FIVE

roads of cross

The shadows were growing long; Dias glanced up at the afternoon sky. He should probably go back to retrieve Claude about now, as staying at the castle under the current circumstances was not a good idea. And, as it was beginning to get late in the day, lodging would likely prove more difficult to find considering the growing number of adventurers in the city.

The stable grounds were quiet, however, and the mercenary rather liked it out here. He watched the two horses feeding contentedly, their tails swishing and swatting away at tiny gnats and flies.

Checking up on their mounts to make sure they were being properly looked after was really an unnecessary task, considering these were Cross' own stables. But Dias was used to doing things himself, and seeing as he much preferred it that way, he found it difficult to break the habit of critiquing other people's work. In any case, having determined that Claude would be heavily supervised in the guest chamber until he was done, he'd decided to seize the opportunity to enjoy the last bit of solitude he would likely have for the next while. As the Castle had already taken care of most of their travel concerns when it came to supplies, however, watching horses chew was the best thing he could think of.

He weighed his options for room and board, idly running a hand along Cynic's shoulder. Rachel's, perhaps. She was a kind enough woman, if somewhat prone to jumping to conclusions, and would doubtlessly find them some place to stay. He made a mental note to warn Claude of the owner's bothersome habits before they arrived.

That decided, the swordsman straightened and cracked his neck. "Don't gorge yourselves," he said to the feeding animals. Windsocks lifted her head and snuffled at him, then dipped her head back into the trough and continued to feed. Cynic didn't even bother looking up.

This mildly irritated him for no particular reason. No, he knew why he was irritated, but it was too late to get out of it at this point.

"Your names are ridiculous," he muttered. Unsurprisingly, the horses ignored him.

Leaving it at that, he turned and looked around, searching for a stablehand. He spotted a servant, a different one from before. "You there," he called.

The servant scurried over. "Yes, Master Flac?"

"You know where the Kingdom Hotel is?"

"Yes, sir."

He tossed his head curtly in the direction of the steeds. "Take these horses there once they're done feeding. Tell the owner we'll be there shortly."

The attendant bowed. "At once."

Dias turned, and made his way back to the castle. He took his time with the return walk; there was still plenty on his mind. The mercenary considered the facts as he strolled through the palace, arms folded, head bowed in thought and studying the floor.

He is not Clother. That much the king had been able to confirm. Perhaps the sovereign was mistaken? No, he had to assume that this, at least, was fact. Otherwise, his head might explode.

Then, who is he? Why is he here? What does he want? There were so many odd coincidences; almost too many. The resemblance to the prince. The strange clothes. The phase gun. The Warrior of Light legend. The Lacour Hope.

He followed the possibility that the youth was a Lacourian spy, sent to infiltrate Cross to uncover the royal family's true loyalties. That he had been foiled in his plans and was now trying to make the most of it. But if that is the case, what a backwards and ridiculous way to go about the whole thing. And drawing so much attention ... not likely at all.

He entertained the idea that the entire thing was an elaborate setup by the brigands. Led by the bandit king Zand, perhaps, to grasp more power in this time of confusion. Which in this situation is, admittedly, a somewhat ludicrous and highly improbable scenario.

He had no apparent ties to Cross - aside from bearing a striking similarity to Clother - and his connections to Lacour were questionable. Of the three kingdoms, that obviously left only El. So if he were from El ... which was unable to communicate with any of the nations right now - or so it appeared - he would be here ... to ... what? What agenda could there possibly be?

El was hardly a warlike nation. Neither was it known for being a powerful empire. Certainly not compared to the likes of Lacour, especially not in its technology. Its craftsmen could build the most beautiful cathedral on Expel, but they could not even begin to crawl behind a construction such as the Hope. Assuming the king's information was correct.

Dias scowled. He hated thinking about politics. And no matter how many times he continued to turn it over in his head, to dissect it, to analyze every piece and puzzle, it kept returning to the same blasted thing. The simplest answer was, of course, that Claude was exactly who he said he was, searching for exactly what he said he was. Thus far, everything kept returning to this. But there were still gaps and evidence lacking, not to mention the fact that it was just so nonsensical and unrealistic that it was, unsurprisingly, difficult to believe.

But assuming all things equal …

And again, after what he had seen ...

Dias was so deep in thought, he didn't notice the other man until they nearly collided at the foot of the staircase.

The stranger was extremely tall, about his own height - a memorable characteristic in and of itself - with long waves of light hair casting a shadow over his features. The man raised one black-gloved hand in apology as he turned sideways, edging past the mercenary. "Beg 'pardon. Excuse me."

So consumed was Dias by his puzzlings that he didn't even remember to glower. He merely nodded, absently, as the man passed. He was halfway up the staircase before the encounter registered, halting him in his steps.

The material of the man's long, white coat – in that brief glance, it had seemed similar to Claude's odd jacket, smooth and bearing the same strange sheen. And Dias thought he might have caught a glimpse of something on the man's forehead, under the long bangs – A strangely-shaped scar?

He turned, but the man was already gone like a ghost, down the steps and beyond the spiral of the staircase, out of sight.

Dias turned back, rubbing at his forehead. I'm losing my focus, getting distracted too easily. He tried to shake it off. He knew from experience to trust his gut instincts, but lately there had been so much being thrown his way that it was difficult to concentrate, to sift through everything in his mind. He cursed mentally, hating this cloud of the unknown hovering above his head.

