The Earth Cave, Twenty-five Years Ago
They crested a hill and there it was: the cave. The slanting light of the sunset shone down on the abandoned mine, its entrance scattered with carts and equipment as if the workers would be back at any moment. Though Redden and his companions had trudged through the Rot to reach the place, there was none of it here. Back on solid ground at last, Redden tentatively reached his senses toward the aether but retracted them quickly, swallowing down the nausea it caused in him.
The other men were settling in for a rest, waiting until moonrise when Father Bram's ritual could begin. Technically, it was the old white mage who led them, but Cid was the one ordering them about: posting watches, delegating men to hand out food and check their equipment. Redden looked down at the sword in his belt, a battle mage's weapon Lord Westen had ordered as a gift for him from Cornelia's Black Hall. Despite the sword's comforting weight, Redden felt ill at the thought of casting a single spell.
As if he'd sensed Redden's discomfort, Father Bram came to stand beside him. "May I help you?" the old man asked, simply.
Redden almost said no - he could heal himself - but when he opened his mouth to speak, his stomach turned. Instead, he closed his eyes, nodding assent as he fought against the sickness. The old man reached up, touching him lightly on the top of his head, casting Cure. Redden felt the spell pour over him, like sinking into a warm bath. He shuddered as the last of the sensation faded, taking the feel of the Rot with it. "How are you so unaffected?" he asked.
Bram shrugged. "The Rot is different for white mages. I can't draw on the aether. I'm aware of it, yes, but I wouldn't say I sense it, not as a black mage does, not as you red mages do." The old man stretched, pressing his hands into the small of his back as he puffed out his chest, filling his lungs on a long sigh. Other men his age might have wheezed and coughed to do so, but Bram seemed as hale as any of the men with them, even after the full day's walk from Melmond. He went on, "I won't say it isn't unsettling. Open country like this should be full of living things, but my soul sight shows me nothing. It's like the life has been sucked out of this place."
"Soul sight?" Redden said. "I thought only born white mages had that skill. Didn't you learn white magic as an adult?"
"You're right on both counts." The old white mage lowered himself to the ground, the dead winter grass rustling as he did so. He smiled when Redden took a seat beside him. "I always knew I was different, that I had the talent, but there was the planting to think about, or the harvest, or tending the flocks, one thing after another. It wasn't until my sons took over the farm that I was able to devote time to my own studies."
Redden shook his head. It was just like with Cid: though both twins could sense the aether, only Redden had ever shown an interest in learning magic. We'll have time for that when we're old and tired, his brother liked to say of it. Give me a sword until I'm too weak to lift one.
Bram chuckled. "I can see you're having trouble imagining that I could have such a gift and not use it. It was easier when I was untrained. I can't imagine going without it now, of course." The old man shifted, pulling his hammer from his belt and setting it between them so that he could sit more comfortably. "Lord Westen tells me you're very devoted to your black magics, young man, but we don't see much of you at the cathedral. May I ask why?"
"I've already learned Cure," Redden said sheepishly.
"Cure isn't the only white spell. Even if you've no interest in the healing arts, there are plenty of spells you may find useful in combat, paladin magics and the like, spells to make your friends stronger or your enemies weaker. Think how useful it would be if a warrior of your skill was capable of performing the ritual I'm doing here tonight."
"I…" Redden could feel himself blushing and hoped it wasn't obvious in the twilight. "I'm not comfortable there. In Titan's cathedral."
"Well, you needn't be religious to pursue the study of white magic," Bram said.
"No," said Redden. "It's not religion that bothers me. It's… that it's Titan's cathedral." His face felt hot at the admission, but the old white mage said nothing, waiting for him to finish. "The Lord's Council says Cid and I… you know we're supposed to be the sons of Titan… But I've read the prophecy, Father. I've read everything I can find about it. I think… I think they're wrong. And I worry that I'm a disappointment to Him. To Titan, I mean."
Bram nodded. "That is a heavy burden. Have you told your brother?"
"I can't," Redden said. "Cid believes. He believes with all his heart. And Lord Westen? The only reason he took us in was because of that prophecy, so we could be raised among the high families. If he knew-"
"Westen loves you like his own sons," Bram said, interrupting him. "Never doubt that. I won't presume to speak for the earth god, but you're not a disappointment to Lord Westen. He speaks highly of you. Both of you."
He didn't want us to come, Redden remembered. He would rather we had stayed safe at the Manor. Maybe Westen, too, had his doubts about the prophecy? Redden looked down at his sword again, remembering the morning four days ago when Westen had hauled him out of bed to train with the other guards and presented him with the blade. Westen had seemed so pleased when Redden had learned the Fire Blade technique after only two days practice. Redden assumed it was because Westen, like so many others, expected great things of the sons of Titan. But maybe he was genuinely proud of me? he wondered.
The old white mage grunted as he hauled himself up again. "I have preparations to make. We've at least an hour until moonrise. Rest now, and don't draw this aether unless you have to."
"Yes, sir," Redden said, but his reply was drowned out by a howl. All over the hill, men leaped to their feet, drawing their swords. Redden did likewise, standing beside Bram, both of them looking for the source of the noise.
