The girl had her challenges ahead of her. He had his own.
As Aria turned and walked into the village to begin her research, Saint Dane wheeled about and took to the forest. He flew at an incredible speed, borrowed wings skimming the tops of the widely-spaced trees. The suns of Denduron were hovering just over the horizon, making their ways slowly towards the middle of the sky. He had passed his enemy some time ago, but in order for his plan to work Saint Dane would have to arrive much, sooner than his irksome counterpart.
Ah, Press. You are going to enjoy what I have planned for you. Just like old times, as the saying goes.
As he grew close to the Bedoowan town, he landed behind a small, rocky outcropping just off the main road. His form liquefied, though he did not feel the change. When he stood, he was an average-sized, wiry-muscled man with short, bright red hair and very pale skin. His armor was that of a Bedoowan knight, albeit a few differences. He wore no helmet, and there were a few slight adornments – a signal to his stature. On his back was a long blade, on his waist a knife.
He strode out from behind the rock and to the road, submerged in thought as he grew closer to the primitive little town. He walked with purpose and authority, and as he passed by the two knights faithfully guarding the entrance to town, they straightened up.
He nodded sharply at them as he passed by, on his way to the Town Center. At least it had been the center. So many buildings and structures had been added so haphazardly that the Town Center was now only vaguely where its name implied.
Once again, a simple design thwarted by the shortsightedness and utter disregard of its creators. Yet another minor reason to add to his already deeply rooted contempt.
As he strode down the poorly-maintained streets people glanced at him apprehensively, some shying away. He cared little for their reactions. Perhaps he may have enjoyed their fealty at some long-lost point, but now he was far too involved in his own designs. The plan was all that mattered.
That in mind, he walked through the double doors of the Town Center, wherein the councilors of the Bedoowan and Milago met to discuss their tribe's futures, led by their leader. The Milago councilors were not present. No, they were busy – at least, one of them was. The other two were likely preparing to return to their village. The three seats stood empty.
The other three councilors, however – the Bedoowan – sat at their own table, deep in discussion. One of them lifted his head and hailed him. "Sawil! You have returned. What of the Milago? Any change?" He seemed genuinely concerned. Saint Dane felt a slight flutter of irritation at the man's misplaced interest, but his response was measured. Feigning disappointment, he responded.
"I'm afraid not, Councilor Tolk. If anything, the mood grows darker. I am confident that my fears will shortly be confirmed – they will soon resort to violence."
Of course, it was unlikely that such a thing would happen without severe provocation – but never mind. The provocation would come, just as soon as he found what he was looking for. At any rate, his words served their purpose. The other two councilors looked up sharply, worry etched in their faces, and Saint Dane could almost see the thought racing through their minds. Attack? Or wait to be attacked?
They would wait today. They would wait until they could no more.
Another of the councilors – Raig – spoke. "I see. This is most disturbing. What of the guards in the village? Do you believe them safe?"
Undoubtedly they were for the moment. Most of the 'skirmishes' that had occurred were of his own make. He had even participated in a few himself - sometimes victim, sometimes punisher.
"I am not sure," he responded. "The Milago grow more and more riled by the day. I think it would be a good idea to send another patrol group down to increase the night guard. It will serve both to protect from the beasts of the forest and ensure the knights avoid the wrath of any…unsatisfied…villagers."
The oaf who had hailed him looked trepid. The other two councilors, however, nodded. "I suppose it must be done. At any rate, the curfew should ensure that the Milago are unaware of the further increase, provided the new group only takes the night-shift."
Indeed. And how furious the Milago would be when they learned that the number of guards posted in the village had more than doubled in the last month. Largely unseen, save for under the glow of the Tryptite long after dark, the knights in the village had increased even more than the Milago knew. Ah, well. Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying went. Saint Dane – Sawil – nodded, then an expression of deep concern crossed his face.
Raig took notice, and inquired, "Sawil, does something else bother you? What have you learned?"
Saint Dane was almost fond of Raig. Simple minds were so easy to manipulate.
"There is one more thing. A traveler entered the village last night. The man named Press."
At this the third councilor, Nyja, spoke up. "Press is back? It has been months. Why does this concern you?" She looked at him intently. The woman was attentive, and while Saint Dane usually kept a good hold on her, she was far more temperamental than the other two.
