Chapter 8
Evening in Ylisstol was usually a time of relaxation and calm as the day wound down, laborers and merchants alike, rich and poor and young and old all flocking to the local watering holes to wash down the day's events with cool ale, or wash away the day's failures with harsher alcohols.
The Mage Academy was no different when the sun went down; students returned to their dorm rooms or, if they were locals, returned to their homes to study and rest up. Teachers and other staff would often meet in the upper floors' common rooms, their own unique form of watering holes, to discuss their days or to argue politics and philosophy over fine wines after dinner.
It was a good place to end the day, a calming period that Clarus usually quite enjoyed.
Instead he found himself bursting into his own room and slamming the door behind him, submerging himself in inky blackness as he fumbled for the heavy door's locks with shaky hands. When he finally succeeded in locking the door he let out a shuddering breath, motioning three times with his hand before he finally succeeded in getting the spell right and lighting the small lamp he kept at his desk.
The senior mage shuddered again, taking fast, shallow breaths as he leaned his sweaty brow against the cool wood of his door.
Then all at once he lost his composure and spun, running to the cistern he kept in the corner of the room and doubling over it, retching until his stomach was empty.
"What have I done?" Clarus moaned in-between heaves. "Wh-what have… I done? Oh Naga, Galuc… Galuc I… I…"
He'd killed the boy. Or very near, anyway. When he and Alvidian had left the other student, broken and shackled to the stone floor of Clarus' lab, he'd felt nothing. Nothing except the mild hunger he would usually get after a hard day of work. But now…
Clarus sobbed as he coughed up his light dinner, holding the edges of the cistern with white knuckles as he tried to steady himself. When he was sure it was safe he slowly rose, emptying a pitcher of cool, clean water into the nearby small tub he kept for shaving to wash his face.
When he looked up in the mirror he was shocked by what looked back.
He had aged at least five years in the afternoon. Dark rings circled his eyes, and small black cracks webbed from the corners of his eyes back to his temples. His dark hair had begun greying at the sides, and had even thinned at the top.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "No! No, no, no, no, no!"
He splashed his face with the water from the tub, scrubbing his face roughly with his bare hands and nails. He felt the nails of his hands break the skin on his forehead and cheeks, blood starting to drip into the tub of water beneath him as he hunched over it and sobbed again.
"What is… happening to me?"
He looked up again, tears and blood running down his face to confront himself in the mirror.
Instead he was met by the sight of another man staring back at him. A man wearing a cold smile, his long brown hair swept back from his relatively handsome face, and his eyes radiating a cold, infinite black light.
Clarus spun, already casting a spell that would burn the intruder in his private sanctum to ashes, but was met with an empty room.
After a tense moment of silence Clarus could no longer contain the shaking in his knees, sliding to the floor and holding his face in his hands as he tried to deny what he'd done.
And he could swear, just at the edge of his perception, he could hear someone laughing at his anguish.
Arya sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, swaying back and forth with the motion of Anna's wagon. The Shepherds were crossing the desert now, and, according to the surly priest Brady, Arya was still too weak to make the desert crossing on foot.
Usually she wouldn't mind not having to tromp through the desert; she was Plegian, so it was something she was overly familiar with after a lifetime of living in the wastelands. But sitting there in the back of the wagon alone, she couldn't help but well on what she'd learned the previous day.
"I was supposed to be Grima's avatar."
Could she still follow Robin after what she'd learned? Sure, it appeared neither that he, nor Grima for that matter, had been entirely at fault for the deaths of her family, but…
The girl sighed, wondering what to do.
"What'cha doing?" Fae asked, her head suddenly appearing in a blinding slit of light as she opened the rear canvas flap.
Arya squeaked, jumping a little in surprise. The manakete chuckled as she climbed up into the wagon, perching on the crate across from the Plegian girl and grinning expectantly.
"I'm… trying to meditate," Arya admitted. "Trying to feel the flow of mana and find something I can tap into. But…"
"Kinda hard in Plegia, isn't it?" Fae asked when the other girl trailed off. "That's why I like it here in the desert. Manaketes like me are a lot more in tune with the world's mana flows; it's like noise to me, white noise in the background. I can tell if someone is casting a spell a mile away in particularly dense mana zones. But here in the desert… it's quiet. Look at it this way; if you can tap them here, you can do it anywhere!"
Arya nodded raptly before shaking her head.
"N-no," she said. "Well, I mean yes, but that's not why I'm having trouble. I… asked Robin to tell me… about g-Grima…"
"Ahhhhh," Fae nodded, sitting up straighter. "So he told you the whole story, huh? About him and the Fell Dragon?"
Arya sighed, nodding and looking at the floor of the wagon.
"It's… bugging me," she said after a moment of silence. "I don't want to dwell on it, but… my whole family died so Grima could be revived and he-"
Arya trailed off as a pair of soft hands came to rest on her shoulders. She glanced up to see Fae's face wearing a serious expression for the first time since she had met the manakete.
