Dart had expected the city to feel different in the daylight, but he was sorely wrong. The only difference the sun made was to illuminate the bits of depravity that had been hidden in the dark of the previous night.
It appeared to have rained in the night or early morning as great puddles filled every pocket in the street, and soon enough Dart's boots and the bottoms of his trousers were soaked through. It took everything in him not to burn the moisture away, but he decided that the citizens of Kazas might think strangely of a man with steaming pants. However, given the surprising chill in the air that was no doubt brought in from the rains, he maintained a constant warmth.
The streets were rough, uneven places, and Dart couldn't imagine the intense jolts that would shake a wagon should it brave the innumerable potholes. Every second or so, they had to step over one to avoid a broken ankle, and Dart was amazed at the skill the locals had developed in maneuvering about. It had become a science for them, to the point that they strode along quickly and confidently, eyes barely glancing to the road below them, dodging about like acrobats. Meanwhile, Dart and Albert spent precious few moments glancing up from their path between long bouts of studying the broken cobblestones under their feet.
Even so, Dart was able to ascertain more than he wanted to know about Kazas with his brief glimpses of his surroundings. Beggars sat every ten feet, some of them shrunken and sickly. Those who walked the streets did so with a terrified purpose, straining to reach their destination before some brigand came to threaten them. Eyes watched them eerily from almost every window, waiting to see if some new hazard had strolled into town. It felt as if the entire city were eyeing them, and Dart could only hope that neither of them would be recognized. He had left his distinctive red armor in the hotel that morning, and Albert had forsaken his forest green cape in favor of less Basilian vestments. Even his long blonde hair had been tied up atop his head, although he frequently reached up to scratch at his unfamiliarly bare neck. Excepting his perpetually regal stance, Dart thought the king looked almost common.
"I cannot believe that this is what has become of my uncle's city," muttered Albert, speaking for the first time since they had left the inn.
"Your uncle?" asked Dart. Albert jumped as if he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.
"Yes, I..." The king hesitated. "Emperor Doel is my uncle."
"What? You're just now telling me this?"
"It was not previously relevant to disclose."
Dart sighed. "I guess that makes sense. He would have to have some connection to you to make a real claim to the throne. This whole time I thought he was just some power-hungry guy with money."
"Yes, he has a claim. He was my father's brother. Had I not been born, the kingdom would have gone to him upon my father's death." The king's voice held a melancholic note, but Dart could not find any sadness in his eyes.
"How did your father die?" he asked. He was uncomfortably reminded of a similar conversation with Lavitz, and he felt grief tugging at him once more. Diverting his attention from the memory, he focused intently on Albert's reply.
The king hesitated, then said, "It has been the subject of much debate. When I was young, they told me none of it, protecting my young mind from the brutal reality. His body was found in his own chambers, on the floor and covered in blood. The staff circulated the idea that he had contracted a deadly disease that affected his lungs, causing him to cough up the blood, but the specifics have always been discreetly hidden, and the last person who knew the details died several years ago. I begged him more than once to tell me what really happened, but he refused. So now, there are rumors that he was poisoned, which made him sick, and rumors that he was murdered in a more direct way, perhaps even stabbed. And a select few truly believe that he was simply ill and died of natural causes."
"And what do you think?"
"If I am honest, I am not sure what to think. The thought that someone wished to kill my father is almost too much for me to bear, but it does seem to be the most plausible explanation."
Dart eyed the king as his hand rubbed against his neck. The sorrow had wriggled its way from his voice to his face as he recalled the fatal event. Dart felt a sudden wave of sympathy, but pushed it far away, reminding himself that this man was responsible for his own grief. You can't forget, he told himself. Don't let yourself forget what really happened. But he couldn't quite help it. As much as he wanted to hate Albert for leading them to Hellena, for taking Lavitz's dragoon spirit and his lance, Dart still felt some strange sense of loyalty to him, if only to fulfill Lavitz's wishes. Once Doel is dead, the king will be safe. Lavitz will be happy. And I can go home.
"Was he a good king?" asked Dart, eager for the distraction.
"Yes," said Albert immediately, smiling warmly. "He lived in a dangerous time, but he held himself high and watched over his people with wisdom."