He chose his words carefully, first pausing to seem tentative. "I believe I expressed my concerns about him the last time he was here. Do you recall?" The three nodded, Nyja staring at him sharply. Before she could interject he continued. "My opinion on him remains unchanged. Actually, after last night, they are strengthened." This was going to be delicate. He was confident that he could convince the other two, but Nyja was fond of Press. She would be – how had Pendragon always phrased it? – A tough sell. His past charades of disquiet and unease had imprinted themselves upon the three, but in order to pull off his next move, he would have to be very careful. Alarm tempered with restraint.
You are not trying to imprison an innocent man, but rather, detain a potential threat.
"What of last night?" Raig asked quickly. Saint Dane could tell that the man was already convinced. Ever the bearer of bad news, he suppressed his amusement and continued on solemnly.
His eyebrows creased. "He came into the village very late last night, long past curfew." It would not take much effort to debunk his falsehoods, but with luck and a bit of help from the fool Traveler, Aria, it would not matter for long. "I caught sight of him as I was on my own patrol. I followed him as he snuck through the streets, heading for the far eastern side of the village, near the abandoned mine." There were many abandoned mines, but the eastern one was of far greater interest than the others. It was well-known that more than Glaze once rested within that mine.
The three were listening intently now, and even Nyja had a look of growing unease. He ruthlessly quashed the spark of triumph that flared briefly in his chest, and relayed the rest of his fairy-tale. "There were others there. I recognized one of them as the miner, Steric. It would seem that…based on what I saw, and what little I managed to hear…Press is conspiring with them." He paused here, lowered his voice, and spruced it up with a touch of fear. "I heard mention of Tak," he finished quietly.
Saint Dane watched gleefully as the word took effect. Fear and alarm spread across the three faces before him, and after a moment, hardened into resolve. Nyja steepled her hands together, resting her forehead against them, and fell silent. After a moment she asked the question. "What would you recommend we do?"
Ahh, how wonderful it is when a plan falls into place! With no small amount of regret in his voice, he said, "I believe it would be in the best interest of both tribes if he was to be detained." He quickly added, "Only until we can be certain there is no threat, of course." He looked genuinely contrite at the suggestion. He was not.
Far from it, in fact.
The three looked at each other. A look was all it took, and they nodded.
"Do what needs to be done," Nyja said.
Sawil nodded, and turned on his heel to leave.
He reached the door to the antechamber, and as an afterthought, turned back. The three were already back to their discussions, though they looked significantly more worried than when he had come in. A job well done, he thought. He called back to them. "By the by, have the other three left already, or do they linger?"
Raig looked up and responded, "Grail and Kore are near the southern stables, preparing for their return. No one seems to know where Maal is at the moment, however." With that he went back to the discussion.
Saint Dane nodded at no one in particular, turned, and left.
He quickly walked to the barracks, which was a short ways away from the Town Center. The suns were nearing the center of the sky by now, and Press would surely be along soon. He hailed two knights, who quickly dropped what they were doing – polishing their weapons, by the looks of it – and came over.
They saluted, and nodded when he gave them their orders. The two armor-clad men sheathed their weapons, following their superior out of the barracks and down the main road. They made their way to the village entrance, Saint Dane moving behind them, still disguised as their superior, Sawil. As the main road out of the Bedoowan town came into view, Saint Dane drew back, finding a good vantage point. He stood in the shadow of a baker's hut, watching the wide road which led to the forest, and on to the Milago village. The two guards he had enlisted stood on either side of the road, just inside the town. They waited, and watched.
After a short while, a man came hiking up the road. He looked worked, but not winded. His somewhat long brown hair stuck to his head, such was the heat today even in the shade of the forest. Saint Dane watched in anticipation as he drew closer to the posts which marked the town limits. As Press passed into the town, the two guards looked to their superior. He nodded, and the knights made their move.
Saint Dane could hear well enough the conversation. "Halt!" One of the knights said. "By order of the Bedoowan council, you are to be detained immediately."
Press replied calmly. "What are the charges, if I may ask?"
The other knight replied gruffly, "Never mind. You will be informed later. Please come with us."
Press seemed to pause, and the guards tensed. After a moment, Press said, "Very well, but I have a niece back in the village. She's there alone, and she'll be expecting me back before curfew. She'll get worried if I don't come back."
