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 Five: The Intended Course
Dawn, muted by the mist of the ocean, came without incident and without fanfare. People rose from slumber and went to work, starting another day. The tide let out, and the fishing ships went to sea. The clatter of humanity slowly built back to the usual overture of a bustling port town on the plains.
Fedrich didn't wake with the sun.
After a restless sleep, he cracked open an eye to see the streets illuminated by the late morning light. Rising with a grumble, he lifted an arm and fidgeted with his jacket to find his timepiece. Attaining said watch, he glanced the hands to see it was close to nine 'o clock.
"Grahh..." He mumbled, shuffling out of bed and donning his uniform. There was nothing he disliked more than sleeping late and wasting the daylight hours. In Burmecia, the darkness of night was just that, a literal absence of light save the illumination of lamps in windows and the occasional post. People went inside to unwind only because they couldn't see their own faces at night. Even with more sleep, he still felt tired, dreams barring him from a deep rest.
Tying the final length of leather about his ankle, securing his glaive to his shoulder, he left his private room to check on the others. None of his comrades were around and neither was Eria. Macky was out and so were his soldiers.
"Damn." He wondered if they had left him at the Inn and were already at work.
He quickly went down the stairs and looked around the greatroom of the Inn, tables occupied with travelers breaking fast and talking quietly. None of his men were there either, further worrying Fedrich. What kind of an impression would he make if the others had tried to wake him and failed? Stepping around the tables, he went to the entrance and pulled the door open. Before he could stop, he collided with another body and nearly lost his balance. The apology died on his lips when he saw Winston glaring at him, a hand curled into a fist at his side.
"S'bout time you woke." The burly youth snorted.
"My apologies. I didn't sleep well." Fedrich answered, seeing everyone present and accounted for.
"You too?"
Fedrich looked at the speaker, seeing Perce becoming obviously embarrassed to have spoken. He shook his head lightly. "No...no, it's nothing. Never mind."
Fedrich watched the spindly youth regain his composure, recalling exactly what made him stand out among the others. Diamante, in a off the cuff moment, declared the kid was a mystic and believed wholeheartedly in the lore about Burmecia and its ancient connections with dragons. They believed that dragons once were as powerful as gods, protectors of the burman people. However, when a great war came to the land and threatened to overwhelm all the burman cities, the dragons sacrificed their powers and granted them to their wards. This is how burmans gained the ability to wield dragon magics. Current believers thought that with the proper study, one could communicate with dragons and attain in full their godly powers.
Perce, being physically weaker than the others, had honed his spiritual prowess and was very learned in dragon magic among others. As such, Fedrich understood his cryptic nature and paid little heed to his gestures of higher powers at work. He didn't believe in such stories.
"So what's our plan for this cheery morn?" Diamante asked his partner in leadership.
"Well, Macky has to meet with the Duke this afternoon, for one."
"Don't fret." Macky interjected with a grin. "I'll just take my boys with me this time. Since technically I'm higher in rank than you, I can give proper orders. Go to the docks and get a feel for what's up. I want to know if the Duke's really stupid enough to have pirates trade in his city."
"Sure."
"Don't let your guard down, Fedrich." Macky gave his companion a stern look. "Mercenaries don't need an excuse to go after people, it's in their blood. If you think something's off, get out and find me."
"But what-"
"Trust me. It'd be all the better if you stormed in with proof the scum attacked you."
Fedrich considered the tactic. It would be tough for the Duke to dismiss such an action as coincidence. "Alright."
"Good. See you this evening." Macky turned and began walking to the manor, his six men at arms on his flanks with hammers shouldered and ready.
Fedrich looked over his own command, the student and teacher waiting for his order. "Right. Let's go."
They began the long walk towards the docks, weapons secure on their persons but within easy reach. The people gave them room as they walked down the busy avenue, keeping distant and not wanting any trouble. This thought was shared by both sides.
