Chapter 19
"Land ho!" the silver-haired man smiled, staring out over the horizon.
"Oh, godssakes," his brother grunted sleepily, ceasing to lean against a nearby barrel, "cut it out with that nonsense, Steve."
"You aren't the least bit enthused to discover what's become of father?" asked his older brother.
"'S not that," the assassin spat back, "Could just do without all your stupid yelling..."
Both boys stood at attention as their mother descended the stairs, however, "So, Valm Harbor is just ahead then, eh?"
"Yes, mother," her oldest son answered with a respectful bow.
"Then start getting your things together, boys," she commanded, tightening her gloves and cracking her knuckles, "I don't plan on stopping for anything until we find your father, is that understood?"
"'Course, mom," Leo nodded, "We'll be set to go when you are."
"Good boy," she patted his head and retreated to her cabin.
"Tch," the assassin scoffed vaguely in his brother's direction as he moved away from the barrel, the sound of the door to Anna's cabin closing.
The silver-haired man glanced down at his brother, "Sorry, was that an indication that you had something to say?"
Leo rolled his eyes, then stuck out his tongue, "'Wath that un indikashun tha you ha somthun to suh?' You know you annoy the hell outta me."
The orator scratched his head indifferently, "Yes, I'm well aware we have a number of... ideological differences. Would you care to tell me something I don't know?"
"Why would I bother?" the younger brother bit back, "You're so far up your own ass. Nobody listens to me anyway."
"Now we're getting somewhere," his sibling raised an eyebrow, "Go on."
"Don't patronize me!" Leo shouted, "This is exactly what I mean! I'm not as eloquent, so everybody just listens to you straight away. Forget about what Leo has to say, Steven can put it so much better, so much more inoffensively. You're a real gods-damn piece o' work, you know that?"
Steven folded his arms, "I'm afraid you've lost me. Care to elaborate?"
"Urgh," the assassin shook his head, "Even the way you talk still pisses me off. You're not your own person, for godssakes. Everything you say and do is to try to get on someone else's good graces: you play nice for mommy, you indulge the politicians, and you're a nice, eloquent speaker so that dear ol' dad will love you for all his days. You're completely fake; a stand-in for what everyone wants to hear, and everyone loves you because of it, mom and dad included. They love you more than me 'cause I have the balls to not always do whatever placates people. Must be nice, being the golden child."
An unusual crease appeared on Steven's brow as he glared back at his brother, saying nothing. After shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath, the orator looked back down at the assassin, "Are you quite finished? Have you said your piece?"
"Yeah, I said it," Leo growled, "Truth hurts, eh?"
"Good," the orator's voice broke into something more menacing as he loomed over his sibling, "Now listen and listen well: you think mother and father love me more? You think I enjoy being obedient, subservient? Ha! I was quite a bit like you when I was a child, until I learned something very important: that I was going to have a baby brother and sister. Imagine my surprise: two other children all of a sudden. Mother told me-I assume she meant it as a joke, but it stuck with me then-she told me, 'You'll have to stop goofing around and help me, Steve; being a big brother is a big responsibility.' And do you know what happened when you and Sylvia were born? 'Oh, the twins' this and 'They're so cute' that. And who was I? Their keeper. 'Steven, get your brother out of the mud!' 'Steven, don't make your sister cry, just give her your candy!' 'Steven, get your brother in the bath!' It's not by choice I've been following orders for the last nineteen years!"
Leo watched warily as his older brother, having become quite red in the face, breathed on him heavily. Mustering his courage, the assassin turned as callously as he could and threw out, "Crying about not getting your dessert when you were ten? Get over it, Steve. Maybe then you can join the rest of us in the real world where we have real problems and feelings."
The silver-haired man deflected the remark and also turned, "I'm amused by thinking what our relationship would be like if you knew half of what you think you do, Leo."
[...]
The brass bell rang over the sounds of the waves lapping at the shore of the port town. Fish splashed in and out of the water in the peachy light of dawn, the usual heat delayed by the fading cool of morning. The heat was only suppressed, of course, and not altogether eliminated, for the pressure that would eventually become a blisteringly sunny day was present in the humidity, and the present warmth of the sands.
