(Publishing one chapter a week until the end of Part 5)
Chapter 127: Raid
The thing that scared Ramza most was that no one disagreed with him.
There were three prongs to the strange bargain he'd struck with the Inquisitor. The first was Beowulf and the Syldra, who would sail after Bremondt to try and stop him from capturing Reis. Zalmour had reluctantly acquiesced to this part of the plan on the grounds that they could not be sure either Reis or Bremondt would survive another encounter with each other, and besides, it was best to prevent potential injustice rather than try to stop it after it has occurred. Even so, Zalmour only agreed to the plan on the grounds that they try and capture both Bremondt and his followers alive.
The second prong was the Inquisitor himself: should Cardinal Bremondt return to the island (as a free man or as Beowulf's captive), Zalmour would attempt to get a straight answer out of him as to whether Beowulf's story was true or not. Whatever conclusion he came to, Zalmour had no intention of fighting the Cardinal of the Glabados Church. That was why there was a third prong to their plan: Ramza and the rest of his friends, hidden aboard the Inquisitor's trim skiff.
It was a patently foolish plan. If Gaffgarion were alive to hear of it, he would have tried to kill them all over again. They were trusting one of their declared enemies, spreading their own forces thin, and giving a powerful enemy force both prior knowledge of their coming and a chance to surrender.
It was a patently foolish plan. And not one of his dear friends had tried to talk him out of it.
Faris had prepared her ship with airy confidence. Beowulf was utterly silent, though his eyes were fierce and proud. Mustadio, Lavian, and Alicia had been business-like in boarding the Syldra, as though off to take an exam they were prepared for. Only Malak had looked at all anxious—and even he had clearly been worried more for Rafa than himself.
So the rest of Ramza's allies (minus Delita and Meliadoul, off with Zalmour, and Ovelia and Valerie, holed up at the Royal Retreat) huddled together in the cabin of the skiff. Rafa and Agrias sat near the doorway, both in similar poses of meditation, made comical by their disparate ages and sizes. Ramza and Radia snear the little window set in the cabin, watching the terraced pyramid for any sign from Zalmour. A table, bolted to the floor in the center of the room, partially obscured the two pairs from each other.
"Dad would be pissed right now," Radia muttered.
Ramza snorted. "I was just thinking that."
Radia made a soft almost-laugh in the back of her throat. "He got in our heads, didn't he?"
"Yeah." Ramza looked out the window again. Besides the slow sway of the surf, and the change in light as the sun wound away from noonlight and into the wan afternoon, there was no change. "Is he right?"
Radia shook her head. "I don't know."
She was looking out the window, too, and suddenly much closer to him. Ramza felt a prickling in his temples, in his throat, in his groin, in his heart. There was electricity between them, potent as magic.
"Don't know," she said again. "He was...he was a lot of things. Some of them bad. Some of them good. Can't...can't deny he was capable." She closed her eyes. Ramza almost reached out to her.
"But we beat him," she said softly, and shook her head again. "No. No, you beat him." She looked at him, and he looked at her. There were tears in her green eyes...but there was also hope. "Threw yourself into two different traps," she whispered. "And won. Put yourself on the line." She reached out, and wrapped his hand in hers. Ramza squeezed her hand, and felt like he had his fingers wrapped around the sun.
"I thought of something the other day," Radia said. "Right after you decided you were gonna...try to talk to the Inquisitor." She giggled. "I...laughed a lot, before I thought about it. After I thought about it..." She laughed again. It sounded so soft, so musical.
"Yeah?" Ramza prompted.
"Everything we've been doing," Radia murmured. "Everyone we've been fighting. Baerd's men, the Cardinal, the Templars, the Khamja, the Marquis, and now..." She gestured around them. There was weariness in her face, but joy, too. Ramza wasn't sure the last time she'd looked this beautiful. Maybe in the hills of Lionel, naked under starlight.
"Yeah?" Ramza said again, and his voice was husky with memory.
"Yeah." Radia squeezed his hand. "See, the thing I realized was...was we've been fighting demons. And we've been gathering Stones. And...and the story's not done yet, but...but it's like Beowulf said." Her grip tightened. "When I'm with you, it...it feels like a legend. Like..." She laughed again, almost breathless with exhilaration. "Like a Zodiac Brave Story."
She kissed him, feather-light and electric as a storm. His fingers curled into hers, as his free hand slipped around her waist. So long since he'd held her like this, felt her like this. Some part of him had believed he never would again.
With effort, she pulled her lips away from him. When she spoke, her breath was warm against his mouth, mingling with his: "Even...even when we fought..." Her green eyes were so marvelously bright. "You've always made me feel like...like we're in a story."
He slid his hand back up her back (she shivered slightly beneath his touch) until he could caress her red hair. He almost couldn't believe his senses: not the touch of her, nor the taste. He felt electricity in his lips that vibrated along his skin, a humming in his bones that tingled in the air around them-
The humming wasn't in his bones. The humming was somewhere outside.
