A/N: I've been putting off this chapter for so long... it's a huge fault of mine. I wanted to publish at least three chapters this summer but it looks like I barely managed ... if any of you have been wondering how some characters looked like, I've put a deviant art link in my profile. If you're bored, try to guess who they are before looking at the picture description. (Just a hint: none of the depicted people in my latest deviation are over 20 years of age.) It may take a while before the link shows up on the profile page.
This chapter didn't really come out well; the idea and the concept was there; the proper words and phrases just didn't flow out.
To reviewers:
(FireyFlames) Hahaha! I had fun writing the April Fool's chapter. :D I'm considering writing more "for-fun" chapters on special dates and holidays; then putting them in a side story. Gotta be fair to the newcomer readers too, I guess!
(Bystander) I never really considered that! I'll take that into consideration when I write future chapters.
(K.T. Winters) I'm really glad! The story is the one thing I'm proud of with this fanfiction; I feel like the grammar and the writing style could use a ton of work. I'll try to keep updating a lot!
:(
Well... since a new school year started, and I'm going to start a job (hopefully), I don't know if I can update as much as I can... I'll do my best, I guess!
Prontera Residence, the following morning
The red-haired professor took the rosary into her hand grimly. She hung her head and sighed.
"I see," Tabby Williams said, simply. The knight who gave the rosary to her nodded.
"It is as you suspect," Caitlin Margaret said. "Grant Graves has committed a grievous sin against the church by rejecting the Pope's orders. It is only a matter of hours until the Pope receives word of this; Graves will subsequently be removed of his position and be excommunicated from the church."
"Of course," replied Tabby.
Caitlin threw a couple of furtive glances around the living room, lilac irises flickering about.
"You didn't hear this from me," she whispered. "But had Grant Graves allowed us to travel with him, I believe a good number of the squadron would have followed him."
Tabby blinked.
"But of course, because his last orders for us were to return to the capital, we could not follow him as we wished. I fear that the squadron had lost its trust for him at that point." She paused and stood up. "If there were one man who would remain loyal to the church, I believed it to be Graves. I am sure he had his reasons; that much I can say for him. I... assume it would be rude to inquire what that rosary means." The knight bowed. "I take my leave."
Not long after Caitlin left, Tabby said down into a cushioned armchair next to a table and reached into her uniform's pocket to pull out her reading glasses. She carefully studied the base of the cross pendant of the rosary, then unscrewed the bottom. There was a tiny compartment; inside was a tightly rolled up scrap of paper.
"Here we go," she mumbled. She shook the cross gently and slowly unfurled the paper. Grant had carefully inscribed a short message onto the paper; she knew from the handwriting it was from him.
Starling was attacked; attempt failed. Headed to Comodo w/ starling
and 4 or 5 others to wait until the mess settles down. Expect
interrogators from the Boss; take whatever possessions you need
and run. Meet me in Comodo in three days.
The message bore ill tidings; the fact that there had been an assassination attempt on Daphne's life so soon meant the Pope's plans were already in motion. A thrill of fear rushed down her spine; any moment now, the Pope's men could come knocking down her door and taking her in for questioning. What was she doing sitting around here? She had to pack her belongings, she needed to bring extra clothing, there were scrolls in her office in Yuno that needed to be sealed; there seemed to be a mountain of things that had to be done, and quickly! Tabby hurried to her room to begin packing her possessions. The ticking of the grandfather clock and the emptiness of the house around her seemed much more threatening now that she had received Grant's warning.
How long has it been since that letter was written? How much time do I have until the Pope hears word of this?
She wasn't staying around to find out.
Prontera Church, Pope's office
He considered himself a man of subtlety - a thinker, not a fighter - but he had to admit that the Long Horn spear in his hands was beautiful.
It was awarded to him as he had been elected as pope, fifteen years ago. Back then, he had been ecstatic, but conducted himself very demurely, gracefully.
It fooled everyone around him, for all he knew. He was, of course, a man of subtlety. He had to be, in order to get away with some of the more than questionable decrees he'd issued over the years.