And, gods dammit, the bell was ringing. Cyrus sat up, throwing the comforter aside, unwitting disturbing his hostess. He began pulling his smallclothes on. "Leaving so soon?" the voice of his hostess slurred dreamily.
"Such is my nature," he bowed with a coy smile, "I come and go at will, like a cloud riding a breeze."
"But doesn't the breeze have all the 'will' in that analogy?" the woman wondered.
The Storm Blade frowned, "Don't crack wise, hon. Be grateful I'm even bothering to explain."
"You didn't really explain much," she replied, "All I remember is... you were waiting for someone, right?"
"That's right," Cyrus nodded, "I have a very important meeting today. That bell tells me my guests have just arrived."
The woman listened to the hollow chime of the old brass bell for a moment, "They ring that damn thing any time a trade ship is near. What makes you so sure it's them?"
"How many trade ships have been through here in the past month?" replied the leaf-green-haired man.
His hostess touched her finger to her chin, "Huh, now that you mention it..."
"So I know it's them," Cyrus concluded, "And I don't have any more time to be wasting here. So long, baby, it was fun while it lasted."
The woman tried to collect herself, but simply sighed as the Storm Blade slipped out the door, having just managed to get his trousers on and draping his shirt over his shoulder.
Cyrus finished dressing and began his walk to the pier to await the ship's arrival. As he drew close, he was surprised at how close the vessel had already come; it seemed the bell tower's staff had gotten lazy due to the inactivity and had only seen the ship drawing near a trifle later than usual. Not good news for Cyrus's preparations, but he was flexible. The Storm Blade gazed on the splashing cerulean waters near the shore with a growing giddiness, a bright smile eventually spanning his face. Finally, he was going to get a chance to make some progress. And then, of course, there would be the look of devastation on the tactician's face when they finally met... he could already taste how delicious all of that was going to be, and the excitement built in electric jolts of tension throughout his muscles as he tried to remain still and stoic at the end of the pier, still wearing his beaming smile.
Aboard the vessel itself, the captain was grumbling irritably as he continued tying down the sails to slow the ship and readying the anchor and various lashings that would be needed to hold the ship in place when they finally made landfall. Steven and Leo had since gathered all of theirs and their mother's luggage, carrying bags of clothes, food, and, of course, gold over their shoulders as the puce color of the Valmese harbor grew broader by the minute. "So, this is as far as our intel goes, Steven?" his mother asked, staring straight ahead as they all did.
He nodded, "Indeed. I know that father is after the dastards who attacked Ylisse, and that said dastards were flying Valmese colors, but I couldn't tell you precisely where father is."
"We'll just have to investigate with the locals," Leo shrugged, "Trust me, you can find anyone by name if you look hard enough and ask the right questions."
"My plan exactly," Anna patted her son's shoulder, "And you boys are ready if things get messy?"
Leo reached over his back and withdrew his bow and an arrow reflexively, pointing it straight and nocking the arrow before taking a breath and putting the set-up away. "Always," he noted with minor indignity, proceeding to pull a knife from his belt and balance it precariously on his index finger before flicking his wrist and putting it away.
Steven watched the whole display with bemusement, then produced a tome from within his cloak and tapped his forehead, "I'd, er, prefer to stay out of open conflict, but I'll do what I can."
His mother smiled at him quickly before returning her gaze to the shore, "Good enough. Make ready, kids: we'll be disembarking in just a moment."
Cyrus, still at the end of the pier, tapped his foot rather impatiently, seeing that his guests were only just now dropping anchor. He took a moment to reflect and bemoaned the heat of the location, especially with his weighty, if important-looking, armor. He attributed it to one more reason to be annoyed at the merchant and tightened all his vestments with a firm hand and narrow eyes. At least, he appreciated the silence as the locals were smart enough to stay the hell out of the way. Eventually, he finally reached the moment he had been long awaiting as the sounds of boots descending the gangplank hit his ears. He opened his eyes and smiled once more, placing one hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Beg your pardon, sir, but we need to get by," the silver-haired man offered affably as he approached. Anna stopped in her tracks and began examining the man's face.
