SINS OF THE DAUGHTER, SINS OF THE SON
Chapter 3: Ambuscades
By Kurt1K
Have I gone mad?
The question hung in the forefront of Siegfried Schtauffen's mind as the cart descended the narrow, rocky path towards Bastia. It was a question he had asked himself before, but in the abstract; now, it seemed much more relevant.
And yet, strangely, he did not feel it to be the case. As the trio continued towards the distantly visible sea, there was a strange certainty in his mind that he was doing what he needed to – not only for himself, but in a larger sense. Now that the decision he had avoided so long and so desperately was made, he felt an oppressive weight lifted from his spirit. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, tasting the rain-freshened air and the mingled scents of the Corsican countryside in a way he had not in the ten months he had lived there.
Perhaps I've gone sane…
He smiled to himself at the thought. You're following a woman who has promised to kill you on a quest to destroy a demon that has outwitted or bested you both in the past, Schtauffen. Where's the sanity in that?
Lost in his musings it took him several minutes to realize that he was being watched.
****
Mackay watched the German out of the corner of his eye. The man seemed lost in thought – not a good sign, the young Scot thought. Who knew what nefarious plots he might be hatching? He resolved again to keep a close eye on this newcomer; his Lady did not seem concerned, but for once perhaps she was too trusting. He was starting to formulate a plan to move both of his pistols out of reach of the man without looking suspicious – no simple task at such close quarters, but he thought he had a way – when Schtauffen suddenly turned to look at him and their eyes locked.
"I don't like being watched." The German's voice was cold. Mackay felt his hackles rise.
"I'll bear that in mind," he retorted defiantly, but did not avert his gaze. Schtauffen's grey eyes narrowed slightly.
The two men stared at each other in silence, locked in a silent battle of wills. They remained that way until the horse, its course now unattended, wandered off the narrow path and the cart canted steeply to one side. Mackay made a wild grab for the edge of the bench as he toppled sideways off the cart to land heavily on the grassy earth with a grunt of pain.
"Damn it…" he groaned, rolling to a sitting position and rubbing at his bruised hip. The horse had stopped a few feet farther on to graze, the cart still tilted sharply. Schtauffen, who had been on the upper end of the bench and had evidently managed to keep his seat, dismounted a little clumsily and turned to look down at him.
"You all right?" There was an undercurrent to his tone which sounded suspiciously like amusement. Mackay glanced up sharply. The German's expression was somber – barely. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he waited for the Scotsman's response.
Mackay scowled, "Aye, just wonderful." He started to rise, waving off the German's proffered hand, and his feet shot out from under him on the rain-slick grass to deposit him on his backside again. "Shit!"
This time Schtauffen did laugh. Mackay tried to glare at him threateningly, but to his immense frustration found himself starting to chuckle as well. He shook his head ruefully. "Well, give me a hand up then, ye hairy oaf."
Schtauffen's grin was startlingly white in his unkempt visage as he grasped Mackay's outstretched hand and pulled him upright. His hand still clasping the Scot's he looked him in the eye.
"Siegfried Schtauffen."
"I know who you are, Mister Schtauffen," the younger man replied, "I'm Alastair Mackay."
"Siegfried is fine, Mr. Mackay."
"Aye, well, Lady Isabella's the only one who ever calls me Mr. Mackay, so it's Alastair, or 'Hey You!' or whatever." Mackay responded. At the mention of the Lady's name Schtauffen's smile took on a forced quality that the Scot, focused on wiping his breeches clean of grass, did not observe.
The whicker of a horse drew their attention to the path. Mackay winced as his eyes settled upon Lady Isabella glaring down at them, every line of her cloaked figure radiating irritation.
"What are you two doing?" she snapped, wheeling her steed back towards Bastia. Mackay snatched his hat from his head, clasping it before him as his mind raced for an explanation.
"My fault," Schtauffen offered suddenly, to Mackay's immense relief, "I was feeling unwell, and-"
BANG!
The gunshot was impossibly loud in the tranquil woodlands. Mackay instinctively ducked at the sound, spinning around as he searched desperately for its source. Schtauffen was doing the same as Lady Isabella's mount reared, screaming. Another shot struck splinters from a tree by the German's side, the sharp crack of the wood almost as loud as the gun. A third sounded a moment later.
He saw them then, a loose group of perhaps half a dozen men breaking cover from the trees ahead and advancing as a group at a steady trot. Pulling behind a tree he glanced at Schtauffen, who had seen them as well and was casting about for a weapon. Turning he looked up at the road, but he could not see the Lady; her horse was galloping back along the path, its saddle empty.
