I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but sorry for the long break between chapters. Though this time I can at least say it was quasi-purposeful. After all, I did leave you on a cliffhanger. I can't promise the next chapter will come any quicker, but it is my hope to have it out by next weekend. No promises though.
Not much else to say. This chapter deals mostly with originals, but have no fear. We'll be back on familiar ground in the next chapter.
Please read and review. I love hearing from you!
-sor
While Zaibach was not a city without sunlight, one might easily assume as much by the perpetual darkness favored by Aldon and his aging eyes. Perhaps it was some poor attempt at symbolism to maintain such an air of darkness and despair within the Madoushi Tower. Whatever the reason, it was merely another fault added haphazardly to Corbett's growing list of grievances. The Madoushi ranks were no longer comprised of bitter old men; fools who could not survive the wars. With the expansion of their ranks came an influx of youthful energy and passion, all but foreign to those who had served in Dornkirk's age.
One of these youths was a boy of nineteen by the name of Laurent who had escaped military service during the civil war by enlisting with the Tower just after his eighteen's birthday. The boy had taken an immediate liking to the Madoushi's military contact, a man who had studied closely for years at the side of the former Strategos Folken; a man none other than Corbett himself. Knowing a worthwhile asset when he saw one, Corbett was all too happy to provide discrete and private training in return for the boy's services. Specifically, his access to the archival shelves, which he had been appointed to maintain. In the end, though, it proved largely fruitless, as Aldon's most private files remained painfully out of reach.
"You do realize sending him in there could bring about his execution." Emil maintained his collected pace at Corbett's side, despite the level of agitation in his words. "Is this information really worth more than this boy's life?"
"Knowledge is the key to all doors, Emil. This continued ignorance makes slaves of us all," Corbett replied as calmly as if he'd been asked nothing more than the time.
Those words, heard countless times, brought forth a fresh bout of annoyance in the shorter Madoushi. "Yes, yes. As Folken always said. And we all see how he met his end; a slaughtered traitor."
"A traitor to Dornkirk's insanity, perhaps, but not to Zaibach herself." They were words Corbett had said many times in some vain attempt to defend his mentor's honor, but even now those words sounded hollow. This was the man, after all, who had betrayed Zaibach to the alliance, divulging a multitude of military secrets. This was the man who had murdered Dornkirk and plunged Zaibach into two years of brutal civil war. And what some would call the worst offense, Folken was a monster.
It was a thing Corbett had wished he'd known sooner. How amazing it must have been to be tied so tightly to fate, a bond forged in ancient blood. But he had only found out when he came upon his idol, unmoving in a pool of blood and black feathers.
The Ryujinbito. The only ones among them with any right to alter fate. Man was not meant to do such things through any means other than his own hard work. And it was through hard work that Corbett meant to change Zaibach's fate once more, just as Folken had. He meant to bring about an end to the conflicts and bind the nation together to a common goal. Not to change the face of the world or to conquer through military strength, but to live. What man needed anything more than to live?
"Half the country labels the other half traitors, Corbett. Defending a dead man is the last thing you should worry about." Emil hung his head, breathing out a soft sigh. He was always the type to avoid confrontation and so Corbett allowed it, saying nothing more of Folken. There was nothing to say, in any case. Emil had no need to know that it was Folken's dream as well as his own that he fought to realize.
"You're right, as always, my friend." Corbett executed a quick, polite bow to his colleague before turning down the hallway that led to his private lab.
Emil knew instinctively that he was not meant to follow. "I'll see to a few of the boys in the library. Extra help with their lessons could never hurt." And with a curt bow of his own, the older man shuffled off down the hallway.
Corbett watched for a moment, a faint smirk on his face. Help with their lessons was hardly the reason Emil went to tend to the boys. Certainly he would spend hours pouring over texts with them and explaining the principles, but really he moved to secure loyalties. The boys remembered which men showed their faces about the tower and seemed to have genuine interest in their advancement.