The man clicked his teeth, "Oh, I do apologize, but that's not quite possible. You see, I have a date with the lovely lady in red, here."
"A date? Mother...?" Leo looked back.
"I think he's being dramatic, Leo," she responded dryly, staring the green-haired man in the face, "or, at least, I certainly hope so."
Cyrus brushed off the remark, "Maybe we'll skip the exchanging of jeers, eh? I do so detest small talk."
"Fine," Anna allowed, "what is it you want?"
The Storm Blade smiled, eyes widening in surprise, "Hah! No hassle at all, are you sure you're a merchant? At any rate, what I want... Well, that's simple enough..." Cyrus flicked his sword out of its hilt with his thumb and swung it around comfortably into his palm, "I want your head to be forever seized in an expression of profound surprise, mixed with a tinge of despair, perhaps."
Anna and Leo both made for their weapons while Steven took a step back. "Why, don't like my prices?" the merchant waved her sword dismissively.
"No, nothing like that," the Storm Blade shook his head, "You just have the misfortune of being connected to someone I have a distinct need to see in pain." Without a word, Leo loosed an arrow at the stranger, hoping to catch him by surprise in his balking, but the swordsman merely hopped out of the way of the attack. He clicked his teeth again, "So impertinent. Well, let's have it, then." With that said, the Storm Blade rushed toward Anna, preparing a diagonal slash. The merchant readied her sword and Leo nocked his bow as quickly as he could, only for Cyrus to turn at the last moment and swipe the weapon out of Leo's hands and into the water behind them, "No cheating."
Anna gritted her teeth and swung her blade, but the strike was blocked easily by her opponent, who used his greater weight to throw her off balance and shoved her in the ribs. The Storm Blade prepared to deliver a follow-up before a fist flew at him. He groaned as he was forced to back up and block Leo, who has charged. He let the attack glance off his armor and injure his assailant, then kicked the young man with the auburn hair squarely in his stomach, knocking him to the wood of the pier. Steven fitfully searched for his tome, sweating.
Anna had recovered and swung at Cyrus, now catching him momentarily without his guard. Or so it seemed, as the swordsman promptly blocked this strike, too. Anna backed up and swung at a few different angles, varying her speed, but she was parried with every blow while the Storm Blade seemed to roll his eyes in irritation. Eventually, the leaf-green-haired man swung his sword, as well, still blocking Anna's attack, but also staggering her violently. He again attempted his follow-up to split his foe in half, but she managed to escape by kicking his legs out from under him, also falling in the counter and slipping over the side of the pier. Steven rushed over and began pulling her out.
Cyrus kicked himself back onto his feet in a moment, scoffing, "What a joke. Here I thought you'd be some sort of a challenge." He walked to Steven, still struggling to pull up his mother, and brought his sword down, "Waste of time!"
Fortunately, the silver-haired orator had noticed the attack and rolled to his side. Unfortunately, that still meant that the blade pierced his flank, causing him to clutch at the bleeding wound and release his mother, who swallowed a fresh mouthful of seawater as she dropped. The Storm Blade pulled back for another strike, but was distracted by a kick to his side. "Really?!" he growled, smashing Leo in the face with the hilt of his blade. The assassin fell over again and instinctively touched his broken, bloodied nose. "What a shame," Cyrus shook his head, "You really aren't even worth the trouble. It's no fun taking trophies if there's no fight to be had."
"Does that mean you'll let us go?" Steven choked, crawling slowly away.
The Storm Blade chuckled, "Good one. Nah, even if it's no fun, I'm still gonna take all your heads." With that said, he kicked the orator in the stomach once more for good measure and spun his blade in his hand with a flourish before leveling it along the silver-haired man's neck. Again, however, he was interrupted by an attack on his back: this time, a dagger struck near his right shoulder blade. He looked up and sighed before turning and saw the assassin on the other end of his blade. "You really don't know when to give up, do you?" said the frustrated Cyrus, who then ripped the dagger out of his back, punched his assailant, and stabbed him in the stomach with the weapon. "Incredible," Cyrus walked to the edge of the pier, "None of you are the least bit threatening, and yet you persist to be nuisances."
