from him, we'd be dead now too. Not everything is as black and white as you make it out to be. Not all nobles are bad... and not all commoners are good."

The Death Corps woman was still unimpressed, "Well, then what are you to him?" she asked, turning her chin towards Ramza, "That he lets you travel with him? Are you his little pet stable boy? You does all the hard work then he gets all the credit? How sweet."

"Delita's my friend." Ramza growled.

"I wonder if you'll remember those words in ten years when you're a general and he's still nothing more than a squire, cleaning you sword and fetching you messages."

"Go." Ramza said quietly, but with barely contained fury inching up into his tone, "Leave and do what you will with yourself. We won't kill you, but you won't be our responsibility either."

The woman regarded him as if she didn't trust that he was telling the truth, then slowly got to her feet, still clutching at her wound, and limped from the hideout.

"What are you doing!" Algus shrieked as she left, "Those weren't our orders!"

"Shut up Algus! Our orders are what I say our orders are." Ramza looked pleadingly at Delita, trying to read his expression which was, as always, blank.

"We should return to Igros and report." Delita said calmly.

Algus snorted loudly and turned his nose up, "I can't believe you guys..."


*


"Communication from the main unit has been cut off!" Golagros cursed violently under his breath. He had been trying to contact Miluda's unit, but the woman had taken far too long returning his message. He paced tensely, fingers tight around his Chocobo's harness as he and Rufus waited for the three assasins to finish their job. Finally, two of them, Garret and Wang, appeared through the open doors of Igros castle, each restraining a young, gaged girl.

"Paris has been slain!" Garret despaired as he forced his captive, a pretty, dark haired girl wearing violet skirts, towards Golagros."

"Why did you take these hostages!" Golagros stressed, holding the girl's shoulders and unsure what to do with her.

"They're Beoulves! There was no other way to escape!"

"You idiots! Now they have a reason to give chase! Hurry!"

And suddenly there was an arrow in Garret's back. The Knight fell to the ground, dead. Golagros grabbed the dark haired girl roughly and shoved her onto the back of the Chocobo as Zalbag Beoulve burst out through the castle doors. Wang was slain, but Golagros escaped, taking with him Teta Hyral.

Zalbag kicked the dead body of the Death Corps fencer aside andrushed to his sister. He tore the gag out of Alma's mouth and checked her over desperately for injuries. As he was doing so, a wounded Dycedarg appeared towering and shadowlike at the castle entrace.

"They were after me..." he croaked, "Someone's trying to kill me." he was pale face and frightened. Shakily he looked at Alma, "Are you okay, sister?"

Alma nodded nervously, but turned her gaze off into the distance, "I'm fine... but Teta isn't."

"Yes, we..." Dycedarg began a nod, but suddenly his energy failed him and he fell. Zalbag caught him and shook him, "Dycedarg! Dycedarg! Are you okay? Answer me brother!"

Alma sobbed brokenly and rested her forehead on her brother's cold hand, but her thoughts were with Teta. How far would Dycedarg put himself out to save her? Would Teta even survive this ordeal? Alma doubted it and for the first time in her life, she was angry with her brother.










VII.

'I speak now of the friendship between Ramza Beoulve and Delita Hyral. It is a well known fact that in their youth the two were as close, if not closer, than any brothers. Distance grew between them during the war, but even though by all rights they should have been enemies they always found a way to fit each other into their plans. Even now after everything, Delita will still speak Ramza's name with fondness and respect.'
- The Durai Reports, Chapter XII










The air was finally growing chilly. Gray light poured into Dycedarg's sick room in one thin strand, allowed by the crack in his heavy, linen curtains. Ramza's elder brother had never been exceptionally healthy, but never before had anyone seen him so weak or pasty-faced. He breathed streniously and could barely open his eyes. He spoke with great effort and had a chemist by his side at all times. The medic assured that he would not die, but many of the servants had aleady called for a priest.

"I... heard... that you... destroyed the thieves fort..." he didn't sound like Dycedarg, strong and forceful, but rather like an old man on his death bed, "Good work... Ramza, Algus, Delita... now leave the rest up to Zalbag and... relax."

"What are you planning."

"The Death Corps... are falling apart... deserters are down to... a few... Wiegraf will be caught, and that will be... the end... of it."

"But what about Teta!" Alma pleaded, "They have Teta!"

"Don't worry... that will be... taken care of..."

Delita lurched forwards, "How exactly will it be taken care of?" he wondered through clenched teeth.

"Delita... you assume so much of me... I would never abandon Teta... she's like a... like a sister to me..." Dycedarg's speech was interrupted by a violent spell of coughs. The chemist immdietly bent over him, then glanced up at the company harshly and motioned silently for them to leave.

Alma caught Ramza's hand and they exited with Delita close by, hanging his dark head, but Algus lingered a moment longer.

"Sorry for my impertenince, highness..." he bowed humbly, "But you aren't really going to sacrifice the mission to rescue that stable boy's sister, are you?"

