Chapter Three: A Grand Inheritance

Lyndis?

Cynthia sat on the edge of her bed, studying the withered boards at her feet. Lyn sat across from her, head in her hands, as if she was mourning a loss. There was a lingering silence between them, one that made them both shift uncomfortably every few minutes.

Who is Lyndis?

The sun had vanished beneath the horizon, and now only a few rays managed to sneak their way up into the sky. Their skirmish with the bandits had been only two hours ago, but, to the young tactician, it felt like it had been days.

So much had happened in those measly two hours.

Those... knights. They hailed, as Sain had said, from the Caelin region of Lycia. At first, it had been an insignificant piece of information. Now, though, Cynthia was scolding herself for not questioning it sooner.

Why were knights of Lycia parading about in Sacae? Didn't they have other duties to see to? What could possibly be so important that Lord Hausen senttwo specialized knights to search for it, instead of just a general battalion?

Lyn was, apparently.

Cynthia's father had told her stories of Caelin, of Lord Hausen and his rebellious daughter. He had told her Lady Madelyn's story only once, however, and the tale had become dim in her mind. She had not understood it as a child, and so it naturally faded from her memory.

Now, though, it was vivid. Kent and Sain had relayed the tale to them, this time, though, piecing it together and linking Lyn easily with it. Now, the older woman seemed like an entirely different person. She was no longer the fiery Lyn of Sacae, but the long-lost princess of Caelin.

She was Lady Lyndis.

The knights had given Lyn a choice. She could continue on her journey with Cynthia, and Kent and Sain would return to Caelin to give the news of her decision to Lord Hausen. Or, she could choose to return with them to Lycia.

On the surface, it was a relatively simple choice. But, for Lyn, there were countless other factors to consider.

The knights had told them of her granduncle, Lord Lundgren. Until the letter had come, he was in line for the throne after his brother. With the discovery of Lyn, however, he was bumped back down in rank. It seemed he still intended to become Caelin's next Marquess.

Which meant Lyn had to 'disappear'.

And still, despite that, the Sacaen was having trouble deciding.

"... Cynthia."

The tactician glanced up, meeting her friend's gaze squarely. "... Have you made a decision?" she asked timidly. Both of them knew what the other was thinking about; there was no need to draw it out.

Lyn looked away. "I... want to go with them," she said quietly, "I-I know this complicates things, but..." She curled her hands into fists, resting them on her knees. "If what they say is true, then... He's the only family I have left. I have to meet him, if only once. And... I can't just run from my granduncle for the rest of my life. I'm not a coward."

"I know. I understand." Cynthia sighed heavily, as if letting a huge amount of tension out of her body. Her shoulders loosened, and a smile broke out on her face. "Well, we certainly have enough supplies. Combined with Kent and Sain's, we probably have enough to get to Caelin and back!"

Lyn cocked her head, staring blankly at her friend. "Yes, I suppose..." She fell silent, but only for a moment. Suddenly, her eyes lit up in surprise, gathering exactly what Cynthia had been implying. "... Wait, 'we'?"

"You didn't really think I'd let you go through this alone, did you?"

Lyn let a smile break on her face. "... Thank you."

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"No."

"Cynthia, please?"

"No!"

"Stop being stubborn!"

"I said, no!"

Lyn sighed in exasperation, hanging her head. "This is hopeless," she groaned, "We're never going to get anywhere at this rate."

The four were standing at the gates of Bulgar. The early morning sun was already beginning to warm the town, a prelude to the relentless heat of Sacae afternoons. Lyn, as promised, had met the knights in the lobby of the inn, and told them of her decision.

Both cavaliers had been ecstatic, arranging for them to leave almost immediately. They had picked up a few more supplies for the journey, even arranged for another horse for their new companions. Now, however, there was one last complication that had to be overcome before they could leave Bulgar.

Cynthia would not get on the horse.

It was a beautiful gray mare, standing calmly at Lyn's side. Its large brown eyes watched the tactician with mild interest, as if the animal were amused by her antics. The mare whuffed softly, tossing its head out of impatience. Cynthia immediately flinched, drawing even farther away from the creature.

Kent took note of this. He tugged lightly on his reigns, drawing his own steed a step closer to the young girl. Cynthia's gaze immediately switched from Lyn's horse to Kent's powerful stallion, and her face seemed to pale slightly. Kent stared at her, slowly tipping his head to the side. "... Cynthia." He spoke her name to call her attention, and she warily turned her gaze to him, "Are you, perchance... Afraid of horses?"

