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 Eight: Steadfast and Resolute

"Momma? When're we gonna go home?"

Illis looked at her son, Alvard, with a weary smile. "Not for a while, sweetie."

"Why?"

"Because we're on a vacation. Mister Oberon wants us to stay here and have fun. Don't you like it here?"

"Yeah..." Alvard fidgeted, chewing his thumbnail slowly.

"Well then, why not go play with your brother?"

The child nodded, then toddled away to join his sibling's imaginary adventures with wooden figurines. Illis restrained a sigh, leaning deep into the stuffed chair. It had barely been two weeks and already she was growing desperate for home, for her husband and the manor and her friends. Alvard and Leon were the same as ever, but she suspected they were worried about their daddy. She had explained several times that he had important work to do and that they were staying here until he was done. She wished for such an idealistic outlook on life, almost deluding herself with the lies she told. The lies were so much nicer than the truth.

'The truth is Oberon plans on keeping me here until he gets his precious land back...'

Illis had been troubled by his fervor in reclaiming his territory and his rightful power as a nobleman. He already had power, the entire town of Kohlingen was dedicated to his crops and farming enterprises, and no one else was vying for the use of the land he used. The only thing that he truly could gain was freedom from the Regent's laws and his taxes. Was it worth it, though? The laws were never strict or fought against, and the taxation was limited and hardly a matter for someone as wealthy as a nobleman. What could there be in the absence of the Regent's reign? What was the ultimate goal that Oberon strove for? Did his hatred of the Regent equate to his so-called lack of freedom, or was it envy of his power over the largest nation on the continent?

This time the sigh came unimpeded. Trying to wrap her mind around his logic and his reasoning was difficult, especially when his tirades shifted from mere lectures to rages against all things he didn't control. The man was power hungry, and her greatest question was where the line was drawn.

"Momma?"

Alvard again. He was still chewing his thumb. "Yes?"

"Does Mista Ob...Oberon have any kitties?"

Illis arched an eyebrow at the question. "Why, honey?"

"'Cause I wanna see them."

"I don't know. He didn't say if he did or didn't."

"Oh." He thought a moment, changing thumb for index finger. "Can I ask him?"

"Maybe later, sweetie."

"How much later?"

"At dinnertime, okay?"

"...okay."

Illis was deeply envious of her children. Already the concern about their time away from home was replaced by seeking out felines to mistreat. She wondered if anything ever really bothered those two. Despite being kept inside, they hadn't whined or cried, something she had already done many times. In their naivete, the pressure of the real world went right over their heads. She wished that she could be the same.

> > >

Roymond Highguard, even in his most favored spot on his father's property, couldn't prevent his muscles from tightening as he silently watched the assassin approach. It was a combination of frustration, anger, and a little fear, that encompassed his thoughts to the hirelings. Now, with the news of a dead laborer close to town, he primarily focused on the anger.

"G'afternoon." Desmond stopped short of the Captain, hands clenched at his sides.

"Are you sober?"

The assassin frowned. "Wish I weren't, but I am."

"Good." Roymond had agreed with his sister sibling for once, agreeing to keep the man away from liquor so he wouldn't pose a nuisance to the Manor. However, such hopes had already fallen to pieces. "Do you know why I called you here, Desmond?"

"Maybe."

"A man was found outside of town last evening. He was dead."

"Terrible news."

"The people who found him said a monster must have got him, but after being inspected, the healers noted the cuts were very similar and straight. They said it looked like the work of human hands."

"Crime's a terrible thing to have, but every city's got it."

"Not in my city."

Desmond shrugged. "Beggin' your pardon, but this ain't your city."

"It might as well be!" Roymond barked, standing and flexing his fingers. His legs felt stiff, and he needed to pace to get his thoughts in order. Not that he was worried of misspeaking, but he wanted to make certain that the man understood his meaning. "My men protect this land, and I command them. If someone dies and my men could have prevented it, then it makes me look like an inadequate Captain. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose..."

"Then why? Why did you do it, Desmond?"

"Who said I had anythin' to do with it?"

Roy stopped pacing, drawing the eyes of the murderer. "Your very presence tells me as much."