Dycedarg looked at him with as much shock as his weary face could manage, "What... gives you... that idea?" he rasped.

"Well... you strike me as the intelligent sort. You aren't like your siblings... you understand the 'difference' between nobles and commoners."

Dycedarg grinned shallowly, "You know... cadet Sadalfas... I like you..." he coughed, "Of course I understand... 'difference'... I have not sent the troops out to purposefully allow Teta to... die... but her rescue is... not exactly high on their list of priorities..."

Algus smirked, "That's all I wanted to know. Thank you highness, I'll be leaving now."


*


"Delita calm down!" Ramza ran through the courtyard after the fuming boy. He caught Delita by his arm and spun him around only to see his face contorted in pain and tear streaked.

"How am I supposed to calm down?" he demanded, grabbing Ramza's shoulders tightly, "How the HELL am I supposed to stay calm! Don't you understand Ramza? They have Teta! She's my sister dammnit!"

He shook Ramza and the blonde boy grew ridgid with fear. He was confused. Dycedarg said that it was taken care of, did Delita not trust him? Even worse, the stable boy's emotions were wildly out of control. Ramza had not seen him cry since the day they met, had barely seen him show emotion since he recovered from his parent's death. Delita had certainly never been violent with anyone, espeically not Ramza, but now Delita shook him so viciously that he felt himself go dizzy and his air passageways constrict.

"Delita... Delita I can't breathe..."

Delita released him swifty and stepped back. His face was a muddle of conflicting expressions; horror, fear, anger, despair; and finally, he buried his head in his hands and whispered, "Ramza, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...I just don't know what to do..."

Ramza tenatively reached out an arm and rested his hand awkwardly on Delita's shoulder, "It's okay. Remember, Dycedarg said that Teta's like a sister to him. He said he'd never abandon her. Everything will turn out okay."

"Never believe in never."

Delita's head shot up and both boys spun to see Algus stalking towards them, wearing a rather self-satisfyed grin.

"Are you suggesting that my brother's lying?" Ramza demanded.

"Well, I know that I wouldn't try to rescue a commoner like his sister."

"What did you say?"

"I said..." Algus's slowed his speech down and he talked as if he were speaking to a child, "I wouldn't waste my time trying to save common scum like your sister, knave!"

"How dare you!" Delita lunged forwards and hit Algus hard. Ramza pulled him back and restrained him before he could hurt the Limberry cadet further and Algus laughed and he rubbed his cheek.

"Dammnit Ramza, let me go!"

"See, this is why nobles and commoners will never live together! Look at you, behaving like an animal, because that's what you are! You common folk are so pathetic, you'll never be like us nobles!"

"You don't know anything, Algus." Ramza shot back, "Delita's my best friend. We're like brothers."

"And there's the problem. Don't act like such good friends. He's just a commoner, you can't be with him! He'll never trust you again!"

Delita threw Ramza off of him and strode so close to Algus that their faces were nearly touching, "I trust Ramza, Algus." he whsipered darkly, "Not all nobles are like you. You're the scum."

"You should leave, Delita." Algus replied, "You don't belong here and one day your precious Ramza is going to realize that. Then where will you be? Out on the street again."

Delita's eyes narrowed into slits, "I hope you never regain your family honor." he said, "You're nothing more than a rat." then he left, brushing past Ramza and not looking back once. Ramza leapt to his feet and stared after him before glaring angrily at Algus.

"What the hell did you say to him!?"

"Just the truth." Algus said innocently, "He's probably gone for good."

"Get out!" Ramza hollered, stepping forwards and pushing Algus back a few steps.

Algus spread his arms endearingly, "What? Come on, I thought we were friends?"

"I never want to see your face again!"

Algus sighed and shook his head, "It's a shame..." he said, then began to walk away. As he reached the court yard's entrace he turned back, "Oh yes, Ramza. I almost forgot. They headed to Fort Zeakdan. I heard from your brother." he shrugged, "Well. Good luck, you spoiled-rotten little boy."

"OUT!"

Algus sighed and shook his head one last time before leaving. Ramza closed his eyes and stowed his tears. His life was falling apart, but he still wouldn't let himself cry. He felt something wet on his forehead and opened his eyes, staring up at the gray sky in surprise. It had been a snowflake. It was finally snowing.

'It means something...' Ramza thought miserably, "Ill tidings ahead... oh God... Teta...'


*


Delita had run from the Beoulve residence with no intention of ever returning. He had run and run until his legs failed him and he collapsed face up in the frost bitten grass. Then, for the first time in eleven years he sobbed freely, alone and broken.

This was how Ramza found him nearly an hour later. He approached his old friend quietly and sat crossed legged at his side, resting his chin in his palms and staring at the horizen. Delita was half-shocked that he had come and almost afraid to say anything in case the 'noble' was cross with him. After several minutes of prolonged silence, Delita realized this was a stupid assumption as Ramza would never have come after him if her were angry. So Delita spoke.

