Shade: **squinting at a book, turning it sideways, upside down, etc. as she
struggles to make sense of it** Hmmm. "J'ai un petit probleme au visage
depuis ce matin." **blinks at page**
Garren: **looking over her shoulder** You still haven't given up on that?
Shade: It's supposed to be funny! I know it's supposed to be funny! But for some reason it loses all of the humor in the translation!
Garren: Maybe it would help if your french vocabulary consisted of more than 'fromage' and 'Je vie dans la boit?' Kind of pathetic, if you ask me.
Shade: Hey, I LIKE that box, thank you very much!
O.O My friend just recently came back from Quebec, with much manga and posters to fuel my Kenshin obsession. Only problem is, the manga is in french. I have the translations on my computer so I know what it should mean, but the story sort of loses the effect while I'm trying to decide whether they're talking about fighting or fermented fish. -_-; Oh well, I wanted it mostly for the pictures anyhow. I just wish that whenever I saw the pictures of Jin'eh's smile I wouldn't get the urge to use them as a xylophone. @_@
LewsTherin: ^_______^ Actually, The Belgariad and the Mallorian are my two favorite book series of all time, and I'm currently neck-deep in the Wheel of Time series. Love'em all to death. Especially Garion, Rand, Mat, and Silk. As for Ragnarok, seeing as he plays a significant role in the storyline, I wanted him to have personality, creature of mass destruction or no. I think that he turned out pretty well. **feeds Ark a random cultist** He's such a good boy.
Dart's POV:
Tightening my grip on the front of the man's robes I shoved him hard against the wall of the alley, ignoring his squeal of pain and surprise. "I'll ask you nicely one more time," I gritted, keeping my voice low enough that it wouldn't carry past his ears. "When did Ayrel leave, and where were they going?"
"I already told you," the cultist rasped, "I don't know that! Only the high priest knows- arrgh!" He groaned as I leaned against him, driving my elbow into his chest. "I mean, if anyone-arrghhhhh! All right! They left yesterday night, just after the forth invocation. That's all I know, I swear!"
/Ark?/
//Keep pressing him. He knows more than he's letting on// Ragnarok said firmly.
"I don't believe you." I told the quaking man flatly. With another groan, he rolled his eyes towards the mouth of the alley and emitted a rasping yell that died in his throat as I increased the pressure on his windpipe. I wasn't really all that worried about being interrupted: the pedestrians on the street continued about their business, each of them making a point not to look into the alley. Things of this sort were frequent in Lohan, and most of the city's residents knew by instinct, if not experience, that it was better not to involve themselves in other people's affairs. "This is your last chance. Where did they go?" I lifted my knee slightly and pulled a narrow dagger from the top of my boot. Flipping it around on my palm experimentally, I bounced the wire bound hilt into my palm and grasped it tightly.
Shutting his eyes, the acolyte moaned again. "If I tell you, will you promise to let me go?"
"Promise."
"She went e-east!" He stammered, stuttering over the words in his haste to get them out of his mouth. "I-I think that Lord Mathis mentioned something about 'Vista'. It, uh, I think it's a village near that ancient shrine up in the mountains."
/Sound good?/
//Good enough// Ark grumbled, sounding displeased in spite of his words. I ignored him; more than likely he had been hoping that the Acolyte would have given me a reason to use my knife.
Releasing my hold on the man's collar, I let him slump to the ground as I slipped my knife back into my boot. Before he could bolt, however, I caught his shoulder in a light grip. "By the way, who was it that you said you were aide to?"
"His Grace Martin Thyne, head of the temple." He choked out, plainly terrified.
"Perfect." Placing one hand on either side of his head on his temples, I half-smiled. "We have to thank you, mister. You've been of great help to us." Opening my mind and relaxing all mental boundaries I usually kept between my partner and myself, I felt the hair rise on my arms as Ark's magic flickered through my body.
Between my hands the acolyte stiffened and then his eyes glazed over and his body went limp. He remained like this for perhaps a minute after I took my hands away, and then his head snapped back up again. Staring around the alleyway with dazedly confused eyes, he finally fixed his gaze unsteadily on me. "W-who are you?" He asked suspiciously, eyes wandering to the sword at my side briefly.
"Just a friend. You really should pick your taverns more carefully, mister. That barkeeper had you tossed out on the street the moment you passed out. If I hadn't been around, the thieves probably would have stripped you and left you stark naked in the middle of the street for the children to throw rocks at." I hooked both my thumbs into my belt. "How are you feeling?"
"Dizzy. Headache."
"Well, there's not much else you can expect, not after a bender like that." I replied cheerfully. Still smiling like a moron, I watched as his eyes lost focus for a moment as his brain latched onto the story I had just told him, registering it as the truth in the absence of a proper memory to go by. "I'd better be going. I mean, now that you're conscious, there's not much point in hanging around." Fishing a couple of coins out of my pocket, I dropped them on the stones at his feet. "Here, go find yourself a bucket of water and dunk your head in it a couple of times. That usually helps with the hangover." I started off down the alley, then on impulse stopped and looked back over my shoulder. "See you around, Bob."
//Bob?//
I shrugged as I stepped out the alley and back into the dusty, crowded street. /He needed a name. Otherwise, he'd probably spend the rest of his life as 'hey, you!'/
//That I understand, but why 'Bob'?//
/It has a certain ring to it, don't you think?/ I said expansively, side-stepping a merchant's cart loaded dangerously high with wrought iron pots.
The divine dragon made a sound of infinite disgust before returning to stony silence. I barked a laugh, drawing several nervous looks from the people crowded against me. Regaining my composure, I tugged on my belt, turning it so that the hilt of my sword was more evident. In spite of the baking summer heat, I still made a point of wearing my jacket as a means to cover up the dragoon spirits set into the belt dangling loosely from my waist. Having them stolen once was enough; I didn't want to have to repeat the experience a second time. Especially not with the cult's influence in Lohan as strong as it was right now.
Whatever good mood I had managed to maintain evaporated with the thought. It had been sixteen years since I had left Ulara, and I was still no closer to seizing Ayrel. And with a real Moon Child finally walking free in the world, the cult's following had never been so strong. With every year she walked free her influence spread and my marginal control over the situation decreased. In truth, my only real control over the situation lay in the cygnets scattered about Endiness. As long as those globes remained intact then there was no way possible that the spirit of the Virage Embryo could reunite with its body. But even this insurance policy had its faults; both Mathis and Asalla had known about the existence of the cygnets, and the location of at least one of them. Without a doubt they had guessed that there were more than just the one.
I clenched my hands into fists, then relaxed them. I had long since lost whatever qualms I had previously had about killing the daughter of an old friend. Things had progressed too far for me to have second thoughts on the matter. Sixteen years. Yes, matters were definitely getting out of hand.
