Chapter 24
The amethyst-haired man walked with a slight hitch in his step. He walked more quickly than was his intention, occasionally striding ahead of his accompaniment by several paces, but then his lieutenant would clear her throat and remind him pf his position. He flushed a bit with embarrassment each time, but he remained unrepentant: he wanted this brigade to move, and to move quickly. If that meant a few of its members would eye him with a bit of frustration, then so be it. The time had come for action. He sighed; correspondences with some of his generals had woven an interesting narrative in the eastern hemisphere, and the recent events in the west were equally troubling. To wit, Datura and Vlasis had succeeded in turning the Feroxi against the Ylisseans, a positive development, but one that was not without consequence, and the Ylisseans had reclaimed Ylisstol and were now pushing outward in an effort to evict the remainder of Nihilus's initial invasion force. They would be upset when they realized what a grave miscalculation they had made.
All the same, Nihilus was quickly losing generals: Arc, Cyrus, and Argent, all were now dead, leaving the clairvoyant with only half of his original web of support. The meddlesome Grandmaster was nothing if not efficient in his work, although the people of Ylisse had proven slightly more resistant than Nihilus had perceived from his visions. Nonetheless, they continued to play into his hands, and so long as their relentless combat continued, he could control the situation. Their move would be toward Ylisstol, to alter the tide of momentum in this battle. Of course, Ylisstol had been the goal from the beginning, and if not for Arc's meddling, Nihilus likely would have already been sitting atop the exalt's throne, but matters had been complicated, only because personnel were proving themselves unreliable, something he amethyst-haired man had always feared. Now, however, he was with his most trusted comrade, and prepared to rejoin with the few of his generals who had succeeded in accomplishing the goals set forth by his plan. He supposed he would give credence to that old adage, "If you want something done right..."
He paused in his thinking, as Dahlia shot him a glance, shifting her brow slightly. The Rose Blade stared at the open horizon, comprised mostly of patches of snow and onyx-black soil that was always cold and either slick with ice or just sopping wet. From over that horizon, however, emerged a small collection of young men and women sporting furs and toting swords and axes. They looked with suspicion at Nihilus and his men, and the invading group returned the sentiment. When they came within fifty feet of one another, Dahlia called out, "That's far enough. Identify yourselves, as well as your intentions."
"That's a laugh," scoffed one of the men, his face not resembling anything that would suggest laughter, "We were about to ask you the same thing."
"You're on Feroxi land, so what's the deal?" demanded a blonde woman beside him.
Dahlia prepared to repeat her demand, but Nihilus dropped a hand on her shoulder, "Easy, Dahlia. There's no harm in answering their request. It's common courtesy."
The Rose Blade folded her arms, then grunted, "You address the forces of Lord Nihilus, the Lost Son of Plegia, the Binder of Great Chains, and Seer of Truth."
The Feroxi chuckled between themselves, "Right... well, listen, Nihilus, West Ferox is in a bad way right now. As it stands, we can't afford to have strange outsiders prowling about on our land. Why don't you turn around and spare both of us some agony?"
Nihilus cupped his chin, "A 'bad way,' you say? Could you elaborate?"
"Word didn't reach you?" one of the women shrugged, "You must live under a rock. Regna Ferox is in a full-blown civil war: the East-Khan and his spineless sycophant murdered our noble Khan Regnant, Lon'qu and his wife. The khan's son has since gone missing, too, so, as it stands, we West Feroxi are just doing our best to keep those barbarians from breathing down our necks."
"Curious," Nihilus observed simply, "but... you say you're enemies of the East-Khan?"
Several of the Feroxi gripped their weapons, "You're damn right."
The clairvoyant bowed his head, "That is regrettable, as it puts us on opposite sides."
"What are you saying?" demanded one of the men.
"The East-Khan is in my employ. Now, get out of my way," Nihilus commanded, glaring auspiciously.
"Make us!" several Feroxi growled.
Nihilus rolled his eyes, "How very predictable. Very well. Dahlia, would you?"
