Disclaimer: Digimon is not mine. As if this was a digimon fic anyway…
Seihad: Chapter Six
By: TK Takaishi
** May 22nd, A.S. 522. The same day**
Emperor Tichon stared thoughtfully at the gray cloth resting on the floor of his throne room, then stood up and walked over. Bending down, he picked up the small scrap of Cody's cloak between two fingers and examined it carefully. Even in the utter darkness, the Emperor needed no lamp, lantern or torch to know that it was a stand-master's cloak. The residual glow of Cody's stand, invisible to the naked eye but all too obvious to Tichon, still lingered on the cloth. Even here, in the fastness of his own realm, the piece of cloth stung and burned at his flesh.
The edge had been cut cleanly. No doubt the stand-master's cloak had been caught over the edge of the rune's field, and had been severed by the spell. Frowning, Tichon crushed the piece of cloth in his hand until smoke emerged from his clenched fist. When the cloth had burnt away into ashes, Tichon flicked his hand and scattered them across the stone floor of his throne room.
So, his agent had been discovered. Tichon was silent for a moment as he mused over the news. His bearers were obviously no match for the stand-masters when they were sent one at a time, and he did not have enough of them to send them in waves against the stand-masters. Perhaps if Praetor Caylor was still with him, he might have been able to defeat Cody. But Caylor was no longer with him, and the Emperor was not one to waste his time on what might have or could have been. Clearly, these stand-masters were not going to be as easily assassinated as their predecessors.
It was time to switch tactics.
The Emperor looked at the ground with a sharp glance and the blood-red pentagram which had brought the gray cloth to him flared up again like a bonfire. A dark gash of red appeared above the pentagram and shaped itself into a narrow doorway. For a moment, the black light beyond it seemed to be even darker than the throne room as it glowed with a malevolent, baleful glare that gleamed and glistened with shapes untold. Still lost within his own thoughts, Tichon stepped through the doorway.
Dark gray dust suddenly enveloped him as he stepped into a world of shouts, wind and roars. The Emperor hissed and shaded his face as the weak, gray sunlight, filtered through the ever-present blanket of ash and fumes that covered the Khaydarin sky, fell upon him. Quickly, he reached behind him and drew his cowl over his head, shading his eyes. The protection it offered was only marginally better but it would have to do. He looked around.
Tichon stood on a low, snake-like ridge that ran from southeast to northwest scarcely ten miles from the shoreline. The distant towers of the city of Khaydarin could be seen rising above the plumes of dust covering the gray land to the east. Even from here, the dark masses of Khaydarin's fully-summoned might could be seen covering the landscape like a horde of milling ants. Turning, the Emperor beheld the great iron-gray bulk of the ocean separating the Island of Akeldama and the mainland of Gaea. The eastern-most shore of Ichijouji was almost five days' sail on a fast ship across the misty and hauntingly still Akeldama strait. It was that strait more than anything that had saved Gaea from past invasion. Well…Tichon thought darkly as he cast his gaze downwards, that's about to change.
The immense, half-completed pentagram stretched for miles in all directions. As the Emperor watched, teams of workers plowed and hacked at the cold, unyielding ground to extend the broad, neat lines that scarred the already broken earth. From up here, where he could see the entire structure, the rune's shape was already beginning to take form. When the intricate pentagram was completed, it would extend all the way from the foothills of the ridge that Tichon was standing on to the very edge of the Akeldama seashore. Although only three corners of the five corners had been completed so far, some of the lines under construction were already beginning to glow red. Some glowed brightly while others flashed erratically, and at each corner, construction had almost finished on three great tall towers that thrust at least three hundred meters out of the earth. As a weak shaft of sunlight lanced feebly down from a crack in the cloud cover, the black, seamless bulk of the nearest tower shone like a jewel caught in a flame.
Tichon allowed himself a small, fierce smile as he gazed at the center of the pentagram, at least ten miles away. Concentric circles of violet light shimmered and pulsed around the immense tower that stood there as if rooted like a centuries-old tree. His eyes traced the circles of light, then touched upon the base of the tower.
He looked up.
And up.
And up.
The tower seemed to dominate the entire sky. Compared to it, the towers that stood at the corners seemed like tiny match-sticks that an errant child had driven into the ground. Ridge upon ridge, battlement upon battlement, the mighty monolith speared towards the sky defiantly, as impregnable as a fortress, as graceful as a willow, as poisonous as an adder. It was terrible. And it was beautiful…
The very top of the arching tower looked as if it had been constructed with sheets and pillars of shining crystal which shimmered and flashed with poisoned fire in the dim sunlight. Almost a third of them were already glowing with a haunting crimson light, and as the Emperor watched, another sheet of crystal began to flicker with red. Sparks of dark magic leaped from it and earthed themselves in the three immense claws that enclosed and protected the sheets of crystal like a grand metal flower. The Emperor grunted softly to himself as the tower filled his sight and his heart leapt as it always did when he cast his eye upon it. Yes…that was going to change…
He tore his gaze away from the tower and looked back down. In the distance, the Emperor could already see moving specks detach themselves from one corner of the giant pentagram and race across the flat, barren plain towards him. He could have hardly missed the riders, even without the plumes of gray dust that the horses' hooves were kicking up. Tichon shifted and adjusted his robes, then began to walk forwards. Even the closest tip of the pentagram was some miles distant and it would take the riders some time to reach him, but Tichon did not mind. He had wanted a view of his creation, and that was what he had. He needed several minutes to appraise the work anyhow.
When the riders finally arrived, they found their Emperor striding towards them. Tichon's expression could not be determined beneath the dark hood that he wore to shield himself from the sun, and the riders hesitated before their Lord. Finally, their leader held up a hand, and his soldiers stopped their nervous horses and dismounted. As the leader leapt down from his horse, he quickly took off his helmet and mask, and knelt in the dusty ground. "My Lord," he said reverently, "this is an unexpected honour! Your presence is a-"
The Emperor walked right past the man and paused thoughtfully. The man lowered his head and mentally prepared himself for his Emperor to address him. Even so, when the Emperor finally did, the man flinched.
Tell me how the work goes, Korvan.