They jerked apart and were at the cabin window in moments. There, south of the island and its ruin, was an enormous ship, the hum of its engines steadily growing louder as it drew closer. It was an impressive craft, no two ways about it, but it had clearly taken damage: smoke trailed up from the sides, and as it grew closer its hum was layered with a sickening, unpleasant whine.
"Beowulf must have found them," Radia muttered.
A lurch in Ramza's heart. He clenched his jaw.
"They're alright."
Ramza looked over his shoulder. Rafa and Agrias had risen together, so the little table no longer obscured their view of one another. Ramza wasn't sure which of them had spoken.
"Alicia and Lavian would not allow themselves to fall here," Agrias grunted.
"And Malak isn't stupid enough to die again." Rafa smiled faintly.
Ramza nodded, and looked back out the window. Zalmour, Delita, and Meliadoul were heading down the stone steps to meet the ship. As it drew closer, Ramza's heart gave another lurch: he saw the bound dragon upon the ship's deck. He could not quite share Agrias and Rafa's certainty: he could not imagine Beowulf both fighting the Cardinal, and allowing him to escape with Reis. Not unless he was already...
Deep breath, Ramza. You might be acting in a way Gaffgarion would disapprove of, but you could at least do it in a way he'd understand. Focus now: let nerves sing, let anxiety whet your edge, bend all your focus towards this conflict like an archer bends his bow. You have plucked your friends from traps meant to kill you all, you have slain demons out of legend: you can save Reis.
They pulled their equipment together, and watched through the window. Watched, as Bremondt, Zalmour, Delita, and Meliadoul marched into the tunnel halfway up the terraced ruin. Watched, as the two Workers, and a battered group of Amazons began to drag Reis up towards the roof. Watched, as Zalmour lifted his hands into the sky, and ignited the Virgo symbol that was there sign to act.
They exploded out of the cabin, burst off the skiff, sprinted across the scrub-grass globes towards the ruin. Rafa had an early lead, but Ramza quickened his step as he'd done in Limberry, so he exploded from one step to the next in great leaping zigzags. Not with every step—this magic was too strange yet, too new, he had not had nearly enough time to practice—but he was getting the hang of it, and his bounding movements let him nearly keep pace with Rafa as they left Radia and Agrias behind. Whatever fate Beowulf and the others had met, they had given them one sure advantage: it was taking all of Bremondt's remaining troops to move Reis up the hill. No one was watching their surroundings: no one was ready for them.
They crested the top of the terraced hill. Ramza skidded to a stop, and the enemies were spread out before them: two great steel Workers, their bulky cylindrical limbs heaving at the bound purple dragon, and perhaps a dozen women in different garb, several of whom sported obvious wounds. All of them had been working to lower Reis down into a great opening in the top of the hill, but now several of them stood in confusion, looking all around them or at the glowing crimson Virgo sigil still blazing in the air beside them.
Rafa kept charging: Ramza dropped to one knee, and nocked an arrow to the white bow he'd taken from Argus. The runes on it flashed in his hand, hungry for his magic: he focused on the arrow in the same way he focused on his limbs, pouring his magic into it as he pulled back on the bow-string, until the tension in his arm matched the tension in his chest.
"How dare-" came a deep, stentorian voice, before choking off in a cry of rage and a burst of magical force: Ramza saw sparks from the opening in the hilltop.
"Bremondt!" cried one of the women, turning to look down into the opening. But in turning, she spotted Rafa and Ramza. Her eyes went wide. "Enemy!"
One of the Workers spun around (his top half only: spinning on his waist without moving his legs as though his spherical torso were a whirling top set upon a table). His chest split open, revealing a burning core of terrible red light. A moment later, and the light burst forth in a scouring beam, just like the one that had hunted Beowulf. But Rafa leapt into its path, her arms braced in front of her: the terrible light splashed around her like water around a rock.
And Ramza loosed his arrow.
It ripped over Rafa's shoulder, a missile of white-hot force, and crashed into the Worker in an explosion of mingled red and white fury. The Worker tumbled backwards, smoking and flailing. The other Worker, closer to them near Reis' tail, turned towards them. His mighty hands folded backwards, and two great gouts of orange fire spouted from the holes where his wrists had been.
A shadow flickered through the fire, like a fish darting under the water. With great screeching smash, Rafa dealt a palm strike to the creature's metal chest: it skidded backwards in the dirt, the fire going out as its hands snapped back into place atop its wrists
The Workers had been the first to react. The women had taken a little longer—their bodies weren't their weapons, after all. But now there were swords drawn, and one woman had a pistol in her hand, and another was struggling to nock an arrow to her bow, and a third had magic crackling around her gloves. Ramza started to draw back on his bowstring-
Found himself hesitating. He remembered what Argus had told him. Every death in Ivalice served the Lucavi. Was he going to feed that storm? Was he going to help them bring Hell to Earth?