"Arya, listen to me very carefully, and please believe what I am about to say," she said in a low, serious voice. "Robin is not, nor was he ever or will he ever be, Grima. Robin fought hard and almost died to avoid becoming Grima's host. He has suffered greatly to remain who he is, and to keep his own soul. He endured suffering I cannot even begin to imagine to not only save himself, but all of us."
Arya nodded mutely and Fae smiled again, sitting back on her crate.
"I don't make a habit of telling people this," she went on, smiling her usual gentle smile. "But I'm very old, as far as manaketes go, and I'm pretty sensitive to these kinds of things; so when I tell you that Robin is not Grima you can believe me. So if you can't trust him just yet, I'll vouch for him."
They sat in silence for a few moments, Arya considering this new information while Fae waited patiently for her reaction. When Arya finally looked up again she blinked at the manakete for a moment before grinning a little.
"So… how old are you, anyway?" she asked playfully.
"Really?" Fae laughed. "That's what you took from that talk? Well, whatever, you're not brooding anymore. Oh! I know! I'll help you get into a meditative state! Close your eyes and just do what I say, and you'll be feeling the mana flow in no time! Now, close your eyes and take a deep breath…"
That evening the caravan finally stopped on a hill overlooking the city of Saiqat, the sun having long since gone down. Robin let out a sigh as he sank to the bench seat at the front of Anna's wagon, the fire spell he'd been using to illuminate their path blinking out. They had long since entered the central dune-sea of Plegia, and the entire party was ready to take a well-deserved break. Desert crossings were always hard, especially on the non-Plegian members of the group. Arya had long since begun to walk amongst the others rather than ride in the wagon, having partially been able to sense the mana flow in the air around them with Fae's help earlier that afternoon. Now she stood next to Galle and the other young tacticians as they marveled at the city of Saiqat before them.
The city sprawled out around the central oasis, irrigation channels feeding water from the small lake to the districts furthest out near the city walls. Dust and sand blew around the palms and water-grasses that grew along the shore of the oasis itself, large, squat clay buildings making up the majority of the city.
"We're not camping in the desert, are we?" Van asked sullenly. "I mean, I don't mind the camping, but the desert… I don't like. It's the sand. I can never seem to get it out of my underwear when we sleep in the desert."
"Wow, add that to the list of things I never needed to think about," Galle groaned.
"No, we're going to the inn," Robin said, his voice dripping exhaustion.
"My family owns one of the smaller inns, so we'll get the family discount," Anna chirped, giving the young tacticians a wink before she urged the horse toward the city.
Galle resisted the urge to sigh as they approached the city gates, mostly because of the dust. The young tactician liked to think he was rather tolerant of the different locales he'd been in; at worst he could claim total indifference to a place, like he had in Silva or Misayl. But Saiqat he didn't like. In fact it wasn't a stretch to say that he hated Saiqat.
The oasis city was the place he had ended up in after Grima's defeat, when the Plegian refugees had flooded back to the nation from the north. Saiqat held a lot of bad memories for him, not to mention people that might recognize him.
He glanced to his side, watching Arya out of the corner of his eye. The younger girl marched along beside him happily, almost like she was excited. Mari, too, had a slight hitch in her step; she had mentioned always wanting to visit and explore Plegia, so she was probably excited too. Van…
"Oh man, this is so exciting!" the Ylissean boy said. "I've never been to a Plegian city before! What's the food like? Oh! Are we going to sleep on the floor like they do in Chon'sin?"
"You can if you want," Galle scoffed.
Van was just as chipper as he usually was. Which was to say, he was getting on Galle's nerves. Like usual.
"Aw, c'mon man, cheer up!" Van laughed. "This is fun for us! Look, even the kid's excited!"
Arya jumped a little before positioning herself further behind Galle's form, warily glaring at the Ylissean.
"Okay, so she still doesn't like me," Van shrugged. "Mari, you're excited, right?"
The Chon'sinian woman nodded slightly, eyes never leaving the city before them. Galle did sigh this time, running a hand through his hair and scowling. Mari hesitated a moment where she was ahead of him before hanging back to match her pace with Galle's. She nudged him lightly in the arm with her elbow, the corners of her lips turning up in what approximated as an excited grin for her, and the Plegian tactician felt his resistance crumble. He turned, grinning slightly at Arya.
"No place like home, huh?" he muttered to the girl, shrugging helplessly.
Arya nodded, smiling too, now. Galle's face returned to a scowl as Mari and a reticent Arya moved ahead a little faster to catch up with Van.
As they passed under the archway of the city's gates and Robin began to speak with the town guards all Galle could think of was his disdain for this particular patch of earth.
Arya shuffled into the common room that the Shepherds were sharing later that evening, freshly bathed and clad in clean clothes, both sensations that were so rare for her they were almost alien. The gentle scent of soap from her clothes and the wafting smell of flowers from the concoction that Fae had washed her hair with made her smile a little to herself, if for no other reason than they reminded her of her childhood.
