FINAL FANTASY IV
BLOODLINES: A CHANGED WORLD
Two knots in weavings of blood, one burning, one absorbing all light, both fated to unseal the third sword. Gates made of nothing swing open; seals weaken at the touch of the moon; eight are surrendered to claim a world. Something black stirs beneath a gilded mask, and another time holds the key.
Asmarla Yulen
Author, The Book of Mysidia
Year 557, Regal Era
Stones with the power to shape the world
Gathered in halls where flesh and spirit join
There to unseal blood older than man
And turn away the tides of shade.
Prophecies of the Ralemark Seers
Year unknown, Peldor Calendar
Part One: A City of Story
A single ray of sunlight shone through the pale autumn clouds, bathing the distant hills in a soft glow and breaking the greyness of the early morning. Taurin Eldoom was heartened by the light. The sullen clouds had covered the sky since dawn, and his father had feared it might rain. That would certainly not be helpful; the half-day journey from Bellguard to the city of Peldor was proving wearying enough without having to seek shelter every few hours. Not that the vast, empty Farnost Lowlands offered much in the way of shelter. The field of brown-green grass seemed to run for leagues, its austerity broken only by the occasional hill before it faded into the grey horizon. The thirteen-year-old boy turned back to his father and smiled triumphantly.
"We're going to make it," he announced. "I'm going to get to see Peldor at last!"
Henrik Eldoom had already noticed the break in the horizon. He grinned slightly at his son's enthusiasm. The boy had never been far outside of Bellguard before, and had certainly seen nothing to equal the Silver City. It was partly for Taurin's benefit that he was making this journey. Henrik worked hard as a carpenter, but conditions in Bellguard were poor and the Eldooms could rarely afford to buy anything for their son. Seeing Peldor would be a special treat.
His son certainly seemed excited. He was waving his long arms excitedly, urging Henrik to keep up. Taurin was a fairly tall boy for his age, but was slightly built. His hair was a very rich brown colour, and grew thick all over his head. He kept it cut fairly short, as was the fashion in Bellguard. Henrik was unusual in that he grew his hair long; it was somewhat paler than his son's and fell to just below his shoulders. Taurin's eyes were a deep brown colour, a trait which he shared with both his father and his mother. So far he lacked Henrik's impressive build, but he was considerably stronger than he first appeared and Henrik did not doubt that he would one day grow into a physically capable man. At any rate, he had no trouble walking long distances; Henrik was already struggling to keep up.
"Another mile or so and you should be able to make out its towers. If the weather keeps up, we'll be there this afternoon. Market Day isn't until tomorrow, but I've saved up some money so that we can stay in an inn tonight. No doubt you'll want to see all the places Master Greylin told you about."
Taurin pulled a slight face at his teacher's name, but his father was right. Although he found most aspects of his schooling tedious, Master Greylin not least of all, he always enjoyed hearing about the great cities, and about distant lands. His father had even bought him a history book last time Peldor had a Market Day, two years ago. Taurin had read it eagerly, so many times that its red leather cover was badly worn and the writing on its sleeve could no longer be read. The book was called Peldor, And What Came Before, and it talked about the city's thousand-year history, and about the many kings who had claimed authority over the surrounding lands. Of course, no king had ruled in Peldor for three hundred years and Peldor had not been a seat of government in almost a century. The Federation looked after the land now, and Peldor provided only some of its council members. But things had not always been that way; the city had not even always been called Peldor.
The first few chapters in Taurin's book spoke of a time when the land had been called Baron, an age of proud kings and great armies. It told of the collapse of the first house to have held down the throne, and of the coming of the three kings from the House of Harvey: Cecil the Brave, Peldor the Great, and Theolen the Fallen. It then told of what had happened in later days, of the Dusk Wars and the formation of the Circle of Paladins. Details from that ancient time were scarce, because much knowledge had been lost. They were dark days, and they made for exciting reading.