Korvan fingered the ice-cold mirrireid that he wore around his neck as he tried to control his heartbeat. It was disquieting enough to have the Emperor speak directly to you when you were asleep. When he forced his thoughts upon you when you were awake, however, the feeling was akin to being plunged without warning into an icy bath. He took a deep breath, rallied his shaking nerves, and concentrated.
The work goes well, my Lord, he replied. We are on schedule. Three of the outer towers have been completed and consecrated, and the foundations for the other two have already been laid. As you can see, the sangrias is nearing completion as we speak. The other bearers are in there now, bringing the remaining crystals to life.
How are your men? Can they work faster still?
They are working as hard as they can, my Lord. They are dedicated men, loyal men, but still, they are only men. I can only ask so much of them.
Tichon didn't move or speak for a long moment. Korvan's men shifted uneasily amongst themselves, then stilled again as Korvan shot them a quick look. Finally, Tichon turned and began to walk back towards Korvan.
Something has changed, the Emperor said, his thought-shape slightly hazy as if he was distracted.
The death of the bearer Dajim? Korvan growled slightly as he nodded. Yes. I felt it as well. At least he succeeded in his mission.
He did not succeed in his mission.
Did he not manage to poison Aidan before he was killed?
There was only one stand-master fighting Dajim, Tichon growled. I sensed it. He was being pursued by one, and he was killed by one. Where was the other? There were two of the accursed meddlers in the palace.
Korvan was silent.
Lady Hikari, Tichon breathed softly. It is said that she can heal any sickness in the land. Indeed, it is even said that her touch is enough to restore life. No, Korvan. Aidan did not die. Hikari would not have permitted it.
Then Aidan lives, Korvan thought flatly. And I trust that if we were to send scouts, they would find that the influence of the stand-masters has spread even further.
Precisely… Tichon hissed. So, in light of this, Bearer Korvan, can your men work faster?
Korvan felt a cold bead of sweat run down the side of his face. His hand began to shake, and he pressed it into the ground to stop the trembling. I…I cannot, my Lord, he thought back. Perhaps…perhaps if I had more men…
How fast can you get my sangrias completed with the men that you have now?
At least another three months…
No! Tichon hissed as he shook his head vehemently. They may be organized by then. That is after the conference. That is too late!
The trembling seemed to have spread to all four of his limbs now. My Lord, Korvan thought, you…you ask the impossible…. These men have neither the strength nor endurance to work any faster. If we press them further, they may begin to die…
Tichon's cloak swirled furiously as he spun around to stare at the sangrias. And if I give you command of one of my armies? Tichon thought back as the hooded face looked down upon his kneeling subject. Another thousand workers?
Korvan hesitated as he made some swift mental calculations. "One thousand…," he said out loud. Then-
Perhaps two months, my Lord. If the work goes well.
Tichon stared at the bearer for a moment longer. Korvan's heart felt as if it would hammer its way out of his chest. The Emperor did not like being told that his orders were impossible.
Then Tichon turned away and began to walk back up the ridge. Korvan did not let himself heave a sigh of relief, but surreptitiously let out the breath he had been holding through his nose. He would live to see another day.
As the Emperor walked away towards the peak of the ridge, a gust of wind blew across the gray wasteland, and the billowing cloud of sand obscured the Emperor from Korvan's view. Even by straining his eyes, Korvan could only discern an indistinct, gray shape receding slowly.
But the walls of sand could not keep Tichon's last thought-shape from reaching Korvan, who shuddered and nearly collapsed. This time the sensation was more akin to being plunged into an icy bath filled with razor-sharp shards of steel.
You have fifty days, bearer. Use them well.
**********
** May 24th, A.S. 522. Two days later**
In the dying light of evening, the town of Candon, Sheid looked like nothing more than a very small glowing jewel on the vast, sandy shore of the Aoimizu lake. The outlying farms were already beginning to rally their cattle and sheep back in from the pastures for the night as the bell from Candon's steeple rang seven o'clock. Deep in the trackless acres of boreal forest in south-eastern Sheid, next to the East Cadimas road, Candon was one of those small villages where just about everyone knew everyone else, and half the town was related to each other anyway. It was one of those towns where the people did not have much, but were happy in what they had, and were far too proud to admit defeat to the cold, harsh land and leave in search of greener pastures. And it was one of those towns where the people knew everything there was to know within ten miles of their home, and nothing beyond that.
Yamato could see it in the way the people bade good-night to each other with friendly nods and waves as they returned home. He could see it in the way people kept directing wary and curious stares at his tall black stallion and travel-stained cloak. He had been in villages such as these before, and he had learned enough to conceal his long, slim sword with a bundle of cloth to avoid suspicion. In many ways, Yamato was grateful that night was fast descending. He felt at home in the darkness. It shielded him from too many prying eyes. In daylight, people never sensed him until it was too late. At night, people didn't sense him at all if he didn't want them to.
There was no point in concealing himself from helpless farmers, so Yamato rode boldly down the main street of Candon on his black horse. Even so, he unconsciously faded into the darkness. Blending into his environment with minimal or no disguises was a survival trait he had learned over the past few years. Those that did see him gave wary and uncertain looks at his dark, hooded face and tall black horse and decided it was wiser to simply walk on. Those few that actually approached shrank away from the cold stares he directed at them. Just as well; Yamato was in no mood to answer questions. He sighed as he rode past the farmers who were trying to pretend they were not openly gaping at him. Surely, these people had no idea what the war raging outside their borders was like. They were happy, yes. But that was only because they were ignorant. If that was what Takeru relied on, then he wouldn't have lasted this long.
The dusty road he had been traveling on turned into a proper paved road as he entered the town square. Yamato paused for a moment to let a crowd of scurrying children pass before him. When they finally did, he urged his mount on again.