Desmond remained quiet, so Roy continued to walk. The man wasn't even putting forth an effort to allay the blame, not that he was competent enough to do so. Drunk, as he was most of the time in the past, he was quite open about his killings and his exaggerated glories. Now he was greatly different. Sobriety left Desmond Cutler a quiet man, unassuming and listless. He had none of the bravado or arrogance from before, and this was worth remembering.

"Was it an accident?"

"I weren't there."

"Did he spite you or try and rob you?"

"Never met 'em."

"Was he a traveler who no one will miss?"

"Couldn't say."

Roy spun on his heel and grabbed Desmond's shirt, nearly tearing the old fabric. "Quit insulting my intelligence! I know you did it, and I don't care. All I wish to know is why..."

Desmond reached up with a dirty hand, carefully but firmly removing the Captain's hand from his tunic. He met Roy's eyes, light blue opposite a deeper blue, almost black. For a moment, the expression on his face warranted his moniker of Redknife, but it moved on to a careless sigh. "Because...he was there."

Roy considered the reply. "An opportunity to kill without danger?"

"No, it's 'cause he was there when I was, an' I was still on the tail of a buzz."

"You...killed a man because of a hangover?"

Desmond shrugged. "Somethin' like that."

Roy was sincerely confused at his admission. He had suffered mighty headaches from too much liquor, but not enough to warrant slaying a man. Maybe being inebriated for so long could have adverse effects on a man, make him a little crazy when the high began to peter out? It could be a multitude of things, he knew, but which?

"You gonna arrest me now?" Desmond asked.

"No. I took care of it. Officially he was attacked by a thief who passed through here, nothing more." Roy looked at the man again, still curious of what he was like when clear of mind. "Go, but don't let your control slip like this again. Father may take a liking your skills, but I won't have a murderer loose in my streets."

"As you say."

Redknife turned and walked back the way he came, feet dragging as he descended to the ground. Roymond sighed, frustrated. He looked at his stuffed chair, knowing that the aged leather and cotton cushioning would do little to ease the strain on his shoulders. Only making sure that his father's plan went accordingly could lift that weight.

'Dirt like him are what make even the best plans prone to failure. If that fool ends up betraying us or getting himself killed, then that will only worsen our odds.' He clenched his hands together, feeling nails biting into his palm. 'Why did father have to plan this revolution around so many incompetent fools? If we have any more setbacks, we'll be risking the entire revolution!'

"So that drunkard is necessary?"

Roy frowned at the tone his sister used. She was always rude to him, upset that her place wasn't as vital as his own. He blamed it on mother for not teaching her to be a proper lady. "Yes."

"What for?"

"To assassinate people, it seems."

"People such as the Regent?"

Roy looked back at his sibling, the woman leaning in the doorframe of the manor. He noticed her hand was dangerously near the hilt of her sword, a nervous habit, for certain. Her own fervor to battle was just as problematic as Desmond and his drinking. He sat on his chair, no longer comfortable to pace. "Do you think he could ever get close enough to the dictator to kill him? That man can hardly walk a step without someone smelling him."

"For once, I agree with you."

"So-"

"I heard it all, brother, and I agree. That man is too great a risk to us to let him wander freely in town. I say we be done with him and let the punishment suitable to murder be placed on his head."

"I would, but that mage has a liking to the man."

"The mage as well should be put out! They are both useless to this plan!"

Roy noticed the unusual anger in her voice when speaking of Brant Aquas. The mage was eccentric, but hardly a nuisance. His prowess in the black arts was the prime factor in deciding the battle against Lindblum. Without the mage, the rebellion would never succeed. Lindblum could only fall by magic as it was proven before during the Alexandrian Conquest.

"He is necessary, little sister."

She huffed, arms crossed. "But his worth barely balances with his detriment to our safety. The townspeople already fear him, and rumors are spreading. They claim we're falling under the same madness that took Brahne when she gained the power of those magical dolls."

"This is hardly the same." Roy sighed. "Brant is intelligent while those golems were without minds of their own."

"His mind is deluded in the madness."

Roy arched an eyebrow. "The madness?"

Flaure nodded.

