CHAPTER XV
WARFIRES
The morning found Serge in a much changed state of mind from the night before. It seemed that his sleeping mind had found a certain peace all of his reason could not.
He arose feeling hardly as disquieted as he had had the night before. His mind felt unchained as it had not for any day he could remember for months, from back before this journey began. Had the final seal finally been lifted then, by battle when nothing else could? He shook the last of the sleep from his mind and looked about his tent. He was anxious, to be sure, but more than a little eager. His hands caught up the hilt of the Masamune, and he looked upon the sword with changed eyes from the night before. Then it had been the instrument of his duty, a symbol of the thing that he was compelled to do against his heart's will. Yet now he felt himself loving the touch of the metal, feeling pride course through him as he remembered what it was to be master of this holy sword. His will and heart had returned undiminished, and nearly nothing short of death would be able to shake it from him.
He crept from the tent, shaking his lengthy hair from his eyes. For the most part it was still the dark shade of blue it had been a month before when he had left his village, but not wholly. It had grown somewhat, and was beginning to darken to its natural black shade. He took his red band from his tent and tied it fast about his head, keeping his locks aside. He no longer wore it as he had once, covering his whole head, but, rather, tied it simply as a band. An altogether grim look, he realized suddenly with an inner laugh. Unshaven, long hair only half dyed azure, and the bearer of a sword ten thousand years ancient; he had not looked at himself with such eyes. There was a certain power and fear in appearing so grim and fell (even as the ancient Spartans had held); and it made him appear far older than his eighteen years. A coursing thrill of power swept through his veins as he knew how few and little could truly stand against his wrath and sword. When was it that he had he forgotten quite how mighty he was?
As he crossed Janus' path he the wizard laughed and said:
"Well now, someone has found a different spirit this morning."
"You could tell?" Serge asked, brandishing the Masamune about. How long had it been since he had done it so lightly? Far too long, he understood, now. Not since his great defeat of the Evil beyond time, when he had borne it to triumphant victory. Ah, those sweet days of forgotten memory, when he had been great among warriors, child though he was. But even the glory of it had been dimmed to his memory in the past months. He took careful account of his heart, now. Indeed, he still felt a wish to be home, and for peace. But now it was joined by an equal feeling of joy over the high calling into which he had fallen, and by his warrior's spirit of strength and certainty over his own purpose. Even as he had felt toward the eve-tide of his adventures.
Janus laughed again, his ringing voice shattering the joyful thoughts that enwound Serge.
"Certainly," Janus said. "I would be a poor wizard if I could not discern strength from weakness. And that I have been ever apt to measure. Yesterday you were beset by doubt and weak. Today your walk and glance tells me otherwise. I trust this is not a passing thing?"
"No," Serge answered with certainty and a grim smile.
"Very good. We have an errand today, unless my foresight misses its mark. Not five moments ago a horseman rode into the encampment. I think he brings tidings of a raiding band of troops, though I cannot be sure. I was sent at once to summon you."
Together they strode to the outskirts of the war camp. Serge could hardly keep from marking that Janus' voice seemed to hold far more respect than it had had before. Though he had not understood it in past days, he was now certain that Janus had inwardly scoffed at all the doubts that had swept Serge, a thing only made clear in afterthought.
The day itself was grim and drear, though perhaps this was fitting for the morning following a battle. The memory of an overnight rain lingered still in the air, and the ground was cold and damp at his feet. Thankfully the wind blew from the east, and kept the smell of decay out of the camp; the battlefield was not a pleasant sight, and did not smell any better than it appeared to the eyes.
When they found Crono he was in earnest speech with a dismounted horseman. Emblazoned upon the man's shield was the device of a single grey circle on a field of green.
"A messenger?" Serge asked as he came upon Crono. "He's injured," he said, seeing that the shield the man bore was bloodied and shorn; likewise the armour in which he was arrayed was rent and scored. Blood shone on the pale metal and from wounds beneath.
"It is nothing, my Lord," the knight said in reply to Serge. "As I have been saying to the King, Stoneshield is besieged. A company of Porre dragoons, one hundred strong, is at our gates. We have taken refuge behind the walls, but Stoneshield is a walled city only, and no fortress. We cannot hold off so many at length."
"Horses, swiftly!" Crono cried, and at once two pages sped away. He then turned to Janus.
"We cannot raise a force to match with enough speed to break their attack, but through our spellcraft we may compel them into abandoning their siege."
Janus nodded in understanding.
"Who rides, then? I will most certainly take your side, and I think Serge as well, for he is finding himself more inclined to drawing blood today."
Crono now took a glance at Serge, and nodded with a smile on his lips.
"Ah, so it was that your hero's spirit never left at all, but only slept. Well, bid it good morning! It is needed this day. Yes, you will ride by my side with Janus. And Schala. Schala!" he called. She must certainly have been near, for she came forward a moment later. It was apparent that she had expected this riding already. A sword was at her side, and she wore her grim battle-mantle, uncleaned of the stains of the last day.
"Yes," she trailed, and took up a solemn stare to the south. "Stoneshield burns with siege fires. We must be swift."