"Well, a good saleswoman's nothing if not persistent," Anna proclaimed with a smirk as she slashed along her enemy's back. The wound made him shout and crumple to the ground, but he recovered quickly and stood to face the merchant, whose hair and clothes were still dripping. "Gotta keep your eye on the birdie," she winked.
Cyrus was less amused; he swung his sword quickly and heavily, smashing through any guard Anna could attempt to put up, continually backing her down the other end of the pier, pushing her toward a wall. The merchant felt a cold swear coming on; if she was pressed up against that wall, it would be over. She tried to dodge to another side, but her adversary simply attacked more ferociously in the same direction to force her to back away. Seeing few other options and feeling the pressure of her opponent's onslaught growing with each strike, Anna foreswore her compunction and, upon locking eyes with her enemy, forcing all her weight forward to sustain the moment for as long as possible, spat in his face.
Eyes wide with surprise until they were shut by disgust, the Storm Blade took a step back and wiped his face. "Really now?! Is that where we've sunken?!" he shouted with incredulity.
"Hey, the business world ain't fair," Anna quipped, trying to find her breath.
Cyrus had recovered, however, and moved forward, "You realize I'm just gonna kill you even slower now, right?"
"Worth a shot," the redhead shrugged, trying to summon her guard.
"I'll say!" a voice from a short distance away shouted. In conjunction with that voice, something else flew toward the pair: an arrow. An arrow that, when the Storm Blade whipped his head around to determine the source of the voice, stuck in his eye, prompting a scream. Anna wasted not time in scurrying away from her attacker as he reached toward his face in horror. The merchant caught up with Leo, who was clutching a bow as he bled onto the wooden pier. "Always have a backup, eh, mom?" he winced, smiling weakly.
"Nice work, hon," she patted his chest tenderly, careful to avoid the wound.
"We're not out of the woods yet," Steven limped over, holding his side, his fingers stained ruby-red.
"Right," the redhead watched carefully as the Storm Blade struggled with the arrow buried in his eye, "what's your assessment, Steve?"
"Steve?!" Leo sputtered indignantly, "Why don't you ask the professional assassin?!"
"Because the professional assassin is going to bleed out if he keeps getting all worked up," she scowled at her son, silencing him, "Now, Steve?"
"He's fast as hell," the orator noted, "and stronger than all three of us combined, I think. We just gave him a pretty big distraction; I think a hasty, strategic retreat is in order."
"Ya don't think we can take a bleeding cyclops?" argued his younger brother.
"Not in this state," Steven answered, "We're all at a pretty serious disadvantage already; blinding him in one eye might have leveled the playing field before he landed a hit, but at present, I'm inclined to think he still has the upper hand, overall."
Their parley was interrupted by uneven steps creaked on the wood of the pier. "Sorry to break up your sewing circle, ladies, but," Cyrus held the bloody arrow in his fist and clenched his fingers to snap it in half and drop it to the ground, "I'm going to cut you to ribbons and scatter your guts to the winds!"
No sooner had the Storm Blade finished his remark and pointed his blade menacingly, however, than did he hear a brief murmur, followed by a sudden spark that lifted him off his feet. Wind magic whipped up dust and dirt from the area near the pier and blew Cyrus back, smacking the back of his head into a wall. "Just piss off for a moment, won't you?" Steven uttered wearily. He turned to his remaining family, "Now, for our plan... Leo's bleeding, and someone needs to get him out of here. Coincidentally, one of us is much more accomplished at the practice of field medicine than the other..."
"So what will you do?" Anna waited.
"Buy some time," the silver-haired man smiled.
"Absolutely not!" his mother rejected, "I'll stay; there's no way I'm leaving you here to die."
"I'll be fine," he resisted, "I'm useless with a staff, anyway, and there's no telling if Leo will make it to a hospital. Shouldn't we bet on the sure thing?"
Anna frowned, "Steven..."
"Go," he turned his back to her, "It's been a long time since I confronted a foe face to face... too long. This isn't a request, mother, it's an order."