"It was snowing."

"Yes."

"Teta loves the winter. I'm sure she's glad, wherever she is."

"I'm sure she'll be fine. Zalbag will take care of everything." Ramza paused, then said predicatably, "We should go back to Igros. It's getting late."

"No!" Delita sat up and glared Ramza down defiantly, "I'm not going back. I have to go after Teta."

Ramza smiled sadly and nodded, "It was worth a try. I made sure to bring enough money to last us a week of sleeping and eating in Inns. They went to Fort Zeakden, but we'll have to go around the long way through Fovohom otherwise Dycedarg will catch us."

Delita stared at his friend blankly for a moment before he fully understood what had just been said, "You're... planning to come with me."

"Of course. When I told Algus that you're like my brother, I wasn't just saying that. You're talking about barging into the middle of a battle. You could be killed!" Ramza scratched his head and sighed, "I could never live with myself if I let you go alone."

Delita nodded graciously, unable to express his actual gratitude. He leaned back in the beaten down grass and watched the faint traces of sunset behind the wall of melanchony gray, "I've... felt out of place for a while now."

"Are you thinking about what Algus said?"

Delita closed his eyes, "I guess there are some things you can never change, no matter how hard you try."

Ramza looked away, "You shouldn't think like that Delita. You know I don't feel that way."

"Not everyone is like you Ramza. I know Dycedarg has never liked me. And everyone at the academy always thought like Algus does." Ramza didn't answer, so Delita continued, "Do you think I could be a General if I tried hard enough?" he asked, "I want to save Teta on my own, but I can't do anything. I'm... 'useless'."

"You're not useless, Delita." Ramza protested, "And I hardly think you need to become a General to rescue your sister."

"That's not the point Ramza. Do you think I could ever become a General anyways? Say, in ten years from now?"

Ramza tugged at the grass and considered the question, "Well, if I could ever become a General, you definitely could. I think you've got a much better chance at it than I do... I mean, you're practically at the top of the class and I'm not embarassed to say that you're better in a fight..."

"But Ramza, you're a noble."

Ramza looked up and furrowed his brow, "What does that have to do with anything?"

Delita very nearly laughed, "Ramza, you're very niave, you know that." he opened his eyes again and gazed up at his friend thoughtfully, "But I suppose I like that about you. If you weren't so naive, we wouldn't be friends, would we?"

Ramza blinked and began tugging at the grass again. There was another moment of silence, then Ramza said, "Hey, Delita. Remember when father taught us to play that reed flute." he dug in his travelling pack and examined the delicately carved instrument, "You were always much better at it."

Delita sat up and took the small flute from Ramza's hands, "Ramza, do you think I'm better at everything than you?"

Ramza shrugged, "I guess. I'm no good at anything. I'll never be like Zalbag or Dycedarg."

"Ramza, you're not that worthless. You're just focusing on the wrong things."

"What do you mean by that?"

Delita shook his head, "Nevermind, Ramza. You'll understand eventually. Let me just say that there are some things more important in life than warfare." he lifted the flute to his lips and began to play. The tune was slow, epic and mournful.

" 'Great Warrior'?" the music stopped abruptly, "You always had an ear for sad songs."

"What do you want me to play?"

"Something happy." Ramza tapped his thumb against his chin in thought, then nodded firmly, "Yes. Play 'Waltz for the Moon'."

The edges of Delita's mouth turned upwards in a slight smile. He began playing again. This time the tune was light and merry. The song was reminiscent of happier times. Ramza leaned back on his palms and tried to spy the first night star through the gloom.


*


Miluda wasn't deluding herself. She had lost more blood than she was able to account for and she highly doubted that any of the inexpeirienced chemists or priests in the Death Corps's ranks would have the skill to save her life. The least she could do was give Wiegraf the message that could save his life.

She hated that it had to end this way. Would she die without honor? A victim of a CHILD who died from a shallow wound without even taking one of her foe with her. When they spoke the name of Miluda Folles would it be with scorn and shame? Would she drag down her brother's honor with her failure?

No, the least she could do would be to deliever her message. She refused to give up in such a desolte, barren place as the Lenalia Plateau, faceless and insignificant. She doubted that the discovery of her body would even be reported by passing caravans. It would simply be shoved out of the way into a ditch or a gutter and forgotten. Wiegraf would always wonder what had happened but he would know that she had failed him.

Fainlly, she collapsed, 'Only for a moment.' she told herself, 'Just a short rest. I'll continue walking, it's only two more days until I reach the windmill...' but night was falling and chill creeping into the air. Winter had finally begun and Miluda knew that she most likely would never raise from her resting place again.