The four rode off some swift minutes later. It had been a sudden rising for Serge, and an even more quick departure. But he understood the dire need, and that was balm enough for his temper. The wind from the speed of his stallion's run traced through his hair, and in joy he smiled.
But it was a joy that turned to sombre bitterness that afternoon. Even before they came upon the city, they could nose the reek of the fires: Stoneshield was burning. As they came around the last hill, the sight was laid bare before their eyes, and Crono cursed their fortune. They were too late: the tall towers were wreathed in dark smoke that trailed to the sky and away, the last reminder of fires that had scorched the city. The limestone walls were blackened, and the gate lay in ruin below the hollow archway. Not a sound was heard in the gate square as they rode cautiously in.
"No soldiers," Serge said after a time. "Not one."
Crono nodded his head in silent agreement.
"Neither can I see any. Yet there is enough proof of their having been here. See!"
And he pointed to the far edges of the square. Here and there among the ruin lay the bodies of the slain people of the town. Knights in ruined armour, men in dusty peasant garb, and the women and children.
"These weren't soldiers, mostly," Serge said, leaping from his horse and looking about the death filled square. "These were the peasantry that didn't even come to fight with you."
"Thus attempting to appease the wrath of Porre," Janus said. "The fools. It did little to help them."
The other three leaped from their mounts, and began seeking amidst the dead for any that might yet be faintly alive, but one were. Either through fire or sword, spear or rifle, all were dead to the child.
Crono swept out his sword and in anger struck off the crown of a stray pole of timber.
"So, too late, then. Hours or minutes, but dead is dead, and our haste has been in vain...Halt!" he called suddenly. At the far verge of the square, a man could be seen. He coward fearfully, and with good reason, for he was a soldier of Porre.
Crono beckoned him over, but the soldier had a wild fear in his eyes, and sped for the gate. From his horse Crono took a strung bow and, with a calm yet fell eye, set an arrow to it, drew it back, and let it fly. It was true as to his intent, and struck where he had shot for, in the man's thigh. With a cry of pain he faltered to the ground, still attempting to flee as a best he might across the earth.
With relentless steps, Crono overtook him. Raising him up by his hair he drew a level gaze with the stricken soldier.
"Deserter?" he asked with a certain chill wrath to his voice.
The man nodded quickly.
"Yes. I am. Yet I took no part in this, and rather ran. I swear to you I ran before they did this. I'm Guardian, and not of Porre. I couldn't follow their orders."
At these words Crono relented his grip and let the man fall.
"But a traitor for joining their ranks even so. You fight for the enemies of your country!" he said to the man, who nodded and began weeping.
"I had though Guardia would never rise again," he stammered between tears.
Crono sighed.
"There were many days when I thought the same. Have you taken any of the lives of your countrymen?"
The man shook his head.
"No, never. I did not take part in today's battle, and have for a fortnight been stationed at the bridge. But Captain Wedgal is a cruel man, and speaks often with the soldiery of the Black Wind. Two nights ago he gave sudden orders that we march on this town. And so you see what has become of that, though again I swear that I deserted from the ranks before the battle was begun."
"You have not slain your brethren," Crono said. "And my arrow has been the blood-price of your treachery."
He glanced down at where the shaft still held in the flesh, bleeding fiercely, and said:
"Let no guilt of this rest on you. I, your uncrowned king, forgive you."
"King?" the man stammered, and it seemed his heart would fail, for his face paled to a ghostlike shade, and he threw himself at Crono's feet.
"I am an errant servant, my liege. From this day, I will be the truest of the children of this land, and hold you my only captain."
"We shall see, if Guardia ever rises again," Crono said. "Yet other things need doing this day. Tell me now, that you may atone for your servitude: Which way did your company ride, that we may bring vengeance down upon the heads of those that did this?"
Gladly the man spoke, his tears not lessening, though a smile touched on his lips.
"West, through the woods, and to the plains beyond. They are riding to the muster at the bridge again where, I have heard, they will await the coming of the armies of Porre; they say that that shall be at least a fortnight."
"Very well," Crono replied. "I will send you back to camp with Lord Janus."
He strode back to where the horses stood. Janus knelt by the body of a brown clad man, contemplating him carefully.
"Why did they destroy Stonshield?" he asked of a sudden. "Why this raid and town? What does it hold of value to their armies? It only stands to reason that they would not so recklessly attack if they could not reap some benefit."
Crono shook his head.
"Not a thing that an army would care for. It was a town of learning and scholars. See this tower here?"
He raised his hand to the stone foundation of the building beside which Janus knelt. From its roof a pinnacled spire rose.
"This was a great monastery."
"That I can see," Janus muttered to himself, returning his gaze to the man who lay dead before him. His clothes were drab brown and of rough weaving. His hair was trimmed so that it set a ring about his head. A sword wound through the chest had slain him.
"But why?" Janus repeated, rising.
"To make us feel wrath, Janus, whereby we might cease caution and cunning, and lose the zeal of our recent victory." Crono said, beginning to tire of the questions. "This I need not tell you; it is an old stratagem that you yourself put into use not a few times. To lose this town is a great loss for my land."
