The Eighth Chapter - A Bargain Struck
Farin glanced over at the growing pile of folders. "Perhaps I should reconsider letting you recognize my rank."Norris scratched at his cleanly-shaven chin, as if he had still had his beard. "Well, considering what we're trying to accomplish here, it would be best if we went through every facet at least once. At least this way, we don't waste our superiors' time. Not to mention the fact that delaying this by a single revision could take weeks. You know how the nobles get..."
"Your patience for this bureaucratic nightmare is saintly," Farin grumbled to himself, opening the folder and flipping through the parchment with disgust. Though he had been through his share of paperwork -- no one in the upper ranks was immune to that responsibility -- he hated it with a passion. It was drivel that should have been dealt with by aides who were unfortunately absent. If he was back in Tzen, he could assign it to any number of staff sergeants. Here, he had the two fools that were his friends.
It was not as if Reinhardt or Donnach could help him here. They were not talented on this battlefield.
"I entertain nobles. If you think this is long-winded, you should try listening to a Speaker of the House," Norris rebuffed.
Their existence in Albrook was still a secret. The escort they had entering the city had been insignificant compared to the entourages that had accompanied most of the noblemen at the Messis Luna. The annual celebration had given them what they desperately needed: a distraction. While a treaty between these two factions would have been unlikely, it did not mean that they were safe from prying eyes. Anson Tilton certainly had spies within Albrook and Tzen; he had been well connected throughout his career. Maverick Drummond might have had some loyal men in the area as well; the General's popularity within the armed forces had been one of the many factors that led to his appointment during the Marandan War.
Most of these informants would have been in place long before the storm clouds had been visible upon the horizon. Power struggles within the military had been commonplace, though few amongst the elite could have expected the events of the past two years. After Kefka had betrayed Celes, every general realized that Emperor Gestahl would not interfere despite their long service and respected positions. The generals schemed behind their Emperor's back and the possibility of a coup d'etat became very real. Those events would have signified the Emperor's downfall had he not raced them to the grave with his obsession of magic.
If either faction heard that there was the possibility of an alliance between Meras and Lilienthal, the war would quickly become a two-sided affair. That was the worse possible situation since it would prolong and even strength the current stalemate. Thus, two men who rarely stood in the spotlight were writing a piece of paper that would change the course of history. Farin Starson and Norris Ferdinand were known to be warriors, not strategists. Their disappearance could be easily rationalized, unlike Major-General Karen Alysworth -- Imperial Second Army commander-in-chief and Remiel Lilienthal's right hand -- or the equally ranked Layton Yarrow of Danielle Meras' Imperial Third Army.
Farin and Norris sat in a moderately comfortable banquet hall somewhere in the outskirts of Albrook. It was out of the way and served their purposes well. Rumors of a soldier with hair shaven flat would be given little attention, given the events at the annual ball.
Countless voices had told Farin of a certain star at the Messis Luna: an angel clothed in white who had danced alongside Governor Lilienthal and blessed the Empire with her charm and grace. It was the talk of the town thanks to the work of two stealthy photographers. The Messis Luna was always an invite-only celebration. In addition to that, it was a highly sought privilege that was only given to those of noble birth or wealthy background. That made sneaking into the Messis Luna a highly lucrative proposition. Newspapers loved gossip and despite the lack of pictures -- the two photographers had allegedly been ambushed and their cameras broken by twenty soldiers -- the story was still printed.
Farin chuckled to himself. It was obvious that the two photographers had been placed there by Lilienthal. The Governor was well versed in swaying public opinion to his side, using subtle techniques like those publications civilians loved so much. What was curious was why the photographers had been attacked, but Farin supposed that there was some manner of psychology that he was missing.
Reinhardt and Donnach had served as Farin's eyes and ears while in Albrook. Farin was afraid of being recognized, so the two men spent their days and nights at the local taverns. They were more than motivated to complete the task at hand. After listening to dozens of drunks, it was their esteemed opinion that the beauty at the ball was likely the half-Esper. They could not explain the change in hair though. All descriptions of the angel had described wondrous shoulder-length blond hair.
The day after the Messis Luna, Terra had long green hair.
Indeed, it was most surprising. Farin had never seen her in Vector during the short-lived truce with the northern continent -- there had been an issue with a certain group of rogue Magitek pilots and she had departed by the time he returned -- and so he was astonished by the color of her hair. Reports and pictures could not convey the exotic nature. It had taken a life's worth of experience to prevent him from openly gawking in amazement.
"You should be aware that those folders," Norris pointed at another pile, "are in direct response to some of General Meras' more..." Norris searched for the right word. After a while, he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, the more absurd proposals," he stated plainly.
Farin glanced up from his thoughts. He stopped pretending to read and took a quick glance at the folders. His frown deepened with each passing paragraph until he was completely disgusted. "Without full disclosure of our entrenchments," Farin growled, "it would be folly to try to coordinate any useful stratagems between our two forces," he glared at Norris, trying to discern the truth from his annoying jolliness. "It would be amazingly stupid to do anything else," he said in a similarly blunt tone.
Though they discussed politics, the two men were also soldiers. They were not diplomats and they had been quite direct in dealing with each other throughout the day. There would be no grudges kept though. Considering the history between the two soldiers, it would take much more than mere words to anger either.
"It's politics really. Until our superiors get together and work out the details, we're not giving you classified military positions. Surely you understand that much," Norris replied.
"I understand, but it means wasting precious weeks of possible action," Farin replied. "With proper coordination, we could very well take Vector within the month. But it would take at least two if we do otherwise, and that's only if all our forces are mustered. Last time, you held back a great deal of your strength."
"That can't be helped. But considering your forces were also held back in reserve -- not to mention the events at the last battle -- I think you should drop this point," Norris' tone grew dark. "We're being more than reasonable, Brigadier."
Farin sighed. "This will delay the liberation of Vector until the deep winter, perhaps until winter solstice," Farin's glare darkened. He knew the true reason behind this refusal to coordinate. Though the events during the Siege of Vector had been a bloodbath, Remiel Lilienthal was not concerned of a repeat of that tragedy. No, it was the man's nerve. The coward was being overly cautious and was sentencing some half-million to frozen death because of his weak will. "That's unacceptable, if not downright idiotic," Farin voiced the last of his thoughts.
Norris shrugged. "It's just a little snow. What's wrong Farin, scared?"
Behind them, Reinhardt chuckled. While that would have normally irritated him, Farin let it slide. After all, Norris' bravado was nothing more than a charade. The older field officer's own body language betrayed him.
Farin let the detail slide and instead flipped through more folders. He scanned them briefly. Danielle would have her aides do a more thorough search. For now, his job was to search for anything unreasonable, not discuss the fancy terms used in the dissertations.
