The Sixteenth Chapter - Daybreak

"You're right Sabin," Siana whispered incredulously. They were both hidden from sight beneath the underbrush, snow drifting off the top of her hood as she examined the wagons. They were halted on the road, three in total, but one had veered into a ditch. "It must have lost a wheel," she analyzed. "The icy dirt road did the rest."

Sabin laid beside her upon his belly, his face an emotionless mask. Siana had deferred to his expertise more and more as the weeks had passed. His background in the wilderness was superior to hers; and his ability to cobble tasty meals from what he foraged was more than enough to earn her eternal gratitude. But most importantly, without him, she would have been dead thrice over.

The martial-artist, only slightly diminished in stature from his incarceration, had tended to her for weeks while she regained her strength. He had raided abandoned cabin after cabin for the few items he could not find in the deep of winter, such as medicinal herbs that had brought down a nasty fever. Finally, she had recouped enough of her former strength for them to travel together. They headed north; Sabin believed they had been south of Pierpoint and neither desired to be near civilization.

The world had gone crazy, after all.

"I see children," Sabin growled in a deadly tone.

Siana nodded gravely. She could see at least two young, innocent kids that were chained inside the furthest covered wagon. They were barely clothed, thin from malnourishment and huddled together for warmth. Several guards were nearby... Imperial only in uniform. Siana felt no sense of camaraderie; never again would brown-leather be a comforting sight. "We need to do something," she whispered.

Both of them knew that this was a caravan destined for the Patrician and his damned Guild. For the past week, they had crossed paths with many a soldier, and not one of them had claimed loyalty to anything but the Guild.

The thought of those children going through what she had... Siana felt the bile rise in her throat. "Quickly Sabin! We're lucky enough that the wagon broke down. They'll have the wheels replaced in a couple of minutes, and we can't abandon those kids."

"Wait," Sabin whispered. He gestured. "That one, with the long brown hair leaning against the back-wagon. Do you see him?"

Siana brushed aside a naked branch and looked closer. "What about him?"

"Magitek Knight," Sabin growled. "An inexperienced one."

Siana narrowed her eyes and tried to make out details. "Him? He's not wearing grey robes, those sashes, or anything that else that might stand out. How can you tell?"

"He dies first."

The tone of Sabin's voice was chilling and despite the lack of evidence, there was no reason to believe he was wrong. For the last few weeks, Sabin had been eerily correct in identifying magical threats. The last time she questioned him, they had ambushed a messenger who had seemed too innocent and naive to be so dangerous. But the fireball taught her otherwise and Sabin had just barely managed to save her.

She knew he was right. It was just unnerving.

"Fine," she pulled out a hunting bow they had found in an abandoned cabin. Her archery had suffered since the days of the academy, but she did more good with a dozen arrows than with her knives. And unless they found a derelict Magitek Armor, it was doubtful she could be more helpful. "What about the others? Can we let them go?" she glanced over hopefully. But Sabin's attention remained focused on the convoy, his hands idly tracing patterns into the snow.

This would be the fourth group of soldiers they had ambushed as they made their way towards the sea and away from both the Imperial Core and Pierpoint. While the largest numerically, Siana doubted they were in any danger. The magical threat was already identified, and the rest were hapless grunts. Surely there was no harm in letting them go.

Sabin had disappeared beneath the underbrush to sneak closer; his silence was answer enough. Siana sighed as loudly as she thought it was safe, waiting for a signal to attack. She wished there was another way. She wished... she wished she didn't have to kill her own people; even if they had gone mad.

Then came a loud cracking noise that drew everyone's attention. Siana gaped at the massive, multi-story tree toppling over.

How did Sabin do that without an axe?

Turning to the situation at hand, the battle quickly became a slaughter. Siana's arrows found two marks by the time Sabin snuck behind and killed the Magitek Knight. The tree rolled down the hill and smashed into the rearmost wagon, sending the group of soldiers scattering. Siana picked off another soldier while Sabin ran through the chaos, his fists and feet flying as he dispatched everyone in sight.

A dozen men were dead before the snow had settled. Siana strolled past the broken tree and pulverized wagon with a paranoid look. Sabin was rushing to the children, ensuring their safety above all else, but she had an equally important job.

Siana knelt down near the corpse of the Magitek Knight. His neck was snapped, eyes still wide-open in surprise. The Imperial Emblem upon his collar was soaked with blood. He was definitely dead.

"Barbarian," Siana spat. She wiped her eyes of the unexpected tears. Reassuring herself that they were doing the right thing, she rifled through the dead Magitek Knight's pockets, picking out a folded piece of parchment along with a ring of keys. She opened the note, but it was just a mundane list of supplies.

Sabin had already been freeing the children from their chains, but looked relieved when Siana tossed him the keys. One knee hit the snow as he unlocked the bindings on all five kids.

"Hey there," Siana forced a smile when one of the children ran up to her. She was no more than nine years old and threw her thin little arms around Siana's waist. "It's alright, you're safe now."

"They came from a village called Dorset," Sabin announced. A boy, maybe six years of age, sat on his broad shoulders. "That's the name, right Ben?" Sabin grinned when the kid nodded so rapidly he almost fell off.

"Thanks for saving us, Miss," the oldest girl said politely. She was wearing the tattered remains of a dress, shaking from the cold, but still wore a relieved smile despite all the wounds.

"You're welcome," Siana replied. "You can call me Siana," she introduced herself as she looked around for clothes. "The big lug over there is Sabin."

"I'm Linda," she pointed at the girl holding on to Siana. "That's my sister, and that's Ben, and-"

"Linda," Sabin interrupted. "What happened here? Did these men take you from Dorset?"

Linda nodded.

"They made mommy cry," Ben added from atop of Sabin's shoulders.

"They hurt grandpa!"

"Daddy tried to stop them, but they had swords!"

Siana had found a pile of winter cloaks that the soldiers had kept; though they were far too big, they would do. As she handed them out, she exchanged a look with Sabin. He nodded back, they had committed to this the moment they decided to free the children.

"Linda, do you know the way to Dorset?" Siana asked softly. She had never heard of the village, it couldn't have been anything remotely sizable in this corner of the world.

Linda nodded. "Me and daddy used to come down this road every week, to visit my uncle in the big city."

"Then show us the way," Sabin said. He hoisted Ben higher on his massive shoulders. "We'll take you back home."

---

It was Terra's second time in a carriage. Her first taste of the nobility's lifestyle had been as Remiel Lilienthal's escort. Unlike that time, now she was thankful for the luxury. They would be late otherwise and had they have ridden upon chocobos, she couldn't have enjoyed the company that she was with.

