This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! Remember, Italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events.
Enjoy...
:A Moment of Discord:
Chapter Two: Assignment
The morning came early and slow, Fedrich waking with the sunlight pouring into the bedroom windows. From so high in the sky, dawn was a blinding sight to behold and a wondrous vision to those who appreciated them. He looked around the regal decor of the room assigned to him, nostalgic of his times in the Regulators. This time, however, he wouldn't be starting with a patrol of the grand wall and hunting monsters. Instead, he was surely to be given a task of much greater significance.
He leaned up from bed, sheets falling to his waist, and took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. Satisfied, he shuffled off the comfortable mattress and went to the small chest of drawers opposite the beds. Slipping into his official uniform made him more confidant that whatever tasks given him would be easily executed. Mythril mail hidden beneath a white shirt and forest colored jacket, thick leather pants and tough dragonskin wraps for his feet and hands. All together it was a flexible design, one that offered defense for those who excelled at maneuverability. His glaive and sword waited on a weapons rack by the door, but he left those for later.
'Time to see if the others are early risers...'
He entered the hallway in the suite, a small section of the royal castle assigned for guests of the Regent. Fedrich was assigned his own room as leader of the squad, Eria one for privacy from prying eyes, and the others in a third. He went to Diamante's first with a knock.
"Hey." Fedrich shouted at the wood. "I'm coming in!"
He opened the door, seeing the elder Dragon Knight inspecting his gear with a careful eye and casual touch. Diamante seemed in his own small world, focused upon the craft that he wore for years beyond many people's lives. Clawed fingers turned his lance over, feeling out nicks in the honed metal tips and wear along the shaft. It was a miserable task, but one that was as important as any other rule in combat. Any flaw in the state of a weapon could spell the death of the warrior who wielded it.
"Early as ever, I see." Diamante commented, eyes never veering from his task.
"It's better for the body, I think, to get up when the sun does and go to sleep when it falls."
"Truer words haven't been spoken in a while."
"Are the others...?"
A grin touched his lips. "Sleeping like rocks."
"I figured." Fedrich walked to the beds of each knight and tore the quilts away from them, tossing them on the floor. Winston and Perce both woke quickly, groggy and agitated at the rude awakening. Winston hissed at the time, hand brushing straw colored hair back behind his ears.
"What's this supposed to be?" He grunted.
Fedrich gave the youth a stern glare. "The sun's up, and so are we."
"But it's early..." Perce began.
"He said up, wastrels, so get yourselves up and proper!" Diamante barked, authority snapping their nerves to action.
They quickly shed their sleeping clothes and put on proper attire for knights in training. Each had thick leather breeches and a deep orange shirt covering a copper-ring vest, typical of trainees working to become proper knights. In difference to that, their uniforms had the crest of circled dragon on each shoulder and bright gold bands trimming the edges of their shirts. It was a new make by the seamstresses in Burmecia, something to identify a Dragon Knight in training by. Fedrich found them appropriate, although a little bland for meeting with royalty. They would have to make due.
"Well now, looking like knights for once, eh?" Diamante set his lance aside. "Winston, go wake the girl."
The burly knight looked ready to snap words, but held himself back and left the room for Eria's.
"So, any clue to our duties, Sir Fedrich?"
Fedrich shook his head. "Not really. I only know it has something to do with the rumors about the nobles staging a revolt."
"Feh, bloody aristocrats always out to own the world 'n all its goods." He stood up, then set his lance by the door and rubbed his knuckles. "Let me tell you something, lad, nine of every ten people in this world never give a hollar about the rulers that make their laws. You can cry in the name of his majesty to them all you like, and they'll give you the boot same as anyone else ordering them around. People are smarter than we take them for. Left to their own, the world would get along just fine."
"So you don't believe in a king?"
Diamante snorted. "Think back a little, child! We only had a king in Burmecia for the last three hundred years! Up 'till then Burmecia was just a city of people that lived together for safety and social comfort. It's only when someone decided to make laws out of common sense that we got us a king."
Fedrich arched an eyebrow, wondering if Diamante was merely lecturing for the sake of talk or was really trying to convince him that a king wasn't needed in this world. Such talk from a respected Dragon Knight could be considered treason to another man, but Fedrich wasn't so quick to judge another point of view. Diamante had traveled the many lands of the continent, surely he was entitled to an opinion different from his home. History too had many stories of kings that were unfit to rule. Even Alexandria proved the dangers of a Monarch with too great a thirst for power.
"Well...despite that, we're still obligated to uphold the laws set by the King. Try and keep that in mind."
"Don't think that I ignore 'em entirely, lad, I just hold more faith in the smarts of the common man than most."
The door swung open with Eria standing at the jam with a weary expression beneath twisted locks of hair, Winston merely scowling at the hour. Satisfied that they were awake, Fedrich gave each a look to catch their eyes.