Then she heard voices. They were very faint, but moving closer and familiar. Miluda had a sharp memory and never forgot a face or voice. She strained her ears as the voices swayed closer, and then it hit her. They were the boys who had nearly killed her at the thieves fort in Igros. The Beoulve, she was sure, and his little pet stable boy. But where was the third one? The crass, classist moron who spoke with the accent of Limberry. She shakily forced herself to her feet, ripe with new resolve. She drew her sword and leaned on it like a walking stick, steadying herself into an almost casual position.

Finally, the boys came into sight. They stopped a few feet away, staring at her in shock through the dimming light.

"You!" the Beoulve gasped.

The stable boy appraoched her first, anger in his steady movement, "Where is Wiegraf? Where did he take Teta?"

Miluda blinked, trying to remember what the last messanger had told her, "Teta? You mean the Beoulve girl?"

"She's my sister!" he shouted, "She has nothing to do with them!"

"I'm sorry." Miluda said coldly, "There's nothing I can do about it. None of this would have happened if nobles like your little blonde friend over there didn't take everything from us." she looked over the dark haired boy's shoulder and called out. "You hear that! This is your fault! All we ask is for a little respect, but no... you just keep taking from us! You brought this upon yourself!"

"Don't try to blame this on him." the stable boy grumbled, "You ask for respect, but how will you ever earn it if you don't even take responsibilities for your actions?"

Miluda snorted, "How can 'animals' be responsible for their own actions. Nobles don't even know how to keep up their own double standards. They'll have to make the first move, or they'll have a Revolution on their hands."

The Beoulve had come closer now. He settled his soft brown eyes on Miluda in a rather disconcerting fashion, "Wait. You said Revolution. Do you think that's really necessary?"

"Of course it is! Your types will never listen to us unless we take drastic measures!" Suddenly, she jerked her sword up and charged at the Beoulve with the last of her strength. She felt the cold hand of death upon her, and if she was going to go she would die in the heat of battle, not curled up on the cold, winter ground trying to keep herself warm.

The stable boy made a grab for her, but she was too fast. The Beoulve fumbled for his sword and barely managed to have it drawn when she hit him. He was far stronger than her in this state and easily put her down, but she attacked again even as the strength drained out of her arms and legs. He jabbed at her uselessly and desperately with his blade. Miluda swung her own sword weakly, then, despite the fact it was against everything that she stood for, flung herself at him. Whether it was intentional or not, his sword went through her stomach. She laughed madly and slumped to her knees.

"Beoulve... tell my brother..." she coughed into the back of her hand. When she brought it away, her glove was stained with blood, "Tell my brother that I died... honorably..." the boy pulled the sword from her body and the darkness set in.


*


"I... I didn't mean to kill her..." Ramza whispered.

"But she did mean for you to." Delita wrapped his fingers around Ramza's arm and pulled him away from the dead body of the woman, "We should get going or we'll never make it to an Inn before night falls."

"Wait, Delita. We shouldn't just leave her in the middle of the road like that." Delita released Ramza and the blonde boy went to his fallen foe and lifted her into his arms. He struggled beneath the weight of her Knight's armour, but finally managed to heft her to the side of the road. He raked a small pile of leaves with his hands and covered her body as well as he could. Then he closed her eyes and covered her face. He used her sword as a grave marker, then walked back to where Delita had stood watching.

"That's what I meant Ramza, back outside of Igros. That there are more important things than war."

"Are you okay Delita?"

Delita shook his head and continued to stare at where Ramza had buried the she-Knight, "Who am I, Ramza? Who... what am I? A commoner or a noble? I don't know anymore... I think like a noble but I'm treated as much like an animal as she is. Was Algus right? Should I not be friends with you? Should I just go join the Death Corps and fight against your brothers?"

Ramza understood that his friend's mood was delicate. He searched for the right words, "I wouldn't worry about it, Delita. You're not a commoner and you're not a noble. You're just... Delita."

Delita was quiet. He nodded stiffly then began again down the road. Ramza thought for a moment that he might have said exactly the wrong thing, but decided it was better not to stress over it and followed. Later that night, it occured to him that he hadn't even known the name of the woman he killed.


*


"Who's she?" Wiegraf demanded the moment he entered the windmill. Golagros and a few other more seasoned troops lounged about, sitting and even laying on the boxes piled high at the back of the room. They leapt to attention when Wiegraf entered the room... all but one. She wasn't one of his troops. A young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, and dressed in detailed robes of dark purple velvet. She was gagged, blindfolded and possibly unconcious, "I thought I said we'd be taking no more hostages!"

"Whoa!" Golagros held up his arms, "Don't put me with Gustav. This was different. The assasination attempt went wrong and I needed to take a hostage to escape."

"You could have let her go afterwards! What was the idea bringing her here!?"

"Well, we have the advantage now. They won't dare attack us because we've got her here... and she's a Beoulve. We can escape!"

"What's the point in escaping!?" Wiegraf exclaimed, exasperated by Golgaros's near-sightedness, "We'll just get caught again! We have to go down fighting!"

