No Longer Alone


Disclaimer: I own nothing.


Serafew.

Once a border town between Grado and Renais, it had long been held as a symbol of the friendship between the two nations. Now, it teemed with soldiers bearing the emblem of Grado on their armour.

Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been complete suicide for the band of travelers to enter the fortified town, seeing as how a fair number of them bore armour with the crests of Frelia and Renais.

Today, however…

The steady roar of voices from the gigantic arena in the center of the town permeated the entire area. Today was 'Coliseum day', and no amount of invasions was going to change the flood of mercenaries and bravados who came from far and wide to test their skills and luck in the arena.

It was, quite simply, a logistical nightmare.

Lucky us, Franz observed.

Due to the massive crowd, it had been ridiculously easy to enter the city unopposed, and even unnoticed. The soldiers in the area seemed more concerned with the more disreputable characters amongst the crowd, and let anyone in armour pass by without paying too much attention.

Their goal was singular – make it to the vendors and obtain supplies for their journey to Renvall. Serafew was their last (and frankly, their only) stop that was a big enough town to possibly provide the stuff they wanted.

As General Seth and the Princess held an impromptu discussion over the best way to leave the town unnoticed, Franz busied himself with checking his personal supplies. His satchel contained a couple of vulneraries, herbs, spare cash, a coil of rope, a hunk of bread, and other miscellaneous items. Everything seemed to be in order… except he had forgotten to pack a torch. Careless.

Oh well. He could probably get one from the store later…

Glancing up, he noted that a serious looking male was conversing with the princess. With a slight bow, the man cut short the conversation and departed rapidly.

Franz watched him with slight curiosity. The man's garments seemed… well, rustic. Homemade, rough materials comprised the green cloak trailing behind him as he rounded the corner and vanished into the crowd.

The princess had turned her attention to other matters. Raising her hand and voice, she began to make plans for supply gathering. The general idea was to make it short and quick. The last thing they needed was to get into a fight in the middle of the town.

Time was running out, though… the majority of the crowd was disappearing into the the already-packed coliseum.

"Franz. You and Sir Gilliam round that alley. There's an armoury near the inn on the far side of town. Try not to attract attention." The general gave his orders. "The list of weapons needed are all here." The general handed the young knight a scrap of paper.

Franz nodded. "Understood, Sir." Several of the letters were confusing – he still didn't read very well – but he should be able to figure it out…

The green-clad knight was already heading down the direction of the alley. With a call for him to wait up, Franz hurried after his older contemporary.


"Well, what do we do now?" Franz said, questioning himself as much as he did Sir Gilliam.

The alley they had assumed would be unguarded had a fair number of Grado soldiers lounging lazily around. They didn't seem particularly interested in seeking a bunch of renegade warriors down, which Franz counted as a plus. However, their formation was worrying – they were arrayed in the fashion that blocked off all escape routes from the town square.

"Have they been alerted to us?" He mumbled to himself. In which case the others would be in danger…

"Circumstances have changed." Sir Gilliam said softly as he peered down the alleyway. "We head back to the others and discuss a change in strategy."

Franz nodded, and was about to turn back when a sudden uproar caught his attention. Looking frantically around, he caught sight of darts of flame exploding, followed by a blinding flash of light, partially obscured by the houses in the way.

"They've already been spotted." Franz said urgently.

The knights uttered mutual silent curses and were about to break into runs when there came another shout from behind the two of them. Whirling, they caught sight of a soldier rushing towards them, business ends of his spear at the ready. Behind him, several more people arrayed in the armour of Grado rushed towards them, drawing various weapons.

They'd been found.


Digging under the bed, Amelia finally managed to retrieve the low-heeled boot she had accidentally dropped under there earlier. Cramming it into her pack, she took a last glance around the inn room to ensure she hadn't left anything behind.

Nope. It was clean as a whistle. Who invented that phrase, anyway? She thought to herself.

Shrugging her pack onto her shoulders, she headed for the door, pausing only to glance out the window as she saw several Grado soldiers rush past.

Anxiety and swirls of indignation thickened once again, and a frown replaced the normally cheery smile on her face.

She had originally considered asking the soldiers around the area for advice on signing up for the Grado armies, but after her recent experience with the authoritarian rule of Serafew, she had decided to forego the process in favour of simply asking around once she had gotten to the Capital.

