SIX
haruspex (the rescue)
"You don' look like miners," said the man, eyeing the cloaked riders on their horses. "You don' look like locals either." He adjusted the heavy pack of tools slung over his shoulder and coughed thickly, turning his head away and spitting on the ground.
"That's probably because we're not," Claude replied.
"If youse ain't miners, you don' have a business to be in Salva," the miner responded. "And if youse are, yous'd leave as well. There hain't been any work since the earthquake."
He coughed again, and continued walking past them, out towards the edge of the town.
Claude shifted Windsocks ahead several steps closer to Cynic, and looked back at the stranger. "What's the friendly man talking about?"
Dias watched the miner from over his shoulder. "Salva isn't known for earthquakes. There are sometimes cave-ins, usually from mining activity." He frowned. "The gem mines are the lifesblood of Salva. If there's been a cave-in, they need to rebuild the underground structures in the Drift. Otherwise, this place will dry up and die."
Claude scratched his cheek. "He doesn't look like he's about to do any rebuilding," he said.
"No, he doesn't." Dias turned back to the village heart ahead of them. "Either this 'earthquake' was particularly devastating, or it was something else."
"Like the fact that the Barnes family owns the mines," Claude ventured.
Dias felt inclined to agree.
They dismounted at the travelers' stop. Dias frowned again. There were no other animals.
"It really is kind of dead around here, isn't it?" Claude commented, as they tied the horses to a hitching post near several feeding troughs.
As if on cue, a man and a woman came into view from around the corner of one of the houses. Their manner reminded Dias of skittish, overly-sensitive animals. Upon realizing the presence of the two men, Dias noticed that their gaze fell lower, to the swords at their waists, and they immediately turned their heads to avoid any eye contact whatsoever.
"Excuse me," Claude said, hailing them with a slight arm motion, and starting towards them.
The couple looked up and around briefly, as if trying to find some other person he might have been addressing, and when it was clear that there couldn't possibly be anyone aside from them, mild panic set in on their faces.
"Would you happen to know anyth-" Claude began.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," said the man, still not meeting their eyes, and he quickly wrapped one arm around the woman's shoulder, making an abrupt about-face to retrace their steps.
Claude stopped. "Wow," he said, staring after the retreating couple. "And here I thought we couldn't get a nicer welcome than the one we just had."
"Don't bother," Dias said. "There's a man named Eduardo who tends to be quite knowledgeable about the most recent goings-on. He'll probably be at the Rough."
At his companion's blank expression, he added, "It's a well-known bar in Salva."
"... Right," Claude replied, nodding. "I'll pretend I know what you're talking about."
"It used to have another name some time ago," Dias noted. "But I suppose they felt 'Seven Dwarfs' didn't quite present the right impression."
Claude raised an eyebrow. "Are you pulling my leg?" he asked.
Dias paused. "Am I what?"
"I mean, are you joking?"
The mercenary looked at him. "Why would I be?"
Claude scratched his head. "Uh, the mining town and all ..."
"I don't follow," Dias said, irritated.
The youth's gaze shifted to the side. "Never mind."
The owner of the Rough and Tumble was wiping down the counter with a rag when they entered. He glanced up as they approached and adjusted his rolled-up sleeves.
"Welcome, travelers," he greeted them, but the inflection in his voice was barely even half-hearted. "You look like you're brooding over something. How about a drink to pick you up?"
"We'll pass," Dias answered. The man didn't seem to recognize him; well, it had been a while since he was last in Salva anyways, and that was probably for the best.
"A'ight," the man answered, making no further effort to engage them. He rearranged some bottles and mugs, then continued working the rag on the bar.
"Is Eduardo here?" Claude asked, looking around.
Dias scanned the room quickly. "Don't see him," he replied. He'd work with what was available, then. He sat down at the bar and nodded to the bartender. "You look rather glum yourself," the mercenary noted. "How is business?"
The bartender sighed, wiped his hands with the cloth and leaned against the counter; his body language was completely that of a man just about ready to throw his hands in the air, pack it all up, and leave. His words came out in a flood of resignation. "I can't be anything but brutally honest: this place is really starting to die. It picked up about a month or so ago when the Drift first closed. That usually happens when the mines suffer a temporary closure; the workers sit around waiting in intervals until the structure is patched up again. But this time ..." He shook his head. "Time keeps passing and things keep getting worse. It's started to dam right up. No mining, no gems, no visitors. Still have a few dedicated customers around here, but ..."
"Why wouldn't they allow anyone in?" Claude asked. "I thought keeping the mines up and running was key to Salva's existence."
"We all thought so too," the man replied. He pointed over at a sprawled figure, passed out in the far corner of the bar. "See that man over there? He came all the way from Linga to work in the mines. But nobody's been allowed in the Drift, not even for restorative work. He's only here because he's got nowhere else to go. Sad."
"I'm not from around here," Claude said, "but even just coming in, it did seem pretty quiet for a mining town."
"It's the damn brigands," said a rough voice.
The two men half-turned; the speaker was a miner sitting at a table behind them. His face was leathery and lined, and he gripped a drinking cup in one hand, his tools of the trade in a worn sack at his feet.
"Once you get closer to the manor," the man continued, "you'll find a lot of riffraff hired by the mayor's son. And armed to the teeth with blades, every one of them."
"Why would he do that?" Claude asked.
"Who knows?" the miner replied, taking a drink. "It's none of my business."
The bartender nodded. "Tria knows what's going on in Alen-Tax's head. People are afraid to leave their homes now, especially not since he kidnapped that poor girl from the neighbouring village."
The miner snorted. "I don't care. I just want to work. The life of one girl is none of my concern."
Claude frowned.
"I've heard about it. I understand that's quite out of character for the man," Dias remarked.
"Right you are," the bartender agreed. "I was pretty reluctant to believe it myself, 'till I heard it straight from the manorfolk." He sighed. "You know, for a gem mining town, Salva was always a real peaceful, straightforward kind of place. People worked hard, appreciated what they got out of it. We always used to have lots of travelers, especially ones who wanted to see the famed baubles that come out of these mines, but never any real trouble. Until now, that is."
Dias leaned slightly against the counter. "Did anything else remarkable happen before the earthquake?"
The barowner placed his hands on his hips, considering. "Let's see now ... there were a few things. They were celebrating a couple of large finds in a new section of the mines. Word was that some real valuable gems were picked up in those initial hauls. I heard there was this one beauty of a stone worth tens of thousands of fol, and word was maybe the Barnes boy might use it for a fancy proposal. Everyone knows he's been sweet on that Arlian girl for ages." He shook his head. "A real shame it turned out the way it did."
"I heard the Mayor is away," Dias said. "When did that happen?"
"Oh, sometime after the first lode was uncovered. Tria's word, I can't imagine what's going to happen once he returns. We're all praying it'll be soon." He laughed humourlessly. "I remember I was talking to a carpenter just before the earthquake who was hired to do some work on the mansion. I remember saying he should have it easy, that it was good that old man Barnes didn't stay to oversee the construction personally, since he's such a stickler for the details, but-"
He scratched his head, bemused. "Come to think of it, I haven't really seen anything done on the building at all. I wonder what happened to him."