Golagros turned white, "You mean... you'd have us die!"

"And take as many nobles with us as we can! It would be a honorable death!"

"We'll die like dogs!"

"No!" Wiegraf slammed his fist on the wall, the thud echoing throughout the small mill house, "No death will ever be in vain! Even a small ripple will eventually become a wave! This isn't the end, you idiot, it's the beginning!"

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Wiegraf, but I come bearing ill news." Wiegraf spun to face the young messanger who stood in the doorway. She was dirty and panting, but holding no parchment. The news was fresh.

"Tell me." he commanded.

She bit her lip, the appraoched him, whispering it hesitantly. Wiegraf listened, then reeled back, catching himself on a cargo box. He sat down slowly and rested his hands on his knees, "It can't be..." he murmered, "It can't be!" he repeated, louder this time, "Miluda... dead?"

The messanger nodded sadly, "I'm sorry. We found her body by the road in Lenalia Plateau this morning. She had been covered with leaves, and they used her sword to mark her grave. You may visit it if you like."

Wiegraf had stopped listening at some point. The blood pounded in his ears and his mind reeled in disbelief. Miluda? Dead? Who could kill Miluda? Her will was iron and her strength could match any man's! She would never allow herself to be defeated without at least putting up an admirable fight! Even worse, if she was dead, what was Wiegraf supposed to do? They had been together since they were just kids in their parent's small bakery. They went into the war together, even formed the Death Corps together. If she was gone, how could Wiegraf ever face his parents in the afterlife? He had made a promise to protect her as long as he drew breath. His mother would never look him in the face, his father would never again speak to him. He had let them down, let Miluda down.

"Sir, also there are two young cadets approaching. They are dressed like Hokuten, but I don't think their intents are of violence."

Wiegraf rose, "Them! It must be them who killed my sister!" he ran towards the door, his thoughts composed of nothing but the thirst for revenge.


*


When Ramza and Delita mounted the first rise in the hills of Fovohom Plains, Wiegraf Folles was waiting for them. His sword was drawn and he had murder in his eyes. Delita drew his sword and rushed forwards, "Where is my sister!" he called.

Wiegraf raised a hand to motion for Delita to stop, "First, tell me which one of you killed MY sister."

Ramza's heart stopped, "You're... sister?" he asked breathlessly.

"Her name was Miluda Folles and she was a proud warrior. Which one of you murdered her!"

It all came together in Ramza's mind. Miluda, that was the woman's name. Her last words had been, 'Tell my brother that I died honorably.' Ramza came forwards hand on chest and eyes downcast, "You sister died honorably." he said softly, eager to make good the poor woman's dying request.

This did not comfot Wiegraf, though. If anything, the fire in the man's eyes flared, "You!" he hissed, "You wretched noble!"

"Wait!" Delita demanded, "Tell me what happened to Teta! Where did you take my sister! We came all this way for her!"

Wiegraf barely glanced at Delita from the corner of his gaze, "She's in there." he jerked his thumb towards the windmill, "We were going to let her go anyways. You came all this way for nothing, Beoulve."

"He's not a Beoulve." Ramza corrected, "I am. Delita has nothing to do with it!"

Wiegraf smirked, "Really now?" he turned fully towards Delita this time, "Go and rescue her. My troops are all gone, so no one will stop you. I have no problem with you."

Delita looked conflicted, but his gaze flickered towards the mill longingly, "Go!" Ramza shouted, "I'll be fine!" Delita glanced at him one last time before running towards the windmill. Ramza turned his attention to Wiegraf and gathered his wits about him.

The Death Corps leader was a merciless warrior. The only thing that saved Ramza at all was his light armour and the fact that he was smaller than the man. He pivoted and dodged like mad, only having the chance to use his sword for blocking. Wiegraf was surprisingly fast for someone who weilded a massive, iron blade. Ramza called upoon everything he had ever learned about swordfighting from his father, brothers, friends and in school.

"You don't have to resort to violence you know," Ramza tried to reason with Wiegraf as he deflected the blade, spinning and bracing himself for the next attack, "If you just talked, we'd listen."

"We've tried talking." Wiegraf retorted angrily, "But you nobles continuously brush us aside!"

"But what if we approached you! I'm sure that my brothers..."

"Your brothers!" Wiegraf laughed as he brought his blade down over Ramza's head. The young Beoulve didn't have time to block it with his sword, so he sidestepped the blow. It caught him in the shoulder, nicking his skin and drawing blood. Ramza cried out and grasped his wound. Wiegraf lowered his sword and stepped back, "You really don't know anything, do you?" he said, astounded, "If you think your brothers would listen to us."

"Dycedarg is a reasonable man. An honorable one. He's a man of Justice!"