She was back in Plegia, and it felt good. It felt like coming home.
But, Arya reminded herself, she hadn't quite figured out the truth about Grima that she'd been seeking.
With a dejected sigh her smile dropped and she shuffled through the common room, past the various pairs and groups that were sitting around, and came to rest perched on a small stool next to where Galle was reading. Beside the dour tactician Mari and Van were playing chess, although it would be more accurate to say that Van was losing and Mari was dominating the board.
She watched in silence for a while before the four of them all looked up at once at Owain's booming laugh; the blonde swordsman was sitting with Robin, Lucina, Brady and Severa, and clearly Robin had just said something incredibly amusing judging by the way Brady was guffawing, too. Severa silenced the men, though, by dragging Owain back down to his chair and cuffing him upside the head before glaring Brady down, blushing as bright as her hair.
"Never a dull moment, huh?" Van chuckled with a weak grin before sighing and looking forlornly at the chessboard.
"Yes, I do so love having my reading constantly interrupted by idiots," Galle sighed, rolling his eyes and grinning slightly.
Mari shot the Plegian boy a glare, to which he sighed again and held up his hands in defeat, his grin widening a little before going back to his reading.
Arya looked around the room again, eyes settling on the view overlooking the city from a nearby window. The 'inn' was actually one of the floors of the Anna's small trading post in the city; but it was only a 'small' trading post compared to the others in Saiqat. The Anna's trading post was actually three stories high, and covered an entire block. The bottom floor had been made up of a small warehouse and receiving dock with adjoining offices, the middle floor was the quarters for the foreign staff, and the top floor was reserved for the travelling Annas and their entourages when they passed though.
Apparently even travelling merchants couldn't take all of their stock with them at once.
"Hey, kid!" Galle grunted, snapping his fingers in front of her face.
Arya jumped, eyes wide as she looked back at the others. Mari had her usual neutral expression on, while Van simply grinned and Galle scowled.
"Y-yes!?" she asked panicked.
"Is. There. Anyone. Using. The bath?" Galle said, clearly repeating himself.
"N-no," Arya squeaked. "A-at least it… should be free…"
Mari nodded, rising to her feet in one fluid motion. She silently nodded her thanks to Arya before brushing past her and leaving the common room. There was a moment of silence before Van sighed, sagging in his chair.
"I really do suck at this game," he groaned, staring at the ceiling.
Galle chuckled, glancing at Arya again as she frowned into space. The older Plegian let out a sigh and turned his full attention on her, clapping his book shut and placing it down next to the chessboard.
"Sir Robin said he'd told you about Grima," Galle said steadily. "He also mentioned you weren't taking it well."
Arya jumped a little again before settling, nodding hesitantly.
"S-so… you know, too, then?" she asked quietly.
Van scoffed, beginning to pack up the chess pieces.
"Course we do!" the Ylissean said. "He's not exactly discrete about it."
"Th-then…" Arya started, trailing off immediately at a loss for words.
Galle shrugged as Van grinned at her.
"Far as I'm concerned, he's the boss no matter what," Van said, rising to his feet. "He earned that title when he saved Ylisse. What he was, what he was supposed to be… it's all in the past. It doesn't matter now, so I'm going to go slink off to bed before anyone else creams me at this stupid game. Night, guys."
"That's right, you'd better run," Galle called after the Ylissean with a slight grin on his face.
Van chuckled, shooting a rude hand gesture over his shoulder as he left the room for the space that he would be bunking in. Arya watched silently before looking back at Galle expectantly.
"What?" he snapped after a few seconds. "As ineloquent as it was, I agree with Van's sentiments on the matter. And I cannot believe I just said that…"
"It really doesn't bother you?" Arya persisted.
"Should it? It might have bothered me, before I came to terms with it," he shrugged. "Does it bother you?"
Arya thought long and hard for a moment before slowly nodding.
"Yes," she admitted in a small voice.
"Why?" Galle asked.
"I-I lost my whole family," Arya said.
"So did I. Both parents. Dad to the Ylisseans, and Mom to Grima. Yet here I am."
Arya started, shocked.
"S-so then you-"
"Don't care at all about Robin's connection to Grima," Galle cut her off. "I was never a religious person before the war, anyway, so to me it's more like a story than a fact. Most of us here didn't see what the original Shepherds had to go through, so to us they're just stories. If I were you, I wouldn't put so much stock in stories."
Arya sat there mutely as Galle stood, brushing his pants off.
"I'm going for a walk," he announced, leaving the room. "Think about why it bothers you, kid. And more importantly, think about whether it should bother you. Us Plegians aren't slaves to the past anymore. Stop letting it control you."
Arya watched him go before she went back to staring out the window, trying to sort through her thoughts.
Us Plegians aren't slaves to the past anymore. Stop letting it control you.
Galle scoffed at his own words as he trudged through the night markets of Saiqat, losing himself in the flow of the crowd.
There was a word for what people like Galle were: hypocrite.