Another howl rang out as Cid strode over to them, his own sword glinting in the last rays of the sun. "Wolves?" he asked.
"That didn't sound like a wolf," said Bram.
Redden saw movement from the cave, a figure shuffling out of it toward them. He could see its open, gaping mouth as another howl split the evening air. "It's not wolves," he said, pointing. "It's a man."
The man seemed injured, moving slowly and awkwardly as though in great pain. The howling - Moaning, Redden corrected - grew louder as more stumbled from the cave behind the first. All moved with that terrible gait.
"Those aren't men," Bram said.
"What?" said Cid, but Redden saw it, a shaft of sunlight streaming through the hills and over the things, showing their flaws: the missing limbs, the torn out throats, the way some of them dragged their own innards behind them, trailing from their ripped stomachs.
"They're dead," Redden whispered. "They're already dead."
"By Titan's hands," Bram said, the first words of a prayer, at the same time Cid spat, "Titan. Titan," as a curse.
Around them, the other men had seen it too. They shouted as they formed ranks, facing the cave, where more of the terrors emerged every minute. As Redden stared at them, he realized many were wearing the torn and stained uniforms of Melmond soldiers. And they were still coming. How many? he thought. If this place could turn their dead against them… How many men have we sent into that cave?
They couldn't wait until moonrise. "Start the ritual," Redden said.
Melmond Harbor, Present Day
Thad stopped when Orin pointed out another person in the busy market, a big man with Stone Coast tattoos on his hands. He wore no other weapon than a knife, but that knife was nearly as big as Thad's sword.
"No way," Thad said. "That's a terrible choice."
The monk nodded, smiling. "Explain your reasoning, please."
Thad sighed. "He's obviously a sailor. He's been at it for ages - you can tell - so he's probably suspicious of street urchins like me." And when a man that size only carries a knife, it's because he doesn't need anything else, Thad thought. "Excuse me," he said, bumping into another man in the crowd, more or less accidentally. He watched the man's retreating back for a count of three before turning back to Orin, holding up the coinpurse he'd snatched. "That guy, though. He was a good choice."
Orin chuckled. "Very good. Now return it, if you would be so kind."
He tried not to grumble, plastering on his most innocent smile as he threaded through the other market-goers to tug the man's sleeve. "Sir? Sir! You dropped this!"
The man, pasty white with an oiled mustache over his blue silk shirt, reached for his belt and seemed surprised to find the pouch no longer there, though Thad held it plain as day in front of his face. "My word!" he exclaimed. He grabbed the purse and looked within, eyes widening as he found its contents intact. "Thank you, young man!" he said, smiling broadly. "Let me reward you for your honesty!"
"Oh, you don't have to-" Thad started to say, but the man was already pressing a coin into his palm.
"I insist!" he said. "Use it for the revels. You have my thanks."
Thad stared down at the half-gil mark as the man walked away. I could have had the whole pouch, he thought, sighing again. He could sense Orin standing behind him before he felt the old monk's hand on his shoulder steering him away. "That is enough assessment for today, I think."
The two of them walked out of the market, back to the docks, before Orin spoke again. "That was well done. I did not even see you take that last purse, though I was watching you carefully. You are faster than I ever was at your age."
It had been well done, Thad thought, grinning. Four times that day Orin had directed him to steal something, and four times Thad had been successful. Two of the targets Orin chose had been challenging but doable - a woman whose jewelry seemed quite secure at first glance, and a man who walked with his hands in his pockets. Neither target would have presented any danger to Thad if he had been caught. It was only the last one that Thad had turned down in favor of easier prey. "But what was the point of having me steal things all day if you were going to make me give everything back?"
"It was necessary to assess your skills before I can move on with this aspect of your training," the monk said.
"Yeah, but I thought I was done stealing stuff? Redden's always going on about 'behavior unbemoaning of a Warrior of Light'."
"I believe you mean, 'unbecoming'," said Orin.
"Whatever!" Thad said, throwing his hands in the air as they reached their ship once more and walked up the gangplank together. Leo stood at the top, guarding the ship beside Paul, a pirate in his thirties who Thad didn't know well. Paul seemed to prefer the night shift, and on those occasions when he was awake during the day, he never said much. The man seemed well awake now though, and irritated to boot; Thad suspected it was not the sort of irritation that arose from disturbed sleep.
The two crewmen were arguing in hushed voices, hardly paying more than a passing glance to Thad and Orin when they boarded. They seemed focused on a ship that was tied off across the docks and farther down, a squat, sturdy looking vessel overdone with decorative carving. The figurehead was a busty woman with what looked like rabbit ears, and the name painted in huge letters on the side declared it the L.C.S. Strahl. It hadn't been there when Thad and Orin left that morning, and Thad could see dockhands and liveried servants working at unloading it under the watchful eyes of several uniformed soldiers.
"What troubles you, gentlemen?" Orin asked.
"There's a man on that ship who's supposed to be dead," Paul said, sneering.