It was Peldor's past that made the city so extraordinary. Master Greylin said that some of the original structures survived, even ten centuries after they were first built. Of course, war and time and natural disaster had ravaged many of the earliest walls and buildings, and new edifices had taken their place; Peldor was a city that had grown up, died and been reborn many times. Taurin cast his mind over the many landmarks and ancient sites that he wanted to see. First on his list was the Hall of Royalty, where the Sword of Legend rested on a dais of marble and beneath whose corridors all the kings were buried, back to the last monarch from the House of Baron. Then there was the Tower of Dawn, where King Ipswen was said to have watched the horizon, awaiting help from the far land of Eblan during the Black Siege. He would have to visit the Queen's Shrine, too, where the life of Rosa the White was commemorated in paintings, murals and statues. And he must also find time to see the Old Castle, Trade Street, the Amphitheatre, Paladin Fortress, the Plaza of the Three Fountains …
Lost in silent reverie, Taurin did not see Peldor draw near. Suddenly awakened from his contemplation, he found himself before its iron gates. A wide, flat bridge of white stone ran for perhaps sixty feet, spanning a moat filled with water from an artificially-diverted river. At its far end lay the open gates, encased in a wall of ancient grey bricks that almost looked silver in the faint light. A busy street lined with cypress trees was vaguely visible beyond the giant gates, cloaked by a pall of mist. Immediately above the gates was set a silver tablet the size of a large table. Etched on the tablet so distinctively that it stood out even from the far end of the bridge was an insignia that Taurin immediately recognised from his book: a sword facing downwards, embedded in a magnificent crown, a crescent moon facing inwards from either side. It was a remnant of Peldor's almost-forgotten past, a reminder of times that would not come again. Taurin could not guess the height of the city walls, but they were of daunting stature; only the needle-thin Tower of Dawn could be seen above them, a spire of silver-white rising from somewhere deep within the city, almost invisible against the grey horizon. Taurin's first sight of Peldor robbed him of breath.
A soldier stood lazily to either side of the mouth of the bridge, adorned in a simple iron helmet and garbed in chain mail that hung over a vest of deep blue leather. Each wore a heavy-seeming cloak of the same deep blue, the standard of the Federation. Taurin could spot a long iron sword at their sides, and a large dagger strapped to their left thigh. Two more soldiers guarded the gates at the far end of the bridge, adorned like their companions but each bearing a heavy black mace. Taurin and Henrik passed without challenge, the young boy casting worried glances at the grim soldiers. Passing slowly through the iron gates, they found themselves within the city.
Taurin found himself almost overwhelmed by the sight that greeted him. A road lay at his feet, made of the same white stone bricks as the bridge. It continued off into the distance, until it disappeared under a silver archway. A wooden signpost marked this Federation Road. Smaller tributaries ran off in every direction, these roads made of grey stone or in some cases cobblestones. Many of them were caught in the shadows of the tall buildings that reared up everywhere, structures of white and grey huddling beneath what was now an iron-grey sky. Perhaps it would rain, after all.
Henrik was whistling to himself as he walked along a few paces behind Taurin. Suddenly he stopped, looking around at the virtual maze of streets branching off in every direction.
"The first thing we want to do is find an inn," he said eventually. "It won't be anything too expensive, but we'll definitely want a roof over our heads tonight. Last time I was here for Market Day I stayed at the Asp's Nest Hotel. I think it was this way."
So they made their way down one side street, then another, eventually ending up in a wide, empty plaza. A gentle downpour had begun, tiny droplets of rain plastering Taurin's dark brown hair to his head and dampening his travelling clothes. The plaza was ringed by tall buildings that must have been centuries old. Some were made of marble and others of white stone. The distant Tower of Dawn was still visible, its uppermost storeys now lit up in sharp relief against the dull sky. Hopefully they would reach the inn soon, so they could leave their travel gear there and start exploring.
"I knew it," his father remarked suddenly. "Just down that street between the two marble buildings. The Asp's Nest."