It was safe to say that the past still had a pretty firm grip on his own mind, considering just how much he hated Saiqat. At this level, this personal level that simply involved him wandering around the streets, brushing through the night crowd and simply aimlessly shuffling wherever his feet took him, the city wasn't so bad. It was when he thought about the way that Ama al-Tha had jumped at the chance to seize power in the city, and how he had contributed to their rise to prominence, that he felt the sickness return.
It had been a small war when the merchants had vied for control of Saiqat, and with so many adults lost in the constant fighting it had been the children forced to take up arms for the remaining 'masters'. The orphaned children had been turned into soldiers and sent off to kill each other in the name of the various Plegian trading companies. And those with skills in any martial arts of magic, such as Galle, had been both highly prized and even more destructive. In the end, though, they had been taken advantage of, and all of it had been covered up in the chaos of Plegia's monarchy ending.
Galle couldn't blame Prime-Minister Mustafa for it; after all, the big man had come down hard on the merchant groups and pseudo-military organizations exploiting child labor and soldiers, but it had been too little, too late. For an entire generation of children, Galle's generation of children, the damage had been done already.
He stopped walking when he realized that his boots weren't crunching the packed dirt of the street any more, but rather he'd stepped out onto one of the stone bridges crisscrossing the oasis and leading to the artificial islands in its center. Galle chuckled a little, realizing that old habits had led him to the Ama al-Tha trading company's base, the massive building glittering in the reflected light of the lake it sat atop across the bridge.
The tactician leaned back against the stone handrail, grinning and shaking his head at his own foolishness as he crossed his arms.
In trying to avoid thinking about his past, he'd been brought right back to the source of the pain.
"Guess I can't get away from it after all, huh?" he muttered, watching the lights from the massive building dancing reflected in the water.
Galle glanced up again as he heard the distinct sound of a wagon approaching, drawing his hood up and watching its progress in boredom. A large wagon, drawn by two sturdy-looking horses and almost over-loaded with goods pulled up to the bridge, the al-Tha merchants steering it already laughing and drinking. They passed Galle without so much as a glance, and he had to smirk. In the old days, when he'd been working for them, a hooded stranger watching on their bridge would have been thoroughly 'investigated'. Security had clearly grown lax while he'd been away.
Not that it mattered, Galle reminded himself, staring out from under his hood. He wasn't scouting out an enemy. He was only here looking for information. This wasn't a battlefield, not anymore. Saiqat had been one of the first cities to bounce back after the new rulers of the country had been established, so what did they have to fear from one lone hooded stranger?
Galle scoffed again, bouncing himself off the railing and turning away from the building.
Honestly, if it were up to him, he'd give them a reason to fear the hooded strangers again.
But, he kept reminding himself as he walked away from the bridge, this was a fact-finding mission. He wasn't here to burn down the source of his trauma, just to get information from them. But before he could, he needed to find out if they had the information he needed.
He walked back to the bustling crowds of the night-markets, actually paying attention this time. Once he was there he began looking for a familiar pattern on one of the colorful canvas awnings of the stalls, wondering where exactly his old friend had set up…
With a predatory grin Galle spotted the particular red and yellow pattern that his eyes and ears had always used in the old days and started navigating the crowd, angling for the wheat-merchant's stall. Under the awning crates had been set up to display whole bushels and already ground flour, and judging from the amount he had available even at this late hour business had been good in the last five years. Galle approached the stall, pulling his hood off and shaking his dark purple hair loose so that he'd be easily recognizable.
"Welcome, sir to… holy Grima, Galle is that you!?" the stall's proprietor greeted, trailing off into a shocked exclamation.
"Arin!" Galle laughed. "You got fat while I was gone! Didn't I tell you to stop eating the product before I left?"
The merchant, Arin, laughed and stood, greeting Galle with outstretched arms. He was short and stocky, and was clearly failing in his attempt to grow a 'respectable merchant's beard' like he'd always talked about, if the patchy growth on his cheeks and chin were anything to go by. His mid-section had grown most out of any other part of him, though, and now Galle's old friend no doubt weighed twice what he had when the tactician had left.
Arin grabbed Galle in a tight bear-hug, lifting the smaller man off the ground as he patted his back. For his part, the dour tactician grimaced and endured the habitual greeting; if Arin wasn't the nosiest and most well-informed bastard in Saiqat there was no way Galle would put up with this.
When Arin finally released Galle he stepped back, smiling happily.
"What brings you back to the puddle?" he asked, resuming his seat behind his stock.
Galle forced a grin at the old nickname for Saiqat's oasis.
"Work, apparently," the tactician sighed.
"Oh? Well there's a scary thought!" Arin laughed, his voice booming. "I still remember the last time you 'worked' in Saiqat! Do me a favor and be a little gentler this time, the city's only just recovered! Ha-hah!"
Forcing himself to chuckle along with Arin's laughter Galle tried not to snap at the other man. Arin considered them friends. Galle had always considered Arin a useful tool, and nothing more. But the illusion was necessary.