Anna gripped the ground, sighing and frowning, then picked up her youngest son, "Dammit, Steve... Just... just stay alive, okay?"
"Somehow, I always do," the orator smirked, removing his bloodied hand from his side and standing taller. As Cyrus's form began to shift before them, he nodded to his mother, "Let's not waste time, move." She complied and carried her youngest son away as quickly as her legs would carry her.
"You miserable little shit," the Storm Blade's remaining eye locked with Steven's, "I'll cut your heart clean out and make you choke on it!"
"I'll be amused to see you try," the silver-haired man replied.
Still hardly any worse for wear, Cyrus was upon his opponent immediately, aiming a slash for Steven's already-wounded side. Anticipating this approach, the orator warded him off, singing the enemy with a prohibitive burst of flame. The swordsman doubled back and tried a low attack, aiming for Steven's leg. This, too, the orator anticipated and picked up his foot to move, pushing his assailant and his sword down to the wooden floor with a gust of wind. The opponent responded by pulling his blade out from the splintered wood and trying a counterattack with an underhand grip on the blade that raked along the wood until it embedded itself in the silver-haired man's other side. He winced and Cyrus smiled, but the smile faded as the orator began to chuckle. "What's so damn funny?" he demanded, sweat and blood pouring down his confused face.
"You're not too bright, are you?" Steven answered simply, holding the blade against his side with his clenched palm.
"Big talk," scoffed Cyrus, "what the hell do you..." The Storm Blade paused a second to consider his enemy's maneuvers and felt a frown fall on his face and crease his brow, "Oh you have got to be kidding-"
The orator stomped his foot down, and the splintered, cut, burnt wood of the pier that supported the Storm Blade gave a final snap before giving out and dumping the swordsman into the churning water. Taking a step back, Steven watched the Storm Blade grunt and flail in the water, then pulled another tome out of his cloak, "Pretty ingenious, no?"
Cyrus sputtered something akin to "Bastard!"
"Well, you have yet to see the best part," with another wave of his hand, the silver-haired man tossed a ball of lightning into the water and limped off as he heard the ocean sizzle. With a final sigh of relief, the orator began to limp away, bleeding from both sides, "Now... where in the devil did mother get to?"
[...]
The sounds of metal striking continued to overtake Lucina's ears as she pivoted from left to right, swatting away her foes. She felt beads of sweat trail down her neck and experienced the hot redness of blood rushing to her cheeks as she struggled on. The princess of Ylisse had been prepared for a conflict, but not for anything so fierce as the battle against these mercenaries; she couldn't understand why such an unorganized group could be so powerful, or, at least, so damnably resilient.
Still, the Legacy Shepherds were also no pushovers; previous Shepherds and their accompanying children fought valiantly to tear apart the mercenaries' ranks, standing firm in their commitment to their princess and their homeland. Of course, Lucina didn't have much time for such poetic realizations as she guarded attack after attack from the advancing enemies. Still, she considered as she slashed a charging warrior to his knees, their numbers had been steadily growing since they had departed Ylisstol, much like the original Shepherds, and that made the Ylissean heir rather proud.
She whipped her blade around and decapitated another of her foes before realizing she heard a noise that was vaguely familiar, and yet uncommon. It was a sort of powerful vibration, accompanied by some small murmur, a bit like the beating of...
"HEEEEEEY LUCIIIIIINA!"
...dragons' wings. The princess's eyes widened as one emerald and one magenta-colored manakete obliterated the lines of soldiers behind her with forceful fireballs. In a flash of light, both descended toward the blue-haired lord, returning to their human forms. "Lucina! Good to see you again! It's been, like, forever!" Nah waved to her.
The princess nodded, "It does seem like that, doesn't it? Although time's become a bit of a blur to me recently..."
"Bet you're surprised to see us here!" grinned Nowi.
Lucina nodded, "Yes, very. How did you even know I was here?"
"Oh, c'mon," Nah chuckled, "All anyone in Ylisse is talking about now is 'Lady Lucina's March to the Sea.'"
"Has news already spread?" shrugged the young lord.