> > >
Flaure brought the sword down with lethal intent, metal flashing in the morning sun, and stopped as it came close to the grassy earth of the courtyard. Bringing her right foot back and lifting the blade to point upwards in a common pose, she took a breath and exhaled it. Lifting the sword up and stepping her foot forward, the sword followed the same arc with precise, mechanical movement. Flaure stepped back and took a breath.
"...One hundred fifty." She whispered, not breaking the rhythm of her morning practice.
The blade flickered in the sunlight as it cut through air.
'This is the art of victory. This is the talent that brings success to any endeavor. Strength of the body will aid the strength of the soul, the power of faith. If the body is not strong, nothing good can come of it.'
Slash...
'The sword is an extension of your body. No amount of workmanship can overcome a frail owner. Become strong, and the sword will reflect this strength. Have faith, and the sword shall emanate that faith in your goals. Let your body sing the glories of war and the sword shall be your instrument of conquest.'
Slash...
'To achieve purity you must have faith beyond faith. You must trust your spirit and heart, follow the path towards righteousness and never waver. Strength of the body means strength of the mind and strength of the soul. As your body grows in power, so shall your-'
Thump.
Flaure's mantras ceased, her concentration broke as her sixth sense tickled the back of her consciousness. It was only a moment, but enough to disturb the flow of her arms. The tip of her sword had pierced the soft earth, buried beneath tender green grass. Paused in the end of the rhythm, she looked to where her sense felt danger to her life. On the crushed stone walkways of the garden were two young boys chasing one another along the paths and inspecting the wild varieties of flowers. Close to them was their mother, sitting on an stone bench and watching over them.
Illis Fulmen, wife to Gordan. That was where the sense had plied a risk of bodily harm from.
'This woman is...?'
Flaure drew her blade up from the ground, taking a rag from her belt and wiping it down before sheathing it at her waist. Her skin glistened from the effort of her training, and she wiped her forehead slowly to clear her vision. She looked long at the woman, her figure slim and well fit beneath a white dress and maroon bodice. Ruddy hair was kept neatly behind her ears, the length falling to her waist.
'Illis Fulmen. She doesn't look at all a danger to me...barely able to wield a sword by her appearance. Her only concerns lie in the care of her sons. Perhaps her motherly concern for them sparked it...'
Illis glanced her way, and Flaure met her red gaze with a neutral gaze. Her lips drew up to a frown, but nothing came of her glare save the anger of being held captive. Flaure was satisfied, breaking the stare and going inside for her chambers and a warm bath. The woman was defiant, yes, but that wasn't enough to be a threat to anyone's life, least of all her own.
Inside Flaure took a moment to smooth her blouse out, the soft cloth wrinkled from the exertion of her study. Reaching with a hand, she freed her hair from the knotted tie to let it fall freely to her shoulders. She took a deep breath, holding it a moment then exhaling and letting her muscles relax. She didn't pay attention to her sore muscles or feet. Practice, years of it that continuously pushed her body to endure longer than before, made her used to the strain. While not the strongest of warriors, she was the leanest and most lasting of any she fought.
'Time is the enemy that all things fall prey to, that even mountains may crumble beneath. To endure, to last against any torment or withering pain, is the only thing one can truly do in this world. Applied to the art of the sword, this brings new meaning. Of all the things I teach you, remember always that the greatest strength of a warrior is to endure
Satisfied, Flaure continued down the sunlit hall for the stairs to the upper floor and her suite.
"Why hello, my lady." A sensual voice announced from a door ahead of her.
Flaure didn't need to give it thought to know who it was. Standing in the doorjam with feminine qualities was the resident mage, Brant Aquas. She passed him by, not bothering to respond to his words. His presence was a nuisance, his carefree attitude even more so.
"Might I have a moment, milady?" He asked, falling behind her.
Again silence was her response.
"Milady?"
Flaure curled her lips, wondering why the man was so insistent this morning. A hand grabbed her shoulder and wrenched her about, stopping her dead in the hall. Flaure looked sharply at the mage, her anger meeting an equally withering stare from him. The look startled her a moment, but she pinned such worry beneath and kept her neutral mask in place.
