Chapter Twenty-One: You Must Live

Officially it was Father Jaren Kazut who led the column out, but in fact it was Gyle Ilde, mounted on a fine chocobo of bright yellow feathers, who rode at the head. A Lesalian squire sided him to the right, bearing the standard of Lesalia, and a Shrine Knight rode to his left, bearing the insignia of his order. Immediately behind them came the rest of the party—ten of Jaren's Shrine Knights, the rest all St. Konoe Knights. The priest himself rode a wagon, which was having a difficult time climbing the road up to where the impregnable fortress of Bethla Garrison stood atop the cliff.

After five days of travel, they have finally reached their destination. Gyle was relieved, as they rode through the massive iron gates, that they had made the journey within the allotted time. If they had delayed any longer at Lesalia, the snows would have covered the trail at Doguola Pass, making it difficult to traverse.

Jaren also seemed pleased as he disembarked his wagon, smiling his feral smile, which grew wider and a lot more cunning as one of the guards on duty approached him. The guard commenced a greeting, and Jaren raised a hand, less in welcome than to halt the guard's salutation.

"I am Father Jaren Kazut." He spoke as the guard's greeting died on his lips. "Where is the keeper of this fort?"

The guard looked a bit dumbfounded, caught unawares by this surprise visit. He tried to form a reply, his lips moving, but no sound came out. "L-Lord Rycroft!" he stuttered as soon as his shock wore off, finally finding his voice. "Someone send for Lord Rycroft!"

The order was echoed throughout the fort, as a knight ran into the keep to fetch the keeper. The rest of the knights milled about at their posts, watching with rising curiosity at the unexpected visit of the priest and his party as they waited.

"How disappointing," Gyle remarked sourly to Jaren. "I would have expected a reception at our arrival."

"Our visit was unannounced," Jaren explained to the Lesalian Commander. "Only Lars knows of our coming."

"Lars?" Gyle stared inquisitively at the priest, who nodded in return, but before he could give further explanation, they were interrupted by the hurried arrival of the keeper.

"Forgive me, Milord!" Rycroft apologized as he bowed, his features flustered. "If I had known of your coming, I would have prepared a better welcome."

"It's quite all right, Keeper," Jaren replied as he held up a hand to placate Rycroft. "Our visit is only temporary. Nothing for you to be upset about." He then motioned towards the troops behind him. "Stables for our mounts, food and quarters for my men."

"Y-Yes, of course!" Rycroft stammered, briefly gazing at the party gathered around the courtyard, wondering why there were so many and, with rising suspicion, what was their true purpose. "The arrangements shall be made."

"Very well," Jaren ducked his head. "That done, join me in the dungeons. There is something I need to discuss with you."

He turned away, ignoring Rycroft's questioning stare, and beckoned for Gyle follow him. Rycroft turned his questioning eyes towards Gyle, hoping to find some sort of explanation of this unannounced visit, but the commander just smiled and shrugged in answer as he followed the priest.

"A Lesalian Knight…" Rycroft heard the guard mutter. "And he's not the only one. Keeper, Lesalian Knights are traveling with the priest's Shrine Knights. What could this mean?"

Rycroft watched Gyle's retreating form, frowning, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Trouble."


Agrias Oaks sat on her bed, using the only stool as a table as she ate the meager meal that was her dinner. Though the meal did nothing to restore her strength of body, the recent reunion with her daughter had restored her spirit.

During the past ten years she's been at Bethla, there were times that she had almost lost her sanity. She was never let out of her cell. She was given paltry meals. The warden made sure that she lived in misery, and she had until about a month ago.

It was not until then that she had forgotten what the sky looked like, how the wind felt against her skin. She had lost herself to the darkness of despair until Ramia came with her radiant light and warmth.

And the memories.

It was those memories that brought her back and now she kept them close to her heart, afraid that to lose them was to lose herself again to despair. Those memories were her hope: hope that Ramia would return to her safely, hope that she would return to the world above, hope for a better future.

Smiling at the thought, she finished her meal and was standing from the bed, when the key rattled in the cell door. She gazed expectantly as the door creaked open, hoping that it was Ramia returned or that it was Lord Birch coming to tell her of news of the rebellion.

Unfortunately, it was neither.

She growled low in her throat—a sound full of anger and hate—as a figure draped in black robes entered.

A figure from her nightmares.

Jaren smiled his usual, feral smile. "I see that you still remember me," he said, his voice cool, smug, seeming to relish in her anger. "Do you miss me that much that you can't forget me after all these years?"

Agrias roared in reply as she charged at the priest, wanting to wipe that haughty look on his face. She may have lost the ability to speak, but she would make sure that Jaren got her message with her fist. She drew her arm back, ready to throw the punch when suddenly, another figure intercepted, executing a vicious backhand across her face.

She staggered at the blow, toppling to the cold, stone floor, stunned. Her cheek stung, as she blinked back tears, her vision a blur. When it cleared, she looked up to see her assailant towering over her, her eyes widening slightly as she recognized him.

"You already know Lord Gyle Ilde, I believe," Jaren spoke as he came to stand by the knight. "He has taken your father's place as Commander of Lesalia's St. Konoe Knights."

Agrias growled her displeasure. She had learned from Ramia that Gyle may have had a hand in her father's—former Commander's—death. To learn that he succeeded her father was an outrage and an insult to his good name.

Something snapped in Agrias then, as she suddenly lunged at Gyle. All the pain and suffering, isolation and despair that had build up over the fifteen years she's been imprisoned was now being released as rage welled within her. The news of Gyle's position was the last blow to break that wall.

Gyle smirked, swaying to the side as Agrias' punch passed by, her momentum carrying her forward. He quickly grabbed her wrist and twisted her around by her arm.

Agrias grimaced, being in a painful position with her arm twisted behind her back. Despite her predicament, she struggled against Gyle's hold.

"You do not approve of my newfound rank," Gyle whispered in her ear. "You're just as stubborn as that fool of a daughter of yours." With a snarl, he flung her against the wall.

Agrias felt her face slam against the wall before she crumpled to the ground, groaning. Recovering a bit slower than she would have fifteen years ago, she struggled to stand, only to find herself being lifted up.

Gyle held her by the collar of her robe, still wearing that same smirk of his, obviously enjoying himself. "What? No congratulations?"

Agrias spat at his face.

Gyle's eyes flared in anger. His smirk changed into a growl, his lips curling back from his teeth. "You'll regret that, wench!" He threw her across the room towards where Jaren stood watching the scene with an amused smile, at ease even as Agrias flew towards him.

Falling to the ground with a cry, Agrias' face scraped against the floor as she slid to a halt right at the priest's feet.

Jaren sneered at her. "Well, it's about time you've given me some respect."

Agrias struggled to rise in defiance, but Gyle kicked her side, sending her crashing to the floor again.

"Easy, Commander," Jaren stopped the knight, who held Agrias' head up by her hair. "As much as I hate to interrupt your reunion, we came here for a purpose."

Gyle snorted in contempt, a bit disappointed that his 'reunion' was over, as he let go. He then stood back as Jaren began pacing around Agrias, all slow and subtle, like the approach of a soft-stepping spider to its prey…

"It's been fifteen years since we last met, hasn't it? Fifteen long years of suffering…"

Agrias remained prone on the floor, listening to the priest's babble as his robe rustled with every step he took, wondering what design he wove for her. She then looked at Gyle, who stood perfectly still in attention, and also wondered what his role was to be in the priest's plot.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be anything good.

"Well, it's time that I release you from your pain." Jaren's voice brought Agrias back from her thoughts, and she gazed up at him, eyes wide with surprise at the priest's seemingly kind words.

Did he tire of her already? Was he releasing her from prison?

It was too good to be true, but she had her doubts as she gazed at the two men—first at Jaren then at Gyle then back again. She knew there was some hidden agenda between the two and she couldn't help but feel as if she was the center of it.

Seeing her dubious expression, Jaren was about to elaborate on the subject when there came a knock on the door.

"Forgive the intrusion, Milord," Lars humbly apologized as he entered, "but Lord Rycroft has arrived and is awaiting your audience."

Agrias saw Jaren smile at the news and couldn't help but suspect that the priest's visit to the impregnable fortress was no mere coincidence.

"Excellent!" the priest exclaimed. "Are the preparations complete?"

The warden nodded in answer to Jaren's question. "They are, Milord. I have sent word to Lionel regarding the execution."

Agrias gasped in surprise. Execution?

Was that what the priest meant by ending her pain? Will she finally be put to death—the death she so desired during her earlier years of imprisonment—when she had just recently reunited with her daughter? Now that Ramia knew the truth about her heritage, there was no reason for her to die. She wished to live, and if Jaren thought otherwise, then she would just have to disagree.

"Very good," Jaren commended the warden. "Tell the keeper that I will meet with him shortly."

"As you wish, Your Grace." Lars executed a swift bow before leaving to bear Jaren's message.

When the warden left, Jaren turned to Gyle, who had resumed taunting the prisoner, and sighed. "Come along, Commander," he said, not wanting to interrupt Gyle's amusement, but preparations need to be made if he was to be successful. "There will be ample occasion to talk with your former comrade on her final journey. For now, I need you to make some arrangements in preparation for our trip to Lionel just as we discussed on our way here."

Gyle grunted in disappointment, but did not object. Instead, he smirked as he moved towards the door. "We'll catch up later," he told Agrias, his tone promising more pain ahead for her. He then turned to Jaren. "By your leave, Milord." The priest nodded and Gyle took his leave.

"I suggest you pray for forgiveness," Jaren said to Agrias, who was still prone on the floor, almost as if complying with the priest. "You have approximately one week left on this world. Make your peace before then."