Nowi cocked an eyebrow at her, "Uh, it's been a long while since the attack, Lucina. People are pretty well aware."
"So why didn't you come sooner?" Lucina wondered, drawing upon a touch of indignity.
"Well..." the emerald-haired manakete rubbed the back of her neck, "'People' knew, but... news travels slow among manaketes, 'specially 'cause there aren't as many of us around."
"Just be glad we're here now, and here to kick some tail!" her daughter contributed.
"Say, where's you're father, Nah?" the princess suddenly realized.
Before the younger manakete had a chance to respond, as if specifically in response to the lord's question, the trio turned their heads toward a yelp as a donkey sped up to their ranks, bucking and shaking up clouds of dust. Among the dust, a small man with an absurdly large hat poked out. "I thought I told you guys to wait for me!" groaned the man, dusting himself off.
"Sorry, Ricken," his wife cooed, "Nah and I just couldn't wait to get in on the action."
The mage simply sighed as he collected himself and greeted Lucina. Not far behind him, another set of hooves trotted toward their position and, within another moment, another mage was upon them. "I do hope I haven't kept anyone waiting," Laurent pushed up his glasses, dismounting his steed.
"Not at all," Lucina smiled, pleased to see another of her friends, "Ricken, Laurent, it's great to have you both here." The princess looked to all four of her new guests and nodded succinctly, "Really, I'm glad to have you all. Does this mean I can count on your support in the battles to come?"
"Chrom's enemy is my enemy," swore Ricken with a prideful thumping of his chest.
"And I'm with him," Nowi grinned and giggled at her betrothed.
"And you've always had my support, Lucina," Nah offered happily.
"Likewise," Laurent conceded, looking down at the princess in a manner less openly contented, but still affable.
"Well, then look alive, fellow Legacy Shepherds," Lucina smiled at the group, then spun and pointed her sword at the enemy and the other Shepherds currently engaged in combat, "We'll push the dastards back to the ocean and off the shoreline from there!" The new recruits cheered and followed their captain toward the battle.
[...]
The raven settled itself down onto Tharja's pale finger, and she stared at the onyx bird for a moment before retrieving the message from its talons. "Wait there," she instructed the avian messenger, introducing it to a log, whereupon it happily hopped off the finger of the sorceress and onto the smooth wood. Tharja had made it a long way from Plegia without being detected, however the slip past the mercenaries lining Ylisse's borders had made the trip unduly complex. At least now she could rest comfortably, hoping that as she drew nearer to Ylisstol, she would likewise draw nearer to information about Robin's whereabouts. Regardless of consequence, she would always do all that was within her power to protect the tactician, despite the fact that whatever relationship had existed between them in the days of war had ended long ago.
Setting her thoughts aside with a long sigh, the sorceress opened the dry parchment and read the letter contained within:
"Dear Tharja,
How's the Ylissean weather? Cold enough for you? So, here's what the scouts and spies had to say: apparently, Chrom has been kidnapped... or should that be lord-napped? Who knows? Anywho, Lucina's taken up the mantle ever since, and she's leading a new team of Shepherds to fight back the invaders! Darned if that girl doesn't take after her dad, huh? Point is, if you're going to get any info about Robin, you might do well to start there. If that's not enough, I've got another lead for you: some angry Eastern Feroxi barged into the palace yesterday, claiming that a Plegian had transgressed their border. I got that taken care of, no worries, but what's more important is that the guy he was talking about said his name was Steven. No telling if there's really anything to that, but there has been some weird stuff happening in Regna Ferox lately, so it's not out of the question that Steven might have been messing around there, so that option's on the table.
Hope that's enough for you. Until you need me, or get back, I'll just keep managing the throne here. I'm supposed to oversee a traitor's execution tomorrow... that'll be a hoot, huh? Noire says she misses you and wishes you good luck. Love from both of us!
Oh, and I think I've got a good one in the works, tell me what you think: What do you call a dog with no legs? Whatever the hell you want; he'll never come to you.
Nya ha ha!
