1The hallways quickly turned into a cage. Their footsteps churned up noise that rebounded and increased tenfold in the narrow confines of Nalbina's core, but they could not find progress where it should have been. Damage to the fortress in its earlier attacks had caused walls to fall and collapse, hallways to end in splintered disjunction where there should have been more. More, more, more! Where was the hallway that split to the stairwell that should have led them right down the path they needed? Buried - it seemed. Vossler managed to keep from cursing, tongue scraping on teeth as he snatched the map of the fortress from one of his troops and growled in irritation. Too long. This was taking far too long.
"The way has been blocked." One of the troops reportedly wearily as they faced down a wall of crumbled marble and shredded tapestry. They'd encountered this same problem several times already and backtracking had gotten them nowhere. There was always one more hallway to check but Basch had agreed to take the foremost route so at least one of them would get there in time to stop the treaty from being signed.
"Certainly, it is." Balling the thick material of the map between white knuckled fists, Vossler pitched it to the ground with a ferocious scowl and clenched his teeth against the rising despair that he calmly tagged as impatience because failure was not an option. "You." Stabbing a finger at a well weathered man bearing an axe through the broad loop of his belt, Vossler beckoned him nearer. "Earlier you had mentioned your brief station here. Is there a secondary pathway aside from those that we have already attempted?"
It took a moment, the man's sand blasted skin tightening in concentration as dusky eyes went deeply thoughtful. Vossler waited in silence though his fingers itched against the blood spattered leather and metal of his armor. Finally the man nodded sharply. Rather than await an explanation of the area, he thrust a hand out in a sharp gesture of command. Lead on, is what the gesture said, though the tight set of his jaw provoked the urgency with which the man took the lead and led them mazelike through a winding series of corridors until even Vossler lost track of where they were and how they would escape this place..
There was a blind whirring from above, the sounds of aerial blasts that rumbled through the stone of the fortress, but none of them payed it more attention than a passing curiosity. Unless it was about to land on them through several feet of dense stone or cause them some harm, it was not worth paying immediate attention to. There were larger things at risk.
Oddly, their path was largely devoid of contest. With such an outright betrayal hanging in the air they had all assumed that their path would be heavily guarded and ferociously defended by the Archadians and yet, they had only come across meager forces that seemed largely surprised to find any kind of rescue coming down these particular set of hallways. Each band was quickly dispatched; small teams that put up little resistance as Vossler's squad swept unexpectedly from shadowed alcoves and splintered hallways.
In little time they had found the right path, though it was difficult to say how much time the consistent dead ends and backtracking had leeched from the dubious progress. If - no, surely not 'if, certainly they had not fallen' - Basch's group had survived, perhaps they had made better time.
"Through here, Captain.." The leading soldier stopped, guiding them quietly through a doorway that blended into the immaculate stonework and opened into a twining stairwell. They paused, regrouping in silence and eyeing the emptiness above with concern. There was no knowing that awaited the team above; more empty halls or an ambush and everything in between ranged through their collective minds, but it was only a moment after considering what awaited them that Vossler grasped the rail; iron scraping against his armor as he clenched the band of metal tightly and vaulted up the first few steps, taking caution as he rose up the tightly circular route that was never made to allow for a man of his size in full armor.
He had never appreciated stairways in a tactical sense unless he was the one with the obvious advantage of higher ground. And when it was your head that came level first rather than your weapon.. It wasn't that hard to imagine what could await him. Swift but silent he wound the stairwell, blade clutched tightly to his body to keep from clanging against the stairs or railing and breath coming in measured gasps. Climbing so quickly in full armor was using up much of what energy was still left to him after fighting his way through the massive and broken fortress.
When he reached the final edge, he paused and looked down the trailing of men that dotted the winding tiers of scorched metal in varied positions of readiness. Nodding once, he lifted his head quickly above the stairwell and darted back down before any enterprising marksman that might be waiting for them could take his head off. But the room was empty; the doorway shadowless and halls fairly quiet beyond that. Vossler cautiously cleared it and stood, turning to beckon his men.
"The way seems clear, move quickly." The stairwell rattled with the sudden surge of activity upon it and Vossler motioned for silence still, turning to regard the doorway with blade held at ready should they suddenly draw unwanted attention. Yet things seemed eerily calm...