Tracing his finger along the spiraling grooves of the Long Horn spear point, he had to admire the workmanship and the design. After fifteen years of holding this spear, he still wasn't tired of looking at it. Of course, he made sure never to let anyone see himself being so materialistic, he was the Pope; it wasn't becoming of the Pope to be so attached to worldly things. The spear was merely a symbol, even if he wasn't trained in using long arms.
For a spear, it was fairly light. It had a long, elegantly spiraling unicorn horn for a head that came to a viciously sharp point. Supposedly, the spear itself had magical antidotal properties, and being pierced by the horn would cause unstoppable bleeding. Whether it was true or not, he didn't wish to find out. He wasn't masochistic enough to poison himself or stab himself, for that matter.
A knock on the wooden oak doors alerted him to his senses.
"Enter," he said, quickly propping the spear against his chair and folding his hands over his lap. The doors groaned as they opened, and admitted a messenger in his thirties.
"Your Eminence," the man bowed and knelt on one knee. "I bring unfortunate news."
Pope Hibram merely looked at messenger, waiting for him to finish.
"Chevalier Paladin Grant Graves has abandoned his mission to escort Daphne Trenton back to the capital," he said, voice trembling. "He has sent the squadron under his command, save one knight, back to Prontera without him. We have dispatched interrogators to retrieve his fiancee as we speak."
"I see," Hibram said, evenly. He wasn't entirely surprised or disappointed. In fact, this went along with his plans perfectly. He was going to have that man bring back the traitor anyways. "I'm afraid nothing good will come of this," he sighed. The messenger bought his act, hook, line and sinker. "What is the name of the knight with Graves?"
"Kristoph Reinbach, your Eminence."
Now that he had not expected, and was disappointing news to hear. The knight had a lot of potential, and would have been an excellent addition to his collection of inside followers.
"How very sad," murmured Hibram, just audibly enough for the messenger to hear. "Please wait there for a moment."
He pulled out a scroll of parchment and a quill and penned down a handful of names.
"Are you aware of the Royal Justices that the King and I have discussed?" he asked the messenger. But of course, it was entirely of his own creation. King Trenton was on his deathbed; he had been for weeks.
"Y-yes!" the messenger exclaimed. "A select group of elites, appointed as generals to lead our forces as the will of Prontera! I understand that our very own Cadence Michelle Symphonia is to head the priests and high priests of the church."
"That is correct," the Pope said. "This list consists of the names of those talented individuals who will act in place of the current generals of Prontera. With the king so focused on recuperating, Prontera needs new generals, as the current generals can't lift a finger without the king's orders."
He rolled up the scroll and placed his custom wax seal on it.
"Please distribute this to the heralds and have them deliver the message to the Prontera Chivalry, the crusaders and priests from our church, and the monks' monastery to the northeast. The Royal Justices are to retrieve Grant Graves and anyone associated with him, alive."
"At once, your Eminence."
South of Morroc
It was exhausting climbing up the steep sand dune, and that irritating music wasn't making it any easier. Grant had half a mind to rip the harp from Nicholas's hands and fling it as far as he could, but he told himself that he needed to set an example; he was in a sense, the improvised leader of the group.
They couldn't hire peco mounts for the journey; Eurie had insisted that the route they were going could only be traversed by foot. The dancer squawked as she stumbled in the sand, having lost her footing. Reinbach almost fell over, as he was "volunteered" to help the dancer walk. What sort of guide needs help walking anyways? Grant thought.
Well, it wasn't as though the group could have rented pecos either. Doing such would require signing paperwork, and thus, leave a trail for trackers. Considering how assassins wanted some people in their group dead, and how knights and crusaders wanted the rest in their group captured, it was probably in their best interests to leave as few clues as possible. The guides didn't count. Grant didn't consider them to be part of the group.
Maybe if he said that the unwanted music could give off their location to pursuers...