"Lavitz said that his dad was an advisor to yours." The words came out before Dart had really chosen them, and the audible name sent a jolt through him. Why was this only affecting him now? He'd mentioned Lavitz more than once since Hellena. And yet now tears pricked his eyes, but he blinked them away, breathing deeply and taking in every detail of the rocks beneath him as he watched his steps.
Albert nodded, either unaffected by the mention or hiding it quite well. "And he was a great advisor. It was a terrible loss to the kingdom when he died. Perhaps if Servi had been at my side, I would not be in this predicament now." He glanced about at the dark buildings. "He was a good soldier, and a good friend. He was the one who helped me with all the intricacies of being a king for those first couple years, when it was all so new. I would not be who I am today without him."
"How old were you? When you became king?"
"I was ten. Far too young to be making important decisions, but I had Servi, Noish, and Lavitz there to guide me."
Dart blurted, "Lavitz was there?"
"Indeed, he was. He visited the castle frequently with his father. He was only fifteen, but you would be amazed at the wisdom he carried even at that age. Or perhaps that is evidence of my own youthful mind at the time. But, if I am not mistaken, he was often used as a conduit of advice from his father. It was much easier for me to relate to someone my age. Or closer to it."
An image flitted through Dart's mind: a young Lavitz, traipsing through the castle and laughing with the brand new king. He chuckled at the thought before realizing a horrible truth: he would never hear that laugh again.
He exhaled suddenly, trying to even his breaths before Albert realized what had happened. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tried to focus on anything else, but that image, that sound, kept returning to him. Lavitz's booming laugh. His stupid giggles when his mother had thought Shana was Dart's girlfriend. His beaming smile when he had done so well with his dragoon magic west of Shirley's shrine. His sobs at the loss of the Seventh Fort. His irritating way of always knowing what Dart was feeling. His speech about honor that morning while they overlooked the marshes.
Dart swallowed and cleared his throat, hurriedly wiping away the tear that had escaped down his cheek and burning it off his hand. He looked up at the sky, watching the tufts of cloud drift over the city, before almost twisting his ankle on a broken cobblestone. Swearing, he dropped his gaze to his feet and grasped for distraction. He thought of Shana, of Haschel, of Rose, but they all led him back to Lavitz. So instead he focused on the buildings. They weren't made from stone, like the beautiful structures in Bale, but rather sided with old, darkening wood. The damp in the city must have been almost perpetual, because many of the lower boards were riddled with rot.
"Dart?" said Albert. Dart jumped. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just noticing that the siding on these houses could use some replacing." His voice sounded casual, calm, composed. He applauded himself.
"It is true," said the king. "My... Emperor Doel used to be a good man. I wonder what changed him."
Grabbing the new topic by the horns, Dart asked, "Was he around when your father died?"
"Yes. He was in the castle."
"Do you think... maybe he killed King Carlo?"
"No," said Albert immediately. "He was a good man. Loved by the people, by my father, and by me. He grieved just as much as the rest of us. He may be many things, but my uncle is not a murderer."
"He was going to kill you."
Dart expected a retort, but none came. Instead, the king pondered for a moment and said carefully, "I suppose... it may be possible. He may have thought that he would be crowned once my father died, instead of the title falling to a child. And the timelines match up. But... I am not yet ready to believe it."
They walked in silence for several minutes, and Dart still worked to extricate his mind from the pain that lingered there. He wasn't sure how he felt about knowing so much of the king's past; he didn't want Albert thinking that they were good friends just yet. But something inside him did feel privileged to know this information. It was not often that a commoner like himself would be able to learn so much about a reigning monarch in such a relaxed way.
They continued through the damp streets, edging closer and closer to the Black Castle, ever looming ominously above them. Something about it made Dart uncomfortable, and soon enough, he found his eyes avoiding it altogether. Then suddenly, they stood before the drawbridge, the great trench extending before them, roughly-hewn steps leading into its depths on their left. A dozen guards stood at attention at the far end of the wooden bridge, spanning a hundred feet until it reached the castle gate: a heavy, metal door blocking all sight of the castle grounds. Across it was carved a lightning bolt - the symbol of Sandora.