The Rose Blade lifted her sword and skipped forward. Before he had time to draw his axe, a Feroxi watched his arm drop to the ground and screamed. In another second, another felt a cold spike thrust into his chest and the heat of warm blood spray onto his hands. Dahlia kicked off this man's torso and decapitated a woman nearby as she frantically unsheathed her blade. Finally, one Feroxi swung at her with an axe, but she split the right half of his stomach before its arc was halfway through. The Rose Blade prepared to impale another axe-wielder, just behind her, but instead she watched him be swept away in a wave of flame, crying out loudly. Nihilis lowered his hands, shutting the tome, and approached the few remaining Feroxi, who could now also see the army lined up behind their visitors, vast and outfitted in sinister garb, the color of red wine. These few remaining Feroxi recoiled as Nihilus drew near.
"You would be wise to scatter," he advised them simply. To accentuate his point, however, he grasped one of the men up front by the throat and held him out in front of his comrades, "And cease your attempts to cull the East-Khan, lest this should happen to all of you." In the course of his threat, his squeezed his arm tighter around the leathery flesh of the man's neck, prompting him to sputter, spraying saliva from his teeth, and kick and pull with his arms in an attempt to free himself. Slowly, however, the blood faded from his cheeks until his color matched the snow beneath him, and the frantic movements slowed to a halt. When this was done, Nihilus released his hold, and the Feroxi fell stiffly into the snow, his eyes fixedly rolled back halfway into their sockets. The remaining Feroxi varied in their reaction, from screams of terror to simple disbelieving stares, but they all turned and dashed away from the advancing army. "What a waste of precious time," Nihilus shook his head discontentedly. He signaled his troops, and the mercenary force resumed its advance behind their revered leader, strolling in a straight line and passing by the corpse flung into the snow, which grew colder by the second.
[*]
There they all stood. He couldn't even count them, they were so numerous. What a tremendous number, all so readily pledging their lives... how could this be possible? He would never again doubt his companion's powers of persuasion, that much was certain. How many had he said?
Guessing by his expression, the green-haired man answered, "Two thousand. Not exactly a ton, but no man with half a brain would turn up his nose." Nihilus agreed. "Just keep in mind," appended the swordsman, "it's not you they're loyal to. Not yet, anyway. They want money, and they think you can provide it, that's why they're following you. Screw that up, and you'll lose them all as fast as you can say 'Hot damn!'"
"I think I can provide them with just recompense," Nihilus replied.
"That'd be good," Cyrus acknowledged, playing with his hair, "What's the plan, exactly? Who's our quarry?"
"Quarry?" Nihilus stumbled on the term, "Well... I guess you could say... the man we're after lives in Lieben."
"Lieben?" the swordsman cocked an eyebrow, "Is that where we're headed? Ha, you shoulda said so, at least an eighth of these men must've come from there."
"Then they'll be happy to be home so soon," the purple-haired man nodded.
"Just be careful," Cyrus cautioned, "Mercenaries aren't gonna take to kindly to you if you're gonna try and make them burn their own houses."
Nihilus shook his head, "Not at all. I don't have any intention of harming anyone in Lieben."
"I thought you said our mark was..."
"He is, but he's not marked for death. He's marked as a person of interest."
Cyrus's face screwed up, "You got a funny understanding of what mercenaries are for, Nihilus."
The young man shrugged his shoulders, "It's just another step in the plan. You'll understand when you start to see all the pieces coming together."
"Whatever you say," the swordsman supposed, glancing back at the mercenaries, who were all straightening their clothes and making anxious faces.
[...]
Argent was a special individual, and yet he wasn't. At forty-three years old, he had served the Liebenese military for almost his entire adult life, and he had supported them fervently even as a wide-eyed child, though, looking at him, it was hard to imagine there was ever a time when his eyes weren't tightened by age. He had signed up for service years before Walhart's attempted dominance of the continent, and had been chomping at the bit to deploy when the time came, though it never had. He was a tall, imposing, broad-shouldered man who commanded respect with his sharp face and coarse voice, and yet, his men didn't fear him, they loved him. He was the epitome of the ideal Liebenese general, making him exceptionally commonplace, and therefore exceptionally influential.
When the general agreed to meet with this young man who was said to have come from nowhere, he wasn't sure what to expect, but whatever he was expecting, it wasn't what he received. Here was a soft-faced lad, looking some twenty-five years his junior, accompanied by a swordsman who seemed constantly inebriated, although the general never saw him drink, and by two thousand mercenaries. Why had they agreed to follow this... child?