One of the knights moved behind him and bound his hands. "Well then, worried she'll be. Not much you can do about that."
Press leaned over to the guard, and said something softly in his ear. Saint Dane's eyes narrowed, but he wasn't terribly concerned. He was fairly certain he knew Press' intent.
They seemed to disagree on something, but then the knight binding him relaxed. He nodded, and began to lead Press away. Suddenly Press tensed, looking around.
Saint Dane smiled as their eyes met. He lowered his façade for a brief moment, allowing his eyes to flash blue. To his credit, Press didn't even seem remotely bothered. He dismissed him, turned around, and went calmly to the jail.
Saint Dane watched him go, thinking quickly. He had many roles to play, and seldom had time to waste. Already he had been gone too long, and his absence had been noticed. Still, a bit of fun couldn't hurt.
He attended to some of the minor responsibilities of Sawil's 'life' as he waited for his old friend to be processed.
Saint Dane took care not to be seen too often as he made his way to the jail in the eastern part of the town. When he grew close to his destination he looked carefully around. There was no one nearby. Concentrating briefly, he allowed his form to dissipate. Now incorporeal, he drifted through a small crack in the wall of the jail, into one of the empty holding cells. In the plentiful shadows he was able to pass knights and prisoners unnoticed until he reached his destination. He had already specified which cell the prisoner was to be held in, and it suited his purpose. No one else was around. They could speak unheard.
Press sat on his bunk, face in his steepled hands; he looked to be deep in thought, and was very clearly worried. Saint Dane's form coalesced into that of Sawil, and he grinned slowly. "Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear." Press looked up sharply as Saint Dane began to pace outside of his cell. "This seems rather familiar, does it not? Imprisoned by the Bedoowan, helpless to act, your brave little Traveler left to fend for him…her…self." He pouted mockingly at his old enemy, feigning concern. "You must be worried about her. Or did you intend to abandon her so early? After all, it worked out well the first time, did it not?"
Press raised an eyebrow, but replied calmly enough, despite his foe's needling. "Aria? She'll be fine. She's a lot more resourceful than she looks. Besides, she'll have help."
"You speak with such confidence. I sense that you're right. I'm sure she will rise to the occasion, as Pendragon did. Oh, but he went through hell to do so, did he not?"
At this Press' eyes flashed. Saint Dane smiled. It was not her performance he was concerned about, it was her wellbeing. How touching. "Come now, Press. You and I both know that there's nothing to fear. After all, the old days are over! There is peace between the two tribes, is there not? No more coliseums, no more toxic mines, no more Transfers," he spoke almost ruefully. "What is the worst that could happen to her…?" What indeed. He had some lovely answers to that question.
At this, Press' expression grew dangerous. "Saint Dane–" he began, but he was cut off.
"And of course, as you said, she'll have help. The Traveler of Denduron – no doubt the one that knight will be contacting?" Press glared at Saint Dane once again, but remained silent. "Oh, don't worry; I have no plans to call on him. Yet."
He let that sink in, still pacing. Then he drew short, and turned his full attention to the man sitting crouched behind bars. "And, of course, just as Pendragon had Osa, Aria will have Alder to mentor her whilst you are," he smirked at his jailed enemy and continued pacing. "Busy. Oh, but," Saint Dane's eyes widened in false remembrance, "Osa wasn't around for very long, was she?"
At this, Press snarled. He opened his mouth to say something, but once again Saint Dane cut him off. "I was not there, but my assassins told me she died quite heroically. Her death must have been inspiring." He stopped pacing and turned his full attention to Press. "I wonder if Alder's will be as well?"
At this Press sprang to his feet, temper breaking. He flung himself at the bars of the cell, reaching through and grabbing the demon's shirt. "I swear, Saint Dane–"
But with this, his form misted. Press' fingers slipped through the smoke, and he was left holding nothing. Saint Dane chuckled softly as he began to dissipate once more. As he grew less distinct, he left his enemy with one final thought.
"I think it will be. She will rise to the occasion - great actions are often the result of great suffering. And believe me, she will suffer, just as Pendragon did. Perhaps more so."
He slipped into the shadows, hissing as he did so. "Because that is the way it was meant to be."