Before he had the chance to use this excuse, Daphne collapsed as she reached the top of the sand dune.
"Daphne!" Reinbach shouted.
"I'm okay," she called out faintly. "I'm just feeling dizzy..."
Grant took a look at the other travelers. They were smothered in desert sand and sweat. Even Argos, the one who had been growing up in Morroc all his life, looked exhausted.
"Even though you've been healed from your injuries, your stamina isn't what it used to be before the assassination attempt," Grant said. "Although the wounds are gone, your body simply hasn't been given a chance to recover."
"Isn't there any place nearby to rest?" Reinbach asked Eurie. "We're all exhausted, we've been walking for a couple of hours already."
"O-oh!" she stammered as Nicholas continued fiddling on his harp. "A-ah, I'm sure quite sure there is a river... ten minute walk from now." She pointed vaguely towards the south.
"Is that right?" Grant said, peering in the direction that Eurie pointed. "So that wasn't a mirage I was looking at then? That's the best news I've heard all day."
But the river wasn't a ten minute walk away, as the dancer said it would be. It was not until forty minutes of trudging, staggering and irritating music until they began hearing the sound of running water.
"I'm... at my limit..." Reinbach croaked, as he stumbled over his own feet. No one else seemed to have the energy to say anything, only the wilting sounds of Nicholas's harp responded.
"We're almost there," Eurie panted. "I can hear the river."
The river lay at the bottom of a slanted and craggy cliff, about fifteen feet below them.
"Ugh..." Argos muttered. "So it's this kind of river..."
Grant pointed at to a small riverbank at the bottom.
"We'll rest there for a couple of hours to save our strength," he said. "It should be noon right about now; we'll do most of our traveling when the sun isn't as strong."
A wave of relief washed over them and they began their climb downwards. It wasn't long after drinking from the river, had they managed to set up some sort of improvised shade with a large section of cloth and a couple of spears. The water, which could surely be described as tepid at best, seemed cool compared to the baking desert air.
"Alright," Grant said, taking a swig from a brown leather waterskin. He eyed their guides; Nicholas was busy helping Eurie get water by the river. "Gather around." His face turned serious and he lowered his voice. "I've something I want to discuss with you."
Argos, Reinbach and Daphne huddled closer to the paladin.
"Originally, the plan was to stage the princess's assassination," Grant whispered. "But that stalker Colette threw a wrench in our plans, and we had no choice but to flee Morroc to evade further assassination attempts."
Reinbach and Argos both seemed irked at the mention of Colette. Grant had a feeling he knew why.
"What's done is done," the paladin said. He looked at Daphne. "More importantly, I have a proposition for you."
"Me?" she asked.
"Well yes, considering that it concerns you. The plan was to stage your death, tricking the Pope into thinking that you were dead, thus giving him an excuse to declare war on Morroc. But no matter how much power a person has, he can't start a war without the people's general approval. As of right now, your existence is unknown to the public; this is where the trap is sprung. The pope can't start a war without first revealing and acknowledging to Prontera your royal heritage, thus giving you the political significance needed to secure the throne."
"But it's not clear whether the Pope knows if she's dead or not," Argos said. "We're not sure if they know that we know this either."
"There's a lot of things that are unclear," continued Grant. "As such, I feel it's too risky to lure out another one of the hired hitmen and stage the princess's death in front of him again; it's extremely difficult to time when we don't know when the next assassin cross will strike."
"What are you suggesting?" Reinbach asked.
"For now, the Pope can't declare war until he confirms Daphne's death, so we'll protect the princess for as long as possible by evading assassins as best as we can. We're headed to Comodo and staying there for an indefinite amount of time, until the assassins get called off."
"If you ask me, that won't get us anywhere," Daphne said. "I'm still suspected of high treason, and I'm sure the Pope will eventually find another reason for starting a war."
"Which begs the question," said Argos. "If the Pope needs the population's favor, why would they care if Daphne Trenton dies? They think she killed the king."
Grant opened his mouth to reply, but he saw Eurie and Nicholas approach them from the river.