"General," the boy folded his arms on the table, staring into Argent's eyes diligently, "let me be frank: I'm interested in talking a bit of politics with you."
"You've come to the wrong place," Argent grunted.
"I know, I know," Nihilus sighed with a reassuring air, "Politicians can be so trite, can't they? But, you know, it doesn't have to be that way."
"Talk sense, boy," the general demanded.
Nihilus's eye twitched involuntarily, "Ahem. What I mean to say, good general, is that I have a mind to change how our world works. And I think you could be a shining example for the rest of the world, if you'd be willing to be our trial case."
"What makes you think I have any interest in furthering the aims of a child I've never met before?" Argent scoffed and shook his head.
"I know it may be difficult to believe me now," Nihilus nodded, "but do bear with me, I think you'll find yourself adequately rewarded. What if I told you I could give you reign over your country?"
"I am a general, not a king," Argent sighed, "my people do not deserve to be beneath anyone's boot, much less my own."
The purple-haired man smiled as he cornered him, "Shouldn't be under anyone's boot, you say? Isn't that treasonous talk?"
Argent glared at him, "If you're going to try to arrest me..."
"Not at all, general. I merely propose this: if you don't like your country's leadership, why not change it? If you held Lieben's crown, you could do away with the hierarchical ails that plague you so."
The general took a long pause and folded his arms, "What did you have in mind?"
Nihilus grinned, "Lieben has always been a nation known for its strict adherence to the justification of force, no? So what stronger showing could there be than to bring two thousand men to bear down on the palace?"
"Madness," Argent shook his head, "to bring Liebenese against their king would be treason, and Liebenese would die before turning traitor."
"Indeed," Nihilus bowed, "which is why it's good that the men who will be following you are not Liebenese citizens or servicemen, but rather dutiful admirers of your incomparable strength and leadership who would give their lives for you."
Argent paused again and breathed deeply, "I see your point. Remember, however, that this is my kingdom, and any attempt to usurp me will be met with deadly consequences."
"Perish the thought, general."
[*]
Becoming reacquainted with each of his old friends made for one of the longest afternoons of Chrom's life, not that he would complain, though: it was a tremendous relief from the aging sovereign's mind to see so many of his old allies safe and sound reporting tales of plans to save his endangered Halidom and evict the mercenaries who had abducted him. Of course, this also meant that he learned of the more unfortunate news, as well. The slayings of a few of his former comrades cast an undeniable shadow on the face of the exalt, and none moreso than Ricken's, but the living faces of his sister and daughter somewhat reduced the pain of those revelations, although it would never completely subside. After fond reminiscence ended, there remained the business of a war incomplete. As much as it pained him to return to the question, staring down at the pale, muted smile of his daughter beneath the sapphire glow of her ruffled hair, he began, "Lucina... have you seen your brother?"
Her mouth dropped into a frown immediately, "No... I had hoped he might he with you and mother. He may still be in Regna Ferox, in which case he may also be in distress."
"That's right," Chrom recalled the brief report Stahl and Sully had delivered, assuming their knightly air as if Chrom hadn't been gone a moment, "You say the Feroxi were cornering you as well?"
"Yes... though for the life of me I couldn't tell you why," the princess sighed, "Khan Lon'qu has always been a faithful ally, but now... Dozens of Ylissean villages may have been razed beneath a Feroxi banner in the time it took us to get out here. Fortunately, King Henry arrived to deliver us from complete ruination."
"King Henry?" Chrom started, "He's in Ylisse?"
"Indeed," Lucina nodded, "He's the reason there aren't many Ylissean soldiers with us: I turned the bulk of our forces over to him in order to beat back the Feroxi, else we would have been trapped like rats."
"I see..." the exalt replied with a neutral tone.
"I'm sorry," Lucina bowed, "I know you must be upset that I gave Ylissean lives over to a Plegian king, but I had no choice..."
"No," he put his hand on her shoulder, "I trust you, Lucina. You made an executive decision in an effort to save Ylissean lives while still pursuing your objective. It mustn't have been an easy choice, either, but you made it, and that shows dedication to your position and your people. As exalt and as your father, I'm very proud."