//Such pleasant thoughts// Ark said, sounding amused. //Not of the sort that I would normally expect from you, but a refreshing change all of the same//
/Shut up/ I snapped, but I gave myself a mental shake. If my thoughts were morbid enough that Ark was making comments; it was a fair sign that I needed something to distract me. Jostled about by the mass of people milling around me, I cast my eyes around the marketplace. There was plenty to look at; with the midsummer festival going on, banners of bright striped cloth hung from every window and door. Here and there people had grouped about travelling minstrels whom stood atop stacked crates or stairs, telling stories with loud voices and animated movements, or playing joyful songs on flutes or fiddles. A hat or a box sat nearby each performer with tarnished gold and silver coins glinting in their depths. A surly-looking man clutching a knife or club while they kept a watchful eye on the crowd nearby almost always accompanied the hats. The minstrels may have been there to entertain the crowds, but when it came to the safety of their day's earnings they took no chances.
Aside from the minstrel's audiences, the crowd for the most part seemed to be heading in the same general direction. Keeping one hand rested on the pommel of my sword, I allowed my self to be caught up in the flow of people. In an ever-changing town like Lohan, there were only ever two things that drew crowds like this. And I was fairly certain that there were no public executions scheduled for today.
Traditions vary from town to town, but in Lohan there seems to only be two; the fast-paced, ever changing environment which in truth inhibits the possibility of ever forming new traditions, and the Hero Competition. Myself, I was amazed when I first discovered that it was still around after almost nine hundred years. But when you think about it, no matter how much civilization changes, there will probably always be a couple of muscle brained idiots willing to beat on each other in hopes of attaining glory and the prize money. With a couple of people who just enjoy the competition thrown in as well, of course.
//So I'm assuming that you fell into the 'muscle brained idiot' category, correct?//
/Shut up/
//And beaten in the final round. And by a wingly to boot//
/At least that wingly didn't manage to seal my soul into a chunk of stone/ I half muttered.
//What was that?//
/Nothing/ The arena came into view as we rounded the corner. It looked quite different from the first time I had seen it; eight hundred odd years and two wildfires had seen to that. Now much of the building was constructed of rough grey stone, with a large painted wooden sign depicting two men hacking at each other with axes hanging over the main entrance. Merchants hawking weapons and armor lined the avenue leading up to the arena, scanning the crowd hopefully for prospective customers. /Feel like watching a bit of it? That sign over there says that the finals are today/
//We still have to go to Vista, remember//
/We'll head there tonight, then/ Dropping a few gold pieces into a steel bound chest for admittance fees, I stepped into the queue waiting to get inside.
Despite the heat of the summer outdoors, the interior of the arena was cool and shady. The air smelled faintly of stale beer and unwashed bodies, mingling with the scent of hundreds of slow-burning tobacco pipes. The arena itself was more or less as I remembered it, although several extra rows of seating had been added. Seating myself on a rickety bench near the top row close to a group of young men and woman, I rifled through my coat pockets, looking for a cloth wrapped biscuit I'd stored there during my breakfast that morning.
//You aren't competing?// Ark asked, faintly surprised.
Finding the bundle of cloth, I smiled thinly as I started to unwrap it. /I'd spoil the competition/ I told him, recalling that Rose had told me the same thing when confronted with that particular question. No good; the biscuit was a crumbled mess. It must have been ruined during my scuffle with the acolyte back in the alley. I stared at it for a moment, then picked up one of the larger pieces and began to eat. Food was food after all, and I was hungry.
Fifteen minutes or so passed, with nothing more happening than the rest of the seats filling up. Once the benches were crowded enough that people were starting to have trouble breathing, a stout man with a ruddy face and a drooping handlebar mustache strode to the center of the ring, announcing the schedule for the afternoon's proceedings. The competition was considerably larger then when I had entered it last; apparently it had already been in progress for the past two days, slowly whittling down the original hundred entries down to a mere fourteen entries in the finals. The fighters, on their part, seemed to have sprung from every corner of Endiness. Men and even a few women from Rogue, Mille Seseau, Tiberoa, Serdio, and Illisa Bay, two winglies who refused to name their hometowns, and even one towering massively muscled man who I suspected might have a strain of Giganto blood running through his veins. The weapons used were every bit as varied as the people: swords, axes, bows, spears and maces, almost every weapon I could think of or name bristled from the finalists and their beaten opponents seated on benches around the lip of the arena.
One fighter in particular caught my attention, though. Standing at least a head taller then most of the competitors, he was a young man in his mid- twenties with dark brown hair that hung down raggedly around his ears; it looked as though he had hacked it off with a knife. Unlike most of the competitors, who appeared to be mercenaries or soldiers, he was dressed plainly in clothes not that different from those of the commoners. That was strange; the entry fee had grown high enough over the years that most commoners couldn't afford to enter. The only thing about his appearance that set him apart from the commoners was the massive, five and a half-foot bastard sword that he used in combat.
I had seen better swordsman, for sure, but he was skilled; anyone with half a brain could tell that. Unlike most of those who used double handed swords like his, he used it as a proper sword rather than a bladed cudgel. His only real disadvantages were his lack of armor and the weapon's great weight. Probably not the best of combinations, but he managed to avoid getting himself maimed. As the matches progressed so did he, deftly taking out each opponent under the two-minute time limit. When the final round arrived, I wasn't surprised to see that the man was one of the two fighters. The other was the half-giganto I had noted fighting in the earlier rounds.
As the two of them squared off in the middle of the ring, Ark commented lazily //Dart, people are staring at you//
/Quiet/ I muttered, not fully registering what he had just said. /I'm trying to watch this/
The dragon sighed, then tried again. //Dart, your ass is glowing//
/What?!/ I snapped upright, and glanced behind me. /Ha ha. Very funny/ I replied, but my voice was faint. A bright red glow was showing though my jacket, just below my hip. Getting hurriedly to my feet and shooting glares at the few whom had been staring at the odd sight, I slipped from the stands and ducked into the shadows next to the registration booth. Giving myself a moment to let my breathing slow back to normal again, I pushed back my coat and clicked the red -eye spirit from its holder on the carrier belt. It was glowing violently, resonating in time with something unseen. Shooting nervous glances up at the stands nearby, I closed my fingers tightly around it, trying to mask the glow. Pointless, because the stone's light flared up in rays between the cracks in my fingers. Cursing, I shoved my hand into the pocket. /Can't you do anything about the glowing?/
//Not likely. Even if there was a way that I could, you would have an easier time talking to Rythl than I// The corner of my mouth twitched in the backwash of Ark's annoyance. //He always enjoyed playing games with me. No, the spirit will probably resonate for as long as the prospective dragoon is nearby//
/Who, though?/ With the spirit safely out of sight, I turned slightly so that I could watch the rest of the fight. /One of them?/
//Possibly. It could be one of the spectators, for all that we know//
I remained silent. The swordsman was slowly advancing across the ring, blade held at the ready. His opponent was down, I realized, bleeding profusely from a gash on his shoulder. The man's weapon, a heavy steel bound cudgel about a meter long, lay broken in half in the arena dust a couple of paces away. Immediately regretting that I had had to leave the stands, I wedged myself in between a pair of howling spectators at the lip of the ring just in time to see the half-giganto grab a fistful of sand and fling it into the smaller man's eyes.