The day and the work it had brought had ended, but night was only beginning. Evenings were when the farmers liked to come in from their remote shacks on the countryside for a smoke and a good pint. It was time for the storytelling, the songs and the fun. The brightly lit taverns and bars spilled orange light out onto the dark street, and the sounds of raucous laughter and merry songs could be heard through the windows. Through some of the open doors that led out onto the street, Yamato could smell the faint scent of cheap ale and tobacco smoke. Coloured lanterns hung outside most of the shops' doors, and the remains of streamers and coloured bits of paper blew this way and that in the brisk night wind. Yamato's mouth turned down at the corners in distaste at the plainness of the street and the buildings, but he had no choice. A storm was approaching, and he certainly did not feel like spending another night out in the open. He would have to find shelter in this tiny, backwater town. Resolutely, he nudged his horse on down the road until he found what he was looking for.
The sign in front of the inn's door read "The Nightingale". The inn looked simple and poor. Set a little distance back from the main road and sandwiched between a tavern and a smithy, the inn was nothing more than a small, three story building with a tiny stable built into the side to house its guests' horses. Like all the others, the windows that opened out onto the main street were brightly lit with lanterns and candles, and Yamato could hear the faint notes of music being played somewhere in the inn.
It was nothing grand, but it had a safe, homely, and above all, clean feel to it. He would be safe here, in this backwater village and this simple inn. Yamato sighed wearily as he dismounted, and led his horse past the rickety wooden fence that to the front of the inn. As he entered through the front gates, a young stable hand spotted him and hurried forward to greet him. "Good evening, sir," the stable hand said in greeting as he touched his hat respectfully. "Are you looking for shelter for the night?"
Yamato peered at the short stable-hand. "I am," he answered brusquely. "How much do you charge for a night?"
"Three gold marks a night, sir," the stable hand said. "Includes a good hot dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow. Sorry about the prices, but food is simply getting so scarce from the war that we can't afford to charge less."
Yamato frowned under his cowl. Three marks? And this boy thought that was a lot? He had lived in inns that had charged twenty marks a night. "I shall stay here," Yamato announced. "Who do I see about acquiring accommodation?"
"Let me see to your horse, sir," the stable-hand said cheerfully. "Well, then you'd be wanting to see Mr. Bartiman. He's inside, behind the bar. I've never seen him leave it. He'll be wearing a red jerkin."
"Thank you," Yamato said. The stable-hand subsided slightly under his cold, hooded stare. Unfastening his saddle-pack from his mount, Yamato released the reins into the stable-hand's palm. "He answers to the name 'Yeivan'. See to it that he is fed and watered well."
"Yes sir," the young stable-hand said meekly. Touching his cap again, he turned and led the black horse into the stable beside the inn's main building. Yamato watched him go for a moment, then strode into the brightly lit inn.
Immediately, a blast of music assailed his ears. Someone was playing the fiddle loudly, cheerfully, and badly. Yamato blinked and lowered his cloak's hood as he looked around. The main room of "The Nightingale" was a large dining room of sorts. The stout wooden tables and chairs and the bar stocked with ale and the odd bottle of wine were all clustered to the sides leaving a large open space in the middle. There was a fire roaring in the hearth at the end of the room to drive off the night chill, and the man playing the fiddle was sawing away enthusiastically at the instrument in front of an appreciative crowd of clapping listeners. Yamato winced as the man struck a bad note, but nobody else in the crowd seemed to notice. They probably didn't know that the fiddle was not truly meant to be played that way. Happy, yes. But ignorant.
Looking around, trying to adjust to the bright interior, Yamato spotted the innkeeper behind the bar, wearing a bright red jerkin just as the stable-hand had promised. Striding up to him, ignoring the dancing people he slipped past, he placed both hands on the clean bar-table. "Mr. Bartiman," Yamato said evenly. "I seek shelter for the night. Do you have a room?"
Bartiman blinked, and put down the glass he was polishing with a cloth. "Ah do," he said in a surprised tone and a thick rural accent. "An' who may you be, kind sir?"
"Matt," Yamato answered shortly. "And my business is my own."
"All right, sir." Bartiman looked offended as he held up a hand. "No need to get snappish. I did no mean to ask of your business."
Yamato smiled thinly. "Good."
Bartiman looked at him askance, and his gaze lingered slightly on the long, cloth-wrapped bundle Yamato held in his hand. "That will be three gold marks, sir," he said slowly, "for a bed and a meal."
"Of course," Yamato said. "I shall pay you in the morning. Your stable-hand told me outside."
"Of course," Bartiman said, looking relieved. "I had to make sure, sir. 'Tisn't good business not to tell customers the price before they board, y'know. What with the ruffians that are traveling the roads nowadays. Now, sir, that does no mean that I think you are a-"
"The room, Mr. Bartiman," Yamato interrupted. "I have traveled long and hard today and I am weary. And I wish to set my burden down." He lifted his saddle-bag and his cloth-wrapped sword.
"Of course," the innkeeper blustered as he set down the glass he had been polishing. "How could I have been so discourteous? This way, this way."
Yamato followed the innkeeper as he dug out a lantern from a nearby cabinet, lit it, and went shuffling towards the staircase in the back of the room. "I hear the war's goin' badly," Bartiman said as he led Yamato up the narrow staircase to the rooms upstairs. "An' food's getting scarce, so I apologize if the price for a meal seems to be a little higher at the moment, but I'm sure you'll understand…What with the war effort and all, taxes have been higher than they have been in decades, and honest folk must do something to survive. Our men at the front need feedin' an' all. And of course, since they're away at the front, we've had less and less willing hands to help take in the harvest in the fall, so you'll excuse us if you find food a wee bit scarce nowadays. O' course, all that's going to change soon after what happened last week, but ye know, until it does…"
Yamato stayed silent as the innkeeper carried on by himself. As they reached the third and top story of the inn, Bartiman finally realized that he had been working both sides of the conversation, and shut his mouth as well. The rest of the short walk was carried out wordlessly as Bartiman led Yamato to the end of the hall.
Finally, Bartiman produced a key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock of a door at the very end of the hall. The lock squeaked loudly as the key turned stiffly in the lock, and the door slid open a fraction. Bartiman pushed it all the way open. "Here you are, good sir," he said as he swept out a hand to indicate the simple room. "The best room in the Nightingale, just for you. There aren't many travelers out on the roads in these dark times, so we're running mostly empty."