"I'll try to keep that in mind," Galle said through a forced grin. "So you still doing business with al-Tha?"
"Oh, yeah, yeah," Arin nodded. "They're the reason I'm so fat! They import the best flour from Ylisse! Not a lot of people were buying it in the early days though; they prefer the sandy crap from the south here, so I had to eat a lot of it myself or it would have gone to waste!"
"Oh, I'll just bet," Galle muttered as Arin laughed again.
"So they're still dealing with Ylisse, huh?" Galle pressed on, pretending to bend down and inspect some of the Ylissean-marked flour. "It still coming from the north of Ylisstol, then?"
"No, no," Arin chuckled. "It's all southern now. Humidity makes growing crops easier, and the winter's shorter, too, so there's more time to grow. All comes from some southern land-owner now, at least the stuff that al-Tha sells to me."
"Grima, Arin! Never thought you'd buy so much Ylissean stock!" Galle exclaimed.
"Bah, the Plegian wheat all tastes like sand!" Arin spat. "And if the Alvin trading company wants to sell cheap, who am I to complain?"
"He does seem like the kind of guy to name his company after himself, doesn't he?" Galle mumbled, running his fingertips through the light, fluffy flour.
"Gotta say, you got a lot more curious while you've been gone," Arin said. "What is it you do now, anyway?"
"Who, me?" Galle asked, standing up and smiling proudly. "I'm a tactician. Did I not open with that? I usually open with that."
When an exhausted Galle finally shuffled into the common room of the Annas' apartment the next morning he did so reluctantly and with great bags under his eyes. He hadn't been out that late, but being back in Saiqat had brought back all kinds of foul memories and nightmares, and he'd hardly slept at all.
Robin and Arya looked up from where the older tactician was still trying to instruct her on how to tap the mana lines around them, and Galle gave them an unintentional scowl when he spotted them, shuffling towards the counter with the cold breakfast sitting on it.
Galle nodded a little to himself as he shuffled through the room. It was good to see that Arya was still willing to learn from Robin. Even if she didn't fully trust him yet she was giving him a chance, and that was good enough.
"Morning," he growled. "Got news from last night. Ama al-Tha has dealings with the Alvin merchant group. Should be able to get something out of them."
"Okay, half of what you just said was an incomprehensible growl, the other half was a yawn," Robin chuckled. "But I got the gist of it. When do you want to go and see them?"
"As soon as possible," Galle muttered. "The sooner we're out of this city the better."
Robin nodded, looking expectantly at Arya.
"You can come or you can stay here," he said. "I figure that Abdul will be more receptive to a local party, so it's Plegians only today; the call's yours. I'd like you to see how to negotiate, but if you're still tired from the trip…"
Arya's face lit up as she shook her head, smiling ear to ear at the prospect of a 'Plegians-only' day.
"I'll come, too," she said excitedly. "I wanted to check out the city, anyway."
"Good to see you getting some spirit back," Robin chuckled, ruffling her hair before turning to Galle. "Unlike some people. What, did you sleep in the stables? You look like hell."
"Thank you for the confidence boost, master, that was just what I needed first thing in the morning," Galle drolled, rolling his eyes as he poured himself a cup of water.
"Never mind, your sarcasm is intact so you're clearly fine," Robin deadpanned.
"I just don't sleep well in Saiqat," the younger tactician shrugged before draining his cup. "I'll be fine. Are we going to have backup on today's op?"
"I don't think we'll need it," Robin shrugged. "I can wake some of the others up if you want."
"Unnecessary," Mari announced, appearing behind their old teacher.
Robin didn't even flinch, simply turning and greeting her the way he would have if he'd seen her walk into the room. He'd been around Gaius and Panne for a long time now; very little snuck up on the veteran tactician.
"Morning Mari," he smiled. "You've clearly got a grasp on the backup plan, so I'll leave it to you. Good enough, Galle?"
The Plegian tactician nodded, smiling a little as he placed his empty cup back down.
"There's no one I'd rather have watching my back," he said. "I'll go get my kit together. Give me ten."
Robin watched as Galle left the room, Mari silently following on his heels to no doubt prepare her own equipment. They passed a bleary-eyed Lucina as she entered the common room, exchanging polite greetings as the blue-haired woman approached her husband. Robin stared at the empty doorway for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought before he spoke.
"Honey, you remember when I promised I wouldn't meddle in my student's personal lives?" he asked without preamble.
"I… yes?" Lucina answered uncertainly.
"They're not my students any more, let's hook them up," Robin said excitedly. "Just like we did with Owain and Severa in Southtown. It'll be fun!"
Lucina blinked a few times with a blank face before she broke out in a smile, chuckling and shaking her head a little.
Galle resisted the overwhelming urge to start throwing random fire spells around him as he woodenly followed Robin through the courtyard of Ama al-Tha's base of operations. A small marketplace spread out around them, citizens of Saiqat shopping for the best deals right off the wagons that carried goods to the trading capital daily.