They continued through the stone-paved plaza dominated by a giant statue of a king from an age long passed. The statue, faded green with age, rose from a shallow pool of water that was overflowing in the rain. Its faded face looked sad, as if burdened by the long, long years it had endured, as if mourning the passing of more familiar days. The figure was seated on a throne that might have once been finely detailed, but had been worn bare by the steady march of uncounted years. One marble hand clasped a giant mace that rested gently against the statue's lap; the other held aloft a sceptre whose intricacies had long since been worn away. Taurin looked into its unseeing eyes, trying to place this character in Peldor's long history.
When Taurin's eyes finally left the statue, a figure was before him, a dark-eyed man garbed in grey and wearing a broad black hat. He was a tall man, but quite fine across the shoulders. His face was distinguished by a sharp nose and a faint black moustache. The man stepped lazily from out behind the statue and stood directly in their path. His mouth was twisted into a sneer. Henrik stopped walking and regarded the newcomer. Taurin stood at his side, the rain falling noiselessly around them.
"Good afternoon," offered Henrik. "How can I help you?"
The dark-clad man's mouth worked itself into a slight smirk. When he spoke, it was in a soft, quiet voice that Taurin had to strain to hear.
"Good afternoon to you, too, sir. I see you are a traveller, which means you probably don't know who I am. Around these parts I am known as the Collector." Taurin could not place the expression that fleeted over the stranger's face. "Not a name of my choosing, but one that has been given to me over time." He paused in mock deliberation, as if choosing his words carefully. Taurin got the impression that this was a routine he had performed many times. "I guess the simplest explanation is that I collect things—valuable things, mostly, but less pricey things if that's all that's on offer. Sometimes I just take gold, if gold's the only thing I can find. But, really, the part that's most important to you is that I collect things from people. And I do whatever it takes to get them."
The strange glint in his dark eyes left Taurin in no doubt as to what the strange man meant by this last statement. He took a step backwards in shock. A look of outrage had come across Henrik's face, and his hands had balled into fists. Seeing his defiance, the Collector smiled grimly.
"We needn't do this the easy way. It's all the same to me."
Before the Collector had even finished speaking, Henrik had launched into action. He was a well-built man, only of medium height but quite stocky. His long brown hair streamed behind him as he rushed towards his opponent. The Collector wasted no time in responding. Henrik had covered perhaps half the twelve paces between them when the grey-garbed man threw one hand into the air.
Taurin could not properly describe what happened next. A cold breeze seemed to roll through the plaza, a chill far more potent than the rain or the cool autumn weather. The air around Henrik turned a pale colour as if it was frozen—and then it was frozen, a rough block of ice that quickly shattered into a million pieces and then disappeared. Henrik Eldoom was caught into the middle of the cataclysm and fell to the ground. From his faint groans, Taurin could tell he was still alive, but he was not sure how badly he was hurt.
The Collector had now turned his attention to the boy. Caught between indecision and terror, Taurin looked helplessly into the other's eyes as he drew near. Taurin was so overwhelmed that he was not aware of his own voice until he heard it reverberating around the empty plaza, a fruitless cry for help. The Collector paused momentarily, smirked, and then resumed his steady march towards the hapless boy.
"Things would have been easier for you—gentler, anyway—if your father had not insisted on making a scene." That soft, almost eloquent voice held a note of feigned disappointment. "All I really care about is treasure—treasure, gold, wealth and my own prosperity. But I make it policy that all who cause me trouble meet an untimely end. It makes future victims a little more … responsive."
The grim man was now only feet away. Suddenly he stopped, his face working itself into a dark scowl. Transfixed by his deadly assailant, Taurin was only vaguely aware of heavy footfalls behind him. He could also hear raised voices.
"Somebody's coming," remarked the Collector quietly, almost to himself. He then looked towards Taurin once again, and the boy was struck by the menace in his black eyes. "Several somebodies, from the sound of things. But don't worry … I'm not the sort of man who likes to have his work interrupted. In fact, I always get the job done. I don't know where you're from, boy, but don't be expecting to return there alive."
With that he was gone, turning quickly and running towards a shadowy street at the far end of the plaza, his long strides upsetting shallow puddles of water as he moved noiselessly through the drizzle. Taurin collapsed to his knees in exhaustion, relief conquering him as adrenaline faded. He had heard of wizards before; the old stories were filled with them. But he had not expected to ever meet one, certainly not one who used his powers for theft and murder. One who was now hunting him, he realised weakly.