The guard at the door nodded when he approached, stepping aside to allow him access. He entered the guest chamber and found himself facing a pair of legs dangling from the bed in the center of the room, feet tapping the floor, the owner sprawled on the bed.

"Still alive?" he asked, not particularly interested in the answer.

"I'm fine," Claude said. "Sorry to disappoint you." He sat up, stretching his arms and placing his hands on the bedspread behind him. "Just a bit bored, that's all."

Dias paused. The transformation was remarkable. Now dressed in more conventional attire, the youth no longer resembled an escapee from a travelling show. From the waist up, he wore a light tan tunic with sleeves cropped just past the elbow, a second layer underneath. The high collar and long sleeves of this dark undershirt wrapped loosely around his neck and wrists. From the waist down, his pants were a similar shade, the fabric of the leggings hanging over his shins, wrapped in place with cord.

His gloves, Dias noticed, remained the same strange fingerless ones from before, albeit slightly concealed by his now-long sleeves. Also the same was his red headband. And, similarly semi-hidden by the leggings, his strange shoes.

Well, it's an improvement. Out loud, Dias said, "You actually look like a sane person."

"So do you," Claude shot back.

The corner of Dias' mouth curled up. "How is it?"

Claude tugged at the edge of the tunic underlayer. "Scratchy," he said, returning the half-smile. "This is hand-wove cotton, or something, right? It's kind of weird, but I'll just have to get used to it." He shook his head. "I nearly had a heart attack when the king was joking about the wedding." He glared at the mercenary, but in good humour. "Thanks a lot for the help back there."

Dias shrugged. "Was I supposed to do something?"

Claude made a scowling face. "For future reference, hell yes." Then he laughed. "But I guess I can't complain; it went really well. Much better than I was expecting."

"And what were you expecting?"

"Instantaneous castle arrest," he said with a grin. "So." He cocked his head. "What were you and the king talking about?"

"What do you think we were talking about?" Dias countered.

"I don't know," Claude said stubbornly. "But you sure took your sweet time."

"We haggled over the amount of money he was going to give us," the swordsman replied without missing a beat. "Then I went outside to check on the horses and enjoy what was left of my sanity before I throw it all to the wind."

"Oh really," the youth said, clearly skeptical.

Dias shrugged. "Go ask the stablehand."

Claude raised both hands in defeat for the time being. "Okay, fine. So now what?"

"The day is almost half over and the horses need more rest, so there's no point in setting off until tomorrow."

"Sure." Claude nodded. He scratched the back of his neck, then clasped both hands together, resting them in his lap, and looked up at the mercenary. "Well, we can't stay at the castle, can we? Because as nice as that might be, it seems kind of disruptive. If I run into the princess or something, I mean."

Dias nodded. "I know the owner of a local inn; we'll likely be able to lodge there for the night."

…

"Hey, question," said Claude suddenly, as they were walking down the cobbled streets towards the town square.

"Answer," Dias replied.

Claude glanced at him, an expression of mild amusement and annoyance playing on his face, then seemed to shrug it off. "What's the Tournament of Arms?" he inquired. "The king mentioned it was an event all the non-conscripted mercenaries would be training for."

"The most acclaimed fighting tourney on Expel," Dias replied, his tone of voice not acclaiming it quite that much. He had decided that it wasn't worth the trouble to his brain to argue internally whether or not Claude was pretending to be ignorant anymore. For the rest of this day, at least. "Every five years at the Colosseum of Lacour. The kingdom is renowned for its weaponsmiths, and the Arms is a test of their talents. Overtime it grew into a so-called trial of bravery and skill for the warriors demonstrating the arms also. It draws fighters and artisans from all the continents, as well as audiences from the most common of peasants to the richest of nobility."

"Sounds like a lot of people have a stake in this," Claude commented.

"Indeed. Some of the wealthy elite will formally back certain smiths or champions as well, and often will have a great deal riding on the outcome of the tournament."

"So how does it work?"

"One-on-one melee combat. No sorcery. All weapons and armour must be sponsored by a smith."

"I see. Can anyone enter?"

"So long as they can procure a sponsorship. And vice versa for the smith, to find a fighter willing to bear their arms."

"And when a winner is declared ...?"

"The champion receives endless fame ..." - the mercenary half-smiled - "... until the next Arms. And some trinkets presented by the King of Lacour. The sponsor of the champion has the honour of calling itself the 'Lacour of Lacour" until otherwise dethroned. The greatest honour is supposedly the feat itself."

"Ah," said Claude. "It sounds like quite the event."

Dias raised an eyebrow at the undertone of the remark. "You sound dubious. What do you think?"

Claude returned the expression. "Does it really matter what I think?"

"No."

"I think," Claude said after a moment, "that all the smiths would flood the entries with tons of fighters using their weapons to better their chances of sponsoring a winner. That competing smiths and their warriors would sabotage each others' equipment and fighting condition. And that the nobles would bribe their opponents' best warriors to get them to throw their fights."

Dias had to laugh. "And you call me a cynic."

"Or maybe what I think was influenced by the way you presented the whole thing," Claude answered dryly.

"Is that so," Dias replied, still vaguely amused.