Anson Tilton sat across from her, watching the frozen landscape roll by as he thought of an answer. While the two had grown accustomed to each other's presence, there was still a slight awkwardness between them. All too often, Anson deferred to her in embarrassingly dramatic ways. With no small amount of effort, he had finally stopped kneeling and bowing his head when conversing with her. She had even gotten him to address her by her name, sometimes.

If there was ever suspicion of duplicity, now there was none.

"Well?" Terra pressed for an answer.

Anson sighed. "You're asking for the impossible. It's hard enough to explain the politics of the House of Lords when given plenty of time, much less with scant minutes before we arrive. You'll just have to accept that this is the way it is."

Terra frowned. "I still don't understand why Emperor Gestahl could bend the Empire to do whatever he wished without thinking of the consequences, and yet now we can't even sign a truce -- something in everyone's best interest -- without a circle of military leaders and this House of Lords getting involved."

"Emperor Gestahl was so powerful he didn't really need the title. His popularity is still without comparison, and he had such clout amongst both nobility and army personnel that opposition was unthinkable. Certainly you saw how easily he committed to a treaty with the Northern Continent; with little more than his word, he gave up territorial gains and made reparations," Anson rubbed the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Anyhow, it's not the entire House, just the Duke of Mansfield," Anson pointed out with a wisp of a smile. "Really, you should be glad that it's just him. He's the most powerful of all the nobility and was Speaker of the House during their last session, a couple weeks before the Civil War broke out. He is more than just a figurehead," he finished with a quiet chuckle.

Terra's brow furrowed. "I think I've met him," she mused.

A raised eyebrow. "Really? You surprise me everyday, my Godd-"

"Terra," she interrupted with a frown.

Anson cleared his throat. "Lady Terra," he corrected embarrassingly, but with no less reverence.

Terra sighed loudly. She glared at the First Citizen of the Empire, beyond popular throughout the Imperial Core and just as intelligent. Anson Tilton had lost little of his authority in the days that had passed since a temporary peace accord had been declared. He was still the leader of the New Order, the most powerful faction of the divided Empire.

And he was hers to command.

Terra was still stunned by all that had transpired in the last few weeks. First seeing Vector a broken shell of its past, nothing like the dark fortress that had imprisoned her for sixteen years of her life. Then the peace she had forced upon three factions of the Empire. She had been ready to kill Anson Tilton, but instead he offered her everything she ever wanted, and more.

There had been little dissent from Danielle Meras or Remiel Lilienthal. Both Generals had agreed to the cessation of hostilities quicker than any had predicted. Norris had expressed his surprise to Terra, confiding in her that it had almost been too easy. Terra assumed the old Colonel had leaned heavily on Karen, who had pressured Remiel to accept the temporary truce. Knowing the relationship between Norris and Karen, as well as the Major-General's sovereignty over Remiel's armies, it was an acceptable stretch of the imagination.

But Terra agreed that Danielle's ready acceptance had been worrying. It had been unnecessary to speak with Farin or seek a private audience with the female General. Letters carried by messenger birds were all that had been required to convince Danielle to lay down her arms. That seemed ludicrous.

But no action had been seen in the past month. Even if Danielle's forces still held their military gains, the lack of warfare was all that mattered to Terra. Perhaps even Imperial Generals could tire of bloodshed. The world prayed that this was the case.

"Are you going to lay down your powers today?" Terra asked.

It was an important day in Imperial history, for two warring Generals and the First Citizen would meet and prepare the foundation of a permanent treaty. Peace, at last! It had been hard-fought, but the future would be no less of a struggle. Guiding the Empire down its chosen path would test every fibre of her soul. The temporary truce was a delicate affair, only held together by a collection of will between herself, Anson and Norris.

What would happen when both eccentric Generals and their factions congregated? Would ambition for power plunge the Imperial world back into Civil War?

No! Terra would not permit it.

Anson's soft brown eyes locked with Terra. It was something he often did when he knew she would disagree with what he had to say.

"I do not intend to abdicate."

Terra sighed, but she had already guessed that would be his answer. In Anson's eyes, she could see that he was shamed of his inability to acquiesce. That knowledge eased her burden slightly, for at least she knew he did not desire power.

He was First Citizen because in the hands of anyone else, that title would only cause more bloodshed.

"I doubt I'm the only one whose has given thought to killing you in order to end this war," Terra pointed out. "Of course you're right though, our journeys together have been more enough to discourage me of such naiveté."

Terra had spent the last month visiting the New Order's holdings in the Imperial Core. She had travelled with Anson far and wide, from the city of Mansfield to the armies locked in the chaotic stalemate that was Maley's Point, and the First Citizen was always received with joy and celebration. He was highly respected by millions; be they man or woman, civilian or solider. They hung onto his every word, adoring all that he said and following in his footsteps.

The First Citizen of the Empire, leader of the New Order, had halted the war with impassioned speeches. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers thirsting for revenge -- to avenge the monstrous slaughter of Fanshaw and the horrendous rape of Vector -- had to be convinced that peace was best; that further fighting would only invite more grievances. It had not been an easy task.

Anson focused on the concessions given. The cease-fires and humanitarian aid sowed the seeds of trust. Supplies were flowing from the outer provinces and several regiments of the New Order had already begun distribution. Shelter was being erected for the survivors of Vector, food was handed out to those starving, and pacification squads deployed to deal with the growing monster threat. But even riding on the surge of popular support, Anson had to make deals with his own Generals, promised the improbable in his speeches and sometimes deceive in order to convince his followers that a truce was in their best interests.

"I have always been truthful in your presence, Lady."

Terra looked up and down the man who commanded the New Order. A smile touched her face. Anson could look so regal upon his chocobo while he delivered speeches -- with the aura of a king and twice the authority -- but yet he always regarded her with so much respect and admiration. Without his surprising allegiance, it was doubtful that the Imperial Civil War could have been halted without further devastation. Perhaps battles and sieges leading to the loss of Mansfield, one of the few unsullied jewels of the Empire, might have brought the New Order to the bargaining table. Yet if it came to that, internal strife would plague the questionable unified Imperial government for decades.

"While we're both harping on how we met, I should apologize," Terra offered. She held out a hand to stop Anson from interrupting. "I had no idea what kind of madness had gripped the New Order. A part of me always believed that everyone desired peace, that no one really wanted war. I assumed that the citizens of the Empire wanted nothing more than to be happy and safe... but I never met them."

