Disclaimer - I don't own Visions of Escaflowne. Folken, Dornkirk, Adelphos, Van, the Iron general, the Platinum general, Zongi, and Merle don't belong to me. Once again, if you're surprised, I'm sorry.

Ollen70: This is the longest, most complicated chapter of the story, proving me wrong when I said that the whole thing would be short and one-shot. Well, I guess that obviously isn't the case any more.



Chapter Four - - Cowardice in Disguise


The generals came to him almost every day, and his response was always the same. He had no interest in becoming a pawn of Zaibach, so he waited patiently while part of Delleva's prediction came true. Nearly a fortnight later, he found his quarters had been changed again. It seemed he had finally upset Dornkirk one time too many - his old quarters, though cramped and unpleasant, had at least been private. Now, he found himself in the reeking, overcrowded guild of the peasants and beast people in the lowest level of the fortress. His only belongings, other than the clothes on his back, were a pile of tattered blankets he wrapped himself in at night, his corner of the gallery resembling a run down nest more than any kind of living space. He was aware that his exile here was intended as a punishment to force him into accepting the Emperor's offers, but he didn't mind as much as Dornkirk might have liked. He never had time to feel lonely now, and other than being treated a little roughly by some of the local boys, he was largely left to his own devices. Part of him cynically admitted that if he were to come across a young man that was only partly real, he might keep his distance as well.

The commons was an interesting place. More interesting, at least, than the cold and more or less sterile halls in the upper reaches of the fortress. The chamber was massive - so vast, in fact, that even empty a person could barely see from one side of it to the other. Massive pillars of solid metal several meters thick supported the weight of the fortress above, reaching high into air before giving way to deep vaults. The beast people had the run of it. It was they who manned the many market stalls or the various rooms built into the sides of the chamber. Though there were some humans, they tended to live either as soldiers or in the other buildings like this one in different parts of the empire.

Beast people and the other demi-races, Folken soon realized, were kept here as much for their unique skills as to keep them isolated. The gecko races were excellent assassins; the wolf and dog races were fierce fighters when roused, often recruited as melee fighters; The cat people were trackers, as Delleva consistently proved, but many of them also seemed to have a natural affinity for piloting guymelefs. The other, most elusive race was that of the doppleganger, often called the deceptant tribe. Folken had heard tales of them often as a child - that they could take the body of any person they chose, or fade from view entirely if they found it necessary to do so. If they were actually a race, Folken didn't know. There were only two of the tall, gray creatures in all of Zaibach. Folken himself had seen one of them once, but it had taken him more than a moment, staring at it's strange red-streaked face to realize what it was he was looking at.

With the generals ignoring him, Folken found that his time was now fully his own. As much as possible, he spent the days working on random collections of gears or others parts he'd been able to take quietly from the labs. A great many of the Zaibach guymelefs stored in them had been dismantled lately, and though Folken didn't know why, the parts lying unprotected and largely unaccounted for were too tempting to pass up. He was always careful with what he took, making sure the labs were empty and that the pieces he chose were generic. Even if someone noticed the missing parts, Folken was quite confident that they would never be able to trace them back to him.

Folken noticed with little interest that the number of soldiers in and around the fortress was smaller than he had ever seen, and that the floating fortresses, usually harbored nearby, were gone from the city. This was strange, as it was mid-winter and the snows were falling more heavily than most could remember. Why the entire fleet would be called into duty during such conditions, Folken couldn't say. Whatever the reason was, it gave him far more liberty, and that was all that mattered to him.