"Perhaps," Janus muttered. "And yet maybe you do not see clearly. How have a hundred men have destroyed a city of a thousand?"
"A town largely of peasants, Janus," Crono replied. "Not many were the knights here; the lord of the town and his kin. Twelve swords at best."
"But, see!" the wizard said, sweeping his hand to where the dead man lay. His left hand was death-clawed at the dirt, and at their tips a vague drawing sat in the dust.
"What does this mean?" Janus asked, kneeling beside it, and taking it under careful study. But to discover its meaning was useless. Whatever it was had been mostly washed away in the tramping of feet.
Schala peered past him.
"Janus, my heart feels quickened. It appears odd, yet perhaps is nothing. Crono has said Stoneshield was a place of learning; perhaps this symbol was sacred."
She knelt beside it and shook her head with uncertainty.
"It is no cross. Neither is it any other sign I can discern. Janus, you know of such things: can you see any meaning in it that I cannot?"
"No," he replied. "Yet it is faded much; it could be near anything."
Serge too came over now, looking strangely at the place.
"It looks like nothing to me," he said. It appeared to be only a confusion of curved lines. Yet as his eyes touched it, and he spoke, he suddenly felt himself lighten, and his reason left him. In a flash he saw an image, but was uncertain. A devouring darkness swept past his sight. And then barely whispered words: "Es ros asant tino achosal. Hael es diom adeaio. Es diom Kuro! Aith henamet il es Ander!"...and then it cleared, and his mind was certain again.
"Aith henamet il es Ander..." he murmured in a last echo.
"Beware the South?" Janus said uncertainly. "As if we do not know this. But what is this, Serge? You speak in the Zeal tongue, which you do not know. But if this is prophecy, it is unavailing."
"I don't know," Serge answered, having no understanding himself. "Darkness, and death. But what it has to do with anything here." He looked about and said: "It's probably just that. This place, all this death, is a little unsettling."
Crono himself was now pacing, anger building against those enemies who had been so ruthless.
"Look, Serge!" Crono cried with blazing eyes. "Look well at the fabled might of Porre. Their matchless power to kill women and children, the old and the blind. Ha! Great indeed, they say? I say we show what a bitter vengeance they have sown against themselves!"
Serge stood at the side of a slain young child. This people was foreign to him, but still his heart felt greatly turned against Porre. Such deeds went beyond the needs of war, and spoke of a heartless cruelty that ran deep.
"We're going after them?" Serge asked.
Crono gave him a strange glance, as if wondering at the need to even ask such a question. Without a reply he leaped upon his horse, drawing the reigns tight into his fists.
"I am hunting them down without mercy," he said and looked at Schala, who, too, had mounted her steed, as if looking for her to say some words of wisdom, warning against such a rash act of vengeance. But even as she had appeared to Serge during the battle, a strange light hid behind her eyes, and she gave no warning. Rather she smiled, almost wickedly, with a near laugh escaping her.
"If that is your will, I will not gainsay it, and beg you to allow my company, for I think that you may have need of my blade before long. Serge, here are two paths: choose which seems the better."
Serge nodded his agreement to the first; he felt more inclined to the company of Schala and Crono than Janus, for he felt uncertain as to his duties should he return to camp. And so the three set off west, while Janus bore the injured soldier to the encampment. If he was ill-favoured over this, he did not show it. But the command of the army was granted him till Crono's return, so perhaps this lightened his mood.
The hunt was longer than they had looked for, however. The main host, it seemed, had splintered, and Crono chose to follow the smallest group, which was likely the officers and leaders of the assault. But these, they soon found, had moved swiftly. And so the first day was fruitless, and found them making a scant camp in the cold, with only what slight provisions they had taken for the day to take meal from. And, worse, they had little in the way of shelter, and so the night that passed was a harsh one, with only a small warming fire to keep them company. They rose early the next day, even as the touch of dawn was upon the far hills, so as to shorten the space between them and those they pursued. Then finally, as night had set upon the land, they came upon the firelight of the enemy camp (and much relieved they were, for they were hungry and weary, and even Crono would not have pressed the chase another day.)
Dismounting from their horses, they crawled slowly across the chill grass of the ground towards the small depressed enclave near the eaves of a forest where the enemy was encamped.
"How many?" Serge asked, coming up behind the other two.
"Three score. Twenty riflemen, and a handful of swordsman," Crono whispered. "Not for trifling, but still not a great fear."
"Crono?" Schala asked with wise concern. "Is your anger shadowing your judgement? Must I remind you of their rifles? This is no field-battle; here they will see an enemy on but one side. Even with the sorcery of us three, I think it would go hard with us."
Crono did not answer at once, but Serge saw his gaze darken, and his breathing deepen in rage.
"Schala, these are the very men who led the ruthless assault upon Stoneshield. What sort of leader would my people account me if I shied away from dealing vengeance upon their enemies? If you think it foolishness, you need not take part. I will do what I may on my own."
And before either Schala or Serge could stay him he stood, tall upon the edge of the shallow vale. He drew his sword and held it at his side with a menacing look upon his face.
The soldiers saw him quickly enough, and a dozen rifles were raised in sudden reply, their locks clicking to the ready. None were afraid, for who, even among magicians, could ward against such an array?