"So why do you enter?'

Dias smirked. "If there is anything worth fighting with or anyone worth fighting against, they will most likely be there."

"I see," Claude said, looking thoughtful. "But really ..." he shook his head. "Is there seriously that much difference in the make of the weapons for the smiths to deserve that kind of acclaim? I mean, yeah, I assume a horribly-made sword would fall apart in battle, but at that level ... Isn't it really the skill of the warrior that makes the ultimate decision? Not to dismiss the abilities of the smiths or anything, but some of it just sounds like marketing crap to me."

"Marketing crap?"

Claude smiled. "Guess I'm just being overly idealistic. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Well, people will always have different priorities; life is like that."

Dias sighed. "You should stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Using those ... words."

"Oh," said the youth, looking dismayed. "Sorry. I forgot.

"But you know," he mused, his brain clearly already moving in a different direction faster than Dias could comprehend it, "I think it would be easier if I actually looked different. Like, ET or something. Then it wouldn't be as hard to convince people."

"ET?"

Claude laughed. "Then again, it might also be easier to end up on the wrong end of a pitchfork."

Dias shook his head. It was going to be a long journey.

Claude looked up at him, seemingly remembering something, and the youth's grin quickly faded. "So … Why are you helping me, anyways? Not that I'm ungrateful, but you have your own list of priorities to deal with, and besides, you thought I was insane. You probably still do. Why not leave me to flounder about on my own?"

"And leave you to the bandits?"

"Oh, so you're doing it out of the shiny goodness of your heart."

Dias snorted. "Hardly."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

The mercenary sighed. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you'll cause if you get captured again?"

"A lot," Claude admitted. "But between you, me and the king, there are still some pieces that don't quite fit."

"Well, you can puzzle over them a little longer," Dias replied, then noticed the smile on the young man's face. "What?"

"Nothing. You made a pun."

"Whatever." Dias looked away. "You said you wanted to investigate the Sorcery Globe on Cross. Where exactly are you planning to start?"

Claude shrugged. "No clue."

"You might have a problem."

"I have lots of problems," Claude retorted. "But sense of direction isn't one of them. I can get a map, talk to people, ask around, et cetera. Sorcery Globe fallout is apparently everywhere, and nobody knows anything about it, much less what to look for, so it doesn't really matter where I start as long as I get pointed somewhere and get moving. Or am I wrong, as usual?"

He has good instincts, at least. "Fine," Dias replied. "But it would help if you had a point of reference, or at least some logic behind the framework for where you begin, or you'll be running around forever trying to catch up with the latest rumour from some wag in the back alley."

"Any suggestions?" Claude asked. "I'm all ears."

"You have three tasks. I'm assuming," said Dias, "in terms of priority, they are: one- find your phase gun." He counted them off on his fingers as he spoke. "Two- gather information on the Sorcery Globe. And a very distant three- keep an eye out for a certain someone who looks exactly like you."

Claude smiled. "Dead on."

"Which is fine, because enough time has passed that said someone's whereabouts are a complete question mark. He could have wandered anywhere by now. But if you're looking for the phase gun, you want bandits. If you're looking for Sorcery Globe information, right now the most logical thing to do would be to explore areas dense with monsters or strange activity. Am I wrong?"

"No, that sounds right," said Claude. "I don't know that much about bandit activities, and I might be going out on a limb, but they should be relatively easier to track down than monsters - and we can keep an eye out for bizarre phenomena at the same time. Right?"

Dias nodded. "Certainly more predictable. They're cowards by nature, but their numbers do make it more troublesome."

"Do they have any main thoroughfares or organized areas of operation?"

"One group has fairly blatant headquarters set up in the Port of Hilton," he answered. "And it would be foolish to go there directly. What are you planning to do?"

"Oof," came the reply.

"Are you a blind and lame beggar?" grumbled the perpetrator, a fat and balding man taking up more than several individuals' allotment of air and space. As he spoke, he did an about-face to glower at them, and blanched immediately on seeing the swords at their sides. "Ah, forgive me, mercy, 'twas my fault completely -" He backed away, sweating profusely, then turned tail and tried to lose himself in the crowd, with little success due to his girth.

"Uh," said Claude, watching the fat man trying to hide himself. "There were a lot of people when we first got here, but it wasn't like this at all, was it? What's going on?"

Dias frowned. The crowd had started to grow unusually thick as they neared the town square. A throng of people were gathered in the very center, surrounding some unseen spectacle.

"What is the problem?" A dulcet voice, feminine and self-assured, was rising from the center of the crowd. "I believe it's mine, and no one else's."

"Yours!" The second voice was sputtering, snarling with outrage and indignance. "Yours because of trickery, perhaps …!"

Using his height to his advantage, Dias peered over the top of the crowd. That second voice belonged to a particularly slimy looking man, spectacled and overdressed in a thick, dark cloak over a brocade vest lined with elaborate, bejewelled trimmings. And the owner of the first voice …

It was the woman he had seen at the castle.

He sighed and shook his head. Even after he had gone to all the trouble of pointing her out to the guards, they had done nothing? Truly shoddy work. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Claude beginning to move forward through the crowd.

"Where are you going?" Dias asked, grabbing the youth by the arm. "You can see everything from right here."