The barowner frowned. "And another funny thing. Now, I know Cross Kingdom is being hit with its share of earthquakes, and far be it for me to think Salva is beyond the reach of the Sorcery Globe, but ... with the strongest cave-ins, and the bar pretty close to the mines, I usually feel something. Don't recall a thing with this last one, though."
The barowner sighed, shrugged, and then started to wipe down the counter again. "But what can you do?"
Claude's brow furrowed slightly.
"I see your expression there," the bartender said. "I know what you're thinking. But really. What am I going to do? What Alen-Tax is doing, it's beyond us. The Barnes family practically owns the whole town. You can't think there won't be any repercussions. And besides, how can I fight a group of armed thugs?"
"But there must be ... some way," Claude said. "It's your livelihood, isn't it?"
The bartender shrugged helplessly.
The miner shrugged as well. "I don't care. Like I said, I just want to start working again, and soon. All this has nothing to do with me."
Claude suddenly pushed back his seat from the bar and stood up. "On the contrary," he snapped. "It has everything to do with you."
The remaining few patrons in the bar were staring obliquely in their direction. The man looked up, startled. "What?"
"Think about it," Claude demanded. "I don't know this Alen-Tax, but he pretty much sounds like he's gone mad. Whatever it is, so long as the Mayor's away, it's pretty clear he's not going to let go of any kind of control and let anyone back in there. If you care about your job so goddamn much, you need to wake up and realize you should be trying to figure things out and actually do something about this, instead of sitting on your ass and blowing what's left of your money on turning yourself into a drunken mess. Acting like nothing in this world affects you isn't going to give you your damn job back. It's already been this long. How long are you going to rely on waiting for somebody who may or may not come back in time?"
Dias inclined his head slightly towards the shadows of the barroom, hiding his half-smile.
The man's eyes widened and he set his drinking glass down on the table, raising his other hand palm up. "Look, I don't want any kind of trouble with you people, alright? I'm an old man with a family; I ain't got the power to do anything. I'm just an old man with mouths to feed."
"Now look here, you two," the bartender objected. "I've got little enough business as it is."
"Sorry." Claude turned to Dias. "I guess I'd better wait outside," he said to the mercenary, disgust in his voice, and turned to leave.
Dias shrugged and got up to follow him.
"Crazy louts," the miner mumbled under his breath. "Can't even enjoy a drink without getting hassled …!"
"Good job at not attracting attention," Dias commented as they headed for the door.
"Nobody here really knows what's going on and they're all too self-centred or scared to do anything," Claude grumbled.
"I agree," Dias replied. "But the fact is: this is a world of uncertainty, and mining itself is a dangerous occupation. They do have their own livelihoods to think about, and they are thinking about it. Even if only in a short-sighted way."
"I know, I know," Claude said. He sighed, brushed the bangs out of his eyes with one hand. "It's just, the way that guy was talking - that really pisses me off. I couldn't help myself."
Dias raised an eyebrow. "Try to, in the future."
"I will," he sighed again. "Sorry. I can't stand it; they're so set on stalemating themselves to death in there, when it's still probably early enough to do something about it."
"I say 'dere," came a wavery voice from their left, followed by a hic and a belch. "Whoo! 'Dat's some strong stuff."
Dias paused, then smiled vaguely at the short, bent over figure making his way towards them. Eduardo. "I should have known."
"Damn right you should 'ave!" The old man rattled his cup at them, then wobbled past them, intent on a table. An ill-fitting hat was perched precariously over one brow, creating a distinctive frame against the wrinkled, well-worn face. "I should be downright insulted, you lookin' fer tips anywhere else."
As Dias made his way after the old man, he heard Claude mutter under his breath, "Another wasted drunk?"
Eduardo heaved himself into the chair, a lopsided expression of smugness on his face. "Hey now," he wheezed. "I dun' mind being called a drunkard, but merely another? Young man, I'll trust you ta' treat yer elders wit' a bit more respect 'dan 'dat!" He slammed the cup down on the table, more for show than actual effect. The contents sloshed over the brim, splashing lightly.
"Don't be causing any trouble now," the barowner called from behind them.
"You know I'm good," the old man said, waving flippantly. The owner sighed, shook his head, and continued with his chores.
"Eduardo claims to be the finest drunkard in Salva," Dias informed Claude, pulling up a chair and sitting down as he spoke. He tilted his head in the direction of the fellow in question. "He seems tipsy but is surprisingly well-stocked with not only liquor, but also information. A worthwhile contact."
"Hear hear," said the old man, raising his cup to toast the empty air. He belched again.
Claude looked from the drinker to the mercenary, and back again. "Sorry," he said, sitting down with a sheepish, if somewhat dubious, smile. "It just seemed like everybody here is ignorant and not working very hard to change the fact."
"Noddaaporblem," Eduardo slurred understandingly, taking another chug of his ale. "Sometimes it's safer, ya know? Wanna drink?" he added, shoving his cup inches away from Claude's nose.
"Thanks, but no thanks," Claude replied, gently pushing the proffered cup away.
"We heard a lot of miners complaining that the Drift is closed due to an earthquake," Dias said.
"Hah!" Eduardo laughed harshly and slapped his thigh, splashing a quarter of his drink all over his pants. Claude leaned backwards slightly. "So obvious! 'Dey say 'dat 'da mine wuz closed 'cause of a cave-in … the truth is different … Really, Alen …" The old man shook his head, and downed another gulp.
Dias exchanged a glance with Claude.
Eduardo hiccupped noisily, and waggled a finger at the air, mumbling some incoherent syllables before imbibing again. He rocked forwards, then back, and looked around. "… Whoo. Wha? Where wuz I?"
"You were saying, about Alen?" Dias reminded him.
"Ah, Alen," Eduardo chuckled again. "'Dat mad Barnes boy. He 'been acting real strange lately. I tell you somethin' funny, fer sure." He crooked a bony finger at them, gestering them to come close. Dias and Claude leaned in.
"Apparen'dlee …" he began, and trailed off. The two men leaned in further.
"… He built some strange altar in 'da back of 'da Drift …!" The old man laughed loudly, showering his listeners with spittle.
Dias sighed inwardly. Such was the price of dealing with people. Even competent ones. Sometimes especially the competent ones.
"An altar?" Claude said, grimacing and wiping at his face. "What the heck is he going to do with it?"
"Idunno," replied Eduardo, knocking back another shot. He held the cup angled towards him, eyeing its contents critically. "But …"
The two men looked at him expectantly.
"… 'Dat's all fer today," he finished.
"That's it?" said Claude.
Eduardo spread his hands wide, the remaining bit of ale sloshing to the ground "What? Can't drink all 'da time, ya know!"
"Thanks, Eduardo," Dias said. "We'll see you around."
The old man acknowledged his farewell with a tip of his hat. "Buh-bye," he replied.
Outside the bar, Claude shook his head, wafting one hand in front of his face. "Man ..."