There were only a handful of students in the tower who had ever actually seen Aldon's face. Such a thing was all the better for Corbett. Let the boys come to respect him and his allies while they poked fun at the old man upstairs. That had been Folken's biggest mistake. He had shunned the Tower and they had shunned him in return, leaving him without the support of those who would in the end back his experiments. Only Corbett had been truly loyal.
xxxxx
The last time Corbett had seen Strategos Folken alive was some time before the destruction of Fanelia. He had returned with the Vione to Zaibach to take on new soldiers and supplies. The Tower had been aware of his return for some time, but the old fools made no effort to greet him. They stayed locked away in their laboratories and sent no one to greet him, as was customary. Still, Corbett needed no orders to meet Folken at the base of the tower when his carriage arrived from the military complex.
They walked in silence, which seemed all too appropriate for the nearly deserted halls. The Madoushi ranks had been dwindling for some time and it was not unusual to walk the length of the tower several times without meeting another soul. Still, it was always safe to speak only where privacy was assured. The old men had ears everywhere.
Once safe behind doors, Folken finally spoke. "I trust you were able to procure the supplies I requested."
Corbett offered a nod in response, gesturing to the great oak cabinet that rested against the far wall. The room had once been Folken's lab and the Strategos knew every inch of it, but upon his promotion, he had left the room and all its secrets in Corbett's hands. The shelves contained volumes of research, some older than Corbett himself; research begun by the very first Madoushi and taken up years later by Folken. It was a collection unrivaled in all of Zaibach, or so Corbett had come to believe.
The text varied greatly from simple mechanics to ancient history, though throughout the many histories Folken had collected there ran a single, common threat. Atlantis. Other men would have called the volumes stories or legends, but Folken called them histories. He poured through them day and night only to toss them aside in frustration, leaving Corbett the task of lovingly gathering the volumes and placing them back upon the shelves where Folken would find them the next day only to cast them aside once more.
There were other histories as well; oddities among the fairy tales of Atlantis, the oddest of which was a careworn genealogy of the Fanelian kings. He had searched that book nearly as often as all the rest and when Corbett had finally gathered the courage to ask what it was he searched for in such a book, Folken merely responded with his usual ambiguity.
"Answers."
It was to this volume Folken went to, drawing it down from the shelf with care. He stood silently for a moment, peering at the worn leather cover, fraying just slightly at the edges, but not from lack of care.
He crossed the room to a pair of equally worn arm chairs. Corbett had offered to have them replaced many times, but Folken had been stubborn. They were comfortable, he said. Far be it for Corbett to argue with such logic.
Once he had settled himself into the chair, he opened the volume with the same careful ease as ever, using only his left hand. Other books, he would handle in his right, but not this one. Yet another oddity Corbett had noted and yet been unable to comprehend.
"In a week's time, the Fanelian prince will set out for the Rite of Dragonslaying." The words caught Corbett off guard, but he was used to Folken's quirks. The man could be silent for hours, only to speak as if stepping into a conversation mid-stream. "He will leave the safety of his palace and strike out on his own into the wilderness with nothing more than a sword. A sword and armor against a dragon."
Corbett inched closer, sliding into the other arm chair. "That does sound rather ridiculous..."
Seemingly oblivious to the younger man's confusion, Folken continued, thumbing slowly through the pages, but not seeing the text. "If he manages to slay a dragon, he will return to Fanelia with the energist as proof." Another page turned. "This energist will be used to power what was once the key to Fanelian power. The great melef, Escaflowne."
Another page turned, even more slowly. "Escaflowne is the most dangerous variable. In all our calculations, the dragon interferes. If Escaflowne awakens, Zaibach will be forced to take hold of this variable where it can be managed according to our design."
The turning of the pages stilled as Folken reached the end of the book, where the most recent line of Fanelian kings was listed. "But if the prince fails to slay the dragon and return with its energist, Escaflowne will remain dormant and we can move forward with our plans unobstructed." His hand came to rest lightly over the page. "Fanelia will be preserved and will remain uninvolved in the conflict to come."
"But if he succeeds..." Folken's hand curled into a fist. The paper beneath his hand crumpled slowly and finally tore. "Fanelia will be wiped from the face of Gaea."
He seemed at first not to realize that he had torn free the final page, and he seemed almost sad when he opened his fist and looked upon the torn page. When he finally spoke again, his tone was soft. Corbett might have called it mournful had it not been for the steely cold in Folken's eyes. "Violence begets violence, Corbett. Fate will not let us succeed so long as we continue to dirty ourselves with such useless killing.