His eyes settled on a couple clauses that he was not happy about. Although Danielle would not have cared, he did. They were civilians. It was improper for such requests to be made, even if the two were acquiescent.
Still, Lilienthal had been insistent. It was not his place to argue such trivial matters, as morally wrong as they were. After all, the lives of all in the Core were dependent on the treaty they were creating. In comparison, two civilians were a small price to pay for the salvation of thousands.
Duty demanded that he protect his people. If this meant accepting Lilienthal's cowardice and his eccentricities towards two young civilians, then Farin would do so. There were millions of lives at stake.
---
Edgar was busying himself within a secluded room of Kenneth's house. The doctor had so many patients that he had moved Strago and Setzer into the safety of his own home. Kenneth was sure that neither man would require any immediate medical assistance, and his office was close by if the need arose. Feeding the two comatose men had been all that was required of Kenneth and that job was now given to Edgar.
The King of Figaro flipped past another page, reading the book of medical terms with feigned interest. He was getting very restless and agitated. With each passing day, the fate of Relm and Terra became more and more uncertain. The thought of Locke now angered Edgar almost as much as the thought of the Empire. He had been a fool to let Locke connive them into such a dangerous and foolish plan.
It did not help that neither Strago nor Setzer seemed any closer to reviving. Though Kenneth promised they would wake soon after the delivery of the laryl, his predication had passed over a week ago. Edgar was less than pleased.
He carelessly tossed the medical dictionary onto the pile of books where all the finished literature laid. He had either bored of the material or finished it from cover to cover. Descriptions of medical instruments, procedures for field surgery, preparation and use of medicinal herbs, there was even a book on substituting for a midwife. Edgar had tried to forget the problems they faced by losing himself in Kenneth's world. That had not worked very well, but at least in the privacy of the library, no one noticed his troubled mood.
Cyan seemed no better. He was probably locked in his room within Garrett's house, meditating or whatever else he could do in complete silence by himself. The old knight was incredibly withdrawn and only moved when it was necessary to purchase more food from the market -- and only then because they owed Garrett so much for his troubles.
The sound of metal pans dropping to the floor made Edgar's heart jump. He shot to his feet and ran downstairs. Edgar jumped over the banister, the grin on his face widening when he saw who it was. He landed noisily to see Strago peeling off bandages around his arm.
"Well, Edgar," the old mage's scratched at the long white beard that had developed during his coma and twirled his thick mustache around a finger. "It appears that I have been a burden for quite sometime now."
Edgar grinned. "I'll get you some food and a knife to shave off that mess. You have no idea how glad I am to see you again Strago."
Strago scratched at his beard while his dark eyes lit up at the mention of food. "Considering the length of this beard, I am surprised you had not simply given up on me. But yes, I would love something to eat, lad."
---
The old mage refused to eat until he was clean-shaven and his signature white mustache trimmed in a civilized manner. His hair was still frazzled and in disarray, but he didn't seem to mind as he ate leftover stew from the previous day. His eyes kept darting to the next room though, where through a partially open door laid the comatose form of Setzer.
Bidden by Strago's wish to learn all that had happened during his long sleep, Edgar began to recount everything that had happened since they had crashed in the forests north of the Tzen Mountain range. Strago grimaced at hearing about the darkness that shrouded their journey, and the incredible odds they faced in order to make their way to Nestil. He bowed his head when Edgar recounted the passing of Michals, Davis, Gau and finally Marcus. By the time Edgar was speaking of their journey through the mountains, Strago had stopped eating out of respect and was listening attentively.
When Edgar ended the story on their arrival in Nestil, the two men sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. It had been a while since Edgar had thought about their fallen comrades. Repeating the story with little emotion was a tough task, even though it was expected from a man of his position. A leader could not show weakness. His late father had taught him that.
At last, Strago spoke. "I am truly sorry we were such a burden my friend," he said calmly. "We owe them a great deal -- myself especially -- and when there is time we must prepare proper memorials for them." He pushed the bowl of cold soup aside and sighed. "For now we should pray that they are at peace while we continue the fight for their hopes and dreams."
Edgar squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "It is one thing to fight, but another to sit here patiently doing nothing. Others risk their lives everyday; the Imperial Civil War shows no signs of coming to a peaceful end. I've heard horrible things, like the fall of the government and nobility... chaos and anarchy grip millions of lives and I sit here reading medical literature!"
Strago raised an eyebrow. "You are a king. Patience is a trait that you must have, and to watch impartially while your men die upon the battlefield is a hardship you must endure."
"The burden of command," Edgar mumbled. He shook his head as if it would erase the rumors of the violent rise of a new order in the south.
"Now tell me Edgar, what of the Statues?" Strago asked. His dark eyes were focused as he asked the question most pressing on his mind.
"What about them?" Edgar was caught off-guard. He hadn't thought about them for a while.
"They were moved," Strago pointed out. "That would be the only explanation for the emanations from the Floating Continent. The Statues cannot ever be shifted from their positions without incredibly careful deductions. Merely pushing them a step to either side could cause untold amounts of destruction, and leaving them in such a pattern would be incredibly dangerous. I explained this to you at length before we landed on the island," the lore-master folded his arms and quizzically looked at Edgar. "Surely you have sent Celes and Terra to fix the arrangement?"
Edgar had forgotten Strago was never told of their activities on the Floating Continent. Once they had boarded the Blackjack, they had been busy escaping the Imperial Air Force. There had been no time to explain everything that had happened. Unwilling to begin the recounting of yet another tale, Edgar shook his head. "We don't actually know what happened to Celes," he answered.
Strago's eyes went wide. "You don't know?" he asked incredulously. "What in the name of the Goddesses does that mean? She is incredibly important to the stability of the statues, something you have given little thought of!" Strago leaned over the table, pressing his finger hard against the young king's chest. "You children should have your priorities straight. Have all that I taught gone to waste?"
Edgar brushed Strago aside and waited until the old man had returned to his seat. "Listen Strago, I admit that we had forgotten about the Statues-"
Strago winced. "You forgot? How do you forget the foundation of magic and the essence of deities? Three Goddesses in stone and you forget about them? Do you forget to breathe as well?" he admonished.
"We forgot about them because there had been other issues at hand," Edgar raised his voice so that Strago would quiet down. "The two of you needed medical attention and we're still hiding from the Empire. The Statues were just forgotten with the immediate dangers about us."
"Immediate danger, yes yes!" the lore-master stood up and waved his hands wildly. "You're right, we're in grave peril! Like hanging off a precipice, each passing day the balance of magic becomes more and more unstable! Soon the Phantom Train is going to make a stop, and all the souls of the world will board his cars if we do not restore the positions of the Statues!"
Edgar narrowed his eyes. "Enough with the dramatics Strago. Nothing has happened since the blasts of magic from the island. My magic is still working fine and Carbunkl hasn't warmed up in the months past."
