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Final Fantasy VI: The Sands of Time
Book 1: The Beginning
Chapter 3 - For the Lovers
Part 3.4 - The West Falls
"Draco..."
"Maria? Am I dreaming?"
"No, but you'll wish you were soon."
The sound of harsh laughter brought Draco to his senses, and with a painful realization, he knew he was in the hands of the enemy. He struggled to stand, but a swift blow to the stomach sent him reeling towards the ground. Before his body hit the floor he jerked to a stop painfully, his arms straining against the chains that bound him to the wall above.
"So, the mighty Dragon of the West has fallen. Any last words?"
Another harsh kick to the fallen knight's side and he coughed up a thick stream of blood. The wounds from the previous fight still had not healed completely, and his cruel captors were taking full advantage of them. Still, Draco's mind was in full effect, the poison slowly beginning to dissipate from his veins. If he could just endure this torture and get the information and time he needed, escape was still possible.
"Biggs...Wedge...where are they?" The words came out slowly, the growing pool of blood in his mouth making speech difficult.
"Dead. We killed them in the forest. They were just two worthless grunts. You're the real prize."
Draco coughed again, this time spitting a well-aimed clot of blood onto the shoes of the closest captor. He raised his head and looked the captors in the eyes, a blood-stained grin appearing on his face.
"You're...lying. Not...your style."
He eyed the three men before him, studying their faces for signs of weakness. One of them was a large overweight man with bulging muscles just beneath the ripples of fat. Thick patches of hair covered the portions of his arms and chest that were exposed. His face had a glazed look on it, and a slight gleam of madness shone from his eyes. He didn't have much hair on his head, except for a thick stubble that seemed to rise almost to his eyes. He had a malicious grin on his face, showing his misshapen and half rotten teeth. This was the one delivering the blows, and he seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. Draco could tell just from the look in the man's face that he wasn't too bright, and his main purpose here was to do the unpleasant physical parts of this meeting that the others were too squeamish to perform. He had heard of men like him from his fellow soldiers. Beaters.
Behind the Beater was a somewhat smaller man, but still well-built. This was the man who had done all of the talking so far. He was much more well-kept than the others, but still had the same look of malice in his eyes. He was wearing fine robes and looked like a member of the Eastern nobility. He seemed rather young for this gruesome task, no older than his mid-20's, but Draco figured hate was something the East instilled into their people as soon as possible. Unlike the Beater, he didn't seem to be enjoying himself, and seemed to almost regret having to be present. It seemed his sole role was to talk to Draco and convince him to spill all the secrets of his forces to them. Draco knew of his kind as well. Mediators.
The last man was the one Draco had spit blood onto. He was as filthy as the Beater, and didn't seem much brighter. He didn't seem to have the build for physical torture, or the brains for mental torture, but he had the same look of hate the others shared. Draco was unsure of his role in the interrogation, but he was sure he'd figure it out soon enough. The unknown man looked down at his shoes and smiled, seemingly not affected by the blood. He spoke up now, his voice as harsh as his laugh.
"Doesn't matter if we are or if we ain't. You'll never see 'em again, that's for sure. This rat-hole is going to be your grave, hero."
The grating laughter returned, and Draco struggled once more to stand, his anger rising. A third blow from the Beater quickly stifled his attempt.
"Don't learn too quick, do ya? You're our prisoner, see? We make the rules, and your life is in our hands. Give in to our demands, and ya might live. Piss us off and...," at this the harsh-spoken man put his finger to his neck and ran it across like a knife, replete with sound effects.
"Yes, Prince Ralse could make good use of a soldier such as you, even if you are a bit of a punk. Learn some manners and you could do well here."
Draco couldn't help but utter a weak laugh at the Mediator's reply.
"Hah...I will never help you...the West will not...be betrayed by me..."
The Beater delivered yet another blow to Draco's face, silencing him with pain. At this the Mediator spoke up, having had enough of this torture for the moment.
"Enough! Leave him to stew for a bit. Give him a chance to realize where he is and that he is in no position to play games with us."
The Mediator looked over his battered prisoner with disdain, then turned and left the cell, motioning for the others to leave as well. The harsh-spoken man was the last to leave, and took the opportunity to spit at Draco's feet before slamming the door shut. Draco was alone now - no light, no hope, for the moment.
On the other side of the door, the Mediator confidently strode down a sparsely lit hallway, quietly laughing to himself. His two cohorts dumbly followed him, obviously not in on the joke.