The tactician drew back in shock, her eyes widening slightly. "Wh-What?" she stammered, "N-No, of course not!" She wrung her hands nervously, her gaze, once again, shifting back to the animals in front of her. "That's... That's silly. Scared of horses... Absurd!"

Lyn shifted her weight, her gaze becoming more sympathetic. "Cynthia... I understand if you're afraid, but we need to–"

"I tell you, I'm not!" Cynthia cried, folding her arms over her chest. Her tone of voice went up an octave, making her sound like a small child protesting her vegetables. "I am not afraid of horses!" In response to this, Kent once again nudged his steed forward. Cynthia drew back another step, releasing a small yelp.

Lyn sighed, the softness in her eyes vanishing almost as quickly as it had come. "Oh, for the love of– What would you call it then?"

A faint blush spread across the tactician's cheeks, and the desperation in her voice fell apart, replaced by her former stubbornness. "I... I just don't like them, is all," she said weakly, "Yes, that's it. I ... just don't like them."

"Even if that is so," Sain said gently, "It truly doesn't get us anywhere, wouldn't you agree? We must get to Caelin as soon as possible." He flashed her a smile, "Besides, I couldn't possibly let a lady such as yourself wear herself out by walking, and, of course, I would hate to see lovely Lady Lyndis's beauty marred by worry."

"But I..."

"How about this?" Lyn swung into her saddle, staring down at the shivering girl. "Either you get on this horse," she patted the mare's neck as she spoke, her gaze never moving, "Or we leave you here. You're choice."

Cynthia looked taken aback. "Wh-What? You'd... You'd leave me here?"

"I don't want to, but I would," Lyn said calmly, "We need to leave here soon, and if you're going to go with us on this trip, you're going to have to learn to deal with a horse or two."

"Or three..." Cynthia muttered darkly, studying the mare with distrust. A silence lingered between the four, until finally the tactician threw her arms up into the air. "Oh...! Oh, fine!" she whined, taking a few, nervous steps toward the animal, "But if that thing throws me off and I break a leg, it's your fault, hear me?"

Lyn laughed lightly, reaching down to help her friend up, "Yes, yes, I understand," she said, "Now come on, we don't have all day!"

Cynthia reached up, taking Lyn's hand firmly and swinging up behind her, settling uneasily on a pad behind the saddle. The animal snorted at the extra weight, shifting in an attempt to make the tactician settle more comfortably. Cynthia gave a cry, wrapping her arms tightly around Lyn's waist, clinging onto her friend for dear life.

Lyn looked back at her. "You all right?"

"Y-Yes."

"We're going to leave now, okay?"

"Y-Yes."

Lyn clicked her tongue, nudging the horse into a trot. Cynthia cried out as the animal lurched forward, tightening her grip considerably on the Sacaen. Lyn coughed at the sudden pressure, and gently pried the tactician's hands until her grip loosened. In response, Cynthia shut her eyes tightly, burying her face into Lyn's back.

It was going to be a long journey to Caelin.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

Gradually, Cynthia became more used to riding. She allowed herself to relax, though she still clung to Lyn as if letting go would be the death of her. Every now and then the mare would jerk in a random direction, whinnying in amusement whenever her trembling charge cried out.

Lyn tried to begin light conversation, a thinly veiled attempt to calm the tactician as best she could. She commented on things like the weather and such, but none of her three companions had much to say after talking for an hour about such things.

Regardless, Cynthia appreciated the gesture, and tried her best to speak animatedly with the others. Still, though, the thought of her sitting on such an unpredictable animal lingered in the back of her mind and refused to lay dormant for more than a few minutes.

Hours and hours passed as they traveled east, heading for an unknown destination. There was no change in scenery the entire time. Just the same, rolling fields of grass dotted with the occasional shrub or tree. The sun followed them eagerly, its rays warming their backs, but leaving everything else in the shadows. More than once, Sain shifted uncomfortably, obviously distressed by the extra heat his heavy armor provided.

"How are you holding up, Cynthia?" Lyn asked lightly, again trying to spawn conversation.

"I'm... fine... fine, thanks," the tactician murmured, focusing her eyes on the grass below her. Suddenly, another thought occurred to her, one that successfully pried her mind away from the horse and their journey, if only for a moment. "Hey... Lyn?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are we going?" Cynthia asked softly, craning her head to look around her friend, "If we want to go to Lycia we have to go west..."