Then Crono spoke angrily, his wrathful voice at setting some slight fear, at least, into the hearts of the men sitting in the vale:
"You have slain my people with your murderous ways, and now need bear the burden of judgement!"
At this Schala and Serge stood, and now there were three that the enemy needed looking to.
But still the commander of the troop was unafraid. He stepped forward, disdain over the harsh words plain upon his lips, and said in reply:
"Finely crafted words for a fool. Now leave, unless you wish me to deal with you likewise."
With a sign of his hand the remainder of the soldiers, those who had not yet taken up arms, bore up their weapons; all flints were drawn back.
Yet Crono did not waver, and his anger grew all the more fearsome at these haughty words.
"Have you then no remorse for your deeds? None whatsoever?" he said, in a voice of mingled rage and disbelief. He had at least thought that they would profess some innocence, or perhaps excuse their deeds with duty. But the commander was without doubt a cruel man.
"Peasants and rebels," he said. "As are you, no doubt. Yet you are fortunate, for we are in no mood for a battle this night, and wish only for our peace."
And now, at this utter disdain, Crono's anger was kindled to consuming wrath. His eyes blazed to star-like brilliance, and the sword he held in his hand was as though it were forged from the rainbow itself, for it shone undiminished in the night.
"Tartarus grant you the peace you have earned!" Crono cried, and lifted his sword high.
A full half of the enemy stepped back a pace; but still their guns were aimed true, and so the cruel captain was still fearless. And he now knew his foe to be a sorcerer, and was wise enough not to trifle with that sort. At once he cried:
"Kill them. Open fire!"
With that command the echo of a dozen rifles splintered in the night air.
But too dark was Crono's wrath for even that dire assault; he leaped forward even as the shot did, and cast his arms outward. Lightning lit the vale with its ghostly light, and thunder shook the air and ground: the shots recoiled and fell harmless to the earth.
And now, at last, the enemy commander paled, for such power the man had not expected neither in this nor any foe. He stumbled a step backward, and would have fled, but the fear that rose in him was so potent it overclouded his reason. Crono, for his part, looked to his right and left, at Serge and Schala, and said:
"This vengeance is mine for my people: do not aid me in this."
But his voice seemed strange, darker and more grim than it had ever been before, and echoed with an almost immortal power. Even Schala felt fear at crossing him, and retreated to allow him his will.
Crono strode down the vale-side, his sword fast in his outstretched hand. He came upon the men who now broke and ran from his approach as best they might, having abandoned all thought of opposing him. And now the light that surrounded Crono grew to dazzling brilliance. As Serge and Schala looked on in wonder the dark clouds high overhead wheeled and gathered like those of a glowering storm. Crono raised his shining sword blade high, and at once a winding snake of forked lightning leaped from the canopy, striking both blade and earth all about; Crono was unharmed, but smoke rose from the stricken earth.
The commander was the first to die, struck through the heart by Crono's sword. Still the others tried at fleeing, but they were caged in by lightning that played about the dale: it was death to cross it, and death to stay. For Crono silently walked to each man, heedless of any cries for mercy or pity, and slew them in their turn, at each stroke saying: "Such is the vengeance of Guardia."
When the last of the men lay dead, the fires of the light subsided and Crono's eyes ceased flaring. And as they did, he stumbled to the ground, spent. Serge and Schala came to his side at once, wonder and fear still touching them.
"That was a trifle too harsh, I believe," Crono muttered as he tried at standing. But his legs did not allow him, and he faltered to the ground once again. "Yes, indeed, far too harsh."
Schala looked at him gravely.
"Not merely harsh, but perilous, and fraught with darkness. Do you wish to wander the same evil paths of vengeance that my brother once did? Such a deed is not becoming of a hero."
Crono laughed weakly.
"It was my own will, Schala, I cannot hide it. And for better or worse it is done, now. Ai, all who have ventured too near to Lavos harbor such malice within them: and I was once destroyed by him, or do you forget?"
He rose to his knees.
"Nevertheless, it is not a proud deed, and I will remember it bitterly."
Schala looked at him warily, as did Serge.
"That was quite something, though" Serge said, still amazed. "I've never seen magic like that before: it was like the sky was at your command."
Crono nodded.
"Perhaps it was, but only perforce to my will. Schala speaks truly," and now his voice sombred, as if he finally understood how darkly the deed had been done, "this is not a hero's deed. Come, let us be off."
Carefully they led him to his horse, which he mounted slowly.
"Let us not speak of this again," he said, casting a mournful gaze of the dale. "And let this be a warning to us, against the power we wield."
But it seemed to Serge that these words were more for Schala than for him.
----
They returned as morning was rising two days later. Even as they entered the eves of the forest of Guardia, they heard the unmistakable sounds of battle greet their ears. From the sharp crack of guns, heard echo even in the far reaches of the forest many miles from the castle, they could discern that the defenders were putting up a stout defence. The entire of the war camp had been removed from the Truce fields, and assembled in a great clearing near the castle, amidst the Great Wood of Guardia. Crono sought out Janus (whom he found at the edge of the camp, overseeing the coming and going of war-companies), while the other two went to eat and quell their hunger.