With those words of seeming comfort, he left to meet with the keeper, shutting the door behind, leaving the prisoner in darkness that seem darker than before…


Rycroft did not like the dungeons; he seldom visited the place. So when Father Jaren ordered him to meet him here, he felt out of place, uncomfortable and, for some unknown reason, afraid.

He remembered the tales his friend, Andrew, had told him about the priest, Father Jaren Kazut. He had described him as cunning and very ambitious, a selfish man who enjoyed the exercise of his power too much, relished his position too much. As he leaned against the stone slab that served as the room's table, he wondered what he would gain by visiting his fortress. He felt that something was amiss and he didn't like it.

The silence—his unnerving thoughts his only companion—had Rycroft on edge, so much so that he nearly jumped at the arrival of the priest.

"Forgive my tardiness," Jaren apologized as he took a seat across from the keeper. "I had to overlook some preparations for our journey tomorrow."

Rycroft raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "You're leaving tomorrow, Milord? So soon?"

Jaren nodded. "It's been fifteen years since the capture of the heretic, ten of which she have spent here in your fort, Keeper Rycroft. I've decided that now is the time to fulfill the sentence rightfully given to all heretics."

Rycroft gasped at the announcement, shocked, unable to believe what he'd just heard. After fifteen years of inconsideration for the prisoner, Jaren was finally showing mercy. But he wondered if Agrias would welcome such a boon after being reunited with her daughter just recently. He knew in his heart that she would not and knew, too, that the priest knew. The keeper could not help then, but admire Jaren's cunning.

Jaren scratched his nose before continuing: "We are leaving for Lionel early tomorrow morning, preferably before first light. I shall take my knights, of course, as well as a few Lesalian knights, with me. The rest shall stay here as reinforcements. I hope that is not a problem for you, Keeper."

"Not at all, Milord," Rycroft replied, his tone neutral as to hide the uncertainty he felt. The Shrine Knights accompanying Jaren he understands, but Lesalian Knights? Why were they here when last he heard, they were heading towards the province of Fovoham?

Andrew had informed him of such a week prior when he had passed through the fort on his return trip home from Lesalia. It was from him that he learned of what was transpiring around the country. Dissension had spread to the west, Gallione and Fovoham up in arms. He remembered Andrew mentioning that Ramia had been appointed Commander of St. Konoe. The knighthood had been deployed to aid those Shrine Knights who were holding the fort city of Yardow, the last stronghold of Fovoham.

He then wondered about Andrew's adopted daughter and why she wasn't here to accompany the priest's retinue. He doubted that she would have agreed to let her knights go unless…

Unless something has happened in Yardow to render such action necessary. He frowned then at the thought. What had happened to the Lesalian Knights' commander, Lady Ramia? What purpose did the St. Konoe Knights truly serve here in Bethla?

Such questions went unanswered as Jaren suddenly rose from his seat. "Excellent. Now dinner, I think."

Rycroft felt no wish to dine with a priest whose only concern was the heretics, and so he asked that Jaren excuse him, explaining that he wished to see to the reinforcements' accommodations. Jaren agreed, and with a sigh Rycroft quit the dungeons.

As he ascended the steps that would lead him to the courtyard, the keeper reflected the things said during the discussion. Though it had been short, it left him shaken with more questions than answers.

Questions that, perhaps, could be answered.

Now was the time for Bethla and Limberry to take their place in this war.


Time had no meaning to Agrias, who had only known the darkness of her cell for the past ten years.

So, when the door to her cell opened abruptly, awakening her from her troubled slumber, she couldn't tell if it was morning, afternoon, or even night. She squinted in the light of the torches that had suddenly flooded her cell as she rose from the stone slab that served as her bed. Through the glare, she could distinguish two figures approach her. She stood straight and proud, meeting the two Shrine Knights without fear, her expression unwavering.

"Heretic," said one, speaking in harsh tones, "it is time for your final journey. May God have mercy on your soul for the fires shall show none." His companion then approached Agrias and fastened the manacles he held around her wrists. That done, both knights started to grasp hold of her arms.

Agrias shrugged loose from their grip, refusing to be supported. She walked out the cell door of her own accord, her steps steady despite the death awaiting her in Lionel.

The jailer stood to one side, Lars besides him, who uttered, "It was just a matter of time," his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I hope you've said your prayers."

Agrias ignored him as she walked on with firm, unfaltering step, accompanied by her two knightly guards. She had indeed made her prayers, but it was not for forgiveness. She had prayed for strength and courage for she had decided that she would not die, but live.

She wanted to live.

She must live.

That desire lend her the strength she needed to ascend the staircase that led to Lars' office. From there, it was a short walk to the courtyard where Jaren waited with an escort of knights to take her to the execution grounds.

Agrias emerged into the courtyard, which was filled with the rest of the party that would take her to Golgorand, all ready to depart as they sat on their chocobos, waiting. In the center was a carriage, its door open, Jaren standing besides it, Gyle behind him.

Shielding her eyes from the many torches that burned along the walls of the fortress, unaccustomed to such brilliance, she walked up to the carriage, or more specifically, to Jaren.

The priest only smirked, his air arrogant. He then looked at the two knights, and with a nod of his head, said: "Put her in the wagon."

The two knights again tried to grasp hold of her arms, but she shrugged them loose. She grimaced in contempt at Jaren, her eyes glaring, before she turned to the wagon that seemed to invite Death himself. As she was about to climb into it, a shout rang through the predawn air:

"Agrias-sama!"

She stopped and turned to see who had called her. Jaren and Gyle, as well as the other knights of their party, also gazed around in curiosity for they have never heard someone being addressed in that fashion.

"There!" one suddenly exclaimed, his hand pointing above. All eyes turned upwards towards the ramparts lined with knights of both the Aegis and Nanten orders. In their midst was the keeper, stern and aloof as he gazed down at them, especially at Agrias.

Rycroft addressed her again, this time soft, almost with reverence, speaking in a strange and unfamiliar language.

"What is he saying?" Jaren questioned Gyle behind him. "What language is he speaking?"

Gyle shrugged. "I do not know, Milord. Though Ivalice is united under one ruler, each province still retains some of its culture from before the kingdom's unification. Perhaps he's speaking in Limberry's ancient tongue?"

Indeed, Rycroft was speaking in ancient Limberrian, a language that Agrias had learned from Andrew's son, Alex. Her eyes filled with tears upon hearing his spoken words:

Mine honor is my life; both grow in one. Remember that no one can ever take away your honor. As long as you have it, you are and will always be a knight, Lady Agrias.

After the keeper finished, he bowed in respect, acknowledging the honor due. One by one, the other knights joined him just as the sun's first rays shone from the horizon, all the knights blending together in a blur of shining armor.

Agrias was stunned, and even if she had the power of speech, she would find no words, no voice to speak them. She nodded her silent thanks. Her eyes dim with tears, she finally embarked the carriage.

Jaren frowned in disapproval at the display, making a mental note to question Rycroft upon his return from the execution, before boarding the carriage himself. Gyle was the last to follow, briefly gazing at the keeper, his expression cold, before shutting the wagon's door.

As the convoy slowly rode away from the courtyard, Rycroft and his men—save for the Lesalians left behind—still bowed.


Bed Desert.

A wild area to the west of Limberry, it was once tamed by the Zhonu, an ancient people who were known for their nomadic ways. They probably lived by hunting and fishing, practicing limited forms of agriculture, or herding animals such as cattle or sheep.

But as the climate became drier, they were forced to rely increasingly on animal husbandry as a means of livelihood. Their solution was to master the art of riding on chocobo-back and to adopt the nomadic life. Organized into tribes, they ranged far and wide in search of pasture for their herds of cattle, goats, and sheep.

But this new way of life had its own set of challenges. Increased food production led to a growing population, which in times of drought outstripped the available resources. Rival tribes competed for the best pastures. After they mastered the art of fighting on chocobo-back, territorial warfare became commonplace throughout the entire area.

It was not until the appearance of Zhin that the fighting stopped. Through his prowess and the power of his personality, he gradually unified the Zhonu tribes. He was appointed "Universal Ruler" and from that time on, he devoted himself to the people.

To administer the new empire, Zhin set up a capital city at the middle of the region, which was named Mungo. It was a magnificent city where, as one scholar had written, "so many pleasures may be found that one fancies himself to be in Paradise." The city itself was protected by thick walls of earth penetrated by twelve massive gates, a more fortified version of Ivalice's modern fort cities, which pale in comparison.

The people prospered under Zhin's rule and his successors thereafter. But as the centuries went by, the climate became worse. The dry weather no longer could sustain them as the animals began to die from the heat. Pastures became increasingly harder to find and water dried in wells. The people began to migrate to find better land, abandoning the once beautiful city of Mungo. Fields of dirt soon turned into sand, the sun scorching the ground, the blistering wind destroying what were once Zhonu lands.

Soon the area was forgotten, the remnants of a proud empire buried in the sands like the skeletal remains of a dead animal eaten by vultures.

It was in these ruins that Ramza and his party set up camp as night fell, the cool, soothing wind relieving the scorching desert heat of the day.

A fire was built, its glow illuminating the wooden walls that once was the castle of Mungo, the very center of the capital city. Halls that had stood silent for centuries were now filled with the sounds of laughter and revelry as the group gathered round the fire, waiting for their supper.

Ramza sat apart from the group, at the edge of the circle of light, ignoring the voices of his companions as he stared up at the star-ridden sky and remembered…

Remembered those nights, twenty years ago during the Lion War, when he and his troops would make camp. They would all sit around the fire, boasting their bravery as their dinner heated. And as they ate, tales of heroism would be exchanged.

Ramza did not join in their revelry. He would always sit far apart, away from his companions, always thinking of the battles that they would face the next day and the decisions he would have to make.

