Warning: There's some pretty dark and brutal imagery in this chapter that might make some people uncomfortable.
Chapter 11
As Robin's little group of Shepherds tromped through the badlands of northern Plegia, en route to the small Dark Mage village of Grima's Fall, the tactician let out a small sigh. His shoulders sagging beneath his ever-present coat under the blistering and relentless heat of the desert sun.
It was a common misconception of those born outside the desert that it was simply one giant sand-dune sea. The area that the Shepherds were currently travelling through was one of hard packed dirt, cracked and flaking due to the lack of moisture. A few hardy shrubs and twisted, stunted desert trees dotted the reddish-brown landscape, and lizards and scavenger birds were plentiful in the arid environment. Most other creatures had evolved to be nocturnal, burrowing or hibernating through the long, hot daytime hours.
The desert was, in its own way, just as full of life as Ylisse's pastures and mountains or Regna Ferox's forests. One just had to know where to look for it.
"It's so damn hot in this country," Robin groaned, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
"You are still the worst Plegian ever," Lucina chuckled from his side.
"No, he's right," Galle panted from behind them. "The heat sucks."
Arya nodded silently from next to the older Plegian, her face empathetically agreeing with the two men's statements as the small knot of students and former students walked by the cart Robin was dawdling next to. Galle was up and moving again, which was good given the state of his injuries. His arm was still wrapped in bandages and being held to his chest in a sling, but Brady assured Robin that the younger man had suffered no permanent injury, or even permanent scarring. Which meant that Galle was already pestering Anna to try and track down some Feroxi inking ingredients to put the spell-tattoos back. Arya was being slightly more open and confident, and stammering less, too, which Robin was happy to see. Even the stoic Mari was acting a little friendlier, especially around Galle.
"Will you stop looking at the students like they're your children?"
Robin glanced over his shoulder at the familiar huffy tone, Severa crossing her arms as she frowned at him. Lucina and Owain were at either side of her, Owain seemingly lost in his own little world as he scribbled in a small book, while Lucina smiled and shook her head.
"Hey, I used to look at you lot like this, too," Robin said defensively.
"It's true, he did," Anna piped up from atop her cart.
Severa sighed, shaking her head as Lucina chuckled a little.
"He's always been a very proud teacher," she said.
As Lucina spoke she moved forward a little, taking Robin's hand and walking alongside him. It was a welcome sensation, the soft leather of Lucina's fingerless glove in Robin's hand, her fingers entwining with his own. Even if the heat did make the contact almost unbearable, Robin chose to savor it. Even now, after all these years, Lucina still wasn't one for overt displays of affection, yet Robin had noticed that recently the swordswoman had become more clingy, seeking his company and initiating physical contact more and more frequently. And Robin knew exactly why, because he felt the same way. They both missed their daughter.
Severa sighed again, linking her hands behind her head as she kept pace with the couple, leaving Owain to shuffle along as he wrote, following behind.
"He's not going to trip on anything, right?" Robin asked, glancing over his shoulder.
The red-headed woman scoffed, glancing back for a second as well.
"He hasn't so far," she said, a note of admiration in her voice. "I've seen him walk through a thick forest with his nose buried in that book, dodging trees and stepping over rocks as high as his knee without even looking."
Robin made a thoughtful sound as they walked on, Severa blushing a little.
"N-not that I'm praising the idiot or anything!" she cried. "I'm just saying he's done it before and-"
"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Robin chuckled.
"It's so cute when she does that!" Anna laughed. "I could probably charge people to watch! I'd make a killing…"
Severa's blush intensified as she huffed again and crossed her arms, pouting and turning away from the other Shepherds.
"You choose the strangest things to worry about," Lucina added, a note of laughter in her voice.
"Not you, too…" Severa groaned, blushing up to her ears.
Owain chose that point to clap the small book shut, jogging a little to catch up with his perpetual grin on his face.
"Sorry! I needed to write that down! I miss anything?" he asked innocently.
"Idiot!" the red-faced Severa cried.
With her shout she smacked the blonde man in the back of the head before pouting again and walking faster to put distance between herself and the others as they burst out laughing. Owain grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head as he took his 'fated companion's' spot next to Lucina.
"Was it something I said?" he asked.
"I would not worry, cousin," Lucina assured him. "You know what she can be like."
"Aw, she's so cute when she's embarrassed," Anna laughed.
"Isn't she?" Owain asked, somewhat dreamily.
The others began to laugh again, Severa turning on her heel to glare at them in the distance.
A soft, persistent dripping sound woke Clarus. With a groan he lifted his head from the desk it was resting on, blinking tired eyes in an effort to focus them. Before him was the familiar chained form of Galuc, crumpled on the floor, and around him was the cluttered mess of his lab.
He had fallen asleep at his desk again, then. It had been happening more and more recently. He hated to admit it, but the mage was unable to truly rest unless he was in the presence of the black ore now.
A small lump of the stuff was on the corner of his desk, and Clarus reached out with bloody fingers to feel its cold, rough edges. Rolling it around on the desk with the tips of his fingers, Clarus used his free hand to cast a small fire spell and light the candles.