Unpleasant memories rose to his mind of being one of the merchants pedaling the wares, having to fight for his position in the courtyard and…
"This place is amazing!" Arya muttered from his side. "I never really went to the markets in Misayl or Themis so all of this is… ohhh, pretty…"
The girl was looking around with wide, awe-filled eyes at the commerce around her. Galle felt some of the tension in his shoulders fade watching the girl marvel at some cheap jewelry from one of the coastal villages in the west, pouting a little when Robin overtly ignored her urge to window-shop and dragged them both along in his wake.
It had been a long time since he'd seen such innocence in a marketplace. Galle found it hard to believe he'd been like that once…
He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.
Abdul was a shrewd bastard, far more tight-lipped than Arin. They couldn't just ask for dirt on one of his business partners; they would have to ask the right questions, read between the lines of his answers-
"By the Dark Dragon," a familiar, reedy voice cursed as the trio entered the main complex. "Little Galle? Is that you?"
Galle actually cursed under his breath as Ibran shuffled forwards, wearing clerk's robes and clearly acting as Abdul's secretary.
"Oh, Prince Robin, it is an honor to have the Godslayer here as well, forgive me," the old man said, bowing to the tactician.
"Ah, you two know each other. That's good," Robin said with a tightness in his jaw Galle wasn't used to seeing.
"Indeed," Ibran laughed. "Little Galle caused me no small amount of trouble when he was transferred to the Ama al-Tha branch in Misayl back when I was its head."
"I see you've gotten a promotion since then," Galle said evenly. "Congratulations, Ibran."
I still hate you, he added internally.
Arya shrunk back slightly, not missing the tension in the two older tacticians even if Ibran did.
"Well, as much as I would love to reminisce it would not do to keep Lord Abdul waiting," the old merchant said, ushering them down a plush hallway.
"A troublemaker in your youth, eh?" Robin whispered to Galle as they followed the secretary.
"Shove it, master," Galle muttered back.
Robin clamped his jaw tight, trying not to burst out laughing. Arya simply cocked her head, not entirely understanding the exchange between the two men.
They were led through what the merchants in Galle's time had dubbed 'the reception hall', which was where a merchant lord would flaunt their wealth as much as they could. Plush carpet stretched over marble floors, and paintings and statues lined the walls. Through doorways off the hall merchants and accountants could be seen working, striking deals and negotiating. It was all a display of power in the merchant world, and Galle was as irritated by it now as he had been when he was a kid.
Robin barked an involuntary laugh as they passed a beautiful marble carving of Naga, waving off the curious glance from his students.
"Nice statue," he commented to Ibran as they passed it.
"Yes, Lord Abdul acquired it in a private sale from an Ylissean noble quite recently," the secretary explained.
"Oh, he's no noble," Galle heard his former teacher mutter with a grin on his face.
They were led through a set of double-doors carved from rare desert wood and into a smart yet still opulent office. Arya did little to hide how impressed she was at the surroundings. More paintings, more statues, more marble and fancy carpets. Galle had seen it all before, and judging by the way that Robin didn't spare any of it a second glance he wasn't impressed either.
"Ah, the errant Prince of our nation," Abdul said by way of greeting. "And one of my own prodigal sons? My, this is a fortuitous day for reunions. I am a busy man, but I have never turned away a member of the Ama al-Tha family. Even one that has abandoned us for so long."
The merchant-lord was resplendent in his robes and turban, his bejeweled fingers so covered in rings Galle was amazed he could move them. Thick golden chains hung around his neck, and his plump belly quivered every time he spoke.
"You have me at a disadvantage, Lord Abdul," Robin greeted formally.
"Ah, yes, forgive me," Abdul said. "I forget, sometimes, that many of my countrymen fled the desert when times became hard. I am Abdul of the Ama al-Tha Trading Company, Lord Merchant representative of the Plegian nation as appointed by Prime Minister Mustafa."
"Yeah, and Robin appointed Mustafa," Galle muttered.
"Now, now, let's remain civil," Ibran cut in.
"Just making sure we have a clear hierarchy here," Galle shrugged.
Abdul chuckled, waddling around the massive ivory desk occupying the center of his office to lean against it facing his visitors.
"To think I missed this one's wit," he said, eying Galle with a cold smile.
Galle returned the smile with one even icier, and one could swear the ambient temperature of the room dropped several degrees. Robin cleared his throat to get Abdul's attention and attempt to get the meeting back on track.
"I wished to ask you some questions about the new economy of Plegia," the white-haired man said. "I have been gone for quite some time, and the economy was rendered almost non-existent under my father's rule. I wish to understand how things work now."
Arya's reaction to the mention of Robin's family ties didn't go unnoticed by Galle, the girl stiffening with a quick intake of breath.
"You could easily have learned that from the Prime Minister or his Finance Minister," Abdul said dismissively. "Why come to me?"
"Come now, Lord Abdul," Robin chuckled. "You and I both know that in this new Plegia it is the merchant elite that hold the power."