Instinctively clutching at his eyes the man stumbled backward, still managing to keep a hold of his bastard sword with one hand. The half- giganto followed after him, egged on by the cheering of the audience, stepping on the blade of the sword with one foot. When his opponent lurched forward as the sword was torn from his grasp, he reached out with both hands and seized him. Lifting him over his head, the brute threw him bodily against the far wall of the ring. The smaller man lay still, and for a moment the crowd held its collective breath. A moment later he was back on his feet, however, wiping away the stream of blood that was pouring from his lip. Now that I was closer I could clearly see the three long scars running down the left side of his face from his hairline almost to his jaw. Whatever had happened to him in the past, he was certainly no stranger to pain and fighting.
Taking the bastard sword and burying it half its length in the arena floor, the half-giganto cracked his knuckles ominously. With both weapons now out of commission, things were starting to look less like an organized fight and more like a street brawl. With blood from his shoulder dripping off his elbow and leaving a little splatter trail on the ground behind him as he walked, the larger man prowled across the ring toward his rival, one fist drawn back and ready to strike.
Somewhere from within the judge's booth someone had started a thirty-second countdown in a loud, booming voice. Within moments the crowd had taken up the call, counting off the last seconds of the match.
Seemingly galvanized into action by the closing time window, the half- giganto lunged at his opponent, swinging hard with both fists, once, twice, three times. The swordsman dodged all three, ducking under the first two, then ducking and moving in close on the third. Before the other man could manage to strike at him with his fists again, the scar-faced man moved quickly, hitting him hard twice in the bulge of muscle just above his knee with his shinbone. He must have struck a nerve, for the big man's legs buckled and collapsed from underneath him no sooner than the second blow was delivered. He fell to the ground with a roar just as the crowd had reached the final ten seconds of their countdown.
When it became clear that the fallen man was unable to stand again, the announcer jumped out of the judge's booth and into the arena, waving a red flag back and forth to signify the end of the match. Grabbing the exhausted swordsman's arm, he hoisted it into the air. "Ladies and gentlemen! I have the honor to present to you Zion Damnen, your tournament champion and the strongest man in Endiness!"
As the crowd's cheers grew to a deafening roar I turned away and started back towards the entrance. The red-eye spirit was now growing so warm that my fingers were starting to sweat inside my pocket. At least I was fairly certain that we had found whom the spirit was reacting to. /What now?/
//We get out of here before we get caught in the crowd. Then we wait until this Zion guy leaves and we follow and keep an eye on him. If his loyalties appear to be in the right place, then we can think about what we'll do next//
/What do you mean by that?/ I asked, reaching the exit. Long shadows were stretching across the street as the sun slowly sunk below the city walls; the contest had taken up most of the afternoon, by the looks of it.
//Face it, Dart. Rythl isn't exactly the pickiest when he chooses his partners. He chose you even before your father was dead, and then chose to return to him at a rather inconvenient moment. And then he went and allowed himself to be used by that idiot Zen. He could just be desperate to have some sort of contact with the world again// He paused, reflecting on his own words. //I say that we wait. If we see any reason that Endiness may need more than one dragoon again, then we can reconsider. Until then, we'll hold tight to the spirits//
/True/ Stepping back into a niche in the stone wall, I waited patiently as the packed arena gradually cleared out with clusters of people exiting in groups of ten or fifteen. Competitors filtered out at intervals, some looking bruised, most looking discouraged. Towards the end of the queue I even caught sight of the half-giganto hurrying out into the street with a face like a thundercloud, closely followed by a group of brutish-looking young men who I decided must be his hangers-on. The shadows on the street lengthened, then disappeared as the sun sunk out of sight over the horizon. The blue grey light of dusk moved in to replace it, drawing some of the day's heat out of the air, but not nearly enough. It would be yet another hot, breathless night within the city walls; light breezes never seemed to make their way into the streets. Further down the road the shop vendors had begun to pack up their wares and make their way back to the inns where they made their lodgings. One or two of them shot a suspicious glance in my direction, but most of them hurried away, eager to get off of the streets before the thieves came out in full force.
Shortly after the bell tower in a nearby inn tolled the tenth hour, Zion slipped out of the arena, covered in a light cloak although the foot long hilt and broad cross trees of his sword protruding over his left shoulder were much in evidence. I remained still as he passed, hoping that my coat would cover the telltale glint of moonlight on my sword blade. He passed without incident though, walking briskly with his eyes flickering back and forth, keeping an eye on the shadows on either side of him. I waited until he was about halfway down the street before following at a safe distance.
Surprisingly, none of the thieves lurking in the shadows or hiding in the alleyways made an effort to jump him as he passed. The heavy sword strapped across his back seemed to dissuade any thought of going after the prize money that he was probably carrying somewhere on his person. I stalked after him, my long knife held ready in hand. Damnen may have had the grandiose sounding title of "Strongest Man in Endiness" as a barrier between him and the thieves, but I had no such advantages. More than once I had to change some idiot's mind about trying to mug me; usually all that this would take was a couple of sharp blows, but once I did have to nick the offender fairly deep with my knife before he cut and ran. Once or twice during these little detours I lost sight of my quarry, but by the time I finally reached the city gates I could just make out his silhouette against the grassy plains, following the hard packed road southward in the direction of Kazas.
/Heading home, do you think?/ I asked, not bothering to suppress a grin as a night breeze stirred a few errant strands of hair. The wind was coming in off the ocean, some four miles to the west. Being outside the city walls beat being cooped up in an inn, in more ways than one.
//Maybe. I think he's just trying to put as much distance between himself and Lohan before he stops for the night. They must've awarded him with a fair bit of money if he's going through all of this trouble to keep it safe// Ark remarked as a dark smudge of forest appeared on the horizon.
"I wish Garren were here," I muttered aloud, half to myself. "It would save some walking if we could just warp from one end of the plains to the other." Over the last four years I had only seen Garren once, and that had been more by chance than anyone else. He had been spending his time lately in the island village of Rogue, one of the few places in the world that hadn't changed drastically over the centuries. He had always been fascinated by what I had told him of the Rogue School Martial Arts, so when Ayrel's flight took her in the direction of the Broken Islands, I found myself leaving him behind after we had headed her off. Ragnarok hadn't been pleased with his decision, but in the end had been won over by Garren's promises of how much more powerful he would be after several years of training. In truth several years might not teach him as much as he believed, but if he thought it might give him an edge in combat then I was all for it.
//Walking won't hurt you. You've been flying too much lately anyhow//
/This, coming from a dragon?/
//You know what I mean//
It was almost an hour later when we finally reached the first few trees on the outskirts of the forest. Tall birches, bent on odd angles from years of growing in the high winds that normally swept the plains, were scattered in a thin curtain near the road and casting long shadows in the moonlight. Zion never slowed his pace as he strode along the beaten track. Pausing just past the first tree, I frowned. /I don't think we should bother going much further. It's going to be too difficult to follow him in there without him noticing/ I nodded my head toward the woodlands. /We'll be bound to run into beasts in there, and the sound of a battle will catch his attention/
//Whatever. We need to be heading to Vista soon anyhow//
I nodded, and turned to head back out onto the plains. Before I had gone a dozen paces, however, a distant voice from behind me pulled me up short.
"Well, look who we have here. Bit late to be out for a stroll, don't you think." A deep voice like distant thunder rumbled.
"Shove it, Cyclos, and get out of my way. Unless you want me to cut your head in two; there isn't a board of judges prohibiting us from doing anything of the sort now." The second voice was a baritone, though considerably higher than the first speaker was.