Leo, who may have been the most level-headed pirate on the crew, shook his head. "Like I said, it can't be him. He died in the storm." There was no need to specify which storm he meant: the hurricane that had destroyed Safeport two years ago had killed a number of pirates, good and bad alike.
"It is," Paul insisted. "We sailed eight years together on the Bad Octopus when we was boys. Even with that ugly hat on, I know it's him."
"Well, whether it's him or not doesn't matter," Leo said. "It's clear he's gone to seed. You can't just waltz up to a navy ship and ask about your old pirating friend."
Gone to seed… That was what pirates called it when a man went straight, sailing on business for some landed lord. It wasn't uncommon for those with disreputable interests to hire disreputable sailors, but those were usually smaller ships, privately owned. For a former pirate to land a position on a navy ship was unheard of. "Which one is he?" Thad asked, looking at the servants and soldiers swarming over the Strahl.
"That's just it," said Paul. "That's the strangest thing. As far as we can tell, he's the captain."
Thad snorted a laugh. "Sure."
"See what I mean?" said Leo. "It's absurd."
Paul frowned. "I'm telling you! Wait 'til he shows his face again. You'll see. I'll point him out to you."
"As interesting as this situation may be, I'm afraid I must speak with Lord Redden," said Orin, stepping toward the captain's cabin where the two men conducted most of their business.
"He's not here," said Leo.
The monk stopped. "I expected him back by now. We are meant to set sail within another hour."
The younger pirate shrugged. "He did come back earlier, but then he tore off again looking for Kane and the mages. Could be he'll return soon."
Orin nodded and took up a position at the rail, motioning Thad to stand beside him, leaning casually as they watched the other ship.
Thad quickly grew bored. He summoned up his aether sight and focused on the people moving about the docks. Lena had said auras had colors, but Thad was having trouble seeing them. The aether had color to it, yes - he saw it as a shimmering rainbow - but people were brighter than the aether that surrounded them and Thad couldn't see any color to them at all no matter how he stared.
A dockhand emerged from the lower decks of the Strahl carrying a sizable box with the official Melmond seal on it. The markings on the side said it contained wine, and Thad wondered if the dockhand had been sampling it, for the man was clearly drunk, sweating profusely in the heat and swaying with each step he took. He's going to drop it, Thad thought, watching with interest now, waiting for the disaster to occur.
He didn't have to wait long. The man missed his step coming down from the slanted gangplank to the flat wooden dock and the box flew from his hands, landing with a crunch of wood and breaking glass and a spray of bright, shining liquid.
"Ooh," said Leo, chuckling at the man's misfortune. "I hate to see good drink go to waste."
"It does not look as if that man is in the habit of letting drink go to waste," Orin said, his eyes crinkling at the joke.
"You're right there," Leo agreed, laughing.
"But what is it?" Thad said.
The three men looked at him, confused. "Elven wine," said Paul. "It said so on the box."
"But… wine doesn't glow like that…"
The two pirates exchanged worried glances, but Orin knelt so that he was looking up at Thad rather than down at him. "In what way is the wine glowing?"
Aether sight, Thad realized. He was still viewing the world through the aether sight. "Can you… Can you bottle aether? Is that a thing?"
Orin's eyes widened. "Potions appear as liquid aether to those who can see it. You had not mentioned that you had mastered the aether sight."
Thad shrugged. "Well, I mean, 'mastered' is a strong word."
"Look carefully," Orin said, pointing. "Is all of it glowing?"
"I guess? It's fading now. All sort of sinking into the dock."
The monk seemed worried as he gazed at the spilled substance. "That is an uncommon quantity of potion. And on a Lords' Council Ship as well. It would seem that perhaps the rumors of plague have some basis in fact."
"But why label it as wine?" Leo asked. "Why should a Lords' Council Ship have anything to hide?"
A voice roared from the other ship and Thad's head whipped around. A man in an impressive hat stormed down the gangplank and bore down on the fallen drunkard, who scrambled to get away. "I told you to be careful with those!" the man shouted. He was flanked by two uniformed soldiers, though he himself wore no uniform, only a thin shirt with no sleeves.
"I'm sorry, captain!" the drunk yelped. "I lost my footing!"
"You've lost your job! That box was worth more than you are!" the captain said, his face inches from the other man's as he yelled. "Get out of my sight!"
The drunk stumbled off, still murmuring apologies. The captain ignored him, facing other men who carried similar boxes. They lined up behind him, awaiting his orders, and when he turned to lead them into the city, Thad got a good look at his face for the first time.
He stared. "Bayard?"
"Ha!" Paul crowed in triumph. "See? D'you see? I told you it was him!"
"It can't be," said Leo, staring hard as the angry captain walked up the dock toward the registrar's table. Bayard - for it was him - passed right through the gate without stopping, only flashing a paper at the registrar as he went.
"How do you know this man, young master Shipman?" Orin asked.
"He sailed with Pappy. He was on the ship - on the Syldra - when the storm…" He couldn't finish that sentence, couldn't even think it. There'd been no word on the Syldra after the storm, only assumptions. But if Bayard's alive… Thad thought, hardly daring to hope. "How can he be here?" he whispered.
