Chapter 10: Exhale of the Breeze
Wyndham, Midland, 2 Weeks Later
Guts took as deep a breath as he could with the bandages that wrapped tightly around his chest. It was damnably small still, and his chest twinged as he leaned for a moment on his crutch before starting again. He walked, hobbled really, down the hall, the view to his left the open air of Midland's capital.
It was strange to see it again, grown as he was now. The sights that surrounded him still towered far above him, the people were still a greater crowd. It had not lessened in the many years since he'd last visited. It had just grown… smaller.
He looked beside him and saw Daniel walking along, slowly, as well. He'd been beaten up almost as much as he and Griffith were. It was a wonder he was walking without a crutch. "Lucky bastard," he muttered, mostly to himself.
"I know." Daniel grinned, a tired thing that showed mostly in his eyes, dark and with bags under them, then the grin disappeared. "But if being unlucky could bring even a few of the others back, I'd gladly take it."
Guts nodded. On that, at least, they agreed.
Then, he looked down the hallway, noticing two men in fine clothes, probably nobles of some kind, walking towards them and talking to each other loud enough for them to hear. "Did you hear the Band of the Falcon say they stood against a monster at Hargrim? That's how they account for Lord Griffith's grievous injuries," one said. Even this far away, Guts could hear the disdain he put on Griffith's title.
"Nonsense!" The other man, younger than the first by the sound of it, scoffed as Guts and Daniel slowed down. "Even if more than one or two men saw this 'monster', it's not hard to get several men to cover up an embarrassing blunder."
"Wounded or not," the first man said warningly, "they still captured the castle and the towns surrounding it. I wouldn't call that much of a blunder."
The other man sighed. "Yet another step on this common-born wolf's ascent through the ranks. How vexing."
Guts felt little else at the moment besides indignation as he stepped forward. A hand on his shoulder, something that was becoming a bit of a challenge for Daniel as he grew, stopped him. "Come on," Guts whispered. "You're not just gonna let this guy smear Griffith's name."
"No, I'm not. Not forever, at least." Daniel replied. "But making an enemy around here, especially a noble one, is dangerous."
Guts nodded, then went ahead anyway, hearing Daniel sigh quietly before he began to follow.
As they approached, Guts saw them stop in the hallway, whispering to one another before the younger man, a real fop of a thing with a bob of blond hair and a mustache, stepped forward. Guts took note of the man's side sword. "You're in our way, churl," he said rather impetuously. "I'd suggest you clear the path."
As Guts fought to not roll his eyes, the younger man grabbed his shoulder, a rippling wave that seemed to tighten his muscles flowing from the man's hand. "I must say, a beast appearing on the battlefield. That's quite the calamity. But the castle was dark from the fighting, I'm sure. Perhaps you and your men mistook a mutt for a monster?"
He looked back at the other man as he chuckled, and Guts seized the moment to step past him, leaning heavily on his crutch as he brought it down on the man's foot. The man shouted in pain as Guts walked past, Daniel close behind him as the fop went to a knee to massage his foot.
"Sorry about that." Guts said in passing as Daniel returned to his side. "The pain's messing with my head a little."
"How dare you…" the older man said, then shied away as the fop got to his feet, reaching for his blade.
"You bastard!" he shouted as he stood. "I'll have you face my… blade…"
He trailed off as Guts looked back at him. The look in the young man's eyes, one of exasperation and barely restrained annoyance, pinned him where he stood, the sword slowly falling to his side as Guts and Daniel began to walk off again.
As they got out of earshot and stepped into the open air of the noble district, Daniel looked over at Guts. "He's not going to forget that easily, you know," he said warningly.
"I am." Guts shrugged.
"That's a dangerous thing to do around parts like this." Daniel retorted. "Nobility has its ways of getting back at someone who's slighted them. And it doesn't always have to target you."
Guts felt a twinge of fear. Fear for those he led. Fear for those that he served with. "They wouldn't do that to their own soldiers, would they?"
"If there's one thing I've learned in my time, Guts, it's that some who have power like the nobles do will do anything to keep it. Even if it doesn't exist anymore. Or never did."