Once, the macabre sight of his lab had sickened him. Now, looking around at the blood-stained floor and the disgusting mess that was old, abandoned books and dirty plates and utensils piled high in every corner did nothing to elicit a response for him. Even the flies and maggots had stopped irritating him; they left him and Alvidian alone.
Poor Galuc, however…
The boy groaned, the chains securing him rattling as he shifted on the ground.
His skin had taken on a pale, greyish quality and deep red lines, like the veins on the pieces of ore, had risen on it. His eyes glowed a faint red, matching the trails of blood that leaked from his ruined mouth; a mouth that Alvidian had been forced to stitch shut to stop his screaming. At first the boy had struggled, trying to keep the flies off of him, but that had only lasted so long, too.
It had been weeks now, since then, and Galuc was sustaining himself almost wholly on the power of the ore, and what little water he could suck through a straw.
The wreck of Clarus' former apprentice stirred, shifting a little with a soft chiming of chains clinking together and rubbing against the cold stone floor.
It was simply easier for Clarus to disassociate the thing before him from the bright young mind that had once been his apprentice.
"I wonder," he muttered, absently fiddling with the ore. "What would this do to a willing recipient?"
There was no answer from the broken, half-naked form on the ground.
Of course, Clarus thought to himself, Alvidian would probably jump at the opportunity to use the ore on himself, to take it in and become one with it. But if the results were the same as with Galuc, and Alvidian was left broken and useless, too, then…
Clarus' eyes widened as his dry lips split into a smile, chuckling with the realization that there was already a willing subject melding with the ore.
"The Rommel bastard…" Clarus continued to chuckle, rising to his feet.
He ignored Galuc flinching at the noise as he pulled on his robes from where he'd thrown them over the back of the closest chair. Alvidian could continue their work here; he knew how to activate and deactivate the wards, how to strengthen and maintain them, and most importantly he knew the order of experimentation and documentation that Clarus was still performing on Galuc.
He would leave Alvidian in charge of the lab for a few days.
Clarus had to make a visit to Themis.
That night Robin's Shepherds chose to make camp near a small, trickling creek along a rocky riverbed. The camp sprung up like usual, the usual routines taking over as Robin sat near the campfire after dinner, staring absently at the flames and debating his next move.
Three of the five merchants of the Southern Council were dirty. This was officially beyond the level he could deal with alone now. Ama Al-Tha was corrupt, trading in slavery. The Alvin Company had been facilitating them, possibly lying about the taxes they paid to Chrom, and a number of other little crimes that really added up at the end. The Rommels, well, they were the whole reason he was in this mess, the tip of the iceberg. There were no ties yet to the Chon'sin merchant, Mar'kale, but anything that he did would be Say'ri's problem. Or rather, the man would wish that his crimes were Robin's problem, knowing her sense of justice.
At this point it was safe to assume his only ally among the Southern Merchants was Anna's Aunt, the matriarch of the Anna family. If she was anything like the Annas that Robin had met in the past, there was no way she would condone shady business dealings or slavery. According to Anna her Aunt was already ahead of them in Grima's Fall, too, which was a plus. Something about organizing the resupply of the Dark Mage academy personally, because it was too big a job to screw up. As such, he'd sent Kowrowa ahead to relay a message to her, asking for a meeting, but…
The plucky red-headed merchant in question practically fell into a sitting position at his side, grinning at him over her rough-looking tin mug of post-dinner tea. The fragrant liquid filled the air around them with a pleasant aroma of leaves and flowers, no doubt some strange herbal concoction mixed into the tea leaves.
With a pang, Robin realized that the scent reminded him of his friend Virion.
"Heya," she said, taking a sip.
"Evening," Robin muttered, still glaring at the fire. "Think your Aunt will help us?"
"Ooh, straight to the point," Anna giggled, positioning her index finger in her trademark pose. "No small talk first?"
Robin sighed, facing her with a grin and a quirked brow.
"Okay, okay," she sighed. "Stop worrying. Let's just put it this way: If I'm steamed at the way my fellow merchants have been acting, do you really think she'll be able to sit on her hands?"
Anna frowned, possibly for the first time since the war with Grima ended.
"We had a lot of little dealings with them," she explained. "A lot of our merchants, and even my sisters and cousins, moved a lot of stock for all three of them. If it turns out that any of our people are guilty of collaborating… well, there's nothing scarier than an angry merchant."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Robin chortled. "I'm getting chills right now."
Anna smirked before looking at him innocently.
"Who, me?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes. "I'm not even slightly miffed, Robin! Mildly perturbed, maybe…"
"Okay, stop the flirting before Lucina sees you," Robin laughed, leaning back.
Anna let out a little sound somewhere between a squeak and a strangled gasp as her head whipped around, looking for the blue-haired swordswoman. Once she was sure she was safe, Anna let out a sigh, casting a sidelong glare at Robin before slipping back into her bubbly merchant persona.
"You know my Aunt doesn't have an army, right?" she asked. "A couple of mercenary contracts, maybe, but…"
"It's fine," Robin shrugged. "Fortunately, we know quite a few people with armies. I just need to get to Grima's Fall and borrow some of Henry's crows to get word out to them."