"It's a bar," Dias said.
"No way," the younger man responded dryly. "Nice guy, though." He nodded. "And, as you said, a worthwhile contact. But I think I'm going to pray for his liver." He braced both hands against the fence, leaning back against it, and looked over at the mercenary. "Are you sure Eduardo is right?"
"He always has been."
"How does he know, anyways?"
Dias shrugged. "He's the village drunk. Perhaps people don't think anything when he's nearby."
"Ohh-kay. So now what?"
"Put together the story," Dias replied. "First, they hit a motherlode of gems. Everybody's happy. Barnes goes away on a business trip with extra funds to spare, all the while thinking the Drift is in good condition and in good hands. And then comes the carpenter."
"Okay," Claude nodded. "So ... as soon as he's gone, then the son hires a carpenter to build an altar in the Drift, who the heck knows why, but tells everyone that an earthquake closed the mines to hide the construction. And he apparently hires a bunch of goons so that no one can get in, and they kidnap Westa's daughter. But ... why?" He frowned.
Dias furrowed his brow. "It doesn't make any sense."
Claude shrugged and folded his arms. "He really wanted to marry her, I guess."
"Clearly," Dias replied. "But it's completely out of character."
"Maybe she turned him down, and he did go crazy," Claude suggested. He paused, then looked up at Dias. "Ah, sorry - I know he's your childhood friend."
"No," Dias replied, deep in thought.
Claude looked confused. "But in Cross, you said-"
Dias shook his head. "No - nobody's said a word about a proposal actually having taken place, and those - especially the failures - are the fastest kinds of gossip to go around. He was already planning this. He didn't kidnap her until after the altar was built." He started walking away even before finishing his sentence. "We'd best get to the mansion."
Claude hurried after him. "But the people he hired-"
"Are going to be extremely sorry they became involved in this," Dias replied.
Claude looked mildly dubious, but he noted that the youth followed him without a word. As they made their way towards the mansion, he noted how empty the streets were, and how many homes had seemingly shuttered their windows and barricaded their doors. Salva almost looks like a ghost town, he thought.
There was a scream.
The two men stopped. They were on one side of a short alleyway, one of the thin spaces between houses, and could see the backs of a trio of men on the other end. Their waists were lined with fat beltbags that rattled and jingled as they moved - purses most likely filled with stolen treasures.
A slight slip of a girl, freckle-faced and out of breath, her pink hair tied in pigtails, struggled in between the men. An overturned basket lay near them, squashed strawberries and apples scattered on the ground.
"Come on, miss," one of them sneered. "Why the noise? No one's going to come anyways."
"Besides, ladies shouldn't be wanderin' 'round this time of the day by themselves," another mocked. The maiden whimpered.
"Not much to look at, are you?" said the third, the one with his grip on her arm. "Now, maybe without that dress-" The other two laughed crudely.
"P-please," she pleaded. "I had to go pick s-some fruit; I couldn't wait any longer. If it may please you, sirs, I would be- I would be glad to bring you some of my jams-"
The brigand reached over and violently ripped off one of her hair ribbons. She screamed again.
"Now, why would we want to do that, when we could have something better?" he jeered.
Claude wasted no time, crossing the brief distance between the two groups and striding straight up to the man holding the girl's arm.
"Hey, you asshole," he said to the man's back.
The brigand turned around, just in time for his face to meet the other man's fist with a loud crunch. The maiden shrieked, her hands to her mouth, then quickly darted around behind Claude, shaking.
"Garl!" one bandit cried out as the man fell to the ground, screeching bloody murder and clutching at his nose. His bursting waist pouches did just that, spilling much of their contents and sending them clattering around him.
"You little worm-" the other bandit snarled. He and the remaining standing ruffian drew their swords, then did a doubletake upon meeting Claude's angry glare. "You're-"
"We're what?" Dias said, drawing his sword. The younger man did likewise.
The two thieves hesitated, blades wavering unsteadily in the air. There was a groan from their feet, and one of the men cursed, bending over and quickly dragging the fallen brigand up.
"You'll regret the kind of hell you've brought on yourselves! Yer messing with Alen-Tax!" he shrieked, and the three of them ran off.
Claude sheathed his sword. "Uh, your basket," he said to the girl, beginning to bend down to retrieve the fruit amongst the spilled contents of the brigand's purse.
Suddenly, he halted in his motion.
"Hey," he exclaimed quietly, at a volume almost too low to hear. "Heyyy." The young man knelt down slowly, sifting through the baubles on the ground. "You gotta be kidding me. I don't believe it."
"What?" Dias asked, sheathing his sword.
Claude got up. He was grinning from ear to ear. "I think," he said, "I found my sanity." He held up a silvery-white contraption in his hand.
Dias took in the alien appearance of the strange gadget. It looked like a gleaming sculpture, all carved or moulded somehow in one piece. It had a handle of a sort, a slightly curved hilt that fit smoothly into the palm of a closed hand, the faint outlines of odd bars and rivets of some sort marking its side.
This must be his phase gun, he realized. And the trio were likely the three missing bandits from the hideout - just happened to be caught up in Alen's henchmen-hiring frenzy. Of all the coincidences in the world ...
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he replied bluntly. The younger man laughed at the unimpressed tone of his voice.
"Ah," said the maiden from behind them.
Claude quickly tucked the hand with the phase gun beneath his cloak. "Are you alright?"
She picked up her hair ribbon, her hands still shaking slightly. "I-I am safe, thanks to you, kind sirs."
"Let's go," Dias said, already on the move again. "They went off in the direction of the manor."
Claude followed. The girl, to his surprise, did as well.
"Are you friends of Miss Rena?" she asked, barely keeping pace.
Claude glanced back at her, surprised. "Do you know her?"
"She and her mother used to buy jams from my shop whenever they were in Salva," she said. "I saw the carriage when Mayor Barnes' son brought her back from Arlia. It was horrible."
"You saw them?" Dias asked sharply, halting and causing Claude to skid to a stop to avoid colliding into him.
"Y-yes," she nodded, panting, her hand against her chest. '"I ... would have never thought that Alen would be the type of person to do such a horrid thing. I suppose you truly cannot judge a book by its cover." She paused. "And I don't know but ... there was something terrifying about his eyes." She shivered at the thought. "They were almost glowing, like a demon's."
Dias and Claude exchanged looks. "Glowing eyes?" Claude exclaimed, almost incredulously.
She looked mildly affronted. "Good sir! I only tell you what I saw with my own eyes." She closed her eyes and sighed. "Poor girl ... I wonder what will happen to her? This would be a good time for the Warrior to appear. Maybe there is no Warrior."
"There sure isn't going to be a Warrior to save you now," a gruff voice snarled.
The girl blanched.
The stately manor and its outer wall, built to resemble a miniature castle's exterior ramparts, rose behind a large group of armed brigands. Scanning quickly, Dias counted at least ten ruffians just in their direct, slightly uphill path to the mansion's double doors.
"Oh ..." he heard the girl whisper, her voice trembling even in that mere syllable.