Terra sighed and ran a hand through her long grey hair. "I never asked what they wanted," she lamented. "I should have talked to them, like what we've done in the past month. I should have gone out there, used my magic to heal as many as I could and asked them what they wanted. Instead, I just assumed I knew what was best."

"You do know what's best," Anson stated flatly. "From basic analysis made by my finest advisors, the damages of the Civil War have already set the Empire back by decades. Years of technological progress has been lost with the total destruction of the Magitek Labs and the economy itself only functions thanks to the military. Further warfare once my forces took back Vector would have crushed any hope of a truce. There would have been permanent conflict between factions of the Empire, steadily order would have disappeared, centuries of advancement erased, and the eventual resurgence of petty kingdoms warring over scraps. A new age of darkness, my Lady; that is what you have singly prevented."

His words warmed her heart. "Anson, you're flattering me again."

"It's simply the truth," Anson replied. "Scholars warned me of the risks, but I was too busy holding the reins of the bloodthirsty millions. Our sciences had already predicted the dark outcome, but I didn't have the force of will to fight my own people. I became First Citizen to ensure their wishes were met, not to become a dictator myself and ignore their voices. Yet sometimes, one must draw the line."

"But where?" Terra asked. "I want peace for everybody, but the people don't. They want war-"

"Lady, governance is not an easy thing. There are no hard and fast rules. Everything is situational and what's best for the people may not be what they desire."

"That sounds like something Gestahl might have said before invading Doma," Terra grumbled.

Anson cast a long, distressed look at the woman he followed. He decided to try a different tactic. "A sovereign is solely responsible for their own actions. Their strength will be reflected in their followers. This is why a ruler must be just and righteous, and these are things that stem from the self. I believe in you because you are moral, because you care for all. Please stop doubting what you have done. Through your decisive actions, millions will be saved."

"Decisive action," Terra echoed. "Well, maybe you wouldn't be so quick to declare I know what's best. I thought if I decisively... eliminated you, that the New Order would collapse and magically become peaceful," she wet her lips. "Now, I can easily imagine what would have really happened if you were no longer around: the New Order would have continued, maybe accelerated, its aggressive posturing and we would have been at a loss to find anyone with the authority to end the war."

"Sophis," Anson used the most authoritative title that Terra did not oppose -- mainly because its meaning was so obscure -- and put a hand upon her knee. "You are not omnipotent. As an Avatar of the Goddess-"

"Anson, how many times have we gone through this? Your Goddess does not exist anymore, the War of the Magi saw to that conclusion. As well, I have not been sent here by any deity, I've seen them and they're in no position to change the course of history!" Terra growled in frustration.

"Yes, the Statues that you speak of," Anson beamed with confidence. "Honestly Sophis, did you truly believe that Gods would seal themselves away so completely? That they would give up on creation after warring with each other and putting their own livelihoods at stake? The Gods will return. That you have recently met their personifications only proves that you are chosen to represent their will."

Terra's frown became more pronounced. "Anson, I don't feel this special."

"You are a half-Esper, an unheard of miracle. It's not even biologically sound! Your very existence is proof enough of deific intervention."

"I've heard this before, it was the same reasoning that brought the Returners before the Sealed Gate of Esperkind and led to their subjugation by Kefka," Terra recanted with dread. "We thought we were saving the world, but instead we caused so many deaths. I never want to make that mistake again."

"You are still young, Sophis, and you cannot do everything yourself. This is why the Loyalists exist, to serve and empower you. For now, you need education and knowledge to guide the Empire on the right path. That is why I am here, to advise you and provide all the necessary information for your instincts to make the correct decisions. Though few, we are the shadow beneath your eminence."

He leaned closer to her, so that she could smell the light scent of herbs in his hair. "In time, you will no longer need my guidance in order to usher in the next age. When that day comes, you will know it. Politics will become another tool that you command effortlessly, just like the grandeur that is your magic. Until that day, I am honoured to be your servant."

Charmed speechless, Terra smiled weakly.

Anson leaned back, breaking the connection between them. "You should not be so nervous," he said in a softer, kinder tone. "Armed with only the understanding you gleamed from Colonel Ferdinand and his soldiers, you were well on the path to ending the Civil War. Now Norris is no mere flunky, but I wouldn't say he is a veteran of the political arena. That you did so much with so little is testament to your abilities."

Terra nodded. "As always, you flatter me. I wish I trusted myself as much as you do."

"I was raised as your servant," Anson explained. "I admit I have had crises of faith at times; ancient prophecies from the War of the Magi suggested that you would appear in my lifetime. When I read those passages myself, it always smelt of deceit. A thousand years in the future, so far ahead in time that the alleged prophets would long be dead and the benefit they gained from their followers irreversible. My parents, before they passed away, always seemed to be fanatical. Our life in Fanshaw was tough and to believe that we were chosen to guide a Goddess-" he averted his eyes from Terra's angry glare for using that word, "-into our world really seemed delusional. Instead of praying at an altar, I devoted much of my life to science and engineering, building up a reputation for being dependable and securing prestige that no commoner could ever dream. I suppose my beliefs sometimes run counter to my work..."

"I don't even know if I believe you," Terra interrupted.

"Well I believe, and even more so with every passing day. And we Loyalists are not alone. Have you missed the looks you have been given?"

Terra's brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"In nearly every village we visited, the children adored you. Their parents smiled for the first time in months thank to your arrival."

"Anson, that was because I was curing sickness and tending to the injured. We also arrived with food and soldiers to help build shelters," Terra frowned. "They flocked to me because it was probably the first time they had seen the kinder side of magic, not because they thought I was the personification of a Goddess. And need I remind you how scared they were of my spell-craft originally? Most of the Imperial Core is scared to death of magic! That they didn't lynch me was only because of your presence."

Anson shook his head. "That, my Lady, is a perversion of the truth."

Through the curtain-covered windows, one could see tents pass by the hundreds. They had almost arrived.

"The people didn't care when I asked them to support peace. They only wanted revenge and praised soldiers for striking down the barbarians that sacked Vector. They didn't listen to me. How could I be this Sophis if I can't even convince a little boy that war is bad?"

Anson folded his arms. Not once had his faith been shaken, he always had an answer to her questions. "My Lady, as I have said, you are not yet prepared for politics. Worry not about the common folk. They will follow as long as someone shows them the way."

"I want to help them achieve their dreams, not force them to do as I wish," Terra growled. "I want to help them all, and every time I talk to them, every time I-"

The carriage had come to a halt, so they both knew their conversation had to come to an end. Anson interrupted her with an apologetic expression. "It is your kindness that is both strength and weakness. You want to give people everything they desire, going so far as to spend weeks speaking to them and using your powers to heal a select few."