"How goes the siege?" Crono asked, striding up behind the wizard.
Janus turned sharply.
"Rather, how goes it with you? The last I left you, you rode forth in anger. Now there is blood on your sword," he said (though when he said this Crono had not unsheathed his sword.)
Crono did not answer at once, and when he did, he simply said: "They have had their vengeance."
But he did not tell of what had chanced.
Even so Janus nodded, and perhaps read much of what lay unspoken. For he understood the ways of vengeance all too well: they had been his lifeblood for near to twenty years. For a moment he said nothing, then took up a long gaze to where the castle sat unseen beyond the trees of the forest. Then speaking said:
"But the battle, Crono...It could hardly be worse! I have counted the loss of three of the enemy on the walls; the number we have lost in doing so is more than two dozen. I am sorry, my friend, but I can do no better."
Crono started at these tidings, for if proud Janus was confessing difficulty, then things must be dire indeed.
"That is a sturdy fortress that they hold," he continued. "Their archers and gunners patrol the walls, day and night regardless. I swear they have the eyes of hawks. We cannot get within a hundred yards of them without being hailed with a storm of shot and darts."
"Is there no spell you can work? No dark magic?" Crono asked.
Janus shook his head bitterly.
"No, and yes. To be potent enough to breach those battlements I must gain the walls. It is well beyond even my strength to assault the defences through distant sorcery, unless you know the secret spells that bind the stone to the foundation."
Crono shook his head and said: "The foundations are laid with unenchanted stone; no wizardry binds them."
"Very well then," Janus said. "And, between their riflemen and accursed wizards, may they suffer in hell, I must concede I have not been able to come nearer than a hundred paces of the wall myself."
He scowled fearsomely.
"And I have the faint suspicion that they are shooting for me especially."
He swept his cloak about, and it was rent with not a few rather large holes.
Crono laughed at the wizard's amazement over this.
"Little wonder, my friend. Or, did you fail to see your standing amidst the men?"
Janus glanced about. He was a full head taller than those around him, and twice as great in bulk.
"Yes," he muttered, then continued saying: "But what would you have me do? I've been holding out here for two days now, waiting for your to return," he scowled, "playing war games with these Porre fools, and losing I might add. That, above all else, is something I ill endure. I will do so no longer: this is your war, and your strategy is needed above all else."
Crono said nothing, but knew the truth of the matter as well as any.
"Maybe," he muttered as he looked about, seeing the companies of warriors running hither and thither about the space. Some were wounded from the last assault, while others were to try their luck at the next.
"Sound a retreat," Crono said suddenly. "Call every man to return to the camp."
Janus nodded shortly, and called to the seneschal of the camp to do so.
"This assault is fruitless," Crono said after a moment, taking up an aimless pace with Janus at his side. "I should have foreseen this: that castle cannot be overcome through any might of assault. And we need siege engines: are they prepared yet, as I commanded?"
Janus was about to reply, but at that moment Sigurd strode up. His rough-sewn peasant clothes were in disarray and bore the marks of battle. The armour he bore, a hauberk of light linked rings and a shield, was likewise stained. Across his face and limbs were the red tracings of new wounds. As he spoke it was plain that they pained him, for he ceaselessly glanced.
"My Lords," he greeted the two, and bowed shortly. "My division is hard pressed; twice now have I led my men against the fortress, as I have been ordered to do," and then he paused, taking up a grave and uncertain look. "But if I may say so, I fear it is a futile effort. Ever we lose many of our people, more than we take of the enemy. We are disheartened, my Lord Crono, and I not the least."
"The retreat has been sounded, Sigurd," Janus replied before Crono could. "It would be wise to heed it and take what rest you may while peace lasts. But never, child, speak of our effort as futile while you captain men: you must act as though the very walls of Hades are surmountable under your command, and dissemble your fear."
Whatever Sigurd truly thought of this reproach remained hidden, and he merely said: "As you will," and turning, left.
"That is a strange child," Janus said when Sigurd had left from earshot. "He is a fine commander, at least for one so young, but not one I would have chosen for such a post. But I must admit, grudgingly, that he is not a weakling in the use of his magic, and a worthy swordsman in his own right. If he outlives this war, he may one day become a mighty warrior in your hall."
"You have a much changed appraisal of him then at your first meeting, then," Crono said. "But there is much that he has yet to reveal to us, I think, and to himself, for that matter."
"How so?" Janus asked. He was still curious as to Crono's admiration for the young soldier. It was true that he showed much valour, but there were many others as well who showed no less bravery.
"We shall see," Crono replied shortly. "Whatever may be, mighty blood runs in him. He seems like to a prince in valour, does he not?"
Janus shook his head.
"A prince? I would think not. That is high praise for a fisherman. Even one with so mighty a sword."
"A prince of fishermen, then!" Crono answered in return with a laugh.
Janus looked about at the sound of a distant horn that echoed dimly between the trees of a sudden.
"Ah, that is the signal. Come, Crono, the meeting tent is this way. Let us see if you are as fine a strategist as a hero."