Orin reached up, grabbing Thad's shoulders, and silenced him with a look. "Young master Shipman, are you able to follow this man without being seen?"
Thad nodded, getting his breath back under control. "Yes, I am."
Orin smiled. "In that case, I believe I will spend more time assessing your skills today after all. Come, show me how stealthy you are."
Fuming. That was the word. Lena had never used it to describe someone's mood before, not to her recollection. But this, the feeling radiating from Lord Redden in a little cloud as they walked from Seward's manor toward Melmond's west gate, this was fuming: a jumble of anger and frustration and resentment that left her expecting at any moment to see smoke rising from the top of Redden's white-haired head. He walked ahead of her, with the man who had followed them before, a young officer she had heard the other guards refer to as sergeant, at his side.
The bard's emotions mingled with the curiosity of the guards who surrounded them. A strange thing, Lena thought, because though the guards were putting on a show of sternness, Lena wasn't getting the sense that Redden was in any sort of trouble. The older guards seemed to view him with something akin to hopefulness, almost as if they had been expecting him, while the younger ones, struck by awe, stole glances at him as they walked.
She wasn't worried for herself, of course. Neither the sergeant nor the guards had any interest in her, or in her other two companions. Though the sergeant had collected their identification papers when he took Redden's false ones, he had seemed otherwise unconcerned with their presence. She would have liked to have said something to Jack and Kane, to ease their own worries - they walked close on either side of her, hemming her in as they looked warily at their captors - but she saw no easy way to tell them without potentially alerting the guards to her abilities. Jack, in particular, seemed distraught. She couldn't sense him as she could the others, but his arm beneath her hand was stiff and tense.
All of that, on top of the curious stares and suspicious feelings they were drawing from the people in the street, made Lena feel twitchy, like bugs were crawling on her skin and she couldn't brush them away. I'm going to need such a long swim after this, she thought.
"It wasn't difficult," the sergeant said in answer to a question she hadn't heard Redden ask. "The south registrar sent word that a pair of Carmines had passed through the docks. Lord Leiden assumed you must be with them and sent me out. I caught sight of them in the lower market. Lost them for awhile, but they weren't hard to track, two redheads in the company of a masked man. Then it was only a matter of waiting outside Unne's place for you to show up."
Beside her, Kane cringed, a surge of guilt like a thunderclap passing through him. "Gods, I didn't know he had given a fake name at the registrar. He could have told me," he whispered.
"Perhaps if you had given him any indication that you planned to leave the ship, he would have mentioned it," Jack snapped.
"Please don't fight," Lena said. "Surely it's all a misunderstanding. We're not criminals."
The sergeant looked at her over his shoulder, the ghost of a smile on his face. "That's not entirely so, miss. It is a crime to lie to the registrar. Lord Carmine here will have to go before Lord Leiden for judgement."
"And what would the standard punishment be for that sort of crime?" Kane asked.
"Public flogging," said the sergeant. "To start with."
Lena's stomach dropped. She hoped nobody questioned her about her own papers, where she had listed her occupation as "servant". It's not a lie, she told herself. I serve life. It's in the Oath and everything.
She felt a spike of alarm from Jack, and suddenly remembered his papers were false as well. Kane said they told the registrar they were brothers, she thought. "A pair of Carmines," indeed. She wondered which of them would be punished if they were caught - Kane for lying, or Jack for using a name that didn't belong to him - but before she could analyze it further, Redden snarled, "This is the biggest crock of-"
The sergeant interrupted him, grinning. "I've no doubt Lord Leiden will be lenient, given your status."
It was only a short walk from Seward's home to the city's west gate, beyond which Lena could see the huge estates of Melmond Manor. The house stood tall amid a colorful garden and green fields busy with dragonflies, all giving way to swamp in the distance. The garden held the only colors that graced this house: unlike the houses she had seen in town, the manor and all of the outbuildings surrounding it were white, a white to rival the glittering stones of Elfheim castle. It almost was a castle, Lena thought, for she had never seen a house that size. The balcony alone, running clear across the front of the house and held aloft by a series of wide columns, could have held the house in Onlac where she had spent her childhood.
As the house came into view, the sadness and longing Lena felt from Redden overshadowed his anger. It was the same heartbroken sensation she had felt from Kane when they caught their last glimpse of Cornelia. Home, she thought, surprised as she interpreted what she felt from him. This was his home! But the feeling faded as they drew closer. The house seemed impossibly huge by the time they stood in the shadow of those fluted columns, before the opulently carved front doors. There had been no fence or gate to pass through, but several guards were posted all around the covered porch, including four at the house's entrance.
The guards saluted when the sergeant approached. "Sergeant Quincey," one said by way of greeting.
"Constable," said Quincey, passing their identification papers over to the guard. "Tell his lordship we've arrived."
The guard took the sergeant's message inside. No one said anything for several minutes, but then Lord Redden cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Are you Seymour Quincey's boy?" he asked.
The sergeant nodded. "The youngest."
"Ah," Redden said. "I knew your lord father when we were young. What has he been doing with himself lately?"