He pointed outside at the masses.

"But you must never forget that there are millions more out there. While it is always important to find out what each person wants, you must never forget that their needs will always conflict with each other. What is good for one may not be good for many."

The door opened and the thinly shaven head of Catherine, Anson's Magitek Knight Bodyguard and one of the few Loyalists, nodded respectfully at both her superiors. A clairvoyant woman, she was quiet but quite capable. Catherine donned a thick, form-fitting dark leather lorica that was made from many individual segments. Twin short swords were strapped by the hip and from her belt hung several strange looking crossbow bolts.

Anson took a step out of the carriage, but quickly turned back. "Follow your heart, my Sophis," he added. "Today, we are three seals away from ending the Civil War because of your instincts. Tomorrow... who knows?"

---

First Citizen Anson Tilton and Lady Terra Branford could go nowhere without an honour guard. They were both equally renowned, especially since rumours of Terra's involvements had become wide-spread. Without any supporting evidence, it was said that Terra was one of Emperor Gestahl's greatest agents. Upon the mighty leader's death, many presumed Terra's return had forced Danielle Meras and Remiel Lilienthal to set aside their grudges and work together. They said that she foresaw the destruction of Fanshaw and Vector and had struggled to reunite the Empire against the barbarian. When it was clear that was not enough, she had personally sought the First Citizen's aid and persuaded him to end the war.

That there was not a shred of evidence was unnecessary. A hero was desired; someone that had remained neutral throughout the war; someone that had been seen beside the august Emperor Gestahl; someone who had friends in all three factions of the divided Empire.

Her magic and deep connection to the Espers was a forgiven and forgotten fact.

Terra was most often seen with Anson, and that only bolstered her credibility. For the New Order, they saw her as their beloved First Citizen's close confident; for the factions under Meras and Lilienthal, a friend that held the leash of the pretender. Rumours conflicted wildly at times, mostly due to the opposing feelings the people of the Empire held for Anson Tilton. However, the end result was the same. Whether as an extension of Anson Tilton, Danielle Meras, or Remiel Lilienthal, the half-Esper was seen as the principle reason that the Civil War had ended.

There was cheering and roars of approval as she strode through the Imperial Camp. That they were headed through an area that was, in large, populated by troops loyal to Danielle did not dim the applause. Anson had a sly smile on his face at this, causing Terra's face to briefly go red in embarrassment.

At the centre of the Imperial Camp stood a giant tent surrounded by Imperial soldiers, Magitek Armors, and several Magitek Knights in ceremonial garb; all three factions had sent their finest. There, waiting for them, was a red-haired woman in plain leather armor with a weathered green cloak draped over the shoulders. She had heard the uproar and knew exactly who amongst their high-powered guests had arrived.

General Danielle Meras smiled.

They exchanged quick pleasantries for the benefit of those watching. Handshakes and salutes to the heart between General Meras and First Citizen Tilton caused a rupture of applause. It was the end of the Civil War: no more fighting former comrades, no more bloodshed in the homeland, no more war!

The centre tent was neutral ground, only a few soldiers were there and few were armed. Each officer had been allowed a single armed escort, Anson had Catherine and Danielle had...

Terra frowned. "Baldric?"

The statue nodded.

Danielle gestured to the seats surrounding a large circular table. Terra surmised that the shape had been chosen specifically to avoid having anyone sit at the head. Anson took a chair only after Terra, settling down politely and pulling out various folders of pertinent materials for the historic day.

"I have to admit, it's a pleasure to see you here, Terra," Danielle said as her fingers thrummed against the thin table.

Terra's eyes met Danielle's. It had been a long time since they had last spoken and Terra did not intend on allowing the female General to gain the upper hand. Things had changed greatly since they were captured in Tzen.

"It has been a long time, Danielle," Terra answered with a smile. "Forgive me if I am so direct, but there is something of grave importance I wish to inquire before business commences. Is Relm truly safe with Sir Cyan Garamonde?"

Terra caught a flash of surprise on Danielle's face. Without a doubt the General had not expected diplomatic deportment from a woman that had last broken down into tears from a few hard questions. Terra mentally thanked Lindsay -- Remiel's seamstress and her teacher -- as well as Anson for his preparatory explanations.

"I suppose you want to hear it from me instead of just reading a message delivered by bird?" Danielle asked.

"It would warm my heart," Terra announced with a nod. She wanted to hear Danielle say the words herself, rather than read something penned by her many subordinates.

"Very well, indeed Cyan Garamonde has left with Relm. He denied the privilege of an escort and left for the north. General Starson personally oversaw the exchange; he said it went without any issue and was friendly all-around. Your darling Relm is safely with your friends."

Terra gaze lingered on Danielle for a moment, wondering whether she could really be trusted. A favour from Norris had ended in a communiqué from Danielle stating the fortuitous news: that Cyan had left with Relm already. Terra wanted to believe the message, but that had been difficult. Yet as always, there was no reason for the red-haired General to lie. Danielle had nothing to gain by holding onto Relm; and Terra knew Edgar and Cyan would have stopped at nothing to get Strago's granddaughter back.

With a sigh of relief, the burden was finally lifted from her shoulders. The last few months in the Imperial Core had been without a clear conscience, Relm was never far from her mind and Terra felt responsible for Strago's granddaughter. She would thank Farin later; indeed it was his personal oversight that made Terra confident in Danielle's truthfulness. Terra doubted the General knew of her subordinate's promise.

"Where might be General Starson?" Terra asked. There were only two people she wanted to see this day: Farin and Remiel. It had been ages since she had spoken with Leo's friend, and she wanted to see the look on the latter's face; to know that he was wrong about her and magic's place in the world.

"Farin is late, as is General Lilienthal. But we still have an hour before the meeting officially begins," Danielle stopped tapping on the table. Her relaxed gaze settled on Anson. "First Citizen, I don't believe we've met."

The tent seemed a tad colder.

"Just Anson, please."

"Danielle, likewise."

There was animosity in the room no matter what kind of sugar-coated words were used. Terra had dreaded this day knowing it would stretch her patience and require all her skills.

"It's unfortunate that we didn't meet," Anson surmised. "I suppose it was just bad luck, your assignment in Tzen was not positioned towards the research and development of technology. As for myself, I did not enter the public eye until very recently."

"The Aegis is a remarkable invention, simple yet effective," Danielle connected Anson to his display of engineering prowess. "It is a compliment to the Empire."