"I don't think we'll be getting in there," breathed Dart.
Albert sighed. "Maybe not. But we should investigate the slums before ruling anything out."
Turning to the left, they carefully made their way down the slick stairs until they reached the floor of the trench. Instantly, Dart regretted their decision to come here; the moisture in the city above was nothing compared to this. The entire floor of the trench was a deep puddle, and they had to slosh their way through water that came up above their ankles. As the moisture seeped into his boots, Dart cringed, his skin seething with irritation as the fire within him fought it. It was all he could do to hold in his screams of frustration.
"Are you okay?" asked Albert.
Nodding stiffly, Dart said, "Just not a fan of water. Fire dragoon and all."
"Ah, yes. Rose said something of that to me. I must admit, I am not particularly fond of being this far below the surface, either." The king's eyes consistently darted across the earthen walls lining the trench, and Dart recognized that sense of discomfort from Lavitz's eyes when they had fallen below Hellena Prison. It would be best if they left sooner rather than later.
The houses surrounding them - if houses was the proper term - were little more than ramshackle huts built from old wood, raised a foot off the ground to avoid excessive water damage. Despite that precaution, the boards here were rotted more than those in the main part of the city, and Dart was surprised to see anything standing at all. Few people walked the streets, and those that did kept their heads down. Eventually, they came upon a slightly larger structure with a plaque promising a warm fire, dry floor, and smooth ale, and Dart followed Albert to the door. Hopefully, they didn't look too proper to be visiting such an establishment.
As they stepped in the door, they were assaulted by the scent of stale ale and moldy wood. Dart coughed once, and Albert wrinkled his nose, but they recovered quickly enough. Only three patrons sat inside, each at a separate table, each of them staring wistfully into a mug of ale. A short bar stretched the short length of the room, but whoever was supposed to be tending it was nowhere to be seen. The duo approached and took seats, waiting for service while eyeing the room around them warily. Dart couldn't help but funnel some extra heat into his feet, wicking away the moisture a little at a time. The sloshing feeling in his boots made him want to break the bar in half, but he hoped that some alcohol would be enough to keep him from any unnecessary violence.
As the king shifted uncomfortably next to him - no doubt unaccustomed to such unseemly places - Dart searched for any information that could help them. He had hoped that there would be more people chatting about important events, but with the absence of any conversation, he had to let the building do the talking instead. Its dusty corners and smoldering fire spoke of the owner's negligence, the peeling baseboards of financial distress, and a persistent drip of a leaky roof in need of repair. Once he heard the sound, he could focus on little else. Drip, drip. As if the water was fighting to get to him. Drip. It wasn't enough that his feet were swimming. Drip. This city wanted him to drown.
"Dart," muttered Albert. Dart's eyes snapped back to the bar and saw the king gesture toward a wall to his left. Dart leaned over to peer past him and saw several posters pinned against the wall. Drip. Many of them advertised local gambling dens or proclaimed national news - Dart noticed one speaking of King Albert's capture - but most of them were wanted posters. To his great alarm, Dart recognized three of them, and he drew in a sharp breath. Although the drawings were poor representations, he knew that anyone who studied the posters long enough would be able to pick out their faces: Lavitz, Shana, and Dart.
Drip.
His eyes settled on Lavitz's likeness. The hair was too long, and the lines of his cheeks and nose too angular, but Dart would never forget that face. For just a moment, he hoped that the image would come to life and spring out of the wall, laughing at a great practical joke played a little too well.
He sniffed and turned back to the bar. "That's not good," he muttered back. Drip.
"Indeed," replied the king, eyeing the posters. "At least they are relatively poor likenesses. As long as you and Shana keep from flaunting about, it is unlikely that you will be recognized."
Drip. "Here's to hoping. I probably should have sent Haschel with you instead."
At that moment, a frail old man, at least eighty years old, hobbled out from a door behind the bar. He looked startled to see them, and for a moment Dart feared that the man would collapse from a heart attack, but he moseyed forward and greeted them.
"You here for a drink?" His voice wavered as if it were about to cut off altogether.
"You bet," said Dart, plopping a coin onto the counter. Drip.