This drew some concern with Roy. The madness wasn't simply a person with an unbalanced mind, it was a dangerous result when one studied black magic. As your mind became more comfortable with the spells of death and chaos, the urge to use them became stronger as well. It was said that some people lost their minds to the magic and went insane, causing destruction around them until they burnt themselves out. If Brant were falling into the same thing...

"Do you have proof?"

"...Yes."

"What?"

"I won't say...but rest assured that it isn't something to take lightly."

"Little sister-"

"Enough!" She snapped, scowling at his pet name for her. "I want that man out, brother. See to it."

Before he could reply, she turned and stormed inside, closing the door with a loud snap of wood. Roy leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers.

'First Desmond, and now this. I can only hope that the plan holds together long enough for our goals...'

> > >

"So what are we to do?"

Fedrich looked at his elder, seeing the knight with worry in his eyes. Their flight from Coral Cove had gone well, rushed and with dangers from following pirates, but well. Perce's injury had reopened, so they were forced to stop shortly so he could properly cast a spell to heal it further. The mystic also had put great effort into a spell for Winston, who hadn't roused at all in their flight. Everyone was fraught with worry, thinking that the young man would never wake from his stupor. Upon reaching the Dragon's Gate and placing the youth in the care of the castle healers, the fear had settled some. Now they awaited the repercussions from their actions.

"We wait."

Diamante frowned. "A foolish reason. That Duke tried to kill us and damn near succeeded! That's proof enough for me that he has gone against the Regent."

"Yes, but we're soldiers, Diamante. Macky already told me that he has to explain it to the Regent. He put it simply, 'a soldier is meant to fight, and politicians are meant to bicker about the reasons for fighting.'"

"Feh, seems a waste of time."

"I feel the same, but the Regent said he wants to talk with him. If we need to wait, then we will."

Diamante sighed, again resting his muzzle on his hands.

From down the hallway, the metallic squeal of the mechanical lift echoed along the walls as it crested the shaft and stopped at their level. The tick tack of clawed feet followed, the sounds growing louder as someone rushed to the Regent's audience chamber. The huff puff of breath followed, and a figure nearly skidded to a stop before Fedrich and Diamante. Fedrich recognized the white and yellow dress that Eria wore, bulky and water resistant. It was her only formal clothing aside from her uniform, but it stood out even worse in a land that only had occasional rain.

"He's awake!" Eria shouted with a giddy smile.

Fedrich stood, noticing that Diamante had done the same. "How is he?"

"The healers said he is very weak, but he just opened his eyes! He said my name! He's finally okay!"

He looked at his elder, and the man nodded. They were both of the same thought.

"Come on, we gotta see him."

She led her two superiors back down the hallway, pausing only long enough to tug the door to the mechanized lift open and get inside. Tugging the proper lever sent the cage down in a rush, wind dulling their hearing. A near minute later the lift whined to a halt, Eria pushing the door open and leaping out before it fully stopped. Fedrich followed her rush, mildly amused at her disregard for safety about something that worried her from the start. They flew down hallways and open doors, drawing eyes from the common people who dwelled within the grand walls of the castle. Eria then came to a stop by a nondescript door, one of many in the guest halls.

"He's here." She gasped a breath, then pulled the door open.

Inside it was the same as many rooms, only this one was immaculate in upkeep and had few personal decorations. White was the dominant color of the room, a standard kept by all races when it came to the injured. Something about it must be pleasing to the senses of a doctor, Fedrich considered.

"Back so soon?" Perce asked from a chair next to an occupied bed.

"Yep!" Eria gleamed like the winner of a race.

Perce winced at her tone. "Be quieter. He's still tired."

"Right, right..." She looked at her fellows in the doorjamb. "Well, come on, get inside and close the door."

Fedrich did as he was bid, closing the latch quietly. He walked to the side of the bed and took a long look at his fellow knight, and it wasn't much of an improvement since last. Winston was prone on the bed, sheets drawn to his shoulders and one arm lying on top. The arm was bandaged tightly, blood still evident on the strips. It was infected, and the healers were most concerned about keeping it from spreading. His torn ear was missing the upper point, but it had scarred over with patient spells and stitches. The eye was still closed tightly, covered in gritty scabs. The healers, in private, said that he may have lost sight in that eye, but it was too soon to tell. The rest of his body had done well, bandaged and recovering naturally.