She blushed and buried her head in her bangs, "Th-Thank you, father."
"And my humble thanks to all of you for your service to the Halidom," Chrom declared aloud, nodding at the familiar faces around him, "My country would have assuredly been lost if not for all of you, and so you have my eternal gratitude. If, at this time, you'd prefer to quit my company and return to your lives, you can consider yourselves removed of any and all obligation to Ylisse..."
Gaius took a few steps, but was reigned in by a tug on his collar from Maribelle.
"...But if you'd be willing to follow me on one last assignment, I promise you all my undying loyalty and the most comfortable lives you could feasibly live in Ylisse," the lord concluded. Voices of general affirmation rose among the Legacy Shepherds, all of whom smiled at their old commander as he addressed them. "Well then, you're all true boon companions," he beamed, "Our objective is simple: we will return to Ylisstol, eventually rejoining with King Henry and the Ylissean army, and evict the malicious Feroxi and mercenary groups who have besieged our homeland."
More assent rang out from the Shepherds as they assembled their weapons and moved to saddle up their gear. Chrom silently released a relieved sigh upon seeing that none of the group had fled. His mind continued to work quickly, however, as there questions spun around his mind, considering every detail of their return. Most prominent among these questions, however, was also the simplest: why had the Feroxi turned? Chrom had his suspicions, all of which tied into his son the prince's diplomatic visit, but word had never returned from the East-Khan. That would also explain why the Feroxi had struck Ylisstol before pursuing its royal family. Suddenly, a switch flipped in the exalt's brain and his eyes narrowed. There was something else of great value to him in Regna Ferox. He hoped to Naga that the place hadn't become to violent. If anyone could be his saving grace, it would be Lon'qu and Panne, but would they be able to hold out? ... Whatever their course, Chrom was now surer than ever that the Shepherds needed to hurry. After a moment, another realization hit Chrom, as if the time spent in Ylisse was slowly returning lost memories to him, "Lucina... did your Aunt Lissa carry out my orders? The request I gave to Sully, did she...?"
"I found that sumbitch, all right," the short-haired knight strode over, "I brought him back, and he actually helped us take back Ylisstol after the first time it was attacked... O'course, that was mostly just stalling, since that big bastard Arc ending up taking it over anyway."
"Is that who's leading the mercenaries now?" Chrom interposed.
"Nah," Sully shook her head, "he's worm food now. Lucina helped us kick his hide, along with Anna and Leo. Ol' Faithful himself and his littlest pride and joy left for Valm weeks ago."
"Are Anna and Leo with you?" the exalt pressed.
"Nope, they followed The Tactician Magician after we retook the capitol," the redheaded cavalier answered.
"And lo, it is known by another present here that the oldest of the Grandmaster's clan also departed for the lands of the west," Owain contributed.
Chrom paused, "So... Robin, Anna, and all of their children are in Valm?"
"So it would seem," Lucina nodded.
"I think we'll leave their business to them, then," the sapphire-haired lord resolved, "For now, let's focus on what we have to do, and we'll pray that they come out all right."
Lucina nodded, "By your leave, father. I'm sure Robin and his family will do just fine."
[...]
"YOU SUNK THE STARLING?!" a voice scolded harshly, scattering a nearby flock of birds.
A distressed Robin held out his hands, feeling sweat on his face, "We didn't sink it, it was ripped apart in a storm."
"Because of your terrible navigation skills!" his wife railed, "Honestly, you couldn't have just hired a real professional captain, you had to do it by yourself, because you're so passionate about the sea... I swear, this is the last time I ever fund a vanity project of yours, I mean, do you have any idea what that thing cost?! I coulda saved up four years worth of inventory before I spent as much money as I did on that stinking boat! I have half a mind to throttle you right now, you...! URGH!"
Robin hung his head and sighed as he was berated for a few minutes more before Anna threw up her hands and drifted away, sighing. "She hasn't slowed down a moment, has she?" Leo posed, grabbing his father's attention.
"No, that she hasn't," Robin agreed.
"You know, she never stopped trying to reach you when you were separated," Leo noted, "Honestly, I was gonna stop in Ylisstol and wait for you to get back, see if any more of these mercenary creeps were hanging around, but she wouldn't hear it, she wanted to get to Valm ASAP."