They took up walking at a slow pace crossways across the camp, to where the tent lay.
"Is my sister back as well?" Janus asked.
Crono nodded.
"Yes, we have all returned safely enough."
Janus turned to face him.
"But I am forgetting! You were asking about the siege weapons."
"Yes, I was," Crono said, "How is the construction I ordered proceeding?"
Janus shook his head, bitterly.
"Slowly, if that. No one here has the skill to make such engines of war. Mangonels, ballistae...what do these people know of such things? We have few of either. I couldn't even take a border post without a greater array of weapons."
Crono shook his head. A sad smile crossed his lips.
"Ah, it is times such as these that I wish to have Lady Ashtear amongst us once again. She would surely have engineered some mighty counters to those Porre weapons. Her science outmatched these infernal inventions of Porre by as much as they are beyond us. If she were here now we, not they, would have the advantage. But it is pointless to wish for the unattainable," and he paused for a moment, then said: "Yet we must have those weapons, Janus! Prevail upon the craftsman. Five days from now I want such a number as will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies."
At that they said no more, and came to the tent where the captains gathered. Here there were assembled, other than they: Serge, Schala, Sigurd, and a small group of the other captains of the divisions. Of these most were injured in some manner, attesting to the bitter and futile battle that had been waged for the last two days.
"I am loath to do so, but I will agree with captain Sigurd," Crono said as he sat. "In despite of your certain valour in this assault, it is futile."
For the most part the captains nodded in agreement.
"An understatement, to be sure," one, a certain lord by the name of Medesior, said, "Forty seven. That is the tale of men I have lost, Lord. We grow disheartened by the hour, and what courage we gained from the field victory is vanished. I pray your guidance will better our state."
"In regards to that, lord Medesior, we shall see. But the matter at hand is this: Porre has been slow to ready a force to come to the aid of their besieged comrades. That is both good and ill: good, for it gives us more time than I had hoped for; ill, because it means when they do finally march north, it will be with such numbers that we will not have any hope of victory. But for now, I will call it good. And to this end, I will need no less than two score siege weapons in five days time."
"Crono, that may be an impossibility, no matter what your hope," Janus said darkly.
"I is not hope it is need, and so will be!" Crono responded striking the table, resolve in his voice. "On the fifth day we assault the castle gate."
This set the captains astir, and at last Schala spoke for them:
"Bold, to be sure, Crono. Now if you are through startling us, what else do you plan in this? For alone with such an army as you have it is a foolish, and that you are not."
He paused for half a moment, then smiling said:
"The castle is nearly one thousand years old, raised by the first king of Guardia when Rome still held sway in the east. So it is that the walls have begun to weaken in many places. It is at these that we must press our assault, and take the castle itself. Yet, as Lord Janus has told me, we cannot come within one hundred paces of them and live. We must therefore keep their watch busy in other places, while we try this. And the gate is our best hope to do so."
The lord who had spoken before now stood again.
"But my Captain, will not Porre see trickery in this? None would send an entire army into such a perilous onslaught if there were not some guile; surely Porre will know this, and be all the more wary for it," he said, at which Crono replied with a cunning smile:
"So it may be. But what does it matter? Even if they know it to be a ploy we will have forced their hand, and they will at needs fortify the gate. But the error in this will be greater than they foresee, I am sure..."
"And we possess the ability with which to bring down the wall?" the lord said, still in doubt, "The infernal cannons of Porre can destroy stone, but we do not have such a weapon."
But at this Janus spoke:
"What need are cannons when we have sorcery? Rest assured, captain, I can render the walls dust, if I can only gain them."
The lord nodded in understanding, saying:
"Very well, you may hold me and those under my command ready."
"The entirety of this stratagem is quite simple," Crono continued. "Once they send their troops to fortify the gate, the wall will be taken down. Then we need simply march with all speed upon the breach. I think that they will be taken unawares by this, and not have time to rally their troops to counter an assault from within their very walls. Moreover, if we can strike swiftly enough they will not be able to retreat into the fastness of the inner keep: we will have split their forces in two, and the battle should be easier. But, as you can see, from beginning to end this stratagem relies on the destruction of the wall."
All the captains nodded, for the plan seemed good to them as well.
Crono then looked to Sigurd.
"Sigurd, I must take you away from your command. I have a far more pressing duty for you."
Sigurd was looked warily across the table, unsure whether this would bode well or ill for him..
"How so?" he asked cautiously.
"I have heard rumours from the north that I cannot overlook. Our forces number five thousand now, but another five hundred horseman and knights we could have had. I speak of those that fled into the Dire Woods, and which I at dismissed as having perished. But I have begun to doubt that as rash despair. So I wish you to seek them out. Ride with all swiftness the paths of the north, and raise the cry that Guardia is at war; if they yet live, lead them to our muster here at the Castle."
Sigurd nodded.
"Very well. If they live, I will find them."
"This will not be easy," Crono said to Sigurd's hasty reply. "The journey is long, and the woods terrible to travel. It is likely that those regions are the last stronghold of the Mystics that live on this main continent; I counsel you not to cross them, for I am certain they are perilous. Do not dismiss the use of your magic, or to land fatal blows, if need be. Though I would rather ally with them if they do dwell there, they are a race that is long in the forgetting. They live in the waking memory of the great war four hundred years ago, and I do not think they would welcome any such treaties."