"I need a moment of your time, Flaure." He insisted, grip tight on her arm.
Brant looked, for once, dangerous. Flaure had to admire that the delicate features of his appearance so proudly enhanced this expression. His casual work for them had always been with an easy going smile and jest, even while drunk. Now he looked serious, focused on a task. This was how a man with the power to decimate a battalion in one spell should look.
"What?" She growled.
"Do you fear me?" He asked quietly.
Flaure narrowed her eyes. "Not in the least."
He pulled her closer, faces inches apart, and took her shoulders in both hands. "Then what do you think of me?"
She balled her hands together, allowing him this much freedom to question her. If he made a tiny instance more of control, she would force him back, teach him again the chain of command. "That you are an idiot who doesn't know a thing about using his strength properly. A fool."
He grinned, yet the expression held none of his jovial emotions. "You mistake me for yourself, Flaure."
"You dare-"
He leaned in closer, and Flaure's argument was trapped as his lips pressed against her own, a hand caressing the back of her head. Her control slipped a second, fear and panic stunning her limbs. 'He is...kissing me?' Control returned as quickly as it left, and she shoved him back without restraint. Hand flew to hilt, and the sword rang out of the scabbard and lashed at the man. He danced back and avoided a cut to his stomach, holding up his hands in peace. She hesitated to hear what words he would spout to explain himself.
"You're quite lovely, my lady Flaure. Naive, but that's a plus to me." He grinned lewdly, eyes sparkling with his trademark humor.
"Get out." Flaure could kill him, no mental thought would argue his defense now. The only thing restraining her arms was that her father needed this man, that the plan somehow depended on this wily mage. He was a bother before, but now his very presence made her ill. Her arms trembled, rage bubbling over her composed expression. "Get OUT!"
"By your leave, milady." He turned and hurried down the hallway, passing through a door and disappearing from view.
Flaure stood still for several seconds, arms shaking and her sword wavering. Taking great care to reign in her anger and her mind screaming for his blood, she sheathed the sword and took a deep breath. Stumbling, she fell against a wall and slid down, sitting with her legs propped up. She hugged her knees, defenses cracking and all her fears spilling out. He had kissed her! He had broken every formal law and defied her personal space, her lips, her body. Worst of all, he had trapped her and made her weak, pierced her every defense without error, even her infallible sixth sense. He made her a victim of his crime of lust.
...you mistake me for yourself...
She quaked in fear, gritting her teeth at the mere memory of that statement.
'I'm nothing like him! Nothing! I'm sane, I'm normal! I'm Flaure Highguard, Purity Knight of the Nanten! I'm nothing like that madman! I'm not! I'm not like him...'
Flaure sat there for a long while, muttering to herself, afraid.
> > >
Ruthy was anxious as she followed the Captain down the quiet streets along the upper streets of Lindblum, aware that the surroundings weren't of the best standing. All the buildings where of a uniform appearance, but they weren't as kept as the homes below. Windows were closed and shades drawn, doors reinforced with iron straps or wood bars. The people seemed less eager to be in public, dressed in humble clothes and walking hurriedly. She kept her eyes focused on the street ahead, but sometimes stared whenever an eyesore presented itself.
"Why would Gerick be living here?" Ruthy asked her escort.
"I dunno, miss. He's been odd ever since he left the Regulators."
"Do you know what happened?"
The Captain shook his head. "He was doin' just fine until one day. He came to me and said he was quittin' and needed a good man to fill in. I sent Setter and he's done fine. He never told me why."
"Oh..."
"Odd thing is...the man's still got the same fire, same attitude. It's just every time I ask him why he quit, he goes all silent on me." The Captain snorted in frustration. "Somethin' happened out there, Ruthy, somethin' bad."
Ruthy frowned lightly, wondering what could have changed her friend so much so quickly. He was a stubborn man, tough like leather and rocks. She worked alongside him for years, and the fights never pushed him over the edge. Even his limp didn't bother him, neither did all his aches and pains. The only thing she recalled him complaining of was getting a little gray in the beard.