That would always be his agony throughout those nights. Would he live to fight another day? Would his companions live or would someone die because of a decision he made?

The thoughts that would plague him then, plagued him now, more than ever. He looked to the line of peaks that marked the end of the desert, to where Bethla barred the way to Limberry and Zeltennia, and thought of the decision he had made at Orbonne to leave Ivalice and his friends behind.

Then it seemed to be a sound decision, but now he wasn't so sure. That decision had caused his companions to suffer, had caused Ivalice to suffer. He never thought that his decision would affect the lives of many.

Sighing, he closed his eyes in reflection. He turned his head towards the breeze, feeling its cool touch upon his skin, the smell of roasted fowls riding in its wake, and with it the sound of footsteps approaching. He opened his eyes and turned to see Galvin coming with two plates of food.

"I thought you'd be hungry so I'd brought you a plate," the Limberrian said, offering the food to Ramza.

The Beoulve stared at Galvin a moment, surprised at his kind gesture. The young knight had spoken little to him since leaving the fort city, perhaps because he had made little attempt in conversation with the rest of the party, always separating himself from the group.

Ramza smiled softly, grateful for his initiative. He whispered, "Thank you," as he took the proffered plate.

"You are well?" Galvin asked as he sat beside Ramza, spooning the stew, courtesy of Jovel who had ranged ahead to bring down several flavorsome birds. "You seem distracted these past few days."

"It is the way I am," Ramza replied, "since the Lion War. To reflect on the day and to wonder about tomorrow is what I do."

"You do not need to worry about tomorrow." The Limberrian set his bowl aside and looked to Ramza. "It's the moment we share now that counts." He turned to look at the others gathered around the fire and Ramza followed his gaze.

Wolfen and Malak were brushing the chocobos down. Delita and Raizen were speaking with Ramia, Lavian, Alicia, and Orlandu while the rest readied themselves for bed, unrolling bedrolls and setting up watch with Cloud taking the first shift.

"There is a saying," Galvin turned again to Ramza, his eyes smiling, "'Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That is why we call it the present.' Be glad of what you have now for what you have found yesterday may be gone tomorrow."

He stood then and turned without further word to walk back to the fire where he drew his sword and began to oil the blade. Ramza sat a moment longer, gazing across the sands toward the peaks once more before returning himself, feeling somewhat relieved, and able to engage in conversation with Delita and the others with less likelihood of revealing his fears and doubts about tomorrow.

There was no reason to.


The road to Bethla was slow going, the trail heavy-laden with snow. The flakes had begun to fall early in their ascent, the morning sun hiding behind a bank of dark clouds that had gathered overhead. The snow fell gently at first, but around noon, the wind began to howl in protest as they climbed ever higher, hurling the snow at the party like arrows, slowing them even more.

Despite the obstacle, Ramia was determined to reach the fortress before sunset. She plowed ahead through the deep snow, her chocobo ducking and struggling through the drifts, unknowingly fashioning a path for the others to follow.

By mid-afternoon, the sun poked tentatively through the overcast, then grew stronger, shining from a sword-blade sky to dance brilliant light over the drifts. It made their journey easier and more tolerant so that Ramza and Delita took the time to finalize the plan they had discussed last night before reaching the fortress.

From Lord Birch's letter, they learned that the keeper of Bethla Garrison, Lord Aral Rycroft, secretly supports Ivalice and its rightful ruler. But he cannot make known his allegiance with a few of the Church's subordinates on site. Thus was Rycroft's frustration.

And the group's as well as they tried to figure out a way to free Agrias without stirring the suspicion of the Church officials.

After much consideration, Raizen had come up with a plan: Ramza, Delita, and Orlandu would act as prisoners captured during the battle at Yardow while the rest pretended to be an escort party assembled by the magistrate of the city. They prayed that news of the fall of Yardow had not traveled this far if the Prince's plan was to succeed.

As Bethla loomed ahead, alternately lit and shadowed as the cloud played games with the sun, preparations were already made. An angled glacis ran up to the gates, turning back on itself so that any approaching force would be slowed. When they crested the ascent, they found the gates to be open.

Ramia studied the fortress as they approached slowly, wondering why no sound came from it: neither shouts nor clanking of armor, only a silence that seemed to fill up the bleak day as if with clarions of alarm. She looked to the walls and found them devoid of patrolling knights, the sentry post just the same.

"There's something wrong here."

Ramia scowled at Galvin and then at the fort: "I know and I'm going to find out what." She heeled her chocobo forward.

"Wait!" Galvin shouted, muttering a curse afterwards as he rode after her.

"Stubborn one, isn't she?" Raizen remarked while cutting his father's bonds. It seemed they would have to abandon their earlier plan in light of the current situation.

Ramza sighed and shook his head, muttering, "She is her mother all over again."

He remembered the time when he had first met the Holy Knight at Orbonne Monastery and how she had charged out the door at the news of the enemy's arrival. With no regard for her safety, she had rushed blindly into danger much like Ramia had awhile ago. He suddenly chuckled softly at the memory despite the dire situation that faced them.

Delita frowned at Ramza. "I don't find this particularly amusing."

"I'm sorry, Delita," the Beoulve apologized with a grin. "Ramia reminds me of her mother that I cannot help but laugh at the coincidence. Despite being raised by a different family, she still turned out to be an Oaks after all."

"Yes, that's reassuring to know," Lavian agreed.

"But what do we do now?" Mustadio questioned. "Ramia and Galvin have already gone to the fortress."

As if in reply, Alicia galloped past the group and into the opened gates of Bethla, her long auburn hair trailing behind her like wisps of fire, a fiery demon ready to scorch her enemies.

"Alicia!" Lavian called after her, urging her chocobo forward to follow the taciturn knight.

"It's unwise to follow," Ramza halted her.

"But what choice do we have?" Lavian argued, as she turned her mount around to face the group.

"What choice indeed…" Orlandu murmured into his beard, looking to the fortress, his eyes narrowed as if trying to see through its thick walls.

He studied the situation carefully, from the entrance of the gates at which they stood to the end of the long passage where it emptied into the courtyard. He then gazed up at the ramparts where pennants and standards fluttered in the cold air. When the sun managed to peek through the clouds, he thought he saw a faint glimmer among the battlements, as if light striking metal, but dismissed it to the poor vision of his old eyes.

"This smells like a trap," Cloud commented from behind. "It's too quiet."

"I agree with Cloud," Wolfen nodded, motioning to the sky. "The birds have fled and my mount feels uneasy."

Orlandu also agreed with their assumption, having concluded from his careful study that this indeed was a trap. He turned to Ramza and asked, "What do you want us to do?"

Ramza gripped the reins of his chocobo, eyes glaring with resolution as he stared at the fortress. "As Lavian said, what choice do we have?" He then looked to the old knight. "Let us proceed, but with caution."

Caution, however, proved to be unnecessary when a cry of surprise echoed throughout the fortress accompanied by angry shouts and warks of startled chocobos.

"No!" Ramza gasped in disbelief as he drew his sword and charged towards the gates.

The others followed him, drawing weapons as they passed through the entrance, wondering what they would find at the end of the hallway leading to the courtyard.

As soon as the last member of the group entered the passage, a portcullis slowly lowered to block any escape if they were to retreat. None noticed this new danger, their attention focused to the battle ahead, until they heard it collide with the floor, securing it in place.

"Just as suspected," Cloud stated in a cool voice as the group took a brief glance behind. "A trap."

"All we can do now is go forward," Ramza declared solemnly, praying that they would overcome this trap just like the others they had endured during the Lion War.


"What is the meaning of this?" Ramia demanded, raising her shield to deflect an arrow. "An attack?"

"More like an ambush," Galvin muttered, repelling the sudden rain of arrows with expert swings of his sword.

When they had arrived at the fortress' courtyard, they found it to be empty. Ramia had shouted for the keeper, but there was no answer. She had been about to dismount to search for him when Alicia arrived.

And that's when the attack began.

Ramia cursed under her breath. Any longer she, Galvin, and Alicia stayed out in the open, the likelier an arrow will find its mark.

A flash of white light, so intense it seemed that the sun itself had fallen from the heavens, suddenly surged through the courtyard, leaving Ramia, Galvin, and Alicia paralyzed and half-blind. Ramia cursed her enemies for using such a cowardly trick, expecting the next arrow to take her down.

Instead, she heard a sharp blast followed by a pained cry. Curious, she tentatively opened her eyes. The light was gone, but her vision remained impaired, bright spots dancing before her eyes.

"Damn it!" she heard Galvin curse somewhere to her right. "What's going on? I can't see!"

The fortress was in uproar, the clash of swords and the clanking of armor ringing in Ramia's ears. She held tight to the reins of her skittish mount, lest she fell and got trampled, as she tried to figure out what was happening, blinking several times to clear her vision so she could get a better understanding of the situation.

"Heavenly wind, carry us to fountain of power! Esuna!"

Like the morning mist lifting in the breeze, Ramia's vision cleared, and the sight unnerved and appalled her.

When they were first attacked, she had not gotten a good look at their enemies. To see Rycroft's men attacking her party stunned her, but to see her own men—the same men who had followed her to Yardow and had retreated—among them nearly drove her to the brink of rage. She gave a hoarse cry of outrage and fury, then drew her sword from its scabbard. As she was about to charge into the fray, someone yelled:

"Ramia!"

The Holy Knight turned to see Ramza approaching on foot, his swords drawn, his features grim. He was followed by Delita, Raizen, Orlandu, and Lavian, their weapons readied, and their expressions just as grim as the man that led them.

"Are you all right?" Ramza asked when they finally caught up with her.

"What do you think?" she snapped, displeased at this interruption. She glared briefly at the source of her frustration, namely the battle taking place.