It meant to contrasting possibilities that failed to weigh any lighter on his already pressed mind. Either they were not expected to take this route, which meant their escape would possibly be blocked by whatever forces were meant to waylay them previously. The second possibility meant that they were in fact expected.. In which case the lack of opposition meant something dire indeed. Remaining quiet above all things, Vossler motioned for his men to follow closely and stay wary.
It would not be far now, he was reassured, one more length of hallway and another rise of stairs and they would be there.
They trotted down the body-littered hallway in varying stages on concern. Only Archadian dead were there to greet them, small groups that were unable to stand against the might of the surviving troops that Basch had no doubt led through this way quite a short while ago. Dark carpets were stained with spilled gunpowder and blood; a grisly reminder that haste was of the utmost concern.
Unopposed, they made it to the open hallway of stairs and stopped momentarily to study the scene. The enemy lay dead upon the stairs and at the base; sprawled limbs and hacked bodies creating a gruesome waterfall effect of blood and gore that filled the hallway with a scent unlike any other. None of them were particularly appalled at the sight and had come to accept such things on combat with the same calm knowledge that the sun would rise and set each day regardless of what else may have happened.
But pressed into the thick mass of red was only one set of bootprints and that seemed more than curious. Either way, it was enough to waylay their progress if only for a moment. And in the considering silence they heard it; at the top of the stairs was the sound of a scuffle. Hoarse shouts, threats and the sharp sound of metal. Vossler tensed, his soldiers following suit. None of the voices were familiar and all were heavy with the accent of Archadian weight and nobility. Pressure dug into the hollow behind his eyes and with a low growl he angled his blade and led a silent charge up the stairs.
His view slipped fleetingly to the double doors at the end of the hall that would lead into the stateroom; flung open and housing a good two dozen Archadians between their broad arches. Cursing sharply, he shot across the hall and into a small alcove. Hissing, he slashed the air sharply with a hand and gestured for his men, poised on the stairways, to find nearby shelter and stay.. Though the party of Archadians had not seen him, he wished to take no chances as they seemed to be ready to leave. Pressing himself into the deeper shadows at the unlit end of the hall, he caught his breath between his teeth and waited for them to pass.
Shock nearly gave him away and he had to remind himself that it would be his death should he make a sound. Joking and ribbing accompanied their bitter murmuring as they passed, the echo of Archadian voices through their dense helms was only a bitter prelude to what came next. Basch was held between a tall standing pair; wrists in shackles and eyes cast as low as his shoulders slumped. Vosslers's fingers tightened around the grip of his blade, pressed so close to his body that it scuffed away at the leather with each breath he took; laboring to keep his silence and trying hard not to give himself away. Singularly, he was no match for the Archadians and would be led away as well if not slain outright. Even with his men, they numbered too few and too weary to free the other Captain. It was difficult to stand there and do nothing though, his lungs and muscles ached in protest as he kept himself pressed firmly to the wall.
Minutes stretched long and even after he heard no more noise in the distance he didn't dare to move. Instead his mind tormented him with the knowledge of complete and utter failure; for if Basch was being led away in chains than surely the King was dead...
"Captain-" Vossler startled, eyes slashing to the stairs and the hesitant group of soldiers that eventually emerged despite his orders. Concern was plain on their faces at his state of unresponsive concentration. Sagging slightly, he sheathed his sword with a look of grim finality and gestured for them to follow. The hall was short, the door left open to reveal the slaughter within.
As the soldiers rushed to inspect the fallen bodies of their comrades that lay across the cold tiles, Vossler approached the heavy throne set toward the back on a low dias. King Raminas was pale, the blood gone from his face and features slack in a way that none of them had ever been witness to. Cliche would have been to say that he was asleep, but his brow was furrowed in pain even beyond life and his posture spoke of a sincere lack of struggle. But there was the treaty on his lap, the crisp edges on one side weighed down with the life blood of the king, like it had been foretold.
And yet the straight slash of line at the bottom where his signature was to go was blank..
"Sir!" Vossler dropped the paper to flutter rather gracelessly onto the floor and looked to the soldier who had hailed him, bent over the prone and seemingly lifeless figure of the young Knight he recognized from the courtyard. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Nodding his head, he moved a few steps toward him. "Sir, he's alive!" And it seemed impossible, not with the honed blade of a familiar dagger driven into him like that..
Eyes widening, he struggled to remember the young man's name and dropped to his knees on the ground beside him, heedless of the blood as he lay gentle hands upon him. "..Reks." Eyelids fluttered, but there was no response. Turning to the soldier, he snapped restlessly. "Find something to treat him with, cut bandages loose from the dead. We cannot loose him as well."