Fortunately for Folken, eviction from his quarters didn't mean total banishment from the rest of the fortress. He was still allowed to wander the halls when he felt like it, and the kitchen workers fed him if he asked them to. Since he had no money and nothing to barter, purchasing anything in the market wasn't a possibility. On one such occasion, he returned with half of a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese in his hands, hoping to find some place to store it where others wouldn't take it from him. Having already eaten his fill, he wasn't as interested in the provisions as he normally might have been. A figure in the dim light sat against the wall at the base of the staircase, eyes open. It moved not even a little, though it's chest moved reluctantly with shallow breath. It's ribs were rather painfully visible under grayish skin. It wasn't emaciated, but Folken began to wonder how long it must have been since it had eaten. Almost unthinking, he lay the loaf and cheese at the creature's side and went about his business.

As time wore on, the only time he ventured into the upper reaches of the fortress was because hunger drove him there. The soldiers would cast him contemptuous glances in the corridors, obviously having heard the many rumors about him that flowed like water through the empire. Having no mind to endure open hostility, he avoided the corridors altogether whenever possible.

The preoccupation around the empire and the disembarkation of the fleet were not explained to him. Indeed, even more of the imperial armies were sent out, leaving only a skeleton force in Zaibach or the fortress. Folken could now easily walk into the machine labs, even in the middle of the day, without fear of being caught. Most of the guymelefs had been dispatched over the last month, which cut down his supply of spare parts to tinker with. This didn't trouble him much, as he had collected all he needed beforehand, and was in the middle of one particular experiment that seemed promising.

He knew that even if he were discovered, he probably wouldn't be severely punished. This knowledge didn't reassure him. There was a very dark, brooding presence in the lab whenever Folken entered the labs and set to work. At first he was willing to brush it off as his imagination and nothing more, until he started to feel it in other parts of the fortress as well. It was as if he was constantly being watched, but it was more than that. He knew Dornkirk probably knew exactly where he was and what he was doing at any given moment, yet this was something different entirely. The presence he felt was not as safe as a guard or a spy that he couldn't see. It was a colder feeling - something dangerous, even.



Less than a week later, the Iron general and the men under his command broke through the clouds, their guymelefs and fortresses as numerous in the air as the crystalline snowflakes. It was this force alone that returned to make repairs, filling the palace once again with men in armor. The Iron general was the one man Folken hated more than any other, and so the morning he had spotted the fortresses in the sky and recognized them, he liberated as many of his inventions from the machine lab as he could. With the Iron general's eyes open for him, he couldn't risk being spotted in the labs. The general was the man who had delivered the news to Folken that he was to sleep in the commons, and Folken's ribs still smarted at the memory of that particular encounter.

His distress at the arrival of the general was compounded only by the fact that while the man was here, Folken was almost entirely cut off from his supply of parts. more than once he was tempted to risk it, especially when Delleva paid him a very unexpected visit one evening.

A foot connected with his ribs twice. He didn't open his eyes until another, much harder kick brought him upright, brushing his hair back and glowering at the cat woman.

My, how the mighty have fallen. She smirked, looking disdainfully at the pile of tattered cloth he'd surrounded himself with.

What are you doing here? He was in even less of a mood to deal with her now than he ever was. The arrival of the new force was unnerving enough without the added tension Delleva inexorably brought with her wherever she surfaced.

Be careful how you address me, boy. She got down very close to him, her nose almost touching his. I have information that might interest you, and it would be a shame if I had to leave before you heard it.

Nothing you have to say ever interests me. He snapped. That said, he sunk back into the blankets and closed his eyes, trying to recapture the pleasant dream she'd ruptured upon her arrival. The back of her hand across his face brought him upright again, eyes blazing.

Don't you ever learn? Her expression was not at all friendly. I shouldn't even be telling you this, but there's something in the largest lab upstairs that might entice you enough to be a bit more civil. She slapped him again for what must have been good measure, watching him carefully. He bit his lip, but didn't move to react. Nodding at this, she continued.

The third fleet came back for a definite reason. Seems they found something fairly incredible in the ruins to the north, something no one expected. Dornkirk was furious at first. you should have seen him, ranting and swearing like a daemon. He said they should have sent one fortress, instead of drawing so much attention with the whole damned fleet like that.