Wiegraf laughed again, "Dycedarg? And honorable man? Justice means different things to different people. Let me tell you something about your brother Dycedarg..." the Death Corps leader sheathed his sword and Ramza looked at him expenctantly, "Your elder brother hates commoners as much as the next noble. In fact, he's been the most adamant about turning the masses against us. Who's plot do you think it was to have the Marquis Elmdor kidnapped?"

"What! You can't be insinuating that it was my brother who was behind that?"

"Of course it was! Who else has that kind of influence?"

Ramza was speechless. He didn't want to believe it, but he honestly couldn't trust his brother's word enough anymore to disprove it, "I didn't mean to kill your sister." he said.

Wiegraf growled, "I can hardly believe that... but I'll let you live for now. You'd better go help your friend and his sister. I've got work to do."


*


When Ramza pushed open the creaky door of the small mill he saw only Delita standing in the center of the room beneath the slowly turning wheel. The dust floated in the air thickly, making it hard to breath. Ramza came close to Delita and asked, "Where's Teta."

"Wiegraf was lying." Delita turned and faced Ramza with glassy eyes, "They took her somewhere else. Maybe killed her. I don't know."

"I don't think they killed her, Delita. They're not monsters."

Suddenly, Delita grabbed Ramza's arms. Not violently like the time at Igros, but gently. Then he rested his forehead on Ramza's shoulder and began to sob quietly. Ramza kept his head held high and tried to think about something else. He tried to keep his mind off Teta's fate, Dycedarg's wounds, Wiegraf's words. It was too much. It all hurt too much.

"Why did this have to happen to Teta?" Delita pleaded, his voice broken and warped through his tears, "She's never harmed a soul in her life. Why her? Why?"

"I don't know..." Ramza answered truthfully, but Delita continued to sob, "Listen... I'm sure she'll be fine. If they took her with them that means they think they can use her as a hostage... let's go to Fort. Zeakden. I'm sure we'll find something there."

Delita nodded weakly, but it was a long time before he dried his tears and moved.










VIII.

'... the battle at Fort. Zeakden was not a particularily significant battle although it ended the three month terrorization of the Death Corps. Wiegraf Folles and many of his most trusted captians managed to escape the massacre...'
- The Durai Reports, Chapter II










Zalbag read and re-read the scroll over and over until he could have practically recited it back just to make sure he hadn't misunderstood. When he finally put it down on his makeshift work desk, he frowned heavily and leaned back in his chair.

'Saving Teta is not a priority.' Dycedarg had wrote, 'It is our first perogative to obliterate the Death Corps. If the girl gets in the way, kill her.'

Zalbag's concious and sense of duty were often at odds, but never before like this. Dycedarg was his brother and commanding officer, but Teta was like a younger sister to him.

"For God's sake, Dycedarg..." Zalbag muttered, covering his eyes with a gloved palm, "The girl is only thirteen years old. Would you have me murder her in cold blood just to satisfy your anger with our Father?"

What would Delita think if he brought Teta back from the battle in a body sack? What would Ramza think? Alma? The three of them would never forgive him... he would never forgive himself! Saving Teta's life may not have been on Dycedarg's 'to-do list', but it certainly was on Zalbag's.

"Sir, there is a cadet here to see you." Zalbag nearly fell off his chair at the interruption. He swivled to see young Ikari the archer standing uneasily at the tent flap, "Should I send him in."

"Yes, of course."

Ikari dissapeared and a moment later a less familair face materialized. It took Zalbag a minute to recognize him, but when he did he wasn't sure whether to be glad or furious, "You're cadet Sadalfas!"

Algus bowed deeply, "At your service, highness."

"What are you doing here! Where are Ramza and Delita!"

"Probably half-way across the Fovohom Plains by my estimate, on their way to Fort. Zeakden."

Zalbag was on his feet in moments, "What did you say? Why would my brother be going there?"

Algus shrugged innocently, "I don't know. Maybe it somehow got out that your dear brother Dycedarg wasn't as anxious to save Teta's pathetic commoner life as they were."

Zalbag gasped as he realized what this meant, and grabbed a fistful of Algus's collar, "You sent them out! How could you! They could be killed!"

Algus shrugged again, "I didn't tell them to go. It was their choice, and they knew the risk when they left." he detached Zalbag's hands from the scruff of his shirt and brushed himself down, "Anyways. There's nothing you can do about it now, is there?"

Zalbag hung his head and went back to his seat, "What do you want Algus? Why did you come here?"

Algus got on to one knee and laid his sword out before Zalbag, "Please, accept me into the ranks of Hokuten. I will be your loyal squire and accompany you into battle, risk my life for you even. I will prove myself to be nothing but loyal and perfect in my servitude. Please, it is the only way I know to regain my family's honor."

Zalbag was vexed. Even when he failed to answer instantaneously, Algus didn't rise. The boy was scum, and most likely a rat, but there was no harm in taking him on this one mission, was there? He could prove himself either trustworthy or a weasel and then Zalbag would be finished with him.

Besides, being cold hearted was Dycedarg's forte and Algus seemed truly sincere.