"I wanted to stop by the Shrine near here," Lyn explained, a small smile forming on her lips. "It's a tradition. Whenever someone goes on a long journey, they stop by the Shrine and pray at the sword kept there. It's said that the Mani Katti has been blessed by the Spirits, and provides protection for travelers." She sat up in her saddle, peering over the horizon, "We should be there soon."

"Really..." Cynthia fell silent again, but before her thoughts could drift back to her fears, another thought entered her mind. "Hey, wait a minute! How come I'm the only one who didn't know about this?" It was obvious by the way the two knights hadn't protested that they knew all about Lyn's plans to visit the shrine.

"You would've known if you'd stopped whining for three seconds," Lyn said with a laugh, "I explained everything to Kent and Sain while you were off cowering in the corner."

Cynthia stiffened indignantly. "I told you!" she cried, "I am not afraid of horses!"

"Ladies, ladies! There's no need to fight!" Sain said eagerly, as if he were enjoying the girls' argument, but needed to stop it anyway. "We save the battle for the enemies! And, regardless, it would be most distressing to see–"

"Sain, please, don't start," Lyn said dully, abandoning their argument where it stood. Sain pouted, but grudgingly obeyed.

But the emerald knight wasn't done talking yet. He seemed uncomfortable with the ongoing silence that had formed between the four, and so picked up where Lyn had left off in light conversation. "Lady Cynthia, I've been wondering..."

The tactician sighed heavily.

Sain apparently didn't notice. "We have quite a few strategists in Caelin," he continued, glancing at her sideways, "Yet every single one of them must double your age, if not triple." He opened his mouth to say something else, something most likely not associated with the difference in tactician ages, but was silenced by a glare from Lyn.

"Just what are you getting at, Sain?"

This time, though, it was Kent who spoke up. "I have seen it, too," he said slowly, "I've never met a strategist as young as you are, Cynthia. They are all at least thirty, usually older."

Cynthia shrugged lightly, as if dismissing her young age as trivial. "I am still just an apprentice," she reminded them, "I don't know if you should really call me a full tactician yet."

"Even so. The tacticians' apprentices are only a few years younger than the tacticians themselves," Kent pointed out, "Your teacher must be extraordinary."

"... Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"Well, regardless, Cynthia is our tactician, and nothing is going to change that," Lyn said proudly, effectively cutting off the conversation. "I, for one, trust her with my life."

"Lyn..."

Silence, once again, reigned over the small company. Cynthia's thoughts began to drift once more, and, gradually, her grip on Lyn's waist tightened. Nothing, she realized bitterly, could draw her away from that blasted animal.

As another hour slowly passed, the flat, monotonous terrain gave way to rockier hills, even more so than the area around Lyn's home. Trees became more numerous, giving the endless plains a bit more variety. Tall hills rose in the distance, painted completely with shimmering, flowing grass. They coated the horizon, reaching up into the sky, framed by pure white clouds.

Lyn leaned forward on her horse, another smile breaking out on her face, "Look! There! That's the shrine!" She pointed, indicating a worn and weathered stone building, nestled cozily in the nook of many of the tall hills seen before.

It was a rather short structure, not any taller than the gers of the nomads. It was old, obviously, and each stone was deteriorating in its own way. Some were crumbling, others were only cracked. In fact, a large section of the wall was so severely damaged, that it was possible to see even from a distance.

"Cynthia, if you want, you can get down and walk the rest of the way," Lyn said, looking back at her young friend. "It shouldn't take us much longer to get there, anyway."

Cynthia perked immediately. "R-Really? Wonderful!" Not even waiting for Lyn to bring the horse to a halt, the young tactician swung her legs over one side of the animal, pushing off and landing awkwardly on the ground. The force threw her off balance, and she stumbled sideways before regaining her bearings.

"You could've waited for me to stop, you know," Lyn said, tilting her head with interest.

Cynthia blushed, but grinned up at her friends nonetheless. She stretched her arms, sighing heavily, "Wonderful, wonderful, solid ground!"

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

The Mani Katti stood serenely on its altar, a silent witness of the horrific events playing out in its holy presence. Crimson blood pooled on the floor, permanently staining the stone a gory red. Monks lay collapsed in heaps against the walls, many dead. Brigands lined the doorway, grinning stupidly at the sight before them.