Again Sigurd nodded.
"As much as is within my might, I will use. And do not concern yourself with my peril; rather I think that the Mystics are in greater danger. I will unleash the wrath of heaven upon them if they bar my way."
Janus laughed at these words, but Crono bade him be silent and said:
"Sigurd, do not speak with such foolish courage. I know you to be mighty, but I tell you that I have seen foes that would leech your face white. So strong you are not, and the dwellers of the northern forests are most certainly Swart Elves, and other fay creatures. I warn you not to take lightly any you may cross. You say you will unleash storms upon them? I say rather bring them winter!"
"Winter?" Sigurd asked, his eyes unsettled and uncertain. "I do not know what you speak of."
"You would lie to me?" Crono said slowly, with his eyes resting heavily on the child. At that moment Janus stood, and said:
"Then there is a secret! My sister, by her strange wisdom, has some understanding of it. But from me you have kept it continually hidden. And now again you speak in enigma? Speak plainly, or I might feel compelled to become angry."
He said these last words in the tone of a grim jest; though he was the greater sorcerer, Crono was the mightier warrior. Janus was not fool enough to truly threaten him, but rather spoke in such a way so as to entreat Crono to speak.
Crono sighed at this, seeing that further silence would only serve to bring dissension and anger.
"Very well," he said, taking a deep breath, and looking sternly upon Sigurd. "I but guess, yet I think I am correct in saying that your sorcery is twofold: of both the sky and the winter."
Sigurd stood, wonder in his face.
"How do you know this my Lord? You speak the truth, I will not deny it now. But I have always judged it inferior; for is not the peril of winter dire but slow in the making, whereas the anger of the sky swift as unforseen lightning? Such combat has been my wont, and I care not for the slower. Yet, how can you know this?" he stammered, and sat once again, unsure, bewildered, and amazed alike.
"It is not so incredible as you might think, captain," Crono said with a deepening smile. "It is only one piece of a puzzle which I have been attempting to complete since I first met you. Only one now remains, and then it shall be solved, for better or worse."
"What puzzle?" Sigurd said. "I hide nothing! I swear to you, by the Dragon of Guardia. It was with no ill intent that I did not tell you of my full sorcery. And now that it is said, you know all."
"Captain Sigurd," Crono said, "I believe you: it is a mystery to you as well, I am sure. But now, answer me this: your parents in the east, your father who gave you that sword you wield: is he your birth father?"
And now Sigurd paled, for it seemed to him that Crono could read his very mind. He opened his mouth, but no words came, so he shook his head slowly.
Janus looked to Crono, and so did Serge and Schala, who till now had remained watchers. But Crono smiled, and it seemed as if many cares lifted from him.
Sigurd, still in a very confused state of mind, rose.
"My Lord, if it please you: since you have solved some riddle of which I know nothing about, would you care to tell me of it?"
Crono nodded, laughing lightly as he did.
"Yes, indeed, child: you hold a strange light in your eyes; you have powers of both lightning and winter; you wield my old sword; when I first met you, did I not pause for, as I told you then, you reminded me of myself? And now the final piece has fallen. Those who raised you are not those who bore you. Is it not plain?"
Sigurd shook his head.
"What, then? Can this be?" he murmured in wonder.
Janus looked from Crono to Sigurd, and back again, understanding.
"Little wonder that you took such a liking to him, then..."
Serge too saw it now, and Schala, who had shared in Crono's secret, nodded with a smile.
And, indeed, Sigurd too knew what Crono meant, yet had not the courage to speak it. Crono instead said it:
"I have said before that my death should not be the death-knell to Guardia. For, Sigurd, your surname in old Zeal would have been Freynos, as my son and royal heir."
Sigurd looked about as one who wonders if they are in a dream, hearing but not trusting the ears.
"But how can this be?" he said at last.
"How can I be your father?" Crono said. "That is easier to tell, and I will say now of what I know:
When Porre invaded Guardia, princess Nadia Blancheflor, your mother, and I went to war, endeavouring to ward off their legions. We left our child, but one year old at the time, with some villagers I knew in my old home town of Truce. Those battles devastated our hopes, for there was not the time in which to raise the army. The military, such as it was, had already marched to battle, and been destroyed, for the most part. What men I gathered under my command I rallied at the castle itself, and hoped to hold it till Porre became weary of the siege, or some unlooked for aid came. But I had over-guessed my strength. Despite all our powers, the castle itself fell. But the worst would come after: Fleeing from the sack of the fortress we came to Truce and, to our dismay, found it set to fire by the enemy. The house where we had left our child was in ashes, and the good people that had guarded you slain. Nearly we despaired at life. But we gathered our wills, and used our wrath as kindling against Porre, which we made war upon in secret. The dark was our ally in those years, the wilderness our friend. Ever we evaded our enemies in forest and field, striking with speed and disappearing with even more swiftness. Once again, as in our youth, we found ourselves alone against the world. But fortune turned against us at last, and in an ambush your mother was taken. Unable to continue alone and unaided I fled the island, hoping to enlist aid from afar. And in this my efforts were blessed, and upon the shores of Guardia I met Lord Janus and Lady Schala; a month later, Serge came to my aid. Renewed in strength, I returned here. But it was in vain. Your mother was slain, an ignoble death for such a noble lady, who had defied a demon. That drove me at last to this war, but all hope for myself left me. I was defeated in my heart. But it was uplifted once again when I saw you. Even before I knew you for sure, my heart rejoiced, and some of my pain abated. I know not how you were taken in by those fisher folk, but they must be thanked greatly for raising my son, the prince of Guardia. Scarce better could I have hoped for you, my son. You are indeed most worthy of that title that you shall now own from this time onward. And in time you shall be a mighty king."