What did they bring? He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Some type of metal.

Folken couldn't keep the disappointment entirely out of his face. That's all?

No. Well, yes, but no. She replied quickly. It isn't just a metal. It's like quicksilver, except that it isn't always liquid. Or solid. Or... well, anything, really. One of the sorcerers thinks it might be alive, but they can't really say. I thought you might want a look, or a sample of it. After all the time you've been spending in the machine labs...

How do you know about that? He shot out quickly, his voice low. She wrinkled her nose at him.

Everyone on this level knows. The reek of oil on you is even stronger than the smells that usually abound down here. Maybe you should bathe more often. She smiled facetiously. Go to the Emperor. Tell him you want to become a part of Zaibach. He'll let you see the metal. Maybe in time, he'll even let you experiment with it, though I really don't understand why that sort of thing excites you so deeply...

He thanked her and told her, incredibly, that he would consider it, noting the look of utter shock on her face when he did so. Not that it mattered. He wouldn't do that unless there was really no other choice. Besides, there were other ways of satisfying his inquisitive nature than by becoming Dornkirk's lap dog.

As soon as the main of the torches in the commons went out for the night, Folken rose and made for the upper levels. He encountered no one until the lab doors came into view. This particular lab was not one that he passed often, since it belonged almost exclusively to the sorcerers of Zaibach. In fact, in all likelihood, it was within that room that Folken's reconstruction had taken place. The walls might still remember his screams of horror at the sight of the terrible new limb.

By doubling around through the empty hallway to the north, he managed to find a heating duct that led up above the lab. His metal arm allowed him to pry off the grate, and by placing a foot on either wall and using his weight as a counter-balance, he was able to scale the shaft with little difficulty. Waiting for a moment, he let his eyes adjust to the darkness before he began feeling his way along the shaft. For all he knew, there might be other descending shafts or areas that dropped off along the way.

His effort was essentially rendered useless. Arriving at the only shaft that looked down into the chamber, he saw only twisting shadows, obscured by a great many mechanical devices that he couldn't even begin to fathom the uses of. The grill was such that even if the light had been brighter, he would have seen only a little more. Defeated, he turned to begin his descent when he felt that familiar twinge run the length of his spine. The confines of the shaft held a figuratively colder presence, though the air was stifling. The prickle didn't leave him until he was out of the duct and back downstairs in his nest once more.

Folken woke more reluctantly than usual the next morning. Generally, the draft or the noise around him was always enough to stir him long before he would have liked. In Fanelia, he prided himself on rising notoriously late, and it seemed those days were far behind him indeed. He considered himself lazy if he slept through the dawn anymore, though it was hard to tell when the sun was over the horizon with the gravity of the winter as powerful as it was. For once, he was not at all cold. Quite the contrary, in fact. Someone had covered him generously in a heavy blanket of thick cotton. Certainly it was not particularly fine or of expensive quality, but compared to what he was used to, it was greatly appreciated.

The greatest surprise of his day came when Folken finally built up enough nerve to take the stolen parts from their hiding place. He'd put them in the wall, behind a metal panel that wasn't totally secured. Whether or not it was stable wasn't an issue - his excursion at the vent taught him that opening something made of solid metal wasn't much of a problem anymore, but he didn't want to bring attention to himself by tearing a section of the wall free.

Once he'd opened the panel, he sorted through the objects hurriedly. there were a great deal more here than what he'd had before, most of them containing energists or other very hard to obtain components. Even more surprising was a little jar of silver liquid that reminded him of mercury. Hardly daring to believe what he held, he made his way into the most secluded corner of the fortress. Using a piece of scrap parchment he'd rescued from one of the many braziers the demi-humans and peasants kept for warmth, he recorded as many observations as he could. Having no equipment save for the broken parts, he could perform only rudimentary experiments that taught him little of value, except that the metal was a remarkable discovery. He fervently wished he could study it more, because that sort of thing had always fascinated him as a child. Though he wasn't particularly adept with a sword, he often spent hours watching the samurai of Fanelia battle in and then repair their guymelefs. Initially, the most distressing factor of losing his arm was that he might never be able to pilot a guymelef himself.