As a few soldiers got their feet back under them and scrambled for bandages, he lifted his hands and placed them on Reks' shoulders, attempting to bring some sense from the boy. "Reks, if you give up on me.." There was no threat that came to mind, it all seemed very awkward..
Climbing to his feet as the others returned and began to patch the young knight up once more, Vossler turned to regard King Raminas carefully. Why had he been killed without the treaty yet signed? How had his men met such a quick end.. There wasn't enough damage for it to have been a large struggle. They had to have been surprised. Expected. Clenching his jaw, he moved outside of the room to escape the scent of death and the bitter taste of failure that hung as heavily in the air as the blood. Gauntlets clenched around the heavy banister and he was rewarded when a few flaking chips of marble crumbled under the metal of his grasp.
And then he heard it, the repercussion of armor striking clearly on the stairs below. And not a falling body, that. No, the sound of pursuit was coming up the stairs though it seemed likely to be just one or two people. Standing straight, he tilted his head down a fraction and through the balconies that tired down to the ground level he saw the ornate silvered armor of a pair of Judge Magisters. And they were clearly on their way here...
Slowly, he backed into the room so as not to betray any noise and closed the doors firmly behind him, pressing his wait against the joining of the two as his men looked on in wary expectation of even more bad news.
Instead, he jerked his chin toward Reks. "Is the boy stable enough yet to move?" The soldier tending to him gave a slow shake of his head. Eyebrows knitting together as he moved through several options, he tried to come to a survivable decision. With their failure so complete, they could not risk losing another life. And Reks and himself seemed to be the last of the Dalmasca Order left breathing. Though Reks certainly didn't look like that would last long..
"There are a pair of Judge Magisters making their way here, though for what reason I know not. Should they find us, they will not hesitate to execute those who remain alive." His words were met with a tense hush and eyes rose to him in answer. They were waiting for him to save them all. Jaw clenching, he shook his head and rolled ideas through his mind once more, looking for something, anything, that would get them all out of here alive. It was too late for the fallen that littered the floor; loyal and noble Dalmascan soldiers that died on the threshold of success..
"Captain.." It was only through the silence that he heard the voice, strained and rasping. Reks.. Vossler lifted an eyebrow in genuine surprise and kneeled by the young Knight. "It was Captain Ronsenburg.." Eyes still closed tightly against the pain, Reks lifted his hands to lay them against the wound; push back the pain. "He.. Killed them all. Killed the King.."
Rolling back on his heels, Vossler regained his feet in a smooth motion though there was certain disbelief that lingered. Basch was simply not capable of such things.. Reks was the only witness to the deed it seemed and all the more reason for him to survive this. His mind made up, he gestured to three of the other soldiers who still seemed to have the energy left to make a stand with him.
"This is what you will do." He turned to the remaining group, eyes gone hard as he took up the mantle of leadership and began to make his instructions. What he had planned was simple but bore the capacity for error should things not go as planned. Reks was to make it to the dropship, no questions asked. The remaining soldiers would make an able guard. Once outside the walls, they were to signal the ship that waited for their extraction.
The part that he and the other three were to play would be the difficult one and if things did not go well, and they accepted the risks as he explained it to them, they would be left behind as the extraction ship would not have the time to wait for them to catch up. It was there job to defeat or at least waylay the Magisters. Once everybody knew the plan, there was little time to execute.
Vossler slammed the double doors open with a broad shouldered impact and dashed across the blood slicked floor, standing at the peak of the stairs as the pair of Judge Magisters froze in surprise at the base; looking up in disbelief at the sudden opposition. Apparently they hadn't been sent to fight, more to collect whatever bodies needed recovering.. Eyes narrowed and he swung his sword in a broad and threatening arc as the other three moved in to take up position.
Playing decoy was not something he had ever tried.
Kicking off from the top step he wondered if he'd judged the distance right and hoped he wouldn't break an ankle landing incorrectly. Or that the Archadians would regain their balance before he struck and render him.. well, dead.
But things worked out due to some unforeseen miracle. He landed at the base of the stairs with a bone jarring impact and hit a crouch. Muscles coiled underneath him and before the Magisters could do more than reach for their weapons he jammed his shoulder into the nearest's gut and drove up and out. Hard. It was rewarding to say the least. The impact threw the Magister into the wall where, unable to keep his or her balance, they flailed to the ground into a heap of armor. The second took the time to prepare an brought loose a massive hammer with a growl of anger.