"Saint Dane!" Press shouted, enraged. He had the knowledge and experience of the ages. It was not often he lost his temper. But the demon always had a way to provoke. He knew where the soft spots were, and how to get at them. This was the knowledge he had accumulated, and he used it well.
As the guards came running to see what the disturbance was, Saint Dane drifted through the cells and halls, emerging in a deserted alley behind the jail. He smiled slightly, his fun over. Most people were easy to manipulate, but Press had always been difficult. It gave Saint Dane a sense of triumph whenever he managed to provoke the man. Press knew that death meant little to the Travelers. They would simply appear in Solara once their time here on the territories was done. Saint Dane knew that Press' anguish was not over Alder's imminent death, but rather the girl's imminent grief. Aria would undoubtedly come to depend on Alder for stability and support, just as much as Pendragon had for Osa. And it would be just as crushing to her when he fell.
He briefly pondered what the next step was, and quickly made his decision. He solidified his form into that of a cat, not so different from the species found on Earth. He padded through the streets, actually purring as he remembered his enemy's torment, and eventually made his way to the southern stables.
Checking quickly and carefully to ensure that he was alone, he backed into Sawil's form when he drew near the old building. He strode to the end of the alley, taking care to stay largely out of sight, and hailed a young knight passing by on patrol. The boy came over to him, and as Saint Dane gave him his orders, he paused, looking slightly confused.
Saint Dane narrowed his eyes, a spark of irritation flaring up. It was not the knight's place to be confused, or curious, or concerned in any way. His place was that of a messenger. To enunciate that point, Saint Dane – Sawil – spat out his dismissal and swore the boy to silence. The young knight gave him a quick, frightened salute, turned, and hurried away.
Saint Dane watched him carefully, making sure he would be able to recognize him should the boy need to be dealt with. This was a very important step, and it was critical that it be handled with subtlety. He felt no desire to take more lives than was necessary, but should the boy prove troublesome, he would not hesitate.
He relaxed. The message would be delivered. Tomorrow he would meet with those under his command and give them their next target. Today, he would need to deal with other business. He glanced down at his hands, pondering the entity that he had created.
Sawil. A strange name for a strange character, most thought. Never mind. Most did not know enough about him to dwell on him for long. The only person who was even remotely aware of what he did was the councilor, Raig. It was Raig, after all, who held Sawil's loyalty. Raig directed his men, gave them their orders, and otherwise allowed them free reign. It was Raig who told them what to find, where to strike. It was Raig who controlled the situation from the background, his assassins working his will from the shadows. And it was Saint Dane who controlled Raig.
There had never been a Sawil. It had taken him many years to secure his role, all done from scratch. The years of tedium meant little to him. He was patient. He had all the time in Halla at his disposal. And the time he had invested, all his careful planning, would come to fruition in the next few days. It left him feeling satisfied.
He jerked his head around as he heard voices approaching the alley. He recognized the Milago councilor, Grail, and concentrated quickly to change his form. It would not do well to have Sawil found sneaking about near the Milago councilors. It was not time for such provocation…yet. Just as Saint Dane finishing assuming his new form, the councilor in question turned the corner, looking irritated.
The expression dropped, and was quickly replaced with a grin. "Maal! We have been looking for you. We meant to depart hours ago! Where have you been?"
Councilor Maal turned to face his long-time friend, smiling sheepishly. "My apologies, Grail. I'm afraid I grew a bit distracted with a pretty barmaid from the tavern…" he trailed off, hoping that the lie would serve its purpose.
Councilor Grail looked at his fellow councilor sharply, and Saint Dane tensed. Then he snorted. "Maintaining 'peaceful relations', as always." He said sarcastically. "Is that why you weren't in your room last night?"
Saint Dane silently cursed. His absence had been more readily noticed than he had thought. "Err, quite. We are on a diplomatic mission after all." He waited to see how his old friend would respond.
His concerns were baseless. After a moment the man laughed, saying, "Well, let's just keep this between the two of us, if possible. Kore hardly needs any more reason to be disgusted with you. If you are ready to depart, I would recommend we do so. Thanks to you, we will have to deal with his foul mood the entire way back to the village."
Saint Dane relaxed. He nodded, making his way over to his two fellow councilors.