"I think," Claude said to her, "you should go now."
"Y-yes," she replied, but didn't move. He could practically hear her legs shaking.
Dias cursed at this slowdown and drew his sword. Mentally, rapidly, he considered the numbers and odds and decided they were just fine. Any ordinary peasant could see it wasn't a logical risk to take, but for him they were just another group of stupid, pathetic, cowardly bandits. He'd cut them down in bloody, uncaring swaths, whoever was standing in his way. His hand clenched tightly around the hilt of his blade, the sword about to fly from its sheath-
"Screw it," muttered a voice from behind him. Before he could respond, Claude stepped between him and the bandits, drawing something from inside his cloak as he did so.
The sword paused in middraw. "What are you-" Dias started, before realizing it was the phase gun.
Claude gave the device a quick twist and wrench with two flicks of his wrist, then leveled it at the heads of the bandits standing between them and the distant, barricaded door.
"Get the hell out of our way," Claude said, his gaze hard and unblinking.
"What are you doing?" Dias muttered again, too low for the others to hear.
Claude half-turned his head to acknowledge the question. "Just wait," he replied out of the side of his mouth.
The brigands guffawed. "What can the brat-prince of Cross do about it?"
"I've got news for you," Claude snapped, refocusing his entire attention on the other men. "I'm not the Prince."
"Is that so," said one of the bandits. "And what should happen if we don't move out of your way, Your Highness?"
"Your grave," Claude replied flatly. "You've got three seconds to think about it." His hand moved ever so slightly; the motion was so minor Dias almost missed it. "One."
There was a strange buzzing/humming sound that rapidly grew in pitch and intensity. The air seemed to heat around the device. Three flashing red lights tracked their way around its edge, speeding in time with the sound. The bandits exchanged quick, uncertain glances.
"Two-"
The sudden beam - no, blaze - of light was so bright it nearly blinded him. A lightning bolt, but with a completely alien sound, like air itself being rent in half. The noise filled his ears, together with the startled screams and hollers of the bandits.
And as quickly as the light and sound had swarmed his senses, it was over.
Dots and bursts of coloured light flittered faintly in his vision. Dias blinked hard, shook his head to clear the afterimages, then stared.
The entire door, not to mention some of the surrounding work of the building - wood, frame and all - had been blasted open like a butchered animal with its guts splayed around the inside and outside of the mansion's front structure. A handful of bandits lay sprawled on either side of the path, alive and in one piece, but not likely to be jumping to their feet any time soon.
The jam shop girl mutely sank to the ground in shock, eyes wide as saucers.
He took a slow step forward. The words echoed in his mind's ear.
Light … Bearing a Sword of Light …
"... three?" said a small voice from his left. He turned to find himself looking at Claude.
The younger man blinked, then grabbed at Dias' arm. "Come on!" he said. "Let's go!"
"What was that?" Dias asked as they ran towards the entrance.
"It seems-" Claude replied breathlessly, fiddling with the phase gun. "-it seems to be malfunctioning."
"What?"
"I set it to stun," Claude explained, which of course explained nothing to Dias. "Or - at least - I thought I did. But even if I didn't, it's not supposed to fire like a freaking cannon!" He half-slapped, half-shoved the weapon against his waist as though trying to slide it back into some invisible sheath at his side. "Argh, I forgot these aren't my pants. Damn it!"
They were crossing what used to be the threshold, entering the foyer, when a familiar, wavering voice called out. "Master Flac? Tria's eyes, is that you, Master Flac?"
The Barnes' elderly butler, Piet, was on the floor, while Olaf, the heavyset cook, was braced against the wall next to him. The housekeep Glenys was there as well, clinging to the railings of the staircase.
"Oh, thank the heavens it is you, Master Flac," the butler said with relief. "What in the name of Tria just happened? What was that terrible explosion? And that bright light?"
"Crap." Claude dashed over to the servants, helping them up. "I am so sorry. Are you okay?"
"Whatever are you sorry for, young man?" the old man replied, confusion clouding his face. "Did we have an earthquake?"
"There's no time to explain," Dias said. "Where's Rena?"
"I was here when Miss Rena was brought into the mansion," the cook said. "But I haven't seen any signs of her recently."
"What Olaf says is true for all of us. But she has not left the mansion, that I can tell you," said the butler.
"She was locked in one of the rooms on the second floor," the maid added, joining them at the foot of the stairs. "But she's no longer there. The door is open and I was just in there myself, just before the - that ... thing."
Dias looked around at the trio of servants, and frowned. "Where are the rest of the manorfolk?"
"We are the only ones who remain," the butler said. "We have served our Lord Barnes for many a year and would not leave as readily as the others, not even with the addition of those ... ruffians."
"If I may, Master Flac," Olaf said.
"Out with it," Dias answered impatiently. "Forget your formalities."
"Master Alen's chambers," the chef suggested. "Perhaps there is something there. No one has been permitted in the room for weeks, not even Glenys."
The matronly housekeep nodded in confirmation. Dias immediately headed for the staircase, the others following as closely behind as they were able.
Upstairs, Dias grabbed the handle of the door and pushed, but it would not budge. He paused. "Is Alen in there?"
"I can guarantee you he is not," Glenys said.
"I-I am sorry," the butler huffed, trying to catch his breath from his attempt at matching their speed up the stairs. "I do not ... I do not have ... a key ..."
"Stand back," Dias commanded. As soon as they had moved aside, he kicked sharply at the lock, once, twice. He glanced over at Claude, and the other nodded. "One, two, three-!"
They charged, slamming against the door at an angle with their shoulders, throwing their combined weight behind the impact. On the third slam, the door gave way. Dias pulled back and steadied himself as it fell inwards. Claude, meanwhile, stumbled forward with a "whoaa!", landing face down on the fallen door.
"Ow," he muttered, then looked up.
They all stared. The entire room had been shredded to pieces.
Strips of wood, fabric, fine linens from the bed and the curtains, feathers from pillows, all of it lined the floor in thick, unkempt piles. Several feathers floated lightly in the air, disturbed by the draft caused from the battering of the door.
But the most chilling sight were the walls. A single word had been crudely scratched countless times until not an inch of the room had been left uncovered.
RENA, it read, over and over. RENA RENA RENA RENA RENA RENA RENA RENA ...
"Holy ..." said Claude quietly, staring around at the walls as he slowly picked himself up.
The manorfolk stepped into the room in silent shock. "It ... is like ... a demon has been living in here," Piet whispered, stunned. The old butler walked slowly into the center of the chamber. "Master Alen ... what has happened to you ...?"
"Master Flac ..." Glenys said. She stood in a far corner of the room, hefting up what appeared to be a large, flat panel of wood. "Look at this ..."
They quickly gathered around to examine the housekeep's discovery. The panel turned out to be a canvas adorned with a portrait. A blue-tressed girl with distinctive, long ears, her hair kept in place on one side by a small crescent hairpin, smiled out from the painting. It would have been quite a pretty piece of art, had it not been covered by numerous thick, coagulated slashes of brownish-red.