Yamato took the key from Bartiman's outstretched hand and strode past the man. His impassive gaze took in the simple but clean room. It was no palace, but it would do for the night. He had seen much worse. "Thank you," he said. "That will be all."
Bartiman rubbed his hands together nervously. "Dinner is being served right now on the main floor, so if you would like to have your meal before you turn in, you can find some downstairs. The baths are just down at the end of the stairs and to the left-"
"I will find it, thank you, Mr. Bartiman," Yamato said in a voice almost imperceptibly tinged with impatience. Bartiman checked himself and bowed. With a mumbled "Enjoy your stay, sir," the innkeeper positively fled from Yamato's presence.
Yamato watched him leave, then sighed and sat down on the bed. The feather mattress is lumpy and hard, he thought wryly as he looked around. And the bed-sheet is frayed. I'll have to ask for a replacement. The best room in the Nightingale was not a very good room. But it is clean, he reminded himself. As a former Praetor, he had always believed in assigning blame and credit where it was deserved. Levering himself off the bed again, he took off his travel stained cloak and carefully folded it into a neat pile. Leaving it at the head of his bed, he opened the door again and stepped out without his cloak. Indoors, it would probably attract more attention than it evaded.
As he descended into the brightly lit hall, he noted with a slight twinge of amusement that the fiddler had finally given over his sawing. Instead, someone was playing the flute with only slightly more skill than the last musician. The conversation seemed to have picked up though, and the entire place was filled with a constant hum of talking, laughing and music. Most of the people that filled it were cradling mugs of ale, and were dressed in the rough, simple clothes of farmers and townsmen. Yamato discreetly took a table to himself in a secluded corner, and signaled to a nearby waiter. "Steamed meat bun," he said quietly. "And a cup of water, please."
The waiter gave him a strange stare when Yamato mentioned water, but said nothing of it. "Of course, sir," he said with a bow. "Your meal will be ready momentarily."
"Thank you," Yamato said. Then, leaning back in his chair, he crossed his legs and simply allowed his mind to drift.
The flute was a constant distraction to him. He marveled at how the town folk could applaud and laugh at the man's pathetic attempts at making music; in fact, he marveled at how anyone could be laughing with such cheer and carefree innocence in the face of a war as devastating as the one that was sweeping through Gaea as they sang.
Yamato had never laughed so freely in his life. Certainly not recently. The war that swept through his homeland was a war he intended to take part in. There was no question about that. He could not sit back and passively watch someone else form the Gaea he lived in and loved. The problem was, how?
How does Takeru do it? Yamato wondered for the thousandth time as he gazed unseeingly at the warm, laughing room. His younger brother had no outstanding talent. His skill with the sword was impressive, yes, but that was not what had made him into what he is now. He was a relatively uneducated man who had spent his childhood living in poverty as a mountain farmer, whereas he, Yamato, had learned from the greatest lore-masters, professors, and sword-masters in the land. Takeru was a weak man who could not bear to kill his enemies, even when they stood with their sword at his throat, whereas Yamato had never hesitated in his life. Takeru's technique was centuries old, whereas his own technique was new and perfect. And yet…and yet…
It was Takeru that now stood as the axis of history, not him. The younger, the weaker, had become the greater, whereas he, Yamato, had only managed to become Praetor. And now, he was not even that. "A fascinating man," Yamato muttered out loud. "Well, perhaps I can ask him myself how he had done it when I find him."
"Excuse me?"
Yamato looked up. The young stable-hand he had met earlier was standing by his table with a tray laden with food. The stable-hand smiled nervously as he motioned at the seat next to Yamato. "Mind if I sit down here? I'm done for the day, and I'm famished."
Yamato nodded wordlessly, and the stable-hand slid into the seat opposite the stand-master. The stable-hand fumbled nervously with his chopsticks as he broke them, and set out his food from the tray. "Uh…," the he said as he extended a hand, "my name is Eli. Eli Kaman. Pleasure to meet you, Mr…"
Yamato shook the outstretched hand warily. Now in the proper light of the dining hall, he could see that the stable-hand was little more than a boy, perhaps around fifteen years old. His freckled and honest face bespoke an innocence that could not have been present in anyone older than that. "My name is Matt," Yamato said neutrally. He did not offer a last name.
"Well, nice to meet you, sir Matt," Eli said as he poured a glass of water for himself.
"It's 'Matt'."
"Uh…all right," Eli said, looking confused. "Matt."
Then both of them paused as the waiter returned with "Matt's" steamed bun and water. Eli arched an eyebrow at the water, but refrained from commenting as Yamato set the cup down slightly harder than necessary and dismissed the waiter.
They both ate in silence for a moment. The conversation hummed around them and the music continued in the background. Someone with a harmonica joined the flute. It had been bad enough with one. With two, the jarringly discordant notes positively set Yamato's teeth on edge. Yamato looked over to see the audience's reaction. They were laughing and clapping harder than before.
"Festive isn't it?" Yamato finally commented.
"Festive?" Eli looked around in puzzlement. "Oh, you mean the music."
"They're both awful," Yamato said frankly. "I can play the harmonica better than that performer, and I am no musician."
"He's not a performer," Eli said as he glanced over. "That's old Cid Locan and his son Cenn Locan. They're millers from north of the town I believe, down for their usual evening drink."
"Working for that extra bit of money then?" Yamato said as he sipped his water.
"Why ever would they?" Eli said in genuine puzzlement. "What would they do with more money? The Locans aren't performing for money, Matt. They're just…performing. 'Tis good fun for all involved."
Matt checked over his shoulder again at the musician playing the harmonica, and frowned. "You folk do this sort of thing every night?" he said. "Performing for free? Gathering here for your evening drink?"
"Why…lately, yes."
"You do know there is a war raging outside your borders, right?"
"Of course we do," Eli said as he but into his bun. "And it wasn't always like this."
"No?"
"What do you take us for?" Eli said as he gave Yamato a reproachful look. "Country hicks that know nothing outside our local borders?"
Yamato stared back, and despite himself, a bubble of amusement rose in his heart. The boy looked so genuinely insulted that Yamato gave the boy a faint smile. "Why, yes, I did."