Adrenalin mixed with fear and anger flooded through him as he yanked his pistols from his belt. He took a deep breath, and risked another look.
Ten now, three of them slinging muskets as they brought up the rear and the nearest less than fifty yards away. As he watched one of the men barked a command and the group separated, four continuing their approach as the others diverged towards the far side of the path. He felt a wash of relief; Lady Isabella must still be alive. Now all he had to worry about was himself.
He glanced in the other direction, but Schtauffen was nowhere to be seen. Mackay swore vehemently, thinking fast. If he could take two with his pistols the other two would probably run – he didn't bother counting the ones who were after the Lady; they were already dead, whether they knew it or not. If they didn't run – Well, I can take two he thought, rather more heartily than he felt.
One more deep breath and he swung around the tree, one pistol lowering to level at the nearest attacker. His neighbor spotted the movement and ducked for cover with a shout, but the man took a moment too long to react and Mackay smiled wolfishly behind his weapon as he pulled the trigger.
The ball took the man just above the waist, folding him over with a surprised grunt that would probably be the last noise he ever made. The others barely hesitated before charging, taking Mackay by surprise. Soldiers would probably know that a discharged pistol should be engaged before it could be reloaded, but brigands would seldom think it through that way.
It took him a moment to shake off his surprise, juggling his pistols quickly and leveling the second. His target immediately lurched sideways, but Mackay tracked the move and fired at barely ten yards distance.
He had no time to watch the results of his shot; they were upon him. As the first man rounded the tree Mackay dropped his pistols and drew his falchion – a short, heavy sword with a single curved edge. He carried it for show more than anything, but under the circumstances it was better than nothing.
The man was short and broad, with a heavy buff coat under his travel-worn cloak and a short sword bright in his hand. He scowled at Mackay, circling wide as the Scot awaited his attack with his falchion gripped in both hands. The man made a quick lunge which Mackay flinched away from, but didn't press the attack. It took Mackay a moment to realize what was happening – he was waiting for the others.
Barely had he realized this when he caught a flicker of movement to his right and sprang backwards as the second man lunged at him, leading with his short spear. The foot-long spearhead tugged at his sleeve as it slid past harmlessly, but in his desperate leap Mackay lost his footing once more and he fell heavily, the falchion jarred from his fingers.
As he fumbled desperately for his weapon his opponents closed swiftly for the kill.
****
BLOOD…
He screamed soundlessly as again its voice howled in his mind, its consciousness a hellish serpent rearing from the darkest recesses of his soul to coil about his spirit. Once again he beheld the land through another's eyes, gorging on the slaughter as the world burned. It was not just a memory, he knew now. This time he knew it for what it was, knew its name, its purpose.
Inferno.
DARKNESS…
Clutching at his head he fell to his knees, clawing at the ground as though he could bury himself to hide from the blazing visage staring at his mind's eye. But there was no hiding from this foe; this foe lay within.
COME UNTO ME!
It bellowed, calling to him, fiery talons clutching at his soul where once they had found such ready purchase. He felt himself being dragged down into an endless sea of fire, his body consumed and yet not consumed, the agony unending. With wild energy he fought the beast, focusing all of his tainted spirit into a desperate struggle for freedom.
No!
His own voice sounded so terribly faint before Inferno's roar, but it sounded nevertheless. With strength fired by hatred and sheer determination he fought the demon's black will, battering at its hold, driving it back until his senses were once again his own.
As the scorched landscape receded from his present he saw once again the woodlands of Corsica. He was faintly aware of sounds – the ring of steel, the strangely muffled bark of voices – but it was his own name that brought him back to himself.
"Schtauffen, god damn it! Where the hell are ye?"
Siegfried's head rose at the sound. Through the trees he could see Mackay scrambling backwards as his two assailants closed on him. Schtauffen rose from his hands and knees, forcing his pain-wracked body to obey his will. He could still taste blood fresh on his lips, but he shook off the thought as he stooped to take up a heavy branch and staggered towards the battle.
The spearman noticed his approach and signaled his companion, who wheeled to face the new threat. The swordsman assessed the newcomer and – evidently unimpressed – advanced to meet him, his small buckler raised in defense and his sword low and at the ready.
BLOOD… DARKNESS…
Inferno's voice rang in his head, his senses blurring as new pain lanced through his skull. He stumbled, almost falling as tears of pain welled in his eyes.