Rena.
"... is that blood?" Olaf whispered. The butler moaned.
"I knew it," the maid exclaimed. She threw the painting on the floor. "I knew it! That stone that the Young Master had found ... it was a cursed stone ...!"
"The stone?" Claude asked.
The housekeep shook her head, close to tears. "There was a beautiful gem that had been uncovered in the mines, just before the Lord went away ... The Young Master took it, and I saw him staring at it, polishing it all the time." She covered her face with both hands. "As if it had possessed him!"
Piet looked startled. "I remember that stone! It was like nothing anyone had ever seen before. Master Alen told me he was hoping to have it set in a ring for Miss Rena. But he ended up always keeping it with him."
Olaf leaned forward, gesturing wildly. "Yes, yes! After the Lord left, after that stone, Master Alen changed so much! He began to eat less and less, and he would hole himself up in the study for days!"
"The study," Dias said, and raced out of the room.
He frowned at the sight that greeted him downstairs. Aside from some books and other objects that must have fallen out of place in the wake of the Sword of Li- no, the phase gun's - blast, nothing seemed amiss.
The others found him cursing in frustration when they caught up with him. "Where in Tria's name did he hide her?"
"What's that?" Claude asked, pointing to something near a desk leg.
A small piece of gold lay embedded in the rug, glinting faintly in the study light. It was barely discernable against the patterns of the floor covering. Dias bent down to get a closer look.
It was in the shape of a crescent moon.
"Rena's hairpin," he said, scooping the bauble up. "She was in here." He looked around, then strode purposefully to an empty wall and started slamming the side of his fist against it, quickly working his way around the perimeter of the room. When he got to the other side, he began sweeping his arm into the space behind the books, hurling tomes to the ground, emptying the shelves, then throwing the shelves themseves to the floor.
"Dias?" said Claude, concern plaintive in his voice.
"Master Flac," the cook said, his thick brows knit with worry. "What … what are you doing?"
"Shh!" he hissed at them, and rapped again at the wall. "There must be something here. It sounds hollow."
"That's right!" Piet exclaimed. "How could we have forgotten! Bossman of Arlia, that carpenter, he had been working on something in the study - I never saw him leave- I don't understand ..."
Bossman. Dias vaguely recognized the name as the village carpenter of his childhood, a largely self-taught artisan.
The man had always been skilled with his hands, and in his spare time enjoyed carving ingenious toys for the children. He had conceived many designs for devices both curious and whimsical, often incorporating clever moving components. Particularly-
Would you like to see a surprise, asked the man who worked with wood,
bent down to meet the children eye to eye.
The boy smiled
and said nothing;
he had seen it already, and it was not his surprise, just his secret. Till now.
Yes, oh yes, the little girl said, her hands clapping together.
The carpenter pressed down a little lever on the side of the miniature house, and a little wooden panel slid open, revealing a tiny hidden doll. Delighted gasps.
So clever, said his mother, laughing.
Quite the skill, said his father, clapping the other, younger man on the back. And the boy knew he was not prone to faint praise.
"A switch," he said.
The manorfolk looked at him blankly.
Claude nodded, understanding him immediately. He waved his hand to sweep about the room. "Is there anything new? Something that wasn't here before?"
"Well, I don't-" said Olaf.
"The statue, the statue," Glenys cried, as if recalling something.
"What?" Dias said.
"Master Alen purchased a strange statue and placed it in the study," Glenys said, pointing to a far corner of the study. Their gaze followed her motion, landing on what appeared to be an ornate gold urn resting on a tall pedestal. "He told me, 'Don't ever touch it'." Glenys swallowed. "But, sometimes ... it appears to have been moved."
They all gathered around the object in question. Dias impatiently placed his hand on it, feeling the elaborate designs raised and etched upon its surface, and realized it wasn't gold at all, merely the semblace. A gilded wood carving, most likely. He pushed.
Nothing happened. The statue didn't even budge.
"Anything?" the chef asked anxiously.
He ignored the question, and pushed again. Hard. Nothing happened. He growled under his breath and tried pushing it from another angle.
"Umm," he heard Claude say. Dias gave him a look.
The young man shrugged vaguely. "Try something besides pushing," he ventured.
Dias tried pulling it. And lifting it - it turned out to be quite fixed to the column it was sitting on. And pressing down on the top of it. And-
"Uh, maybe a hidden trigger," Claude said. The younger man pushed his sleeves up a bit. "Mind if I try?"
Dias closed his eyes, and took a step back from the statue.
Claude leaned closer to the urn and squinted, peering first at one side, then another. He frowned. Then he placed both hands on the sculpture, fingers searching its surface, tracing the intricate carvings. His brow furrowed, and one hand paused.
"That's odd," he said. "Maybe on the other side-" The other hand found its place on the opposite face of the statue, a symmetrical position.
"I think I got something," Claude said. He pressed in on both sides of the urn.
The sculpture swivelled halfway on its base. The butler let out a sharp exclamation, as the cook and the housekeep gasped in unison.
Something began to rumble deep below them. The sound grew, moving to the wall that had been behind the shelves. Slowly, a slit formed in the corner of the room, and the entire wall slid back to reveal a hidden passageway: stairs that went down, deep down, then faded away, swallowed up by the shadows.
"My goodness," Glenys said, her hand on her chest.
"Blessed Tria," the butler gasped. "What is this?"
Claude took his hands off of the statue. "You know," he said, seemingly to no one in particular, "This sort of thing always sounds clichéd, but when you see it in person, it's actually pretty impressive."
Bossman, you've outdone yourself. Out loud, Dias said, "This must lead to that altar we heard about earlier." Glenys glanced at him bemusedly.
"Quickly!" Piet grabbed at something from the nearby desk. "A light!"
"Let me take that," Olaf said, grabbing the lamp out of the butler's hands. "You're completely out of breath from all the running around. You and Glenys ought to stay here; there's no one else in the manor."
"You really don't need to come down with us," Claude was saying as they made their way into the dark tunnel. In actuality, it wasn't quite that dark, as Alen had thoughtfully strung lamps every so often along the walls - or perhaps this was already part of the existing mines.
There was a growing strange coldness, and a strange echo, throughout the underground space. It felt unnatural, mildly confining. Dias also thought that he could hear water dripping, but perhaps he was just imagining it.
A weak moan caused all of them to pause in their steps.
"... wh ... who's there ...?"
The words were almost gasped out. Olaf raised the light above their heads, and they made out a figure a short distance ahead of them in the channel, a blot on the ground.
Claude reached the spot first and crouched down. "Are you alright?"
Through the dried blood and bruises, Dias recognized the aged features, shades of a younger man.
"Mister Bossman!" Olaf cried, holding the lamp up behind them. "Tria's word, what has happened to you?"
"Oh ..." The man groaned, struggling to sit up. His voice was dry and parched. "Rena ..."
"Hey, careful," Claude said, helping him ease into an upright position. "You really shouldn't be moving if anything's broken."
"No, I ..." The carpenter answered hoarsely, then shook his head. "Rena was taken to the back ...!"