Their leader stood at the altar, his longsword held loosely at his side, the metal red from murder. He let it fall to the ground, clattering uselessly against the concrete. He reached out, grasping the hilt of the sacred sword, and removed it, sheath and all, from its resting place.

"Magnificent." He turned it over, inspecting every inch of the scabbard, "Absolutely magnificent." He laughed cruelly, grabbing the sheath with his free hand. "This truly is a sword worthy of my skills! The Mani Katti itself!"

"S-Stop!" An old man appeared from the back room, leaning heavily on the doorway. Long, azure robes wrapped around his body from head to toe, an indication of a well-respected bishop. His breathing was heavy and ragged, weary from the injury he had received in the sudden assault. "I... I will not allow you... to steal the... the Mani Katti!"

"Pah. Stupid old man," The bandit leader replaced the sacred weapon on its altar, leaning down to pick up his abandoned blade. "You should've died with the rest of them." He tilted the sword, showing the blood encrusted edge to the old man.

The bishop coughed, stiffening at the sight of the blood-coated sword. "M-Monster..." he whispered hoarsely. "You... You will not... have your way..."

"You think so do you?" The bishop only glared from his position against the doorframe. "You fail to see what is right in front of you," The bandit grinned, pointing his sword directly at the old man's chest. "I will have this sword. No... I already have this sword!" To prove his point, he reached behind him, ripping the Mani Katti from its altar. Once again, he threw his old blade to the side, taking the decorated scabbard in both hands. "And, just so you never forget it, I will give you the honor of being the first to die by this sword!"

The bishop watched silently, and the bandit grasped the Mani Katti's hilt. He gave it a swift tug...

... And nothing happened.

Visibly confused, the bandit pulled again, harder this time. Still, the sacred blade would not shift in its scabbard. "... Wh-What?" He glared at the bishop, pulling uselessly on the Mani Katti's hilt. "Accursed old man! What did you do to this sword?"

"I... did nothing," the bishop said flatly. "The Mani Katti... cannot be drawn... by those who lack the right..."

"What are you babbling on about, old man? Spit it out!"

"The... spirits... They have found you... unsuitable... They reject you... as they should..."

"G-Glass, whatta we gonna' do?" one bandit asked timidly, his face falling. "If ya' can't draw the thing, then..."

"Shut up!" Glass shouted, glaring at the brigand. He gestured wildly with his right hand, pointing vaguely in the bishop's direction. "Just... Just lock him in the back room or something!"

The bandit obeyed immediately, pushing through the crowd in the doorway. He shoved the bishop roughly, knocking the him to the ground inside his chambers. "We'll be back for ya' later, old man," he spat, kicking him in the side. "Don't ya' worry about that." With that last statement, he slammed the door shut, locking it with a turn of the key.

Glass threw the Mani Katti back on its altar, leaving the blade tilting haphazardly on its podium. "Stupid bishop. I will find out what magics you used on that sword. And when I do..."

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"Your Excellency! Bishop Seward! Are you all right, Your Excellency?"

A cleric knelt by the bishop's side, distressed both by the fact that her mentor had been injured as well as the fact that she was powerless to help him. The brigands had thrown her in the back room, confiscating her staff and then proceeding to shatter its gem. "Your Excellency, please! Open your eyes!"

"Abigail... calm yourself..." The old man obeyed the cleric's request, studying the girl with clouded irises. "... You must go..." he muttered, slowly rising to his knees. Abigail cried out at this, grasping his shoulders firmly in an attempt to keep him from moving. "Go... Go... and find... help."

"Yes, Your Excellency, I would go! But I simply cannot! We are trapped in this room!"

"... Go... go to the... window."

The cleric hesitated, but obeyed, rising quickly to her feet and darting the few feet to the window overlooking the plains. It was a fairly large window, large enough for her to fit through, anyway. Beside it was a tall bookshelf, filled to the brim with all the books Bishop Seward used to teach the new monks and clerics.

Abigail banged uselessly on the clouded glass, her untrained arms not strong enough to shatter it. Panicked, she groped around the bookshelf, lifting the largest leather-bound tome she could find and smashing it against the window.

The glass cracked, but only slightly.

She repeated the motion frantically, praying to every deity she had ever learned of that the bandits didn't hear the glass shatter and come to investigate.

Each hit brought only a few cobwebs of cracks from the main one, but the young cleric would not be deterred. She needed to find help, and quickly. Finally, after minutes had passed, her arms gave out, and the book fell to the floor.