"Later," he muttered. He took a deep swig from the leather waterskin in his hands.
"Hello everyone!" Eurie chimed. "How are you holding up?"
"We're doing great," Reinbach sighed exasperatedly.
"I think we're being followed," blurted Argos, without any preamble.
"What!?" Grant almost spat water from his mouth.
"By who?" Reinbach asked. Nicholas looked around nervously, his fingers poised over the strings of his harp.
Argos shook his head. "I don't know. I'm not even 100 certain. It felt like I was being watched ever since we left Morroc."
"In that case, we're sitting ducks!" cried Grant, grabbing his sword and shield. He stood up and glanced around wildly, scanning the riverbanks. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?"
"Well she just asked us how we were holding up," Argos said, pointing to Eurie. "So I answered."
"Everyone in a circle around Daphne," Grant ordered.
"I can fight too!" she protested.
"Of course you can, but if you die by any chance, you'll lose much more than your life!" Grant argued. "Reinbach, Argos, you two guard Daphne facing the river."
The two of them nearly shot sparks from their eyes as they scowled at each other, but made no complaints and readied their stances.
Eurie, you're an archer so you can use a bow, right? Stand next to Daphne and provide long range support."
The dancer opened her mouth to say something but no coherent words came out.
"I- I... uh..."
"There's no time for arguing!" Grant shouted. "Fine! Nicholas! You should be able to use a bow as well!"
Nicholas nodded, then drew a bow from his bag, on which he promptly nocked an arrow.
The minutes dragged on and tension seemed to press down upon them like a blanket, but no ambushers arrived. Finally, Argos lowered his Drill Katars.
"I think they've realized that we noticed them," he said. "And if whoever is following us wanted to attack, they would have done so a long time ago."
Grant searched their surroundings more. "I agree," he said. He sheathed his sword. "If they wanted to ambush us, they would have done it when we first got here."
The paladin stepped carefully up the rocks of the slanted cliff and stared into the sand at his feet. He counted seven pairs of footsteps, one of them backtracking at a rapid pace, disappearing in the desert wind.
Prontera Chivalry
Ozworth stared in dismay and disbelief at the man slouching with his arms crossed in the chair in front of it. Behind him, the other knights muttered to one another. Mutterings of 'treachery' and 'injustice' floated about unchecked, and behind the seated man, Chivalry Captain Herman looked as though he wanted to rip the closest person's arm off at any moment.
"W-what is the meaning of this, Captain Herman?" Ozworth asked. "What the hell is that blackheart doing here?"
"It's the Pope's orders," Herman spat through clenched teeth. "We've no choice but to follow them."
"But why him of all people!?" Ozworth shouted, pointing to the man sitting down. The man smirked, causing the scar across the bridge of his nose to shift, then uncrossed his arms to stand. His long, black dreadlocks swung as he stood up straight, revealing a set of black and gold lord knight's armor, shining clean and new.
"As of this morning, Alexei Volkov's bounty of five million zeny has been recalled," Herman said, barely able to keep the growl from creeping into his voice. "His formal rank of lord knight has also been returned to him as the Royal Justice of Knights, and he will lead the knight division to assist in capturing the criminal, former paladin Grant Graves."
"Criminal!? But sir!" Oworth interjected. "This man and his band of rogues killed Perceus Green on our way to Morroc!"
Herman's eyes widened in shock, then he shook his head from side to side.
"Unfortunately, the Pope has dismissed his criminal record as of this morning, so aye, that includes young Perceus's murder."
Volkov reached over his shoulder and with one hand, whipped out his Atroce Blade and swung downwards towards Ozworth's face. He stopped an inch from cleaving the young knight in two.
Ozworth's stomach nearly leaped out of his mouth, but he forced himself to glower unflinchingly at the former criminal's yellow pupils. All around them, knights and lord knights drew their weapons warningly, but stopped when they realized that Ozworth was untouched.