The words weren't derisive or sagely like Guts had expected. Instead, they were… hollow. Haunted, almost. What caused him to say those words like that?
They approached their destination, a hospital with a massive garden beside it where the king had put all of the wounded Falcons up when he'd called them to the capital. Most had been out of the hospital in as little as days. He, Daniel, and Griffith had been in there far longer. Griffith was to be the last to emerge from the hospital, it seemed.
The command staff of the Falcons stood outside, some of them clearly more annoyed than others, while two guards, clearly part of some nobleman's retinue, stood watch outside the two doors that led in.
As they came to a stop in front of the Falcons, there was an air of surprise around them. "Guts, sir!" Rickert said as he sat up straighter on the steps leading up to the hospital. "Where did you get off to?"
"Doesn't really matter." Guts shrugged. "What're you all waiting out here for?"
"Well, we wanted to pay Griffith a visit," Judeau said as he stood. He paused for a moment as he looked back. "But there's a bit of a line here now."
Guts looked past the guards and saw several men in fine clothes, some finer than even that fop from before. A bishop was with them, and they all surrounded the bed that Griffith occupied, their words far enough away that he couldn't hear them.
"Who're they?" he asked.
"Oh, courtiers, the local head bishop, county lords, and the like," Judeau said with a shrug. "Guess they figured even if most nobles think Griffith's dangerous, they might be able to get some leverage with him if they do some glad-handing. I guess they aren't wrong for thinking that, what with Griffith being the head of the most effective military force in Midland."
Guts looked up at Griffith for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."
He then began to make his way, slowly, up the stairs. The guards, seeing this, moved closer together. "Alright?" Pippin said quietly, none able to fully hear the exasperation in his voice.
Corkus was far more vocal. "Alright? What the hell do you mean by that?" he nearly shouted.
Guts looked back for a moment. "It's a man dropping in on his wounded friend. What's social status got to do with it?"
The guards seemed to have other ideas, however, as they stepped forward and crossed their halberds in front of him. "That's far enough." one of them said. "Let the noblemen have their business, then you may enter."
"Come on," Guts said with a roll of his eyes. Then, he looked from one guard to the other. They were only a little taller than him, but thinner. Their grip on their spears was still loose. They weren't expecting him to actually do anything.
He shrugged. "Alright, then."
Before he could move, though, someone else had other ideas. "Guts."
It wasn't the voice itself that made him turn away to face Casca. Rather, it was the softness to it, all too unexpected, that had caught him off guard. "I have something I'd like to say to you. Come with me, and we'll visit Griffith after we're finished speaking."
For all that softness, what little was there, it was still an order. Guts sighed and hobbled down the stairs, past a quietly grateful Daniel, and up to Casca, who turned and began to walk away.
They paused for a moment after they'd made some distance, Casca looking back past him to the hospital before sighing quietly. "As much as you were going to be an idiot there… I know how you feel. We all do."
Guts arched a brow. "What do you mean?"
"Griffith's becoming harder and harder to reach. It isn't just the battles, either. It's… everything that we're doing. Going up in the world."
Guts looked back to the hospital as well, and it felt, for a moment, like it was a world away.
"Yeah. But we're right there with him, aren't we? He brought us along for the ride."
"He did." Casca seemed comforted by the words. "He didn't abandon us simply because he got the friendly attention of a few nobles."
"Then he won't be far away for long. He always pays attention to us at the end of the day. The nobles only pay attention to us when we're useful or in the way. Just like any other soldier."
Casca was silent for a moment. "We're on our way to becoming nobles ourselves. What happens then?"
The question cut deep, as he remembered a knight from all those years ago. "Go die like dogs in a ditch, for all I care!"
'Is that what we'll become? Is that what I'll become?'
No. But… he needed time to think about this. Alone.
"I'm going to go swing my sword," he said as he hobbled away toward the armory.
"In your state?" Casca said incredulously.
"I've done it after worse." Guts said nonchalantly and left Casca speechless as he walked away.
. . .