"Very good," the old man mumbled, eyeing the coin with a strange level of intimacy before pocketing it and working his way toward some tankards and a barrel of liquor.
"I have to say," began Dart. "I'm a little bitter that we're wanted and you're not. And for only-" he bent backward to spy the posters "-five hundred a piece. Such a shame. Thought I'd be worth more than that, having killed a dragon and all."
Drip. "I am sure that the emperor does not want word of my escape circulating just yet."
"Still. I bet you'd be worth two thousand or more. Maybe even five thousand."
"Would you prefer a higher bounty for yourself?"
"It would be nice for my skills to be recognized." Drip. "I swear, if he doesn't fix that leak in the next five minutes, I'm going to burn this place to the ground."
"That would be hard to do, considering that the ground is covered in six inches of water."
Dart raised his eyebrows. "Your Majesty, did you just make a joke?"
A smile played at the king's mouth when he said, "Of course not. I simply stated a fact."
Drip.
"Here you go," said the bartender as he returned. Dart half expected his arms to snap from the weight of the mugs as he lifted them up to the bar, and wasn't surprised when a little ale sloshed over onto the wood.
"Ever think about getting that leak fixed?" asked Dart, gesturing behind him.
Looking confused, the old man followed Dart's thumb, seeing nothing until another drip sounded out. "Oh," he said suddenly. "I would, but... It's not too bad unless it rains, and I'd probably break a few bones just trying to get up to the roof."
Seems likely, Dart thought, forcing down a chuckle. He lifted the mug to his lips and took a swig, cringing as the burning sensation crawled down his throat and past his heart. Struggling not to cough, he sputtered, "Why not- why not pay someone else to do it?"
"Money is tight in these parts."
"You're right about that. Worked six hours just for the money to get this drink," lied Dart. He'd actually won all his money in a fighting tournament, four hundred more gold pieces sitting in his room at the inn. I wouldn't have any if Lavitz were here.
"The war is making beggars of all of us. It's to be expected after twenty years of fighting."
"Twenty years?" interrupted Albert. "There was tension and hostility, but the war only truly began several months ago."
"Where have you been? Basil has been sending raids on our villages and trading routes since the secession."
"But there were no battles."
"Wars are more than battles," spit back the old man, his face turning angry. "Basil and Sandora have been at each other's throats for twenty years, and people have been dying ever since. Don't think I don't know the difference. You lot are barely able to remember what it was like before the war, but I do! It was a peaceful time until King Carlo started messing things up. Emperor Doel was the only voice of reason, but instead of listening to the people, the court made that foolish child king when Carlo died. If it weren't for Albert, there would have been one nation instead of two!"
Albert looked like he had been slapped, and Dart kicked him under the bar. His kingly pride was not worth their capture.
"So you don't think any of this is Doel's fault?" asked Dart, gesturing to the general disrepair of the tavern.
"Ha," laughed the old man bitterly. "You sound like one of the locals. Basil sympathizers. If you want to talk about Doel's faults, go somewhere else."
And with that, he turned and slipped into the back room once more, closing the door behind him harder than Dart would have thought possible. Taking another drink, Dart shuddered, his ire picking back up as his less distracted mind tuned back in to the drip.
Gritting his teeth, he glanced over to the king, who was staring bleakly into his untouched ale. "Listen," Dart said. "You can't take it personally."
"Is that what my people really think of me?" Albert's voice was quiet and half-hearted, his dejected demeanor betraying all sense of confidence that Dart had seen in him until this moment. He could be so composed when speaking of his own father's murder, and yet when a single constituent questioned his kingly capabilities, he fell apart.
"No, it's what the Sandoras think of you. And it's only the lies that Doel has fed them. Trust me, your people love you." At least, Lavitz did. His eyes darted over to the poster once more.
"What makes you so sure?"
When had Dart become the pillar? Lavitz had been the one who kept everyone in high spirits. Dart was intensely uncomfortable with being the support that King Albert now expected of him, and he rubbed his face in frustration. Then Rose's words returned to him, unbidden and haunting: Even Lavitz looked to you for guidance. He'd never felt much like a leader, and he most certainly didn't care about the king's griefs; he had enough of his own. But he knew that the job would never go over well if Albert was sulking about one old man in the slums with a poor outlook on reality.