"Wonderful," Eli said as he put his bun back down. "You can smile after all."
"What did you take me for?" Yamato returned. "Someone who bleeds ice?"
"Why, yes, I did," Eli said. He laughed. Yamato grinned.
In that moment, a small relationship was forged as they both lowered their guard that tiny bit. Eli shook his head. "No," he said at last. "It was not always like that. There was a time when the war had us all cowering in our homes, afraid of bandit attacks, or worse, Khaydarin raids. Only last month, Candon was actually less than a day's march away from the Yagami battle-front. Up until last week, we were still serving as a hospital for the wounded from the front."
"And what happened?"
"Have you not heard?" Eli said.
Yamato shook his head. "I may be a bit behind on the news," he confessed. "I've been traveling by myself. The last time I set foot in a town was more than a week ago. And news travels rather slowly out in these parts."
"Well, that might explain it," Eli said. "After all, the mayor only announced it to us five days ago. It seems that Lady Hikari Kamiya and Lord Cody Hida have finally managed to negotiate an effective truce with Yagami."
Yamato's smile faded slightly. "Is that a good thing?" he said, playing dumb.
"It's something that our best ambassadors have been picking at for the last six years and failed. It's not good, sir, it's amazing!"
Yamato's grin disappeared completely, but Eli didn't notice. The boy's eyes were gleaming as he recounted the news. "Amazing," he repeated. "They say that Lady Hikari saved the King Aidan from a Khaydarin sorcerer. I'm sure the news got distorted somewhere, 'cause that can't be true. I mean, sorcerers?
"But the truce is real. The Yagami armies have withdrawn from the front, and Yagami relief and aid is even beginning to flow to the more devastated Shienar cities. Likewise, our people are helping to rebuild the Yagami cities that have been ravaged as well. Only yesterday did our caravan of food-stuffs return from the border, completely unharmed. And what's more, they brought along more than two-score prisoners of war freed from Yagami prisons. All in one week! It's a miracle, I'm telling you! The stand-masters are truly God's servants."
Yamato stayed silent. This was news to him. Eli finally noticed Yamato's cold expression, and frowned. "Matt?" he said. "Did you hear me?"
"Oh yes," Yamato said absent-mindedly. "The stand-masters are truly God's servants, correct?"
"That's what I said," Eli said, nodding triumphantly. "None greater in the land, and I'm not only talking about their strength. The mayor says that they're going to be the ones that are going to lead us out of this whole dark mess. And we all believe him. How can we not? Look at what they've done already!"
"Appearances can be deceiving, Eli," Yamato said.
"This is more than appearances," Eli insisted. "You can't tell the liars from the honest by their words. You tell by their actions. And what they have done already is proof enough for me." He shook his head vehemently. "In my opinion, you would have to be daft not to follow them."
Yamato gave the boy a wan smile. "Perhaps you're right, Eli," he said softly. "But for the 'daft', sometimes, proof is simply not enough. No matter how convincing, or how logical."
"Then what does it take for them to believe?"
"Perhaps they will never believe," Yamato said as he sipped his water. "They'll find flaws in your proof, boy, make no mistake. There will always be those who think they know more than you. And perhaps they do. Perhaps they do…"
Yamato paused as he took a bite out of his bun. "Flaws," he murmured as he swallowed. "There will always be excuses. Why did Khaydarin succeed the first time? Where were the stand-masters when the Age crumbled around their ears?" He sighed as he put down his bun. "Maybe people are simply afraid of being wrong. Because if it's true, then a lot of us will be in a lot of trouble…"
Eli stared at Yamato. Then he raised his eyebrows. "Mister, you don't believe in them, do you?"
Yamato smiled. "I'm not sure yet, Eli."
"Don't be ashamed," Eli said matter-of-factly, "My father said pretty much the same thing too."
"What thing?"
"About those scholars who knew it all. About them failing the first time."
"Oh? And what did he say?"
Eli smiled. Then he picked up a wizened apple from his tray and polished it with a napkin on the table. "This is an apple," he said simply, "from last winter's stores. Rather old and shrunken now."
"I see that," Yamato said as he stared at the apple.
"Now, I don't know about all that fancy logic those scholars go on about," Eli said, "or even what you're going on about." The boy took a deep bite out of the apple. "I just want you to tell me…is this apple that I'm eating bitter? Or is it sweet?"
Yamato stared at the boy as if he'd sprouted an extra ear. "How can I tell?"
"Can reason help you here?"
"No!"
"Why?"
"Because I haven't tasted the apple that you're eating."
Eli put the remains of his apple down thoughtfully. "Then my father said, 'in the same way, neither have you tasted'."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Not a clue," Eli said as he shrugged. "He says I'll understand when I get older."
Yamato sighed. "Then why'd you tell me?"
"You only asked me for what my father said!"
Eli finished the apple as Yamato shook his head. Then, conversation was made impossible as the musicians and their audience grew louder and rowdier. Yamato finished his meat bun as he listened to the music with half an ear. Eli clapped appreciatively each time the two performers finished a number, and even Yamato nodded reluctantly to the lively and catchy tune. Even they cannot completely butcher the song, he thought as he listened grudgingly.
Finally, Yamato finished the last piece of his meat bun. "Eli," he said as he nudged the young boy. "I am weary, and I think that I shall retire for an early night after a bath. But the bed-sheet in my room is frayed, and it needs replacing. Would you mind looking after the matter for me?"
"Sure thing, sir," Eli said cheerfully. "What room did Mr. Bartiman put you in?"
"The one at the end of the hall on the third floor."
"The best one?" Eli said as he raised his eyebrows. "No worries, sir. I'll carry the sheets up myself in a moment."
Yamato nodded his thanks, slipped the boy a small silver coin for his trouble despite Eli's protests, and headed back up the stairs. The glow from the dining hall and the lively music faded as Yamato walked down the hallway towards the stairwell that would take him up to his room. As he reached the stairwell however, Yamato hesitated. Then he turned right towards the baths that Bartiman had indicated.