*


They were less than a day from Fort Zeakden, but Ramza had still insisted that they bed for the night. The snows had continued and they boys had spent a good portion of their Inn funds to buy themselves Winter cloaks. Due to this, they were now spending the evening in the cheapest, seediest hotel in the backstreets of a small, Fovohom hovel. They ate little and spoke even less, the battle that they were about to walk into looming heavily over their every action. Delita hadn't been the same since the day in the windmill and neither had Ramza in a sense. No matter what he rationalized, he couldn't find a way around Wiegraf's words.

'Dycedarg's plot?' he thought, 'My brother has a plot... So what happens now? Will he disown me? He has the power... and would Zalbag allow him to do it? And then... what about Delita...'

His gaze strayed to the window where Delita sat, disinterestidly staring out the window at the snow as it piled softly in the muddy streets below. It was as if he had already decided Teta was dead, but had to see it with his own eyes.

One of Ramza's childhood tutors had explained to him the story of Murond, about how they prosecuted St. Ajora and then were swallowed up by the sea. The tutor said that not all of the Murondic people died in the calamity. Only a few had survived, but they became scattered and nomadic. All their noble families had lost face and formed the Murond Church of the Shrine Knights and all their farmers and millers had spread throughout Ivalice and become even pooer than they had been while their country still lived. No one had ever directly asked Delita or Teta about it, but most believed that their family had been one of the few pure-blooded Murondic families left. There weren't many dark haired people in Ivalice, especially outside of the church.

Even Delita's name was old Murondic. When translated broadly into Ikoku, it meant 'Delicate', but Ramza's tutor had translated it more specifically as 'One who should be approached delicately' or 'with caution'. Ramza had agreed that the latter description suited his close friend more accurately, though now, the less literal meaning occured to him. Delita had a strong face, but he held a lot of pain in his heart. Ramza had never thought about how losing one's parents could affect a child. He never for a moment considered that maybe all the teasing Delita endured at school hurt. The other boy was so talented at supressing his emotions that Ramza sometimes forgot that he had them.

This was how Ramza thought about Delita: he's far stronger and smarter than me, like my brothers, but different because I can actually talk to him.

'My God...' Ramza thought about everything any member of the Death Corps had ever said to him, 'They're all right. I'm just like the rest of the nobles. Just because I'm friends with Delita doesn't mean that I care about commoners... hell, I don't even really care about him. I've never given his feelings or his hardships a second thought and he's always just nodded and stood by loyaly like... like a servant."

Ramza couldn't stand to look as his friend anymore. He threw himself onto the furtherst bunk from the window and buried his face in the musty pillow, 'Tommorow,' he told himself, 'Tommorow, after we save Teta I'll apologize. I'll make sure that Delita knows I really am his friend and not just his 'master'.' he rolled on to his back and sighed at the dark ceiling, 'That is if it's not already too late...'


*


The snow was up to their knees and still falling on the morning of the battle. Ramza and Delita payed the Inn clerk and headed for the Fort, holding thier thick fur coats together at the breast and sheilding their faces against the wind. The storm died down close to noon, and that was when they found their first body. He was a member of the Death Corps, which was suiting becuase it was doubtful that any Hokuten would fall before the day was out.

They quickened their pace and soon passed land where there was still scattered fighting. They dodged between patches of thicket and woodland before finally reaching the Fort. The fighting wasn't as hot as they had expected it to be, but they still tried to remain out of sight. They pressed themselves up against the back of a tall archer mount and peaked their heads around the corners where they were able to see the action clearly.

It was nearly an hour of standing painfully still in that hidden snowbank when Zalbag entered the scene, followed closely by... Algus Sadalfas.

"That rat!" Delita hissed, "He went straight to your brother... of all the nerve..."

"Shh, Delita. Let's watch what happens."

A loyal Hokuten felled the last of the Death Corps, and then approached Zalbag, saluting. Ramza's brother nodded and motioned for him to fall back in line. The company was about to leave when a crazed, but clear, voice sounded out from the bridge above the archer turrets.

All heads turned skywards, where the last Death Corps captain swayed against the winds, holding a girl to his chest with one arm, a torch in the other.

"Teta!" Delita exclaimed. Ramza grabbed his arm to steady him. The Death Corps captain had a dangerous, desperate look in his eyes. Who knew what might happen if Delita were to suddenly rush out into the open.

"Nobody move!" the Knight screamed. He kept faltering as Teta squirmed beneath his grasp, "There are enough explosives in the Fort to send us all to hell! If you know what's good for you, you'll leave now and let me live!"

The next few events seemed to pass impossibly slow. Ramza watched in terror as Zalbag turned towards Algus and nodded heavily. The Limberry cadet raised his crossbow and aimed. Delita ripped himself away from Ramza grasp and threw himself into the middle of the Fort grounds, screaming his sister's name. As the arrows flew, Zalbag aquired a wild look and knocked Algus's arms aside.