"Well, I'm not you, Mister Six Foot Whatever," Claude replied, shaking off the other man's grasp, and heading in.

Dias sighed, again, and rolled his eyes. He had little choice but to follow, and promptly did so by pushing his way through the crowd in the most straightforward manner. Naysayers turned to protest, but quickly changed their minds upon meeting his dispassionate gaze. In a few seconds they were both near the front of the throng, and could see more than enough between - or over, in Dias' case - the heads of the last layer of people.

"Trickery?" The woman pressed a hand to her chest, oh-so clearly affronted. The gesture was deliberate – her fingers swept across the curve of her breast, pushing aside just enough fabric to reveal a brief – but unmistakable – hint of a dark, intricate tattoo that would be winding its way down her body.

"She's a Heraldry user – a Crest Sorceress," Dias told Claude. "She knows what she's doing. It's pointless to get involved; for all we know, they're a pair of double-crossing swindlers having a public spat."

"I don't think so, my dear wizard," the sorceress in question was saying.

Claude frowned. "But-" he protested, clearly unsatisfied.

"Enough!" the man roared. "Hand it over or I'll kill you … you witch!"

"Don't do anything stupid-" Dias started, sensing Claude tense up.

"Who does he think he is?" the youth muttered, and pushed through the crowd into the centre of the the square.

"- like that," Dias finished, uselessly. The crowd around him hummed with anticipation at the newcomer joining the fray.

"Hmm …?" The sorceress turned her head to look at the figure at her side.

The wizard glowered at Claude. "Out of the way, boy! This has nothing to do with you!"

"Hey," Claude said, raising both hands palms out. "I don't know what you're arguing about, but that's no way to treat a lady."

"What?" the man snarled.

"You need to behave more like a gentleman," Claude continued.

"You must be joking," Dias muttered under his breath, incredulous. The man laughed, a distasteful, coughing cackle that perfectly suited his appearance. "Who do you think you're talking to, boy?" He strode menacingly towards Claude.

Bother.

Not for the first time that day, Dias exhaled silently in exasperation, then forcefully shouldered the remaining gawkers aside and stepped into the fray himself.

"You might want to rethink that," he said as he slid in next to Claude. He rested one hand on the hilt of his blade and lowered the scabbard into the draw position, causing the warlock to pause. Around them, a wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd at this exciting development.

"Forget them," the woman snapped, pointing at the wizard and then at herself. "You had something to say to me, didn't you?"

The wizard turned his head back towards her. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I did. This has gone on long enough." He gestured, fingers detailing obscure patterns in the air. "Now you're really going to die."

It was all so overly theatrical, Dias had to roll his eyes.

The warlock's brow furrowed in intense concentration as he mouthed a silent incantation, hands clutching some invisible sphere in the air against his chest. Dias felt something shift in the atmosphere, like the forming of a thread, tight and tense, stretching and straining around them. The sorceress looked off towards the edge of the crowd in a disinterested manner and ran a hand through her thick tresses.

The air began to grow heavy from the warlock's spell. The magess placed her hands on her hips and smirked, tapping one foot impatiently. Finally, when that something undefined in the air felt as though it were nearing a snapping point, she pursed her lips and raised both arms high. Her lips moved wordlessly in a brief, unheard chant, and the runes visible on her body began to glow, charging their energy. She reached out, and a searing bolt of fire lanced from her fingers, arcing in a burning, lightning-fast strike to the warlock's chest. It was small and not particularly powerful, doing no permanent damage, but impressive enough for the onlookers and certainly more than enough to ruin her opponent's concentration.

"Agh!" The wizard yelped, clutching at his hand and trying to maintain his imaginary dignity as he hopped about. "You- !"

The sorceress placed one hand back on her hip. "If you want a fight," she declared, "choose your opponent carefully. I still have no idea what this has to do with me, however." She smirked.

The wizard clenched his fist, his face burning red. "You'll regret this!" he shrieked, and tromped to the crowd's edge. "Get out of my way!" he snarled, and people backed away to let him pass.

"Hmph," the woman sniffed, satisfied. "Perhaps that will teach him a lesson." She knelt down, scooping something up from the ground – a small, worn scroll, Dias saw. Getting back up, she dusted herself off, then turned to face them with a fetching smile.

"Well, hello there, darling." She winked in Claude's direction. "That was awfully chivalrous of you. I was actually quite moved by your courage."

"Oh, it's nothing," Claude said. Dias noted with dismay that the youth had a silly grin on his face.

"My name is Celine Jules," she said, running one white gloved hand through her hair and flipping the silver tresses lightly.

"I'm Claude Kenni, and this is Dias Flac," Claude answered, a little too quickly for Dias' liking. "It was our pleasure."

"The swordsman, Dias Flac?" Celine said, sounding mildly startled, but quickly returning to her smooth and completely saccharine delivery. "How lucky that you were both passing by. Say, didn't you just have an audience with the King?" she prattled on.

Dias raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know that?"

Celine smiled charmingly – cloyingly, the mercenary thought – again. "I was visiting the castle as well, and some of the soldiers were talking about delaying other audiences for two special guests. I imagine, whom could it be but two gentlemen as distinguished as yourselves?"

"Well-" said Claude, sounding somewhat flustered.

"Is that so," Dias replied, unmoved.