Clarus wrinkled his nose as he walked down the main street of Themis' merchant quarter, his hood pulled low as he attempted to ignore the shouting of the various peddlers whose stalls lined the street. Many of the elite Ylisseans, especially those from the capital, found the border city-state to be a rather loathsome place considering the strife and disorder that the city had become known for after the war. It was a city that Clarus often let his apprentices go to, if he needed something there. But this was important; he could not trust Alvidian to properly do this alone.
Plus, to make matters worse, the entire city stank of horse.
The mage felt his foot slide slightly and sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to shake the horse droppings off his boot.
"I hate this damned city," he muttered to himself.
With an ever-deepening frown he continued, coming up short again as a pair of merchants rushed up from a nearby stall. Clarus glared at them beneath his hood, but they didn't take the hint. Feeling his patience at its end the mage cast a small fire spell at their feet, the shocked merchants yelping and leaping back in surprise. Their shock gave Clarus enough time to slip into the flow of the crowd, his head low as he trudged along.
A faint headache was starting at the back of his eyes as he wondered to himself why he hadn't just cast the spell on the merchants, instead. The rest would have taken the hint, and the crowd would have parted for him, too…
Shaking his head vehemently, Clarus clamped down on his violent tendencies. He wouldn't lose himself to rage now, of all times. That he had so brazenly cast a spell within the city like that was bad enough.
He had noticed, too, that Alvidian had become more aggressive of late, especially where Galuc was involved. Clarus was hesitant to blame the strange ore, but if that was the case he needed to maintain his faculties long enough to prove that the ore was harmful, and think up a countermeasure.
Clarus stopped again, blinking a few times before realizing that he was already standing before the Rommel's trading post at the center of the marketplace. Inside the receiving dock and entrance Clarus could see that the building was a hive of activity, an organized chaos totally alien to him. Men unloaded carts with speed and vigor that he could only recall having in his distant memories, while foremen shouted orders or argued with traders about pricing for goods. Clarus felt his face darken again as he stepped forward, mentally preparing himself to deal with said chaos.
As he approached a frazzled-looking clerk glanced up from her clipboard, giving him a quick once-over before recognizing his profession and rushing over to him.
"Milord Mage," she greeted. "What can house Rommel do for you?"
"I'm here to see your master," Clarus said evenly, the scowl never leaving his face.
The clerk nodded, stepping back with a bow.
"Please, sir, wait here," she said, indicating to a clear side of the receiving dock.
Clarus nodded, shuffling out of the way as the clerk raced off. Mages were rare since the wars, so when one came calling most businesses would go out of their way to accommodate them. The Mages Academy had direct funding from the Exalt and House Ylisse, after all, so they were clearly powerful allies for any organization to have. It was another of those little things that Clarus had become used to in recent years, and he thought nothing of it anymore.
The mage scoffed a little to himself as he waited, wondering if he really was meeting with allies here given the way that the Rommel knight had acted at the Alvin vineyard.
After a few more moments of waiting and watching the frantic activity around him the clerk reappeared, another man in clerk's robes following her clearly from one of the Western Kingdoms. This man was also clearly the senior of the two, though, judging from the way he held himself and the deference that the woman showed him; Clarus had seen the man's like in the Mages Academy numerous times, confident and self-assured.
The frazzled young clerk bowed again before retreating, leaving Clarus alone with the newcomer.
"Milord," the man said, bowing. "My name is Hin'rath and I am at your service. To what do we owe this unexpected honor?"
"I must meet with your master," Clarus said simply. "It is quite urgent."
"I understand," Hin'rath said, raising his head. "However the Lady Idallia is a very busy woman, and appointments must be made-"
"She will see me," Clarus insisted. "We are known to each other. Remind her of the time we spent together at the Vineyard in the south, and she will see me."
Hin'rath's face took on an unreadable quality, a slight annoyed smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth that didn't go unnoticed by Clarus. Once again the older man felt his irritation rise and begin to burn into white-hot rage, but before he could explode the clerk nodded and stepped back, indicating that Clarus follow him.
"Very well, milord," Hin'rath said. "Please, follow me."
Clarus relaxed a little as he fell into step with the smaller man, allowing himself to be led through the receiving dock and into the villa itself. They passed through a number of utilitarian servants corridors before finally emerging into a more respectable part of the villa. Hin'rath held open a door leading into a corridor totally at odds with the bare stone and timber servants' passages, plush carpets underfoot and beautifully finished wood paneling covering the walls.
"I would have preferred you come from the main entrance," Hin'rath said conversationally as they started walking again. "It would have spared you the discourtesy of using our servants' corridors."
"A corridor is a corridor," Clarus snapped. "I am not some haughty merchant and I care not for the finery and pomp."
"My apologies, milord," Hin'rath said over his shoulder.
Clarus ground his teeth as he was led up a flight of stairs, past sconces occupied by paintings and sculptures. Why the elite class always needed to parade their wealth was beyond him, but Clarus had been born poor and crawled his way up to a position of repute in the Mage world, so he doubted that he would ever understand nobles and merchant elites with more money than sense.