"So right you are. Zion, wasn't it?" The leer that must have been on the man's face was almost audible.
Muttering curses to myself I left the path and doubled back, slipping from tree to tree in the darkness. On the road someone had lit a torch, burning like a beacon in the blackness. Using that as I guide, I was able to draw to within twenty paces of the speakers before I was forced to halt motionless behind a low bush. Peering through the branches, I bit down on my lip. /Damn it/
Zion had his sword unsheathed now and was gripping it tightly in both hands. Six men had closed in on him in a circle; most of them armed with long, nine-foot pikes. The half-giganto stood prominent among them, passing a rough wooden cudgel the size of a man's leg from hand to hand. "Well Zion, if you don't want to hand over the gold, then we're going to have to take it from you."
"You're welcome to try," Zion shot back, as though it were just him and the man he had called Cyclos rather than a six on one fight.
Snarling an order in a harsh dialect that I didn't recognize, Cyclos lunged forward swinging his club wildly. The pikemen followed suit; metal tips of their weapons gleaming in the light of the torch someone had dropped in the road behind them.
Rushing to meet the charge of the nearest mercenary, Zion dropped to one knee at the last moment so that the long hooked spearhead passed harmlessly over his head. Springing forward from the crouch with his sword held out before him, the young man caught the pikeman high in the chest. Almost in the same movement he wrenched the blade around, freeing the weapon and deflecting a stab from the second pike as he did so. Swinging the sword ponderously up over his head, he brought it down in a vertical blow aiming for the spear's owner. The man was able to dodge to one side in time -but his fellow standing behind him wasn't so lucky. Jerking the blade free, he just had time to raise it before the remaining four fell upon him.
/They're going to crush him/ I said grimly, freeing my sword from my belt. /He doesn't have room to use that bastard sword/
There's nothing honorable about stabbing your opponent in the back, but over the years I've been forced to do so many things contrary to the sort that I'm amazed that I still remember the meaning of the word. The first two went down before they could cry out, and when the third twisted to see what the threat was he caught the flat of my blade full in the face. As he dropped to the ground, unconscious with blood fountaining from his crushed nose, I took a few steps back as Cyclos half-turned to face me. As he did so I was able to catch a glimpse of Zion sprawled out on the ground, bleeding profusely from several pike slashes.
It appeared that Cyclos' club had been shorn in half again, for now he was holding Zion's bastard sword easily in one hand. With the hilt almost disappearing in his grip, the enormous weapon appeared dwarfed by its new user. Cyclos smiled at me grimly, swinging his new weapon back and forth in front of him in a slow arc. "Rescue party, huh? Little late for that, don't you think?" Stepping forward, he swung the sword like a club, meaning to bring the bladed edge down upon my head. A small sidestep was all that it took to avoid the blow, but I added a quick counter strike to his face before stepping away. As he came again I pivoted on my heel and ducked under the whistling blade, driving my blade into the joint of his hip. I missed by a fraction, but it still had close enough the desired effect.
Howling in pain Cyclos stumbled backwards even as his leg buckled and started to give out, but not before he dropped the sword and caught my neck in a death grip. Choking, I started to raise my sword for a would-be killing blow to the throat, but there was no need. Cyclos lurched forward, and for a moment we both stared dumbly at the pike head protruding from his chest. Then with a gurgling sigh he keeled over backwards, snapping off the haft of the spear sticking out of his back as he fell.
Peeling away the dead man's fingers from my windpipe, I rose somewhat unsteadily to my feet. Down the road the dropped torch was beginning to gutter out; retrieving it, I swung it around in the air a few times until it had flared back into life. It did little for illumination, but at least I could see clearly what was around me. Stepping carefully over the bodies of the fallen, I crouched next to Zion who had sunk back to the ground, still clutching the haft of the pike. Sticking the brand into the ground so that my hands were free, I began to rummage through my coat pockets. "You're a mess, no mistake."
It was the truth. Pike slashes crisscrossed his body, both deep and shallow alike and it looked to me as though Cyclos had managed to get in a few good blows to his right side before his club was ruined. Zion's arm hung on an unnatural angle probably broken in one or two places and covered almost entirely with a large bruise that was already turning an ugly deep purple color. Finding the healing potion I had been looking for I started to pour it over his arm, watching critically until it started to mend before moving on. Zion watched blearily as I tended to the pike wounds, going through the remainder of the first bottle and a second one as well. Finally, when the bones of his arm had finished knitting together and the gashes had sealed, he voiced the question that undoubtedly had been on his mind the whole time.
"Who are you?"
I hesitated before answering. "Call me a fan, of sorts. Name's Ry."
"Ry, huh? Well, I owe you one." Getting to his feet, he flexed his arm experimentally before picking up his sword from where it lay on the ground. Frowning at the bloody blade, he wiped it clean on Cyclos' shirt. "If I had been thinking, I would have realized that this idiot would probably be waiting for me somewhere along the road." Sheathing his sword, he glanced suspiciously at me. "Any particular reason why you were following me? Don't deny it; I'm positive that I saw you at least twice coming out of the city."
"I should have known that you would. I didn't have the money to stay in an inn tonight, but I stayed in town to watch the competition anyway. I'm heading up to the mountains by a route a little to the east of here." I shrugged, trying to put on an innocent face. "I just happened to run into you, that's all."
I wasn't sure how convinced the man was, but I got to my feet and pulled the torch out of the ground. Ever since the clamor from the fight had died down I had been hearing animals in the woods nearby; sure enough, several horses had been tethered to the trunks of trees nearby. This must have been how the ambushers had been able to get so far ahead of Zion without him noticing. Choosing one particularly large animal out of the six that I suspected had belonged to Cyclos; I checked the saddle girth and readjusted the stirrups. I would be able to reach Vista much faster on horseback. Untying the reins, I led him out onto the road where Zion was waiting. "They have some horses back there in the trees," I told him, handing over the torch. "If you still don't want to go back to Lohan, you could probably be in Kazas by noon tomorrow if you ride hard." Slipping one foot into the stirrup, I bounced around for a moment on the ball of my other foot before managing to lever myself up into the saddle. The horse seemed even larger once I was on his back, if possible. I hoped that his size was of some indication of his endurance; if it were, he could probably run all day without tiring overmuch.
Zion nodded his thanks and started back into the trees. Turning my mount around, I glanced down at the side of my jacket. In spite of having being wrapped in a thick cloth and being stored in an interior pocket, the spirit was still flaring so brightly it was a wonder that Zion hadn't noticed it. Heeling the horse into a trot, I moved out of the trees and back onto the grasslands where I allowed the animal to move into a lumbering canter. /It's him/ I said needlessly.
//Without a doubt//
/So what now?/
//We go after Ayrel// He said simply. //If we fail this time, then we can track him down again and find out a little bit more about him//
/Dragoons are supposed to appear when the world's facing a crisis, right? So why didn't the spirits start reacting to people sixteen years ago?/
//How am I supposed to know?// Ark asked impatiently. //Do I look like the creator?//
/No, you just act like it/ Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach, I concentrated on the ride ahead. Whatever this impending crisis was, it would become all to clear soon enough.