"Now now," she chided lightly, "Don't be that way … I have some information that will interest you." She unrolled the tattered scroll that had been the cause of the disturbance earlier, displaying its contents without making them discernable. "I just managed to obtain this at the auction today." She glanced about furtively – like a rat, Dias thought – then leaned forward as though sharing a grand secret. "It's a map that shows the location of an ancient treasure in a cave. How would you like to come with me to find it?"

This had gone far enough. "Forget it," he answered before Claude could say a word. "It's a waste of time."

Claude glanced at the swordsman as if remembering something. "Um, yes." He turned back to the woman. "Thank you, but we have something more important to do than search for treasure."

"But you might find something that will help you on your quest," she persisted. "It isn't even that far from here. Won't you come with me to Cross Cave ... darlings?"

But of course it would be the Cross Caves. "Those caverns have already been completely explored," Dias told Claude.

"Well," Celine said quickly, "It seems this map was discovered only recently."

"Are you daft?" Dias said, turning back to face her directly. "We don't have time to waste with loose women."

"What?" The woman's eyes widened, taken aback. "W-what do you take me for?"

She was probably used to getting her way whenever men were involved. "You must be daft," Dias repeated impassively.

She squared her shoulders, striving to make herself more imposing. But since the swordsman was almost a good foot taller than her, forcing her to look up at him, the effect was diminished somewhat. She made up for it by glaring daggers. "I'm a Crest Sorceress!"

The crowd that had dispersed earlier was not-so quietly reforming. Dias shrugged, unimpressed. As if she hadn't already been flaunting that fact shamelessly. "Oh. My apologies. I didn't realize witches had a higher calling in that area."

"Y-you …" Her beautiful features became twisted in an expression of fury. "You mercenary cad! How dare you! You've got a hell of a lot of nerve! Who do you think you are?!"

"Someone who isn't foolish enough," Dias returned evenly, using his convenient height to throw a condescending gaze down at her, "to think that your intentions are anything but self-serving."

The magess took a breath and smiled thinly, composing herself. She swivelled to face Claude. "And what do you say, Claude dear?" she implored, clasping her hands together, her long eyelashes batting lightly. "Surely this boor doesn't speak for you. How can a nice young man like yourself travel with a brute who treats ladies in such an uncouth manner?"

"Uh, I, uh-" Claude stammered intelligently.

"Lady nothing," Dias snapped, grabbing Claude by an arm and shoving the youth behind him. "Your façade is as pathetic as your dress."

"I-I beg your pardon?!" Her voice pitched up nearly an octave in affront.

"What do you take us for – blind halfwits like yourself?" Dias continued callously, getting into it. "Do you really think no one saw you skulking about at the castle?" Claude, who had begun stepping around him to protest, stopped short as he continued. "Perhaps you could do me the honour of enlightening me as to the true nature of your intentions, as I'm not aware of any ladies whose favourite pasttime consists of spying on the king's throne room. Incompetently, I might add."

Claude looked at him, surprise evident on his face. The woman's mouth formed into an 'o'; she worked her jaw, but nothing came out. The chatter among the observers grew noisier.

"Any ass with two bits of sense still clinging to its skull can see what you're after." He leaned in towards her ear and lowered his voice, more for their discretion than hers, as he wasn't too fond of the idea of catching the attention of other treasure seekers after this bout. "If you want to get your claws on a passport so badly, there are a few places I can suggest to you where a 'lady' like yourself might find better luck."

He straightened and watched the results with vague interest. At the not-so hidden insult, the sorceress' face grew impossibly red. Her rage was practically palpable; it was easy to envision smoke coming out of her ears. Claude, meanwhile, wore an expression that was an interesting mixture of dismay and horror. In the moments that followed, the swordsman entertained the image of a Fire Heraldry user spontaneously combusting; for a few seconds, it seemed like a very plausible conclusion.

Then as quickly as the entire row had started, it was over. She viciously rolled up her map, turned, and stormed off without another word. The crowd, having had the opportunity to see her fiery performance earlier with the wizard, gave her a wide berth as she passed. And seeing that there would be no further skirmish to watch, the people grew disinterested and dispersed once more.

"Well, that was ugly," Claude muttered.

"Don't look so closely next time," Dias replied with more relish than he intended to come out.

"That's not what I meant," his companion interrupted, irritated. "I was talking about your behaviour." He frowned, looking conflicted. "And hers. I thought she was going to fry us!"

"Really. I thought she was going to explode."

"I think she did," Claude answered dryly. "But - how did you - I mean, why didn't she fry you?"

"Did you see how long it took her to cast that Firebolt spell? And how easily it disrupted the wizard's incantation, which took even longer to charge?"

Claude snorted. "Oh, and of course you would have been able to lop off her head in less time than that."

"Pity we couldn't test it," Dias replied, tapping at the hilt of his sword nonchalantly.

Claude paused, disconcerted. He was clearly unable to tell whether the swordsman was kidding or not, and was certainly recalling the bandit that had been carved in record time back at the hideout.

"Lesson number one," Dias said, taking the opportunity to drill some useful knowledge into the thick skull he was going to be stuck with for a while. "Mages are not effective at close range."

"And what's lesson number two?" the youth retorted. "It's good to piss off as many people as possible?"