"Ah, what irony. The poor fool doesn't even realize where he's at. Heh, I guess it's not surprising. He doesn't seem like the type to visit even his own dungeon. Prince Ralse will be pleased with this bounty indeed. You two! Stop lagging back there. I'm sure there are other prisoners who could use your...talents. Get back to work!"
The two henchmen quickly backed away and disappeared down seperate branching paths, leaving the Mediator to present his prize to his superior. He continued to stride down the hallway, ignoring the branching paths to other prison cells and headed straight for the large iron doors seperating the dungeon from the more pleasant areas of the castle. Once through these doors the castle immediately felt much more lively and warm. A brightly lit corridor led out from the iron doors, and after a short flight of stairs, the Mediator entered a wide open room filled with the rich symbols of regality. The high walls were lined with portraits of high nobility and busts of kings, and the floors with red satin carpets with gold trim. The Mediator looked around him with disgust, the various images of past kings seeming unpleasant to him.
"Old men, your time is over now. Soon these vestiges of the past will be torn down and a new line of rule will be put in place. The West should have seen the hopelessness of their fight sooner and surrendered. Maybe then they would have saved some of their history. Now no one will remember them, forgotten in the tides of war."
The Mediator looked away from the various images on the walls and continued his path through the room. He walked straight down the wide room and stopped in front of a large golden door with what looked like the twisted body of a serpent rising from the floor and wrapping itself over the archway and down the other side. A closer look revealed it was actually the abstract form of a dragon, with the wings spreading out above the doors, and the head positioned at the pinnacle of the doors, between the two wings, its mouth open in a ferocious snarl. Two guards were positioned in front of the doors and crossed their spears at the approaching Mediator.
"I'm here to see Prince Ralse. I have secured the West's top general and wish to report my success to His Majesty immediately. Let me pass!"
With a flourish of the Mediator's robes he presented an official document stating his purposes for seeing the prince, and the guards opened the doors to the royal chamber. The chamber was as large as a ballroom and at the moment was filled with many important looking dignitaries. Dozens of delicately hanging chandeliers lit the room, each one sparkling with myriad crystal candles. The portraits of past kings were even more pronounced in this room, some life-sized, some small enough to fit in a man's pocket, all painted with a level of skill unmatched by the artists of the East. The West was renowned for its artisans, and had focused on that skill for hundreds of years, instead of war. It was this weakness that the ever battle ready East had so easily taken advantage of. The floor of the hall was home to a rich red carpet filled with many intricate designs and symbols, all seeming to make up a beautifully woven story of love, war, and peace that covered the entire expanse of the room. At the end of the room sat a large throne, and in it a young man, smugly grinning at his newfound position while he talked with one of his advisors. He wore a copper-toned robe with many glimmering sequins, each one reflecting the lights of the chandeliers above. His hair was a greyish-white, and was wrapped into a tight bun around his head. Like most of the royalty of the East, he wore the traditional wig of the nobles. This was Prince Ralse, the tyrant ruler of East, and now West, Jidorik.
The Mediator brushed past the throng of people with an air of superiority, carefully looking away from the floor and walls. He quickly approached the throne where the prince sat and bowed his head, eager to give his liege the good news. The Prince paid him no heed, and continued to talk with his advisor for a few moments.
"Tell my dawdling father that there were no problems taking the Western stronghold like he predicted. He concerns himself with problems best left in the history books. Now is the time of gunpowder and technology, not swords and spears. His antiquated war strategies are best left in a corner collecting dust. I wish he would realize that is the best place for himself as well. Why can't he just accept death and let me rule without his annoying commentary?"
"Forgive me for being frank, sire, but His Lordship ruled over East Jidorik for nearly fifty years, and in that time we never once needed to resort to violence to settle our differences with the West. There was always tension, but he always managed to keep all-out war from breaking out. Your father deserves a bit more credit than you give him."
The Prince let out a loud barking laugh at this. "Hah! My father was blind, and only grew moreso with age. He didn't see the wealth of the West before him, or the threat of the North behind him."
"Threat of the North? You can't honestly mean Narsille? They have been devoted to nothing but peace for over a century. Surely you aren't planning to launch an attack on them? They are the most advanced nation in the world! We would never be able to make it past their front gates!"