Shade: **tug-o-warring with Dart over a box of incense matches**
Another chapter over with. And moderately on time too! **victory dances**
Garren: **looking over her shoulder** You still haven't given up on that?
Shade: It's supposed to be funny! I know it's supposed to be funny! But for some reason it loses all of the humor in the translation!
Garren: Maybe it would help if your french vocabulary consisted of more than 'fromage' and 'Je vie dans la boit?' Kind of pathetic, if you ask me.
Shade: Hey, I LIKE that box, thank you very much!
O.O My friend just recently came back from Quebec, with much manga and posters to fuel my Kenshin obsession. Only problem is, the manga is in french. I have the translations on my computer so I know what it should mean, but the story sort of loses the effect while I'm trying to decide whether they're talking about fighting or fermented fish. -_-; Oh well, I wanted it mostly for the pictures anyhow. I just wish that whenever I saw the pictures of Jin'eh's smile I wouldn't get the urge to use them as a xylophone. @_@
LewsTherin: ^_______^ Actually, The Belgariad and the Mallorian are my two favorite book series of all time, and I'm currently neck-deep in the Wheel of Time series. Love'em all to death. Especially Garion, Rand, Mat, and Silk. As for Ragnarok, seeing as he plays a significant role in the storyline, I wanted him to have personality, creature of mass destruction or no. I think that he turned out pretty well. **feeds Ark a random cultist** He's such a good boy.
Dart's POV:
Tightening my grip on the front of the man's robes I shoved him hard against the wall of the alley, ignoring his squeal of pain and surprise. "I'll ask you nicely one more time," I gritted, keeping my voice low enough that it wouldn't carry past his ears. "When did Ayrel leave, and where were they going?"
"I already told you," the cultist rasped, "I don't know that! Only the high priest knows- arrgh!" He groaned as I leaned against him, driving my elbow into his chest. "I mean, if anyone-arrghhhhh! All right! They left yesterday night, just after the forth invocation. That's all I know, I swear!"
/Ark?/
//Keep pressing him. He knows more than he's letting on// Ragnarok said firmly.
"I don't believe you." I told the quaking man flatly. With another groan, he rolled his eyes towards the mouth of the alley and emitted a rasping yell that died in his throat as I increased the pressure on his windpipe. I wasn't really all that worried about being interrupted: the pedestrians on the street continued about their business, each of them making a point not to look into the alley. Things of this sort were frequent in Lohan, and most of the city's residents knew by instinct, if not experience, that it was better not to involve themselves in other people's affairs. "This is your last chance. Where did they go?" I lifted my knee slightly and pulled a narrow dagger from the top of my boot. Flipping it around on my palm experimentally, I bounced the wire bound hilt into my palm and grasped it tightly.
Shutting his eyes, the acolyte moaned again. "If I tell you, will you promise to let me go?"
"Promise."
"She went e-east!" He stammered, stuttering over the words in his haste to get them out of his mouth. "I-I think that Lord Mathis mentioned something about 'Vista'. It, uh, I think it's a village near that ancient shrine up in the mountains."
/Sound good?/
//Good enough// Ark grumbled, sounding displeased in spite of his words. I ignored him; more than likely he had been hoping that the Acolyte would have given me a reason to use my knife.
Releasing my hold on the man's collar, I let him slump to the ground as I slipped my knife back into my boot. Before he could bolt, however, I caught his shoulder in a light grip. "By the way, who was it that you said you were aide to?"
"His Grace Martin Thyne, head of the temple." He choked out, plainly terrified.
"Perfect." Placing one hand on either side of his head on his temples, I half-smiled. "We have to thank you, mister. You've been of great help to us." Opening my mind and relaxing all mental boundaries I usually kept between my partner and myself, I felt the hair rise on my arms as Ark's magic flickered through my body.
Between my hands the acolyte stiffened and then his eyes glazed over and his body went limp. He remained like this for perhaps a minute after I took my hands away, and then his head snapped back up again. Staring around the alleyway with dazedly confused eyes, he finally fixed his gaze unsteadily on me. "W-who are you?" He asked suspiciously, eyes wandering to the sword at my side briefly.
"Just a friend. You really should pick your taverns more carefully, mister. That barkeeper had you tossed out on the street the moment you passed out. If I hadn't been around, the thieves probably would have stripped you and left you stark naked in the middle of the street for the children to throw rocks at." I hooked both my thumbs into my belt. "How are you feeling?"
"Dizzy. Headache."
"Well, there's not much else you can expect, not after a bender like that." I replied cheerfully. Still smiling like a moron, I watched as his eyes lost focus for a moment as his brain latched onto the story I had just told him, registering it as the truth in the absence of a proper memory to go by. "I'd better be going. I mean, now that you're conscious, there's not much point in hanging around." Fishing a couple of coins out of my pocket, I dropped them on the stones at his feet. "Here, go find yourself a bucket of water and dunk your head in it a couple of times. That usually helps with the hangover." I started off down the alley, then on impulse stopped and looked back over my shoulder. "See you around, Bob."
//Bob?//
I shrugged as I stepped out the alley and back into the dusty, crowded street. /He needed a name. Otherwise, he'd probably spend the rest of his life as 'hey, you!'/
//That I understand, but why 'Bob'?//
/It has a certain ring to it, don't you think?/ I said expansively, side-stepping a merchant's cart loaded dangerously high with wrought iron pots.
The divine dragon made a sound of infinite disgust before returning to stony silence. I barked a laugh, drawing several nervous looks from the people crowded against me. Regaining my composure, I tugged on my belt, turning it so that the hilt of my sword was more evident. In spite of the baking summer heat, I still made a point of wearing my jacket as a means to cover up the dragoon spirits set into the belt dangling loosely from my waist. Having them stolen once was enough; I didn't want to have to repeat the experience a second time. Especially not with the cult's influence in Lohan as strong as it was right now.
Whatever good mood I had managed to maintain evaporated with the thought. It had been sixteen years since I had left Ulara, and I was still no closer to seizing Ayrel. And with a real Moon Child finally walking free in the world, the cult's following had never been so strong. With every year she walked free her influence spread and my marginal control over the situation decreased. In truth, my only real control over the situation lay in the cygnets scattered about Endiness. As long as those globes remained intact then there was no way possible that the spirit of the Virage Embryo could reunite with its body. But even this insurance policy had its faults; both Mathis and Asalla had known about the existence of the cygnets, and the location of at least one of them. Without a doubt they had guessed that there were more than just the one.
I clenched my hands into fists, then relaxed them. I had long since lost whatever qualms I had previously had about killing the daughter of an old friend. Things had progressed too far for me to have second thoughts on the matter. Sixteen years. Yes, matters were definitely getting out of hand.
//Such pleasant thoughts// Ark said, sounding amused. //Not of the sort that I would normally expect from you, but a refreshing change all of the same//
/Shut up/ I snapped, but I gave myself a mental shake. If my thoughts were morbid enough that Ark was making comments; it was a fair sign that I needed something to distract me. Jostled about by the mass of people milling around me, I cast my eyes around the marketplace. There was plenty to look at; with the midsummer festival going on, banners of bright striped cloth hung from every window and door. Here and there people had grouped about travelling minstrels whom stood atop stacked crates or stairs, telling stories with loud voices and animated movements, or playing joyful songs on flutes or fiddles. A hat or a box sat nearby each performer with tarnished gold and silver coins glinting in their depths. A surly-looking man clutching a knife or club while they kept a watchful eye on the crowd nearby almost always accompanied the hats. The minstrels may have been there to entertain the crowds, but when it came to the safety of their day's earnings they took no chances.