Strago sighed as he paced about the room. "You don't understand. The Statues are quite complicated and it doesn't help that there have never been any books on the subject matter. Only the Espers knew what the Goddesses had done to themselves, and they hid the Statues away to ensure nothing would ever happen to them. If the arrangement is broken, then who knows what could happen!"
"Well, do you know what would happen?"
Strago blinked. A blank expression was on his face, followed by confusion. "Well, all sorts of trouble..." his pacing had slowed down substantially.
"What kind of signs? Wouldn't we feel emanations like how the magicite pulsed during the Floating Continent's breakdown?" Edgar asked.
"I suppose. But we don't really know why the magicite pulsed like that," Strago mumbled.
"And how much time do we actually have?"
"Not much," Strago answered.
"How much?" Edgar repeated.
Strago stroked his mustache as he thought of an answer. "I'm not sure," he said slowly.
"And how can we fix the Statues?"
Strago stopped pacing. "Well, I don't think we can do anything. I mean, I think we would have to trust the instincts of Terra and have Celes help her. But that's only because Terra is half-Esper and I believe she would know what to do when the time is right."
"So really we don't know anything, and you want us to go on a crazed quest to deal with a problem with unknown consequences that we don't even know how to fix," Edgar finished.
Strago watched Edgar, his wizened face showing lines of strain as he thought over what the king had just said. "Quite perceptive, lad," Strago sat back down with flourish. "Very well, at least tell me where Celes is. Even if I can't answer your questions with certainty, I have perceived her significance during these troubled times and worry for her safety."
"Well," Edgar began. He wondered how he was going to tell Strago that Celes and Shadow had stayed on the island.
Strago watched Edgar fidget for a while and grew suspicious. "You're hiding something else from me, aren't you?" he asked.
Edgar cleared his throat. No matter what he said, Strago would figure out the truth sooner or later. There was no reason to fabricate any lies. "Celes never left the island. She stayed behind with Shadow to take care of Kefka. We have no idea what happened to her."
Strago's mouth hung open in shock. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as if he had a headache.
"That's not all. In order to save your life and Setzer's, we had to get an herb from Tzen. We couldn't all go because the Empire would catch us, so only Locke, Terra-" Edgar paused and judged the look on Strago's face. The old man had snapped to attention when he heard Terra's name and did not look pleased.
Edgar had no choice; he could not hide it from the lore-master for much longer.
"-and Relm went." Edgar said quietly.
The look on the old man's face became menacing.
Edgar averted his eyes. "The herb was delivered by messenger. We haven't heard from the three of them for weeks now."
---
Cyan was entering Kenneth's house by the backdoor, a pack containing medical supplies from the doctor on his shoulders, when he heard the crash of chairs and the ensuing sounds of a struggle. The Doma Knight dropped the bag on the floor immediately, drew the hidden knife at his belt and rushed inside. His eyes darted from side to side as he made his way through the house swiftly.
The scene in the kitchen was startling. Strago -- who should have still been comatose -- was on top of Edgar. A broken table was beneath their sprawled bodies upon the tiled floor. Strago's hands were at the king's throat, and there seemed to be some sort of weird orange liquid dripping from their faces.
Strago was screaming something at the top of his lungs, his anger in total control of the typically reserved lore-master. Cyan sheathed his knife. There was no immediate danger, even if it did look like Strago was going to tear Edgar apart with his bare hands. What was Strago yelling?
"-you pathetic excuse of a man! To take my granddaughter-"
Suddenly, Cyan knew what had happened. He grasped all that occurred with crystal clarity and immediately went to Edgar's aid. With two hands firmly grasping Strago's shoulders, he pulled the old man off Edgar with ease.
"Get your hands off of me you fool!" Strago screamed. "The idiot-"
"Calm down Strago Magus!" Cyan hollered.
"I'll disintegrate you for your-"
The old man's feet were hanging off the ground, kicking uselessly while his eyes directed murderous fury at Edgar's sprawled form on the ground. He fought Cyan's grip in his rage, and in response the knight spun around and shoved him against the wall with tremendous force.
"Silence!" Cyan commanded. His dark eyes threatened to punish any further transgression on Strago's part.
The wind was knocked out of Strago for a moment and there was silence. His struggle to catch his breath seemed to help his mood. It calmed him down and the anger drained from his eyes. Yet the two men still glared at one another.
"Let go of me," Strago struggled to keep his anger in check as he continued gasping for air. "You have no idea of what I am capable of. I will strike you down with magic so horrifying you will rue the day you were born." His eyes seemed to glow and the air about him crackled with deadly energy.
Cyan quickly measured how quick it would be to knock the old man unconscious. Perhaps that would be the least bloody solution.
"You have no idea how much she means to me," Strago voice was breaking up between every strained breath. "I trusted you people..."
Cyan's gaze softened upon hearing those words. A pang of loss began to well up from within.
Strago tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. "The horror of losing her, I can't stand it. You simply don't know-"
"No," Cyan interrupted. "I do know."
Strago's eyes darted at Cyan's face, the old Doma Knight's face showing the pain that he had suffered through. His voice had been soft and his tone had been one of complete understanding. Within the knight's sad eyes, Strago could see the horrors that the Empire had inflicted upon him. The scars of war were painless compared to the loss he had suffered: the deaths of his countrymen, his liege, and his family from cruel, slow and indifferent poison. He had suffered through endless terror as he realized everyone at the castle had drunk the deadly water. Poisoned until just the smallest push would tip them over the edge, and when that last push was finally delivered, it choked them in their own blood until they died a gruesome, prolonged death.
Cyan watched his family die before his eyes. He had found Owain lying in a pool of blood upon his bed, his son's hopes and dreams forever lost. He had held Elayne while she coughed up her innards. He had watched the life seep from her weary eyes, knowing that only death could relieve her of the horrific pain she suffered.
"I'm sorry," Strago whispered. He collapsed to the floor once Cyan let him go. "I was heartless, my friend," he apologized in a hollow voice.
---
They sat together in awkward silence. Edgar knew the situation had to be resolved at some point, but they had too much to deal with and little time to lie down and heal their emotional hurts. The older men were lost in their own thoughts of despair and grief, each thinking of their loved ones instead of the troubles at hand.
Edgar was familiar with Cyan's troubles. The Knight had once spoken of his last days within Castle Doma, in an attempt to sway Edgar and the Elder of Narshe to fully commit their forces against the Empire. The Knight rarely ever spoke of his past, but that had been an exception. It had been important for the Northern Continent to fully ally themselves against the threat of the Empire. Cyan's haunted eyes had done more than simply convince Edgar; it had deepened his hatred of the Empire when he had never thought it was possible.