"Really?" Robin's brow rose.
"You're surprised?" his son shot back.
"Not about Anna, I don't doubt her devotion for a second," the Grandmaster returned, "I didn't think you of all people would want to sit around in a palace while the action is going on elsewhere."
The assassin folded his arms, "No offense, but it looked like there'd be more going on in Ylisstol for a while than out here. Honestly, I figured you'd have the problem sorted by the time we got here."
"I wish you were right," Robin shrugged.
"You know, you coulda done all this more effectively if you'd'a just killed ol' Silver Shell at the outset," Leo mused.
His father scoffed, "Are we really doing this again? You know Argent was untouchable at the time. No one could've just snuck in there and taken him out, so it's a moot point."
"I could have," Leo grumbled.
"Oh my gods," Robin shook his head, "You're really doing this. Listen, son: I don't care what ancient techniques your masters taught you, you'd have been skewered fifty yards from the gate if you tried to assassinate Argent. I'm not saying that to spite you, I mean that literally no one could have penetrated his defenses."
"Every fortress is impenetrable until it gets broken into," the assassin rebutted, "With a little careful scaling of the walls, and precise avoidance of attention from the guards..."
"You could get to the general's throne, which he almost never leaves, and then be surrounded by a dozen or more of his most elite units and reduced to ribbons in seconds," the tactician concluded.
"Almost never isn't never," Leo protested, "he'd have to leave eventually, and when he did..."
"You'd have no idea where he was going and you'd be dealing with a patrol and a few sentries in every hallway, the layout of which you're unfamiliar with," his father continued.
"Listen, old man," Leo growled, jabbing a finger at his father, "I know you think everything's impossible now that you can barely walk without spraining something, but for a guy in his prime, there was every opportunity to bring that hulking moron to heel!"
"No, you listen, little boy," Robin glared back, "I examined all of our options beforehand. If I could have made things as simple as sending an assassin, I would have, but no one's careful enough to avoid every hazard that palace could throw at them, especially when espionage was the inciting issue for this whole conflict, and so, worst-case scenario, such a maneuver might have actually made things worse. A proper, planned assault and removal of the target by means of force was the only way to proceed."
"Why do I bother talking to you? You're so used to everyone kissing your ass about how great your plans are, you're delusional!" the assassin shouted.
"Pardon me for having confidence in my deductions when I've been doing this for years, unlike certain children who are still working through the ranks of being a glorified foot soldier!" his father growled.
Steven watched the pair, snarling at one another and sighed. As an orator, it was always assumed that Steven was the stubborn one, but looking at those two, he couldn't fathom how he shared half their genetics. The silver-haired man had experienced this exercise in futility many times, and on each occasion it was with similar burning vigor. It was strangely comforting to hear the argument again. It reminded the young man of the days when he'd trudge back home in the snow, brushing clumps of it off his sleeves as he walked into the warmth of a fire, a pot of soup steaming, and the exasperated voice of his father trying to quell his overly ambitious youngest son. Of course, sometimes Leo's voice was replaced with that of others... though that didn't necessarily mean the response was any less exasperated, particularly in the case of a certain little redhead, but even then, the answers at that time had a different mode of exasperation, something that was ultimately comforting and paternal. Now it mostly seemed like pure frustration. Steven decided he'd have to ask his father in detail about it later, perhaps once they'd found a new ship.
Meanwhile, several paces away, a brunette in her baby-blue cloak sidled up to her mother, curly hair bouncing, and she tapped the tall redhead on the shoulder as she muttered to herself. Caught in her stupor, Anna's head jolted up before she craned her neck, "Huh? Oh, sorry, I was thinking... What's up, Sylvie?"
"I heard that little spat between you and dad," she introduced.
"Oh," Anna frowned, "I know it's not all his fault, but that damn ship cost me a fortune..."
"Are you feeling okay, mom?" the brunette suddenly demanded.
"Eh?" she cocked an eyebrow, "Yeah, I'm fine. Why, is there something on my face?"
"No, but you look..." Sylvia hesitated, examining her mother's curious eyes for a few seconds before making her decision, "You look really tired. Gaunt, even. Did you sleep on your way up here?"