Ramza nodded in understanding. The battle needed to end, and quickly for they were sorely outnumbered. "We must find Lord Rycroft," he stated. "I doubt that he's behind this attack."

"Agreed," Galvin concurred, as he dismounted from his chocobo. "Shall I search for him?"

"We shall search for him," Ramza corrected, "except for you three." He looked to Ramia, Lavian, and Alicia.

"I'd rather fight and beat an explanation for this ambush from one of my former men," Ramia growled, clutching the reins of her mount as if preparing to charge into battle.

"You'd rather punish your men than rescue your mother?"

Ramia's grip immediately loosened in answer to Ramza's question, remembering why they had come to the garrison in the first place. She sighed, forcing herself to calm down before dismounting her chocobo. She then looked to the right of the courtyard, to an opening within the wall of the fortress. "Lavian, Alicia," she called over her shoulder, pointing her sword towards the opened doorway, "let's go!"

Ramza watched as the two female knights followed their ward. After a moment, he turned to Galvin. "Lead the way," he urged.

Galvin nodded. Taking the lead, he led the group across the courtyard to two iron doors, away from where Ramia and her knights had disappeared into the fortress.


"Heaven's wish to destroy all minds… Holy Explosion!"

Knights screamed as a searing light shone from above, scorching skin and blinding eyes. As the light faded, they shouted in confusion, swinging their swords blindly about them.

Ramia pushed and shoved her way through the disoriented knights. "Hurry!" she compelled her two companions. "This way!"

Lavian and Alicia fought their way through the wave of knights surging up the staircase that led down to the dungeons. They hadn't expected resistance on their way to the prison. The sudden confrontation only served to confirm their suspicion that this was a well-planned trap. Someone knew that they would try to rescue Lady Agrias. Who and how, however, will be determined once Ramza's group found the keeper of the fortress.

Ramia did not think of such thoughts, her mind only set with one goal. "Out of my way!" she cried out in fury, casting Holy Explosion upon her enemies once more, her only useful skill in such narrow a passage.

If she had been more attentive, Ramia would have realized that the knights she fought were not Rycroft's, but her own. On the other hand, Lavian noticed the distinction as they fought through a third wave of knights. She wondered what this portended, as it seems to be an indication of the severity of the knights' betrayal to their former commander. Perhaps Ramia's earlier comment about beating an explanation from one of her men has its merit.

"Alicia! Guard her back!" she instructed her companion, who surprisingly had not succumb to her uncontrollable rage yet.

The redheaded knight nodded, swinging her sword around in two-handed, powerful arcs.

Turning to the knight nearest her, Lavian quickly unarmed him and pinned him to the stone wall with her shield. "Why are you here?" she demanded him, pushing him against the wall as if she sought to crush him. "Who sent you?"

The knight smirked. "It's for us to know and for you to find out," he replied haughtily. "That is if you can reach the bottom of this staircase alive." He began to laugh then and Lavian quickly silenced him with a crushing blow to the jaw with her shield, knocking him out.

She stared at the unconscious knight for a moment, trying to fit this new piece of information to the puzzle that was this ambush. Something about this rescue mission didn't seem right, as if they were the pawns of an elaborate chess game.

With this thought in mind, she ran after her companions, troubled about this new information. She found them almost at the bottom of the stairwell, fighting through the few remaining knights.

She joined them as blades clashed, as bodies heaved and shoved, climbing down the few remaining steps to the bottom.

As soon as she set foot on the bottom floor, Ramia immediately advanced towards the door of her mother's cell, shouting, "Mama!"

The way to the cell was clear until a black-robed figure appeared suddenly, intercepting her path, blocking her way.

Ramia skidded to a halt, recognizing the jailer instantly. "Stand aside!" she demanded with a wave of her sword.

The jailer did not comply, only stood there unmoving.

Ramia, angered by his silence, pointed her sword towards him. "If you're not going to move," she pulled her blade back, "then I shall just have to cut you down!" With a roar, she charged, intent on bearing down the jailer before her shield.

"Earth's anger running through my arms!" the jailer began.

Unfamiliar with the chant, the Holy Knight continued to rush, unknowing of the danger.

"Earth Slash!"

The jailer fell to one knee as he pounded the floor with his fist. A surge of energy rushed towards his enemy, crumbling stone as it flowed through the ground.

"Ramia, watch out!" Lavian shouted, pushing her ward out of the way, taking the full brunt of the attack. She was flung back, skidding to a halt a few feet away.

"Lavian!" Ramia called out to her.

Alicia growled a challenge. Gripping her sword in both hands, she lunged at the jailer.

He remained still for what would appear too long. Then the jailer shifted, fluid as a cat, darting the three paces needed to bring him inside the knight's slash, her sword already descending. Using her own momentum against her, the jailer grabbed her arm and threw her over his shoulder, sending her crashing against the wall. As she collapsed, the jailer spun round just in time to avoid Ramia's sword.

Ramia growled in frustration, bringing her sword back for another swing.

The jailer lashed out with his feet; first one, then the other, striking Ramia in the gut.

She grunted as she took a few unsteady steps back before crumpling to the ground, clutching her injured belly. She had not expected such an attack and now faced a dilemma. Though her opponent was unarmed, he was a skilled fighter, defeating his opponents in but a few moves. She wasn't trained to fight monks nor was she familiar with their fighting style.

As she recovered, the monk spoke as he removed his hood: "Pity. I had expected more from a Holy Knight."

The torchlight revealed a pale face, framed with shoulder-length hair, the color of milk. He wore a white headband stitched with the symbol of a cross and a rose about his head. But what caught Ramia's attention were his eyes.

"You're blind…" she whispered in awe, seeing that they were vacant.

He nodded, his expression stern. "That I am." He then cocked his head to one side, as if in curiosity. "Is that strange?" he asked, his tone mocking. "To be beaten by a blind man?"

Ramia's eyes flashed dangerously at the insult. "I'm not beaten yet!"

She snatched up her blade and flung herself at the blind monk. The sword's blade glowed in the torchlight, as if in anticipation of the holy power that its wielder commanded to flow again. However, this proved to be not a contest of force, but of skill, the Holy Knight relying more on the sword techniques her grandfather had passed to her than the power she had been blessed with upon her knighting.

The narrow passageway restricted her movements somewhat, her sword too long to swing properly. Instead of slashes, she relied on thrusts, but that too proved difficult for the monk was light on his feet. Despite his handicap, he was able to 'see' her next move, evading her attacks with ease.

"You rely on your sword too much," he scoffed, clapping his hands to catch Ramia's descending sword between the palms, countering with a sidekick to the same spot where he had kicked her before.

"You're right," Ramia agreed with a smirk, as she blocked his kick with her shield, much to his surprise. Aware of the monk's pull on her weapon, she let go of the blade, pitching him off-balance, and rushed him with his shield.

With a surprised cry, the monk fell back. He struggled to rise, but his robe hampered his movements. All struggles ceased, however, when he felt the bite of cold steel upon his flesh. Sightless eyes turned towards his adversary, who held her sword against his neck.

"I'll say it again," Ramia whispered threateningly, moving her sword closer to the monk's neck, "stand aside."

He nodded slightly, careful as not to slice his throat with the movement, acknowledging his defeat.

"Lavian! Alicia!" Ramia called to her companions without taking her eyes off the fallen monk. "Are you two all right?"

Alicia grunted in reply, seeming unhurt, and surprisingly, still sane.

"I'll be fine with a potion or two," Lavian grumbled, favoring her shield arm as she walked towards Ramia. "Of all the magic I did not master, it has to be the one most important," she muttered angrily to herself.

"Watch him," the Holy Knight ordered the both of them, indicating their enemy, before marching to the cell door where her mother had been imprisoned all these years. To finally free her nearly brought tears of joy in her eyes. She severed the lock and kicked the door open.

"Mama!" she shouted as she barged into the small room.

"Ramia!" a voice called out from the darkness in apparent disbelief.

Her heart seemed to stop when she heard the voice. "Lord Rycroft?" she whispered uncertainly, hoping that it was a trick of the mind that caused her to hear the keeper's voice.

"Ramia, you must get out of here!" the keeper advised as he emerged from the darkness. Save for a few smudges on his tunic, he appeared unharmed. But his eyes and the desperate tone in his voice when he spoke told Ramia otherwise.

"Lord Rycroft!" she exclaimed, her tears of joy suddenly turning to those of anguish, as she grasped the keeper's shoulders. "What are you doing here? Where's my mother?"

"There's no time to explain!" the keeper returned as he pushed her out of the cell. "You must hurry to Golgorand!"

"Golgorand?" Ramia repeated, staring at the keeper incredulously. "You don't mean that…" She shook her head, unable to finish the thought.

Rycroft nodded gravely. He then looked to the monk, who had begun to laugh.

Lavian and Alicia had been able to secure him, his hands tied behind his back as he sat on the stone floor, Alicia's sword just inches away from his neck. "You're too late!" he jeered. "She'll be executed within the week! You'll never reach her in time!" He laughed again.

Ramia clenched her sword, angered at this information. "Silence him!" she ordered Alicia.

The monk's laughter was cut short by a harsh blow to the face.


Ramza's group glared at the warden, who smiled smugly as he stood in front of the fireplace, the flames seeming to emphasize the wicked glow in his eyes.

When they had arrived at the keeper's chamber, they had expected to find Rycroft directing a few knights. But instead, they were greeted by a lone figure; the warden who was in charge of watching the prisoner.

Which caused Galvin to wonder what he was doing here instead of down in the dungeons.

He had gotten his answer when Lars explained the whole situation to them that this was a trap to capture the rest of the heretics. And to make matters worse, the bait that was used to set this trap had gone to Golgorand to be executed.