"Ahhhh, I remember you," Volkov leered. "I'll praise you for your guts, but I can't say the same thing about your brains."
The knight glared back, his mouth curling into a snarl. His hand went for the Battle Hook on his back.
"I'll never follow your – "
"Oho, hold it right there," Volkov said. "You sure you want to say something to your commanding officer?"
A few knights shifted uneasily side to side.
"That's enough, Olin," Ozworth heard a knight urge. "Think about who you're talking to."
"Let's get one thing into your shitty heads," Volkov growled. "As long as I'm around, there's only one thing you kids need." He re-sheathed his huge iron slab of a broadsword. "Fighting ability. This is what real knights need. Useless things like ideals and faithfulness; I don't need 'em."
The lord knight pointed an armored gauntlet to the small crowd of knights in front of him.
"You've been brainwashed into thinking that knights need to value friendship and loyalty and perseverance or some shit like that. That's just an excuse for the weaklings who aren't men enough to fight with their own strength. That paladin, Graves; he was supposed to be one of the more loyal ones, and look what happened there."
Behind him, Herman looked as though he wanted to strangle him, but his self-restraint was just barely holding himself in check.
"Grant Graves is twice the man you'll ever be," Herman said through his teeth. "Keep that in your head when you capture him, you treacherous swine."
"Treacherous?" Volkov asked. "Yet here I am, pardoned by the Pope and sent to capture the criminal, Graves."
Herman made a sort of strangled noise in his throat. He did not have anything to say in response.
"As long as I'm around, we'll be doing things my way," sneered Volkov, revealing sharp canines. "Be prepared to ride tonight, boys! We're going hunting."
North Prontera Watch Tower, Crusader Barracks
A paladin with short brown hair in his late twenties stared at the letter offered to him from the messenger, as the crusaders around him watched attentively. Another messenger lifted to him a highly polished, mirror-like shield, in which the paladin saw his own neatly trimmed goatee and the collar to his hunter green chestplate.
"Paladin Uriel Margaret," the messenger said. "You have been chosen as one of the interim generals of the Royal Justices."
Uriel took the letter into his hand and studied it carefully.
"If the Pope calls me, then what can I do but obey?" he said. The messenger bearing the shield began to tremble under its weight; Uriel hefted the shield into his own hand and lifted into the air easily. In response, the crusaders stood and saluted in unison.
Near the end of the barracks, Juniper Weiss struggled to keep the conflict inside him from showing on his face. Surely, Uriel Margaret's appointment to general would mean...
"It's unfortunate," Uriel muttered to himself. "I must hunt down one of my own. Who would have thought that Grant Graves would turn his back to the church?"
"Congratulations," the messenger who handed him the letter said. He hadn't quite heard the paladin's musings and mistook the raised shield for a different meaning. "The Pope has high expectations of you."
"A dark time awaits us," said Uriel. "Once more, blood will be shed in sadness. The cogs of war churn and we are powerless to stop it."
Morroc Desert, East Fortress Saint Darmain
He was sure of it; there was at least a score of rogues and the like surrounding them. Reinbach kept a firm grip on the Zweihander underneath his cloak. He gave a nod to Grant; the paladin in turn hovered his hand over the hilt of his sword and paid sharper attention to the fortress ruins. One by one the travelers tensed up and shifted into a more guarded gait, except for Eurie; she seemed completely oblivious to the change in atmosphere. Reinbach wanted to bury his face in his hands. The sooner they arrived at Comodo the happier he would be. It only meant they would be rid of the klutz of a dancer sooner, along with that Odin-damned accompanying music.
After having rested for a few hours near the riverbank, they had continued their trek across the bridge and into a milder region of the desert. Traveling in the outer reaches of the desert was much more bearable than the heart of the desert, especially since the sun wasn't as strong, and the abandoned ruins made it easier, providing the occasional worn-down walls for shade.
No, he took that back. The ruins weren't abandoned at all.
"Rogues," he whispered. Eurie perked up.
"What?" she asked, quite loudly. Everyone winced.