Abdul nodded, gauging the man before him.
"You have ties to the Annas," the fat man said slowly. "What could I provide for you?"
"Like I said," Robin repeated, holding his hands out wide in the universal sign of peace. "Information."
"Then perhaps we could organize a trade," Abdul suggested, a malicious glint in his eyes. "You see, one of the associated independent merchants that works with Ama al-Tha was murdered last night…"
Galle's eyes widened as his breath stopped and his blood ran cold.
"A wheat merchant, dealing heavily with imported goods…"
"No…" Galle muttered.
"Named Arin," Abdul finished. "And a young man from out of town wearing a black coat was last seen-"
"Bastards!" Galle exploded, cutting the merchant lord off. "What did you do to him!?"
Wind magic rippled uncontrollably out in circles from Galle as he clenched his fists, Arya actually cowering from his wrath as Robin tried to calm him down.
"Galle! Get a grip!" the older tactician shouted.
Galle seethed, tensing and untensing his muscles, opening and closing his fists as he glared at Abdul's pompous face. Arin had been one of his oldest tools, and incredibly useful over the years. He couldn't keep a secret worth a damn, but that was what made him so helpful in acquiring information, if one knew how to ask. He'd always been there for Galle, not as a tool but-
"He was my friend, dammit!" Galle thundered. "You really think you can frame me!?"
"Ah, I think the lad doth protest too much," Abdul chuckled.
Robin and Arya spun, their backs to Galle's as guards began to flood into the room.
"Besides," Abdul went on, eyes narrowing to slits as he glared at the young tactician. "It's dangerous to ask questions like that in my city, boy."
There was a loud banging sound from down the hall, Idallia looking up from the latest reports about the shipping fleets in the south in concern. Lately there had been a lot of strange noises coming from Maris' room, although usually they were a lot less… loud.
With an irritated sigh the frazzled merchant rose and left her office, walking down the hall to where her brother had cloistered himself in his room. As she approached four men walked out of the room, Maurice closing the door behind him as he followed them out.
"Afternoon, ma'am," he greeted politely.
"What's going on?" Idallia asked.
"Just making a delivery to your brother," Maurice said vaguely.
With another nod the old man pushed around her, following the other workers down the hallway to the 'safer' parts of the villa. Idallia watched him go before taking a deep breath and banging on Maris' door.
"Brother! It's me!" she called out.
There was another, quieter thud from inside before the door opened and a shirtless Maris presented himself, grinning madly and ushering her inside.
"Sister!" he said excitedly. "You have to see this!"
Idallia nodded, stepping into the dimly lit room as Maris locked the door behind her. Sitting in the middle of the hastily cleared space was a large wooden box. Maris had a coffin in the middle of his room. With a gasp Idallia reeled back, covering her mouth with her hands.
"What?" Maris asked, his brow furrowing.
Idallia silently pointed to the coffin, backing away.
"What, the box? It's how we smuggle our arms, sister," Maris laughed. "Look inside! Look inside!"
Idallia let out a breath, nodding as she willed her heart to stop racing. After everything that had been going on with her dear brother lately she needed to stop jumping to conclusions…
She gasped again as she saw the dark form inside the box, packed in straw. A massive suit of black armor, modelled after the usually-white Themisian style riding plate. Its empty helm stared up at the two Rommels, and the black plates were shot through with lines of red, like veins in meat.
The armor instinctively sickened Idallia.
"It's my old suit," Maris said excitedly. "Alvin sent it over as soon as the mages were done with it. I have to admit, it was worth sending back to them after I rushed home before."
True, Idallia recalled her brother sending the suit back to Alvin to be finished…
"That's…" was Idallia managed to squeak.
There was something wholly wrong about the armor, though; a sense of impending dread permeated it.
Maris laughed happily as he lifted the helm, holding it up to the weak light filtering through the drawn curtains. His face softened as he beheld the helmet, inspecting it with a grin on his face that Idallia hadn't seen since he was a boy.
"And look!" Maris went on, reaching back into the coffin.
Idallia had to step back as Maris drew a huge two-handed sword out of the box as if it weighed nothing, made of the same black steel as the armor was coated with.
"With these Regna Ferox will be ours!" Maris declared triumphantly. "You know I think Alvin said there was still some left if you wanted me to have him make you a blade."
Idallia shook her head, doing her best to act natural.
"N-no, brother," she said hoarsely. "It… you are the fighter, not I."
"Yes, I am the fighter and you are the schemer," Maris said distractedly.
He placed the sword carefully leaning against the wall before beginning to pull parts of the armor out of the coffin and strap them on.
"W-what are you doing?" Idallia asked.
"Well I have to try it out," Maris chuckled, kneeling to do up his greaves.
As Idallia watched her brother part of her wished to scream, to tell him to stop and destroy the foul armor, but she didn't know why. She knew it had cost a small fortune to make, the sword alone having put her back nearly a year's worth of profits, but the lingering sense of unease only grew as Maris encased himself in the black metal.