Diamante sat on the edge of the bed, quiet. Fedrich knew that this was not the time to bicker as teacher and student, but to offer solace as one man to another. He knew that the harsh words for the foolishness his student did was improper, it seemed.

"You awake, boy?" Diamante asked quietly.

Winston murmured something, but it was too quiet to hear. Diamante leaned in, and Winston repeated it with more effort.

"...Thirty eight..."

"Eh?"

"That's how many he killed in there, Sir." Perce indicated solemnly. "He keeps on repeating it. I think he wanted you to know..."

"Well..." Diamante sat up, considering the statement. "That ain't bad, whelp, but you got whipped good for it! If you had got out of there in one piece, then I'd be impressed."

"I don't think-"

"Listen carefully, Winston. Look at me." Diamante ignored Fedrich's words, looking intently at his student. The wounded youth looked back with one tired eye, paying attention despite his exhaustion. "Your heritage is a weakness, Winston, so don't rely on it. If you ever go over again, I'll kick you out. There's no place for a madman in my ranks. Do you understand?"

"...Yes."

"Good, then you get some rest and keep your strength up."

Diamante stood from the bed, then walked to the door and opened it. "I'm getting some sleep myself. Keep an eye on them, Fedrich?"

"Sure thing."

"Thank you." He stepped out and closed the door.

Fedrich took a deep, cleansing breath. The room smelled like soap and flowers, anything to erase the terrible scent of a festering wound or the dead. It unnerved him a little, that such normal scents would be so interlined with pain and dying. The door opened again, and two people stepped inside. Fedrich looked at them, seeing Diamante and a thin page next to him. He arched his eyebrows, and the elder knight motioned to the attendant.

"Something from your friend, Mackenzie."

He was mildly curious as to why Macky would write a letter, but knew he was a busy man in Lindblum. "What is it?"

"He writes of the Regent's orders concerning the events in Coral Cove." The page answered in a worn tone. He lifted a curled length of parchment and placed a finger near the top, marking the line.

"Regarding the events within Coral Cove, the Regent has spoken thus: Duke Jon Peradin has shown his utmost disrespect to this nation and me by assaulting its messengers. By allowing mercenaries from the far north to make anchor in our lands with intent to use their numbers is not only an illegal act concerning the trade of stolen goods, but a violation of common law. Such an act cannot be tolerated by this nation. Under the powers granted to me by birthright and by my standing as Regent of Lindblum, I hereby revoke Jon Peradin of his titles and honors granted to him by Cid Fabool the eighth. A letter of warning will be sent to all noble houses to make aware the punishment given to those who break the laws of this nation."

"To Sir Castor and Sir Halbred, I offer my sincere apologies for the events that occurred during your time with Inquisitor Terrace. Had I been aware of the overt hostilities perpetuated by Jon Peradin and his men, I would not have sent you in such poor company. In two days hence I shall order a battalion of soldiers and the Viltgance Seraph's Call to Coral Cove with orders to remove Jon Peradin from his position and to disband the gathered mercenaries by peace or by force. While your honor may have been tarnished by escaping to tend to your wounded, you shall stay within the castle and recover from your wounds. Upon a later date I shall place Jon Peradin on trial for his crimes, and you shall testify against him as you see fit. In this manner, justice will prevail. So said by the Regent of Lindblum, Cid Fabool the ninth."

"P.S. I'm sorry that you all got caught up in this. I wish I could meet with you in person, but a man of the Regent is rarely with free time. Relax and enjoy the city, you've definitely earned a break. I'll try and see if I can arrange for you to get a private meeting with Jon so you can return the favors he's due. Sincerely, Macky."

The page handed the paper to Diamante, then excused himself with a quick bow at the waist. The elder knight stepped inside again and closed the door, passing the letter to Fedrich. He reread the words, glad that the Regent wouldn't make them go back to the field so soon. Winston was in poor shape, and Perce still shouldered burdens with a wince and grumble. He was glad that the students didn't fare any worse in Coral Cove. This was the kind of thing that could break a young man's spirit, yet they seemed in good humor despite it all.

"So?" Perce asked his peers. "We rest and wait for new orders?"

Fedrich nodded. "We rest, but I don't think we'll be waiting for long..."