"Keep your voice down!" Argos snapped quietly. But it was too late.
A handful rogues and a stalker burst out from the sand in front of them, brandishing daggers. Another gang of rogues dashed out from behind the ruin walls, arrows trained on the group. They were surrounded.
"FREEZE!" the stalker yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.
"IT'S AN AMBUSH!!" Reinbach shouted. He drew Perceus Green's Zweihander from under his cloak.
"DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" someone shrieked.
"NO, YOU DROP YOUR WEAPONS!"
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"
"DIIIIEEEE!"
The clash of voices was starting to turn unintelligible but Grant's group and the ambushers soon ran out of breath and battle cries. They were left staring lamely at each other.
"Seriously folks, we're mugging you," the stalker said, scratching his bandanna. "Act more like mugged people."
"Well excuse us for not rolling over and dying," Daphne snorted. Her wand hand wavered slightly.
"...You're not doing a very good job of raiding, are you?" Grant asked.
"Sh-shut up!" one rogue said. "Ever since-"
The stalker smacked the rogue silent. "Enough of that, now."
"Ow! Wutchoo do that for?!" he whined, dropping his dagger and rubbing his head. He eyed Eurie. "Hey, yer kinda hot. Whaddya say you and me have a drink?" He picked up a dusty gourd hanging by a rope from his hip. Eurie recoiled backwards.
"Ah... no thank you," she declined politely. "I'm not even legal yet."
"Shucks, rejected already," he said. "Fine, I'll pawn it to one of ya fer 1,000 zeny."
"Hey, haven't I seen you somewhere?" the stalker asked, looking at Reinbach.
"Ah! I knew it!" Reinbach cried, jabbing his Zweihander forward. "Volkov's men!"
"You're from Graves's riders!" the stalker shouted.
"750 zeny?" the rogue offered, waving the gourd around.
"Shut up!" the stalker and Reinbach yelled at the same time. "This is for Perceus!" Reinbach roared, dashing forward.
"Taste Guido's revenge!" the stalker howled.
The two froze, dagger and sword inches from each other, both coming to a realization. It hadn't occurred to Reinbach that the rogues suffered a loss as well. Of course, he remembered one of the knights killing a rogue as they came to support the rear guard, but he had assumed that the rogues were merely a ragtag mob of rogues with no consideration for one another. These rogues were the same as them. They laughed together, they worked together, and they bled together. In the stalker's face, Reinbach saw his own facial expression reflected.
"600 zeny, it's a steal," drawled the rogue. "Kinda funny, cuz I stole this -"
"...Wait, so one of your guys is dead too?" the stalker asked.
Reinbach slowly nodded. "...One of your arrows."
The stalker stared blankly at Reinbach for a moment, then cursed. He slipped his bandanna off and threw it at the ground, revealing a ragged mane of black hair.
"Shit. Shit, man. Uh... look, I don't know what to say. We don't aim to kill when we go raiding. I mean... I'm not gonna apologize, one of your guys killed Guido after all, but -"
"That wouldn't have happened if you hadn't attacked us in the first place!" Reinbach shot back.
"Hey, guy," the stalker shrugged. "Every man has to eat. What do you expect from us? Sell for a living like merchants?"
"500 zeny!" the rogue crowed.
"Dammit Zimba! Completely disprove my point, why don't you?" The stalker dropped his knife arm. Zimba shrugged apologetically.
"...Bah, screw it. I'm just not motivated anymore."
"Wait," Grant said. "If you're Volkov's men, then where's Volkov?"
The rogues eyed each other and shuffled from side to side.
"He up and left, leaving Kardac here in charge" another rogue said. "Said he had some business to take care of and disappeared on us."
"I wonder what he's playing at..." Grant mumbled.
"To be honest, we just want our Boss back," Kardac, the stalker said. "Hasn't been the same without him. I've been trying to keep our men together, but it's hard without him."
"Ya know what?" Zimba said. "I'm tired of luggin' this thing around. If any of you guys wants it, you can have it."