After the reprimand of sorts from the soldier, she had observed the town more, and noted that many of the Renaitian citizens were downtrodden and oppressed. She couldn't find it in herself to believe any of them were bad people, let alone all of them. Neither could she decide which was worse, the fact that the soldiers mistreated the Renaitians, or the fact that the Grads, their longtime neighbours, didn't appear to care.

As she pushed open the door to her room, she silently paused to consider an incident that he happened just yesterday.


"I said MOVE, Renais dog! Commander Saar doesn't have all day to deal with you!" The soldier growled disgustedly as he gave the stumbling man in front of him a hard shove. The villager was sent sprawling.

"Stop, please!" The old man pleaded. "I – I never meant any disrespect! I just-"

"Oh, shut it and move!" The soldier snapped. "You didn't bow and greet me, and that's enough to get you sent to the clappers for a month. You know the law."

Amelia had watched, stunned, as a man old enough to be her grandfather was pushed roughly along the streets. As the feeble person managed to pick himself up to a semi-walking pace, Amelia found herself hurrying forward towards the two. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted with a sense of pained resignation that she was the only one actually paying any attention to the scene.

"Stop – stop that!" Not very eloquent, but apparently forceful enough that both soldier and villager paused to look at her. She was then struck by the discomforting thought that she had no idea what she was supposed to say.

"Why are… why are you doing this?" She finally asked. The soldier snorted contemptuously in the elderly person's direction.

"Lack of respect to a Grado officer, that's why. And you'd better clear off too, Gradian or no, or you'll be in for it as well."

Amelia glanced at the old man's haggard, hunted expression, and made a split-second decision. "Look, is there anyway a… transgression like this could be made up in money? You know… a fine or something?"

The soldiers idly scratched his chin, seemingly not caring very much. "Fifteen." He finally said.

"Fifteen silver? Okay, I…" Amelia's hand was already halfway to her purse.

"Gold."

"Oh." Dipping her hand into the leather pouch, she drew out a handful of the gold sovereigns. Biting her lip, she stared down at the mass of them with uncomprehending eyes. Darn it, she'd never learnt to count past ten back home…

"I think fifteen is… ten and another five. Or was that a ten and another ten? Which one's twenty again?" Scratching her head, she finally picked out what she hoped was the right amount and handed it to the soldier.

Without much apparent interest, he grabbed the coins, and gave the old man a shove with his boot, sending him sprawling. "Count yourself lucky, Renaitian." The soldier smirked. "Someone here apparently thinks your health is worth fifteen gold, for whatever reason." Whistling to himself, he walked off tossing the coins back and forth between his hands.


After 'rescuing' that man, he'd thanked her, and hurried away, presumably back home.

The incident had ended, but the memory refused to let go. Hidden deep within her was a question she was doing her best not to face, the question of whether Serafew was the exception or the rule.

Drawing in a deep breath, she shook her head. "I believe people are good." She whispered to herself. "I believe in humanity."

With a brisk stride, she headed downstairs.


The point of the steel lance embedded itself into the wall just behind Franz, a quick jerk to the left being the only thing that had saved the cavalier from losing an eye (and a chunk of his brain).

His slashed at his opponent with his sword, missing by inches as the soldier leaned back. Back-kicking against the wall, Franz darted forward and crouched at the same time. A quick swing of his blade and there was one less opponent to deal with.

The narrow alleyway was, unsurprisingly enough, working to their advantage, as the soldiers were forced to engage them one by one, lest they ended up stabbing someone on their own side. What wasn't so pleasing, however, was the fact that unlike the goons they had faced near Border Mulan, these soldiers definitely knew what they were doing.

Openings came far and few in between, and the fairly inexperienced cavalier was still doing his best to keep them at bay. None of his earlier fights against inexperienced bandits and frail, shambling monsters had prepared him for this. The fact that he was, by and large, more used to combat on horseback didn't help matters.

Gilliam, by contrast, appeared to be doing wonderfully in comparison. The silent knight never uttered sounds other than the occasional grunt as he used his lance to drop one foe after the other. The power behind his strikes easily crushed the defensive stances any of his foes used, and the pile of defeated and disabled opponents around him was growing.