The warrior ignored the sarcasm, and turned to glare at the younger man. "Lesson number two is this: if something is really that important to you, don't let anything distract you from it."

Dias waited for the words to sink in, and when the youth's sarcastic expression had faded to chagrin, he continued, "Treasure hunters salivate over free passes; that's all she wanted. That's all any of them want – if you have access to something that will benefit them, they'll cling all over you until they get it."

At that, Claude's face became strangely blank and devoid of emotion. "You're right," he finally said, surprising the mercenary. "I should have known. I apologize."

"Good," Dias said, mollified. Stifling his mild astonishment at the sudden change, he warned, "Don't pull a stunt like that again. If the bandits don't get your hide first, I might be tempted to."

They made the remainder of the walk to the Kingdom Hotel in silence.

…

Rachel looked exactly the same as he remembered: a short, plump, cheerful woman with merry eyes and a thick mass of blue curls, ribbons of hair that frizzed wildly despite being pulled in a tight style to the back of her head. It seemed, Dias reflected, that after a person reached a certain age, or perhaps a certain stage in his or her life, there was little left that would change.

He wondered, idly, if he had become one of those people.

"Oh my goodness!" Rachel exclaimed when she spotted them entering the Kingdom Hotel. She noisily dropped everything to hurry around the desk to greet them. "If it isn't Young Master Flac!" she cried with delight, grabbing his hand. "I've been waiting since the gentleman from the castle brought the horses to my stables. I haven't seen you in quite a while!"

"Good to see you, Rachel," he replied.

Claude watched their exchange with an expression of surprise on his face. Rachel turned her head and blinked, as if just noticing the youth.

She cocked her head at him. "And this young man would be ...?"

"Claude," Dias answered. "We're travelling together for the time being."

"Pleased to meet you," Claude said politely, extending a hand.

Rachel's eyes grew wide as saucers, and she clasped a hand to her face. Too late, Dias recalled the warning he had intended to give before they entered the hotel, and his stomach sank.

"Oh my." She looked back up at him innocently. "Dias, you've never brought someone with you to stay at my hotel before!" She cupped one hand over her mouth. "Is this what I think it is?" she whispered very loudly.

Dias groaned inwardly. From experience, he knew the best way to answer was to be as succinct and short as possible, as anything else would be taken horribly out of context.

"No," he replied.

She laughed out loud, slapping him cheerfully on the arm and clapping her hands together. "Oh, Young Master Flac, aren't you the jokester! But don't you worry. You're like my own nephew. Aunt Rachel will never tell anyone – it will be our little secret!"

She turned back to Claude, appraising him from head to toe and back up again, then clasped both of his hands in hers. Claude blinked, looking more than somewhat taken aback by the attention.

"Huh?" he said.

Rachel patted him approvingly on the cheek. "Don't you worry now. We'll take very good care of you!"

"Uh … thanks," Claude replied.

She beamed at both of them, looking from one face to the other, oblivious to their respective expressions of confusion and resignment. "Well, well," she said, sighing happily. "It just so happens that one of our best rooms is open." Her smile widened. "I'll let you stay tonight for free!"

"Really?" exclaimed Claude, not helping matters any. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" she chuckled. "Anything to make the night a special one! Now come along." She grabbed Claude's elbow, half-pushing and half-pulling him along. The youth shot Dias a puzzled look, and the mercenary merely rolled his eyes.

They made their way down the well-furnished corridor, lined with vases of overflowing flowers that sat on pedestals outside every other room. Rachel stopped at the final door, pausing and sighing happily again before unlocking and throwing it open with a great deal more fanfare than the reality of the situation warranted.

"Here you are!" She spread her arms out wide. "Enjoy!" She trotted off down the hallway, chortling to herself and leaving them standing in front of the open door.

"What was that all about?" Claude asked.

"Try not to think about it too much," Dias replied. He entered the room, undoing his cloak and throwing it on a chair. He then sat down on one of the two handsomely-made beds and began to remove his boots. The upcoming journey was sure to induce more than a few headaches, and he intended to get as much sleep as possible.

"Wow," said Claude, his back to the swordsman as he eyed the chamber's trimmings. Fine embroidered linens, vases of fresh blossoms and bowls of dried petals adorned the room in generous quantities. "This room is bigger than I expected." He sniffed the air. "And ... flowery."

"And most importantly," Dias answered, tossing his boots on the floor, "complimentary."

"That's a terrible thing to say to your Aunt Rachel," Claude replied.

Dias raised an eyebrow; for once he couldn't tell from the tone of the voice whether or not the youth was being sincere or sarcastic.

Claude turned, and made his way to the other bed. "Hey, Dias," he said over his shoulder.

"What?" the mercenary replied, taking no time to settle in.

"... Nothing. Night."

"Hmmph," Dias grunted, rolling over to face the opposite direction, hoping to be on the verge of sleep in a matter of seconds.

"Thanks. A lot. I mean that."

He pretended not to have heard a thing.

…

Dias slept straight through anything, not caring if Claude ran out in the middle of the night to check on his communicator contraption or not. They were both up and ready at the break of dawn; it had been a long time since he'd been around anyone at this early in the morning, and there was no conversation to speak of.

En route down the corridor, they were just past the main reception area when Dias paused, then quickly took several steps backwards before turning around completely and heading for the side door to the inn's stables. He was really in no mood to face more of Rachel's antics.