"I'll take it," Argos said suddenly. Zimba tossed him the gourd.
"I'm not even drinking age yet either," the rogue muttered. He shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched against one of the walls of the ruins.
"I don't even know why you went through the trouble to get that," Kardac sighed. "You should have taken something more important than liquor."
One by one everyone lowered their weapons.
"Say, if you happen to run across him, tell him that Kardac and his boys are waiting for him to come back," said the stalker.
"That's if he doesn't try to slice our heads off first," Grant snorted.
"Hehe, yeah, he tends to do that sometimes," Kardac chuckled. "But then if you manage to live after a few encounters, he's like your drinking buddy."
"You rogues wouldn't have happened to notice someone following us, would you?" Grant asked, lowering his voice.
The stalker looked around the ruins, glancing at the other rogues.
"Any of you boys been following these folks here?" he asked. All of them shook their head from side to side. He scratched his head. "Well, if there's someone on your tail, then I don't think it's a rogue," he said. "We've got eyes all over these ruins, and we haven't noticed anyone. Rogues have a sense for rogues, you see."
"It means," Zimba interjected. "That yer tracker ain't real, or is good at doing what he does. Real good. I'm guessin' it's an assassin like you," he pointed to Argos. "Actually, maybe an assassin cross if yer assassin here haven't seen 'im yet. Assassins have a sense for assassins, ya see."
Grant nodded. "We'll keep an eye out for Volkov then."
Kardac rubbed his nose. "Uh look," he said. "We obviously got off to a bad start here. You folks aren't so bad." He held out his hand.
The paladin smiled, and shook his hand. "I'd never thought I'd shake hands with one of your kind," he said.
"Likewise," the stalker smirked. "So where are you headed?"
"I don't want to say," Grant said. "Don't take any offense, it's just that we don't want to leave any trails."
Kardac looked around again, then lowered his voice. "If you folks are headed to Comodo," he muttered. "Keep in mind that there are more ruins along the way, and plenty of chances for an ambush."
"How did you -"
"Just guessed, that's all," Kardac said. "Since you're heading westwards, and Comodo is one of the more popular attractions in that direction." The rogues were beginning to scatter.
"Funny music that clown plays," Zimba piped up, as the rogues walked off. "Ya'd think he's doin' it on purpose just to irritate."
"Alright you watch your backs now," Kardac called over his shoulder.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the ruins, the sun had already sat on the forested horizon in the distance. Another river awaited them, much larger than the first one, and with it, came a fresh breeze that wasn't typical of desert winds. They had arrived at the junction between the sandy outer reaches of the beach city Comodo, and the Morroc desert.
"Whew," Daphne sighed. "It looks like we've finally left the desert. I can see palm trees in the distance, and I'm pretty sure it's not a mirage."
"Argos," Grant said. "Did you notice any sign of that person on our trail on our way out of the ruins?"
The assassin shook his head. "It would be too hard to follow us with twenty rogues around," he said. "It was a good thing we ran into them."
They reached the bridge of the river when Grant suddenly froze. His voice was laced with an urgency that Daphne had never heard before.
"Turn back," he ordered.
"What!?" Eurie said. "Why?"
"No time for complaints, just do it!"
No sooner had he said those words, an assassin cross shimmered into sight and slammed his palms into Grant's chestplate. A violent discharge of purple energy erupted from the assassin cross's hands and knocked the paladin backwards.
"R-run," he groaned, then collapsed to the ground.
"Sir Graves!" Daphne screamed. Oh God, oh God, she thought. Just when things were starting to look up...
"JUST RUN!" Argos bellowed. "IT'S THE FIRST RANKER REM -"
The assassin cross flung a handful of throwing knives at Argos; they buried into his stomach, causing him to fall to his knees. Blood spurted out of his mouth.
"Every one of you, running and hiding!" Remiel said, pulling down the cowl of his manteau. "Every time I kill, they try to run! Against me, the strongest assassin cross, it won't do any good!"