Catching a sudden glint of light, he dodged to the left, letting the arrow flit harmlessly by. Blasted archers. They'd been relatively quiet throughout the fight, unwilling to risk firing into their own comrades, but when they saw an opening, they took it.

With a grunt of exertion, Franz managed to block the slash aimed at his head, and deliver a kick to the soldier's midsection. The man stumbled, knocking down the soldier right behind him.

A lance would probably have been more effective in the current situation, given the inordinate amounts of swords and spears the enemy were carrying in comparison to axes, but he still lacked the combat experience necessary to use spears properly in close quarters, melee combat.

A wild stab with a knife slammed into his shoulder, sending a jolt of agony through his arm. Uttering a cry of pain, Franz staggered back, then swiped at the knife-wielder with his sword. The soldier had been overconfident, and paid for it dearly.

Trying to defend himself with his good arm, Franz staggered backwards, fending off the seemingly endless multitude of blows his next opponent was raining on him. Luckily enough, their numbers seemed to be thinning.

Just then, he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye.

Something slammed into him from behind, stumbling Franz and pitching him to the ground. His wounded shoulder impacted with the dusty floor, sending a fresh wave of pain through his body that slowed down his reaction to the new threat.

Rolling over, the cavalier saw that the Grado soldier that had snuck up behind him standing over him with a spear aimed at his heart. A helmet hid the soldier's eyes, but he could see a smirk on the man's mouth.

The lance pierced armour and flesh, tearing through the knight's heart.

Franz was still alive. The soldier wasn't.

Gilliam tore his spear from the dead man's chest, swinging it again in an arc that laid flat the last of the melee soldiers. The only foes left were two archers, already turning to make a retreat.

A javelin stabbed through one of them, and Vanessa swooped down, finishing off the last one with a quick thrust to the head.

Franz lay winded on the ground, each gasping breath compounding the pain from the dagger lodged in his shoulder. Reaching over weakly, he grasped the knife for an instant, then managed to pull it out, uttering several words that were unsuitable for print as he did so.

Gilliam crouched down to observe the wound as Franz rummaged around in his satchel for the vulnerary he knew was in there. "It's bad. But not fatal." The older knight finally diagnosed. Rising to meet Vanessa, he nodded. "Dame Vanessa."

"Sir Gilliam. The princess was worried if you had ran into any unexpected trouble down here, but it appears you had it handled. Excellent work, both of you."

Franz gave a grim chuckle as he poured the curative mixture on his shoulder, before quaffing a dose of it himself. He'd survived, once again, largely due to luck and the help of a more useful companion. Sir Gilliam had also handled the majority of the soldiers, and he didn't even appear out of breath.

"What about the princess? Is she alright? How many soldiers?"

"Yes, she's fine. They're not actually hunting us. A cleric from Grado is apparently the fugitive in question. We've been able to hold out, and the latest order is for us three to circle around the alley and meet them at the far end of the town square.

Gilliam nodded, turned towards Franz. "How's the wound?"

Franz gave a practice swing with his hand. The pain had dimmed – Father Moulder could see to it properly later. "I'll be fine." Working under the assumption we don't run into another crowd of soldiers, of course.

"Right." Gilliam signaled the three of them. "Let's move."


On the last step before the landing, Amelia tripped over a snag in the wood, sending her crashing to the stone floor. Painfully.

"Ow." She mumbled as she rubbed her sore forehead. Then, glancing up, she noted that her pack had opened up as she tumbled, sending the contents careening over the floor.

"Great." With a sigh, she crawled over and began picking up the various items that lay scattered over the area, while ignoring the rather pointed glare of the innkeeper. At least her lance was still securely attached to the bag…


A quick stab with his blade finished off the last of the soldiers that had tried to ambush the trio, and Franz continued down the alley.

"Grado's forces would be arrayed for chasing down a single renegade." Gilliam intoned to Vanessa, who had chosen for the time being to ride her Pegasus as a horse. "We're lucky that more of their soldiers haven't arrived here."

"I've told you before, Sir Gilliam. I don't believe in luck." The sky rider said, smiling.

Franz was only half-paying attention to the conversation. Despite the battle, several of the arena toughs were milling about, seemingly checking out the merchandise the town had to offer. The Grado soldiers apparently wanted to keep things low key. As he pondered, brawny, heavily tattooed man brushed past Franz, his war-axe clutched tightly in one hand. Franz barely spared him a glance.