Cyan had kept his feelings to himself. Edgar had once thought that the old knight, with far more years of experience handling the death of comrades upon the battlefield, could handle the ghosts that haunted him. However, that had been naive. What could possibly prepare a man for his wife and child to die in his arms? Cyan might have channeled great effort into the fight against the Empire. He might have been a bastion of strength, emotionally unwavering during the heat of battle, and a silent pillar that they could always depend on. But they had ignored his pain -- his needs -- and used him selfishly for their own gain. Edgar hung his head in shame.
As for Strago, the old man had to steel himself for the worst that could happen. It had been weeks since they had last seen Relm. It was very possible that she had died saving the life of her grandfather. Edgar could see Strago visibly shaking as he fought the demons within.
When at last someone spoke, it was the voice of Cyan. The knight had come to some sort of mental conclusion, and his words carried more strength than ever before.
"When Setzer wakes, we shall make way to Cartha. There, we shalt rest until he is fully healed and finally journey to Tzen," Cyan declared.
A moment later, Strago nodded his agreement. "That is the only way without forsaking Setzer," he concluded quietly. "The gambler did not abandon everyone on the Floating Continent, and we will not leave him alone in the midst of the Empire."
Edgar understood what Strago meant. He also knew that the grandfather must have been dying on the inside. He could have suggested leaving for Tzen alone, so that he could find Relm as soon as he could. Those few precious days could be the difference between Relm's life and death. Instead, he had chosen the honorable route. It was left unspoken that they might have sealed Relm's fate with their decision.
They tried to rationalize their choice. Setzer had earned their trust. They could not simply abandon him when he was on the cusp of death. They could not go as individuals either; it was too dangerous for them to split up. It had been that kind of thinking that had thrust this dilemma upon them in the first place. Finally, Relm could still be safe with Locke and Terra. They did not know what had actually happened in Tzen. As nerve-racking as it was, her fate was unknown and perhaps she was fine.
There was also the matter of the Statues. In an emotional rage, that issue had been forgotten by Strago. But Edgar did not forget. His mind was clear and his decisions still logical. Edgar trusted the lore-master's original assessment of the situation. Before the grandfather learned of his granddaughter's situation, he had been gravely worried about the Statues and what had happened to them after the Floating Continent crashed into the ocean.
It was a matter they could not afford to ignore for much longer.
Still, the fate of Relm, Terra and Locke was the most pressing issue on their minds. No matter what they said and thought, what they felt in their hearts could not be denied. They had sent Relm into a den of wolves and left her there.
"Alright, I will begin preparations to see if we can find secure lodging in Cartha and Tzen," Edgar said. "We will have to move swiftly once Setzer wakes and we are no longer in need of Kenneth's help."
"Very well," Cyan said as he stood. "I will help thy task this evening, but for now I wish to be alone."
Edgar nodded. "Of course Cyan."
As Cyan left their sight, Strago called out once more. "Cyan, I'm sorry again for what happened earlier."
Cyan's shoulders sagged visibly. The old knight turned around so that they could see his dark eyes. "I understand, Strago. I also understand the sacrifice you may have made this day."
Strago felt the weight of his decision bear down upon his shoulders. He stared at the floors blankly, forcefully holding back tears of frustration.
Edgar watched as Cyan left the house, knowing that the knight would be felling many a tree that day. He could only hope that the feeling of utmost impotence, the inability to protect a child when she needed them most, would pass. If it did not, Edgar did not know what Cyan might do.
The King of Figaro turned to Strago. His mind thought about the threats the elder mage had made in the grip of anger.
Edgar did not know what Strago might do either and of the two possibilities, that was the one that scared him the most.
---
Terra wondered where Locke was.
It was unlike him to be busy so often. Normally he would be pestering her. He was a constant burden and showered her with unwelcome attention. Since the week after the Messis Luna though, Locke had not sought her company. It was strange and something that was nagging her.
Terra strolled through the streets of Albrook with only one soldier watching over her. Norris had told her that it was for her protection, not to insure her cooperation. After the ordeal in Remiel's basement laboratory though, she took everything said with a grain of salt.
Norris was, as always, cheerful. Terra had not caught even a hint that Norris had known what transpired that night. It seemed that Remiel had managed to keep his beliefs secret, even from a Magitek Knight who served with him on a daily basis. Understandable, considering Norris was a wizard of great power. Terra would have been amazed at Remiel's ability to hide such venom, but she already knew he was an actor and manipulator of unparalleled skill.
Terra had not seen Remiel since the Messis Luna. The next day, in a sealed letter delivered by one of Norris' men, Remiel had eloquently told her to stay away from him. He would refuse her audience until she returned from the Core, and only then if she had redeemed herself in his eyes.
She would redeem herself. She had not felt such purpose, such conviction for a long time. While she had lain upon that cold stone floor, subject to such hatred and anger that she had never known existed, she had discovered much about herself. In a way, she was thankful to have met Remiel Lilienthal.
Terra wanted to help the people of the Empire. She could heal their minor wounds and protect them as the Civil War raged on. It was well within her capacity. She would not have to tap the nigh-limitless reserves of magical power within.
She would never do that again. It was unnecessary and too dangerous.
Maduin, her father, had been shattered. The crystallized remains of the Esper had been completely destroyed in her confrontation with Remiel Lilienthal. She had been unable to identify enough of the magicite to fill a thimble. Without her father's protection, the power within her would overwhelm and do terrible things. She still felt guilty at what she almost did when exposed to such seraphic energies. It had been so easy... with a single thought, Albrook would have been cleansed.
Terra Branford would never again surrender to such seduction. She vowed that she would never again yield to the siren's song.
"This is the place," Clarkson noted.
Terra stopped on the chilly street corner. The weather had continued its cold streak and not even the strength of the midday sun could warm the streets of Albrook. Usually quite busy, the city had become much quieter as the cold settled in.
She pulled her crimson scarf tighter, thankful for Lindsay's insistence upon selecting her wardrobe. The scarf was made of some fine silk she did not recognize, but it was incredibly soft and soothing to the touch. Her jacket was made of wolf's fur, light but easily capable of stopping those biting seaborne winds. It had a hood that covered everything but her face; her ears were delightfully warm. Lindsay and Claire had included numerous pairs of pants and shirts, more than Terra could ever afford. Her pack would be quite heavy when they left for the front lines.
Still, it was nice being warm for once. The clothes they had bought in Nestil were completely unsuited for the winter weather. Terra had spent too many nights rubbing her hands for warmth and shivering the whole time. A heavier pack was a small price to pay for comfort.
A thin silver necklace peeked from beneath the layers of silky fabrics and furs. The kind seamstress had given her the chain as a present. Now an emerald stone hung where Maduin had once been. The weight would serve as a reminder of what her father could no longer do. It was also her way of honoring his memory.