Still, the window had not broken.

Abigail resumed banging on the glass with her fists, desperate to get out at all costs. Hot tears begun to fall from her eyes, and she began to punch more out of frustration than anything, an emotion that was looked down upon in the convent.

The cracks in the glass were so numerous that the entire pane looked as if a hammer had been taken to it. Reassured by the window's dilapidated state, Abigail gave it one, last hit.

The glass creaked...

... and fell apart.

It shattered backwards, the glass spilling out into the grass outside. Not even sparing enough time to give a cry of victory, Abigail jumped onto the windowsill, intent on getting out. Stray shards of glass pierced her hands, drops of blood spattering on her once pure-white dress. She ignored the sting in her hands and swung out of the room, landing awkwardly in the grass.

"I'll be back, Your Excellency!" she called hastily, not wanting the injured bishop to be confused, "Wait for me!"

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"Excuse me! Hello? Please, wait! I need your help!"

Lyn frowned. A figure was sprinting away from the shrine. By the looks of things, she was a young cleric, no older than fourteen or fifteen, her face framed by curls of thick blonde hair. She held up her skirt with one hand and waved desperately with the other. Lyn could clearly see blood on her palm, even from a distance. Worried, she kicked her horse, her companions crying out as she lurched forward.

The cleric reached her quickly, doubling over and panting heavily from the run. "Oh... Oh thank Mother Earth and Father Sky..." she whispered between gasps. "Please... You have to help..."

"What's going on? Did something happen?"

The girl looked up, nodding her head vigorously, "Yes! I-It's at the shrine! Bandits!" She swallowed hard, as if unwilling to speak of it, "T-They killed so many people! They hurt Bishop Seward and... and locked us in the back room! I heard their leader say..." She swallowed again, "He said... he was going to steal the Mani Katti!"

"What?" Lyn's voice rose from disbelief and anger, "The Mani Katti?" Sensing her fury, her mare shifted uneasily, pawing at the ground and tossing its head. Lyn peered through the afternoon sun, studying the shrine. From a distance, it looked as if nothing was wrong. But still... She would not allow anyone to try and take the Mani Katti!

"Lady Lyndis...!"

The knights pulled up beside her, their horses tossing their heads irritably. The animals had apparently gotten used to the slow trot and weren't happy that they had been forced out of it. "Lady Lyndis, what's the matter?" Sain questioned, "Why did you ride off like that?"

"It's the shrine!" the cleric wailed, balling her hands up under her chin, "Bandits are trying to steal the Mani Katti!"

"The what?"

"It's a sacred sword enshrined there," Lyn said impatiently, "We cannot allow them to steal it! It would put all of Sacae in an uproar!" She twisted around in her saddle, locating an out-of-breath tactician finally catching up with them.

"What in the name of all that's holy are you doing?" Cynthia snapped, "Leaving me behind out there like some–"

Lyn leaned down abruptly, not even allowing the tactician to finish her sentence. She grasped the older girl's wrist, hauling her back onto the saddle behind her. Cynthia gave a mixed cry of surprise and fear, clinging to the Sacaen for dear life as the horse lurched forward, leaving the knights, once again, in the dust.

"Lyn! Lyn! What are you doing?" Cynthia screeched, her voice soaring into a high octave. The Sacaen ignored her, momentarily driven only by determination. She heard Cynthia cry out again, and winced imperceptibly as she clung even tighter than what seemed possible. "Oh my...! Sweet Saint Elimine!"

Cynthia was on the brink of tears when Lyn finally stopped the horse. She signaled silently to the animal to stop when they were close to the shrine, but far enough away that none of the bandits would see them. What she didn't do, however, was bother to do it gradually. It halted in the middle of its gallop, and would've thrown its riders off had Lyn not already been used to a horse's potentially erratic speeds.

Cynthia, however, screeched so loud that her voice gave out even before she was finished.

The young tactician panted heavily, her voice and lungs hoarse. She released her hold on her friend, her arms falling to her sides like wet noodles. "Lyn... Don't you ever... Ever... Do that to me again," she whispered venomously.

"Sorry," Lyn said unapologetically, scanning the shrine for any signs of enemies. She turned slightly, flashing her friend a smile. "I'll warn you next time."