"Sometimes," the redhead conceded when she thought about it, "when I could."
Sylvia's bottom lip pouted, "Mother, I thought you were supposed to be good at telling people what they want to hear."
"I was worried about your dad," the merchant shrugged simply.
"Well now I'm worried about you," the performer walked in a circle around her mother, examining her carefully.
Anna blushed, "Uh, Sylvie? Could you not stare at mommy like that? I feel like a horse at auction."
"Yes, yes, yes," the performer rapidly told herself, "I know just what you need."
She bit, "What's that, hon?"
"A bit..." she spun around, flourishing a gloved hand, "Of Mystic Sylvia's..." The girl skipped backward a step, throwing a hand skyward and launching a tiny red flame that popped in midair, "Fantastical..." Another flame went up and sparked emerald green, "Renewal..." One more spark flew up, this one indigo, "Extravaganza!"
Anna blinked the glittery dust out of her eyes and then applauded lightly, "Uh, A+ for presentation, hon, but we might need to work on that name."
"Either way," her daughter ignored her, "A little taste of my experimental magic will have you feeling right as rain in a jiffy! I got the idea for the technique from a traveling bard." Following the explanation, Sylvia stood back, raising a staff before her, and skipped a few steps forward, spinning the staff and whistling a jaunty little tune. She continued her cantering, spinning back around, for several seconds more, then faced her mother, flourished her cape, and aimed the staff, which illuminated for a moment and then fizzled. As the light dimmed, the performer crossed her legs and bowed, although there was no applause accompanying the gesture. "Thank you, thank you!" she expressed to no one in particular.
Anna looked on in amusement, but as she took a step forward to break her daughter's reverie, she became aware that her legs no longer felt sore or tired, and her eyes were open wider than before. In general, she felt a tremendous relief, and so she glanced curiously at her daughter, "Say... I think that actually worked."
"R-Really?" Sylvia picked up her head, "I mean... Er, of course it worked! You think the great Mystic Sylvia would perform a spell that didn't do anything?" The performer guffawed theatrically.
Anna chuckled and sighed, "Here I was worried that you'd be a little beaten up by being forced into the middle of all this... I can see not much fazes you, Sylvia."
"Hey, I'm sure you had plenty of worries when we were all separated," she answered, "Why should I compound upon that? Everyone's safe and together again, that's good enough, right?"
"Very right," the merchant put an arm around her daughter and pulled her close.
"I'd forgotten how... colorful your family was," Inigo smiled, choosing his words.
"They're a bunch of loons," his fiancée replied, "But I guess it's good that they're all alive. I hope they continue to live for a long time... very far away from me."
"You don't mean that," the Ylissean prince gripped her shoulder.
The thief sighed, "I don't know. I'm just looking forward to finally putting this thing to rest. We're only about an hour from Valm Harbor now, and then it's just a few days' trip by sea to get back to Port Ferox."
"Right," Inigo nodded, "the problem will be securing another ship to use, seeing as how our first voyage didn't go very well."
"If I know my brother," Morgan supposed, "I'd bet Steve's cooked something up for just such an occasion."
"So, we just need to get there..." Inigo breathed, "Ah, but, that reminds me... Morgan, don't you remember what we found in Valm Harbor?"
"It hasn't left my mind since we got out of there," she nodded, "I don't know what was going on there, but I'd like to stay away from the town as much as possible."
"Agreed," the prince nodded, "but what if... I mean, do you suppose whoever's there will just let us...?"
"I don't know, and I'm not eager to find out," Morgan concurred, "but it's our only way home. We can't waste time here."
"Most assuredly," the Ylissean lord accepted. Still, he felt an unshakable icy sensation on his neck as the group moved forward.
[...]
Water clung to every inch of his skin, like a sponge abandoned in a basin, he was simultaneously drained and oversaturated as he took a few steps outside of his cold prison. The first sensation he felt afterward was an excruciating, throbbing, stabbing rush of pain in his eye, and so, without alternative, he reached up to the affected area, grabbed the problem (an arrow, he remembered) and yanked it forcefully out from the flesh. The pain in that instant was even worse, and it took every fiber of his being and constitution to not collapse from shock as his vision bordered with white, but he finally dislodged the bothersome implement, snapped it with vicious contempt, and dropped it to the sand below.