And if he let himself die here, who exactly would be left to stop them?
His hesitation passed, and he loosed another arrow (he felt the effort this time, his heart pounding with the strain of the magic, his head swimming with exertion). He'd aimed it just between the archer and the pistol-wielder, so it exploded against the hilltop and threw up a geyser of broken earth and stone: the two women shied away from the blast, struggling to keep their feet. There was the muffled crack of a gunshot as the gunwoman accidentally squeezed her trigger.
The mage had been too far away for Ramza to be distracted by the blast. She speared her hands forwards, and bolts of lightning flew from her fingertips. Ramza scrambled to grab her magic-
Didn't have to: Radia stepped in front of him, and the lightning swirled down into her sword. A moment later, and she had blurred across the hilltop, and buried her blade in the mage's chest. There were cries of shock and anger: two nearby swordswomen converged on Radia, and so did not see Agrias charging in behind them.
And when Agrias swung her sword, Ramza was almost blinded.
It was a thing of terrible beauty. She had drawn Save The Queen during her charge, and the sword was twice as radiant in motion as it had been at rest. She brought it up in a sweeping crescent arc, and the silver blade looked like a fish leaping out of the water, droplets gleaming in its wake. But Agrias was a Mage Knight, and those droplets were fire: each sparkle unfurled into liquid flame, and the liquid flame swirled together, rose into a great wave of incinerating white that smashed through the women, crashed over them and knocked another off her feet.
In the heart of the argent inferno, a spark of red: a lance of scarlet light cleaved through the fire and raced across the hill, igniting the grass as it flew. Ramza lunged from his kneeling pose into a quick trot, his eyes flickering over the chaos on the hilltop. From the dark opening at the center of their melee came flickers of magic, shouts, and the clanging of blades. Another Mage Knight had engaged Agrias on the far side of the hill: the two crashed together in detonating blasts. Radia was dueling with the two women who had moved to pin her, while Rafa had locked grips with the Worker she had attacked.
But one Worker remained, blackened by fire, its chest now permanently split open because one of the trisections was crumbled into a ruin of metal. Stars gleamed in the pitiless dark of its helemted eyes.
Ramza had already nocked another arrow to his bow. The baleful red light within the creature's chest began to burn once more.
The arrow flew, and Ramza staggered with the effort of it. The blast caught the Worker in the legs, and its answering beam of incinerating light went wide, scything through the air above Ramza's head. But as the Worker stumbled, its legs still bore its weight. Even a blast like that hadn't damaged it.
Ramza knew what could damage this Worker. Lightning had felled the first one—the one that had tried to capture Reis when they first sailed into the Archipelago. Lightning could damage this one, too. But the bolt he might hit it with by himself was bound to be less powerful than the bolt he'd fired with Alicia and Lavian. He would have to get closer, and strike into its open chest, if he hoped to bring it down.
He turned his trot into a full sprint, slipping the bow around his shoulder. Izlude's gauntlets bounced on his waist, but he wouldn't have time to slip them on before he closed with the Worker. The long katana they'd taken from the Marquis was slung across his back, but it would be a pain to draw, and anyways Ramza wasn't sure he could use it to cut through the Worker's thick armor. Besides, the creature's chest was exposed already.
Another lance of burning red light (what had Mustadio called it? A laser?): Ramza twitched away from it, reaching out with magical senses as he dodged. Magitek this creature might be, but whatever that laser was, it wasn't pure magic: Ramza could not drink from it. He kept zigzagging to make it harder to get a bead on him, eyes trained on the Worker. The others would be fine...at least, as long as Ramza could take out his target.
It fired its laser again. Ramza ducked, spun, and found the beam was tracking him. His eyes widened as it scorched a path of fire towards him: grass ignited, and rock began to glow beneath its heat. His zigzags were slowing him down now, as the red lance came closer, closer, closer...!
He sprang back down the slope for cover, cursing under his breath. This side of the ruin was steeper than the other, and he could barely keep his footing against a ridge of crumbling stone. He felt the heat of the laser hissing by overhead.
He risked a glance over the slope, saw that his enemy Worker had turned its head towards the fighting. There were far fewer women standing on the hill than there had been a minute before. Agrias and her Mage Knight rival were still dueling, but Agrias had driven her back, and left fire smoldering in her wake. Radia slashed across one woman's throat, then spun around to match swords with another. With a great heave, Rafa ripped the arm off the Worker she was fighting, and smashed the arm like a club its owners chest. A few flashes of light sparked up from the great opening in the hilltop: the purple dragon, draped awkwardly over the rim of the opening, twitched her head slowly back and forth, her eyes half-lidded.