"You'd better." Cynthia groaned, sliding off the side of the horse and landing weakly on the ground. She sank to her knees, "Oh... Oh Saint Elimine... I'm going to be ill..." And, with that, she promptly doubled over and vomited into the grass.

"Lady Lyndis! Lady Cynthia!"

Both girls looked up, one alert and ready, the other groggy and irritable. Two powerful stallions trotted up beside them, their riders visibly annoyed.

"Lady Lyndis, I must protest," Kent said flatly, "I understand your urgency to save the sacred sword, but we must form a plan, not run in blindly."

"Yes, a plan," Sain agreed, not willing to let a conversation go without him putting in his two cents. "And you really must be more careful. You handle a horse with magnificent beauty and grace, my lady, but I'm afraid the young Lady Cynthia has lost her lunch." He smiled weakly at the tactician doubled over on the ground, "It was a good lunch, wasn't it, Lady Cynthia?"

"Shut up, Sain."

"I'm sorry," Lyn said sincerely, meeting Kent's gaze instead of risking Cynthia's icy glare. "It's just... the Mani Katti is very important to the people of Sacae..." She looked back to the shrine, "It would be terrible if it were lost."

"Even so..."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Cynthia said dully, getting shakily to her feet. "What's done is done. Besides, we're wasting time by sitting here arguing about it."

Lyn grinned. "Thank you, Cynthia." She felt a blush spread across her cheeks, "I'm... uh... Sorry I made you... sick."

Her friend did not return the smile, but she did not reprimand the Sacaen. She waved them forward with her right hand, her left holding her stomach as if that would prevent her from retching again. "Come on. I've got an idea."

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

Sain gave a whoop of triumph as his lance penetrated the large, cracked portion of the wall, crumbling the already weak stones. They fell apart one by one, unable to stand up against the sheer strength of the cavalier's weapon. A small cloud of dust wafted from the stone floor of the shrine."You see? The lance truly is a hero's weapon!"

"Be quiet, Sain. They'll hear us." Lyn stepped carefully over the debris, not making a sound. She had left her mare behind, abandoned in the care of a reluctant Cynthia and a trembling cleric. The tactician had grudgingly agreed to staying on the sidelines, not willing to be caught in the crossfire, nor to leave a Sister behind. She had seemed confident that the others could take care of things with the vague orders she had given.

Lyn's hand was once again wrapped around the hilt of her sword, ready to spring forth at any moment. She led the way into the dilapidated shrine.

A single brigand appeared through the small dust cloud as it began to fade, standing defenseless in the center of the hall. There didn't seem to be any others, save for what had to be their leader, standing near the altar. This would be easy.

"Lady Lyndis, wait!" Ignoring Kent's hissed warning, Lyn sprang forward, drawing her blade just as she reached the bandit, driving it horizontally into his shoulder. The axeman roared in both surprise and pain, and his axe fell and clattered to the ground. He glared at his assailant, emitting a wordless snarl, and attempted to swing his free hand into her gut. Lyn avoided the haphazard movement easily, her movements smooth and coordinated.

She prepared herself for another attack, but before she could even get into the right stance, a shooting pain cut down her back like wildfire. She cried out, falling forward and landed heavily on her stomach. Her sword flew out of her hand, clattering uselessly across the floor. Her back throbbed, and she could feel warm blood pour steadily from her wound.

The bandit leader stood above her, glaring down at her with a disapproving frown. "Stupid girl," he spat, "Don't think that every battle you encounter is so perfect that you can simply ignore other enemies in the room." He pushed her form with his boot, as if checking to see if she was dead. He suddenly grinned, leaning his large sword heavily on his shoulder. "Your mistake will be the death of you." He turned his gaze to the injured bandit, and nodded carelessly to Lyn's prone form, "Kill her."

Before the brigand could even respond, a javelin broke through the dust, flying with deadly accuracy. It impaled itself deep into the bandit's chest, piercing his heart and killing him within seconds.

Glass snarled as the axeman collapsed on the floor, turning his gaze to the knights that appeared in the shattered wall. "You should follow your own advice," Kent remarked bitterly, readying his next javelin. Sain drew his own lance from its holster, pointing it daringly at the bandit across from them.

Realizing that the odds were no longer pitched in his favor, Glass shifted his sword, pointing it over Lyn's neck. "Move, and the girl dies!" he shouted.

The knights hesitated, but both conceded, lowering their weapons obediently.