When he opened the door and walked in, Yamato blinked as he ran into a veritable wall of steam and heat. It was sweltering in the baths. When his eyes had grown more accustomed to the mist, he discovered that the baths consisted of three large pools of clean water set into the smooth wooden floor, each filled to the brim with steaming water. There must have been some natural hot springs in the area, and Bartiman had obviously paid a lot of money to have the hot water pumped into his inn for his customers. The scent of rosewater brushed across Yamato's nose; Bartiman must have scented the water as well. There were clean cloths stacked in neat piles on one side of the large room, and a bath of cold water near the door for those who wanted to cool down. Yamato unbuttoned his shirt, and cast it onto the floor. He unfastened his belt and the long, sheathed dagger attached to it along with his trousers until he stood naked on the wooden floor. Then he stepped gratefully into the baths.
It was completely silent in the baths with the exception of the slight hiss of the steam and the quiet, rhythmic lapping of water on the edges of the pools. Yamato submerged himself up to his chin, and allowed the warm water to soak the weariness out of his muscles. As he soaked, he leaned his head back against the edge of the pool and stared at the ceiling.
There it was again. The news had only served to confirm his suspicions. As far as he knew, Lady Hikari came from as humble an origin as Takeru had. If anything, she had been even worse off. At least Takeru had had Vargas Takaishi to train and teach him in the history of Gaea and the art of the sword. At least Takeru was Ishidan. Hikari had had nothing. Her family had been Kurtal natives, humble farmers in the Novinha Mountains, for as long as they could remember. Cody Hida was a Taelidani. One of those primitive, fighting natives of the Saera desert who knew almost nothing of history and even less of governing and diplomacy. In essence, he was nothing more than an uneducated savage.
And yet, these two had somehow been born with stands. And more than that, they bore them well. Somewhere, they had found the strength and the wisdom to do what had been previously impossible, and found a way where previously there had been none.
How?
Where?
Why can't I do it as well?
Yamato closed his eyes and took a deep breath before the inevitable feeling of frustrated helplessness managed to take over. It was a puzzle that had dogged him for the past six years. It had haunted him in his dreams and in his waking thoughts. It had followed him on his ceaseless wanderings, on his endless quest to find the answer. And it was not a puzzle that he could solve in a few moments of thinking in an inn's bathtub, somewhere in the depths of the Shienar forests. He would find out in a week's time. Takeru held the answer. If he didn't, then there was no answer, and that …in a twisted sort of way…was an answer in itself. One way or another, his pilgrimage would end in one week. It would do no good to smash something now.
Instead, Yamato submerged his head and scrubbed at his hair. He kept himself reasonably clean in the wilds, but it was always a relief to wash in a proper, civilized bath. Then, he got up and climbed out of the pool. Taking a cloth from the side of the room, he calmly and methodically dried himself off, then dressed and armed himself again. Then, pushing the door to the baths open, he strode out into the corridor.
The music and laughter were still going strong in the main room as he approached it. Out of curiosity, Yamato peered in from the dark hallway and scanned the room for Eli. There was no sign of the boy. The stable-hand had probably already gone upstairs with the sheets as promised. Smiling slightly, Yamato turned away from the main room and mounted the dark stairwell that would take him back to his room.
The three flights of stairs to the top room passed uneventfully for Yamato, who was lost in thought. As he arrived on the landing however, and began to walk down the hallway towards his room, Yamato paused. Something was tickling the back of his mind. There was something amiss. Yamato frowned, then stepped forward again at a much quieter and slower pace. As he advanced, he opened his stand's eye a little.
There were three people in the room behind the closed door, and their spirits were all flickering nervously with fear. Yamato's frown deepened. That must have been what had caught his attention. After a lifetime of inspiring terror in other peoples' spirit, Yamato's stand had become familiar with the sharp, piercing tang of fear. Softly, Yamato's hand closed on the hilt of his dagger as he approached his own room soundlessly.
As he came within two meters of his door, he checked the hall behind him. There was nobody in the dimly lit hallway. Quietly and swiftly, he pressed himself flat against the wall, and edged himself closer to the door to his room.
It had been a long time since Yamato had been afraid of petty thieves and robbers, even in large groups. Indeed, he was not afraid now. But he had a feeling. These were not merely thieves…
**********
One of the three men stepped over the prone body lying on the floor and the bloodstained bed sheets it was holding on his way to the search the side cabinets of the room. "Anything?" he hissed.
The other two men did not respond. One of them was swiftly checking the other tall cabinets and even the small dressing room in Yamato's room. The other was nervously standing guard by the door, a position he had not abandoned since the moment they had walked in. The man who had been searching shook his head. "Nothing, Legionnaire. Only this boy."
"You shouldn't have done that to him. The villagers will know we've been here."
"He surprised me," one of the men said as he glanced around furtively, and nervously adjusted the grip on his knife.
"Are you certain you saw Praetor Caylor walk into this inn?"
"Positive," the other man said, nodding furiously. "It couldn't have been anyone else. I've seen Praetor Caylor before, and this was him. He'd grown his hair a little, and he was dressed in some kind of simple cloak, but it was definitely him."
"Well, he's definitely given us a chase we won't forget anytime soon," one of them said as he kicked the body on the floor. "I still can't believe we tracked him to this…this godforsaken little town. What's a Praetor doing in a dung-hole like this?"
"He's passing through," said the legionnaire as he searched the boy's pockets, and came up with a single silver coin. "He's on his way to someplace."
"We should be going," one of them muttered nervously. "If we're discovered by him, we're all dead."
"It can't be him," another snorted derisively. "Look at this! This flea-bitten saddle-bag? That dirty cloak? A Praetor wouldn't travel like this. The name 'Matt' must be real. He must have gone into another inn somewhere."
"But Praetor Caylor was reputed to be one of the more Spartan Praetors!" one of the men argued.
"Well, he's not here is he? And he wasn't downstairs in the main room. We checked as we were passing through! There were several blond men in there. Maybe you mistook him for one of them."
"I agree," the legionnaire said as he approached the door to "Matt's" room. "We should leave and search elsewhere if he's not here. Leave the boy on the floor. He'll only burden us."