"Narsille may put on a face of peace to the outside world, but I know the truth. They are just as much a warmongering nation as many claim me to be. The time is coming when they will show their true face, and people will see my rule in an entirely different light. I am the only ruler left in this cowardly world who is unwilling to yield to the apparent invincibility of the North. Conquering the West and uniting Jidorik once again is the first step in my plan to stand against Narsille. Why won't those mindless peasants realize that? I, for one, will never submit my authority to those cave dwelling were-rats in the Committee. If my father was still fit to rule, this realm would already be under Narsillian jurisdiction. I will die before East Jidorik is turned into East Narsille!"
"Yes sire..." The advisor gave out an exasperated sigh, letting the prince have his way for now. There was no point arguing with Prince Ralse when he talked of war. The only thing on his mind since he was a child was absolute power over his nation, and later all nations. Now that he had accomplished his first goal, the only thing left was the world. With no more fuel for his rantings, the Prince settled back into the smug inspection of his newest acquisition. Unlike many of his peers, Prince Ralse was able to appreciate the fine workmanship of the West over the dismal grime of the East. Upon entering the kingdom he immediately decided it would be his new seat of power, and that he would make everything within it his own.
At this pause the Mediator felt it was prudent to announce his presence, and did so with a polite clearing of his throat. Ralse looked up from his musings and glanced at the Mediator with the air of moving from one distraction to another.
"Well, well, well...if it isn't the High Mediator's son, Daschel. What brings you to the gates of the West? I thought you despised this place? Good news, I hope?"
"I bring news of the successful detainment of the West's great General Christophe, sire. My trackers were able to locate and capture him three nights ago outside the Glastok woodlands. He has just now regained consciousness after suffering a bite wound from one of our Red Fangs..."
Prince Ralse excitedly interrupted Daschel, eager to claim the last prize the West had kept from him. "Excellent! I was afraid your brutal methods would deprive me of the pleasure of meeting him face to face. Where is he? I wish to see him immediately. I have a few things I would like to discuss with him." The prince leaped out of his seat and stood in front of Daschel, his eyes alight with anticipation.
"Right this way, sire."
Daschel quickly led his liege back to the prison cell where Draco was being kept. Unlike Daschel, Prince Ralse took in every facet of his lush surroundings, seemingly in awe at the superb skill of the West.
"It's simply exquisite, isn't it Daschel? So many beautiful things here. So many indeed..."
"I wish I could share your love of the Western culture, sire, but all these gaudy images offend my eyes. I will be happy to return to the Eastern capital in the morning."
The Prince simply continued his train of thought, the lack of enthusiasm from Daschel not hampering his own in the least.
"How is the Lady Maria? I hope she is comfortable here. She is now my Queen, afterall."
"Sire, she will never truly accept her new role, as long as General Christophe lives on within her. You are aware she is carrying his child?"
"I am well aware of her lack of servility and the burden she carries. She will come around in time. As for her child, dispose of it as soon as it is born. I will not have the bastard son of that man for my heir."
"I will make sure your will is carried out sire." Even as Daschel said this, he was surprised at the ruthlessness of his liege. Prince Ralse's hatred of the rebel general must run very deep, indeed.
"Everything that was the West will soon be under my domain, even Maria. After the ceremonies tonight, my rule will be solidified. For now, I simply wish to receive her lover's blessing, among other things." The Prince let out a cruel laugh and motioned for Daschel to quicken his pace. "Hurry!"
Once the two had reached the door to Draco's cell, Ralse stopped Daschel and motioned him away.
"I wish to speak to him alone. I commend you on your capture, but the pleasure of interrogating this one will be mine. I will see you at the coronation tonight. Now leave me to my prize."
"As you wish, sire." Daschel was more than happy to leave this task to Prince Ralse. He preferred the more respectable role of being Mediator in high profile public trials, not crawling through dungeons.
Ralse slowly unlocked the door and entered the dank cell where his rival in both love and war waited for him.
"Ah, General Draco Christophe, I presume? It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Allow me to introduce myself..."
"...Ralse..." Draco finished Ralse's introduction without emotion, his head still hanging down and eyes hidden from view. He knew the infamous iron-hearted general-prince of the East all too well. He knew Ralse cared nothing for peace, only power and control. He knew also that Ralse had had his eye on Maria since long before the war. Maria had once before turned down his proposal to marry him, and instead chose a man of lesser stature, Draco.
"I see you know of me. Good. I am Prince Chad Ralse, heir to the throne of East Jidorik, and now de facto ruler of West Jidorik."
At this Draco lifted his head, a look of disbelief in his eyes, a fire lit in them at the suggestion that the West had fallen.
"Lies. The West...would never submit to your rule."