He was shown into a spacious and comfortable looking room, occupied by two low sofas facing each other across a wide table. A sitting room where negotiations took place, no doubt. Hin'rath bowed again and disappeared, leaving Clarus alone in the room and softly closing the door behind him.
The mage finally let out a relieved breath, sagging a little as he drew back his hood. Beneath his cloak he was wearing his formal travelling attire, the trappings of his rank and office clearly displayed on his tunic's chest. He had forgone the mage's usual traveling hat; in fact many mages these days were beginning to shy away from the wide-brimmed pointed hats and capes in favor of a more Plegian-style cloak. It was simply easier.
Clarus bounced on his toes a little, opting to remain standing near the window rather than sit in one of the sofas. He was uncomfortable being away from his lab after all, despite giving Alvidian strict orders to maintain the routine he had outlined. If one of the other senior mages caught wind of what they were doing, especially now while Clarus wasn't there to try and explain things away…
The balding mage jumped as the door opened behind him, quickly collecting himself as Idallia strode into the room. One glance at her and Clarus could tell she wasn't impressed about his unscheduled meeting, but mentioning the vineyard had clearly gotten her attention. She stepped in, not even trying to hide the glare she was levelling at him as Hin'rath closed the door behind her.
"Clarus," Idallia greeted coldly. "You've lost weight."
"Spare the pleasantries, Lady Idallia," Clarus responded, just as coldly. "I need to speak to you of our venture in the south."
"I was under the impression that your contract expired when you returned to Ylisstol," Idallia pointed out mildly.
"This isn't about contracts, this is about progress," Clarus explained. "I originally intended to speak to your brother, but before I do speaking with you may give me some insight I require for my own work. Tell me, has he changed since we gave him the armor?"
Idallia visibly winced, casting a quick glance over her shoulder at the clerk standing impassively next to the door. Claris even noticed Hin'rath stiffen a little, subtly averting his eyes.
"What makes you ask?" Idallia hesitantly questioned.
Clarus felt a cold smile rise to his lips as he watched the merchant squirm. It was fear; she was afraid. Either of or for her brother, Clarus didn't care.
"Judging from your reaction I'd say there has been quite a change," he said smugly. "Come now, Lady Idallia. We are both intelligent people. Do not try to lie to me. I may even be able to help him."
Idallia let out a breath and moved woodenly to the sidebar, where she poured herself a generous helping of liquor. Clarus couldn't help but revel in the way that their positions had been reversed since their last meeting at the vineyard, where it had been he that had used alcohol to calm his shattered nerves.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
"He has… changed," Idallia began haltingly. "I do not wish to speak ill of my brother, but…"
"My lady, if the esteemed mage can indeed help…" Hin'rath said hopefully.
Idallia nodded again, draining her glass before turning to face Clarus.
"Maris is not himself," she said, her eyes meeting his. "He has become brooding and withdrawn, quick to bursts of murderous rage. He attacks anyone that he perceives as a threat, real or imagined. He has left the villa numerous times, for weeks at a time, and returned as if nothing is amiss. But… he always reeks of blood. The magistrates are starting to ask questions. House Themis itself is sniffing around. I… do not know how much longer I can shelter him."
"And the gryphon?" Clarus prompted.
"It never leaves his side," Idallia spat. "He even had his room remodeled to allow the beast easier entry. It is why I cannot stop his comings and goings."
Clarus nodded. Heightened aggression, paranoia…
"What of his physicality?" Clarus asked, stroking his chin in thought. "Does he look any different?"
"I… do not know," Idallia admitted. "It has been at least a month since I have seen him without his helm."
"You mean to tell me he hasn't taken off the armor in a month?" Claris asked, going still.
"He hasn't taken it off since you had it delivered," Idallia scoffed.
"Fascinating…" Clarus breathed.
Continued exposure to the ore had resulted in Galuc becoming a wreck of a human, unable to even communicate any longer through the constant physical pain he was assailed with. However, Maris hadn't ingested the ore, but instead wore it outside himself. Clarus found himself wondering if diluting the ore by forging it with other metals had perhaps also lessened its effects.
"Does he complain about any lingering pain?" Clarus asked.
Idallia shook her head, turning to pour herself another drink.
"Old wounds, nothing new," she said around the rim of her glass.
Clarus nodded again. He would have to inspect the specimen personally, it appeared.
"I would see him, if he is present."
Robin let out a tired sigh as the group finally arrived in Grima's Fall. The town was only small, centralized around an old Grimleal temple that Tharja had repurposed for her Dark Mages academy. The rest of the town was rather standard fare for a Plegian village; packed mud and stone buildings, a few measly shrubs, and the oasis in the distance. Grima's Fall, however, was right on the edge of the badlands, where the arid earth became sand dunes, so everything was covered in a fine powder from the sand.
"I still hate the desert," Robin groaned, patting himself off.
Anna appeared at his side, grinning expectantly up at him as their little procession came to a stop just inside the town gates. Before Robin could ask what she was smiling about a shadow fell over Robin, offering him a brief moment of respite from the blasted sun as Kowrowa made his presence known.