He reached the only door to the room, then paused. Drawing his knife, he touched the doorknob with one hand, and nodded at his men to be silent. Then, his gloved hand twisted the doorknob and slowly pushed it open. Putting an eye up to the crack, he glanced down the hallway.
There was nothing there. Only the dark and empty hallway of the Nightingale, illuminated by a few sputtering lanterns, stared back. Nothing but the faint hiss of burning lamp oil touched his ears. There were no telltale creaks of wooden floorboards, or light footsteps. Cautiously, still with his knife raised, the legionnaire opened the door further, and checked the other side of the passageway, and the ceiling above his head. There was nothing there either. Moonlight flooded in the open window at the end of the hallway, and the night breeze brushed across the legionnaire's face. The normality of the scene mocked his caution.
He sighed and straightened up again. "Come on," he said to his men as he pushed the door open the rest of the way and sheathed his knife. "It looks as if we haven't been discovered yet."
"That," a cold voice said, "is where you'd be wrong."
The legionnaire's nose caught a hint of rosewater a moment before an incredibly strong arm snaked around his throat from behind, and yanked him backwards into the room. Struggling futilely at the iron grip about his neck, the man was smashed into a nearby wall with a resounding thud. Before he could gather his thoughts, a hand was clamped across his mouth and a gleaming razor-blade was pressed against his trembling throat.
"Your men," the voice continued, "are dead, so don't be expecting any help from them. And I'd stop moving if I were you."
The legionnaire's eyes widened as he stared straight into Yamato's ice-blue eyes. They were glowing with a strange blue light that only served to make the raw fury in them all the more terrifying. Going stiff with shock, the legionnaire cast his gaze upon the ground.
Both of his men were lying face-down on the floor amidst rapidly spreading pools of their own blood. Their throats had been slit so swiftly and efficiently that he hadn't even heard the death rattle of their last breath escaping their lips. The legionnaire turned to stare at Yamato again. The door to the hallway had been closed, and it was the only entrance in and out of the room. Over Yamato's shoulder, he could see that the window was closed, and the latch was locked. So how…
"Now, I am going to release your mouth and ask you some questions," Yamato continued in a dangerous voice. "If you're thinking of shouting for help, then know this. I know ways to wound you so that you won't die for another day, and you'll be writhing in terrible torment for every moment of it. By the end of it, you'll be screaming for a quick death like your men."
The legionnaire nodded. Yamato stared at his eyes for a moment longer, then released the man's mouth. The knife remained pressed firmly against the soldier's throat. "Who sent you, and what is your business with me?" Yamato demanded. "I know you're from Khaydarin, legionnaire. Tell me, under whose flag do you serve?"
The legionnaire gulped, and clamped his mouth shut. Yamato stared at the man for a moment longer, then gently applied pressure on the knife. The razor-sharp edge began to cut into the man's skin, and a thin trickle of blood dripped down the side of his neck. "Tell me," Yamato said hoarsely, "Now."
The soldier recognized Yamato's tone. It was the voice of a man who was hanging onto his patience with a finger-tip. He stared at the knife, then at the stand-master's burning blue eyes, and rethought his strategy.
"I serve under Praetor Jadan," he whispered, trying not to breathe and disturb the knife. "There's a standing nation-wide order to find you, Praetor Caylor."
"My name is Yamato," Yamato said through gritted teeth. "Not Caylor, and definitely not Praetor. Find me and do what?"
The legionnaire eyed the rock-steady knife. "To kill you," he said simply, "or to persuade you to come back. The Emperor does not like someone with your abilities walking free on Gaea with no set alliance."
"If you're trying to welcome me back into the fold," Yamato bit off coldly, "you're going about it in entirely the wrong way. If your target was me, why did you kill the boy?"
"The boy?"
The legionnaire felt Yamato's knife move beneath his neck, and suddenly found himself talking very fast. "Oh, you mean the kid who came up with the bed sheets? He…he had seen us, and we couldn't afford someone raising the alarm on us. So we-"
"So you killed the unfortunate kid who just happened to be here at the wrong time," Yamato said bitterly. "Of course. I understand." And he did. He used to do that kind of thing himself. "Who else is hunting for me? Answer truly."
The legionnaire stared straight ahead. "Everyone in Khaydarin," he said. "But not actively hunting. We are merely looking out for you. Praetor Locke is the one who is in charge of your hunt."
Locke. Yamato's eyes widened in shock as the word sank in. So…his old Centurion. He was in charge of his hunt. "Locke is hunting me?" Yamato said with a sudden ferocity.
"Yes," the legionnaire said, eyeing the blade fixedly. "He's our best Praetor, and he's inherited your position, Prae-…Yamato, as the Emperor's right-hand man. He has been given command of our best trackers and assassins. It's only a matter of time until he finds you."
"We'll see about that," Yamato snarled. "How about now? Are there others looking for me in Candon?"
"Our entire company is here," the legionnaire replied. "We were stationed out in the woods. Two-hundred men on our way to meet up with the main army. One of my men saw you on the road on our scouting trip, and followed you here."
"Does your company leader know of me?"
"Yes," the legionnaire said reluctantly. "There are men combing the inns and taverns along the streets now in their cloaks."
Yamato remained silent. He was not concerned for his own safety. He could easily give the best trackers Khaydarin could throw at him the slip if he wanted to. But there were others that couldn't. And there would be more Eli's out there, dying because they happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time…
"Listen," the legionnaire said. "If you spare my life, I can help you navigate around our patrols, and show you a safe path through to the main road. I can even spread the word that the man my scout spied was not you, but some look-alike. It should buy you enough time to get away."
"Why should I deal with you?" Yamato said coldly. "You're here to kill me."
"Because," the man insisted, "there's no way you can escape from this village without being found. Even if you could get out of the borders, you'll never escape the net in the surrounding woods."
Yamato looked away and didn't say anything for a long moment. The legionnaire allowed himself a brief flare of hope. The former Praetor appeared to be considering it. Cautiously, the legionnaire pushed himself up the wall, trying to ignore the cold knife pressed to his throat. "What of it?" he urged, giving the stand-master a weak smile. "Do we have a deal?"