Aside from the minstrel's audiences, the crowd for the most part seemed to be heading in the same general direction. Keeping one hand rested on the pommel of my sword, I allowed my self to be caught up in the flow of people. In an ever-changing town like Lohan, there were only ever two things that drew crowds like this. And I was fairly certain that there were no public executions scheduled for today.
Traditions vary from town to town, but in Lohan there seems to only be two; the fast-paced, ever changing environment which in truth inhibits the possibility of ever forming new traditions, and the Hero Competition. Myself, I was amazed when I first discovered that it was still around after almost nine hundred years. But when you think about it, no matter how much civilization changes, there will probably always be a couple of muscle brained idiots willing to beat on each other in hopes of attaining glory and the prize money. With a couple of people who just enjoy the competition thrown in as well, of course.
//So I'm assuming that you fell into the 'muscle brained idiot' category, correct?//
/Shut up/
//And beaten in the final round. And by a wingly to boot//
/At least that wingly didn't manage to seal my soul into a chunk of stone/ I half muttered.
//What was that?//
/Nothing/ The arena came into view as we rounded the corner. It looked quite different from the first time I had seen it; eight hundred odd years and two wildfires had seen to that. Now much of the building was constructed of rough grey stone, with a large painted wooden sign depicting two men hacking at each other with axes hanging over the main entrance. Merchants hawking weapons and armor lined the avenue leading up to the arena, scanning the crowd hopefully for prospective customers. /Feel like watching a bit of it? That sign over there says that the finals are today/
//We still have to go to Vista, remember//
/We'll head there tonight, then/ Dropping a few gold pieces into a steel bound chest for admittance fees, I stepped into the queue waiting to get inside.
Despite the heat of the summer outdoors, the interior of the arena was cool and shady. The air smelled faintly of stale beer and unwashed bodies, mingling with the scent of hundreds of slow-burning tobacco pipes. The arena itself was more or less as I remembered it, although several extra rows of seating had been added. Seating myself on a rickety bench near the top row close to a group of young men and woman, I rifled through my coat pockets, looking for a cloth wrapped biscuit I'd stored there during my breakfast that morning.
//You aren't competing?// Ark asked, faintly surprised.
Finding the bundle of cloth, I smiled thinly as I started to unwrap it. /I'd spoil the competition/ I told him, recalling that Rose had told me the same thing when confronted with that particular question. No good; the biscuit was a crumbled mess. It must have been ruined during my scuffle with the acolyte back in the alley. I stared at it for a moment, then picked up one of the larger pieces and began to eat. Food was food after all, and I was hungry.
Fifteen minutes or so passed, with nothing more happening than the rest of the seats filling up. Once the benches were crowded enough that people were starting to have trouble breathing, a stout man with a ruddy face and a drooping handlebar mustache strode to the center of the ring, announcing the schedule for the afternoon's proceedings. The competition was considerably larger then when I had entered it last; apparently it had already been in progress for the past two days, slowly whittling down the original hundred entries down to a mere fourteen entries in the finals. The fighters, on their part, seemed to have sprung from every corner of Endiness. Men and even a few women from Rogue, Mille Seseau, Tiberoa, Serdio, and Illisa Bay, two winglies who refused to name their hometowns, and even one towering massively muscled man who I suspected might have a strain of Giganto blood running through his veins. The weapons used were every bit as varied as the people: swords, axes, bows, spears and maces, almost every weapon I could think of or name bristled from the finalists and their beaten opponents seated on benches around the lip of the arena.
One fighter in particular caught my attention, though. Standing at least a head taller then most of the competitors, he was a young man in his mid- twenties with dark brown hair that hung down raggedly around his ears; it looked as though he had hacked it off with a knife. Unlike most of the competitors, who appeared to be mercenaries or soldiers, he was dressed plainly in clothes not that different from those of the commoners. That was strange; the entry fee had grown high enough over the years that most commoners couldn't afford to enter. The only thing about his appearance that set him apart from the commoners was the massive, five and a half-foot bastard sword that he used in combat.
I had seen better swordsman, for sure, but he was skilled; anyone with half a brain could tell that. Unlike most of those who used double handed swords like his, he used it as a proper sword rather than a bladed cudgel. His only real disadvantages were his lack of armor and the weapon's great weight. Probably not the best of combinations, but he managed to avoid getting himself maimed. As the matches progressed so did he, deftly taking out each opponent under the two-minute time limit. When the final round arrived, I wasn't surprised to see that the man was one of the two fighters. The other was the half-giganto I had noted fighting in the earlier rounds.
As the two of them squared off in the middle of the ring, Ark commented lazily //Dart, people are staring at you//
/Quiet/ I muttered, not fully registering what he had just said. /I'm trying to watch this/
The dragon sighed, then tried again. //Dart, your ass is glowing//
/What?!/ I snapped upright, and glanced behind me. /Ha ha. Very funny/ I replied, but my voice was faint. A bright red glow was showing though my jacket, just below my hip. Getting hurriedly to my feet and shooting glares at the few whom had been staring at the odd sight, I slipped from the stands and ducked into the shadows next to the registration booth. Giving myself a moment to let my breathing slow back to normal again, I pushed back my coat and clicked the red -eye spirit from its holder on the carrier belt. It was glowing violently, resonating in time with something unseen. Shooting nervous glances up at the stands nearby, I closed my fingers tightly around it, trying to mask the glow. Pointless, because the stone's light flared up in rays between the cracks in my fingers. Cursing, I shoved my hand into the pocket. /Can't you do anything about the glowing?/
//Not likely. Even if there was a way that I could, you would have an easier time talking to Rythl than I// The corner of my mouth twitched in the backwash of Ark's annoyance. //He always enjoyed playing games with me. No, the spirit will probably resonate for as long as the prospective dragoon is nearby//
/Who, though?/ With the spirit safely out of sight, I turned slightly so that I could watch the rest of the fight. /One of them?/
//Possibly. It could be one of the spectators, for all that we know//
I remained silent. The swordsman was slowly advancing across the ring, blade held at the ready. His opponent was down, I realized, bleeding profusely from a gash on his shoulder. The man's weapon, a heavy steel bound cudgel about a meter long, lay broken in half in the arena dust a couple of paces away. Immediately regretting that I had had to leave the stands, I wedged myself in between a pair of howling spectators at the lip of the ring just in time to see the half-giganto grab a fistful of sand and fling it into the smaller man's eyes.
Instinctively clutching at his eyes the man stumbled backward, still managing to keep a hold of his bastard sword with one hand. The half- giganto followed after him, egged on by the cheering of the audience, stepping on the blade of the sword with one foot. When his opponent lurched forward as the sword was torn from his grasp, he reached out with both hands and seized him. Lifting him over his head, the brute threw him bodily against the far wall of the ring. The smaller man lay still, and for a moment the crowd held its collective breath. A moment later he was back on his feet, however, wiping away the stream of blood that was pouring from his lip. Now that I was closer I could clearly see the three long scars running down the left side of his face from his hairline almost to his jaw. Whatever had happened to him in the past, he was certainly no stranger to pain and fighting.