Terra looked around the corner impatiently. Clarkson was standing aside nonchalantly, watching nothing in particular but still noting everything that went on in the street. Terra did the same, though it was not particularly busy. A few children were playing ball down the sidewalk, their older brothers watching them with a careful eye, while a couple other men in fancy overcoats were just leaving a restaurant. Two soldiers were farther down the street, headed in their direction, and an old man was huddled in the opposite corner puffing rings of smoke from a pipe.
Where was he?
With a gloved hand, she pulled out a small pocket-watch that was attached to her waist by something Lindsay had called a chatelaine. It was a gold chain, much thinner than her necklace, which was adorned by a small purple ribbon. She looked at the time: half-past four.
Terra frowned. He was late.
She leaned against aged-stone walls, wondering what had gripped Locke's attention all of a sudden. It was not as if they had anything to do in Albrook, and certainly he had no friends or family here. The last time they were here, he had not disappeared at all. He had just moped around the inn where Celes and Leo had been staying.
"Hey."
Startled, Terra jumped slightly. One of the two soldiers walking by had stopped before them. He was looking at her, rather...
Wait, that grin was-
"Locke?" she asked incredulously.
No wonder he had surprised her. He was wearing heavy brown leather armor with an Imperial grey cloak draped over top. Like most of the Albrook soldiers, he had on a black fur hat with earflaps. His face was cleanly shaven and there was a cheerful grin on his face. Terra thought he looked sharper than ever before, it was almost as if there was a twinkle in his eye.
Behind Terra, Clarkson shifted his weight. The soldier had seen Locke well before he was in earshot of Terra, but had recognized the face instantly. Otherwise, he would have confronted the two men before they got so close. His job had been to protect Terra, not to just guard her.
"How do I look?" Locke spread his arms wide and showed off his widened frame. "The stuff weighs a ton, even more than what Farin gave us, but it's not too bad after the first couple hours."
On his back was a composite shortbow, its shape vaguely visible beneath his cloak. A couple throwing knives were strapped to his chest. Terra couldn't see a quiver. "What are you doing?" she asked. His sudden change was surprising, to say the least. Perhaps that had been what he was doing for the past couple days, training with a bow.
Locke gestured to his partner, the second soldier that had accompanied him and had been ignored until that very moment.
"Donnach!" Terra exclaimed.
"Good afternoon Miss Branford," Donnach adjusted the hat that covered his shaven head. His eyes wandered down her form. "That's some mighty nice finery. Did you just buy them here? Although then again, no one would wear such nice clothing if they were going to trek into the Wilds with chocobos..." Donnach trailed off as he examined her face. Something seemed to be on his mind.
"Yes," Terra gestured at her coat. "A kind lady wanted to help me prepare for the cold, I couldn't really say no."
Donnach grinned. "Very noble of her and noble-looking of you, though perhaps you might want to rethink some of it," he gestured at her crimson scarf. "Something like that would stand out amongst the boys on the front. But I'm sure Locke here will be more than capable of protecting you now that he's had my help." Donnach gave Locke a powerful slap on the back.
Locke didn't seem to notice the blow, unusual considering the strength Donnach put into it. "I've been training with Donnach," he explained. "I had decided that I could do better with an arrow than I can with my knives. Now that we're going into the thick of things, I'm glad I thought ahead."
Terra eyed Locke, unsure of what to make of the situation. "Well, I'm going to have trouble getting used to you in that armor. You look so..." she trailed off, not wanting to say the word Imperial in front of Donnach. She did not want to insult the men they had traveled to Albrook with. They were people like Leo, good men that had similar values as they had. They were not at all like Kefka.
Locke understood her hidden meaning though, and there was a moment of sadness and regret on his face. However, it was soon replaced by a cheerful disposition. He took her arm and suggested they return to their hotel. Farin had sent them an invitation for dinner and they should prepare.
---
Farin was finishing his second ale by the time Donnach, Locke and Terra arrived. Reinhardt was working on a plate of fried potatoes and watching the dancer on the stage. She was singing some old folk's tale, one that did not pique Farin's interest. He had heard the story a thousand times and it was no more interesting in melody than it was from the throat of an old man.
They were at one of the many restaurants in Albrook. It was not in the upper-district but was still a respectable establishment. Farin had been here once before. It had been back in the days when Leo had been a mere Captain. Those were happier times. Still, the place was full and there was enough of the well-to-do that Terra's fine clothing did not stand out terribly.
Farin ordered a round of drinks and greeted his guests. Donnach knocked Reinhardt out of his voyeuristic trance with a good smack to the head, stealing some of his food in the process. He turned his attention to the two civilians.
Locke and Terra had changed a great deal in the short time Farin had known them. When he had first seen the two, all he could remember were the tales that those two had assassinated Leo Christophe in Thamasa. He had never believed two mere Returners could have caught Leo unaware, and seeing how weak the two actually were had reassured him that it they were lies. It was similar to what had happened with Chere, only this time Palazzo had outright killed his competitor and spread propaganda about the Empire. And just as the situation after General Chere had been branded a traitor, Danielle had whispered to him the truth of what had happened in Thamasa. The thought of Palazzo boiled Farin's blood. The treacherous scum had gotten what was coming, but Farin wished it had been the justice of a blade.
Donnach had told him how good Locke was with a bow. With an eagle's eye and plenty of natural talent, the boy was further blessed with an archer's patience and would go far even if only a bit of Donnach's skills had rubbed off. He was also looking a lot more energetic. Had this been the man that he had first ambushed inside an herb store in Tzen, Farin might have struck first and dealt with injuries later. Farin was impressed with Locke Cole.
As for Terra, she was looking far stronger. Perhaps it was the clothing -- her stance was straighter and her bearing regal -- but there was something more that Farin had not seen before. Perhaps it was the look of determination and purpose.
As they ordered their meals, Farin briefly wondered what could have brought about the sudden change. Terra had seemed quite sad and withdrawn when he had first met her. After one single night as Remiel Lilienthal's date, she had changed into... this. No, it could not have been the dance that brought about such an evolution.
They ate happily, making small talk about cheerful matters. Farin set aside his careful analysis of the two Returners. He would tell Danielle, but Farin no longer judged either as an enemy. What they were going to do for the Empire was noble and just. They were of strong character and Farin would not let even Danielle's direct orders taint the night. There were things in life that could never be compromised.
Reinhardt and Donnach were acting in a reserved manner considering the amount of ale they had downed. Locke took part in their merry-making, though he avoided the alcohol. Terra had dyed her hair golden-blond again, though it was much longer than their journey through the Wilds. She was out of place; her demeanor and dress were a class above everyone else. Still, she had fun and somehow did not attract attention.
Farin was tired from a day's worth of reading and debating, sometimes those activities were just as strenuous as actually fighting on the battlefield. He did not speak what was really on his mind until they were nearly finished their meal. By that time, there was a band on stage with a group of dancers. The restaurant was now filled and the place was noisy and busy. It hid their conversation perfectly, as no one could overhear them. Still, Farin kept his voice reasonably low.