"The back?" asked Piet.
"I was trying ..." Bossman coughed, and breathed heavily. "I was trying to stop him from taking her deeper into the mines. To that chamber. He threw me to the side like a twig."
"You mean Master Alen?"
"Yes," he wheezed, a cracking sound. He squinted up at them. "You're ..."
"It's me. Dias."
The man's eyes widened. "D-Dias!"
"How long have you been down here?"
"For ... Tria, I've lost count. Perhaps two days?" Bossman coughed again, and shook his head. "In the last while before all of this happened ... it only got worse ... That stone - he would occassionally stare at it, into it, and give out an insane laugh."
"What chamber were you talking about?" Dias said.
"Within the Drift. Alen asked me to build a strange room. With an ... an altar of some sort." He made a sharp noise, a choking hack. "It's not hard to find from here. Follow it straight. It's new ... spirals out to the right ..."
"Alright," Dias said. "Get him up to the study." He turned his head to Olaf - whose face was white as a ghost.
Bossman quailed.
"Well," said a dull, lifeless voice he almost didn't identify. "If it isn't Dias Flac."
Both swordsmen spun around.
"Get him out, now," Dias said over his shoulder to the butler. He turned back to the owner of the voice. His eyes narrowed. "What do you think you're doing, Alen?" he said with as much calm as he could muster.
"So you're Alen?" Claude exclaimed. The phase gun was out again, and aimed directly at the other man's chest. "Where the hell is Rena?"
"Don't … fire at him," Dias said, painfully.
Claude looked up at him, then back at Alen. He slowly lowered the device.
The figure Dias had recognized since childhood as Alen-Tax Barnes ignored their words, stepping forward shakily, yet haughtily.
Wait!
Wait for me, please, wait!
A crying voice, the high and innocent voice of a child. He'd fallen down, again.
A hand reached forward, pulled him up.
Alen, they said, oh, Alen. You're so slow.
The two little girls laughed, showering them with flowers.
We're best friends, the four of us. Of course we'll wait for you.
His frame was even thinner and more fragile-looking than Dias remembered, but his stance said otherwise. The face was pale and haggard-looking, but his eyes were large and black, and, more disturbingly, completely blank. A wicked smirk stained his face. He tossed his dark head back.
"How does it feel, Dias?" The voice was strange, spiteful and mocking, and difficult to connect to the person he thought he'd known.
"How does what feel?"
"You were always the smartest one, the strongest one, when we were young. How does it feel now?"
Dias narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"I can't believe how powerful I've become," Alen said, holding out his hands and gazing at them, front, then back. His arms were frighteningly thin, his rich robes hanging off of his frame. "Look at how powerful I am now. So, so powerful. This feeling, it fills my entire body. It's wonderful … !"
"You're mad," Dias said flatly.
Alen laughed. The sound that filled the air was not a pleasant one, high and hysterical. "Yes, mad … Mad with love …!"
"What a sicko," muttered Claude, an expression of disgust on his face.
"Where is she?" Dias demanded.
He stopped, lowered his arms and glared at them. "You can't take her away from me." He swiped at the empty air to his side, fingers curled like claws. "None of you can take her away from me." As he spoke, he strode towards Dias, stopping only when he was mere inches away, empty eyes boring up into the mercenary's face.
"You're not so big now, are you," he hissed. His voice turned taunting. "Your strength didn't help you at all when they died, did it? "
"What?" said Dias, softly.
"When Mister and Missus Flac died, did it? When Cecille died?"
"Dias-" he heard a voice say from behind him, drawn and hesitant. Dias said nothing, but the line of his mouth tightened.
Their faces were covered with blood. There was blood everywhere.
"Is it going to help you now?" Alen spat. "What are you doing to do? Do you think you can lift a hand against poor, sickly little Alen?"
Everywhere.
Without a word, Dias cocked his fist back and punched the other man as hard as he could, knocking Alen over and sending him flying back against the wall. Alen slammed into the hard stone with a sickening sound, red running down his nose and mouth, an expression of complete shock on his face.
"So much for old times," Dias said, and headed into the Drift. Claude hurried after him, silent, shooting a quick glance at the fallen man. The mercenary didn't look back once.
Bossman was right. The tunnel branched wildly, but it was easy enough to tell where to go in the twisting passageways. They followed the newer, far rougher, trail, the route not yet fully worn by human use. A route that veered sharply to the right, and ended in ...
... a church. If it could be called that.
A grotesque affectation of a church.
The chamber that the carpenter had slaved over was a small cavern with walls of broken stone, a hollowed out pit of the earth dressed in garish contrast to its actual nature. The room was lit by hundreds of flickering candle settings, of every arrangement imaginable, crammed into the nooks and crannies formed by the outcroppings of the earth.
Where one would expect windows in a true building, rich brocade fabrics hung, framing nothing but stone. Rows of rocky pillars and mahogany pews lined either side of the chamber, creating a border for a crimson floor tapestry that ran from the entrance, forming a straight path to its centerpiece: a man-made stage, raised by a series of steps.
At the top of the steps, surrounded by tall candle holders and strange, twisted, statues, was the altar. And a prone figure, lying still on its surface, arms raised above its head and shackled down. Almost too still, but he was too far away to tell if it was sleep, or exhaustion, or worse.
"Rena!" he called.
The figure shifted, head straining to look up, to turn. "... Dias?"
A voice interrupted his relief before it could set in.
"I see you've found our little wedding ceremony," said Alen, stepping into the chamber.
That cursed flat, dead voice.
"That's disgusting," Claude spat. "A one-sided obsession like this-"
"One-sided?" Alen laughed as he made his way across the room. "You're wrong. You're wrong. We love each other. We love each other."
"You're sick, Alen!" Rena yelled at him, beginning to struggle, pulling at the chains on her hands and feet. "Dias!" she screamed. "Get these things off of me right now!"
Even before she finished speaking, Dias was already running, straight down the center of the aisle, past the pews and up the stairs to the altar. And to his complete shock, Alen was hot on his heels, at a speed he had never in his life seen or could ever have imagined the man taking.
His blade swung, slicing into the bonds that held her wrists, then her legs, sending them clattering against the altar.
"No …!" Alen howled, reaching out, fingers curled like claws. "We are in love … in love … in lov-auugh!" The madman cut himself off with a shriek as Rena reached over her head, grabbing a candlestick and throwing it in his face. She rolled off the altar and landed with a light thud, then picked herself up, dodging under Alen's flailing arms, and dashing down the stairs.
She stumbled as she ran, and Claude reached a hand out to steady her.
She ducked around the two men. "Be careful," she gasped, panting heavily. "There's something very wrong with Alen."
"I think we've figured out that much," Claude said.
Alen staggered up against the altar, clawing at it and crawling at it to drag himself up, screeching incoherent curses. One hand was clutching something to his chest, now lifting it up into the air -
That stone.
The unrecognizable figure before them was howling and convulsing, slamming itself against the wall and the altar, the hand still raising in the air. The stone in Alen's grip began to glow, shifting from its original sheen into a beacon of fire.