His opponent hesitated barely a moment before seizing the opportunity before him, lunging to attack. Sunlight glinted from his short sword as it speared towards Siegfried's midsection, the flash of light snapping the young German back to his senses. He reacted on pure instinct, swiping upwards with his makeshift weapon to bat the sword aside. Surprised by the speed of his reaction, the brigand was overextended and off balance as the club whirled over Schtauffen's head and crashed down on the man's shoulder. The impact drove the man to his knees as the club bounced back, Schtauffen turning its momentum into a double-handed horizontal swing that smashed in the side of the brigand's skull.
The kill seemed to strengthen Inferno's voice, but Schtauffen determinedly ignored its furious clamor now and turned towards the others. Mackay was dodging the spearman around a tree, the brigand's attention so focused on him that he did not notice the German's approach until an iron arm clamped about his throat and his comrade's sword slid between his ribs.
COME UNTO ME!
As the man fell the screams erupted once more into full voice, pummeling at the walls of his skull. The sword fell from nerveless fingers as his legs faltered and he slumped against a tree in a desperate effort to keep his feet. He was vaguely aware of Mackay's voice, but could not make the words out over the roaring in his head. Why is this happening? A tiny part of his consciousness cried, lost and confused. He felt the presence in his soul somehow gathering strength from the deaths, swelling until he felt his skull would burst.
And then – abruptly – it was gone, its vast presence a mere shadow fading into memory as he collapsed to the ground, coughing and retching. Utterly spent, he surrendered to the peace of unconsciousness moments later.
****
Mackay watched the German fall, paralyzed with indecision. A part of him wanted to help the man who had just saved his life but Schtauffen's convulsions and incoherent screams had terrified him, bringing to mind the tales he had heard of the man's unstable, murderous nature - and other, darker tales of his deeds.
After a long silence he plucked up the courage to edge forward, sheathing his falchion – bloody useless thing. Nervously he reached out and picked up the shortsword from where it lay next to Schtauffen, tossing it out of reach before venturing to prod the supine figure.
"Hey," his voice quavered and he took a moment to compose himself before speaking again, "Hey, Schtauffen. Siegfried, mate, you all right?"
The faint rustle of leaves behind him had him whirling, fumbling to draw his pistols even as he realized he hadn't picked them back up. Cursing, he grabbed at the hilt of his falchion and whipped it out, snarling defiantly.
"Are you quite done?" Lady Isabella's voice was frosty even for her. She stood a little farther upslope, her cloak draped over one arm and her sword sheathed on her back. Gore and mud were spattered on her white boots and her dark red clothes were spotted with blood, but she was as poised as ever. Her eyes drifted to Schtauffen's prone form. "Is he dead?"
Mackay shook his head, "No, he-"
"Get the cart back on the road," she said curtly, tossing him her cloak as she stepped down to the German's side, "and find my horse." Kneeling by the man's side she lifted and slung him over her shoulders. Mackay stuttered an offer of help, receiving only a peremptory glare which sent him hastening to obey her instructions.
****
Siegfried awakened slowly to light, comfort and warmth. Shifting languorously he smiled, enjoying the sensations until his memory caught up with him and his eyes snapped wide open.
The chamber was low-roofed but spacious, sunlight streaming through large curved windows at one end. The bed he was stretched out on was set into a niche on one side, shielded by a half-drawn curtain. A large map table dominated the room while side tables and shelves bore an array of devices he did not recognize, intricate instruments of brass and wood gleaming in the sunlight.
At the table, Isabella Valentine bent low over an elaborate framework of copper and glass, liquids bubbling in glass bottles and trickling through delicate piping. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she tweaked a series of screws flanking a collection of copper flasks, the purpose of which Siegfried could not even guess at. Something about her manner suggested that distracting her from her work would be unwise, and he held his tongue until she straightened from her task with a satisfied expression.
"I never thought of you as the cooking type," he said finally. She glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze to her work, picking up a small book from the table and taking out the quill folded among its pages.
"You could fill a library with the things that you do not know about me." She replied coolly, inking the quill and starting to write as she paced around the table with her eyes on her instruments. When it became apparent she had no intention of saying anything more helpful Schtauffen tried to rise, but found the action much harder than he had expected; his muscles burned with the effort, and after a moment he stopped trying, grimacing.
"You may experience some difficulty in moving," Ivy said absently. Schtauffen glared at her; she had to have seen him struggling. "You've been unconscious now for almost two days and your body was hardly in the best of shape even before that."
Siegfried closed his eyes at that. Two days… he breathed deeply, remembering the events on the trail. The attack… the battle… the voice.