"From the pilot of the Crimson Armor, that is praise to be cherished," Anson replied. "Your achievements a decade ago might have faded from public memory, but in a few months, you made up for years of idling in Tzen."

Danielle's tone darkened, though her face retained a fake, cheerful disposition. "Today is not a day for accusations. We have a common enemy, the Maverick, so let's forgive the sins of the past as you requested. Or perhaps I should remind you of your reprehensible actions towards the nobility before they managed to find sanctuary?"

Terra frowned. Anson had admitted to her that the nobles had suffered during his reign; that they had to flee after the people rose against them for their opposition to the Equality Crusade. She didn't press the issue, but perhaps she should have. There was still so much she didn't know.

Anson folded his arms. "This will be a long day if we decide to pass around blame. I apologize, the proscriptions were without merit."

The room became very chilly with that accursed word.

"Without merit? Is that all you have to say when pressed about the state-sanctioned murder of innocent and loyal peoples of the Empire? That you stripped them of citizenship, took their estate, put a price on their heads and then displayed those trophies within the Imperial Forum; all of that was nothing more than an oversight? Do you know what you put those families through? The Mansfields? The Driscolls? The Cassidies?"

Danielle's tone had grown very deadly at that moment, but it was clear that Anson could have retorted equally. Yet instead, he only bowed his head. "You're correct, and I am sorry. But let us move on to more pressing concerns, such as the criminal Maverick Waldgrave, and put the past behind us."

Before the female General could retort, another entered their high-powered circle. Shoulder-length brown hair framed a wrinkled face, prematurely aged from the stress of the past months. Major-General Karen Alysworth entered with little ceremony. Remiel Lilienthal's military figurehead and brilliant strategist looked exhausted.

"General Lilienthal has been delayed by an hour," Karen explained. "He sent me in his place, for now, to show no disrespect. I would have been here sooner, but a certain newly promoted Major-General wanted my opinion on stratagems."

Danielle smiled warmly. "General Alysworth, it has been a long time."

Anson gestured. "Please, take a seat."

"I take it that Farin was the source of your delay?" Danielle asked. When Karen nodded after taking her seat, Danielle's grin widened. "I guess he's looking for advice from the best"
Terra stood up. All three Imperials looked at her.

"I think it would be best if business was to wait," she explained. "Since Remiel is late, I would like to take this opportunity to speak with General Starson."

Nods from all around the table. "I don't see a problem with that," Danielle said with a quick tap of the finger.

"Catherine," Anson gestured and the Magitek Knight saluted.

Terra slipped out of the tent -- holding the fabric aside for Catherine to slip through as well -- and was relieved to be away from the tension. She pulled her hood over her head, hopefully hiding the grey locks that soldiers had become good at spotting. With a forced smile to let Anson's bodyguard know all was fine, she set off to find Farin.

---

Commodore Douglas Pellyn rubbed his eyes in frustration. It was another one of those days; just a few hours had passed since he had arrived at port, but his patience was already exhausted by the long-winded Admiralty. Had they been remotely competent, perhaps he could have tolerated their antics. However, their continual second-guessing of battlefield decisions despite their nigh-uniform lack of experience was absolutely infuriating.

His flagship sat in the calm waters, docked outside South Figaro along with the rest of his fleet. They would have to make sail again. The men would not be happy that they were to leave so soon after their last deployment, but they needed to be relocated to a more strategically sound location. The Commodore wiped the sweat from his brow and glared at the maps of his country. Perhaps if he stared long enough, answers would magically appear.

There was a thump outside his door. Douglas was not one to typically care for such noise, but he was irritated and that was enough for him.

"You there!" he shouted as he threw open the wooden door to his cabin. Slouched over due to the low ceilings, his eyes narrowed in suspicion when there was no one to be seen. While the majority of his crew had gone ashore to celebrate their good fortune, it still felt eerily quiet.

"Marine!" Douglas ordered. He waited a few moments and heard rhythmic footsteps down the hall. Douglas didn't recognize the soldier, but that was expected given the shuffling of personnel as soon as they docked in South Figaro. "I want the guard on this deck doubled."

"As you command, sir!"

Douglas closed the door and locked it. Paranoia was a natural reaction given the situation, he reassured himself. After all... a glance at the maps spread out upon his desk, charts piled above that and various nautical instruments strewn about; including an aging sextant. Prominent above the mess were several reports with the seal of His Majesty.

An Imperial Fleet; Douglas shook his head and sighed as he sat back down. None of the Admirals had believed him when just three months ago, he had asserted that the Imperials could strike at anytime. They had laughed at him! Now they came crawling back after losing three battleships. Three! With a numerical advantage and full reports on the enemy's movements, they had suffered as badly as they forces they claimed victory over. If the Captains of those vessels had survived, Douglas would have personally flogged them before the fleet.

"Two battleships," Douglas mumbled. It was perplexing. The force was too small to be a credible threat, but too big for it to be a mere scouting mission, written off if things went sour. But what could the Imperials be planning? Could they have kept an even larger force farther out to sea? Yet it had been over a month since the Imperials had tried anything since their highly dubious attempt to rake the coast. Surely their supplies were getting low, unless there were traitors amongst the Figarian Navy.

Understandably, the Admiralty wanted someone in command with proven experience even if he was politically inconvenient. But Commodore Pellyn was not a man to simply integrate any and all vessels into his fleet. His was a cohesive unit; he trusted each and every commander under his thumb. But this rag-tag band of barely-christened ships that called itself the Home Fleet...

Their battleship compliment had been shamed. A Vice-Admiral was at the bottom of the ocean. And then there were the reports from the rest of Home Fleet -- from the smallest sloop to the most prestigious cruiser -- that were so pompous they were likely worthless. More propaganda than an after-action report, Douglas scoffed. Damn the aristocrats and their bought commissions.

Even more damning, the entire fleet had complied with the King's latest directive, despite the barbarism of such an order! The number of executions had been so high that only verified officers had been given public hangings, the rest had simply been slaughtered in the water or left to die.

"Ludicrous," he growled. "The world has gone insane and now they're handing me the reins. What do they expect of me, a miracle?"

His train of thought was broken by an insistent knock on the door. "Yes, come in!" he shouted. Then he mentally chided himself, the bolt was still in place.

It was the marine from before and there was another beside him. "Commodore, we doubled the guard as you asked, but there was something else that requires your attention."

"Well? Out with it!" Douglas was in no mood for dramatics.

"We caught a spy, sir, on deck," the marine explained.

Douglas' brow furrowed. "A spy?" he echoed. "That's absurd."

"Yes sir, an old man too. We've got him in irons; do you want us to take him back ashore? The garrison there will have room for him."