Struggling to his feet, he moved over to where Henrik lay, the rain falling around his comatose body. Bending down to check on his father, Taurin felt a presence behind him and saw a shadow fall over his shoulder. He turned around apprehensively, and was relived to see that it was a Peldor guard. Another two guards stood not far away, their grand cloaks quickly becoming drenched in the rain. The soldier behind Taurin looked down at the wounded man and pursed his lips.
"He'll live," he stated flatly. "He's hurt badly and will be unconscious for a few days, but he'll live." He turned to look at Taurin. "You both have backpacks, I see. I guess that means you're from out of town. I'm going to have to take your friend—your father, I suppose? I'm going to have to take your father to the Healing Chambers. But what happened here?"
He listened attentively as Taurin recounted his tale. The soldier wore a worried look on his face when he heard of the Collector's last threat. His face was quite grim apart from his deep blue eyes; they seemed to take in everything Taurin said and consider it gently. His forehead was covered by his iron helmet, but strands of long blond-brown hair poked out through the helmet's base. They were plastered to his face by the rain. A faint scar ran across his cheek, adding a look of deep maturity to a face that appeared almost forty years old. When Taurin finished speaking, the man bowed his head in thought.
"There's been a bad bout of sickness going around Peldor lately. A lot of people aren't well. We'll be able to look after your father, but there's definitely no room for you to wait in the Healing Chambers until he's better. We can't have you walking around the city for four days with nowhere to sleep, though. Especially not with the Collector after you. And the guard houses are no place for visitors." His face lit up slightly. "Here's what I can do for you. There's an innkeeper I know named Hamar Haganti. Kind-hearted man. He maintains the Pirate's Haven, and lets certain city guards stay there for free. Good for us, and good for him too; a little bit of crowd control, if you know what I mean. It should be fairly safe there, and he'll let you rest there for free if you tell him your circumstances. Let him know old Calman sent you. You'll find his inn in the east part of the city, at the end of Heritage Court. Three-storey building with iron railings and a big sign out the front; can't miss it."
He motioned the other two guards forward, and they leant down to lift Henrik from the ground. Calman turned back to the young boy.
"If you want to check up on your father in the next few days, you'll find him in the Healing Chambers. They're in the Old Castle, which won't be hard to find. Don't expect him to be awake for a good four days. It might be even longer before he's ready to travel back home."
His voice became severe as he continued. "Don't forget your plight. You have ended up on the wrong side of a very dangerous man. We have been tracking the Collector for months, and so far he has eluded us. He doesn't give up on a target, either. If you have any sense, you'll stay in your room until your father's recovered. We'll send him your way when he's ready to travel. If you have to go outside, make sure you do so during the day and when the weather's nice—when there are a lot of people about. Don't go off into parts of the city where you're likely to be alone, and don't stray from the main roads if you can help it. We'll walk with you as far as Federation Road, and point you in the right direction from there."
They walked in silence back towards the main road, the rain falling around them in sheets of increasing intensity. The city passed them by as they walked, an endless labyrinth of streets, walkways and overpasses. Light poured from the many windows that remained unshuttered but the streets were almost deserted. The weeping sky stretched above them like a low-hanging grey ceiling. It had darkened considerably since Taurin and Henrik had entered the city. Calman halted upon reaching a plaza paved with blue stones, a vast circle ringed by broken marble arches and in whose centre stood an enormous marble candle atop a marble dais. It rose to about the height of four men, flames leaping almost six feet from its crown, paying no heed to the rain or the wind. The soldier bowed his head towards the candle.