'He is forty five after all. Getting gray is just part of life...'
"So why all this worry about the old man? He knew you were comin', right?"
Ruthy shook her head. "No, I wanted it to be a surprise."
"Well, he'll be surprised for sure now. He rarely shows up at the armory, an' his friends all say he just keeps at home. Maybe you'll be able to shake him outta this funk he's in."
"I hope so."
The Captain turned and walked up a narrow stairwell, Ruthy just behind. It led to the second floor of a tall home. It ended at a tiny porch occupied by a single wood chair and a door.
"Here he is." The Captain frowned and leaned close to Ruthy. "One of my boys let the guy keep here since he left the Hall."
"Okay."
"You need me to stay here and walk you back?" He asked.
"I'll be okay, Cecil, thanks for showing me."
He grinned and began down the stairs, waving his farewell.
Ruthy stood by the door, wondering what to expect from her old friend. He was always fiercely independent and never wanted others to worry themselves about his problems. He ended up with more wounds and scars than necessary from that attitude. It struck her that she really hadn't seen him in close to four years. They only exchanged letters, and you could lie on paper easier than in person.
She lifted a hand to knock, but hesitated.
'It's just old Gerick, not a stranger. I don't need to be afraid of him...' She considered that, finding a source of her worry. 'Maybe I'm afraid of what he's become, of how he changed...'
She knocked five times, then stood with her hands fidgeting and her heart racing. Would he be glad? Angry? Sad?
The door creaked open, and Gerick spoke. "Yes?"
Ruthy was stunned at the change in him. He wore simple pants and a faded white shirt, leather belt pinning his pants against his paunch. His arms were thinner, hands no longer curled from carrying his battle hammer. He had his hair combed back, and his beard was peppered with gray lines. Worst was his face, lined with worry and age, eyes dull and without the luster he had as leader of the Regulators.
"Gerick..." She faltered, trying to get the words out.
"...Ruth? Ruthy? Is that really you?"
Ruthy laughed and took the old man in a bear hug. "It's so good to see you!"
The man returned the embrace with his familiar crushing strength, a chuckle at his throat. "Heaven and hell, child, what're you doin' here?"
"I came here to see you, old man!" She drew back, smiling wide and happy to finally have found a friend.
"Well, come inside." He stepped and motioned her in.
The interior of his rented home was modest, the frontroom occupied by a large table and chairs, plus a stuffed couch by the windows exposing a grand view of the Great Wall. A cabinet held his battle hammer along with other arms and armor, and next to it was a wash basin and counter littered with cups and a great pot that smelled of coffee. Ruthy was glad he still had the same vices as before.
"Some coffee?" He asked.
"Sure."
He picked up two mugs and poured the thick brew, motioning to the table and sitting. They took sips, the coffee almost as thick as mud and packing a bitter punch. It was just like before, always strong, always warm.
"You're lookin' good. Pale, though. You getting enough sun up there?"
"Whenever it shines, I'm there." She smirked. "You look well."
"Except my beard. The thing's gone traitorous on me!"
"It makes you look distinguished."
"Feh, more like old." He groused.
They remained silent a moment, the ticking of a clock marking off seconds as they passed. Ruthy looked up, seeing the same old clock pinned above his door; yet another thing that remained the same in his life.
"So, what brings you 'ere?"
"I came to visit, Gerick, isn't that reason enough?" She asked. "I've spent two days looking for you."
"Oh?"
"Yes." She leaned on the table, hands wrapped about the ceramic mug. "Fedrich was given an assignment to work with the Regent, so I came with him. I haven't been able to find my sister or Gordan, and I don't remember where Macky lives. I tried to find you and it was like you disappeared! I've been worried, Gerick! Why didn't you tell me you quit the Regulators?"
Gerick's expression shifted, and he slouched in his chair. "I didn't want 'ta worry you."
"Well, I'm am! You don't need to lie to me, or anyone for that matter. If something's wrong you need to tell us. Don't you ever talk with them?" She sat up in shock. "Oh, have you seen my sister? Or Gordan? Do you know where they are?"