Taking the bastard sword and burying it half its length in the arena floor, the half-giganto cracked his knuckles ominously. With both weapons now out of commission, things were starting to look less like an organized fight and more like a street brawl. With blood from his shoulder dripping off his elbow and leaving a little splatter trail on the ground behind him as he walked, the larger man prowled across the ring toward his rival, one fist drawn back and ready to strike.
Somewhere from within the judge's booth someone had started a thirty-second countdown in a loud, booming voice. Within moments the crowd had taken up the call, counting off the last seconds of the match.
Seemingly galvanized into action by the closing time window, the half- giganto lunged at his opponent, swinging hard with both fists, once, twice, three times. The swordsman dodged all three, ducking under the first two, then ducking and moving in close on the third. Before the other man could manage to strike at him with his fists again, the scar-faced man moved quickly, hitting him hard twice in the bulge of muscle just above his knee with his shinbone. He must have struck a nerve, for the big man's legs buckled and collapsed from underneath him no sooner than the second blow was delivered. He fell to the ground with a roar just as the crowd had reached the final ten seconds of their countdown.
When it became clear that the fallen man was unable to stand again, the announcer jumped out of the judge's booth and into the arena, waving a red flag back and forth to signify the end of the match. Grabbing the exhausted swordsman's arm, he hoisted it into the air. "Ladies and gentlemen! I have the honor to present to you Zion Damnen, your tournament champion and the strongest man in Endiness!"
As the crowd's cheers grew to a deafening roar I turned away and started back towards the entrance. The red-eye spirit was now growing so warm that my fingers were starting to sweat inside my pocket. At least I was fairly certain that we had found whom the spirit was reacting to. /What now?/
//We get out of here before we get caught in the crowd. Then we wait until this Zion guy leaves and we follow and keep an eye on him. If his loyalties appear to be in the right place, then we can think about what we'll do next//
/What do you mean by that?/ I asked, reaching the exit. Long shadows were stretching across the street as the sun slowly sunk below the city walls; the contest had taken up most of the afternoon, by the looks of it.
//Face it, Dart. Rythl isn't exactly the pickiest when he chooses his partners. He chose you even before your father was dead, and then chose to return to him at a rather inconvenient moment. And then he went and allowed himself to be used by that idiot Zen. He could just be desperate to have some sort of contact with the world again// He paused, reflecting on his own words. //I say that we wait. If we see any reason that Endiness may need more than one dragoon again, then we can reconsider. Until then, we'll hold tight to the spirits//
/True/ Stepping back into a niche in the stone wall, I waited patiently as the packed arena gradually cleared out with clusters of people exiting in groups of ten or fifteen. Competitors filtered out at intervals, some looking bruised, most looking discouraged. Towards the end of the queue I even caught sight of the half-giganto hurrying out into the street with a face like a thundercloud, closely followed by a group of brutish-looking young men who I decided must be his hangers-on. The shadows on the street lengthened, then disappeared as the sun sunk out of sight over the horizon. The blue grey light of dusk moved in to replace it, drawing some of the day's heat out of the air, but not nearly enough. It would be yet another hot, breathless night within the city walls; light breezes never seemed to make their way into the streets. Further down the road the shop vendors had begun to pack up their wares and make their way back to the inns where they made their lodgings. One or two of them shot a suspicious glance in my direction, but most of them hurried away, eager to get off of the streets before the thieves came out in full force.
Shortly after the bell tower in a nearby inn tolled the tenth hour, Zion slipped out of the arena, covered in a light cloak although the foot long hilt and broad cross trees of his sword protruding over his left shoulder were much in evidence. I remained still as he passed, hoping that my coat would cover the telltale glint of moonlight on my sword blade. He passed without incident though, walking briskly with his eyes flickering back and forth, keeping an eye on the shadows on either side of him. I waited until he was about halfway down the street before following at a safe distance.
Surprisingly, none of the thieves lurking in the shadows or hiding in the alleyways made an effort to jump him as he passed. The heavy sword strapped across his back seemed to dissuade any thought of going after the prize money that he was probably carrying somewhere on his person. I stalked after him, my long knife held ready in hand. Damnen may have had the grandiose sounding title of "Strongest Man in Endiness" as a barrier between him and the thieves, but I had no such advantages. More than once I had to change some idiot's mind about trying to mug me; usually all that this would take was a couple of sharp blows, but once I did have to nick the offender fairly deep with my knife before he cut and ran. Once or twice during these little detours I lost sight of my quarry, but by the time I finally reached the city gates I could just make out his silhouette against the grassy plains, following the hard packed road southward in the direction of Kazas.
/Heading home, do you think?/ I asked, not bothering to suppress a grin as a night breeze stirred a few errant strands of hair. The wind was coming in off the ocean, some four miles to the west. Being outside the city walls beat being cooped up in an inn, in more ways than one.
//Maybe. I think he's just trying to put as much distance between himself and Lohan before he stops for the night. They must've awarded him with a fair bit of money if he's going through all of this trouble to keep it safe// Ark remarked as a dark smudge of forest appeared on the horizon.
"I wish Garren were here," I muttered aloud, half to myself. "It would save some walking if we could just warp from one end of the plains to the other." Over the last four years I had only seen Garren once, and that had been more by chance than anyone else. He had been spending his time lately in the island village of Rogue, one of the few places in the world that hadn't changed drastically over the centuries. He had always been fascinated by what I had told him of the Rogue School Martial Arts, so when Ayrel's flight took her in the direction of the Broken Islands, I found myself leaving him behind after we had headed her off. Ragnarok hadn't been pleased with his decision, but in the end had been won over by Garren's promises of how much more powerful he would be after several years of training. In truth several years might not teach him as much as he believed, but if he thought it might give him an edge in combat then I was all for it.
//Walking won't hurt you. You've been flying too much lately anyhow//
/This, coming from a dragon?/
//You know what I mean//
It was almost an hour later when we finally reached the first few trees on the outskirts of the forest. Tall birches, bent on odd angles from years of growing in the high winds that normally swept the plains, were scattered in a thin curtain near the road and casting long shadows in the moonlight. Zion never slowed his pace as he strode along the beaten track. Pausing just past the first tree, I frowned. /I don't think we should bother going much further. It's going to be too difficult to follow him in there without him noticing/ I nodded my head toward the woodlands. /We'll be bound to run into beasts in there, and the sound of a battle will catch his attention/
//Whatever. We need to be heading to Vista soon anyhow//
I nodded, and turned to head back out onto the plains. Before I had gone a dozen paces, however, a distant voice from behind me pulled me up short.
"Well, look who we have here. Bit late to be out for a stroll, don't you think." A deep voice like distant thunder rumbled.
"Shove it, Cyclos, and get out of my way. Unless you want me to cut your head in two; there isn't a board of judges prohibiting us from doing anything of the sort now." The second voice was a baritone, though considerably higher than the first speaker was.
"So right you are. Zion, wasn't it?" The leer that must have been on the man's face was almost audible.