"The red merchant bade me bring you to her, Alpha," the big wolf-man said without preamble.
Robin nodded, tactically positioning himself in the shade that the hulking shape-shifter provided as he turned to the others.
"Lucina, can you take everyone to the Academy? Tell Tharja I won't be long. Van, Arya, front and center."
Lucina nodded, moving to take the lead of the small caravan as a confused-looking Van separated himself from the others. Arya followed, a tired look of resignation on her face. She wasn't even trying to hide how exhausted she was after the desert crossing. Robin smirked a little when Ita peeled off from the rear of the group, hovering near Kowrowa with her arms crossed and her perpetual scowl firmly in place.
"Okay, I guess Ita can come, too," Robin shrugged. "We're going to meet with Anna's aunt, Anna. Arya, I want you to pay attention, like always."
"So, meeting with more merchants," Van grinned. "Think these ones will try to kill us, too? We've had pretty bad luck with them, lately."
Robin scoffed, grinning as well.
"Please. If an Anna is ever angry, wave a few coins under her nose and she'll be right as rain."
The red-haired merchant behind him frowned for a moment before placing her index finger to her chin in thought.
"Depends on how big the coins are, I guess…" she muttered absently.
Clarus stepped into a darkened room, Hin'rath closing the door attentively behind him and cutting off the little light that had been allowed in from the hallway. It was night-time, now; it had taken some time to convince Idallia to allow him to see Maris, but the end result was as he had expected.
He stood still for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom before he continued with shuffling, unsure steps. Clicking his tongue in annoyance Clarus held up his hand, a small flame beginning to dance over his fingertips. The light did not reach far into the impenetrable gloom, though, creating a small circle around the mage and not much else.
"Well, well," a bored, muffled voice called from the darkness. "I never expected to see you again, Mage. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I've come to inspect your armor and mount," Clarus said, his voice hard. "We used an unknown substance on both; I wished to do a follow-up inspection to ensure my handiwork. I am a mage, after all, not a blacksmith."
There was a sound like dry leaves sliding across bare stone as something shifted to Clarus' left, but he kept facing forward with a frown fixed in place. He would not be intimidated by this muscle-bound fool any longer, nor by his ill-behaved mount.
"Very well," Maris said, stepping out of the gloom.
Clarus looked up at the former knight, wearing his full plate and helm like Idallia had said. Judging from his body-language and slow, steady breathing he was the picture of health beneath it. The gryphon stepped out opposite its master, bowing its head as Maris ran a gauntleted hand over its crest, stroking the mottled black and grey feathers. Clarus stepped forward without another word, the gryphon eying him warily but remaining calm as Maris continued to pet it.
With deft, hurried movements Clarus pushed the feathers on its neck aside with his free hand, searching for the creature's flesh. He found the flesh a similar colour to the creature's feathers, and now that he was closer Clarus could see that the gryphon's hind fur had darkened and become black. He took one of the discarded feathers off the ground for good measure, slipping it into his robe as he stood to face the gryphon's master now. Still, though, Clarus took two steps away from the gryphon, outside of what he assumed was its strike-zone.
"You seem different," Maris commented. "You… fell different. Familiar. Similar."
"Similar to what?" Clarus asked curiously.
"Similar to the armor," the knight said, his voice hushed by the plates covering his face. "Similar to… me. At the very least you are not the coward you were when we last met."
Clarus scoffed, his small flame flickering a little.
"I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose," he said. "Now, may I inspect your armor?"
There was a brief moment of silence before Maris' helmeted head nodded once, the movement so subtle that Clarus almost missed it. He stepped forward, rapping the breastplate with the backs of his knuckles and stopping. Instead of the dull, metallic tone he'd been expecting the sound was muted, almost as if the metal had changed its consistency. He leaned closer, bringing his face to the point where his nose was almost touching the plates as he squinted in the weak light. It no longer had the same lustrous polished shine that it had when he had had Alvin's people deliver it, and not from lack of maintenance.
The metal seemed almost… Organic now.
"Fascinating… Have you noticed any changes in the plates?" Clarus asked.
"None," Maris answered.
"None at all?" the mage persisted.
A low growl was his answer, and Clarus stepped back again.
"Yes, yes, no changes in the plates," he said. "What about you? Any changes?"
"I grow weary of these constant questions, Mage," Maris snapped.
"Then answer them and we will be done!" Clarus barked back.
There was another brief moment of stillness in the room, even the gryphon waiting and watching its how its master would react. After some time Maris gave a low chuckle, reaching up to pull his helm off.
Black, pulsating veins snaked up his neck, terminating around his temples. His skin had become deathly pale, almost grey and translucent, and was covered in blotches of darker grey that looked almost like bruises. As he smiled Clarus could see that Maris' teeth had become more akin to sharpened fangs in his mouth, and his eyes shone just the faintest red in the darkness.
"Well, I can't say that there have been no changes," Maris said, a hint of laughter in his voice.
Clarus felt his own face break into a wide, hungry grin as he stepped forward again, eyes widening in wonder as he beheld the results of a willing host for the ore.