Quincey looked at Redden, a steady, calculating look, and Lena could feel that this young officer was not in awe of Redden as the others were. "His duty," Quincey said evenly.
She couldn't see Redden's expression, standing behind him as she was, but she could feel the sting of the young sergeant's words, the shame they caused. What was that about? she wondered. She looked to both Jack and Kane, but neither appeared to have noticed anything unusual about the exchange. Caught up in speculation, she jumped somewhat when the door opened abruptly and the same guard who had spoken to the sergeant a moment ago motioned them all to follow him.
Though the other guards remained outside, Quincey walked with them through the foyer, a chamber easily as large as Cornelia castle's throne room. It was paneled in dark wood, lit only by sconces that flickered feebly, and it took Lena's eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness. She could see a number of people, servants and officials and more guards, standing near the heavily curtained windows or crowding around doorways to stare at Lord Redden and his companions as they arrived. Lena could tell they were surprised, some of them upset, but the huge space echoed so that she couldn't hear their whispered mutterings to each other.
The guard led them to an unusual sort of dining room. At least, it seemed like a dining room, for its center was occupied by a long table, the top of which was polished to a gleam that rivaled the gold-framed mirrors on the walls. The chairs that surrounded it, though - huge, stuffed leather armchairs - would have seemed more suitable for a sitting room. Only one of the chairs was occupied.
The man seated before them was handsome, Lena thought, though he was clearly much older than she was, his blond hair streaked with gray at the temples, his eyes getting wrinkles at the corners. He sat with his hands folded on the tabletop as though he were one of her instructors at White Hall, meeting with her to discuss her performance on an assignment. This, she assumed, was Lord Leiden, Melmond's ruler.
"So, Redden," the man said, picking up a paper from the table in front of him. He barked out a laugh that would have sounded sincere if Lena hadn't felt the cynicism behind it. "Or should I call you Gerad? That is what you told the registrar, isn't it? Gerad Anzelm?"
"Call me whatever you like, Arthur, but do it without the condescending tone," Redden said, emphasizing the man's given name in a way that made the guard behind them squirm while Quincey muttered something under his breath.
The man only chuckled. "And are you here as a lord of Cornelia, to address me so? I had assumed not, based on this..." Here he waved the paper in his hand and Lena could see it was Redden's identification from the registrar. "But if you're here on some business of my cousin's…"
"No, my lord," Redden said. Lena could feel him seething, but aside from the stiffness of his posture, he was outwardly calm. "The queen didn't send me. I'm here on my own."
"But not entirely on your own, it seems," Leiden said, pulling two more papers from his stack, Jack and Kane's identifications. "Paying a visit to the old homestead, are we? With your sons? I've met the younger one, it seems, but I was unaware you had another." Leiden stared at Jack, studying him, seeming to notice the way Lena clung to his arm. She started to pull away, but Jack closed his other hand over hers, keeping her in place.
"Yes," Redden said, his face passive. "Two sons."
"Hmm," Leiden said. "I see he carries your sword." He cocked his chin toward Kane. "Cid's sword, I recognize." He focused on Jack again. "Let me see your face."
Jack tensed, but didn't move. Leiden waited, unblinking. Finally, Redden said, "Go ahead… son." The hesitation was so small that anyone else might have missed it, but it was there, and with it an awkward flutter of embarrassment from both Jack and Redden.
When Jack pulled the scarf down, Leiden showed almost no reaction, though Lena could feel his surprise. Sergeant Quincey politely looked away, but the other guard stared openly. "I see," Leiden said after a time. "I'm sorry I asked, young man. You can cover yourself." He watched as Jack did so, then he looked from Jack to Kane and back again. "They don't look much alike. Different coloring, different builds..."
"Different mothers," Redden said quickly. "Only one of them my wife. Jack wasn't raised in court."
Leiden's eyebrows rose at that. "Yet you've given both of them your name?"
Redden crossed his arms in front of his chest. "If you're waiting to see me to blush and stutter about it, I hope you brought a book, because you've a long wait ahead of you."
Lena could feel Sergeant Quincey's discomfort - whether at Redden's bluntness or at the indelicate subject, she couldn't say - but Leiden laughed out loud. "You're your father's son after all!" He motioned to the guard who had escorted them to the room and said, "Constable, would you be so kind as to fetch my children? Tell them we have guests."
"I've already told you this isn't a state visit," Redden said, after the constable bowed and saw himself out.
"I'm afraid that's not up to you," Leiden said, steepling his fingers in front of him. "Surely you can see you're on dangerous ground, Redden. For a lord of Cornelia to come to Melmond under false pretenses..."
"This has nothing to do with Cornelia," said Redden. "I've come for the cave."
Leiden chuckled bitterly. "And what do you think you can do there that I haven't already done? Did you think that wasn't the first place I checked when the Rot returned? Honestly, Redden, I'm perfectly capable of running my state without the son of Titan checking in on me, you know."
Redden cringed at that title.
Son of Titan? Lena thought. Like the prophecy? It was an old myth, so old that even people from outside of Melmond had heard it. The story said that when their city needed them, the sons of Titan, Melmond's founders, would be reborn. She looked at Kane, but she knew before she even caught his expression that he was just as baffled as she was to hear his father addressed so. Jack, too, seemed momentarily shocked.