Daniel sat under a tree a little ways away from the hospital, turning away from the sight of Guts going his way to the entrance of the hospital as the dignitaries streamed out, their guards following after them as the Falcons streamed in, Casca following a few moments after.
She looked back at him for a moment, confused, then followed the others.
'So far away…' he mused.
"May we ask what you are doing here?"
Daniel looked up at Anna, Anaa'ri as he had to sometimes remind himself now, the cool, deep woman's voice that emerged from it not the one he was used to hearing.
"Nimira, if I recall correctly?" Daniel asked, smiling slightly as Anaa'ri nodded. "I'm keeping an eye on things. Take a seat. Enjoy the day, whole as you are."
Anaa'ri slowly sat next to Daniel, in time looking over at where Guts had gone. "You are deeply connected to the boy. We understand you have a long history with him, having raised him from near birth."
Nimira paused for a moment. "Something else compels you to stay in this mercenary band. Something beyond mere familial duty. What is it?"
Daniel smiled slightly as he chuckled. "You're quite perceptive, miss."
"It is my duty to be so. Rhia has ignored my requests to ask you herself, so I have temporarily taken command of the vessel to ensure that questions that could have great ramifications are answered properly."
Daniel's slight smile faded. "Have you seen the records for this world?"
Anaa'ri blinked, a surprisingly human gesture from an entirely alien species. "I was unaware there were such things that existed."
"You must have little experience with the Worldsea, then." Daniel paused for a moment as he considered what to tell this child. "There are many worlds, as I'm sure you can tell. Each of them has a… soul, shall we say. A foundation that the worlds we walk upon, each one of many like it, change slightly or dramatically. This world we occupy cleaves closely its soul."
"And how do records of these worlds come into existence?"
"The thoughts, actions, and emotions of the world and its people are an intangible force that flows throughout the Worldsea. These things are naturally drawn to creative souls. Artists, writers, composers, and the like. It is through them that those from beyond can catch a glimpse of the worlds that we travel to."
A shaded, almost haunted look entered Daniel's eyes. "I have seen the future of this world. All that surround us as Falcons are slaughtered to the last, save for Guts and Casca. All to fulfill the desires of an ancient evil known as the Godhand, to lift Griffith into their ranks in a sanguine apotheosis."
"And you are thus here to stop such a tragedy from coming to pass?"
"I don't know if I can, or even fully if I should. The Godhand has a command, tenuous though it may perhaps be, of causality itself. The achievement of their goal was set into motion long before Guts or Griffith were ever born, and long before I arrived here. And if I were to upset their plans too early… then the wrath of the Idea itself might fall upon this world. And I cannot begin to comprehend what that might look like. The fate of this world could already be locked, and by my knowledge of its fate, I might yet play into it without meaning to."
"Surely, however, you cannot simply stand by and let such a terrible fate come to pass. What do you intend to do?"
"I intend to kill Griffith."
Daniel let the statement, heard only by the two of them, hang in the air for a moment. "But only when the time is right. Only at the cusp of when everything goes wrong. It is a hard balance to walk, and a perilous guessing game to try for what time that exactly is."
Daniel looked over at Anaa'ri. "You are the first person I have ever told this to, Nimira. You must keep it a secret. Otherwise, everyone we care about is in danger. Perhaps even doomed."
Anaa'ri was still for a moment, then nodded slightly. "Very well. I will ensure that the others are informed of these records, and of our conversation. Do you have these records readily available?"
Daniel smiled slightly. "The soul remembers all things perfectly, even if the mind does not. It is the essence of understanding, perceived through a glass darkly. I will provide what I know through a link between our souls. Are you ready?"
Anaa'ri nodded, and Daniel linked his soul to Nimira's, sharing what he knew of a future that could well come to pass. Anna's eyes went wide as she took it in, and Daniel sighed quietly. "This is my burden. I know what may well come. But I don't know if I can stop it."
"I see." Anaa'ri looked away, cupping its chin in thought as Nimira surely pondered. "And with the anomalous object that we passed…"
Daniel's brow furrowed in confusion. "Anomalous object?"
Anaa'ri's gaze returned to Daniel. "Yes. A massive object that was close to this world that we entered."