As he stepped forth onto the cobblestone streets, deluges still poured out from his garments. He removed his boots and let their contents coat the ground before slipping them back on, then went through the process of removing several of his other large garments and shaking them dry before putting them back on. Once this was done, he strode quietly through the streets at what he normally would have considered an agonizing slow pace, though it felt natural to him at the moment. Catching wayward glances from a few passersby, he remembered his eye, feeling a viscous sensation as he tapped around where the ball had once been. Made acutely aware of how it might look at once, the man slipped into a tailor and glared at the shop owner. The man at the other end of the counter shriveled a bit in anxiety upon seeing him, but when the customer pointed to his eye noiselessly, the tailor sunk into the back room and reemerged with a black silk eyepatch in his open hand. He presented it hopefully to the prospective customer, who took it and placed it over his damaged eye, strapping it to his head. The cool material felt strangely comforting on the searing hot pain, and so the man exhaled as his muscles relaxed. He nodded vaguely and fished some waterlogged coins out of his pocket, dumping them on the counter and taking his leave.
The man stood in the center of the street, stretching a bit: it felt as though he'd been sleeping for quite some time, and even now, things still felt like a dream, as his vision never took on that certain appearance of reality. Inside, too, the man was troubled: his stomach ached, and he felt cold at all times, but he refused to allow these irritations to hinder him. Only one question mattered in the mind of the green-haired man as he reached down to his belt. He withdrew his sword, swung it a few times, and felt it slice the breeze. He whipped he tool a few more times to satisfy himself, and when he did so, he sheathed the weapon anew. So that remained. And, as his memories drifted back amid the current souplike quality of his thoughts, he was reminded that his master had been correct: they were no joke, not to be trifled with. That whole family, they could wreak untold chaos when together, and he had only fought half of them. But they had only fought half of him, in a way, he chuckled to himself. He would find them now, and whether it was one by one or all at once, he would flay each and every one of them for the disturbance they'd cause him. Starting with the silver-haired one. But where could he find them? Had Nihilus killed them already? He would start at Valm Harbor and uncover what he could.
[...]
The throne room was cold. Even more so than usual, because there were no flames alight in the room, as was typical. Instead, the small rectangular space was colored only by the meager, icy-blue light offered by the outdoors. No one would bother to enter the room at this point, so there was no need for the decorations afforded to and required by guests. The door would remain locked to all but those who possessed the key, and that included only three people. One of them would never need to use it, as he had no desire to leave, to see what the outside world had become. Atop his liar's chair, he sat, the snowy mop of his hair hanging sullenly over his face as his eyes traced the designs on the ornate palace floor. He resisted the urge to simply close his eyes: they struggled against him every moment, as, though he was fatigued during the day, sleep mocked him at night, and so the eyes had remained open for three days, never once shutting the doors of consciousness, so that now all things dreamlike and real seemed to exist on the same plane. That, of course, had only made him more paranoid, seeing visions of strange and menacing specters lurking on the peripheries of his vision. He felt convinced in this moment that this was assuredly what death felt like.
As if sensing his despair, the door clicked, and a few echoing clops from a pair of boots traipsed toward the center of the room. "Milord..." Stewart saluted feebly. The boy could see it, of course; his attendant had always served him faithfully, dutifully, and with an infectious passion he wished all the Feroxi shared, but now, in the cold sea that was slowly rising over his khanate, the sanguine vigor of his comrade had faded to match the sickly purple of his freezing face.
The boy looked up, not trying to conceal his misery, but still looking more like a toddler who'd lost his ice cream than a ruler who had now committed atrocities and war crimes on the level of the East-Khan. He waved his hand for his subject to continue.
"I... I can't," the man stammered, "Forgive me, milord... permission to speak freely?"
The khan nodded.
"What you've done, sir... I have supported the East-Khan with my life since the latter years of Flavia's reign, but what you've done... I'm not sure I can continue to follow you. The deaths of the West-Khan and his wife... these will not be forgiven easily. Too many are already dead, but now... Milord, scattered reports are coming in that the Ylisseans have bolstered their resolve and their number, and are rebutting our advance with all of Plegia in tow."