"The Cardinal was wise to use the heretic's daughter as the catalyst to spring this trap," Lars smirked. "You have eluded us since the hunt had begun fifteen years ago. But tonight, that will end. None of you shall escape." He snapped his fingers.

The room was suddenly surrounded by knights that were hidden within the chamber. A few blocked the door while the rest advanced towards the group, their swords brandished, waiting upon the warden's order.

Ramza counted ten knights and, no doubt, more waiting in the corridors of the fortress if they managed to escape this chamber. But escape they must if they were to save Agrias in time.

Lars grinned widely, sensing their fear and desperation. "Arrest them!" he ordered the knights.

Ramza brought his Ragnarok out in a sweeping cut that gutted the closest soldier, pushing him back against his fellows as his companions applied their blades until the battleground was even.

Or so they thought.

"Smoldering flames far below, punish the wicked! Firaja!"

The warden turned both hands, palms outward, toward the group, a great flood of fire, a tidal wave of flame, roaring towards them.

"I don't think so!" Ramza shouted in denial of the warden's inferno, as he flung himself before the others, using himself as a shield. "Everyone, scatter!" He pushed Delita and Raizen away when they refused while Orlandu pulled Galvin a safe distance.

"What are you doing?" the Limberrian demanded, struggling to free himself from Orlandu's grasp, which was surprisingly strong for his old age. "He's going to be burned down!"

"No, he's not, boy!" the old knight stated, grimacing as he tried to calm the knight and fight his enemies at the same time. "His armor protects him. Now help me clear a path for our escape!"

Galvin helped the old knight forge a path, but he looked back every so often to see what had become of Ramza.

Flames engulfed the Beoulve's frame, seeming to immolate him, but the fires did not harm him. His expression was one of concentration as he crossed his swords in front of him. The flames suddenly surged around the blades, converging at one point, forming into a huge ball of fire. With a shout, he swung his blades apart, the surge of fire that had been aimed for him now returning to its caster.

"No!" Lars screamed, stepping back with uplifted hands, his ghastly features contorted as he sought to ward off his rebounded spell. But no protective spell could save him as that ball of flame consumed him, filling the air with a charnel stink. He screamed, a wail of anguish that seemed to echo throughout the fortress, as he writhed in agony, his body withering.

Taking pity on the man, Ramza quickly ended his suffering with a swing of his sword. The screams ceased, yet it still seemed to echo in the silence that followed. If he was aware of the stillness, he gave no sign as he stared at the burning corpse, the fires dying down, leaving only a blackened husk.

The fighting had ceased, the knights unsure of what to do now with their leader dead. The roles were now reversed as Delita and the others advanced towards them, seeking to press the advantage of their confusion.

The knights backed away until they were in full retreat. Without a commander to lead them, they were as lost as sheep without a shepherd. The others were going to follow, but Ramza stopped them.

"Let them go," he said faintly, sheathing one of his swords. "We've wasted enough time here already."

"Indeed," Orlandu agreed grimly. "We must leave for Golgorand now if we are to have any chance of rescuing her."

"We will save her, Orlandu," Ramza declared in resolution. "There's no doubt about that." He then motioned to the warden's blackened corpse, adding:

"Agrias will not suffer the same fate."


Mustadio growled under his breath. "What's taking Ramza so long? And Ramia? This battle should have been over by now." He shot a knight in the hand, disarming him.

"Something has gone awry," Malak stated grimly. He swung his weapon in sweeping arcs, giving the Engineer enough time to reload his gun. "But we need to keep fighting until they return. We need to keep our enemies occupied."

"Easier said than done," the Engineer muttered, leveling his pistol to shoot at the enemy again.

"Yame!" someone bellowed, a thunderous roar that forced the knights to stop in their tracks. Many lowered their blades while several others looked about in confusion, including Mustadio and his friends.

Then someone yelled, "Lord Rycroft!"

The keeper stood near the entrance to the dungeons, where he had emerged to find a battle raging. Ramia, Lavian, and Alicia stood in a protective circle around him for he was unarmed, fearing that someone might attack him.

Rycroft spoke again in that strange language, sounding as if he was giving an order.

Those who had lowered their blades, raised them again, but now they were pointed in the opposite direction, away from Mustadio and the others, but at other knights.

"Knights of Lesalia," the keeper called, "lay down your arms and surrender and mayhap your commander will be lenient with you." He motioned to Ramia, who stood in front of him.

"Lord Gyle is our commander," one of them declared, his voice a sneer as he added, "not that whelp."

Ramia's face darkened. "So, Gyle planned on betraying me from the beginning," she murmured. "Why am I not surprised?" She then turned to the keeper and said, "I leave them to you, Lord Rycroft."

"Of course," the keeper nodded. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he turned to the Lesalian Knights. "I offer you a final chance to surrender. You need not throw away your lives in a pointless battle."

"We have our orders," a young knight claimed. "As long as the warden leads us, we continue to fight."

His fellows shouted in his favor, raising their swords to the air with a cry before surging forward to engage the enemy again.

Rycroft's men, as well as Mustadio's group, tensed as the fighting resumed…

…only to be thrown into further confusion as the two iron doors to the keep burst open from a flood of fleeing knights, all shouting that the warden was dead. Ramza appeared then, his friends behind him. The Beoulve's armor was scorched, his sword as bloodied as his companions.

"Put down your weapons!" Ramza shouted. "There's no reason to continue this fight."

"Heretic!" spat one. "As long as you remain free, there will always be a reason to fight."

Lesalians clashed with Limberrians and Zeltennians while those that had fled the keep turned back to attack the group of heretics behind them.

"Ramza, we must leave now!" Delita roared amidst the chaos.

"I know!" Ramza shouted as he tried to fight his way to the gates, but the enemy was intent on cutting off their escape route, promising to avenge the warden's death. Fortunately, their enemy was busy fending off Rycroft's men, who sorely outnumbered them.

"Let's get out of here!" he shouted once they broke through the enemy line, signaling to the rest of his companions to follow him to the gates where their chocobos waited.

Ramia saw his signal. "Lord Rycroft, we must be going. Will you be all right?"

"Don't worry about me," the keeper assured her. "Go and save your mother."

Ramia smiled and nodded her thanks. Sword in hand, she ran for the gates, Lavian and Alicia following closely.

Rycroft watched as they mounted and rode through the gates. "Godspeed, all of you," he whispered before taking part in the battle for his fortress.


Zaland Fort City.

An aerial city built on a hill, it served as the entryway to the province of Lionel. Being on a hill, it also served as the first line of defense against invasion of the province, ever watchful of approaching danger. It housed a garrison of about one-hundred men just enough to fend off the enemy while a rider took word to Lionel Castle. If Zaland were to ever fall, the enemy would have a clear path to the capital of Lionel for not only did it serve as an entryway to the province, but also the entryway to Lionel Castle.

Fortunately, in their long history, misfortune had not descended upon them even during the Fifty Year War and the Lion War. The people acclaim this to God's divine protection upon the land for Lionel was governed by the Glabados Church. As long as men of faith led and defended them, they had nothing to fear.

And so the people of Zaland rejoiced when the Cardinal's party entered their city, the streets lined with people as an escort of soldiers from the city's garrison guided the party, hoping to catch a glimpse of their benevolent leader who has finally decided to come home for Lionel was the province ruled by Cardinals.

Jaren rode besides the driver of his carriage, smiling and waving at the people, enjoying his reception into the city. He shouted blessings upon them even so much as stopping to lay hands on the sick and the elderly.

From within the carriage, Agrias grimaced in disgust at the priest's display, knowing beneath that benign exterior lied a heart as black as coal, that his expression of love for his people was all but an act to fool them from his true intentions.

"He makes a charismatic figure, doesn't he?"

Agrias turned away from the window to glare at the speaker.

Gyle sat opposite from her, his arms crossed as he answered her glare with a smirk. He then turned to look out the window. "They adore him, don't they?" He watched the procession as it wound its way to the city square, the people continuing to cheer as they came to a stop in front of the church where the garrison commander stood waiting with the church's head minister and the city magistrate.

The roar of the crowd seemed to grow louder as Jaren disembarked the carriage with the help of the driver. He raised both hands in the air, smiling as he acknowledged the people before turning to meet with the city officials.

"Your Excellency," the magistrate greeted, his florid features brightening with a smile as he bowed, "welcome to Zaland Fort City."

"I am pleased," Jaren replied, which brought smiles to all three figures.

"We have received a letter from the warden at Bethla Garrison informing us of your coming," the garrison commander said, gray eyes peering from beneath craggy brows. "I am sure you and your men would welcome hot water and rest. And tonight there will be a banquet to celebrate your arrival."

"There are also priests here anxious to meet you and it would be an honor if you would preside over the evening mass," added the head priest.

Agrias never thought to see Jaren smile so widely that it seemed his face would split in two. She couldn't hear what he was saying, as she watched him shake hands with each of the city officials before gesturing towards the carriage. The garrison commander then barked an order and a couple soldiers approached the vehicle.

"Time to make your entrance," Gyle remarked, pushing Agrias through the door as it opened.

The two soldiers pulled her out roughly by the arms, and despite her struggles to look dignified, they managed to force her to kneel in front of Jaren and the officials. Save for Jaren, all sneered in contempt at the pitiful figure.

With a sharp gesture of his arm, the garrison commander shouted, "Take her to the wall!"

"The wall?" Gyle repeated in curiosity, as he watched the two soldiers practically drag Agrias across the square.

"The wall is our form of punishment here in Lionel," the garrison commander explained. "It's much like your pillories except the criminals are not confined within wooden planks. They are chained to the city's wall, fully exposed to the elements and the people's scorn and punishment by means of throwing stones. There have been some incidents in which these criminals died during such stoning. The punishment of the wicked is a matter we take very seriously here in Lionel."