When at last he stood tall, sword in one hand and helm resting in the crook of his arm, he grinned as Idallia happily.
"What do you think?" he asked innocently.
"It's… terrifying," Idallia admitted without thinking.
Maris burst out laughing, rocking back and forth as his booming laugh echoed around them.
"Good," he said, bending forward and pulling his helm on.
With the last piece of armor in place he spun and left the room, leaving Idallia alone. She hurried to catch up to him, his long gait having already almost carried him to the stairs.
"Brother, where are you going!?" Idallia called after him.
"To try it out."
Idallia stood, rooted to the spot as her brother thundered down the stairs and out towards the recently rebuilt stables. As soon as he was out of sight she sunk to the ground, her knees quaking and a cold sweat having broken out on her brow.
Alvin let out a long sigh, reclining in his favorite chair in his dim study as the servants prepared dinner for him. It was a regular ritual to sit in the dark now and unwind before his evening meal, and it had been a long couple of months, but soon everything would come to a head. Now all he had to do was wait, relax and hope his scheming paid off.
"When I own half of Regna Ferox I think I'll make a law stating that taxes must be paid in scotch," he muttered to himself, reaching for the almost-empty bottle on his table.
He had to admit, Idallia may have been young but she had stumbled onto a good thing. And when he saw a good thing, he got in on the ground floor of it. The mages had already returned to the Academy in Ylisstol, much, much richer than they had been before they left, and everything else was in motion. Which just left Alvin to sit, wait, and carry on with the façade of his regular daily life.
"Or wine," the merchant went on, pouring a generous helping of the amber liquid into his glass. "Or brandy, port…"
"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to count your chickens before they hatched?"
Alvin shot up straight, the bottle and glass both falling out of his hands.
Maris stood in the doorway obscuring the little light actually getting into the room, menacing in his full black plate armor. Breathing a small sigh of relief the older merchant sunk back into his chair, careful not to accidentally trod on the broken glass now at his feet.
"Maris," he greeted coldly. "I'd offer you a drink, but you'd have to suck it out of my carpet."
"I'm not thirsty," the ex-soldier grunted, stomping into the room. "I came to thank you for your support in our little plan so far."
Alvin nodded, visibly calming.
"It's fine," he said dismissively.
The older merchant looked past Maris, out into the hallway. Usually his servants would have arrived already to clean the mess. Someone would be getting a hiding once the lump of muscle and armor left…
Alvin became aware of a curious smell as Maris drew closer, a strange dripping sound accompanying his movements.
"It's not fine," Maris insisted, his voice muffled by the helm he had left on. "You offered the funds to buy up the industry in Silva. You offered the expertise to craft my equipment and raise my mount. And you were the one that encouraged Idallia to do away with any loose ends."
A heavy lump began to form in the pit of Alvin's stomach, and with shaking hands he reached over and lit the oil lamp on his desk, unveiling a creature directly from one of his nightmares.
Maris stood, his black armor splattered red with gore, the dripping sound the blood slowly running down the thick plates.
The smell was his servant's blood.
"You know on second thought I think I'll have that drink," the deranged knight said in a light tone completely at odds with his macabre appearance.
Alvin gaped, eyes bulging as he desperately tried calling for his guards while Maris raided his sideboard.
"Don't bother," Maris grunted, pulling off his helm. "They were the first ones to fall."
Alvin shook his head, trying to wake from this nightmare. He covered his face with his hands, doubling over as Maris advanced on him across the room. As he walked the ex-knight tore the cork out of a bottle of wine with his teeth before taking a deep swig of the drink. Alvin cowered in his chair, his mind racing.
If his guards were gone… and he'd already sent the mages away…
This was it. He desperately wracked his brain for an out, a bargaining chip, something, anything…
"I'm sorry, Alvin," the madman said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But like you said… when something outlives its usefulness, it has to go. I've come too far to screw it all up now. You understand, right?"
Alvin didn't respond, sitting in stunned silence. He flinched as the sound of steel leaving its sheathe whispered near his ear, looking up with wild, desperate eyes.
"You… you still need me!" he pleaded. "Idallia will… she's… we are…"
"How dare you try to turn my sister against me," Maris growled before bringing the blade down.
By the time Maris left the vineyard villa and met Invincible out front the gryphon was just as coated in gore as he was, and not a single soul was alive in the building or on the grounds.
"I think we need to find a river or something to clean up in," he said to his mount, patting its flank affectionately before climbing into the custom saddle. "After all, we have to look our best for our dearest sister."
AN2015: Mostly new content for this chapter (if you followed the original story, anyway)! A nice Galle and Arya-centric chapter for you all as I do what I should have done beforehand and give the OCs some much-needed character development. Hope I did them justice. Plegia's been through a lot in my canon, and a lot of people have suffered. Kinda bleak seeming, isn't it? I want to be clear, though, that I'm basing Plegia on a stylized and wholly fictional ancient Persia, not on any current-day locales.