"Fascinating," he breathed, studying the knight before him.
Robin ducked beneath a hessian curtain and into the small building that passed as the inn in Grima's Fall, Anna and Van following behind with Arya tentatively bringing up the rear. Kowrowa and Ita flanked the door, remaining outside and glowering at anyone who so much as looked at the inn. Robin glanced around, the main room of the inn full of empty tables and a deserted bar; it was a large space, with plenty of room to move and a small stage in one corner that seemed all the bigger in the silent space.
In the opposite corner sat a lone woman, a dead ringer for Anna except for the streaks of grey in her bright red hair and the smile lines at the corners of her eyes. She even wore a similar style of travel clothes, with a familiar Chon'sinian shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
"Must take a lot of pull to empty out a place like this at the end of a work day," Robin commented idly.
As he spoke he began to slowly cross the space separating them, the other three keeping close to him.
"Oh, deary," Anna's Aunt chuckled, "When a lady requests some private time most men are happy to oblige."
"I assume it has nothing to do with the mercenaries hiding on the second floor?" Robin asked without looking up.
The Anna Matriarch let out a laugh, smiling genuinely at Robin and his group.
"I guess it's true what they say," she said. "No one can pull the wool over the great Hero-Tactician's eyes, huh? Won't you and your friends join me? And hello, Anna, dear."
"Hello, Auntie!" Anna chirped, slipping into one of the chairs. "Been a while! Do you look younger?"
Robin smirked as he sunk into his own chair, Arya hesitantly doing the same as Van took up position standing at the older tactician's shoulder. The Anna Matriarch let out a barking laugh at her niece's compliment, making a show of wiping a tear out of her eye once she was done.
"Oh, you always were one of my favorites," she said before turning to Robin and getting down to business.
"I've heard you had a hand in Ama al-Tha's closure," she said, stating the fact.
"Less a hand and more a… bunch of freed, pissed-off slaves, really," Robin shrugged nonchalantly.
The Anna Matriarch visibly winced before sighing and resting her elbows on the table. Her merchant-mask slipped for just a second and Robin caught a glimpse of a woman exhausted by recent events, before she was grinning at him again. Her smile held a hint of apology this time, though.
"Nasty business, that," she said in little more than a whisper. "If I'd known Abdul was trading in slaves…"
"Toldja she wouldn't have known," Anna muttered to Robin.
The Anna Matriarch shook her head, leaning back in her chair.
"If I'd have known, my men would have been the first ones breaking down his doors," she said sharply.
"That's one of the things we all agreed on when we started the Council. No slaves, no drugs, no prostitution. We're merchants, dammit, not criminals. At least we were meant to be. And now, on top of that, I've lost contact with Alvin's vineyards in the south. The Rommels are all playing hush-hush, but at least I can get a reply from Idallia. Even if all I get is 'I am currently indisposed'. The only person making my life easier right now is Mar'kale, and it's saying something when that stubborn old fool is the least of my worries."
Robin nodded, digesting this flood of new facts.
"You're being rather free with your information," he said delicately.
"I've got nothing to hide," the Anna Matriarch scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "Far as I'm concerned, helping you is the most profitable course right now. Those three idiots have been making a mockery of the Southern Merchant's Council for years now, right under my nose, and this might be my ticket to making it something… grand again. I'd like to see that before I retire."
The Matriarch's gaze suddenly flicked over to Arya, and a beaming smile lit up her face.
"And who's this?" she asked. "Your apprentice? Ooh, she's just adorable! I can't believe I missed her! I must be getting old. How about it, honey, wanna switch careers and become my apprentice? I bet you'd make a great merchant!"
"Please don't poach my students," Robin groaned.
Above him he could hear Van trying not to laugh, while Arya simply blinked in shock at the offer and fidgeted uncomfortably. Anna innocently averted her eyes from Robin's silent plea for help; it was easy to see the family resemblance.
"Oh, foo," the Matriarch huffed. "Since you started rattling cages I've had a lot more work to do. I could use a couple of good apprentices again."
"That's why you're here yourself?" Anna piped up. "You're short-handed?"
The Matriarch sighed, nodding with a self-depreciating smile.
"That's one of the draw-backs of change," she said. "Things change. It was nice being retired from the field while it lasted."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Robin scoffed, leaning back in his own chair. "I did not miss sleeping in the elements."
"Oh, I know it," the Matriarch laughed. "But I've got a good couple of decades on you, so you don't get to complain yet."
They laughed a little at her joke, before the older Anna sobered again.
"Look, I want to help however I can, dearies," the Matriarch said, leaning her elbows on the table again. "But the fact of the matter is my people are stretched so thin I've even had to send mercenaries to make deliveries as merchants. I'm making a killing, but if I pull even ten men my whole house of cards will come tumbling down. I'm going to be playing catch-up for a week just because I stayed an extra night here to meet you. Information is all I can offer you at the moment. I'm sorry I can't help you more."
Robin nodded, smiling a little at her honest confession.