Gyle winced inwardly. It was a more severe form of punishment unlike the insults endured by the pilloried. Public scorn he understood, but public punishment especially by the people of the city was entirely different. He had thought that the ridicule of the people would be enough to punish a criminal, but to suffer punishment by the hands of the citizens instead of an official gaoler was a new concept.

"It may sound barbaric," Jaren said as if he read Gyle's thoughts, "but it dates back to the time of St. Ajora and his followers when it was a common form of punishment."

"But restraint must be exercised lest they kill her before she reaches Golgorand," Gyle warned him.

"Agreed," the Cardinal nodded. "Sir Davyd Black," he gestured to the garrison commander, "knows of our mission and has advised his soldiers of such. You need not worry."

"Of course," Gyle bowed to his superior's wisdom. He then followed him as the magistrate led them to his mansion where rooms have been prepared for the both of them. He glanced at the crowd and saw that it had thinned somewhat. Perhaps they headed to the wall where they would 'punish the wicked', as Sir Black had said. The image of Agrias being pelted with pebbles brought a smile to his face.

He envied these people who were as equal as the judges in Lesalia. To decide the fate of a criminal was a powerful right and to exercise it without abandon a privilege. It's no wonder that Lionel had not fallen to any enemy.

Men of faith not only protected the land from without, but from within as well.


Zirekile Falls.

A breathtaking sight to behold, these beautiful falls flow from Mount Algost along stair-shaped cliffs, their thunderous roar a precursor to their natural beauty. Many travelers who passed through would always pause and gaze at their majesty, as if its flowing waters soothed them as they cascaded down the cliffs to a slow-moving river below. With such a busy point of travel, the land around the falls was full of trails, making it difficult for two hunters to discern the quarry they sought.

Ramza watched as Malak knelt by the remnants of a campfire while Wolfen searched the trampled ground for signs. What signs those are, however, the Beoulve could only guess.

The Tenaktwan moved about, eyes downcast, casting wider afield until he found the tracks of what seemed to be a carriage angling to the south. As he followed them, he noticed a number of talon-prints accompanying the tracks. He knew then that he had found their target's trail.

Soon after, Malak rose from his examination of the campfire and both men went to report their findings to the others.

"I counted fifteen pairs of chocobo tracks, one of which is pulling a carriage," Wolfen stated. "They are heading due south."

"From what I can judge from the campfire, they are a full day or more ahead," Malak added.

"I see…" Ramza murmured, his expression thoughtful.

Delita looked to him and said, "A carriage might slow them down."

"Perhaps…" the Beoulve allowed.

"We must keep going!" Ramia urged, still sitting on her chocobo, who pranced about impatiently, reflecting his master's feelings. "Carriage or not, they are still ahead of us!"

"Calm down," Orlandu said. "We must approach Lionel with caution. As you may well know, Lionel is governed by the Glabados Church and if we're seen and recognized, we will be overwhelmed. Unlike the other provinces, the people of Lionel take the Church's edicts very seriously. Isn't that right, Beowulf? Mustadio?" He looked to the two men, who nodded.

"To go against the Church's wishes is to risk being stoned to death," the former Temple Knight said, "by your own peers. Even we knights who served under the cross did not escape such punishment. We must tread carefully once we enter Lionel."

"Besides," Wolfen added as he brushed his chocobo, "our mounts are tired after that long ride. We should take this time to rest and come up with a strategy on how to approach Lionel."

"Agreed," Delita nodded.

For a moment it seemed that Ramia would protest, but common sense prevailed and she nodded in agreement, dismounting afterwards.

A fire was soon built and everyone gathered round, not in revelry as it had been back at the Bed Desert, but in council. The flames flickered over wearied faces as Beowulf made a crude map of Lionel, marking the cities with stones while the roads were represented with sticks.

"I doubt that Jaren would know that we are in pursuit of his party," Raizen stated, as Beowulf finished. "I think that would be some advantage to us."

"Indeed," Beowulf concurred. "There would be patrols in the countryside if any prisoners escaped. But the main problem is here." He pointed to a pebble with a slight point. "Zaland marks the entrance to Lionel. Once past the fort city, the land is all hills, which would help in our discretion."

"In other words," Orlandu muttered, "to enter Lionel is to enter through its one and only door."

"Exactly," Beowulf nodded. "And that will be no easy feat. Zaland sits atop a hill, therefore its advantage of having a clear view of the surrounding area. Our approach will be noted once we're in their sight."

"Is it easier to approach at night then?" Lavian asked.

"With this moonlight, I doubt it," Malak voiced, looking up at the half moon with a frown then shrugged and faced the others. "But it is the winter season, after all. We may be lucky if there will be some cloud cover during the night."

"Not being seen while approaching the city is one thing, but entering the city without notice is another," said Mustadio.

"What do you suggest, Beowulf?" Orlandu inquired gently of the former Temple Knight, who thought a while before supplying a reply:

"Perhaps there is a way to enter Lionel without going through Zaland." He pointed around the rock that represented the fort city, saying, "A thick forest surrounds the hill. There are a few hunting trails, but other than a few hunters, none dare venture into the trees."

"Do you know the trails?" Ramza asked, in which the former Temple Knight replied, "No, but we do have some excellent trackers in our midst." He looked to Malak and Wolfen. "I'm sure they could lead us through the forest."

"And if we get lost?" Lavian voiced her concern then quickly added, turning to the two Tenaktwans, "Not that I'm doubting your abilities, of course."

Malak smiled. "You can rest assure, Lavian, that we won't get lost. Have I not demonstrated that during our venture to Fort Zeakden? Moreover, if there is the chance we do get lost, Wolfen can always ask a bird or two for directions."

"Is it decided then?" Ramia inquired.

Ramza nodded, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the map. "It's better than sneaking into the fort city, safer as well and perhaps quicker than taking the main road."

"Quite true," Beowulf concurred. "If we're lucky, perhaps we would reach Golgorand before the priest's retinue and set an ambush for them."

"Yes," Ramza said, "but we shall save that when the time comes. For now, let us catch whatever sleep we may for comes dawn, we shall press on towards Lionel."


Lionel Castle.

An old castle built to be the headquarters of the Holy Kingdom of Yudora, it had served as the former Cardinal's—Alphonse Draclau's—home. Since the late Cardinal's death, the castle has yet to welcome its appointed master. Despite its architecture being old, Lionel still remained an outstanding fortress. It was where St. Ajora was caught and imprisoned by the Yudora Empire after all before he was taken to his death at Golgorand.

The story of his capture was one of betrayal; the first of many that had taken place here in this old castle.

Agrias remembered the treachery she had endured when last she came to Lionel, which was three months before the Lion War had started. Cardinal Draclau had betrayed her and the Princess to the enemy when he had promised them his aid and protection. They thought they could trust him, being that he is a servant of God, but even men fall prey to greed and power no matter if they are holy and righteous.

It seemed the master of Lionel was the perfect successor to Draclau for they both shared the same views of power and greed. The image of Jaren brought a growl of disdain from Agrias, as she paced her prison cell.

Little did she know, it was the same cell her ward had occupied after she had been taken prisoner by the castle guards under the former Cardinal's orders.

Agrias found the chamber to be quite spacious and, due to a few barred windows high up along one wall, a bit drafty, holding her arms tightly about her to keep warm. The cold numbed her tired and pained body, the bruises and cuts from the stoning session she had received at Zaland two days ago still healing.

She sighed as she sat against the wall farthest from the door. There was neither bed nor straw mat, but that did not bother her as she stretched out on the floor. She suddenly felt very sleepy, the fatigue from the journey finally catching up to her weary spirit. As her eyes closed, she felt a kind and familiar presence envelop her in its warmth, like a much needed blanket that shielded her from the cold. And as she drifted to oblivion, she heard a gentle voice whisper:

Rest, Agrias. Regain your strength for you shall sorely need it…

Comforted by the presence, soothed by their voice, Agrias fell into a peaceful sleep, no longer plagued by the nightmares that had haunted her every night since her imprisonment.


"Is she dead?"

"Pray that she's not."

The guards' voices brought Agrias from slumber, bleary eyes opening to unfamiliar surroundings and unfamiliar faces. She quickly sat up, recognizing the two men to be the guards, wondering if they came to take her.

One of the guards sighed in relief while the other said, "Here," as he placed a plate of food before her.

She looked down at the plate then at the guards in confusion.

"Your morning meal," the one guard explained. "The Cardinal has to attend to some business today and so you will be staying. You will leave for the execution grounds tomorrow at dawn. Be glad you have one extra day to live." With that said, the two guards took their leave.

Agrias thought on the guard's words as she ate her meal. Though the food wasn't filling, she needed every ounce of her strength if she was to escape from Lionel. She had escaped once before, but that was with her sword and friends besides her. Now she was unarmed and alone, but that didn't deter her from planning an escape.

After finishing her meal, she stood up and stretched, feeling well-rested and determined, as she gazed about the chamber, hoping to find some sort of way of escaping.

There were many places to hide from the guards when they entered: against the recesses along the wall or behind the pillar by the door. But once they entered, then what? She has no weapon and attacking with bare hands was out of the question. She looked around again, pacing the cell, hoping to find something to use as a weapon, no matter how small it was. But she found none, and when she sat back down against the wall, she looked down at her empty platter. She stared at it for a while, seeing her reflection upon its gleaming surface…

Then it hit her.

Agrias picked up the plate—the metal plate—seeing it not as a utensil for eating, but as the weapon she was seeking. It wasn't too big, but it was thick enough so that it wouldn't succumb to a blade easily. It was not the perfect weapon, but it would do. Now where to launch the ambush?