"Alright, today we're going to have our formal meeting with the Regent, so I want everyone to be respectful and attentive. Don't let yourselves slouch, keep your eyes focused on the front, and most of all, don't speak unless prompted to. I want this to go smooth and easy. Understood?"
"Yessir!" They snapped together.
"Good! Artania said for us to wait in the kitchen hall. Eria, would you please tend your appearance?"
"Huh? Oh yes...yessir, I mean!" She scampered back to her private room.
Minutes later she returned to the hall, proudly bearing a similar outfit to her classmates. Hers bore flared sleeves and more intricate patterns along the hems. It was slight, but enough to satisfy the tastes of a woman who wanted more than a cut and dry uniform.
"Ready, then?"
"Yessir!"
"Good. Let's go."
The five left the room and walked to the end of the guest suite, entering one of many hallways that intersected the castle like a maze. Following signs and advice from attendants and pages, they found their way to a large hall illuminated with electrical lights and showing a stunning view of the western ocean. The hall was filled with benched, many occupied with soldiers on the start of their mornings. A pleasant din of conversation echoed off the walls and raised ceiling, welcoming those who came. They sat down at a circular table, and Fedrich ordered coffee and tea as well as biscuits for their light meal. They received the food as Artania arrived in the hall and noticed them.
"Ah, good to see you awake." He stood alongside the table, hand folded in front of him.
"I always rise early, Minister. Care for some coffee?"
"No thank you. We should go soon, by the way."
The elder Dragon Knight let his teacup rattle the saucer to get attention. "My lads need something in their stomachs to work on, sir Minister, so give us a minute to have a drink and bite to eat."
Artania seemed annoyed at Diamante's tone, but nodded his approval. The knights hurriedly ate the honeyed rolls and had plenty of tea before finishing, then stood and followed Artania's slow steps back to the hallways. They took seemingly random paths, going up and down stairwells and into corridors that seemed badly unkempt. Occasionally they passed through halls that seemed populated purely by soldiers and military officials, the sounds of mock battle echoing along the stone walls. Stopping at a door, Artania took out a large key and unlocked it with a heavy clank. Pushing it open with some effort, a wide and open-air cavern emerged before them.
"The Regent awaits." Artania motioned them to go ahead.
"What is this place?" Fedrich asked. There were crates, bits of metal and parts scattered across the dock. Chains, platforms, and great hooks hung from the ceiling, all ready for any ship to come in need of maintenance. It was a strange place to meet with the Regent of a nation.
"This is one of the docks for the Viltgance Airships we employ to protect Lindblum. We are currently preparing an Exodus class craft to ferry you to your first assignment."
"And that is?" Diamante asked.
"You will see. I have other duties to attend, so remember to be courteous to his grace!"
"We will." Fedrich answered for his charges, walking ahead to meet with the Regent and his escort.
Regent Cid was chatting with a stocky man dressed in oil stained clothes about the center of the dock. Tools on his belt pegged him as an engineer, probably the head of the department. Guards stood around the regent armored in coppery metal and bearing combat hammers that were stereotypical of a Lindblum soldier. They stopped several paces short of the Regent and knelt.
"Regent Fabool, we are here per your request and await your orders!" Fedrich barked in military fashion.
The Regent wrapped up his talk with the engineer and faced the knights, an easy smile on his face. "Very good of you, Sir Castor. You may stand."
They did so, keeping their eyes averted out of courtesy. The Regent seemed much more relaxed than they, but his place as a king entitled him to be as such. He folded his hands together and gathered his words. "I am sorry to have met you here, but time is of the essence in this matter. I am sure that you know of the potential revolt that is brewing among the nobles in my kingdom?"
"I am, your grace." Fedrich replied.
"Currently that revolt is becoming a reality. Coral Cove, a fishing community to the north, has refused to send goods or monies to Lindblum in protest to the meager tax on each household. The nobleman Jon Peradin has refused to arrange for the taxes to be sent here, instead hoarding it for this revolt. This cannot go on. I will be sending one of my inquisitors to negotiate the situation. You are to go with him and make sure that nothing occurs while he deals with the Duke."
"Understood, your grace."
"This may seem a paltry use of your skill, but you are honorable warriors. This will show that I don't intent to use force to make him comply. I wish to convey an image that I and my allies wish to see a peaceful end to this trouble. If he wants to negotiate the tax, then he could have arranged to speak with me instead of following the lead of the dissatisfied few."
"When will we be leaving?"
The Regent glanced a look at a pocketwatch chained to his maroon vest. "As soon as possible. The November Wind is due in a short hour. Attendants should be gathering your packs now and bringing them here. The Inquisitor will be coming shortly as well, along with a small escort of my guards to act alongside your men."
"How long will the talks take?"