There was no time for battle though. Vossler brought his sword up and jammed it into the hollow beneath the flat end of the hammer where it met with the handle, bracing himself to hold it long enough for his men to swing past him and the struggling Judge Magister and down the stairwell. Shocked at the sudden retreat, the Judge betrayed their shift in attention by the sudden and minute sideways twist of their helm. That was all Vossler needed and had been waiting for. He kicked out, dropped onto his back and rolled as the hammer came down where his head had been. Reaching the side of the stairwell, he bolted down after his troops and prayed that the plan had worked; that the two would follow them instead of get to their original duties in the stateroom.
Sparing a look up, he saw the first Judge clambering to his feet, the second was already halfway down the staircase after them. So far so good.
His men were waiting at the base and gestured to him before vanishing around a corner and down into the main hallway. It was understood that the other team would be using this same pathway so they needed to clear it before they could get moving. Their current pace was breakneck though and the Judges struggled to keep up with the lighter armored Dalmascans.
Which was all in the plan. Vossler had never really abided by fighting dirty, though often times it was difficult to say if something a person did was dirty or not when fighting. Particularly on a large scale. But there was little doubt to the necessity of what they were trying to accomplish and so he put it out of his mind, reached down to the cold rage that burned constant in his gut and waited with his men for the Magister's to clear the corner they were waiting around.
The first one did at a dead run, unable to stop when they saw the trap laid out for them. With a roar, Vossler leveled his blade out and lunged forward; gripping it tightly with arms coiled up to his stomach. Unable to stop in time, the Judge tried to turn into the strike, a movement that only opened the blade up to the weaker spots of leather joints of weaker metal. The blade impacted with a crunch and carried through with an ineffable noise of surrendering flesh and one. Vossler braced himself but when the Judge collapsed across his blade and tumbled to the ground he was drawn with it; sword trapped beneath the heavily armored body as it fell.
The second Judge turned and with a hoarse cry of anger leaped the corpse and brought their blade down in a sickle of steel. Vossler threw himself back and narrowly dodged the blade, instead it caught him across his armored thighs with a painful clap of steel. Then his men fall upon him and in little time their task was done. Wincing as he rose to his feet, Vossler led the man back to the broad entry into the building, the courtyard was as silent as a tomb and before long the rest of the group arrived with Reks held between a pair on a makeshift stretcher.
The remainder of their journey was made in tense silence. They had failed, that much was obvious for King Raminas was dead. They had brought their liege along as well; wrapped quietly in a tapestry to be taken back to Rabanastre for a proper funeral and burial. Though he led his small group back to the outer limits of the walls and signaled for extraction as had been planned all along, there was a weight he carried that seemed incomparable to anything he had ever borne before.
Reks was lucid enough to tell them everything he knew; that his hesitation in dealing with the Archadians brought him late to the scene; but quickly enough to witness Basch's treachery and receive the wound that still threatened his young life despite the care they had taken in keeping him breathing and whole. Aboard the airship that flew in for extraction, he explained the situation to the pilots and told them to move quickly back to Rabanastre.
It was enough to have lost the King, and now Rabanastre was threatened indeed by Archadia's presence on the border. The fighting would increase to unknown proportions and the slaughter of Dalmascans would continue. And the news that Basch had turned into a Kingslayer with the weak reasoning that their ruler had intended all along to sell them out? It seemed impossible. Though he never voiced it, Vossler was quick to believe that Reks had not seen or heard everything that was there. Basch was labeled a traitor.. Vossler was quicker to label Reks a liar. But it would have been unseemly and so he held his tongue.
There was only obstacle now that stood in the way of Archadia claiming Dalmasca for certain.. Her royal highness, the Princess Ashelia was still breathing and alive, but he had little doubt that Archadia would repair that problem as soon as they were able.
Was it not his duty as a Knight to protect Dalamasca? And now, was the Princess not Dalmasca itself embodied?
By the time they reached Rabanastre, he knew what had to be done, though told nobody of his plans. With his most trustworthy ally now a captive and thought a Kingslayer, how long would it take to find betrayal in his own name?
Darkness shadowed the Palace and it's corridors and he left the unsavory task of removing the King and wounded Knight from the extraction. Dressed in steel, sweat and blood he ignored the cautious and concerned stares granted to him by those who still wandered the night and made his way into the depths of the Palace. His duty was not yet done.