-Henry"
Tharja rolled her eyes; only her husband would write his laughter into his letter. Still, at least he had done his due diligence in preparing information for her. Now the dark mage had two leads she could pursue, but the difficulty would be in choosing which to look into first. Steven would likely provide a more direct location for his father, but the information leading to Steven was also much less sound and confirmable. At present, she ducked her head behind the log she was using for cover, hearing a company of the mercenaries moving by.
"We'll be shipping out to fight those Ylissean rebels tomorrow," one mercenary declared to the others.
"Good, can't wait to teach 'em a lesson," responded another. A few more of the mercenaries murmured their assent.
Tharja shrugged; the convenience couldn't be ignored. She would wait for Lucina to arrive, join with the princess, and find out what she could about Robin. She unrolled a bit of parchment from within her pocket and began to write, difficult though it was, pressing the quill up against the log.
[...]
The snow-white-haired boy sat weightily upon his throne, his face buried in his palm, held up only by the throne's armrest. Stewart looked about the room fitfully, not wanting to impose further stress on his lord, but finding within himself a profound resentment and desire to lash out. All the same, he remained silent.
That silence, however, was broken by an intrusion, a parting of the wooden doors, through which a familiar robed figure passed. "I am told," the elderly voice proclaimed, "That the west khan and his wife are dead."
Vlasis looked up, his eyes showing fury, and he clenched his fist and gritted his teeth as he leered at the old sage. He offered his hand in the old man's direction and then drew his finger along his throat.
"Milord is less than pleased. He would like to know why Khan Lon'qu and his wife were assassinated," Stewart showed the same fierceness as he glared at the sage.
"Assassinated?" shrugged the old man, "They were felled in a melee that they themselves began."
Vlasis shut his eyes and shook his head.
"Milord finds that difficult to believe," Stewart noted.
"I don't give a damn what you believe," snarled Datura, "Your duty is to take my orders, don't you know that by now?"
The east khan gritted his teeth once more, then simply sighed and bowed his head.
"Good," the sage opposite him nodded, "remember your place. Now, I have another assignment for a division of the eastern Feroxi."
Vlasis's eyes widened and he cocked an eyebrow at the sage, followed by holding his index finger and thumb closely together, then a pantomime of jabbing a dagger into his own stomach.
"Milord is confused as to why you would have us divide our already small force even further; to do so is surely suicide. Do we not need all of our troops in order to support this campaign against the west?" Stewart posed.
"No," the old sage simply shook his head, "I'll be certain that your Feroxi will not fail. In the meantime, however, I'll need five thousand troops to head south."
This time Vlasis jumped from his throne, and, after that initial shock, scratched his head and pointed to the castle's south wall."
Stewart cleared his throat, "Milord is deeply concerned about the number of troops you are requesting, and is curious what function sending them to the south would serve."
Datura tapped his foot irritably, "It's no concern of yours; I'm taking these troops to strengthen Eastern Ferox's cause, nothing more. Allow me this liberty, and all will work out perfectly for you, Khan Vlasis."
The east khan cut a glance at the sage and, with a fire in his eyes, opened his mouth, "No."
Datura's eyes narrowed as he stared at the boy, who was beginning to sweat from rather instant regret. With a wave of his hand, the sage murmured a few words and the boy cried out, a purplish smog exuding from his pores and causing him physical distress he was unable to vocalize outside of shouts and whispers.
"Enough, villain!" Stewart tightened his gauntlet and made to strike the sage, but he was flung aside with an explosion of fire magic. With one last clench of his fist, the old sage sent a sort of shock through the young khan's body that made him scream louder and writhe more fiercely than before until he stuck his palm out and nodded his head. Datura ceased the torture and smiled, "There, that's better. No need to make it so hard on yourself, Khan Vlasis. I'll expect those troops ready to ship out by tomorrow."
The khan clutched his twitching, heaving body with painful groans as the sage disappeared.
[...]
"So, let me see if I'm understanding you correctly," Nihilus strode along a shelf full of books, hands folded neatly behind his back, "Cyrus is..."
"He... he disappeared from the trail, sir. Our contact in Valm Harbor was quick to report as much," Dahila conceded, bringing her hands together protectively before her stomach.
"And you... our prisoners..." her subordinate continued.