"What are you doing?" Claude asked.

"I'm going to check on the horses," he replied, ducking outside. "Go have breakfast. Have fun."

"Uh ... okay," Claude replied uncertainly.

Behind him, Dias could easily pick up the clanking and clattering of dishes as breakfast was being prepared with undue loudness. "Why, good morning, Claude!" Rachel exclaimed with great enthusiasm and volume, clearly waiting for the moment the said person stepped into the room. "My, you're early! I didn't hear you coming in at all! So tell Aunt Rachel, how was it? Your special night at the Kingdom Hotel?"

"Oh, I slept very well, thank you," he could hear Claude say.

"... Ah … that's not what I was asking about …"

Dias shook his head. The things he had to put up with. Thankfully, the rest of the conversation droned down, fading away into incoherence as he put more distance between himself and the kitchen. He busied himself again, checking the horses, brushing their coats and making sure they were in as good condition as their riders, if not better.

He was several minutes into this routine when he heard a muffled thudding, like the sound of racing, stumbling footfalls, followed by the easily recognizable screech of chairs being pushed back. Frowning, he quickly completed his task and headed for the side door.

Even before he reached the dining area, he could hear a woman's muted sobs. Through the window of the doorframe, he could see Rachel leaning over the small kitchen table, Claude seated in one of two chairs that were pulled alongside it. Both of their attentions were focused completely on a third person in the remaining chair.

And in that other chair was another blue-haired woman he hadn't seen for a long time.

"Westa, what are you doing in Cross?" he said.

Westa looked up. "Dias?" she cried.

Dias stifled his shock. "What happened to you?"

She looked, simply and plainly put, terrible. Her eyes were swollen and red, and she was nursing a number of bruises on her face, in particular a large, ugly, purple-veined one on her left cheek. One hand held a compress against her face, and every so often she would wince slightly. Rachel squeezed her shoulder, then left the table and began rummaging in the cupboards.

"Rena is in danger," Westa blurted, then broke down in tears. Claude quickly handed her a handkerchief from the table. "Th-thank you," she said, taking it. He patted her shoulder consolingly.

Dias knelt down beside her. "Tell me exactly what happened."

She wept into the kerchief. "Alen- Alen has gone mad …!"

Dias knit his brows together. "Alen did this?"

It was difficult not to be incredulous. Even as children, Alen had easily been the most timid of any of them. Free-spirited Cecille and spunky Rena, despite being younger than him, were both far more vocal and adventurous. Picturing the man lashing out in any way ... it wasn't hard. It simply didn't happen.

Or so it had seemed.

"Who's this Alen?" Claude asked.

"Alen-Tax Barnes is the son of the mayor of Salva," Rachel explained to him as she poured out some tea. "My sister and I have known him since he was but a baby in swaddling clothes. He was very enamoured of Rena; it was quite charming. But he was always such a shy, gentle child … usually ill with whatever sickness was in season, but very quiet and polite. For him to do something like this …" She shook her head. "I simply cannot comprehend it!"

Westa nodded. "I know- it's so hard to believe …" She dabbed at her eyes with the kerchief, trying to compose herself. "He hadn't been to Arlia in over a week. When he next visited, he had a group of armed men with him. I … I tried to stop them, but-" She gestured at her face helplessly. "They … they forced Rena into a carriage and left for Salva."

"And then what happened?"

She trembled. "No one knew what to do; we were all too afraid."

"Mister Barnes – he's the mayor of Salva – is very wealthy, and powerful," Rachel said for Claude's benefit. "They own the gem mines there, the Drift, you know. He and his family were always kind people. But my word ... clearly you can never know …!"

"Mayor Barnes is away," Westa said, looking down at her hands. "I borrowed Mister Hearn's horse," she continued, sniffling. "I-I tried to see the king- to ask him to send help- but the castle staff said he is occupied and won't be seeing any audiences for a while."

She twisted and tugged the kerchief in her hands. "They-they wouldn't even look at my letter from Mayor Regis-!" She sobbed. "I don't know what else to do- My daughter- my poor Rena …!"

Even if you had been able to see the king, Dias thought privately, there isn't much he would have been able to do, given the current state of affairs. Out loud, he said, "I'm heading for Salva."

"Thank the heavens," Rachel exclaimed.

"Oh, no," Westa cried, half-rising from her seat. "I couldn't ask that of you. It's too dangerous- all the brigands-"

"And how dangerous was it for you to travel to the castle by yourself?" he replied, quietly.

She shook her head. "I had to."

"What do you think I've been doing for the past ten years?" he said.

She shook her head again, but said nothing.

"Rachel," he said, getting back up, "Take care of Westa, and make sure she doesn't return to Arlia alone."

"Bless you, Dias," Rachel said, as he turned to head for the stables.

He heard the scraping of a chair behind him. "Wait," Claude said.

Dias glanced quickly over his shoulder, not breaking his stride. "And make sure he has somewhere to stay until I get back."

"Not to worry, my dear!" Rachel replied, with far more cheer than necessary.

Moments later, he was on one knee at Cynic's side, tightening the saddle. He had just started when he heard the side door open and shut, followed by the soft sound of footfalls, and the now-familiar voice.

"I said wait," Claude said, sounding irritated.