Leiden went on, not seeming to notice their surprise. "The seals are intact. You've nothing to worry about on that score."
Redden stood his ground. "Denial is a child's game, Arthur. The Rot comes from that cave. You know it. I know it. If the Rot has returned-"
Leiden didn't seem bothered at the use of his name, only shook his head at Redden's remarks. "We've handled the Rot; it hasn't spread in months. I've no doubt we'll find a way to reverse it, given enough time. But I don't deny there's a problem here. Seeing as it's a Cornelian problem, I'm happy to accept the assistance of a Cornelian lord in handling it."
He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and brought out something small and metallic, like a coin, but when he tossed it on the table in front of them, Lena saw that it was an amulet depicting a black sun.
"That's the sign of the Penumbra Brotherhood," she said, gripping Jack's arm a little tighter.
Leiden's eyes flicked toward her briefly. He sat back in his chair, picking up and glancing at her identification paper from the stack in front of him. He sighed as he set it down again. "Redden, I don't know how servants are expected to behave in Cornelia, but please instruct Miss Mateus that here in Melmond they don't speak out of turn."
Beside her, Jack and Kane seemed stunned, but Lena's eyes widened at how offended Redden felt on her behalf. He scowled as he said, "As I recall, Lord Westen was fond of saying you should hire servants who think for themselves, rather than blindly follow orders."
Lord Leiden nodded. "He did say that. Of course, that didn't stop him from loading his own daughter onto a Cornelian ship when politics demanded it, no matter what she thought of the arrangement." He waved a hand, dismissing the argument. "I don't care if your girl here can speak for herself. See that she doesn't." He looked again at the way Jack stood close to her, and Lena could feel his disapproval, but then he turned back to Redden. "The official story is that the white mages died of the night plague, but that's only half true. White mages are more susceptible to the disease, and we lost an alarming number of them to an outbreak at the cathedral, but the others who lived in and around the city simply vanished."
"You think the Brotherhood took them?" said Jack.
"How long has this been going on?" asked Kane.
"Hush, both of you," said Redden, brows furrowed as if he was thinking deeply.
"But, Father-"
"Hush, I said." He ran a hand through his long white hair, a gesture Lena had often seen his son do when he was frustrated. He stepped closer to Lord Leiden's table. "I'm sorry for your misfortunes, Arthur. I truly am. But we didn't come here for you. If not for these two fools..." He gestured toward the boys with a curt nod. "...we'd have sailed for the south cape already. As soon as we get back to our ship-"
Leiden stood, slamming his hands onto the tabletop with a loud snap. "I don't think you understand your position here, Redden. Melmond is my domain, and you, third council lord of Cornelia, are trespassing upon it. You will help me, or you'll face consequences, I swear by the gods."
"Arthur," Redden said, his voice a low hiss as he leaned on the table to face the Melmond lord.
Leiden kept speaking, cutting off whatever Redden had to say. "Or do I need to send word to the West Hills?"
Redden froze. "You wouldn't."
"Should I tell you who the old man's chosen as his heir?"
"Don't do this," Redden whispered.
Leiden chuckled, his smile a lopsided, crooked thing that made Lena wonder how she could ever have thought this man was handsome. "What's it going to be, Redden?"
They stared at each other for a long minute, but Lena could feel Redden's defeat, and when he spoke at last, she could hear it in his voice. "Let me go to the cave. I'll come back here, I'll help you fight the Brotherhood, just let us check the cave first. That's all I ask."
"Naturally, you're welcome to go check it out," Leiden said, his tone like a steel bar. "I can have a team of my best men ready to accompany you in the morning. But your boys stay."
"Arthur-"
"It's not a request," said Leiden. "Relax. It's not as if I plan to clap them in irons. They'll be safe here under the... protection... of Sergeant Quincey."
The young sergeant made a choking noise, clearly displeased at the assignment even to those less sensitive than Lena, but too well-mannered to say so.
"Besides," Leiden went on. "I seem to recall that Kane was a fine host for my son when we made that state visit to Cornelia three years ago. This will give Harvey a chance to return the favor."
"It's fine," Kane said, stepping up beside his father and patting his shoulder. "I got along well with Harvey. I don't mind. And you remember how Ruby is. She and Lena will hit it right off."
Redden sighed, shaking his head, embarrassed over something. Lena didn't have to wonder about it long, for Leiden, equally embarrassed, cleared his throat and said, "Perhaps your servant would be more comfortable in the servants' quarters? I'm sure we can find some make-work for her during your stay."
"No," Jack said, sharply. "She stays where we do."
Leiden stared. Even Quincey had turned to stare at them. "Perhaps…" Lena said, but it came out as squeak and she had to start again. "Perhaps it would be better if I returned to the ship?"
"Perhaps it would," Leiden said, just as Kane was saying, "Not a chance."
Redden sighed. "The boys are right. She stays with them. I know her papers say she's a servant, but she's also…" He trailed off. He couldn't say she was a white mage, couldn't say the young men beside her had both sworn to protect her. Lena had always been able to feel when people lied to her, but this was the first time she'd ever felt someone actively grasping for a lie that she knew was coming.