The rose-haired swordswoman bowed with extreme regret, "I did indeed fail in my duty to restrain the captives; they were rescued by an unknown assailant, but I have my contacts scanning for them and their compatriot as we speak. I was even planning to join them..."
"Dahlia," her superior said clinically, facing away from her.
"Sir?" she waited expectantly.
"You failed me," he used the same tone, "You know what that means, don't you?"
Dahlia bent her knee, "I will accept milord's punishment of choice."
"Indeed you will," he turned to face her and threw a sword at the kneeling woman, "Take this and follow me down to the basement. It's been too long since I had a real fight."
Dahlia knew better than to question the demand and followed her commander to the small dirt ring, outlined by chalk, that had been constructed for practice in the basement of the keep their group had appropriated. Usually, the area was for Dahlia or Cyrus to appraise the skills of trainees looking for positions as officers, but now the Rose Blade simply stared ahead, waiting with a horrid trepidation as her commander polished his blade with a handkerchief. This would be only the second time she had seen him fight in an official capacity, and if it was anything like the first, Dahlia was less than eager to be on its receiving end. "Milord... If you wish to physically punish me... there is no need for this. I will submit myself to milord's whim and judgment."
"No," he sliced the air with his shimmering blade, "I wouldn't inflict harm upon anyone I didn't assume had a reasonable ability to fight back." The amethyst-haired man began to chuckle softly, "Besides, what do you suppose I'd do? Bend you over my knee and spank you? No, this is much more entertaining and significantly easier to explain to a crowd of onlookers."
"Milord's words are as salient as ever," conceded the Rose Blade.
"Now, come at me," ordered Nihilus, readying his stance. With a deep breath, the rose-haired woman charged forward with blinding speed and swung her blade. She was abruptly kicked in the back and sent tumbling to the dirt; her enemy had been on the opposite side of her at a moment's notice. Could Nihilus be even faster than her? Certain that her superior was ready to end the punishment, Dahlia picked herself up and charged again, this time adding a sidestep to confuse the angle of attack.
Incredibly, her foe mirrored her movement and blocked her surprise attack, following up his parry with a few rapid strikes that forced the swordsman to back up. "Come on, fight harder!" he growled, slashing several times in rapid succession to force action on the part of the Rose Blade. She responded, parrying one of his attacks and aiming a punch at his head. A punch that was caught in midair and resulted in the seizing of her arm, followed by a throw to the floor. With a disgusted grunt, Nihilus planted a kick into her fallen stomach. Dahlia tried to suck back in the wind that had been knocked out of her. Her superior had flung her to the ground with only a single arm: just how strong was the man she called her master?
"This was just getting interesting!" he shouted at her, kicking again, "Stand up and fight!"
She obeyed again, rising shakily and aiming a thrust directly for Nihilus's stomach from a sort of primal rage, not realizing exactly how lethal her own intent was. Not that it mattered; Nihilus kicked the underside of her blade with his boot before the strike came even close and knocked the sword from the Rose Blade's hands. With a mixture between a maniacal smirk and a disappointed frown, the amethyst-haired man dropped his own sword and leveled a punch at his subordinate's face, planting a purple mark on her cheek. "Fight!" he uppercut her in the stomach, "Harder!" The Rose Blade staggered back and gasped for air. "No waiting!" Nihilus snarled, throwing a left hook. This blow dislocated his comrade's jaw and she fell screaming to the floor. "Get up!" he demanded. Still, the Rose Blade did as she was told and rose, sweat pouring down her bruised face, arms only held tenuously. Nihilus waved his hand invitingly, "Attack!"
Dahlia swallowed her fear and did as she was ordered, lobbing a weak, aimless punch. With a final grunt of disgust, the amethyst-haired man dodged the attack and spun into a kick that knocked the Rose Blade face-first into the dirt, where she sputtered out the last of her breath and shut her eyes as he face sank down.
Nihilus glanced down at his subordinate and felt compunction wash over him as his fury subsided, though, of course, there was nothing to do for it now. He stared at his bloodied knuckles and frowned, then ascended the stairs back to his study without another word.