The Commodore shook his head. "No, where is he now?"

"Isolated below, sir. We've got a guard on him."

"Very good, I'll deal with this myself," Douglas stated. "Might as well take my mind off these ridiculous reports," he mumbled under his breath.

After Douglas retrieved his fine blue bridge coat and adjusted his hat, the two marines escorted him below. It was dark, damp and smelt of both sweat and salt, but Douglas had long since grown used to the smell of a boat. He ducked beneath an exposed beam, passing by wall-like stacks of supplies and nodded briefly to the marine on guard.

The prisoner was old, that was for sure. He was wearing a soaked red coat, likely from falling into the ocean for his white hairs were slicked back and his beard still dripping. His eyes were half-closed, giving the impression that the prisoner was also drunk. Douglas snorted at the spy, briefly wondering if his marines were playing a very poor joke.

"What is this?" Douglas managed to straighten his posture, positioned between two overhanging beams supporting the low ceiling. "What are you doing on my ship, old man?"

"I have a secret message for one Sir Douglas Pellyn," the spy answered. Despite his appearance, he sounded quite healthy and alert.

Douglas laughed and the marines joined him. "Of course! A secret message," Douglas mocked the old man. "Well then, out with it!"

The spy glared at the three soldiers accompanying Douglas. In a split-second, he had gone from seemingly drunk to sharp and confident. "Secret, Commodore. That would tend to imply no outsiders."

Douglas folded his arms. The fine hairs were standing on the back of his neck. For some reason, despite the spy being chained, he felt threatened. Yet the threat did not seem to be directed at him. It was rather an overarching sense of... wrongness; Douglas wasn't sure how else to describe it. The world simply did not feel right.

"Marines, leave us," he ordered against his better judgement.

"Sir?"

Douglas glared at the leader of his guards. "I said leave us! He's already in chains and cannot possibly be a threat."

"Yes sir! As you command sir!" the marine stammered.

Douglas waited until his escorts had finally gone back above. He sighed deeply. "Out with it, now," he glared at the old man.

"Sir Douglas."

Douglas spun around, almost hitting his head against one of the supporting beams. His hand had gone to his hip but then he swore loudly. His sword still hung from the hooks of his cabin!

"Who in the blazes-" Douglas gaped at the sight of the ghost. His mouth couldn't seem to close.

King Edgar Figaro sat calmly on top of a crate behind him.

"My King," Douglas whispered.

Edgar clasped his hands together. He looked a bit older, his hair dirtier than usual and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. But Douglas had watched his King grow up and would never mistake His Majesty for anyone else.

"This is a nice ship, is she new?" Edgar remarked calmly, a touch of awe in his voice. He looked all around the dark room, seemingly unconcerned. "She's very impressive. You should be proud, Douglas."

"My King, where did you... how did... when- dammit!" Douglas slammed his fist against the low ceiling. "King Edgar, they said you were dead!"

Edgar raised an eyebrow. "Really," he said with a click of the tongue. "I feel quite healthy. In fact, I've been enjoying the fruits of our homeland for quite a while now. Did you know there is a wonderful new restaurant in South Figaro? It's in new eastern district, the Key Something or Other. Marquis McCormick was rather impressed as well, and you know how picky he's been lately."

Douglas rubbed his temples in mute, frustrated astonishment. He glanced back at the prisoner curiously.

The red-coated old man scratched his suddenly-dry beard. His chains lay in a neat pile on the dirty floor and his white hair was clean of dirty seawater. "Strago Magus. I'm pleased to meet you Commodore," he introduced himself with a wry smile.

Douglas groaned. He had seen enough of the impossible for one day and simply accepted the old man's change. He turned back to his king and tried to put words to the haze of his mind. "Wait, Fatty McCormick?" he echoed.

"He really needs to cut back on the shellfish," Edgar remarked off-hand.

Douglas growled at how nonplussed the King seemed to be. His mind spun as he thought of the Admiralty, many of whom were recently promoted and certainly unqualified. It made sense now. Everything finally made sense. "Those bastards at the Castle, at the House and..." he trailed off.

"And?" Edgar asked.

"And there will be hell to pay!" Commodore Douglas Pellyn announced with flourish.

King Edgar Roni Figaro smiled. "That would be an understatement."

---

"Lady Terra?"

The voice came from behind; strong and authoritative, but with none of the gruffness of Farin Starson. Terra pulled her cloak tighter, not intending to speak with anyone but the fine General. Catherine tapped on her shoulder though and Terra sighed with frustration. She did not have time today, even if the man sounded harmless.

"My Sophis, I know that you wish to remain undisturbed by the riffraff, but that is the Duke of Mansfield," Catherine whispered in her ear. "It would be folly to ignore his eminence."

Curious, Terra turned to face an elder man wearing an impressive dark cape. The red and black of the Empire was accompanied by silver and gold trim, it was an expensive overcoat matched with an equally expensive triangular hat. A fine rapier was set at the side, ceremonial for it was inlaid with what appeared to be rubies. He was slightly hunched over, but in no way did it diminish his mantle of authority.

"Ah..." Terra hesitated. She recognized the nobleman, but couldn't remember anything more than his title.

"Lady Terra Branford, I do not believe we have been properly introduced, though I suppose I cannot fault Governor Lilienthal's manners, for it was I who so rudely interrupted and discussed business," he gestured extravagantly with a wide grin. "I am Charles, Earl of Castille and the Duke of Mansfield," he removed his hat, bowed and kissed her outstretched arm lightly. "While even casual acquaintances tend to address me as Lord Mansfield, I desire nothing more than to have such a beautiful woman speak plainly."

Terra drew back her gloved hand. "As you wish... Charles?"

The old nobleman chuckled. "Thank you. I note that you lack a suitable escort. Would you allow me the pleasure?"

"We do seem to be headed in the same direction, I would be honoured," Terra knew better than to deny a person of his lineage anything so minor. A quintet of soldiers escorted the powerful nobleman but had drawn back to give them space to speak. Catherine did likewise, shadowing respectfully.

Charles Mansfield carefully replaced his hat atop thinning grey hairs. "I must apologize, when we met at the Messis Luna, I thought of you as nothing more than another pretty face. The good Governor has never been one to attend with a witty consort; I had wrongly assumed you to be another of his..." he trailed off.

"Conquests?" Terra finished.

"That would be an un-gentlemanly thing to say," Charles responded without further correcting her. "The Governor gained quite a bit of standing with you by his side; and after the events of the past months, I was clearly and baselessly wrong. I beg your forgiveness."