He continued scribbling at the piece of parchment until well into the night, storing the jar and finally replacing the metal panel when he thought it would be safe. Until now, he hadn't really stopped to think about where the metal might have come from. He initially had figured that Delleva must have brought it, but she wouldn't have been strong enough to force open the panel. Besides, he slept in a place where he could see that part of the wall, and he hadn't noticed her around at all today. Feeling slightly disconcerted, he rolled over and did his best to get to sleep.



The next morning he made his way to the panel again, hoping to continue his observations even though he knew that he had learned all that he could with his current methods. Wrenching open the hiding place, he stifled a gasp. The jar was no where to be found.

A commotion in the center of the commons caught his attention. He headed casually in that direction, noticing the Iron general and a long, gray creature in chains at his feet. pushing through the crowd, he stood before the armored man defiantly, legs slightly apart and head thrown back.

What's going on here?

This creature was found in the chamber of the Sorcerers. He's been sentenced to fifty lashes. The creature at the general's feet was already so battered that his face seemed to be nothing more than one clotted bruise, still dripping red in places. As battered as the creature was, the beating he had sustained would have been more than enough to end the life of many others. Folken doubted if he personally could have survived through such blatant brutality. Still, the creature looked him in the eyes with a disturbing flatness, not turning away.

You'll kill him! Folken cried, his anger getting the better of his judgment. You know that as well as I!

Death waits at the close of every life. The general's voice was flat, his whip uncurling cruelly. That's something a whelp like you would do well to learn. None of this is your business, boy. If this mongrel dies, then it was meant to be. He knows our laws, and I have orders to follow. The punishment must be administered.

Folken wasn't sure why he did it, or even why he cared, but he pulled off his tunic and flung it at the general's chest. I'll take his place. He had expected the general to make some sort of reaction to this, but none was forthcoming. Even the cold expression on the man's face never altered, not even so much as a flicker.

Then prepare yourself. Words aside, there was nothing Folken could have done to brace his body against the blinding agony delivered to him so intimately by the whip. Again and again the streamers fell on his pale skin, the small pieces of iron fixed into the cords clattering against his metallic arm when the man was careless with his aim. Folken's mind could no longer differentiate between the strokes, only dimly noticing through his sobbing breaths when the general, and indeed every other creature in the square, had finally gone. Well, perhaps not everyone.

That gray-skinned wretch was still at his side, his eyes slightly hooded. Folken wanted to scream at him to get out of his sight and leave him with his pain, but his tongue was too thick and heavy to control. Only those ragged, half-sobs came when he attempted speech. the creature's arms came around him, causing him to cry out when they connected with the swollen, bleeding flesh of his back. The doppleganger didn't relent until he had lifted Folken from the bloodied floor effortlessly, even in spite of Folken's greater size and weight. Trembling and shaking uncontrollably, Folken let the doppleganger bear him where he chose.




Ollen70: I know this chapter moves faster than I would have liked. I might go back and rewrite parts of it later on. I apologize if the information about Zongi isn't totally accurate. I've actually only seen up to episode twelve of the dubbed series. All the rest of the information I have is from summaries, and it just isn't the same.

Anyway, I hope you've enjoy it, and I want to say thanks again to you who reviewed. It's always really great to see a review alert' e-mail in my inbox. I owe a big thank you' to Atari, Esther, and Myst Lady.

Also, if you're looking for other very well written Escaflowne stories, check out the fics by Atari. A Piece of Fragile Beauty' is the only one I've had a chance to read so far, but it's excellent.

Thanks for reading all of this. I hope to have another chapter up in, oh, three days or so.