"About your journey to the front lines," Farin began. He held up a hand, seeing that Terra was about to defend herself. "I know... I'm not going to try to convince you otherwise. After our little chat two days past, I have reason to believe that you are made of sterner stuff than I ever imagined. I respect what you're trying to do, after all you have a powerful gift and to use it in such a manner is both brave and heroic."
Reinhardt and Donnach had both quieted down, seeing that the conversation had taken a serious turn.
"I have to warn you though; the Core is a complete catastrophe. It'll be a great ordeal to do what must be done," Farin continued. He looked at Terra with a sense of sadness. She was very young, close to the age his daughter would have been. "I hope you're prepared to see the worse, because I doubt eyes like yours have ever seen the horrors of this battlefield."
"I guess this is your way of saying you're concerned?" Terra asked with a hint of a smile.
Farin relaxed and nodded. "I have no command over you. My orders ended when I delivered you to Albrook. Although I would like to help you on the task ahead, I have a great many priorities and I cannot delay much more. What you're doing is a soldier's work, and you are no soldier."
"I'll be fine Farin," Terra replied. "I'm touched that you would be so concerned."
"Don't worry about them," Donnach said. "I taught this boy some of the tricks of the trade. He's a good shot now, and he'll protect her if he knows what's good for him." He had his hand around Locke, shaking him by the shoulder.
Locke scowled, and that turned to surprise when Donnach wrapped an arm around him.
"It looks like Donny-boy is done for the night," Reinhardt remarked. He swiped his friend's ale and grinned. "All the better."
Farin ignored his men and loosened the straps at his side. He removed a dagger from his belt, plain except for a small embroidered star on the leather sheath. The handle was decorated with a small yellow gemstone. "My best dagger," he said with great pride. "Handed to me from my grandfather, for my father skipped the call of a warrior. But it has been in our family for generations, my grandfather's father and his father before him." His brown eyes locked on Terra's green ones. "Take it. It will protect you when all else fails."
"I couldn't," Terra stared at the dagger. "It's a family heirloom."
Farin nodded. "That it is, and that is the reason why I want you to have it. You are still a child in my eyes, and the warrior in me refuses to allow a child on the battlefield. You will ride into danger while I ride to Tzen in safety. That is unacceptable. While I cannot be by your side and protect you, I will sleep better knowing you have that at your side."
Terra picked up the dagger and examined it.
"As well, not only shall it protect you but it will aide in helping end this war," Farin continued. "Saving lives is all that is important now, and I will do my best to see that this war ends," he referred vaguely to the treaty that was created during the past days.
Terra nodded. "Alright Farin, I'll take it. Thank you," she said as she held the dagger close to her chest.
Farin shook his head. "I thank you, for saving the lives of my countrymen and the innocents that I cannot personally save. But remember, you have a life to go back to someday. Don't throw it all away for nothing."
Terra swallowed away the lump in her throat.
The rest of the night passed by, marked only by further merry-making between Reinhardt, Donnach and a reluctant Locke. Terra enjoyed herself as well, and Farin paid the final bill. They stayed at the restaurant for a long while, Farin telling an enchanted Terra of Leo's past and their adventures together. After the stories of valor, Terra had explained to Farin how much she had wanted to learn from General Leo.
Though Terra was squeamish, Farin had her recount the General's last moments. In return, Farin answered all of Terra's questions about Leo. The two men had been extremely good friends and had only grown closer with each near-death experience on the battlefield. Considering the tales had been of their carefree youth, there was no shortage of narrow escapes and incredible deeds born of foolish decisions. But within those tales was the spirit of a man devoted to the ideals of the Empire, of protecting the weak, defending the innocent and making the world a safer place. They were the stories of a man who dedicated his life to acquiring the strength, both physical and mental, necessary to fight for justice and peace.
As the night wound down and the band stopped playing, Donnach and Reinhardt sobered up and it was decided that they would return to their respective hotels. Terra and Locke said their goodbyes to Farin, it would be the last time they could see him in Albrook before he returned to Tzen. He had told them a little of his plans. Farin wanted to stop the civil war as soon as they could. Too many lives were at stake for him to delay returning to Tzen and having Danielle sign the treaty. He was adamant and passionate about the alliance. Both factions combined would have the force to strike Vector quickly, possibly before the first snowfall, and instill a government that would clean up the Core and provide supplies for the thousands.
He was quite insistent that they strike before winter and he would not tolerate any further delays. He recounted the lack of food and proper shelter that the towns around Vector suffered from. Even the great cities of Sellenger and Mansfield were ill-prepared for the coming season. A cold winter storm would kill too many. He could not allow it.
Listening to Farin talk gave Terra hope for the future. She was still unsure of what she would be doing once they arrived at the front, but at least someone like Farin was working hard to end the civil war. She had seen the Esper strike on Vector and the aftermath of magic. It had been enough to make her sick, just recalling those memories.
And the more Farin talked, the more he reminded Terra of General Leo. Leo had been much the same way when he spoke of a treaty with the Espers and his desire for peace. They were both similar men, putting their lives on the line to protect the men and women of the Empire. Terra wished Farin was going to the front with them. In the short time she had known him, he had become a dear friend.
They bid each other good-bye on the chilly night streets of Albrook. The next day, Farin, Donnach and Reinhardt would make their journey back to Tzen. They would carry documents of the gravest importance: the specifics of an alliance to end the war.
Reinhardt had managed to find a gift for Terra. It was a small tin canteen filled with something that burned her nose when she smelt it. "Something to keep you warm in the winter months," Reinhardt said with a wink. "Donny provided the liquor," he added after his friend elbowed him in the ribs.
She gave both soldiers a quick hug.
Locke had tried to avoid the partings. Only to Donnach did he extend his hand, and the two men shook as a sign of mutual respect. However, Farin led him away by the arm and they conversed quietly. Terra could not hear what was said, but assumed they were words of advice.
When he turned to her, Terra gave Farin a heartfelt hug and whispered goodbye into his ear. Then she watched the three men leave. The knot in her stomach grew as they vanished into the dark city streets beyond the limits of her vision.
"Is something wrong, Terra?" Locke asked.
"Well," Terra hesitated. Her hand fell to her side, touching the knife that Farin had given her. It was reassuring, but not enough to ease the feelings of anxiety. "No, I guess not," she replied.
"What is it?" Locke put a hand on her shoulder, concerned.
Terra looked down at the ground. "A bad feeling," she said vaguely.
---
Sabin opened his eyes. His mediation was disturbed once again, but today would be different.