"This is where I leave you, in the shadow of the Torch of Eternity. You want to head down that road on the other side of the plaza, between that mansion and the weapon store. It's called History Street, because it runs past a few museums. When you reach the Hall of Relics, you want to turn right into Cobble Alley. Follow that and you'll end up in the south-east parklands. Somewhere in the park is a hill with a statue of three crowned men on top. You'll probably approach the statues from the south, which is very steep but there's a set of stone steps carved into the hill. It's a much gentler slope on the north side. Continue to the north and you'll see some roads leading back into the city proper. There's one called Endeavour Road. You want that one; take it, and then the first right. You should be in Heritage Court. The Pirate's Haven is at the end of the street. Impossible to miss. Good luck, young man."
Taurin thanked him faintly and headed off towards the far end of the plaza, his head swimming with directions. He cut a lonely figure as he strode through the rain, the Torch of Eternity looming high above him. Leaving the plaza, he walked along a deserted street cradled between tall, dark museums. His hands clasped his father's money pouch, and had he known it, he would have appeared an attractive target for city thieves. But his mind was not on thieves, at least not the everyday sort; he was frantically watching every shadow for some sight of the Collector.
Eventually he reached the House of Relics, identified by a wooden sign that creaked eerily in the wind, and he turned right. Cobble Alley was even more frightening than the street he had just come from. It was narrow and dark and ran past tall spooky-looking houses of black wood that seemed to be abandoned, their empty windows looking out from dusty rooms that gave off no light. Very little rain fell directly on the narrow street, the great bulk of the downpour falling against the building rooves far above. There it gathered and slid down like a small waterfall, drenching Taurin as he moved along. Eventually the dark wooden houses gave way to more modern buildings. The street widened, and the houses were now spaced further apart, letting in the faint light that was visible through the now considerable rainfall. Every so often, another street would cross Cobble Alley as it wound its way back into a busier section of the city. Still it continued onwards, until it left all the buildings behind for rolling hills of soft grass. Then it faded away altogether. A sign marked the beginning of the Haunlett Park. In the far distance Taurin could spy a tall hill crowned with three giant stone statues. Weathered stone steps were carved into its closest slope. Taurin made for the hill, his feet occasionally becoming bogged in the wet earth.
Clambering up the steps, he made his way towards the statues. They looked back at him hauntingly, relics from an age forever gone. Taurin recognised the central statue at once. Although its features were somewhat faded, he had no doubt that this was Peldor the Great, the mightiest king in the city's long history, whose portrait decorated the first page of Taurin's history book and whose name was synonymous with royalty. The statue stood erect, its face forever locked in an expression of silent majesty. It rose slightly taller than either of the others—Taurin would guess it stood about twelve feet to their ten—and its head supported a magnificent crown whose beauty was evident even in stone.
If Taurin had to guess, the statue on the right was most likely Peldor's father Cecil, who retrieved the Sword of Legend from its shrine in a distant land. That statue's face bore a look of quiet determination mingled with gentle pride, preserved four centuries after the statue had been raised and seven hundred and fifty years after Cecil's passing. The statue on the left was probably Theolen, Peldor's only son. Taurin suppressed a shiver as he remembered that name's place in the history books. The statue looked back at him thoughtfully, its stone face an unreadable mask. Remembering his urgent need to avoid the Collector and mindful of the rain, Taurin moved on, down the hill's far slope and towards the end of the parklands.
After a few minutes of walking, he reached Endeavour Road, a wide street brightly lit by many lanterns that shone through the drizzle. Several people were about, wearing thick garments to protect against the rain. Taurin stumbled down the street in relief, glad to be back among human faces. He took the first right, as Calman had instructed him, and found himself in a short street that ended abruptly in front of a five-storey building of rich polished wood. Balconies adorned its upper storeys, each protected from the rain by a small canopy. The street widened considerably in front of its lavish wooden doors. A sign decorated with the bearded face of a man wearing an eye-patch identified this as the Pirate's Haven. With a sigh of relieved exhaustion, Taurin pressed forward, almost collapsing through the tall building's doors.