"Perhaps no longer than a few days, or perhaps several. I will insist on staying put until the Duke either agrees to meet with me or continues following the laws as they are set. You will be either protecting him as he confers with the Duke or patrolling the town to make sure that no overt acts against Lindblum occur."
"That we can handle, your grace. Might I ask what the Inquisitor's name is?"
"He is Mackenzie Terrace, one of my lesser known advisors. He has great skill in negotiating with even the most stubborn people, but has a tendency to make them equally as agitated with his bluntness. My council has advised that blunt arguments may be our only solution the Duke will understand."
"Macky?" Fedrich was stunned. That name belonged to a man who seemed ill suited to the slow workings in the Regency. An advisor to the Security Council, yes, but inquisitor under the lead of the Regent? He was again reminded of his time away from Lindblum. Six years can do much to a man.
The Regent tilted his head in curiosity. "Do you know him, Sir Castor?"
He nodded. "He was a friend of mine while I lived here several years ago. He and I worked for the Regulators, the separate unit that patrols the Grand Wall to assist the guards."
"Hmm, a strange coincidence! That is very good to hear, Sir Castor, and a benefit for all sides." The Regent drew out the pocketwatch, lips frowning at the time. "Sadly, I must be going. Meetings wait for no one, not even a Regent! I wish you and your comrades good luck and safe travel, Sir Castor."
The dragoons knelt again. "Thank you for your honor, Regent Fabool. We will do our utmost to ensure that your wishes are fulfilled!"
"I would expect nothing less of such fine warriors! I wish you good fortune on your tasks. Farewell."
> > >
The occupants of the bar, those at least sober enough to concentrate on something aside from the bottom of a tankard, were watching the two men at the central table. Each looked calm and focused on the other, eyes narrow and bodies tense. One, dressed in aging clothes and a ratty cloak, clenched his right hand several times as he glared. The other, in fine clothes and jewelry, stared back with mad eyes and licked the corner of his mouth with his tongue.
"Go!" They shouted at the same time, startling the patrons. "Rock! Paper! Knives!"
Two hands flashed to the middle of the table, a grubby hand flat and a gloved one with one finger pointed out.
The fairly dressed man grinned in triumph. "Ha! Winning seems to be my forte tonight!" He reached down to a small shot glass and picked it up, downing the expensive liquor in one gulp. His eyes twitched and he wheezed as the drink simmered in his stomach, but he smiled still. "Barkeep! We need another bottle, my good friend!"
"You 'aven't paid for the first one, yet!"
"That's because I said I'd rather burn the place down than pay to get drunk! Honestly, it should be a crime to force people to pay for their pleasure."
"Looky 'ere, gents, you will either-"
"Kill you...!" The dirty man cried in a stupor, pausing to let the words fall into place. "Unless...drink."
"That's right, my friend, he would kill just for a bottle of fine spirits! You can either give us another bottle or have your tavern burnt down or get a knife in the throat! My, such a simple choice for most people."
The barkeep seemed a little edgy, but reluctantly picked out another bottle of old whisky from his reserves from Treno. The man in finery had already lit one patron on fire because he called him girly looking. The drunkard with him seemed less harmless, but the way he kept fiddling with his knives made those nearby wary. He would remove the two, but his brother wouldn't touch them. Despite size, he didn't want to risk getting killed on account of money. The barkeep walked out from the counter and placed the bottle before the two, removing the empty one.
"I still don't get it."
"Get what, my fine fellow?"
"Your game. Rock, paper, and knives can't be a very exciting drinking game."
"Who said anything about it needing to be exciting? The point is to get drunk quickly...so we made this game to speed the process along! Besides, I'm good at it. Try me."
"Eh?"
"Try me!" The man giggled. "Go on! If you win I'll pay you ten times the tab we have."
This caught the barkeep's attention. He smiled, figuring an easy win against one already under the table. "Sure, lad, let's 'ave a game."
"Right! Ready..." He wiggled his fingers, smiling widely. "Go!"
"Rock! Paper! Knives!"
The barkeep lost. The winner opened the new bottle and took another shot.
"Alright, you can get back to your labors, my friend, we're fine for now." He shook the grubby man's shoulders. "Redknife! Wake up, you drunk, we're still playing!"
"Paper..." Redknife muttered. "I win...?"
"No you don't! That was his and my game, not yours!"
"Oh."
"Come on, let's keep going! I'm just starting to catch a buzz!"
"How is it that you haven't caught yourself a trip to passing out?" A female voice asked the man.
The man in finery looked to the speaker, taking a moment to recognize the daughter of the Highguard nobleman. "Oh! Oh my good lady Flaure, so lovely to see you here!" He stood uneasily and pulled a chair from another table for her. "Please sit! Have a drink! Want to play me?"