Daniel swallowed silently before he continued. "And what did this… object look like?"
"We were only able to capture a plane of the object before we passed through the barrier of this world. It was…"
Nimira seemed somewhat at a loss for words. "Ashen. Patterns, like flames of red and yellow shot through a goodly portion of it. It looked… desolate."
Daniel nodded as he looked away. "I see. This…"
He sighed as he shook his head. "We'll talk about this later."
He looked up, and they both saw Griffith exit the hospital on a crutch, Casca walking beside him with a relieved look on her face. They chatted for a moment, then she pointed off towards where Guts had gone off to. Griffith nodded, then walked away from her, Casca going her own way.
"Thank you for letting me know about this, Nimira."
"And… I thank you for enlightening me. And by extension, all of us."
. . .
Guts swung his sword in the confines of a landing, a series of steps that had given him some damn trouble before he'd ditched his crutch behind him and another that was in front of him at the moment.
The sweeping and swirling of the sword, the consideration for the tight space he stood within, helped him to focus his thoughts and feelings, as much a prayer as any of the Way of White followers kneeling in front of their holy symbol was.
The words that came to mind right now were the conversation with Casca almost an hour ago. "We're on our way to being nobles. What happens then?"
What would happen? He didn't really feel any different than he'd been before the Falcons had become a part of Midland's forces. He certainly didn't feel as snooty or annoying as some of the fops that he'd run into here in Wyndham. But things were different than they'd been.
He didn't quite know what would be waiting for them if they did join Griffith in becoming royalty. Daniel had talked in passing about some of the things that came with it: massive stately balls (why they called them that he still couldn't figure out), vast manor houses with servants, and the frankly nauseating idea of having to interact with some of the other nobles that they'd come across.
But time was a funny thing. He knew that much. He recognized how much he'd changed, how much so many of the people around him had changed. The only seemingly constant people were Daniel and… Griffith. If they'd changed, it had been in ways that he'd not been able to see. Daniel, at the very least, was honest about it.
His mind wandered back to the words that had brought him here, the words that he feared saying to anyone that had been like him.
"Fine then, you fools! Go die like dogs in a ditch for all I care!"
He saw the man's face, his sneer of superiority. For a moment, he saw his own face under that helmet.
He swiped down, almost cutting through the memory and the nightmare with his stroke. Then, he paused, the tip of the sword gently clinking against the stones as he took a hand off the hilt to study it for a moment. It was callused, still wrapped in bandages from his fight with Zodd. Beneath it, streaking across his palm, was a scar, the sibling of the two that were all that was left to remind him of Gambino.
He wouldn't become that man. 'And I won't become that bastard of a knight.'
He clenched his fist, his jaw tightening along with it, 'I swear.'
"I must wonder what you have to be angry about."
Guts blinked and looked down the stairs, seeing Griffith, leaning on a crutch of his own, walking up the stairs with a ghost of a smile on his face. "I'm impressed that you can swing your sword already," he continued. "You were far more wounded than I was. What a remarkable toughness."
He came to a stop in front of Guts. "I apologize for earlier this morning. All those officials thinking that appearing to care for a wounded man for a day would be enough to placate me…" he scoffed. "It's enough to sicken me."
He leaned against the railing in front of Guts and shrugged as Guts leaned on the railing with him. "Ah, well. It can't be helped pandering to their need to appear decent. Especially if we want to secure ourselves a place in this kingdom."
Guts couldn't help but wonder what else Griffith was willing to put up with. Especially if Daniel was right about the nobles here. He contemplated that in silence with Griffith for a moment, wondering what the man was thinking about.
"Nosferatu Zodd…"
Guts looked over at him as he continued. "It feels almost like a nightmare, our encounter with him. A fantastic monster…"
Griffith paused for a moment. "Or perhaps proof that there is some great something, beyond our understanding, at work in this world. Perhaps even on the level of gods."
Guts looked over at Griffith. "I don't know about you, but that thing looked more like a devil to me."
Griffith's slight smile grew, equally slightly. "What, exactly, is the difference?"