Dias blinked his eyes, not trusting his senses - the air around the crystal seemed to be heating up, shimmering and distorting the gem as if it were a mirage.
"Oh hell, it-" started Claude. Then it exploded.
The blast of energy emanated from the stone in a red shockwave, blinding them and throwing them across the chamber, tossing the three aside like limp rag dolls.
It felt like a hard, brute force slamming into him, knocking him to the ground, knocking the wind straight out of him. Almost by sheer instinct, he rolled onto his side and then onto one knee, trying to gather himself together as he got back to his feet.
His eyes focused, and he saw a flash of a jagged, vaguely humanlike claw-
And something shoved him from the side, hard, out of the path of the claw and sending him tumbling again to the stone floor. He was aware of some sort of impact behind him, and the - the thing stumbling past him, its own momentum propelling it into the rocky cavern wall. He got up again, whirled around.
Claude was on the ground, breathing heavily, now slowly rolling over into a more upright position. The youth was clutching the side of his head with one hand. Dias could see that one eye was shut tight with pain, and the other –
The other was a lacerated mass of blood and tissue behind his fingers.
"Oh god," Rena whispered, quickly kneeling down beside the young man.
"It's- okay-" Claude said, his voice a hissed whisper.
"Please," she said, her tone calm, her frame shaking, "Please don't move. Try to hold still." Trembling, she wrapped one arm around him, resting a hand on his shoulder, and placed the other over Claude's hand that covered his mangled eye. Blood dripped thickly down the side of his face, staining their fingers, his clothes.
She shut her own eyes tightly. "E-everything will be alright. Just try to breath evenly."
Dias knew what would come next.
A gentle light began to glimmer ...
Your body feels light ...
... almost weightless ...
"Get up!" Dias hauled the younger man up by the arm, and the youth struggled to his feet. Rena let out a small scream, and the three of them scrambled out of the way just as the twisted, deranged creature that had once been Alen-Tax threw itself into where they had just been standing, violently slamming again into the cavern wall, roaring like a wounded beast.
"... What the hell?" Claude replied, startled. He looked up at Dias, surprised. The only hint of the terrible wound he'd just sustained was a thin, scarring line curving up under his right eye. And of course, the drying trail of blood down the side of his face, on his hand, and on his cloak.
"... Are you okay?" Claude continued, then blinked, and rubbed at where the gouged injury had been only seconds ago. He stared at his hand, then looked at Rena in confusion. "How-"
"That was incredibly gutsy," Dias said, glaring at him. "And stupid." Claude opened his mouth as if to retort smething, but no words came out.
"Is this really the time?" Rena snapped, glaring back at Dias. Now that he was closer, and neither of them were really moving, he could see her hair in disarray, the scratches on her cheeks, her torn clothing, the redness and dark circles under her eyes.
Westa's face floated in his mind. She's been through a lot, he thought, just as another human/bestial scream filled the air. Rena winced, hands flying up to cover her ears, and he saw the cuts and bruises on her arms as well.
The cavern shook, and loose rocks and other debris began to fall around them. "If he keeps this up," Claude said worriedly, as the stones of the chamber withstood another violent battering, "this cavern is going to collapse."
"Alen," Rena screamed. "Stop this! Can't you see it's us?"
"He's just lashing out blindly," Dias said, finding it difficult to think of the creature as his childhood friend. For some reason, he recalled a faint memory from years past: a small fire that had excited a few of the work animals, and one of Hearn's horses - a relative beast once strong and capable but by then somewhat doddering, and reduced to giving obliging rides to the village children - had snapped two legs and could not fully get to its feet.
They had brought a knife to end it quickly, but the farmhand was inexperienced, and the creature had grown wild with pain or refusal to die. It had turned into a horrible, gutted, red mess of things. The screams it had made were sounds he had never known a horse, nor any animal for that matter, could make.
"He can't hear anyone anymore," Dias said, unnecessarily.
The monster was dangerous and uncontrollable, and he should act quickly to take it out while it was still in a relative state of aimless confusion - one hard slash to the throat, maybe a second.
But he still didn't move.
"What the hell do we do?" Claude asked. "I - you - don't want to kill him."
Dias found his eye falling on the red line above Claude's cheekbone, then turned his attention back to the creature, and gritted his teeth. "I don't think we have a choice."
"That stone," Rena said. "It's still hovering over there at the altar."
The two men turned, surprised. Indeed, Dias saw the crystal was floating where it had been raised when the shockwave hit them, hanging in the air like a pearl on an invisible string, its colour pulsating between hues of green, looking eerily tranquil.
"I'm sure," Rena continued, "If we could destroy it-"
"Maybe ..." Claude muttered under his breath. He reached into his cloak obliquely, and Dias could see the phase gun in his tense grip.
Dias arched a brow skeptically, recalling the immense destruction it had caused earlier. "Are you sure you want to use that thing?"
"It might be better this time." Claude bit his lip. "Let's get to the other side of this place. Can you get Rena - and him- over there? I can try to get a clear shot at the stone, and even if I set off a cave-in, at least we'll be close enough to the exit to get out. I hope."
The corners of Dias' mouth twitched. "Your confidence is overwhelming," the mercenary said.
Claude chuckled without humour. "It's worth a try, isn't it?"
"It is," Dias replied, getting up. "Rena, run for the exit, and get out."
"I'm not leaving the two of you here," she said stubbornly, her face set.
Oh, for- He recognized the expression all too well. "I don't have time to argue with you," he shot back, drawing his sword as the monster - it was easier thinking of it as only that - turned back towards them. "Just get behind me, and stay out of the way."
The monster lunged. Dias blocked a swipe with his blade, and twisted the sword. It howled as its arm sliced into the sharp edge, and he kicked it sharply in the gut, sending it sprawling back.
Across the room, Claude aimed the phase gun at the stone hovering over the altar. He pulled the trigger. Dias winced inwardly, expectantly.
Nothing happened.
Claude made a sound that could only be described as an exasperated noise, followed by a string of unrecognizable curses.
"Look out!" Rena cried. The young man looked up, his eyes widening, then he cursed again and dove out of the way, towards them, as the monster charged where he had been just moments before.
"Well, my amazing plan worked out just perfectly," Claude said, scooting over next to him.
"What's wrong?" Dias demanded.
"It's completely destabilized," the other man snarled, shaking the gun. "I don't think it's going to help us for a while. I'm sorry."
"Wonderful," Dias said.
"Time for Plan B," Claude said, drawing his sword.
Dias frowned. "'Plan B'?"
"Good old fashioned sharp pointy objects." He glanced at Dias with a wry grin, and made a slicing motion. "Might as well go for it. Um, you better do it this time; I'll distract him."
Dias inhaled and exhaled.
"Pointy end out," he said.
Claude grinned again. "I'll try to remember that. Hey!" He shouted at the monster, raising his sword. "Over here!"