The room that greeted him was quite spacious and very fancy. A thick red carpet adorned the floor, and tired as he was Taurin felt guilty for dirtying it with his wet shoes. A long wooden bench was immediately before him, behind which stood a solid man who would have been little taller than Taurin himself. A mantelpiece decorated the wall behind the man, holding aloft a selection of very old wine bottles. Sturdy-looking doors of rich dark wood led out from either side of the room and a staircase disappeared upwards, occupying an alcove in the far wall. The centre of the room was dominated by a table surrounded by several chairs of red leather. Taurin could hear voices and laughter through the door to his right. The innkeeper glanced in his direction as he entered.
"How can I help you young sir? You seem a little young to be out and about by yourself. Are you meeting someone?"
Taurin steeled himself before responding. He was quite a shy boy at the best of times, and today's events had left him rattled.
"I … I came to Peldor with my father," he stammered. "A man named the Collector tried to steal from us and my father was hurt. He's being taken care of in the Healing Chambers but one of the guards—Calman—said that you'd be able to look after me until he's better in a few days."
The man's face turned pale when he heard the Collector mentioned, and he was only too willing to help.
"By all means, we have several spare rooms so it won't be a problem. Calman is an old friend of mine, and I owe him a few favours from here and there." He extended a hand, which Taurin shook awkwardly. "Name's Hamar. Hamar Haganti. Been the proprietor of the Pirate's Haven for just over eight years. Served some time in the military before that, and went off on a few escapades of my own. What did you say your name was, again, young sir?"
Taurin examined the strange man. He had already noted his below-average height and above-average girth. He had a thick brown moustache flecked with grey, and what little hair remained was of the same colour. His eyes were also dark, hidden beneath bushy brown eyebrows. He looked to be in his late forties.
"Taurin. My name's Taurin."
"Well, Taurin, I'll take you right up to your room." He fumbled around for a key. "You'll be room twenty, which is two floors above us. Everyone gathers downstairs for breakfast in the morning—and for dinner too, of course. That's only a few hours away now. As you can probably hear, lots of folks spend their day drinking, but I don't think that will be you, somehow. We don't do lunch, so you'll have to make your own arrangements there. Follow me."
Taurin found himself led up two flights of stairs to emerge in a narrow hallway lit by a small chandelier. The closest door had the number twenty engraved on a brass plate. Hamar unlocked the door, revealing a small room containing a bed, a chest at the foot of the bed, and a lantern atop a small nightstand. A solitary straight-backed chair rested in one of the corners. The curtains were pulled back and the window unshuttered, giving Taurin a view of a wet street and a gloomy skyline. It seemed he had found shelter just before the rain intensified further; it was now falling down in fierce sheets. A small plank of wood immediately above the window's exterior shielded the room from the downpour, but did nothing to ease the bite of the wind. Shivering slightly, Taurin silently noted that he would have to shutter the window. Apparently his room did not open on to one of the balconies he had seen from outside.
"A fairly simple room, I'm afraid," remarked Hamar. "But we've got to keep the larger ones for paying customers. It should be suitable enough, anyway. Drop down to see me if I can help you with anything." Taurin was in no state to be finding fault with the room's size or level of comfort. After the day he had endured, the bed might as well have been fit for an emperor. Hamar left, shutting the door behind him after handing Taurin the key, leaving the boy alone in his room. Taurin was tempted to lie down and drift off to sleep immediately, but his stomach was growling at him fiercely. It wanted to be fed! Reluctantly avoiding the bed, Taurin sat down on the wooden chair and looked out the window, letting the chill wind course over his body, invigorating him and keeping him alert. It was difficult to tell through the clouds and rain, but the boy guessed that evening was drawing near. I've certainly had a full day, he thought, the reality of everything that had happened slowly sinking in.
Struggling to control his fear, he forced himself to think over the Collector's departing promise. Perhaps it was just an idle threat meant to cause him fear, but Taurin was unsure. It certainly seemed odd that a man would value his pride so highly that he would hunt someone whose only crime was to escape him, but who could understand the mind of a rogue? Feeling weariness wash over him, Taurin struggled desperately to keep his eyes open. It was no good, and he felt himself drifting off to sleep. Deciding that food would have to wait until the morning, he carefully shuttered the windows and then lay down on his bed. He was asleep within moments of putting his head on the pillow.