"No, I 'aven't seen them in a long while."
"Why not?"
"We've all been busy, Ruthy. Gordan's got his business to run an' Illis has her kids 'ta raise."
Ruthy felt sad at that, sad that the close knit friends she knew as she left Lindblum had fallen apart. It was a tough reminder among others that time wasn't so forgiving, that people grew apart and moved on. She had done the same, in part. Her heart didn't ache with emotions, and that was proof enough. "So none of us are together, huh?"
"Us?" He repeated. "What 'us'? You 'n Fedrich both live up north, Gordan and Illis live in their manor up in the Industrial sector and Macky's just another man for the Regent. 'Us' fell apart a long while ago, Ruthy."
Ruthy shared the same sadness on that truth. She missed her sister and friends, their daily routines and talks. She grew older, though, and followed her heart and moved on. She had new things to enjoy, some new friends and places. She would always cherish her time here. "So why did you quit?"
"I wasn't doin' as good as I could. I hired new kids and taught 'em the ropes, showed 'em what to do. They do good, Ruthy, better than we did! I guess living through that war left us all a little harder, a little more used 'ta taking up arms and fightin'."
"You quit because you weren't good enough? You're the best of us! You fought against any odds, could beat any enemy you faced. What makes you think you aren't good enough?"
"Them...the new kids."
"Huh?"
"They...oh God, Ruthy, they're right! I'm too old to go runnin' around with kids and hope 'ta keep up. All I did was slow 'em down on the field. They run circles around the monsters, Ruth, they 'aven't been beat!"
"So did they..."
"No, I could tell they didn't like me." He sighed, staring at his coffee. "All I could do is show 'em what to do, where to go. Once they got 'hold of the rules, they just flew. I left, gave Setter the lead. He's a good man, a little soft on 'em, but he knows how 'ta command."
"What do you do now?" She asked.
Gerick sighed again. "Nothing...I don't know what to do."
Ruthy was surprised at his admissions. He was always oriented about his work, doing all he could to make sure he was ready for the patrols. He was a man who lived for his job, lived for the joy of the hunt and knowing he was doing something to improve the world. Killing monsters was just a small thing, but maybe he would see that they kept away from Lindblum. Even if all he did was keep their numbers in check, he was glad to do that.
But now he wasn't hunting monsters. He was just here, unable to keep up with the younger generation. What would he focus his daily attention on now? In the end, what else did he know aside from the patrols and fighting? Ruthy felt an understanding of his situation.
"You hungry?" He asked suddenly.
"Wha...um, sort of."
"I'll treat you 'ta lunch."
"I don't-"
"I ain't poor!" He declared, standing and pulling out a jacket from his rack of arms. It looked like the same one he wore when she was still working with him. "You've been all 'round this place for days lookin' fer me. It's the least I can do for 'ya, kiddo."
Ruthy wasn't quite sure if she should agree to do. It obviously was something to distract her from the questions he didn't want to answer, but she was hungry. If he needed time to open up, she decided, then she would give it to him. It wasn't like she had any other alternative.
"...Alright."
> > >
Macky again admired the sand colored walls of the Peradin manor. He looked at one of the large oil painting and recognized the Duke's face. Apparently he wasn't so modest as to not have some luxury about him. Said Duke was resting on a chair, one hand holding a wineglass and another pinning a thick tome open on his knees.
"My Lord, Sir-"
"Have him seated, Captain." Jon ordered.
Hawina motioned to a seat opposite the Duke, and Macky sat down and carefully relaxed his posture. Jon read a bit longer of the book, then set the thread in the spine and closed it. Sipping his wine, he set both it and the book on the table next to him. "Good morning, Mackenzie."
"Good morning to you, Duke Peradin."
"I believe I made myself quite clear yesterday that there is nothing to negotiate here."
"Oh, but there is." Macky leaned forward and folded his hands. "One thousand, Jon. One thousand men at least are with those raiding ships you claim to be here to trade. Unless I'm mistaken, I don't think it takes that many people to haul barrels and goods off a ship, nor so many from the same clan."