And then they were out of the alley, just near the armoury.

"We're to meet them at the side of the arena." Vanessa said.

"Franz." Gilliam said. "No point wasting time. You go gather the weapons we need from the armoury."

Franz blinked. "But…"

"We can handle ourselves." Gilliam said gruffly. "If the odds are really too great, then you're not going to make much difference to the outcome anyway. Go get the weapons."

Franz nodded hesitantly. Then, turning, he headed for the weapon shop.


"Two more iron swords…" The Gradian vendor said. "That all?"

"Just about." Franz replied distractedly, looking down at the list. In truth, his mind was a thousand miles away. What had Sir Gilliam meant when he'd told him the outcome wouldn't be largely different? Was he truly so superfluous as a knight?

For all his recent battles, he was still a greenhorn in terms of actual warfare, and the recent skirmish had reaffirmed that. Was he still so inexperienced? The General had mentioned he was improving speedily, but then again, his mentor might have done that only to boost his self-esteem. Indeed, he didn't appear to bring to the table anything unique, and what he could do others could, apparently, do better. He let out a long sigh.

If that's the case… then the only thing I can do is fulfill the orders given unto me, to the best of my ability. Raising his head, he turned back to the weaponsmith.

"When can you finish forging them?"

"I'll be done before the hour is out." The blacksmith promised.

Franz nodded and headed for the door, only to be stopped by the sound of the blacksmith's voice.

"Say… you're Renaitian, ain't cha?"

Franz tensed, hand instinctively straying to his sword-hilt.

"No, don't say anything. I know what the Emperor did wasn't right. I never said I know anything about what's going on, but the Renaitians in the town have always treated me squarely. If you want to help your countrymen, go after that Captain Saar. He's been making life here hell for your countrymen."

Franz paused slightly, then nodded. "Thank you."

Then he departed.

Once back out in the bright sun, Franz broke into a jog, eager to join up with the rest of his comrades.

He was stopped short by the sound of laughter. A trio of axefighters walking up behind him were talking amongst themselves. He was certain he'd heard the word 'pillage' somewhere in their conversation.

Ducking behind a building that advertised itself as an inn, he pricked his years, trying to catch the end of the conversation.

"… believe how easy it was to sneak in here!"

"What'cha expect? Today's 'Coliseum day', mates! The one day anyone with a weapon can stroll into town!"

"What say we start with this inn? It'll be near empty, and there's always good cash behind a barkeep's till."

Bandits! The thought flared through Franz's mind with absolute clarity, and in an instant he was leaping from the shadows, sword drawn.

The bandits started, obviously unaware their conversation had been heard. Franz shifted the grip on his sword to a more offensive stance, and pointed it towards the biggest and most heavily muscled of the three. "Lay down your weapons." He said. "Now."

The brigands glanced at the crest on his armour, then the head one chuckled. "That so, knight? There's three of us, and one of you. So, look sharp!" The last word was said as the lead bandit exploded into action, axe swinging up in a horizontal slash that would have bisected Franz.

The young cavalier had already stepped backwards, letting the axe miss him be a hair. Bringing his sword up and then downwards in a chopping motion, he slowed the cut enough let the bandit block it as he simultaneously lashed out with his foot.

A whuf! of air escaped from the brigand's mouth, and he staggered back clutching his stomach, but the other two had already charged, axes swinging wildly. The cavalier was grateful that the streets were mostly deserted – the bandits' random strikes would be as likely to hurt any passersby as they would Franz.

The knight parried a blow and twisted his blade, locking it with the bandit's axe. As the surprised thug let out a cross between a snarl and a yelp, Franz jerked the interlocked weapons, colliding it with the third's one axe.

As the three weapons strained against each other, Franz ducked forward, slamming his elbow into the second bandit. The shock of the impact caused the thug to release his grip on his axe.

With the triple strain on the crossed weapons reduced to two, the remaining bandit and Franz were both sent sprawling. The knight tucked himself into a semi-roll as he did so, allowing himself to recover faster, despite the jolt of pain that was sent through his wounded shoulder.

Glancing up, he noted that the first of the bandits was now standing over him, axe raised. "You had this coming." He sneered.

Not wasting time with words, Franz stabbed the bandit through the chest.