And in the crumbled chest of his Worker foe, Ramza saw the telltale gleam of burning red light. It was getting ready to fire again. His friends were exposed.
What kind of Brave Story would this be, if Ramza failed now?
He adjusted Perseus upon his shoulder, and vaulted back over the slope. His finger found the rune for lightning on his glove, but he poured little magic into the effort—a quick crackling bolt, that would probably have only stunned another person. It flickered against the Worker's shoulder, made it twitch for a moment. All too soon, it twitched back towards Ramza, its chest glowing.
With a whoosh of air and a stench like burning earth, the laser crashed towards him. Ramza rolled aside, leaving arrows tumbling in his wake, his eyes tracking the beam as it sliced towards him once again. This time, he did not roll but leaped, right over the scarlet heat, stumbled for a moment as he hit the ground before charging into a full sprint. Close to the Worker now, so close, but that meant it needed only to turn a few inches for its red lance to be trained on Ramza again.
He wouldn't be able to dodge it, this time. He couldn't absorb it, either. What if he blocked it, like he had blocked Wiegraf's sword?
All this passed through his head in the instant before the laser slashed down towards him. Ramza gathered his magic in his right hand, and slapped towards the lance as though he were trying to backhand it. He felt the heat of that terrible red light as though he had stuck his hand too close to the fire, stumbled as his burst of magic warred with the power of that scarlet light. One step, two, three: the heat was almost unbearable.
And Ramza twisted, rolled beneath the lance, snapped his burning hand to the rune for lightning on his wrist. The Worker was adjusting its aim, ready to hit him again.
Ramza loosed a bolt of lightning, straight into its crimson heart.
The red sun burning within its crumpled chest flickered, darkening and brightening in unsteady striations. The automon's limbs locked into place, with a high, shrill whine Ramza could feel in his teeth. An odd whistle undulated from its helmeted head, like a much deeper version of the sound steam makes escaping from a teapot.
For a moment, the light inside the Worker's chest faded down to bare red embers. And then, very suddenly, it began to brighten, like a flame roaring back to life. And Ramza remembered the crimson explosion when Beowulf had finally struck down his own enemy Worker.
Ramza flung himself backwards, almost too late: the heat of the explosion was much fiercer than the heat of its laser. The force of it threw him farther than he had reckoned: he hit the ground, tumbled, and felt empty air beneath his legs.
He gasped, scrambled, tearing the nails on his left hand as he clung to the edge of the opening. Too fast, too clumsy, there wasn't time, he started to fall-
Strong hands clasped his wrists. He looked up to see Rafa and Agrias, hauling him back over the lip of the opening. The hilltop was empty: save for flames, corpses, and the crumpled ruin of the Worker Rafa had dismantled.
"Stand down, Your Eminence!" Melia's voice was stern, echoing from the opening in the hilltop. Ramza carefully turned around and peered down: Melia had the tip of her sword against a dark-haired man's throat. Delita stood just a step behind her, his golden-bladed sword glowing with explosive potential. The scene around them was a ruin of scorch marks and broken furniture: the only thing intact was the great metal disc on which the Cardinal stood.
"This is heresy!" hissed Cardinal Bremondt. His clothes were torn, but he seemed otherwise none the worse for wear.
"That will be for me to decide, Your Eminence!" Zalmour's voice rang through the room beneath them. "You were given an opportunity to settle this matter peacefully! You chose violence!"
"You have sided with a heretic, Inquisitor!" the Cardinal cried. "You defy the will of God!"
"I defy your will, Your Eminence," Zalmour replied. "It remains to be seen whether it is God's will, as well."
The Cardinal managed a strange laugh. "He has shown me His favor all my life! I am the future of the Church, Inquisitor! I am the future of this world!"
There was a roiling of shadows about his figure: a burst of wind and flame ignited beneath them. Melia swung her sword, a hair too slow: the burst cast her backwards, and left Delita staggering, too. It was a long time since Ramza had seen Dragoner magic, and nothing Reis had used in their fight against the Valkyries had been this strong, this fast.
But the shadows beneath him were still roiling. And, mingled with those shadows was a pitiless, all-too-familiar light: the viscous, sickening glow of a Lucavi.
"THE WILL OF GOD WILL NOT BE DENIED!" rumbled the Cardinal's voice, magnified by magic and layered with guttural, bestial power, as shadows and light boiled outwards and upwards. "I WILL NOT BE DENIED!"
Shadow and light alike geysered upwards and outwards: the force of it knocked Ramza, Agrias, Rafa, and Radia back from the lip of the opening, sent even the purple dragon tumbling backwards. But the ground beneath them kept shaking, crumbling beneath them as they staggered backwards. Ramza struggled to keep his feet, cast his head back and forth for the source of the danger-
And from the crumbling opening in front of him, saw the great black head of a dragon rear up like a snake, fire burning in its toothy maw.