She looked again at her options: from the recesses on the wall to her right to the pillar by the door. Her gaze lingered on that pillar and knew that it was the best place to hide when the guards entered. Once they would pass through the door, she would move quietly behind them and strike. If she were to hide anywhere else, it would be difficult to ambush them without them seeing her first and raising the alarm.

Unless she attacked at night.

Perhaps that would be the best time to escape, she thought as she looked up at the high windows.

Faint sunlight streamed through the bars, bathing the cell in a soft glow. The shouts of men and warks of chocobos could be heard through the howling of the wind that blew around the castle; the clamor of a bustling fort city. It would be difficult to escape unnoticed with so many people around her, especially in her condition.

She frowned, as she touched a jagged cut slightly above her right eye, a mark of her status as an enemy of the Church. She wore several other marks: the stripes on her back from several lashings, a brand of the letter 'H' on her shoulder from an overzealous taskmaster, and the bruises and cuts from the recent stoning at Zaland. Such marks would mark her, making it easier to spot her among the many. Yes, night would be the best time to escape, the darkness affording her the protection she needed.

Deciding on this course of action, she leaned back against the wall and bided her time.


Jaren sat behind a round wooden table covered in purple cloth, listening to the reports from the various officials left behind to care for Lionel in his absence. The talk of trade rights and social events bore him, the province continuing to flourish even in his absence. But when it came for the leader of Lionel's Temple Knights to speak, it seemed not all matters were as prosperous as it seemed.

"Bervenia require more troops, Your Grace," he stated. "I've already sent as many as I could spare the first time around. If I send any more, Lionel will be left defenseless."

Jaren smiled in relief as well as to placate the commander. He had thought for a moment that it was a serious matter, but it was nothing he couldn't handle, already knowing who to dispatch. "All is well," he said. "I think it's time to make good of Limberry's pledge to aid us. I will send a letter to Lord Birch, ordering him to deploy some of his knights to aid Bervenia. Also, I will send a letter to Bervenia, informing them that the reinforcements will be coming from Limberry lest they mistake them for the enemy. You need not worry."

The commander bowed in relief. "I thank you, Your Grace."

The Cardinal nodded. "It seems that all of you have been doing well in keeping order in this province while I'm away. I am very pleased, but I'm afraid you must continue looking after matters here until the business with the heretics is resolved."

"It's been fifteen years since then," the chancellor said, bowing as he added, "But we will serve you as long as it takes. The punishment of the wicked is paramount to the Church."

"Yes," Jaren agreed, as he rose from his chair, bringing the meeting to a close. "Now breakfast, I think. Would you care to join me?"

The two men accepted his offer, saying that it would be an honor to dine with his lordship. Jaren could not help, but smile at the praise as he led them to the dining hall where breakfast had been prepared by the castle's servants.

The meal went by smoothly, their conversation pleasant as they exchanged news on a more personal level, the Cardinal inquiring about their families, to which the two men assured their lord that they were doing well.

Soon, the commander excused himself from the table. "I must tend to the Lesalian Knights," he explained. "I'm sure they would want to visit the town. With your permission, Your Excellency?"

"Granted," Jaren replied. "Make sure they're back by the end of the day and have Gyle attend me once done."

"As you will." The commander bowed before taking his leave.

"What about your lordship?" the chancellor inquired once the commander left. "Will you be visiting the town as well?"

"Actually," the Cardinal sipped his wine, "I was hoping you'd show me around this castle. I would like to fully assess the situation here though I doubt anything is afoot."

"Of course, Milord," the chancellor acquiesced with a nod of his head.

After drinking one last cup of wine, Jaren rose from his chair, and with a smile and a motion of his hand, he invited the chancellor to lead the way.

Both men toured the grounds, Jaren pointing out some things that needed changing and the chancellor taking careful notes on a piece of parchment. They went to the garrison next where they met with the commander once again.

"Milord!" the commander greeted when he caught sight of him. "What brings Your Excellency to this riotous place?"

"His Excellency has come to inspect the grounds," the chancellor spoke for the Cardinal. "I'm sure you don't mind if we take a look around?"

"Please, by all means," the commander granted with a wave of his gloved hand.

"Thank you." Jaren strolled past him, looking around at the various buildings. The chancellor didn't know this, but there was another reason why he had decided to come here. In one of these buildings housed the dungeons. He meant to learn the condition of his prized prisoner from one of the guards on duty.

"All is well, Milord," the guard replied, as he stood to attention. He was quite surprised when the Cardinal had approached his post at the door that led to the prisons, and privileged when he had asked him a question. "From what I gather from the others, she's been sitting quietly in her cell. Perhaps she is making her prayers."

"Perhaps," Jaren allowed. Satisfied with the answer, he thought it best to return to the main part of the castle to rest and to prepare for the journey that would mark Lionel's first execution since the death of the Astrologist, Olan Durai.


The waiting was hard. Agrias sat on the stone floor for most of the day, watching as her cell grew brighter with the day's passing. When it was at its brightest, a guard came in to provide her lunch. She ate and resumed her observance of the light that streamed through the windows, the shadows lengthening into mid-afternoon.

Then it was time.

It was almost dark when she took her position behind the pillar, her weapon in hand. She waited and just as the light diminished, a guard entered, platter in hand. He seemed oblivious of the ambush awaiting him, as he placed the plate down at the middle of the cell. The chamber was dark, the only light coming from the opened doorway, and so he assumed that the prisoner was hiding within the shadows. So when he turned around to return to his post, he was met with an unexpected blow to the face.

Agrias smiled in grim satisfaction as she threw the plate aside. God knew, but she had wanted to do that for a long time. She then knelt by the unconscious knight and set on stripping him of his sword, cape, set of keys, helmet, and boots. She dared not take his armor for it may slow her escape. It's been fifteen years since she'd last worn armor and she doubted that she'd still be accustomed to its weight. Granted, the cape would be enough to disguise her and the helmet will somewhat hide her features. She quickly outfitted herself with her newfound attire and headed for the open doorway. She warily peeked out of her cell, hoping that none had heard the small disturbance.

The passage was clear and dimly lit, few torches lighting the hall beyond, but she was accustomed to such darkness as she stepped out and locked the cell door behind her. Few guards were posted along the hallway, their attention lax, seeing one of them yawn as she passed. Even without her disguise, she could have passed unnoticed.

It felt refreshing to walk freely again, and though she wore the colors of the Church, she almost felt like herself again, the knight that has been buried for fifteen years. She remembered Rycroft's words then that she is and would always be a knight as long as she had her honor. She was glad of his words for it held hope that she would return to being that knight. But first, she needed to escape from Lionel.

The hallway was long and ended with a stairway. She climbed without hesitation, but ever so cautious of more guards. The stairs led to the ground floor of the prison where smaller cells lined both sides of the building and ahead of her was a wooden door. If memory served right, it was the only entrance and exit to the prisons, guarded every hour of every day, ensuring that none of the prisoners escaped. If she could pass the guard without trouble, then she was free to make her way to the gate and then to…

At least let me get that far, she thought as she adjusted her helmet and wrapped the cape around herself to hide her bloodied robe. With a hand on her sword, she opened the door and stepped out.

Like the guards within the prison, the one on duty by the door paid her no heed as she walked past him. Sighing in relief, she halted a moment to familiarize herself with her surroundings.

By the light of the moon, she recognized that she was in the barracks. She heard laughter from a building to her right, off-duty knights enjoying their evening meal. As she walked along the street, the sound of chocobos warking softly came from a stable to her left.

Beyond the barracks was the square, an open expanse that joined both the castle behind her and the town before her, both surrounded by the thick walls that protected them. Agrias saw the avenue that led to the main gate and to her freedom, and hastened her way down that road.


After having dinner with the Cardinal, Gyle thought to unwind a bit before retiring, as he walked along the streets of Lionel. The evening was chill, rime shining bright on moonlit rooftops, ice glittering over puddles. The sky swept wide and starlit above the fortified city.

The streets were quiet, the cold driving the people to stay within their homes. He paused suddenly when he heard hurried footsteps echo along the avenue and wondered who would be out in such weather.

Those footsteps seem to grow closer and soon he saw a figure fast approaching him. He immediately recognized the Lionel guard by the red cape they wore wrapped tightly about their frame. He shouted a greeting to the guard, but they paid no mind as they darted past him with not so much as a glance.

Gyle grunted in offense as he watched the knight disappear into the shadows. "Well, good evening to you too," he growled before continuing on his way.

Now in a bad humor, he walked on aimlessly until the sound of chocobos brought him from his thoughts. He looked about and realized he was at the barracks of the castle.

A passing guard saw him and called out: "Lord Gyle! What are you doing here at this hour? Are you here to visit the prisoner?"

Gyle stood silent for a moment, still a bit shocked to find himself at the garrison. "Ah, yes," he replied a little uncertainly then with certainty when his shock wore off and the realization of the guard's question set in, said, "Yes, I'm here to see the prisoner. Thank you."

The guard nodded before running off to attend to some other business. Gyle walked on to the prisons where he was again greeted by the guard posted there. His mood lightened when he entered the prisons and made his way to the underground cells, the past offense with the one guard almost forgotten in light of the upcoming visit.

A little amusement couldn't hurt, he thought as he ordered a nearby guard to open the door to the cell. The door swung open and he entered followed by the guard who bore a torch.

Almost immediately, they saw the unconscious knight on the floor by the glint of his armor from the light. As the guard looked to the knight, Gyle gazed around the cell, knowing it to be in vain. He then went to the knight, who had regained consciousness, and demanded, "Where is she? Where is the prisoner?"

"I don't know," the knight grunted in reply, nursing a bruise that had formed on his brow. "I just set her food down and when I turned to leave, I was struck on the face. I don't know what happened after that."

Gyle growled in frustration as he rushed from the cell in pursuit of the escapee.