Dias didn't look up. "What do you want?"

"Alen and Rena," the youth replied, ignoring his question. "They're friends of yours?"

"We grew up together." He gave the belts a quick tug to test, then mounted.

"I see," Claude said. Dias looked down and saw that the youth was at Windsock's side, repeating the mercenary's preparations on the mare.

Dias arched an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

The youth braced one foot in the stirrup against the side of his steed, and mounted. It was hardly the most graceful thing Dias had ever seen, but he managed to accomplish it with greater agility and accuracy than expected, especially considering his previous performances. Claude settled into the saddle, his expression giving away his relief at achieving his goal without falling off and dangling sideways. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Mounting poorly."

Claude exhaled in frustration. "Coming with you, obviously."

I don't have time for this. Dias looked at him, frowning. "Go back. Rachel will take care of you."

"Right," returned Claude, turning Windsocks around and guiding her alongside the gelding. "Unfortunately for Rachel, I told her I wasn't going to be staying in the little honeymoon suite."

Dias blinked. "What?"

"Or maybe it should be fortunately, since she was remarkably enthusiastic about my following you." Claude rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I'd rather not. And that's not the only reason why."

The mercenary raised an eyebrow. "I give my word I'll return after I finish with this business in Salva. This isn't your concern."

"That's not what I meant," Claude replied, reins tight in his hand. "And it is. My concern, I mean. Rena sounds like she's in a lot of trouble; her mom's worried sick. Plus, you saved my hide, back at the bandits' hideout, and it's my fault you went totally off track."

"That's -"

"Besides, you really think I'm going to sit and wring my hands in a hotel room until you get back?"

Dias gazed at the other man for several moments, considering everything. Claude returned his stare evenly, unwavering.

Cynic tamped the ground impatiently. Time is a-wasting.

Despite his better judgment, he gave in. In a fashion.

"Do as you like." The mercenary turned away. "Just don't slow me down."

"I won't."

Author's Notes: OMG FINALLY, we're heading into the action! Hooray! Uhhhhh ... when did I start this again? I can't believe it's already been THREE YEARS (clarification: since I first started the fic, not since I posted chapter four, lol. That was a few months). You are very, very patient people indeed. Hope you guys don't mind my wordy Author's Notes (by all means ignore them if you like XD;). I always like reading background materials and finding out how something was made/developed, so I thought it was only fair to share my process and thoughts here (although most of it is really just me whining, sorry!).

I want to say, again, thank you to everyone who is following this; it means a lot. Whenever I get discouraged with how slow it's going, I reread the reviews and it makes me feel "Yeah, I can do it! I can write this fic! It's not completely stupid!" and I manage to churn out a few more paragraphs and tweak/refine a bit more writing before "real life" (aka work etc.) kicks in and/or I sputter off again. I'm lame like that. But I also want to add that I really enjoy reading the comments where people try to extrapolate scenarios from what they've already read. The fact is that I began If/Then with no clue about where this fic will "ultimately" lead. Probably not the best way to go about starting and posting pieces, but there you have it. As I touched on in my Author's Notes in chapter 1, the entire plot is pretty much comprised of my setting up a what-if scenario angled against the original game story, and then figuring out how everything else might proceed from a purely logical perspective. Like dominos. Hence the title If/Then, taken from the concept of Boolean operators. I do have lots of scenes planned out well into the future and in fact have a number of in-progress chapters running simultaneously (I have lots of bad habits!) and getting edited on the fly as I get closer to those points and resolve various technical issues. (Another bad habit of mine: getting bogged down/obsessed with details. It's so hard to find a decent balance.)

Thus, I hope no one gets the wrong impression from this chapter; I like Celine! But this sort of confrontational outcome made the most sense to me from the very beginning. Apologies to Celine fans; but don't worry, you know you haven't seen the last of her.

Sort-of-minor in comparison to the game but-not-really if considering a real timeline ... I moved the bludgeoning of Dias' family back eight years. Why? Because it's always struck me as being completely ludicrous that it only took him two years to go from a 23-year old mediocrity to suddenly becoming a world-renowned master swordsman at the age of 25. The staggered timeline hinted at in the manga (and actually clearly depicted in the anime, as much as I dislike the anime), where their deaths occurred when Dias was much younger, made a lot more sense to me. The Tournament of Arms is another victim of my timeshifting. It is an annual event in the game, but I changed it to every five years just to make it more realistic and epic. It's not baseball season, alright? In the previous chapter the king referred to this year as "The Year of the Arms" which gives it a more impressive feel, I think so anyways XD

And speaking of ridiculous, what was up with Claude wandering around Expel for so long in those clothes that supposedly screamed "HAY GUYZ! I'M FROM AN ALIEN WORLD!"? Again, never made any sense to me (then again, some of the Expellians dressed like they came from Federation planets, so whatever ...) His new clothes in this chapter are based on the designs I did for my other project, The Wend (images can be seen on my Wend LJ or in my website/deviantART account, linked from my profile).

Regarding Aunt Rachel: I apologize. I couldn't resist. In case you haven't noticed, I love background characters, and from this chapter onwards you'll likely be seeing quite a few NPCs being fleshed out, like our dear Aunt. She always cracked me up in the game with her out-of-context assumptions. I hope it wasn't too big of a groaner, and that you can forgive me :P