She sat and gave him the eye. "Play?"
"A drinking game!" He sat and smiled wide.
"No thanks."
"Oh, you are a spoilsport, my lady Flaure. No fun at all with you, is there?"
"Why are you here, Brant? Shouldn't you be at the manor studying the plans of the Grand Castle? Father is growing upset at your absence of duty."
Brant, purple hair in a tangle, leaned forward with a racy grin. "Well, aside from entertaining the whims of the local women, I will be quite serious in saying that I just want to be drunk like he is."
She looked to Redknife, the man barely awake on the tabletop. "Desmond is a worthless fool. Following his actions is a waste of effort, Brant."
"No, he's got it right, my dear lady! Listen." He leaned forward still, putting up a hand as if to pass a secret. "In all honesty, can you tell me that this man looks stressed or worried about life? Well, does he? Of course he doesn't, and it's all because he's spent so much time under the bottle that all trouble just passes right by him. That's the secret to his success!"
"Success?" Flaure arched an eyebrow.
"Yes! So many people pass away from undue trouble or have terrible stress and headaches. Not so with my good man Redknife! He's got it down pat! Nothing stuns this guy!"
"Nothing at all stuns him, good or bad."
Brant grinned lopsided. "Well, not everything is perfect these days. I'm sure he'll find a solution to that any day now."
Flaure sighed, standing. "Look, if you're drunk, I'll just return home and let you sort this out with the Duke."
"I'm not drunk at all, my dearest lady Flaure, not in the slightest! I'm sober like a priest and sharp as a needle, capable of anything you need."
"You've finished an entire bottle of old Figaro's soul! If that's not enough to get you drunk, you must have been cheated."
"Oh no, it's the real thing, my lady! I'm simply crazy is all, really!"
She paused at his declaration, clearly considering that he could very well be mad. His arrival in Kohlingen, and all subsequent meetings with the mage revealed his eccentric mannerisms and actions. At times he seemed sane, yet the glint in his eyes spoke something deeper at work inside. "Crazy?"
"Oh yes! You see, crazy people don't get drunk, they just get talkative. I'm trying to be the first to overcome that challenge."
She looked at him, eyes seeing eyes, and again found that expression of inner discord hidden in his face. He smiled wider.
"You see, a man who is crazy is never able to escape the reality that he is stuck in. Mayhap, on that tangent, you could say that I'm trying to be sane for the first time in my life."
Flaure put a neutral mask over her worry, then turned and left the tavern. Brant, apparently satisfied with his work, slouched back in his chair and picked up the bottle. He drank heavily, coughing and grinning still. The opportunities given him in the world were more than he could have wished for. The freedom to use his skills as he felt, to bask in the glory that few others lay claim to. It was a hypnotizing tonic, a grand one that he felt would never grow sour.
"Mayhap, the mad seek a shred of sanity within the bottle as the sane do a speck of pleasure."
> > >
Flaure frowned, frustrated over the efforts to glean a hint into the plans that her father had set. It wasn't enough to know that it would succeed. She had to know what would be done, by who and when. She was second in command for the Nanten militia, surely that entitled her to be involved in the planning for this attack on the Regent. Apparently, to others, it was not. Her brother's haughty attitude to her lesser stand in the plan was enough reason to choke it out of the closest person privy to it. Brant was a failure, drunk as he was. A human skilled in black magic, and he modeled his evenings after a drunken thief. Maybe he wasn't as immune to the madness as he claimed to be.
'Whatever father's plan is, Brant must be the key to it...'
A shriek pierced the night, and Flaure looked back to the tavern. A man came running out, slapping his chest to extinguish the flames that ate at his shirt. Several patrons more followed, panicked but unharmed. The first man tore his shirt off and stamped it out, swearing at the tavern and walking away with wounded pride. A loud issuing of voices erupted from the open door, echoing along the quiet street.
Flaure pursed her lips, deliberately exhaling a slow, pent-in breath.
'Madness indeed...'
The Author Speaks!
Well, the story has been going along at a decent pace for me since I finished up on the plot and events therein. Hopefully with that skeleton in place I can begin working towards my goals with a better understanding of what needs to be done. The chapters here and those in the future will continue along this same line of a scene by scene look at their actions, and it will be some time before we get all the heroes and villians together for the major turning points. It's necessary so that you can understand the individual motives of the characters before they get lost in the main plot.
Jaysinya, Robshi, Diamante may come off as an ass, but he's an old and stubborn Dragon Knight that wasn't around to see the dramatic events that ruined his home. If someone told you that a metropolis was razed by a giant dragon, surely you'd have some qualms about it as well. Besides, not all people are open to believe whatever is told them.
Omega Gilgamesh, thanks for the praise. I hope that I'll be able to fit in enough description and detail so you don't feel lacking, it's something I like in abundance as well.