It had been over a week since they snuck into Halstead and met the kind tavern owner they called Bill. Although they certainly stayed in the desert town far longer than expected, their strategy had worked better than they could hope. For the past couple days, they had heard that the Imperial Garrison in Halstead had been undergoing a flurry of activity. Patrols were rare and the garrison command compound had constant Magitek preparation. Even halfway across the city, people could hear the sound of heavy machinery rumbling. Sabin attributed this to their presence and had planned an early escape.
Siana had, to his annoyance, proved him wrong.
Using her intimate knowledge of the Empire's army and their reporting mechanisms, she had managed to steal a stack of weekly reports. It had been a dangerous task, one that Sabin would have stopped if he had known. But she had tricked him, telling him that she was merely off to buy some groceries and instead returned with an armload of papers.
Sabin had trusted her for a moment and been rewarded with a reminder of Imperial deceit. He was reminded of how Cyan had seen Celes' actions as selfish and ultimately treacherous. Sabin decided he would keep a closer eye on Siana.
The papers were useful though. What they had read was disturbing: Halstead at the forefront of war. It was besieged in nearly every direction. From the reports, it was apparent that troops from the Marandan occupation had been harassing refugees from southeast; the direction of Vector and the rest of the Imperial Core. The garrison commander had apparently a conscience but little intelligence, for he had sent a large portion of his command to secure those routes.
Those soldiers now laid dead in a chasm somewhere.
With a great deal of his forces dead and the embarrassment of both his failure to save the refugees and his upcoming failure to protect Halstead, the commander had ended up pleading for help. While he was awaiting relief, he began extreme measures to improve the integrity of his remaining Magitek Armors and took over what little industry there was in Halstead. A few days later, salvation arrived in the form of Captain Godric Waldgrave, his Magitek Company and supporting infantry.
That was yesterday. It was fortunate that they met Heller the same day, or else escape would have been twice as dangerous. Heller was one of the few chocobo drivers that did not instantly seem like trouble. He was an older man that was ferrying supplies back and forth from Halstead to some of the starving villages in the outskirts of the Core. He had been doing it for the money. The times were hard and the roads were treacherous to travel. Bill had heard some rumors that Heller had been delivering goods without fearing the Marandan forces. If they wanted to go to Maranda, then such a fearless driver and his team of chocobos might be the best bet, Bill had reckoned.
Bill was right, but Heller was a hassle to convince. He had been weary of Sabin's request for passage to Maranda. No one went to Maranda, no matter how much had changed in the two years since the Kingdom had fallen and an Imperial province created in its place. It was utter foolishness in the current state of the Empire. Everyone knew about the fields of dead on the Plains of Callaghan and Incledon. Sabin's excuses had fallen upon deaf ears. Nothing could convince Heller that heading headfirst into danger was a good idea.
Nothing except fistfuls of gil, that is.
Heller could have been a good man at one point, Sabin thought. The man seemed kind and willing to help them, it was just that the fear of death was a difficult thing to overcome. Greed was the only emotion Sabin could appeal to. There was no sense of responsibility with men like him. They came and went at the drop of a dime, following the scent of money and only tempered by the speed of their chocobo teams. The Empire brought out the worst in people.
Heller had demanded a hefty rate though, once he realized Sabin was both rich and desperate. Even though it was not his money, Sabin had been less than willing to pay the amount requested. He could have bought twice as many chocobos for the amount and still have enough to hire another driver to take them back to Tzen.
After further questioning though, Sabin had discovered what made Heller such a fearless man.
A medallion, given by the Emperor himself, assured him of unlimited travel within the Empire free of nuisances like the army. It was a rare award that everyone recognized when they saw it, but made rarer since only nobles had such treasures. Sabin expected to hear the story of how a lowly chocobo driver managed to obtain such prestige.
But now was not the time to think of such silly matters. The sound of doors being broken by force was ever closer.
Sabin stood up and glanced about their room one last time. His heart ached at leaving the little place. It felt like his cabin, cozy and secure, far back in the outskirts of South Figaro. He would miss this place more though. His lips curled up in a smile as he remembered how surprised she had been when he slept on the hard wooden floor and given her the bed. Imperials, they were simply unused to kindness. He looked down at the spot where he had fallen asleep, remembering how he had woken up in the middle of the night to find her on the floor as well, unwilling to accept his gift. What a stubborn gi-
A brute nearly the size of Sabin smashed the door with his foot, breaking it in two. He entered with much bravado, not noticing Sabin's form against the walls until it was far too late.
Sabin's fist lifted the man off the ground and through the doorframe. Screams of surprise were heard as the men outside watched their comrade explode through the walls of the tavern. Without a second thought, Sabin charged into the hallway and launched himself at the surprised men.
---
Siana quickly slipped into the tavern by the backdoor. She ran up the stairs and hopped over the prone body of what looked to be a soldier. The man was unconscious, his nose broken and fresh blood seeping down his puffy cheeks. Her knife made sure the man would never get up again.
She drew a second knife from the hidden sheath in her boot, just in case. Siana quietly snuck up the remaining flight of steps and turned the corner.
The breath was ripped from her lungs as a powerful hand grabbed her by the collar. She was pulled into a room and straight into the arms of the most menacing blond-haired warrior within a week's march.
Sabin, obviously.
She cursed herself for how easily he had gained the advantage. She was getting sloppy.
"You're late. I thought we said quarter to six," Sabin accused her. "Did you do something to the Imperial garrison again?"
Siana averted her eyes. "Listen, we better hurry up and find Heller. He said he would be waiting in the stables."
Sabin glared at her. "What did you do at their base?" he asked.
"I delayed them and bought us some time," she replied as she checked the hallway, looking for more soldiers. Her eyes paused as she took a good look at the men that Sabin had knocked-out. They did not look like typical plainclothes patrols, she thought. She had guessed wrong, they were probably mercenaries hired by the garrison and had decided, in grave folly, that the five of them were more than enough to take care of their underhanded business.
Siana briefly debated whether killing them to ensure their silence was worth a week of antagonizing moral superiority from the rebel. It was an easy decision. She sheathed her clean knives within hidden pockets and led the way out.
They slipped out the backdoor of the tavern. Sabin had alerted Bill of what would happen that day and that Imperial soldiers would eventually come barging into his tavern. Bill had been kind and honest. He had wanted to help hide them for much longer and said that it would be impossible for Imperials to find them while he was on the job. But Sabin had not wanted to hide. He had wanted Godric to follow them and they had succeeded beyond expectations. Now it was time to leave Halstead before it become too difficult to attempt to escape. Sabin suggested that Bill help them and clear his name at the same time by alerting the Imperials of their location.
Bill had initially refused, but after Sabin told him that it was the only way to avoid bloodshed, the tavern-owner had grudgingly accepted. He had closed his bar and the rest of his establishment for the day, sent the usual rowdy crowds home and only left the inn open. Then he went to Captain Godric Waldgrave with news that a red-haired woman and a muscular blond haired man with a funny accent had shown up at his bar asking for a place to stay. Being an Imperial citizen, they seemed strange and the army would probably appreciate knowing about those two. They might have been spies or worse, Bill told Godric.