Muttering curses to myself I left the path and doubled back, slipping from tree to tree in the darkness. On the road someone had lit a torch, burning like a beacon in the blackness. Using that as I guide, I was able to draw to within twenty paces of the speakers before I was forced to halt motionless behind a low bush. Peering through the branches, I bit down on my lip. /Damn it/
Zion had his sword unsheathed now and was gripping it tightly in both hands. Six men had closed in on him in a circle; most of them armed with long, nine-foot pikes. The half-giganto stood prominent among them, passing a rough wooden cudgel the size of a man's leg from hand to hand. "Well Zion, if you don't want to hand over the gold, then we're going to have to take it from you."
"You're welcome to try," Zion shot back, as though it were just him and the man he had called Cyclos rather than a six on one fight.
Snarling an order in a harsh dialect that I didn't recognize, Cyclos lunged forward swinging his club wildly. The pikemen followed suit; metal tips of their weapons gleaming in the light of the torch someone had dropped in the road behind them.
Rushing to meet the charge of the nearest mercenary, Zion dropped to one knee at the last moment so that the long hooked spearhead passed harmlessly over his head. Springing forward from the crouch with his sword held out before him, the young man caught the pikeman high in the chest. Almost in the same movement he wrenched the blade around, freeing the weapon and deflecting a stab from the second pike as he did so. Swinging the sword ponderously up over his head, he brought it down in a vertical blow aiming for the spear's owner. The man was able to dodge to one side in time -but his fellow standing behind him wasn't so lucky. Jerking the blade free, he just had time to raise it before the remaining four fell upon him.
/They're going to crush him/ I said grimly, freeing my sword from my belt. /He doesn't have room to use that bastard sword/
There's nothing honorable about stabbing your opponent in the back, but over the years I've been forced to do so many things contrary to the sort that I'm amazed that I still remember the meaning of the word. The first two went down before they could cry out, and when the third twisted to see what the threat was he caught the flat of my blade full in the face. As he dropped to the ground, unconscious with blood fountaining from his crushed nose, I took a few steps back as Cyclos half-turned to face me. As he did so I was able to catch a glimpse of Zion sprawled out on the ground, bleeding profusely from several pike slashes.
It appeared that Cyclos' club had been shorn in half again, for now he was holding Zion's bastard sword easily in one hand. With the hilt almost disappearing in his grip, the enormous weapon appeared dwarfed by its new user. Cyclos smiled at me grimly, swinging his new weapon back and forth in front of him in a slow arc. "Rescue party, huh? Little late for that, don't you think?" Stepping forward, he swung the sword like a club, meaning to bring the bladed edge down upon my head. A small sidestep was all that it took to avoid the blow, but I added a quick counter strike to his face before stepping away. As he came again I pivoted on my heel and ducked under the whistling blade, driving my blade into the joint of his hip. I missed by a fraction, but it still had close enough the desired effect.
Howling in pain Cyclos stumbled backwards even as his leg buckled and started to give out, but not before he dropped the sword and caught my neck in a death grip. Choking, I started to raise my sword for a would-be killing blow to the throat, but there was no need. Cyclos lurched forward, and for a moment we both stared dumbly at the pike head protruding from his chest. Then with a gurgling sigh he keeled over backwards, snapping off the haft of the spear sticking out of his back as he fell.
Peeling away the dead man's fingers from my windpipe, I rose somewhat unsteadily to my feet. Down the road the dropped torch was beginning to gutter out; retrieving it, I swung it around in the air a few times until it had flared back into life. It did little for illumination, but at least I could see clearly what was around me. Stepping carefully over the bodies of the fallen, I crouched next to Zion who had sunk back to the ground, still clutching the haft of the pike. Sticking the brand into the ground so that my hands were free, I began to rummage through my coat pockets. "You're a mess, no mistake."
It was the truth. Pike slashes crisscrossed his body, both deep and shallow alike and it looked to me as though Cyclos had managed to get in a few good blows to his right side before his club was ruined. Zion's arm hung on an unnatural angle probably broken in one or two places and covered almost entirely with a large bruise that was already turning an ugly deep purple color. Finding the healing potion I had been looking for I started to pour it over his arm, watching critically until it started to mend before moving on. Zion watched blearily as I tended to the pike wounds, going through the remainder of the first bottle and a second one as well. Finally, when the bones of his arm had finished knitting together and the gashes had sealed, he voiced the question that undoubtedly had been on his mind the whole time.
"Who are you?"
I hesitated before answering. "Call me a fan, of sorts. Name's Ry."
"Ry, huh? Well, I owe you one." Getting to his feet, he flexed his arm experimentally before picking up his sword from where it lay on the ground. Frowning at the bloody blade, he wiped it clean on Cyclos' shirt. "If I had been thinking, I would have realized that this idiot would probably be waiting for me somewhere along the road." Sheathing his sword, he glanced suspiciously at me. "Any particular reason why you were following me? Don't deny it; I'm positive that I saw you at least twice coming out of the city."
"I should have known that you would. I didn't have the money to stay in an inn tonight, but I stayed in town to watch the competition anyway. I'm heading up to the mountains by a route a little to the east of here." I shrugged, trying to put on an innocent face. "I just happened to run into you, that's all."
I wasn't sure how convinced the man was, but I got to my feet and pulled the torch out of the ground. Ever since the clamor from the fight had died down I had been hearing animals in the woods nearby; sure enough, several horses had been tethered to the trunks of trees nearby. This must have been how the ambushers had been able to get so far ahead of Zion without him noticing. Choosing one particularly large animal out of the six that I suspected had belonged to Cyclos; I checked the saddle girth and readjusted the stirrups. I would be able to reach Vista much faster on horseback. Untying the reins, I led him out onto the road where Zion was waiting. "They have some horses back there in the trees," I told him, handing over the torch. "If you still don't want to go back to Lohan, you could probably be in Kazas by noon tomorrow if you ride hard." Slipping one foot into the stirrup, I bounced around for a moment on the ball of my other foot before managing to lever myself up into the saddle. The horse seemed even larger once I was on his back, if possible. I hoped that his size was of some indication of his endurance; if it were, he could probably run all day without tiring overmuch.
Zion nodded his thanks and started back into the trees. Turning my mount around, I glanced down at the side of my jacket. In spite of having being wrapped in a thick cloth and being stored in an interior pocket, the spirit was still flaring so brightly it was a wonder that Zion hadn't noticed it. Heeling the horse into a trot, I moved out of the trees and back onto the grasslands where I allowed the animal to move into a lumbering canter. /It's him/ I said needlessly.
//Without a doubt//
/So what now?/
//We go after Ayrel// He said simply. //If we fail this time, then we can track him down again and find out a little bit more about him//
/Dragoons are supposed to appear when the world's facing a crisis, right? So why didn't the spirits start reacting to people sixteen years ago?/
//How am I supposed to know?// Ark asked impatiently. //Do I look like the creator?//
/No, you just act like it/ Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach, I concentrated on the ride ahead. Whatever this impending crisis was, it would become all to clear soon enough.
Shade: **tug-o-warring with Dart over a box of incense matches**
Another chapter over with. And moderately on time too! **victory dances**