"So long as gentle souls are forced to fight, there will be no peace; no end to war. Even we cannot hope to change this legacy of violence if mankind has no desire to abandon their desire for blood."
Folken set the book aside, leaving the crumpled page sitting atop the worn leather cover. His mind was lost once more in that place only he knew of. Corbett had often wondered what thoughts plagued Strategos Folken when his eyes became distant, but the man refused even the most innocent of questions. Some things were better left unsaid, he claimed. Still, Corbett tried once more to delve into the mystery that was Strategos Folken.
"You want the Fanelian prince to fail? But wouldn't that mean he'd die?"
Folken hesitated a moment, his back turned fully, face shrouded behind the high collar of his cloak. When he spoke, his tone was measured and forced and while Corbett could not even begin to say what it was he hid, it was clear to see that something was buried there. "If he succeeds, it will mean the death of his gentle heart. In either case, Van Fanel will not survive the Rite of Dragonslaying."
xxxxx
Van Fanel. The dark, brooding youth who had avoided formality as one might avoid the plague. Corbett remembered the boy very well. He resembled Folken, not only in the eyes, but in manner as well. So many small things. The way he cut his meat at supper; the way he observed with that same steely silence. Though Van's silence had been tempered with uncertainty.
Come to think of it, that was very much like Folken, too.
Had Corbett known then what he knew now, Folken might not have been such a mystery. But he understood now, the Strategos' determination to bring about a world without fighting; a world for all the gentle souls like Van Fanel. Like Laurent, who had fled the wars to take up the life of a hermit within the tower. Like all the other boys who had fled death and destruction and hidden themselves behind a black cloak.
To bring about a world without war. It was an immense burden Corbett had placed upon himself. But unlike Folken; unlike Dornkirk and all the other fools who had torn their country to shreds, he understood. Their methods were wrong. Machines and weapons were not the way to bring about such a world.
All one needed for peace was a sharp mind and a talent for politics.
A faint smirk colored Corbett's features as he approached his lab, but faded quickly when he saw who waited outside his door.
The figure lurked in the shadows, his back pressed into the corner in the hopes of avoiding notice, but Corbett spotted him with little difficulty. The boy was slight, what some might call scrawny or delicate, fair and prone to shatter easily. For that reason alone, Corbett was able to identify him without a moment's hesitation. Daien; Aldon's silent little lap dog.
"If Aldon wishes to see me, you can tell the old buzzard you were unable to find me. I have no desire to speak to him today." Or any other day, Corbett thought with amusement.
Daien shook his head firmly, though Corbett wasn't entirely sure what was meant by it. He'd not spent enough time around the boy to learn to efficiently communicate with him, nor did he wish to. However, Daien moved quickly towards him and it was only then that Corbett noted his arms laden with bound volumes; research journals by the look of them. These journals he shoved awkwardly into Corbett's arms while nodding eagerly that he should accept them.
Despite his seemingly innocent nature, Corbett had no trust in Daien, but still he took the offered volumes. After all, knowledge was power, even if obtained through shady means. And if it were a trap? He had no worries of that. With most of the tower at his back, Aldon knew better than to attempt entrapment and were he foolish enough to do so, he would find himself very quickly out of a job. Though he may not have realized yet, Aldon only retained his position because Corbett had not yet decided to strike.
Daien's smile brightened when his offering was accepted and with his newly freed hands, he delved into the pocket of his jacket, producing a piece of parchment on which was written in overly neat script. He who seeks knowledge need only ask and he shall receive.
For an instant, Corbett was unsure if he were more pleased or angered. What a presumptuous thing for the brat to do! "Who wrote this? You? Aldon?"
The servant shook his head slowly, a secretive smile appearing in place of his larger grin. Then after a moment of heavy silence, he lifted a hand and extended one slender finger upwards, pointing towards the upper floors... or perhaps even beyond. Feeling a fool for doing so, Corbett's gaze shifted for a moment to the ceiling as if he half expected to find this mysterious benefactor seated among the rafters.
"Look, I don't know what you're..." His words trailed off as he glanced back to the hallway only to find Daien had already taken his leave just as silently as he had come. With a heavy sigh, Corbett glanced down at the volumes in his arms and then back down the hallway where the boy had disappeared.
"I suppose now that there's no returning them, I might as well read."