"I heard Inferno." He spoke quietly, but at his words Ivy stopped writing. "Up on the path, when the brigands attacked us, I heard its voice.
"I've fought brigands since coming to Corsica, and I never heard it, not like that. Do… do you know why it happened?" He hated to ask it of her, to depend on her, but he had to know.
"Yes." For the first time he found her assurance comforting. The sensation lasted almost an entire second. "It was because of me."
"What?" Siegfried was incredulous. "What do you mean, because of you?" His anger leant strength to his limbs and he rose to a sitting position, ignoring the groans of his weary muscles. The woman looked at him contemptuously.
"Is it possible that you still do not understand?" As she spoke Ivy reached down beside the table and picked up the sheathed sword that leant there. Siegfried tensed instinctually, though she made no move towards him; he knew perfectly well that she didn't need to come any closer to strike him. A moment later realization struck, but she had already drawn the blade forth-
- and Inferno SCREAMED in his head, clawing at his soul –
And fell silent as Ivy's sword whispered back into its sheath.
Siegfried stared at her, trembling with shock and fury. "You bitch," he finally managed, his voice soft and deadly. "You could have told me."
"I did tell you." Ivy snapped angrily. "I told you back at your shanty that the Ivy Blade gained its power from Nightmare. From you! Even if you do not remember the act-"
"I meant just now!" Siegfried cut her off angrily, surging to his feet, "You could have just told me why it happened, you didn't have to pull the damn sword on me! God!" He leaned heavily against the wall, suddenly drained, "You know all about why it does what it does to me, and how," he continued wearily, "but you don't understand how it feels, what it's like when he… it… wakens inside you. When he tries to take you and…" He sat down heavily. "You can't understand, Ivy. It's… a violation."
He could feel her eyes on him, but she did not speak for a long moment. When she did her voice was soft and almost hesitant. He hardly recognized it.
"You…" she sighed softly, "you're right. I… apologize, Herr Schtauffen. I should have considered… I should have known better."
He nodded soundlessly at her words, barely aware of her laying the sword down and moving away to sit silently at the table.
It was some minutes before he spoke again.
"I understand your goal," he said quietly, "and I agree with it. What I don't understand is your intentions for me, Ivy. From what you've told me I understand that the Soul Edge has returned to the world, but… in fragments?" At her nod he continued, "So… I assume that you mean to find and somehow destroy the fragments, and then… kill the wielders. The anchors.
"All that I understand – well," he smiled bitterly, "more or less. But… you asked for my help. How can I help you? I can't even come close to one of the fragments without Inferno, or whatever it left inside of me, awakening. I barely controlled it this time and you were what, a hundred yards away? Next time I could well be overcome. How would that help you or your quest?"
Ivy regarded him thoughtfully before replying.
"Your guesses are reasonable, in the main. My studies have led me to believe that to assure the blade's final destruction, it is necessary to forge it entire – I am not jesting," she overrode his astonished objection, "and yes, I understand the extraordinary dangers involved – even better than you do, in this case. There are precautions that can be taken, however, to minimize the sword's power while this is done. The risk cannot be entirely eliminated, but there is simply no alternative. To be completely destroyed, it must first be made complete. It is that simple.
"The rituals – both of forging and of destruction - are long, and they are difficult, but they are not beyond my abilities. However," she paused, meeting his eyes directly, "in order to succeed, the blade's connection to our world must be severed at the ritual's climax, as the blade is destroyed."
Me, in other words, Schtauffen thought darkly. My life for the sword's destruction. He had known it already, but to hear it was still jarring.
He sighed, attempting a smile. "Yes. That sounds right somehow. But… what of Cervantes de Leon? You surely can't be expecting him to co-operate?"
"He does not need to co-operate." Ivy said icily. "He dies before the forging. Only one host is required for the ritual to succeed. De Leon does complicate things, but only a little. I believe that is why you resurrected him when you were under the sword's influence; it gave Inferno a second connection to the world."
"Sounds a little like cheating," Siegfried observed wryly. Ivy nodded, pensively.
"Inferno is concerned with its own survival, as… most of us are," she said quietly. After a moment she continued, more forcefully, "It will fight us by every means at its disposal. Even fragmented, it is dangerous – able to twist the desires of those about it to its own ends. How many have sought the blade as a means of salvation, or a tool of power? It is neither; the power it grants is ephemeral, ultimately serving only itself, yet still it is sought. It will set its cunning and its strength against us; it has already begun to do so."
At that assertion Schtauffen raised his eyes to hers questioningly. "Those were no brigands that attacked us, Herr Schtauffen. They were mercenaries, looking for me, and perhaps for you."