As he slid the limp corpse off his now-bloody blade, the remaining two bandits attacked again, but this time from opposite sides. There was no way he'd be able to defend himself from simultaneous attacks on his front and back. There was only one way around this.

As the bandit charging his front raised his axe to bring it crashing down on the cavalier's head, Franz half-spun to bring his sword up in a diagonal two-handed slash. The two weapons crashed against each other with a screech of tortured metal.

Not even waiting to see if he had been successful in deflecting the blade or merely halting it, Franz spun around again, this time to parry a horizontal cut from the brigand attempting to attack his back.

His sword was going to be his only worthwhile defensive equipment here – armour was notoriously susceptible to folding over from axe-blows. That cheering thought in mind, Franz switched to an offensive style, whirling into a seemingly random but extremely intricate series of sword-slashes that were designed to overcome any defenses an enemy might put up. It was an immensely complicated swordplay, and Franz had yet to master even half of it, but against untrained bandits it would hopefully prove rather effective.

In a matter of half a second, perhaps less, the brigand had let slip an opening, and Franz dealt the deathblow. There was a choked curse as the bandit collapsed, then nothing more.

One last one… Was Franz's thought as he whirled around yet again – only to be confronted with a seemingly empty street.

Appearances are often deceiving. Before Franz had sufficient time to ponder the lack of enemies, he saw out of the corner of his eye a blur of movement, and threw himself to the side – a half-instant too slow to prevent the axe from biting into his leg.

The cut wasn't deep, but it hurt, and Franz was experienced enough not to put weight on it, which unfortunately left him in a half-crouch. The brigand let out a satisfied growl at the sight of the wounded knight and charged yet again, axe raised high. A clumsy, predictable attack, and predictability was fatal on any battlefield.

Franz readied his blade, judged the timing, boosted himself with his good leg, pushing too close to the brigand for his axe to do any good, and rammed his sword into the marauder's head.

As the adrenaline rush wore off, Franz slumped to the ground, panting for breath, eyes closed.

Nearly a full minute passed before he noticed the sun wasn't shining on his face, despite it being near midday.

Cracking open his eyes, he peered into the face of a Grado soldier, who was staring down at him. For some reason, the cavalier felt himself incapable of caring that he was probably going to be dead less then ten seconds from now.

The soldier glanced up the three corpses strewn along the relatively empty street. "This your doing?"

Franz nodded stupidly.

"And look at you all winded from three measly bandits. Renais' knights have really gone to the dogs."

Franz had a vague feeling he was supposed to be offended by the soldier's offhanded remark, but it was getting hard for him to concentrate.

The soldier half-turned and pointed to one of the few villagers who had been watching the fight with horrified fascination. "You there, get this boy to the inn! Now!"

The man nodded and hurried towards Franz, who glanced questioningly at the soldier.

The soldier refused to meet his gaze. "I never saw you. Understood?" Was all he said before he walked away out of the young knight's line of view.

Franz closed his eyes as he felt strong arms encircle him and lift him to his feet, head hung low as he stumbled with his companion to the darkened interior of the inn.


"Lessee, vulneraries, antitoxins… did I miss anything?" Amelia glanced around the bar, trying to see if any object had rolled off into some obscure nook of the bar. "Oh, right. Can't let myself forget torches for when it gets dark!" She was going to have to double her progress if she wanted to reach the Capital before the month was out, and nighttime traveling was going to be the best way to accomplish this. She'd be in relatively little danger – lanes that led directly to the Empire's heart always had heavy traffic regardless of the time of the day.

Shrugging her pack onto her shoulders, she nodded to herself. "I'm going to be the best soldier in the whole Grado Empire!" A foolish boast, but it was something she promised herself that she would work towards until her dying day. "I swear it." She said to no one in particular, an almost ritualistic way of affirming her inner decision.

As she headed for the exit, her eyes widened at the sight of a bunch of villagers shouldering their way in, half-carrying, half-dragging a knight that looked terribly beat up.

She'd heard something about a commotion outside – did this boy have anything to do with it? He didn't look much like a 'Grad', and the crowd around him prevented her from catching a glimpse of the crest on his armour.

Oh, well. Much as she felt sorry for the wounded knight, he appeared to be in good hands. Pausing to take a last look at the soldier's weary face, Amelia pushed open the door and headed out into the sunlit streets.


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