Dias turned his attention to the stone. He wasn't expecting much, but as the younger man said, might as well. As he moved, the rest of the world slowed, blurred, beyond his focus as he honed in on his target. Out of the corner of his eye, he remained dimly aware of Claude struggling with the beast, aware of it as something existing and happening outside of his narrowed line of sight. The young man was trying to draw the monster in, yet not truly engaging it in battle, not to hurt it, but rather trying to dance around it.
As he swung, he heard Rena scream something, and the blade met crystal-
And several unexpected things happened.
A crack appeared in the stone.
He felt a slight jolt.
The gem crackled with sharp flickers, tiny lightning sparks, then it exploded into a fiery, blue-white light.
And then the stone crumbled into dust.
At the same time, a feral, dying scream filled his ears. Immediately he turned, in time to see the beast behind him collapse to the ground, writhing violently, then growing still.
Dias stared back down at the faint traces of powder littering the floor in front of him. His arms tingled. He flexed the fingers of one hand, then the other, and soon the feeling was gone.
Bizarre ...
He sheathed his sword.
From across the chamber, Claude slowly picked himself up. "Are you alright?" he asked Rena.
"Yes …" she nodded. "Yes, I think so."
"You okay?" Claude repeated, this time to Dias. The swordsman nodded.
They gathered silently around the fallen body. Miraculously, it no longer looked like the beast they had been fighting. It looked like Alen-Tax Barnes, out cold, bloodied and battered on the hard stone floor of the Drift mines. He looked strangely peaceful, as if he were only sleeping, and nothing at all like the hateful, alien face that Dias had stared into only moments before, back in the tunnel.
Claude shook his head, confounded. "How could a human turn into a monster like that?"
There was no answer for that, so Dias said nothing.
"Alen ..." Rena said quietly, her face pained. She bent down, reaching over to brush the dark hair out of his eyes. "He ... he was so ..."
There was an audible moan.
"Alen!" Rena instantly fell to her knees. "You're still alive!"
She shut her eyes tight, laying both hands on Alen's back, and soon a gentle light surrounded the figure on the ground. The cuts and bruises on his body paled, whitened, faded, leaving crusted marks of dried blood.
She got up and stepped back as Alen groaned. Slowly, gingerly, he rolled onto his side. "… Where …" he clutched his head. "… Where am I?" He slowly sat up, squinting up at them. "... Rena? Dias? And ...? Why are you …?"
Dias extended a hand to him, and the other man grasped it, pulling himself up unsteadily. The mercenary had to carry nearly all of the other man's weight to heft him to his feet - which, granted, wasn't a lot.
Alen stumbled on his way, his balance uncertain, and stared as he got up. "What are you doing here? What on Expel happened to all of you? And-" he looked around, startled, as though seeing his surroundings for the first time. "Where are we? What is this place?"
"Alen …" Rena said, relief flooding her face. She touched his shoulder, and he turned his head to look her directly in the eyes, utterly confused.
She searched his face, and her expression broke into a smile, tears welling up in her eyes. "You're back to normal!" she cried, embracing him completely with a heartfelt squeeze.
"Ah-" he said, taken aback. His face reddened, and then his eyes widened as her condition registered. "Rena- What-? What happened to you? Where did you get all those scratches?"
"Oh, Alen," she said, releasing him. She rubbed at her face with both hands. "I'm so happy you're back!"
"What ... what are you talking about?" He rubbed his temples, then covered his face with his hands. "My head- it hurts so much. I feel rather sick ... Everything is so fuzzy- " He shook his head. "It all seems like a long, strange dream …"
Dias exchanged glances with Claude and Rena. "We'd best return to the mansion. We can talk there."
Author's Notes: You thought this was dead, didn't you? Well, I did too. Why did it take so long? Because I am COMPLETE ASS at fighting scenes. 2/3 of this was finished about 2 years ago, and I finally just filled in the gaps to my satisfaction.
Also, if I were smart, I'd have split this thing into two chapters because it's just gargantuan now. But I'm not, so it isn't, and that's why. I am so sorry. (sadface) Thank you for all your kind comments, they definitely brought warm fuzzy feelings and helped in the motivation department!
(The 3rd reason it took so long, aside from general life/work busy-ness, is that I got really into Suikoden V during the period between the last chapter and this one and would be totally grateful if someone could write me some Shoon fics. OK, back to SO2 lol)
If you noticed the Seven Dwarfs thing and realized where it came from, you get a cookie. I only noticed myself because I was so deep into this chapter back when Second Evolution was finally released in North America. I walked into the (former) Rough and Tumble bar in Salva and when the little name popped up in the bottom left of the screen, I went, "WTF?" lol. I'm assuming somebody thought it was cute ...
Uhhh, I feel like this thing was moving so fast, maybe because not much ever really "happened" in the previous chapters. Hope the pacing wasn't too wonky and the battle choreography wasn't too lame. Those of you familiar with game, manga and anime will notice I've drawn inspiration from all three. The game is definitely my first (and preferred) point of reference for anything, but all three do slightly different things with the material at this point in the story that I felt it worth pulling from each one as most appropriate (or interesting).
Eduardo is an existing NPC in SO2; points to you if you noticed him! I dislike sticking original characters in when there are so many wonderful background folks available for fleshing out. I had to come up with a few names, and I apologize if Glenys, Olaf and Piet are not everyone's cup of tea. It's hard picking names that fit into the soundscape of the other (sometimes bizarre) names that do appear on Expel while not sounding too pretentious for a "commoner's" use, nor too awkward (Bertha, Bob, and Jeeves, for instance, were quickly rejected. Although Aphelion Orion did say it would make it easy to tell who was whom XD). Fun fact: Umm, I didn't realize Olaf/the cook was actually a woman until I played Second Evo and looked closely at the sprite. Wow. All these years. My worldview, shattered. But male cooks were certainly more common in estates in "those days", plus I didn't feel like rewriting it (that and I was too lazy to find a new name). So I apologize, Ms. Cook, for your gender change.
Another thing that always bothered me was the depiction of the phase gun in action (made worse in manga and anime). The gun is always presented as similar to a service revolver in status and conventional use - not too different from the regulation firearms a policeman might have. Probably the last two things you want to design it to be are 1) completely lacking in any precision whatsoever and 2) setting off a giant fireworks show every time you use it. I suppose it makes it cooler, but really? Totally impractical, so I sort of took that to a logical conclusion.
Finally, I have a confession to make. I'm not a big Rena fan (I do like Rena and Alen together though). I was always (a bit less than) lukewarm about her in the game and the manga, but really felt quite awful for what they did to her in the anime, which was a humiliating sort of character assassination I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. (Well, maybe if I had a really really terrible enemy ...) I tried my very best to make her more engaging without being unrealistic or OOC. I found it rather difficult since game mechanics easily enable her to be a skilled martial artist, but crafting a decently realistic, logical story around that was ... hard. In any case, I really want to develop the aspects of her character that I like, and focus on writing her as a character I might actually like, so for Rena fans out there, I hope it went over okay. Granted, her participation in this chapter was kinda limited, but there will be a bit more of her soon.
Thanks again to everyone for your patience!