It was too late. Time restored itself and the first arrow imbedded itself it Teta's chest. The girl didn't shriek, only made a strangled noise, then fell from the bridge, hitting the ground with a sickening thud and the sound of breaking bones. The second arrow strayed a bit and hit the Death Corps Knight in his shoulder. He was suitiably shocked to see that his enemies had killed the hostage so readily and had the sense to crumple over like one dead. No one except Ramza saw him crawl towards the barracks entrace and slam the door shut behind him, and no one cared.

Zalbag observed the entire scene hopelessly and then, as if deciding he couldn't deal with what had just happened, he spun on his heel and ordered his troops to move out. Ramza wanted to run after him, but he could do nothing but stare at Teta's lifeless body lying facedown in the bloodied snow.

"You rat!" Delita hollered, lunging at Algus and pinning the cadet against the side of a turret. He drew his sword lightning fast and held it steadily against the Limberry's throat, "Give me one reason I should let you live!"

Algus didn't speak to Delita, though. Instead, he called out to Ramza, "Ho Beoulve! What are you so upset about!? She was just a common girl!"

Ramza had never felt such rage. He came up beside Delita and glared at the cadet like he was the dirt beneath his boots, "How could you do it, Algus? Why something so terrible?"

"It's about time you learned about 'difference', Ramza." Algus continued, totally oblivious to the fact that there was a sharpened blade pressing against his jugular, "Different birth, totally different life! You can't be seen with animals like the Hyrals. Don't you understand, you've got Beoulve honor to uphold! Not just for your own sake, but for everyone else's. Other noble families depend on yours to protect them and set the standard. If you step out of line, the others are lost."

"But I don't want to live that kind of life." Ramza shivered in the cold and pointedly ignored the dead body lying no more thean four feet away from him, "I don't want to live just being used by others."

"The Beoulves are used because of who they are, what they mean. We need their protection and they need our loyalty. Don't you see, it's a give and take relationship."

"Well, I don't want to live like that!" Ramza snapped, meeting at Algus;s eyes for the first time. The Limberry native was smirking.

"That's absolute pish posh." he replied, "That's how everyone lives. Everyone uses everyone. Why, you've even been using your best friend Delita here, am I right?"

"What?" Ramza widened his eyes, "Me... using Delita?"

"Shut up." Delita warned, pressing the blade closer, "You aren't worth the time we're wasting listening to you."

Algus snickered, "That's right, Delita. Get angry. Get furious, because it's all you can do. You're not worth the soles of my booths, you filthy little animal."

"Ramza." Delita said heavily, "If you want to say something to save this poor bastard's life I would appreciate hearing it right now."

Ramza answer was to turn his back on the scene and close his eyes. Algus Sadalfas died quietly and quickly, but only time would tell if his participation in the Fort Zeakden battle would clear his family's name.

Ramza leaned against the turret where Algus had died and studied the ground, thinking and wondering where he was to go from here. Delita had walked over to his sister's body and lifted it in his arms when the first spark crackled above them.

"Oh shit!" Ramza remembered what the Death Corps captain had said about the explosives, "Delita, the entire palce is about to burn! We have to get out of here!"

But Delita was unconcerned. He didn't even acknowledge Ramza's words. Ramza was about to runs towards him, but a sudden eruption of fire across the bridge collapsed the structure and he was thrown back ten feet. Ramza coughed, unable to see or breathe properally in the thick, black smoke produced by the explosion, but still he dragged himself to his knees and searched frantically.

"Delita!" he called, "Delita! Where are you!"

His last thought before blacking out was the hope that his oldest, dearest friend had at least died instantly and painlessly.










IX.










The fake last name didn't fool Gafgharion. He had known from the moment the boy entered the bar that he was a Beoulve. He dressed like a mercenary, but moved and spoke like a noble. He was all soft edges and deft movements, none of that coarseness characteristic of the hard life. He didn't swear, didn't smoke and didn't drink. Who did the boy think he was fooling?

But Gafgharion listened to his story patiently, and even agreed to hire him but as soon as the exchange of money and contracts was finished, he pounced on him.

"Now that you're in my contract, boy, I think that you're obliged to tell me the truth."

The boy blinked softly. Innocently, "What do you mean? The truth is what I told you."

"I know you're a Beoulve." Gafgharion whispered over his beer. The boy turned white and for a moment looked as if he were about to start crying, "And not just any Beoulve." the mercenary continued, "You're Ramza Beoulve, the youngest of Balbanes son. You weren't fooling anyone. You may be dressed like a poor boy, but you're the spitting image of your father. What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be dead, or at least bed-ridden? I've heard about what happened at Fort Zeakden... did your brother's disown you or something?"

Ramza sighed and lowered his head, staring contemplatively into his untouched beer, "I really don't know..." he replied slowly, "I guess that when it came down to it... I just dropped it all and ran..."