"I wasn't expecting an army," he admitted. "If you can even point us in the direction of Alvin's base of operations that in itself would be a tremendous help."
"I have a map with it marked upstairs," the Matriarch said, getting up. "Wait here. Have a drink on me. It's the least I can do."
She swept out of the room, leaving the Shepherds confused and sitting in silence.
"Well, I'm getting that drink," Van said, making for the bar. "C'mon, squirt, give me a hand. I don't read Plegian too well. Anyone else want something? Yeah, you all want something. Hold up."
Arya nodded mutely, standing and following the tactician as he vaulted the bar, sliding across its surface to land behind it and begin inspecting the bottles on the shelf behind it. Beside Robin Anna sighed and slumped a little, staring forlornly at the stairs her Aunt had disappeared up.
"I'd understand if you needed to stay," Robin said softly. "Sounds like she could use your help, too."
Anna looked up sharply, another rare frown on her face as she glared at Robin. Two frowns in one day was a testament to just how frazzled the merchant really was.
"You hired me to do a job," she said. "I don't leave these things half-finished. Besides, from the sounds of things, this won't take much longer. I can help her out after we're done."
Robin nodded, smiling in his relief. He'd been worried about losing Anna, but he clearly should have trusted her more after everything they'd been through together.
"Not long now, huh?" Robin said, leaning back in his seat again. "I just need to send a few messages to Frederick and we can begin the end-game."
Anna nodded, and the two lapsed into silence.
"Hey, what's Pulque?" Van called from the bar.
Robin and Anna both glanced over to where the younger tactician was standing, holding a large bottle of milky white liquid in one hand.
"Alcohol made from a cactus," Anna chuckled. "I'd stay away from it if I were you. Not a lot of Ylisseans can handle the taste. Is there a bottle labeled 'mezcal' on the shelf?"
"Er… yes?" Van said, taking the bottle Arya held out to him.
"Try that one," Anna suggested with a wink.
Van studied the clear liquid for a moment before recoiling from the bottle in shock.
"Is there supposed to be a worm in this bottle!?" he half-shouted.
"Yup!" Anna laughed.
"Please stop trying to kill my former students," Robin chuckled.
"Van, grab a bottle of tequila, too!" he added over his shoulder. "I haven't seen Tharja or Henry in a long time. Hell, grab three! Tonight, we're celebrating! I'm sure we could all use the break."
Clarus stomped through the Mage's Academy, happily back in Ylisstol again. Idallia had been less than happy when he'd simply breezed out of the Rommel Villa, no doubt, leaving without a word to her. But he was on the verge of one of the greatest discoveries in the field of magecraft in decades! Perhaps even centuries! What did he care if he offended some silly self-styled merchant-queen?
He ignored the greetings of the students and other staff, instead stalking directly up the stairs towards his lab. He continued to ignore the greetings and questions hurled at him, going so far as to step around some of his peers and continue on his way rather than waste even a single moment.
He let out a long sigh when he finally reached the outside of his lab, the heavy wooden door solid and impenetrable as always, the wards still firmly in place. Alvidian had done well, maintaining them, it seemed. With a wave of his hand Clarus deactivated the wards and stepped inside, carefully placing the wards back before turning.
Alvidian glanced up from the no-doubt ancient scroll he was reading, spread out on the long table in the center of the room.
"Master!" the boy said. "That was… you were only gone four days. Did you not rest on your journey?"
Clarus took a deep breath, relaxing for the first time in days as he shrugged his heavy travelling robes off.
"I did not wish to leave our experiments unattended," Clarus reasoned. "How is Galuc?"
Alvidian sneered, glaring over his shoulder at the former apprentice curled up on the cold stone floor.
"Still fading," he spat. "It is as if he has lost the will to live."
"Yes, yes," Clarus breathed, pushing his thin hair back from his brow.
"That is exactly right. That is why he has become such… such… a wretched thing. But I have seen the ore's effect on a willing host!"
Alvidian froze and gasped, his eyes widening. Clarus moved through the piles of refuse as he spoke, digging around in the storage boxes against the wall.
"The Rommel-"
"Has bonded with his armor, almost like a second skin," Clarus said, the excitement clear in his voice. "And that was just from externally applying the ore. If… if we were to take it into ourselves like poor, poor Galuc…"
Clarus trailed off, his face going slack for a moment as he recalled the bright young mind that had been his favored pupil. His eyes lit back up again, though, as he found the object of his search, rising back to his feet and holding a large, serrated dagger.
"What I don't know, though," Clarus said as he slowly crossed the space again. "Is the ore's effects on dead tissue."
Alvidian's eyes widened, but he remained silent as Clarus loomed over Galuc's prone form. He knelt down next to the boy, gently pulling his head back to expose his throat. Galuc's shoulders weakly rose and fell with each breath, and his eyes weakly focused on the form of his former teacher hovering above him.
There was a brief moment, a split second where Clarus wavered. He saw Galuc in his mind's eye, not the wretched creature he had become but the smiling, bright young lad that had first arrived at the Academy, grinning up at him from beneath the rim of an oversized mage's hat his mother had made for him to 'grow into'. He saw the boy standing nervously as he presented his first research assignment, practicing diligently at his spellcraft until he could conjure an elfire long before the others. Clarus saw the life that he himself had already ended.