"She's what, Redden?" Leiden asked, one eyebrow raised.
"It's complicated," the bard said, stalling.
"Oh, just tell him, Father," said Kane. "She's Jack's betrothed."
The sound Jack made, a little whimper muffled by his scarf, was so small that had the room not been completely and utterly silent Lena would have missed it. Even so she felt the jolt of emotion that accompanied it: a feeling akin to panic. The black mage wouldn't look at her, seeming suddenly preoccupied with the sword he wore at his waist.
Leiden glared at Lord Redden, his eyes clearly unamused. "Is this how they do things in Cornelia?"
Redden crossed his arms. "You don't have to like it, Arthur, but you do have to deal with. As long as we're your guests."
Before Leiden could respond, the door burst open, and a young woman rushed in. She was nearly a copy of Princess Sarah, with the same eyes and long blond hair, but she was taller and thinner. She wore a red dress that seemed made entirely of frills, the skirts swishing as she ran toward them.
"Lord Carmine!" the girl said, throwing her arms around the bard. "Oh, I was so excited to hear you were in town!" She pulled away, smiling broadly as she looked him over, seeming only then to notice he wasn't alone. "And Kane, too!" She shifted her attentions to the stunned guardsman, whose eyes all but bulged out of his head at the sight of her. Lena felt his confusion when the girl wrapped him in a tight hug.
"You're… taller… than I remember," Kane stuttered.
"So are you!" the girl trilled.
"Let him go, Ruby. I'm sure he didn't come all this way to be smothered," said a young man in the doorway. His light hair hung long around his sun-dark face, and his perfect smile matched the girl's. He strode across the room to them and stuck a hand out for Kane to shake. "It's been too long."
"Harvey," said Kane, taking his offered hand.
Harvey looked questioningly at Lena and at Jack, but Lena didn't say anything, worried about speaking out of turn, as Leiden had said. Jack, it seemed, had gone shy again. The mage looked pleadingly at Kane. The guardsman very obviously did not roll his eyes at that look.
"Harvey, this is my brother, Jack."
"Oh, you have a brother?" said Ruby, beaming. "How delightful! You never said!" She looked him up and down, then pointed toward the lower half of his face, spinning her finger in a little circle. "A bit early for masks yet, isn't it? Are you that excited for the revels?"
"I- That is-" Jack stuttered.
"Jack was away when you visited Cornelia three years ago," Redden put in. "He's only recently finished his studies."
"I'm glad to meet you," Harvey said, extending a hand to Jack, and Lena had to release his arm so that he could shake. "What were you studying?"
"Leifenish," Jack said, with almost no hesitation.
Leiden scoffed, throwing Lord Redden a withering look. "I suppose he must be yours after all."
"How wonderful!" said Ruby. "I'm fond of Leifenish history myself, though I'm afraid I've no knack for the language. So many more consonants than I'm used to!"
Jack only nodded, and Lena could feel the undercurrent of fear he felt at the prospect of speaking with new people. She rested her hand on his arm again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
The gesture caught Ruby's eye. "And who is this?" she said, smiling at Lena.
"This is Lena," Kane said. "Jack's betrothed."
"It's so nice to meet you!" said Ruby. "Are you staying long?"
"As it happens, they are," said Leiden. "Ruby, why don't you take Jack and his… young lady… on a tour of the house? You should go with them, Kane. We're not quite as grand as Cornelia Castle around here, but we do alright. Give us a chance to win you over."
Lena didn't understand why this remark would make Redden angry. Had she not been able to feel it herself, she would never have known the anger was there: Redden held himself so still, his face so expressionless, that there was no visible evidence of what he felt. It was as if Kane sensed it too, for he clearly looked to his father for some sort of permission.
"Go on," Redden said. "Lord Leiden and I have some catching up to do."
"Alright," Kane said.
"Oh! I'm so glad you're here!" Ruby said, twining her arm through Kane's as she smiled radiantly. "It's so wonderful to have guests! And for Midsummer! We'll head straight to the kitchens to make plans for dinner! Have you ever had Melmond cuisine before?"
Kane, with growing unease, muttered something as Ruby led them into the hall. Beside Lena, Jack was a bundle of anxiety just on the edge of her senses, like the high-pitched steaming of a kettle in a distant room. Harvey and Sergeant Quincey trailed after them, Harvey pleased at their presence, but the sergeant distrustful, regarding the three of them with deep suspicion. Taken alongside Ruby's effervescent joy, the disparate emotions swirled into an unpleasant mix, like eating cheese and gingerbread together. Even in the face of Ruby's unwavering optimism and the promise of Melmond cuisine, Lena didn't feel the least bit optimistic herself.
They followed Bayard with his guards and dockworkers out of the harbor area, through the crowded market, into what Thad assumed was the wealthier part of town. Though the streets were just as muddy as those near the harbor, the rest was cleaner, with less of the cracked plaster and structural damage Thad had begun to associate with the Rot. The people he passed on the street as he and Orin trailed the one-time pirate were well-dressed and inattentive, paying more mind to their own conversations as they browsed the shop windows than to the small thief in their midst. They were the sort of people, in fact, that Thad would have described as easy marks if they had still been playing the game they had started in the marketplace that afternoon.