The khan simply lowered his head again.
"Why, Khan Vlasis?" his subordinate demanded, his fist tensing a little, "Why did you allow Lord Datura to proceed with this... folly? This madness?"
The khan shook his head and outstretched his arms, feigning an attempt to separate them as if they were bound by rope. Afterward, he pointed to his lips and then the ceiling.
"Word of the gods?" Stewart interpreted, "Please, I beg you, no more vagaries, milord! I must know the whole of it!"
"And so shall you have it," responded a crotchety voice. The silver-blue hair that poked through the door introduced Lord Datura, whose long robe dragged as he made his way to the throne, never moving his eyes from Stewart.
"You!" the guardsman growled, "You're the cause of all this! Every horrible mistake the good khan has made has been due to your counsel!"
"Hah!" the old man scoffed, "This boy's reign wouldn't be possible without me! Do you think it was his idea to grant amnesty to the pacifists and lower taxation on foods in poor regions during the winters? To stay the executions of criminals with living families? How do you think people chose this meek lily-of-the-valley to succeed the incomparable Flavia? Because of his charisma?! His work ethic?! Hah! It was me at the source of it all, and the boy knows it well!"
"Y-You...?" the attendant took a step back and looked to his khan for verification. The boy nodded slightly, his eyes burning as he looked back into those of his comrade, who swallowed, "B-But... milord... You are not beholden to this fiend! You have a choice! Perhaps your people will be disappointed, but surely the shame purported by his blackmail is far lesser than the odious disgrace of dooming your entire nation to collapse!"
Datura had a long, deep laugh as his eyes narrowed on the blond before him, "I'm afraid you still have it wrong. The boy is beholden to me, as many have been, and as many more shall soon be..."
"What are you prattling abou-" the retort was cut short as a blade was driven into the man's chest. He gasped, feeling the warm blood trickle over his hands, then with the last sparks jolting through his nervous system, craned his neck to face his khan, the eyes warm and slightly wet.
"I grew so very tired of his questions," Datura sighed, distastefully flinging and wiping the blood from his hands as he withdrew the small blade, "Now... on to business."
The boy's teeth clenched hard, such that he expected them to shatter under the force, his arms gripping the armrests of his throne in a similar fashion, so hard that the wood seemed liable to crack. He stood and faced the chrome-haired sorcerer before him, brandishing a tome from beneath his cloak.
"Don't be so damn stupid," Datura rolled his eyes, pulling out a tome of his own.
Twin streaks of tears rolled down the East-Khan's eyes. He choked down his fears as he stared forward. He lifted his free hand, feeling the emanations from the page before him, which glowed brightly: a black purplish smoke enveloped Datura, but he simply chuckled. He responded by flinging a bolt of amethyst light that seemed to pierce the boy's heart. He collapsed to his knees, falling from the throne, but propped himself up. He growled and waved his hand forward to cast the spell again, gurgling, "No."
Datura flung another bolt that struck the East-Khan in a similar fashion.
He fell flatly on his face and felt his jaw bounce up into his mouth. He rose on one knee and aimed the spell again, "No."
Datura stabbed him with another bolt.
He writhed on the floor, clutching his chest. He outstretched his hand, his eyes tightening until he was blind, but he sent the spell regardless, "No."
Lord Datura scowled, slamming the boy with another bolt, then another in rapid succession, then another, and another, and one more, until the boy's vestments smoked, his body convulsed before dropping limply, and the light faded from his soft eyes. "Imbecile," Datura scoffed contemptuously, "forcing me to waste my magic..." After his frustration passed, the sorcerer swapped his tome out for another and raised his hands to the sky. An ominous smoke swirled around the bodies in the room, slowly lifting them from their broken positions and suspending their limbs before returning them upright and jolting flashes of light into their eyes. Stewart's mouth gaped, but before he could say a word, Datura had turned to a shamefaced Vlasis, who simply hung his head once more. "Of course, you see how futile and stupid that was."
The boy nodded, still feeling the burning in his stomach.
"Now, don't disobey again, or I may decide to cease my influence upon you," he snarled.
Vlasis nodded slowly, feeling his balled fists empty and spread out limply.