Yamato turned his eyes back to the legionnaire, and the man suddenly found himself transfixed by the stand-master's glowing blue eyes. The expression of cold fury in them froze the legionnaire's tongue in his mouth.
"I don't deal," Yamato hissed in a soft, dangerous voice as he leaned closer to the man's face. "First of all, I think you underestimate me. Second of all…"
His burning blue eyes seemed to fill all of the legionnaire's vision.
"You should not have killed the boy."
Yamato's blade slid across the legionnaire's throat so fast that the man's trachea had been severed before he could scream. The man looked mildly surprised as a river of blood gushed out of the gaping wound in his throat, then clutched at his neck and fell to the ground.
Yamato stepped over the fallen body, calmly wiped the blade on a clean section of the man's cloak and sheathed it. Then he stepped out to the window and carefully moved the curtain an inch. He looked out through the crack.
The streets were deserted to the naked eye. With his stand's eye, he could see the ghostly flickers of two cloaked Khaydarin soldiers walking down the streets, investigating every barn and shadow that they encountered. Yamato narrowed his eyes, and allowed his stand to enhance his hearing. The singing downstairs had stopped. The laughing had stopped as well. In the distance, Yamato thought he could hear someone sobbing with terror. The man was right; Candon was not only surrounded. It was being searched.
Why is it that wherever I go, Yamato wondered grimly, I seem to bring death and destruction along with me?
Turning from the window, he hesitated before the three fallen men. For a brief moment, he considered taking their cloaks and donning them. Then he remembered. The cloaks may be invisible to the enemy, but they appeared to glow bright red to another Khaydarin soldier who was wearing a cloak - a feature that prevented soldiers from bumping into one another when fighting. It would be worse than useless for his purposes.
Swiftly, Yamato gathered his cloak from the bedside table and put it on around his shoulders. Drawing up the hood, he bent down to repack his saddle-bag. The three soldiers had gone through his few possessions none too neatly, and it took him a precious minute to repack them. Finally, he straightened up again and picked up his sword from the corner he had cast it into.
As he stepped over the bloody bodies littered across the floor of his room, Yamato hesitated. He looked down upon the body of Eli. The boy had been stabbed repeatedly in the stomach, and it looked as if he had struggled quite a bit before dying. His blood was smeared all over the floor and even part of the bed. Judging from the expression of terror and agony frozen on the boy's face, it had probably been a painful death.
Slowly, Yamato set down his saddle-bag again and closed Eli's terror-stricken eyes. Then he picked up one of the less blood-stained bed-sheets that the boy had been carrying and spread it over Eli's face. "Saiya namun tayi'san," he said, the traditional blessing for the dead rolling roughly and awkwardly off his tongue. "I'm sorry.
"Perhaps I'll never know whether that apple was bitter or sweet."
Then he stood up and strode out of the room. Slinging his saddle-bag over his shoulder, he ran swiftly down the passageway, his booted feet making no noise on the wooden floor. His head swiveled left and right as he scanned continuously for cloaked soldiers. Running past the staircase, he opened the wide window at the very end of the hall.
The blast of cold night air slapped him across the face like a shower of ice. Yamato cursed as he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. Checking his saddle-bag was secure, Yamato swung off the windowsill, and grabbed onto some of the vines attached to the wall. Swiftly, he climbed down the vines to the second-floor level.
About halfway down the side of the building, Yamato leapt off the side and landed like a cat on the roof of the stable next to the inn. He winced at the quiet thud that sounded out like a gong as he landed, and he forced himself to stay on the roof for a moment to see if anyone had heard. When nobody appeared after twenty seconds, Yamato crawled to the edge of the roof, gripped the edge with his hands, and flipped off the edge.
In less than a minute, he had found his horse and saddled him. Yeivan whickered sleepily in surprise when Yamato tugged at his reins, but he submitted to Yamato's firm hand as he led him out of the dark stable. When they reached the wide door to the stable, Yamato checked his horse for a moment, and peered cautiously around the corner.
There were no Khaydarin soldiers anywhere on the street. The two that he had seen earlier had disappeared somewhere. Yamato gazed out upon the empty road, and saw a clear path all the way out into the dark forest beyond the outskirts of Candon. Of course, there would likely be soldiers surrounding the town, but that was something to deal with when he reached the forests.
He gazed up at the inn, and his eyes softened slightly. He could simply ride off into the night, unseen and unheard, and leave the Eli's of Candon to fend for themselves. It would be more convenient, and it would buy him a lot more time. The way was clear. And yet…
The remembered notes of one of Old man Locan's songs seemed to touch his ears. Eli's laughing face seemed to flash in front of his eyes. Yamato smiled bitterly as he swung himself into the saddle, and rode into the middle of the street. I must be crazy, he thought to himself as he made Yeivan halt in the paved road. I must be going soft.
With a brilliant blue flash, his wolf-stand appeared beside him. The blue light shone like a beacon in the dark night, and the street was suddenly illuminated brighter than day. Yamato pulled back on his reins, and Yeivan rose up onto his hind legs, kicking and screaming. Drawing his sword, Yamato shouted a challenge into the air.
"Come and find me," he roared at the top of his lungs, "I, Caylor Ga'artred, will not be taken without a fight!"
And with that brilliant display that must have woken up everyone within two miles, Yamato spurred his horse onwards and galloped into the night. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of men as the hoof beats of Khaydarin horses began to give chase. Yamato smothered a smile as he raced along the dark path. If that bit of chest-beating didn't draw their attention, nothing would.
I must be crazy, he thought again as he steered Yeivan into the dark forests. But then again, I can always lose them in the forest.
These people can't.
**Author's notes: Gah. Sorry about the long wait, people. By all rights, this chapter shouldn't come out for another week, 'cause I'm in the middle of exams, but I just grew so bored of studying, I had to edit and post this, just to put some spice back in my life. Thank you to both my editors, Karissa and Hell's Hauntress, who pored over the first drafts with merciless detail. Thanks a ton girls!
Anyway, sorry for the drought of writing. I hope to make up for it next chapter. Yamato vs. TK, match of the century. And it's 29 pages long! (to give you an idea, this chapter was only 17 pages long) Out sometime during winter break. ^_^