Lyn grimaced, pain still shooting relentlessly down her back. She shifted so that she was leaning on her right elbow, staring up Glass's blade and into his distracted face. She groaned softly, glancing across the floor at her sword, laying abandoned on the ground several feet away from her. There was no way she'd be able to reach it in time.

Her gaze began to drift around the room. The pain in her back had begun to numb, and her vision was fading in an out. She knew that she would pass out from blood loss soon if she didn't do something.

It was then that she saw it.

The Mani Katti had already been tilting on its podium, threatening to fall at any moment. The commotion had knocked it clean from the altar, and it had skittered several feet away from its resting place.

Its hilt was mere inches away from Lyn's hand.

Mistaking the sacred blade for an ordinary sword in her impaired state, Lyn's hand shot out, wrapping firmly around the Mani Katti's hilt. She pulled roughly on the handle, and the weapon freed itself easily, soaring through the air with an unearthly glow about it.

Glass screamed as the sacred blade sunk into his back in an awkward thrust, doing the same to him as Kent had done to his peon only moments before. He coughed up a mouthful of blood, staring down at the injured girl with shocked eyes, the irises clouded with pain. His groan came moments too late, and he fell to the ground, his body sliding off the Mani Katti's blade.

Lyn's arm fell to the floor, the sword slipping from her fingertips and clattering to the ground. Her strength vanished, and the world went black.

–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–

"... yn...?

"...ady Lyn...?

"Lady Lyn, are you awake?"

Lyn groaned, forcing her eyes open. Her eyelids were heavy, sinking back down as soon as she had gotten them open. She could barely make out a face, a pale blur framed by curly golden locks. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was sore and dry, making it impossible for her to form anything other than a weak whimper.

"She's thirsty." This voice was familiar, but Lyn could not see her face. "Sain, fetch my canteen, will you?"

"Of course."

Cynthia! If Cynthia was here, that meant... Lyn whimpered again, her eyelids slipping further over her vision.

"Lady Lyn! Don't go back to sleep!" The first voice again. Lyn forced her eyes back open, trying to focus on the face above her. Slowly, the details cleared, and the blur became the relieved face of a young cleric.

"Here you are."

"Thank you, Sain."

Another face appeared, this one more familiar. Lyn vaguely identified it as the pale face of her tactician friend, waves of light brown hair pulled back behind her ears. Cynthia tipped the mouth of her canteen to the Sacaen's lips, and Lyn eagerly accepted the water that poured forth. She let out a contented sigh, the cool liquid calming her burning throat. "Th... Thank you..." she whispered hoarsely.

Cynthia smiled, helping the girl to sit up. "That was some show you put on," she said cheerfully, "Sain told me all about it. And, believe me, he didn't leave out a single detail." She grimaced at the knight squatting cheerily beside her. "Even the ones I'd rather not have heard about."

Lyn smiled weakly, then turned her pained gaze on the young cleric kneeled next to her. She studied the girl's features, but still could not place a name to her face, "Who... Who are you?"

The cleric stiffened, she apparently hadn't noticed the Sacaen looking at her. "M-Me? Oh! I... My name is Abigail. I'm the cleric who told you about the shrine." She patted a long, oaken staff beside her. "You were lucky. Bishop Seward keeps spare staves in his room, and your friends managed to break the lock on the door."

Lyn squirmed, the events before her faint rushing back to her like the rapids of a river. "Ah! Th... That's right! The... the bishop and... and the Mani Katti! What... what happened?"

"You saved them both, my lady." This time it was Kent's voice. He appeared from the back room, an old man dressed in the robes of Elimine following behind him.

The elderly man bowed low, his beard brushing briefly against the ground. "Lyn of the Lorca, I am eternally indebted to you." He straightened up, his lips curling into a proud smile. "And it seems that not only have you saved me as well as my shrine, you have also fulfilled a life-long dream of mine."

"I... what?"

"Lyn, did you ever stop to think about that sword you used to strike down the bandit leader?" Cynthia asked, visibly confused, "Didn't you notice anything odd about it?"

"...Odd?"

"Lady Lyndis..." Kent turned, lifting the patterned scabbard of the Mani Katti off its resting place back on the altar. "That sword you used... It was this one."

Lyn felt the blood drain from her face. "But... But that's..."

Bishop Seward smiled faintly, taking the blade from Kent, cradling it delicately in both hands. He held it out to her. "You, my dear, have found the weapon you were destined to wield.

"The Mani Katti."