"No offence was taken," Terra prayed she wasn't forgetting anything important. It had been a while since her lessons in deportment and the time since then had not been spent acting like a noblewoman. "I am curious though, what do you mean by 'gaining quite a bit of standing'?"

Charles straightened. Though he was old, easily Strago's age if not more, he was still taller than she. "One of the late-Emperor's personal advisors accompanying the Governor would certainly sway any undecided minds," he answered as he brushed back his extraordinary cape. "He could not have gained more support from nobility had the Emperor's ghost appeared and declared the Governor to be the proper successor!"

Terra was taken aback, but tried not to show her surprise. "Strange, there are soldiers aplenty that would believe quite the opposite."

The nobleman clasped his hands behind his cape. He raised an eyebrow, wrinkling his face even more. "Has that silly rumour of Palazzo's gained so much traction? The common soldier is such an easily swayed thing, but I'd be surprised if even they still believe such nonsense. There is so much evidence to the contrary! Speak not of such tomfoolery; there are matters of much more pressing significance in this world."

Terra remained quiet on that note. Charles was right, while in the beginning there had been the occasional group of soldiers that believed she was General Leo's assassin, they had become rarer with each week that passed.

"On a lighter note, I must congratulate you. This treaty you have created is an impressive piece of work, for the effort alone I would commend you, but to see it come to such a conclusion... I owe you a deep debt of gratitude, Lady."

Terra raised a finger. "I was not alone. Colonel Norris Ferdinand-"

"-is not here, is he?" Charles interrupted. "Come now, this is not the time to be modest! I am not a senile old man, I can plainly see that you are here for a gathering of important peoples, and yet the fine Colonel is nowhere to be seen. It doesn't take a Magitek scientist to determine who was really behind the creation of the truce."

Terra sighed. There was no point in arguing.

"Your perseverance is admirable. Becoming friends with Governor Lilienthal is no easy task, but I can see that it has empowered you to end the warfare tearing apart our Empire. Now look at you! Positioned to rein in Anson Tilton, accompanying him everywhere in order to counter his honeyed tongue. Your achievements will be remembered, do not worry. I already have my finest minstrel composing an epic ballad as we speak. He is fond of the violin though, perhaps overly so, but I assure you that it will be magnificent despite such a flaw."

Charles lowered his voice and leaned close. "Be weary of Anson Tilton though. I do not trust that man, even in defeat. He is calculating and shrewd. He knows that all it takes is political power in order to enact any change, even something as ill-advised as the Equality Crusade. He will do everything he can to hold onto his powers as First Citizen. A woman of your talents would do well to tread lightly around him."

Terra stopped in her tracks, suddenly fed up with the elder nobleman. "Our paths diverge here, it seems," she gestured in a random direction. "It has been a pleasure speaking with you, Lord Mansfield," she curtseyed as best she could without a dress.

Charles bowed once more, deeper than the last. When he straightened, he had to brush his thin grey hairs out of the way before replacing his hat once more. "It has been my pleasure, Lady Terra. May your deeds always bring glory to the Empire."

---

Locke opened his cloak slightly; sweat was running down the back of his neck. He strode through the Imperial Camp, unimpressed with the security, and yawned. He was tired. Both day and night had been spent on the back of a chocobo in order to arrive on time. He rubbed his empty stomach absent-mindedly and hurried along the snow-covered main road.

Sherwood was equally hungry beside him.

"What a chaotic place," Locke grumbled.

"Three factions that should be at each other's throats, two regiments each arranged to defend their leaders. That over ten-thousand soldiers that either hate each other, or have friends on the other side of the line," Sherwood pointed out. "I'm surprised it's so orderly. Where's the drinking? The idiotic games? The duels? The brawls?"

Locke pointed to his right. Four men were pounding on each other with their fists, clearly inebriated but all smiles.

"Alright, so it's not that orderly. You can't blame them for the lull in discipline."

"This mess wouldn't survive ten minutes if it was attacked."

"No one has the strength, that is, unless you fell asleep and let the Maverick and five divisions pass."

Locke was about to scoff at the jest when a group of soldiers rudely cut him off. He growled at the six men, shaking his fist at the back of a pompous black and red caped old man that the others were clearly escorting.

"Calm down," Sherwood put a hand on his shoulder. "And stop waving your fist like that!"

Locke rolled his eyes. "No manners, you Imperials."

"No brains, you Returners," Sherwood retorted back. "Open your eyes! That wasn't some random geezer cutting in front of us; that was the Duke of Mansfield."

Locke frowned. "You mean of the city?"

"The one and only, especially since all of his relatives are probably dead now... I heard he didn't escape the proscriptions unscathed."

"So he's an old man with a title that shares its name with a city. Why should I care? He still cut me off."

"The Duke of Mansfield is the single most powerful nobleman in all of the Empire. Outside the military, his clout is second only to the First Citizen. He's also an unforgiving one, always planning revenge. I heard once, he waited a decade before politically crushing an opponent who accidentally insulted his cousin; he ruined the man's reputation, took his belongings and exiled the entire family to a deserted island."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Albrook," Sherwood answered. "Colonel Ferdinand used to make me baby-sit more than just Terra."

Locke chuckled at his friend's misfortune. "Ah Sherwood, the Colonel's just matching your vast talents to the job at hand."

Sherwood sneered. "Things haven't changed."

With the wind knocked out his sails, Locke proceeded away from the Duke of Mansfield. The two men picked up the pace slightly, both unused to the preponderance of friendly troops. Certainly Locke had never thought there would be a time when he could point at an Imperial squadron and say, "those guys are on my side." Yet he had spent the last month with Norris and his men, scouring the countryside on a mission to locate the Maverick and his barbarian forces.

Locke briefly remembered his surprise when the New Order's leadership knelt in front of Norris and Terra. He had been there that day, sneaking on top of the roof to cover Terra just in case there were more than two Magitek Knights for Sherwood to handle. He had scurried away afterwards and was unsurprised by Norris' news that the Civil War was over.

Terra had been unwilling to shed light on what had happened. But Locke was no fool and Sherwood had been there. It wasn't long before Locke knew everything.

"Sophis," Locke mumbled under his breath. He shook his head, annoyed that Norris had been right once more. "Where is the Colonel anyways?" Locke asked. "I thought he would ride with us, this is rather important."

"He refused the invitation and let Gossman take some time off instead," Sherwood answered. "You would know that if you didn't sleep through the last briefing."

Locke grinned. "It was your turn to get up at that ungodly hour," he pointed out. "After twenty in the field, you can't blame a guy for catching what shut-eye he can."