"They have much to trade and much to take."
"Such as the lives of men loyal to the Regency?"
Jon sneered. "More like cotton, grain, and wine. The northern lands are truly desolate to everything but the bare necessities to life. It's expected that they would come to trade with us."
"Or steal whatever they can."
"That is hardly my-"
"Concern? They are your concern, especially since they are here on your behest!" Macky stood, lifting his hand to point towards the city. "Out there lie one thousand bloody cutthroats who would sooner kill you and rape this town of it's wealth and women than obey you! Stick to your claim of trade, let's play around that, then. You trade with men who have stolen goods from other people, and that's blood money, Duke. If my men investigate these vessels and find goods reported to have been taken, I can hold you accountable for accepting them as part of a trade under your authorization! You did say you willingly accepted them into port, right Jon?"
"They have legitimate money to use-"
"Legitimate!" Macky chuckled. "You believe a thief would pay with his own money? Be serious, you're grasping at straws."
Jon remained quiet at the declaration.
"So they're here to trade with blood money. If you don't wish to negotiate the tax, I can leave today and report this to the Regent as is my duty."
"They aren't-"
"Aren't here to trade?" Macky turned on the Duke with a grim smile. "Oh, so they are here as part of a force to defy the Regent and assault his royal forces."
"That is not what they are here to do!"
"Then which is it? Are they here to trade with blood money and stolen property or here to play part of your little revolution?"
Jon stood, fuming silently as he wound his mind around the corner he was trapped in. Macky grinned and folded his arms, waiting to see which path the Duke would choose. Would he take the lesser punishment or try and bluff his way out of this? Would he admit to this audacity against the Regent? He grinned wider in anticipation of his answer.
"Captain, would you fetch a servant to get my best wine? I feel a thirst in my throat."
Hawina saluted at the order, walking to a door at the eastern wing of the manor. Jon curled his lips and stood still, apparently thinking deeply on what could explain his problem.
"I'm not a patient man, Jon. Which is it?"
Jon rubbed his face. "They are here for trade."
Macky nodded. "They are a tempting partner to trade with, but any man knows the risk is too great. Only a fool or a desperate man would trade blood money with the northern raiders."
"Yes."
A metallic shriek pierced the silence in the manor, and Macky spun about to see what it was. He gaped as his Sergeant stumbled back, an arrow sunk through his breastplate. A thin whistle raced by his ears, and a second met the first and sent the armored soldiers down for good. Macky looked around, seeing the Captain standing by the door to the eastern wing. An archer with a longbow stood in the doorjamb, threading a third arrow and tensing the string. Other doors were opening, revealing soldiers armed for battle. It was a trap, simple and effective.
"Dear me, you've seen through my little guise, Inquisitor." Jon chuckled lightly. "As such as I liked debating with you, it isn't much fun when you know that the advantage lies with the other man."
Macky tensed his shoulders, waiting for someone to attack. "So they are here for battle."
"Not quite."
"Oh? What for, then?"
Jon smiled wide. "Lindblum, Mackenzie, the glittering diamond of the Mist Continent. They are here because I've promised them Lindblum and all the riches they can reap from the Grand Castle."
"A thousand men won't take the castle. Ten thousand couldn't. The Viltgances would grind them to dust!"
The Duke laughed. "You believe that, Mackenzie, and keep believing it. I'll enjoy the expression on your face when you see those flying machines blasted out of the skies!" He laughed, then turned and walked for the outside deck. "Captain Hawina, it is my great pleasure to ask you to throw this man into the basement. Alert the raiders and have them round up the rest of the lot."
"Yessir." The Captain approached Macky with a smug grin.
Macky wasn't sure of what to do. He had no weapon, and even if he did, it had been almost eight years since he lifted one. Despite his want to escape and warn Fedrich, he knew it was too late. He surrendered without contest, knowing when to concede defeat. So long as he was alive he could find a solution to this mess. Provided, of course, it wasn't already beyond solving.