"Because of Lavitz, okay?" His tone came out angrier than he had intended. "He thought you were a messenger of the gods or something. So you must have done alright."
"He did?"
"Not literally. But he really did think the best of you."
"He thought the same of you," Albert said, turning his hazel eyes to rest on Dart. "He was so excited to tell me about his new friends. I think he spent most of his life in service to others, but he was most relieved to find someone who would do the same for him. I believe that you two shared a bond that even I did not have with him, maybe never could. I admit that I was envious at first. But now I understand that such a bond is rarer than the finest gemstones. We would all be lucky to find such a thing in this harsh world, even if for so short a time."
As that familiar lump rose in Dart's throat, he forced it back down with burning alcohol. Several seconds later, he slammed the empty tankard onto the counter before standing.
"Thanks. We should go." Just as he turned toward the door, his eyes caught a glimpse of the word Serdio on the wall, and he stopped in his tracks. Then moving up toward the wall with the posters, he ignored Lavitz's angular face and instead read over a poster that had New Serdio Party scrawled across the top in big, fanciful letters. The bottom read:
Ready for the end of a war? Join the New Serdio Party to take real steps toward peace. Help bring an end to oppression and poverty! Speak to Mr. Popo for more information.
"Hey," he muttered, and Albert stood to join him. "Look at this."
Albert's eyes scanned the poster. "Interesting. Might be a place to start. Do you think we can take this with us?"
"Don't see why not," said Dart, ripping the poster from the wall.
"You could have at least asked."
"What's the point? That guy hated us anyway."
The little boy didn't know what to do. He only knew that if he kept moving, it didn't hurt so badly. A long scratch on his arm pulsed with pain, and he held it tightly in his hand. Luckily, the numb of the cold was beginning to crawl its way up from his fingers, working its way toward his heart. Maybe if he stayed out here long enough, his whole body would go numb. He kind of wanted it to.
The branched conifers slowly moved past him, threatening at any moment to dump their masses of snow on his head. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he figured that he would either meet someone eventually or fall down and sleep in the snow. He stopped and looked up at the moon nestled behind the pine needles. It had spontaneously turned blood red only last week, but the color had now faded to a dull orange. His mother had worried that it could only bode ill, but his father had said that there was nothing to worry about.
"The world will go on, as it always has," he'd said in his booming voice, smiling all the while.
But he'd been wrong. The world had ended last night.
Reaching into his pocket, the boy drew out the clear gem and ran his thumb along it. He remembered his father holding it and doing the same, and he started crying again. Unable to control himself, he sat down, hugging the gem and wishing for his parents back. Eventually, he lay down, staring at the sky, feeling the cold set in. The numbness crept farther up his arms and legs, pricking his back against the snow. He couldn't move anymore. He gripped the gem tightly and waited to see what would happen. He had never died before; what was it like? Maybe he would find out.
He saw a flash of red light and turned his head abruptly to see the gem glowing in his hand. It had turned red for just a moment, and he felt a surge of warmth run from his cold fingers through his entire body. The numbness went away, and he felt rejuvenated. He stood slowly, watching the gem closely as the color dissipated once more.
"Daddy," he whispered. It was as if his father were giving him one last hug, one last tug off the ground, one last smile. He wiped his tears and took a step forward. Then another, and another.
"Hello?"
His pulse shot up as he whirled around. A woman in a thick coat stood several feet away, peering at him through the trees.
"It's okay!" she said. "I won't hurt you." She eased forward, and the boy took a step back.
"Are you from the village?" she asked. He glanced back in the direction he had come. "From Neet?"
His lower lip trembled and he nodded slowly.
"Oh, my, you poor thing!" she exclaimed, rushing forward and kneeling before him. "You may be the only survivor. Do you know what happened?"
He hated himself for it, but tears spilled down his cheeks as he shook his head. All he knew was that the black fire had come and taken everyone away.
"Let's get you someplace warm. We should be able to leave for Furni tomorrow. The mayor will know what to do."
And with that, she scooped him up, letting him cry into her collar as she carried him away. His steel grip kept the gem close to his heart. It was all he had left, and he would never give it up.