He stood, and Serge saw that the nobility had returned. The grim wisdom of a great king was in his face, the weight of thousands of lives in his eyes. And yet these he bore now with majesty, equal to the great responsibilities laid upon him.
"So now that an heir lives, let Guardia rejoice! It may yet have a future. But, now that I name you prince, I can no longer hold that title..."
The commanders all stood, bowing before him in anticipation of his words.
"Today I claim my own, my title of old. May Guardia lack a king no longer!"
He turned to Schala.
"And after the war I will be crowned as I should be."
Schala shook her head.
"Nay, not after this war. You shall be crowned today, yea, this very hour. I took thought to this from the first moment I understood the truth of this child's birth."
And now Crono, in turn, was astonished. For from her pack she drew a glorious crown. It was wrought of gold and silver, with the gilded curves and golden vines enwound about the silver. A single gem of crimson sat upon the brow, a majestic centre to a crown worthy of a mighty lord.
"Selinost? That is a fragment of Dreamstone that adorns that crown..." Janus whispered in awe to Serge standing beside him. "Not since the days of Zeal has a sovereign been crowned with it. It is said, truthfully or not, that the one who wears it gains wisdom beyond all other mortals."
Schala overheard him and nodded in affirmation.
"So too have I heard. This is the very last of its kind in the world, as ancient times now draw to a close. It came into my keeping long ago from my foster-mother Lady Ashtear. It is the only shard that remained when the Masamune was reforged decades ago. And now may it grace forever the brows of the Lords of this land. Mayhap with this jewel may Guardia reclaim some of the wisdom and glory that was Zeal. This is my wish."
"So be it, then," Crono said, finally yielding himself to accept his long forgone title.
Together with all gathered, he stepped out of the command tent into the small clearing. Those present turned to see him.
Crono drew his greatsword from his side, and with it cut off his long flowing hair that fell below his shoulders, which he held to be a symbol of his youth and exile. Only back of his head did his locks flow. From that time onward he would be a king such as the old world held them that office to be: a servant of the people.
He gave the sword into Schala's hands, for she was the eldest and wisest of those gathered. Taking up his sword, she held the blade before her. He stood gravely, and bowed his head before her.
"Lord Kronos? Is this a new golden age upon us, then?" Janus whispered to Serge beside him.
Schala now stood before Crono, her presence that of an ancient queen come alive out of legend. She held his sword before him, laid flat on both her hands in front of her. She spoke with a soft yet powerful voice, and none doubted her authority.
"Kronos of Guardia," she said, using the old Hellenic form of his chosen name, "do you now swear before God to be ever the servant of this land and people of Guardia, upholding them with all your will and might even unto your last breath?"
Crono nodded.
"This I will swear to, gladly and willingly, and may God uphold me in this."
She placed the hilt of the sword into his hands, and he held it fast to his heart.
"Do you swear to keep justice in these lands? To aid the oppressed and poor, and to be a friend to the needy with all your means, never hoarding, but giving freely of the treasures accounted your throne, and hold your office only as steward of the High King? Finally, do you swear that this sword of your kingship will know no evil, but be a friend to all the righteous, undoing the plans of the evil?"
"These I swear to as well," he answered at once.
"Then kneel, and receive that which is yours."
He knelt and bowed his head before her. She took up the crown in her hands, and placed it atop head with majesty.
"Then let it be known to all that you, Kronos, shall be sovereign of these lands of Guardia, Lord of its free people, and Defender of its Faith."
Into his free hand she placed the sceptre of the kings of Guardia. A rod white ivory, upon the top of which was the black dragon of Guardia, carven from jet.
"Now take this rod, and crown, the symbols of your office. I hereby name you Lord Frey, King Guardia XXXIV, king of this realm under God. Rise, Lord of Guardia."
And so he did, to the cheers and praise of all his people.
"Hail, Lord of Guardia!" A knight cried out, and that call was echoed at once by the entire assembly.
Many joyous songs the minstrels sung that day, and much to the glory of their king, as was after remembered. But he restrained his modesty, and allowed the people to do was they would.
"Mered ar aenana, ter ar asant il es adea Guardia. Hail, Crono," Schala whispered with a smile.
So it was that after fifteen long years of waiting, Guardia had a true king once again. And the rebirth of that fair land was at hand.
(Last Edited September 21, 2004)