"They told you?"
"No," Ivy replied, "but they were not surprised by my blade's abilities. Someone had warned them." Her smile was grim. "Not that it was enough."
That they were having the conversation at all was proof enough of that, Siegfried supposed. "You have no idea who sent them?"
Ivy shrugged. "Fygul Cestemus perhaps, though it is not really their style to send mercenaries when fanatics or monsters will serve." She paused, her fingers drumming on the arm of her chair. "Certainly our path and theirs will eventually cross; the cult is no doubt seeking the shards for its own purposes. Their resources are greater than ours, so it will most likely prove efficient to allow them to gather those they can and then take them away. In the meantime…"
She paused again, lost in thought. After a few moments Siegfried spoke again: "How do you intend we find the fragments, then?"
"Hm?" Ivy seemed taken aback by his question, but after a moment she smiled smugly. "I have several leads, but as to pursuing them effectively – that is where you come in."
At his blank look her smile widened. "Simply put, your sensitivity to the shards will simplify the search."
Siegfried bolted upright, ignoring the strain in his legs. "WHAT?!" he shouted, "Are you completely insane? Were you listening to what I said at all?"
Ivy sat out his tirade, her smile unwavering. "Please sit down Herr Schtauffen, I have not yet fully explained myself to you."
"Really?" Siegfried retorted sardonically, "And you are usually such a model of veracity."
"It is said that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Herr Schtauffen." Ivy said calmly.
"You haven't exactly been reluctant to employ it," he bit back.
She shrugged, "I felt anything higher would go over your head – now just listen. As you are already aware – though its importance has clearly failed to register – my blade only affects you when it is unsheathed."
Siegfried blinked at her. He had overlooked that.
"The same is true of this fragment." she continued, tapping the pouch on her belt. "A simple – well, relatively simple – combination of alchemy and sorcery serves to mask it; Ivy Blade's sheath fulfils the same purpose. The process prevents the fragment from resonating with other shards while within the box, or with those attuned to the blade – hence, your… Inferno remains dormant even in its presence.
"After considerable effort, I have altered this ritual to suit a new purpose – that is, to protect you from the worst of the effects. You will still be aware of the presence of shards," her voice softened slightly, "but Inferno – your Inferno, your parasite – will not." Standing, she gestured to the intricate apparatus on the chart table. "This is the final stage. At midnight, the ritual will be complete."
Siegfried glared at her, still furious but interested in spite of himself. "And how..? You don't expect me to get into a box, I hope."
"The thought did occur to me while working on the process," Ivy muttered, "Several times, in fact. No, there is no box. You need only keep the ritual item on your person, and it will function."
"You couldn't have given it to me before now?"
"No," Ivy said shortly, "Certain essential components could only be obtained from you personally."
He didn't like the sound of that. "Such as?"
"The item itself; the ritual requires a focus with a strong connection to you. Mr. Mackay obtained one in Bastia." She replied, leaning over the apparatus and tapping on one of the pipes. After a moment she added almost as an afterthought, "And blood."
"Blood." He repeated slowly. Not too much of a price considering what she's offering. "Fine. Take what you need."
"I did," she replied offhandedly, "while you were unconscious." She gestured at his right arm, drawing his attention to the bandages bound over the forearm.
Schtauffen stared at the binding, then back at Ivy. He shook his head, laughing weakly. The woman was unbelievable.
"Have I amused you?" she asked dryly. Siegfried's laughter faded.
"So this is why you sought me out? To… sniff out the shards?"
"Partly."
"And all that about needing an ally who understood what you do, all that was just – what, just a line?"
Ivy sighed, straightening from her work. After a moment she turned to face him. "Everything I said to you before was true, Herr Schtauffen."
He held her gaze for a long moment before nodding assent.
"All right," he said quietly, "So where do we start?"
Ivy smiled thinly.
"The Money Pit."
*********************
Author's Notes: Ah, exposition - a very tricky thing, a balancing act of information vs interest. Let me know how I did.
Thanks once more to my kind reviewers, who have given me such encouragement. May the fleas of a thousand camels… no, that's not right… anyway - many, many thanks.
A special note of thanks to e-man182, who not only correctly identified my inspiration but found a link to the picture online. I have searched and searched… thanks again!
I noticed I forgot to put disclaimers on my previous chapters – but seriously, does anybody think I own Soul Calibur? Thought not.
Soul Calibur 2 finally reaches Australia this week (supposedly)… I feel like a kid on the night before Christmas.