"Yeah, well the Colonel's getting suspicious. I don't think our little scheme is going to work for much longer."

Locke shrugged. "After the peace treaties get signed today, I don't think we'll need to be out there on the lookout for the Maverick and hunting down the damn Guild. There will finally be enough warm bodies to adequately patrol the Plains of Callaghan."

Sherwood didn't answer. "That's strange," he noted in a much lower voice.

Locke followed Sherwood's slight gesture of the head to a man walking through the Imperial camp. Alone, he wore a white-washed cloak that covered most of his body. But both eagle-eyed archers immediately noticed the grey peaking out beneath the cloth, as well as a white sash.

"The Guild?" Locke asked quietly. Both men swerved towards their cloaked quarry.

The Guild: it was the name of the organization that attacked them in Gwendolen Ford. Even finding out that much had been a tough task; it was the conclusion of an adventure that Locke preferred to never think about again. The Guild worked under the Maverick though and that was all that mattered.

Both Locke and Sherwood instantly associated grey robes and white sashes with the Guild now, and both men were on this one with lethal intent. They pushed their way through the crowd of soldiers, almost getting into a fight with a drunken fool, but the pair shadowed the robed man without fail.

In the midst of a cluster of tents, surrounded by several hundred Imperial soldiers that were all in good cheer and drinking to their heart's content, the robed man stopped suddenly. Locke snuck off to the right, knowing that Sherwood would cover the left, and tried to make out the hooded face.

Locke didn't really know why he did what he did. It had been instinctive, so long had he travelled with Ifrit that the ancient Esper was really like a sixth sense. Locke's attention was inexplicably drawn to one of the tent entrances instead of the robed man's face, and out of that tent strolled another hooded figure. The shape was feminine, and her hair was silver in the sunlight reflected off the snow.

Silver... like a shiny grey. A shiver ran down his spine.

Locke spun around. The vibration of a spring snapping into place shuddered up his arm and from his sleeve, a crossbow bolt lanced through the air.

The robed figure was faster though. Air wavered around him and two crossbow bolts -- from front and behind -- went off-course. Before either bolt flew past their target, a column of ice erupted forth.

"Terra, get down!" Locke screamed.

Terra had not been motionless. Her hood was already off and eyes glowing a deadly red as she pushed aside a blond-haired woman. Her hand came up and the column of magic, twice her height and composed of thousands of sharpened picks of glimmering ice, smashed into a solid barrier. They exploded into a spray of harmless snowflakes, but as Terra's skin took on a white hue the ice vaporized instantly into steam.

Locke whipped his dull-black knife as he charged forward. The knife stopped in the air an arms-length away from the Magitek Knight, but Locke was only another arms-length behind that.

His arm came up and a crossbow bolt was embedded between the shocked eyes of his magical enemy.

Another bolt hit the back of the neck and then Locke was on top of the Magitek Knight. He grabbed his knife -- still suspended in the air -- and slashed the throat of the assailant. The grey robed man toppled to the ground, dead thrice over. Locke reloaded his crossbows while scanning the area around him. Sherwood was covering them with his bow, and Terra...

A white-winged Esper met his gaze.

"Are you alright?" Locke asked as Terra reverted. Grey hair fell partway down her back and a frown creased her face as she looked down at the dead Magitek Knight. The blond-woman that Terra had pushed aside trailed behind, covered with snow and looking quite flustered.

"I should ask you the same," Terra pointed out. "Thank you, as always, Locke."

Locke tried not smile as he let his sleeves drop down and cover his crossbows. "He was specifically after you."

"He wouldn't have succeeded. But I'm impressed. They found yet another way to hide from my spells," Terra folded her arms. "That won't work again, but their stubbornness and perseverance is somewhat admirable." She did not sound impressed though, but rather annoyed.

"My Sophis, are you sure you're unharmed?"

Locke's eyes narrowed at the blond-woman that asked the question. The Imperial was heavily armed, wearing a style of armor that Locke knew to be lighter than his and easier to move around in, but far less effective at turning blows. There was a deadly air about her and she moved with the grace of a cat. His eyes were attracted to her belt, where strange-looking crossbow bolts were strapped tightly.

"Yes, thank you for trying, Catherine, but you would have gotten in my way. Magic is the last thing I fear," Terra remarked. "Locke, be nice," she added when she noticed the glower on his face.

Locke shrugged. "Anyone protecting Terra is a friend of mine," he said in a non-committal fashion. He turned his attention back to their surroundings... and at last noticed the hundreds that were staring at them in shock. Many had drawn their weapons and there were the beginnings of a major scuffle taking place.

"It's alright folks, the threat is eliminated," Terra strode past Locke and waved at the soldiers. With her head uncovered, sunlight seemed to softly caress the long locks of silver hair that flowed over her shoulders. "There's nothing to fear or anyone to blame. I'll head the investigation into this problem, so everyone should relax and forget this."

Her words seemed to put the crowd at ease and most went back to their celebrations. A few continued to openly gawk at Terra -- she had just recently shape-shifted into a white-winged angel -- but the authority she radiated had placated the volatile situation.

"You know we can't be sure no one else was sent by the Maverick," Locke whispered under his breath. He made eye-contact with Sherwood and the blond-haired soldier snuck around behind them. "We can stop his armies from infiltrating, but not individual spies or assassins."

"That's fine," Terra stated blankly.

"It's a lie. What happens if there's more?" Locke asked. His eyes scanned the soldiers around them, only half-concentrating on the conversation.

"Then we'll kill them when they reveal themselves. For now these troopers need to hear unambiguous words from a source of strength," Terra answered as she pulled her cloak tight. She straightened her hair. "Men like them need strong leadership, or else they'll panic and then we'll find ourselves in real trouble."

"Yeah," Locke mumbled in response. He was watching the crowd.

"Anyhow, I wouldn't worry. My magic will be more than capable of protecting us," she said with a meaningful smile.

Locke smiled back, but his attention was quickly taken away. His eyes narrowed on a group of six that squeezed their way past the crowd. They all looked quite winded. Locke recognized the leader; it was the young boy that had been part of Anson Tilton's entourage.

"Sophis!" the boy came to a halt gasping for breath. "I've been looking for you and Catherine, but could not find either of you."

Locke and Sherwood exchanged a glance with each other.

"What's going on?" Terra asked authoritatively.

"Lady-"

A roar came from the crowds nearby, an eruption of outrage, swearing and cursing. But above that, they could hear the news with crystal clarity. Anson's messenger had only been seconds earlier than the spread of news.

"Assassins! Assassins have attacked!"