Before he could dwell any further Clarus plunged the dagger down into Galuc's throat, the boy squeaking and going rigid as his lifeblood sprayed all over Clarus' nice travelling clothes.
There was a gasp from Alvidian as the torrent of blood became a slow trickle, Glauc twitching a few times before finally lying still. The red glow faded from the boy's shocked eyes, and his shoulders rose and fell, haltingly, one final time and he closed his eyes.
"There," Clarus said shakily. "Now we wait."
He turned, struggling to keep himself from vomiting, and crossed to the long table in the center of the room. With trembling hands he reached out, feeling the comforting lumps and crevices of the piece of ore sitting in its usual spot in the center of the table with the tips of his fingers and instantly becoming calm again.
What he was doing, what he had done, was a waste, yes. Galuc had been brilliant. But that brilliance had been clouded by fear and indecision. He would have informed the other senior mages, and Clarus' experiments would have ended before they began.
A gentle smile rose to his lips as he lifted the ore and held it close to his heart.
"This is for the best," he muttered. "He's of far more use to us dead."
Alvidian nodded, his own face breaking into a grin.
"Now what, Master?" he asked, his tone hushed in reverence.
Clarus' smile never wavered, even when he brought the ore to his lips and took it into his body. There was a brief moment of pain as the ore passed his esophagus and slid down to his stomach, quickly replaced by a euphoric pleasure as a warm sensation grew from within him. As he turned to face Alvidian Clarus' own eye began to glow a deep, baleful crimson.
"Now," he said slowly. "Now we need to find more."
Behind them, as the two mages began to trace out on a map where they had found the largest deposits of the ore, the lifeless body of Galuc began to twitch, weakly at first but with more and more strength as the minutes passed. Then, as Alvidian and Clarus decided on their search pattern, the corpse opened its glowing red eyes again.
The next morning Robin gave a little groan as he stretched, yawning and stepping out into the main foyer of the temple in Grima's Fall. Mercifully, he wasn't hung-over after the previous night's drinking. Galle and Van would probably be feeling it, but most of the others had been smart about their consumption.
To think, though, that Van had managed to drink the entire bottle of mezcal himself…
Robin chuckled, shaking his head and inspecting the foyer around him. He was always impressed by the sheer size of Tharja's school. The irony that she had used her family's savings to open her new Dark Mage school in an old Grimleal temple wasn't lost on Robin, either. Even though all the old six-eyed Grimleal iconography had been taken away or destroyed and replaced with the swooping raven symbol of Tharja's new school it had still taken a little getting used to being in.
He stepped back into the shade of one of the massive pillars holding up the ceiling in the central colonnade as a group of students in familiar black robes walked by, talking and laughing as they went to the small refractory building for breakfast. According to Tharja she had fifty-two students now, more than she and Henry could manage on their own. In the same breath she had also cursed him for poaching the only other fully-trained Dark Mage left in existence for his own school, but that was beside the point. There were two other teachers, both Anima Mages sent from Ylisse's Royal Mage Academy to help teach the younger students proper mana manipulation, and to also lessen the divide between the differing magic classifications. Tharja herself regularly made trips to Ylisstol to lecture at the Academy in exchange for the instructors she had been sent, much to her irritation.
"This building stinks of old blood."
Robin sighed and glanced over his shoulder at the complaint, giving Ita a tired look as the shape-shifter came up behind him.
"I know," Robin shrugged. "But it's an important part of their history."
The wolf-woman huffed and crossed her arms, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. She and Kowrowa, and to a lesser extent Panne, too, were having trouble staying in or near the temple. There was a lot of negative energy residue thanks to the Grimleal, and even Robin had trouble dealing with it. Strangely enough it didn't seem to bother Fae, but then again nothing ever seemed to bother the manakete.
"When are we leaving?" she asked bluntly.
"I'm just waiting to hear back from Ylisstol and then we're leaving," Robin said. "I've already explained all this. Stop being so impatient."
Ita growled, baring her fangs in an animalistic show of her displeasure.
"I am a creature of the forest," she complained. "The desert does not agree with me."
Robin nodded absently, going back to watching the parade of students moving for their breakfast through the temple.
"Yeah, me either," he muttered under his breath.
AN2016: Argh, I'm not happy with this chapter, but I'm never happy with what I write so I don't know how to feel! Yes, I know. Basing the Plegian culture on Persia and then giving them Mexican booze is silly. But arak is boring, and really, who doesn't like tequila?
This chapter was a long-time-coming. A little more world-building, a little more preparation. You know, same old, same old. Some more much-needed development for our villains, too.
I don't really have much else to say. I work nights now, so I'm pretty stuffed and it's making writing hard. But I shall endure! Oh, and the count-down to Fates is on! But if Nintendo change one more damn thing I'm just going to cave and import the stupid games from Japan…
Remember I'm doing a podcast? CAB Anime and Gaming, new episodes every second Friday! Find us on SoundCloud and ITunes! Nagaspeed!