Godric had only the last hour to prepare, and Siana predicted Godric would not move prematurely. He would gather more than enough force and storm the inn on his own time. The men that had attacked Sabin had not been sent by Godric, that was for sure.
He had not known about the backdoor entrance, though the Imperial pilot had tried to encircle the tavern subtly to make sure Sabin and Siana did not escape. With both the backdoor and the large crowds, they had slipped through Godric's grasp with ease.
The stable was on the far side of town and it was a long walk. Hidden beneath hooded cloaks, they walked through the darkening streets of Halstead at a hurried but calm pace. They did not want to attract attention at the moment. Though it had been their plan in the past, there was too much at stake to continue pressing their luck. Their trail would end in Halstead.
Heller was waiting for them exactly as he said he would. His team of chocobos, four strong-looking birds that were cleaned of the desert dust, awaited them patiently while their driver was busy adjusting the ropes to the carriage. Sabin and Siana caught him by surprise as he was concentrated on his work. The mustached man gave them a wide-grin, these two had made him fabulously wealthy after all, and pointed at the open door in his carriage.
"Take a seat, both of you. We'll be riding across the desert and leaving everyone else in a trail of dust before the sun fully sets," the dark haired man said with a grin.
---
"What exactly did you do, Siana?" Sabin asked suspiciously. Their carriage shook as it began to leave the stables. They were comfortably seated in a small compartment, the windows darkened against prying eyes and walls reinforced to prevent sound from escaping. Only the wealthy traveled this way, and Sabin had not known Heller owned such a vehicle. When he had approached the driver, the man had just finished hauling a huge load of raw metals for the Imperials. He did not expect such luxury and privacy. Sabin felt better though, the soldiers would never catch them if they couldn't see them.
"I slipped into their base and dealt with the biggest threat," Siana replied. She looked outside, watching citizens of the Empire part in order to make way for the accelerating chocobo-drawn carriage. From the window, the people on the street did seem a bit like ants. It was no wonder the wealthy always looked down on everyone else, if this was the way they saw people.
No wonder her mother was always speaking ill of her choice to serve in the military. This was how she saw the people Siana had protected for many years, as nothing more than wretched beggars with no future.
"You took care of their Magitek? How did you manage that?" Sabin found the idea intriguing, that Siana could single-handedly stop an Imperial pursuit.
Siana looked up at him. "We're in the desert," she rolled her eyes as if he had just asked an incredibly stupid question.
"And that means what? I've seen those ATA's of yours in Figaro Desert. They didn't break down from heat or anything else," Sabin hadn't actually seen Magitek in the desert, but Edgar had told him of the escape from Kefka's attack on the castle. It was the same thing in his mind.
"They'll have the same problem in the long run," Siana replied without missing a beat. She continued staring outside and watched as they passed the citizens of Halstead.
"Which is?" Sabin was getting annoyed at her evasiveness.
"Sand filters," she replied. "It's not routine to check the filters, even though it's a quick thing to fix, because they normally clean out the dirt when the Magitek Armors are dismounted. Pilots don't have time to let maintenance crews do thorough checks before they jump into battle. I'll bet a year's pay that Godric won't think twice before jumping into his Armor."
"What exactly do these sand filters do?" Sabin asked. "And don't tell me they filter sand, I can guess that much."
Siana sighed. "Magitek gets slowed down by the desert sands. The tiny grains get into the gears and cause havoc with the mechanics," Siana brushed back her red hair, done up in a ponytail at the moment. "That's why Magitek is rarely used in extended desert combat. It slows the machine down and often causes failure at the worst possible time. It's the same thing with crossing rivers, although that's a bit different because of the depth or speed of the waters."
Sabin rubbed his chin. "It seems like Godric would be the type to check such little things," he said. "He's obsessed with Magitek Armor, isn't he?"
"He's stubborn and devoted, but he wouldn't bother with such minor details," Siana replied. "He might notice the difference if he was piloting his frontliner... though probably not early enough for it to make a difference. But we don't even have to worry about that. He won't give chase in anything but a fourth-gen."
"Let's hope you're right," Sabin mumbled to himself.
That caught her attention, Siana turned from watching the outside world pass by serenely and glared at him. "I doubt we could survive if we get caught by a squadron of Armors. You're lucky I risked my life to do something like that," she snapped.
"That's where Heller comes in," Sabin refuted immediately.
Siana rolled her eyes. "He's just a chocobo driver. What's he going to do against Armors intent on blasting the carriage apart? Wave a medallion from five hundred paces away as beams of fire rain down on us?"
Sabin shrugged. "I would think they want us alive," he said.
Siana laughed darkly. "I'm not so certain of that."
Sabin had nothing to say in response. She was right. It was the Empire that was chasing them.
The carriage left Halstead without much issue, only stopping once to speak with the guards at the edge of the city. It had seemed like their pricey ruse had worked, none of the guards questioned Heller and his miraculous medallion.
They were headed to the conquered province of Maranda. The plan was to find a small secluded area by Pierpoint and hide for the duration of winter. Edgar had contacts in that city and they could eventually reach his brother once it was safe. For now, it was too risky to stay in Tzen where Godric could catch them. The Core of the Empire was also not an option, too much warfare, while Albrook was simply too far away.
Sabin wondered what Maranda would be like. Few journeyed between Maranda and the rest of the Empire. Rumors told of a great Magitek battle on the Plains of Incledon, and now soldiers patrolled those areas with such dedication that no one could pass. They would not be journeying in that direction, for the Plains of Incledon sloped south towards the lands where the Kingdom of Maranda had once been. That area was still in ruins from the recent war and was heavily militarized. The occupation had apparently rebuilt the crown city of Maranda and its sister city on the coast, Sutton, thanks to the skills of a generous Governor. But no matter what the Empire did, rumors were rift of the bloodthirsty conquistador named Maverick Drummond. Sabin saw no reason to believe the Empire had instilled anything else but a ruthless dictator.
He suddenly recalled the heat of the fireplace inside the Elder's house, back in Narshe. The chill of winter flooded into the room, taking with it the comfortable warmth. Locke had just entered the doorway with a blond-haired teenage girl in tow.
"This's General Celes! She torched Maranda! She's an Imperial spy! Now, stand aside!" Cyan shouted dangerously as he charged past Gau with his sword drawn.
No, Sabin remembered Celes' silence. The Imperial occupation had not been kind at all. And she had been the best of the Empire. She had recognized the evil that the Empire represented and had the integrity -- the morality -- to fight it. Celes Chere, the woman who torched Maranda, was the best the Empire had.
His eyes drifted over to the red-haired ex-pilot.
The best the Empire had.