There were more of the Midsummer festival decorations here as well - colorful flags and things - and Thad had plenty of time to admire them as he waited for Orin to catch up. The old monk tottered along several steps behind him, looking back as though he were fascinated by the festive banners on the building they had just passed. Thad went to him and pulled him by the arm. "Come on! We'll lose them!" he said, trying, unsuccessfully, to keep the whine from his voice.
"I apologize. I thought I saw something of interest," Orin said.
Thad sighed. "We can look at it later!" He turned up the street once more, panicking briefly when he realized he'd lost sight of Bayard's procession but finding them again amidst a milling crowd near the entrance to a side street. There seemed to be some sort of blockade: a waist-high, wooden barrier with only a single narrow opening. A line of guards stood in front of it, holding their weapons in a way that wasn't threatening but which nevertheless drew attention to the fact that they had them.
I haven't done anything wrong, Thad reminded himself, uneasy at the sight of so many guards in one place. But someone must have, he amended, for this was not the sort of street where he would have expected to see them in such numbers.
"What's all this then?" a lanky man ahead of him was asking someone else.
The second man, a shorter fellow in a floppy hat, said, "Don't know. Some kind of magical disturbance earlier, seems like. Man claims he was attacked."
"On Farplane Avenue?"
"So they say," the second man said, spitting at the ground. "Whole city's crawling with these mages. No one's safe anywhere."
Mages? Thad turned to Orin, but again the old man was looking behind them. He poked the monk in the side to get his attention. "Hey! Did you hear any of that?"
"Hmm?" Orin said, smiling as he looked at the two men still idly discussing city events. "Ah, forgive an old man, young master Shipman! I find I am easily distracted today."
Thad looked where Orin had been looking, but saw nothing out of the ordinary: a few folks staring curiously at the blockade, sailors and merchants, a man selling sausages. Maybe he's hungry, Thad thought, shrugging it off. "Those men said there was a magical attack here!"
"Did they?"
Thad stamped his foot. "Damn it! Would you listen? What was all that you were telling me about spying earlier?"
"There is no need for such language, young man. You know what Lord Redden would say."
Thad grumbled, turning his back on the monk. Do I have to do everything myself? he wondered. He watched as Bayard argued with one of the guards, a hulking man with an ugly nose who didn't appear impressed by the seal on the paper Bayard waved in front of him. The big guard calmly held a hand out for it, face expressionless as he looked it over. He passed it to one of his companions, and after a short conversation the second guard ran off down the barricaded street.
Bayard said something to his men, perhaps telling them to get comfortable. Several of the dockworkers set their boxes down, talking and stretching, but the guards who had come with them from the docks grimaced at the one in charge of the barricade. Bayard barked an order at them, his eyes skimming the crowd as he turned back toward the man who barred his way. He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, turning his head sharply to look at the crowd once more. A confused crease formed between his eyebrows as he looked right at Thad, but then, with a small shake of his head, he turned toward the guard once more.
Thad let loose the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then nearly cried out when Orin gripped his shoulder, pulling him gently but firmly back down the street.
"What are you doing?" Thad said. "We don't know where he's going yet!"
"He is not going anywhere, not while those men stand guard. We have time to circle the block and find a less exposed vantage point from which to continue our observations."
"But, Orin," Thad wheedled.
"Hush, now," said the monk. "You must learn to trust me on these things."
Thad looked back, but Bayard and his men were already obscured from his sight by the people who thronged the street.
Author's Note: 1/6/17 - Bit of a FFXII reference in there. Did you catch it? I have entirely too much fun coming up with these.
In addition to my two beta readers, Dizzy and Rabbit, who I have mentioned before, I also have a pair of beta listeners. I tend to read my story out loud to myself as I'm writing (I guess that's just the children's librarian in me), so it seemed natural I should find a willing audience to listen to it. The first of these, a lifelong friend whose online name is Sweaterkittys, had a good laugh during this chapter. After Kane says Lena is Jack's betrothed, and I describe Jack as making a noise, she said, "I'm picturing the '!' noise from the Metal Gear games!" I like it. It fits.
After just over a month, and something like 80 hours of gameplay (at least 60 of that sidequesting), I finished FFXV two days ago. I cried. No spoilers or anything, but I ugly cried for 30 minutes straight. But I was pleased, as I played, at all the references to past FF games in there! For instance, I chose Lord Leiden's name after Yang Fang Leiden from FFIV, but in FFXV, one of the first items you find are Leiden Peppers. Although there were no summons in FF1, I've used them as the gods in my story; of the eight summons I wanted to use, I managed to hit all six of the ones used in FFXV.
If you played FF1, you know Titan and Bahamut were in the game (though not as summons), and I've already mentioned Ramuh and Leviathan. Shiva and Ifrit come later. I used Asura in Elfheim. That leaves one more. Care to guess who it is?