"Without their glorious general to lead them, Glastok Bastion fell within hours. It was pathetic really. The capital city surrendered a few hours after that. You should be happy - you are home, after all..."
"...?"" Draco's eyes began to narrow at the realization of where he was at. He stared at Ralse in stunned silence.
"Yes, that's right. Look around you. Surely you recognize your own stockade?" That glint of malice Draco was used to seeing was before him once again.
Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. The West defeated? The war...over? Had his struggles been in vain?
"Impossible...the king would never..."
"Oh, yes, you're quite correct. The stubborn old goat refused to give up his kingdom to his dying breath. My sword relieved him of that charge, though. Your king is dead, your kingdom overthrown. What will you do, General?" Ralse was enjoying taunting Draco immensely. Once Draco realized the war was over and he had lost everything, he would capitulate to anything Ralse asked, he was sure of it.
Draco needed more time. All this was too much for him to take in at once. He needed to remain in control and not let his emotions get the better of him. He was playing a dangerous game now that Ralse was involved. Ralse was no ordinary soldier. He was cold, cunning, and unforgiving. Despite his disdain for out-moded warfare, Ralse still had a skill with the sword that rivaled Draco's best men. He knew losing his temper would mean losing his last chance at escape, and possibly more. Draco suspected that was exactly what Ralse wanted. He would humiliate Draco, then kill him.
Ralse could sense the waves of indecision passing through his prisoner, and knew it wouldn't be long before he broke the great general. Now was the time to deliver the blow that would cripple the warrior. He just needed to wait for the signal from Draco that was imminent now.
"Nothing to say, General? That's alright. I can wait. You must surely need time to take in the position you're in."
After a few moments, Draco's mind began to clear and one overwhelming fear pervaded his thoughts. Maria.
"Maria...what have you done with her?"
Ralse's eyes lit up at the mention of Maria, and he knew now was the time for the final blow to Draco's ego.
"Do not worry, she is safe. She is my bride, now. You should have been here for her, Draco. She has long since given up on your safe return. Now she wishes nothing more than to be my Queen and rule by my side."
"More lies." Draco struggled to remain composed. He knew in his heart Maria would never give up on him, no matter how long he stayed away. Until his broken body was laid before her, she would never stop believing in his safe return. Ralse was just baiting him.
"Oh no, she was more than happy to join me. In fact, tonight is the official coronation and wedding. There will be a grand ball in honor of our union. Regretfully, you will not be able to attend the festivities."
Now Draco's thoughts turned to the safety of his child. He knew Ralse would never stand for his rival's son taking the throne and he feared what measures Ralse would be willing to take to ensure his line continued unbroken and pure.
"And my child, what will you do with him?"
"Kill him." Ralse said this without any hint of pleasure or displeasure, as if he were merely stating a fact of nature.
At this Draco couldn't help but reveal a hint of the fire that was slowly growing within him. He stood up and looked Ralse in the eyes, staring him down with the cold glare of the Dragon, but could say nothing. Anything he said now would definitely spell his doom and the doom of his child.
Ralse was expecting this reaction, but even he was not prepared for those piercing green eyes. The Dragon of the West was indeed an apt title for this man. He faltered for a moment, but quickly remembered his position and sneered at the feelings of hatred he had stirred within the noble spirit. Yes, this would do for now. A little more torture like this, and perhaps Draco could be bent to serve him. The safety of his child would be an easy price to pay for his services. But not now. He had said what he wanted to say, and instilled the hatred that would eat at the general for many long nights to come. If the general could withstand the mind-sapping tortures in store for him, he would be a fine soldier for the coming battles against greater foes.
"I think that will do for now. I have matters I must attend to before tonight. I merely wanted to meet the legendary hero-general of the West before I took everything he cared for from him. I suspect you will be a mere shell of your former self soon, and it would be a shame to have never seen the Dragon of the West unbroken for myself. It was a pleasure..."
With that Ralse turned and walked out of the dungeon, leaving Draco to mull over the painful revelations he had brought him. The two brutish men from before were now standing outside, waiting for him.
"You two, stay with him and make sure he doesn't escape. I am not taking any chances with this one. There must be no interruptions during the ceremonies tonight. And do not harm the prisoner any more than you have to. Consider your lives forfeit if anything happens to my 'friend' back there. His life is worth more than both of yours. Remember that."
The two men nodded in acknowledgement and entered the room, while Ralse quickly made his way out of the dungeon. The ceremony would begin in a few hours, and much needed to be done to ensure everything went as planned. Tomorrow, Ralse would have everything he had dreamed of.