Agrias cursed her luck when she heard the bells ringing from the castle, knowing that the knights knew of her escape. She began to run towards the gate, which had begun to close in response to the bells, barring any escape for the prisoner.

It seemed she would make that daring escape again—the same escape she had made while running from Draclau's plot—as she drew her sword, and nearly stumbled with the weight. Yet, determination and the will to live lend her the necessary strength to wield the blade, as she charged at the knights protecting the gate, her sword held high in both hands.

The knights heard her roar, as she approached, looking bewildered to see that it was one of their own, indicative of the red cape she wore, wondering why she would dare attack them. Their confusion was to her advantage and before they could draw their swords to defend themselves, she quickly drove her blade deep beneath the closest man's ribs. She twisted the steel as she dragged it loose, striking the second guard across the face before a cry could escape his gaping mouth. As he staggered back, Agrias stabbed him in the belly, stepping past him to pull the lever down, reversing the gate's direction.

She darted through the archway and began to run across the bridge beyond, praying that no guards were posted on the upper wall, weaving as the horribly familiar hiss of arrows filled the air about her. She felt a blow against her back and faltered, almost pitching to her face, but righting herself and continuing her zigzag path as shafts thudded into the frozen ground around her. A second blow caused her to cry out as fire lanced through her shoulder and she felt the grate of steel head against bone.

Despite her wounds, she continued to run, realizing that she lurched, aware of warm moisture on her back, a painful shortness of breath. Her ribs seemed to clench against her lungs and the arrow protruding from her shoulder was a source of agony, but she was spurred by the shouting behind her, not looking back, determined to reach the safety of the forest ahead of her.


"Sounds like someone escaped from Lionel Castle," Beowulf commented when he heard the distant bells sound in the distance. The group was preparing camp when they heard the disturbance. "Should be better if we kill the flames. Best be on the lookout for patrols."

"Agreed," Ramza nodded. "Malak, Wolfen, Jovel," he turned to the three men, "scout the surrounding area, but with care. If you encounter any of the patrols, don't engage them, but report back to me."

The three men nodded in understanding before disappearing into the brush. "Mustadio," he then turned to the Engineer, "see if you can make out anything with that spyglass of yours."

"Of course," the Engineer replied, taking up the instrument. He climbed a tree and settled onto one of its branches, observing the immediate area with his invention.

"Looks like we'll be eating a cold dinner tonight," Delita remarked as he doused the flames, plunging the group into semi-darkness.

The group ate in silence, listening: the clanking of armor and a great deal of yelling, as if in frustration as the patrols combed the region.

Orlandu said, "It seems their target is leading them on a wild chase."

"They're leading them away from us, at least." Mustadio jumped down from the tree and joined the others, Raizen handing him a chunk of dried meat. After swallowing a piece, he said, "Torches are moving towards the south, towards Bariaus Valley; a number of patrols. Seems like the whole of Lionel is on the hunt for this one fugitive."

"That is strange in itself," Beowulf murmured. "With that many patrols, I doubt this escapee is no common criminal."

"Well," Ramza stared at the dense timber, "we'll find out once Malak and the others return."


It had not all gone as Agrias hoped—the Lionel Knights seemed to scour every inch of the forest. Twice she had been found and twice she had escaped, but not without taking a wound or two. Besides the two arrows at her back, a long gash ran from her shoulder to her elbow, another smaller cut at her side. She thought she could not go much farther; it seemed her lungs burned fiery as she gasped for breath, and her legs trembled with the effort. Her arm was useless now, her sword dragging along the forest floor, an easy trail for the knights to follow if they happen upon it. She thought she must likely stand and fight, and be dragged back to the castle, only to die a fiery, dishonorable death.

No!, she thought, stumbling, her weary legs tripping on a spreading root. She grunted a curse and clambered to her feet.

She waited there, listening to the clamor about her, no longer able to run. She would face her enemies, face them not as a cowardly criminal, but as one of them, a knight who did not fear death, but welcomed it. To die as a knight and in battle was the highest honor.

It is a good night to die.

She leaned against a tree, the torches of one patrol drawing near as they found the trail she had carved onto the earth. They soon came through the trees, and she welcomed them with a smile.


"It is as Mustadio says," stated Malak. "It's too risky to travel through this forest undetected with a big group as ours."

"Then what do you suggest?" Raizen inquired.

"To split up and meet at Bariaus Valley. I can see no other way."

"What I would like to know is why there are so many patrols about," Beowulf wondered aloud. "It seems unnecessary to send this many knights for one prisoner."

"From what I overheard from the knights' conversations," Jovel said, "the fugitive is a prized prisoner of the Cardinal's."

"The Cardinal?" Beowulf stared at him in disbelief. "I never heard a Cardinal being appointed since the death of Draclau."

"Perhaps his appointment was made in secret, lest another attempt is made on the Cardinal's life," Delita remarked. "It would only make sense that they would make such a precaution."

"If the escapee is a prized prisoner of the Cardinal's, then it would explain why there are so many knights on patrol," the former Temple Knight mused.

Just then Wolfen returned, his face a mask of worry. "Ramza, you should come and take a look at what I've found," he said in a rush.

Ramza nodded and made to follow the Tenaktwan, ordering the others to stay, but Delita would have none of it. "I'm going with you!" he insisted. "I'm curious to see what Wolfen has found."

"And I." Ramia stepped forward much to the group's surprise. "I don't know how, but I feel I must go with you."

"Four is enough to travel unnoticed," Orlandu said before any more volunteered to follow. "We will wait here."

Ramza agreed with the old knight's wisdom. He then urged Wolfen to lead them, following him through the brush.

"Look!" he exclaimed when they came to a part of the forest that seemed to be teeming with patrols, pointing to a broken arrow shaft. "And there!" A deep gouge snaked its way along the forest floor, as if something was being dragged.

Ramza knelt down and picked up the shaft, studying it.

"Should we follow the trail?" Delita asked him, his eyes following the scrape along the earth, which disappeared into the trees beyond.

"Yes." Ramza stood up and threw the shaft to the side. He then took the lead, drawing his swords when the sound of fighting reached their ears.

"It's close," Ramia whispered. "It seemed they have found their prisoner."

"Well, a prisoner of the Church is most likely to be on our side, no?" Delita wondered.

Ramia shrugged. "I suppose so."

"It's but a small group," Wolfen, who had went ahead to investigate the uproar, reported, "Eight or nine knights."

"For one prisoner?" Delita growled in disapproval. "That hardly seems fair."

"Since when did the Church act on fairness when it comes to their enemies?" Ramza muttered darkly. "Stand ready. We will help this person and teach the Church a lesson on fairness."


Agrias watched her enemies, as they spread about her like ravening wolves through the timber, closing in on her. Two already lied dead at her feet, a couple of fools who had underestimated her strength.

But that strength was waning, her vision blurring, her teeth clenching against the pain.

"Surrender!" one of the knights demanded. "This fight is unnecessary. Just return with us to the castle and we'll see that you're taken care of."

Agrias closed her eyes, seeming to concede to the knight's demands. Please give me strength, she prayed, not knowing to which deity she prayed to as she summoned that holy power that had been gifted to her a long time ago. And it hurt. It's been a while since she called on that power, forgetting that it drew on both the caster's strength and spirit. She nearly swooned, her strength failing, but she maintained a tight grip on her sword, the blade dimly glowing.

As she mouthed the incantation, a voice spoke it for her at the same time: "Life is short… Bury! Steady Sword!"

Agrias opened her eyes in time to see blocks of ice fall upon two of her enemies. The knights cried out in confusion at the ambush as four shadows darted among the trees. She watched in shock as one knight fell, a shaft embedded in his chest, wondering who her rescuers were as they dispatched all of the knights.

"You think they took the lesson to heart?" she heard one jest.

"More like to their grave," another replied.

"What's done is done," a third voice joined in. "Now let's see to who we saved, eh?"

Agrias was unsure of her rescuers, as they came forward. In the poor light, she could not make their expressions, therefore hesitant of their intentions, raising her sword threateningly.

"Mama!" one of the figures suddenly shouted, rushing forward.

Even in the weak light, Ramia recognized her mother, who fell into her arms, her strength finally spent as she closed her eyes in relief. "Mama! Mama!" Ramia continued to cry, lowering Agrias to the ground and cradling her head.

Ramza looked down in sympathy as he studied the shafts protruding from her back. One was lodged in her shoulder and the other jutted from her hip, above the waist. They weren't fatal shots, but with the gashes on her arm and side, she was bleeding her life away.

"Please hold on, Mama," he heard Ramia whisper. Then to his surprise, she turned to look at him, her cheeks streaked with tears. "Help her!" she urged him.

Ramza knelt down and gazed at her. "Do you trust me now, Ramia?"

"I trust you to save her life," was her choked response.

Ramza nodded. He then laid a hand over Agrias' heart. "Take my hand, Ramia," he instructed the Holy Knight, holding his other hand to her. "Our strength together will become her strength enough to sustain her until we can tend to her wounds safely." Ramia took his hand, and immediately he could feel her will for her mother to live.

Live, Agrias, he prayed, closing his eyes in concentration as he transferred both his and Ramia's vigor into Agrias, her body slightly glowing, minor cuts and bruises healing.

Ramza gasped when it was over, a little spent. "Are you all right?" he asked Ramia, who seemed as faint as he.

She shook her head. "Don't worry about me. Mama, is she…?"

"She'll live," Ramza replied. "I'll make sure of it." Recovered now, he lifted Agrias in his arms and turned to Delita and Wolfen. "The noise we made will likely bring more knights around this area. We'd best return to the others."

They agreed, following Wolfen through the trees, and all the while only one thought went through Ramza's mind:

Live, Agrias! You must live!

Translation Notes:

-sama: an honorific
yame: stop, halt