"Well, most of the gods I've heard about usually aren't hellbent on killing you."
Griffith's expression became unreadable for the barest of moments, his smile faltering as he looked back over the courtyard before it returned. "By the way," he said after a moment, "what happened after I was knocked out? There were no others that died after I was knocked out."
"The thing around your neck." Guts replied, his brow furrowing. "The Crimson Beherit. Zodd recognized that. Called it 'the Egg of the King' or something."
"The Beherit…" Griffith looked down at the egg, holding it up slightly.
Guts remembered what Zodd had said then. "Take heed. When his ambition collapses, death will pay you a visit! A death you can never escape!"
'How could he be so sure of that?'
Guts wondered for a moment. The nobles, however, put him ill at ease. Maybe Zodd knew how the nobles worked. Then again, Griffith seemed to as well.
Griffith laughed airily, his smile becoming broad with amusement. "Well then. It seems it protects against evil spirits as well. I really will have to thank that old fortune teller if I run into her again."
It didn't feel like that, exactly, to Guts. But if Griffith was so sure…
"That's two I owe you, now." Guts said rather quietly as he came to the realization.
Griffith looked over at him, a somewhat curious look on his face. "And why's that?"
"Three years ago, when you came back and saved me and Daniel. You had no reason to. All for 'an excellent soldier'. That's awful hot-headed, for a calm, composed star commander to put his life on the line for just one or two men. So… why then?"
Griffith looked thoughtful, then chuckled. "A passing discussion from three years ago. You have quite a sharp memory."
Griffith paused for a moment. "No. There's not a reason at all." he looked over at Guts. "Tell me, should I always have one of those each time I put myself in harm's way for you?"
The words stirred memories in Guts. Words that sounded so much like Daniel's. And for a moment, that distance that he'd felt in front of the hospital disappeared. The man that he'd followed into battle time and time again was in front of him, without pretensions or petty display. And it felt… right.
"No… I…" Guts began, then looked up as he saw someone approaching from the corner of his eye. A few someones.
"And there is the White Falcon Griffith himself." the first man said. The man that even Guts recognized as King Adamar of Midland. "Have your injuries healed sufficiently?"
Griffith turned to face the king, and the guards and noble that accompanied him, and took a knee as quickly as his wrappings allowed. "My lord."
Guts, figuring that Griffith had the right idea to not get on the bad side of the king, followed after as quickly as he could.
"Well," the noble grumbled. "If you weren't so injured as you are, I might be able to accuse you of reticence."
Already, this nobleman grated at Guts. 'Another damnably uptight bastard…'
The king gestured with a staying hand. "It's no matter. Raise yourselves. I'm simply on a stroll is all."
The noble looked over at the king. "Sire, you do not deserve to be disrespected…"
"The castle and grounds are teeming with agitation," the king interjected as he stroked a goatee of a beard, black with a few strands of gray in it like his hair. "With all the battles, war councils, and troop drills, there's so little time to relax. Breathe for a moment, Julius."
The noble seemed to do his best, what little it was, as Guts and Griffith stood, and the king gestured to the man beside him. "Allow me to introduce my younger brother, Lord Julius. He is the High General of Midland, leader of the White Dragons, and in the line of succession to the throne of Midland. Do forgive him for his brusqueness. Much rests on his shoulders."
Griffith placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head. "I am Griffith, leader of the Band of the Falcon. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir."
Julius simply scoffed softly. The king seemed far more decent of a person to Guts at the moment as he simply sighed quietly at his brother. "I must say, Sir Griffith," he began, "tales of your men's exploits almost always succeed in impressing me in many different ways. Your stand against the Black Rams that I witnessed seems almost mundane compared to your other feats." he chuckled softly. "It's enough to make a man's blood boil with daring, to strike out and be counted in the tales. Even for an old man such as myself."
"My lord…" Julius said, clearly trying to restrain himself. "To speak with a common troop commander with such familiarity…"
"It's no great matter, Julius." the king said with a sigh. "Yes, most statesmen see the common soldier as beneath us, as their fathers did and theirs before them. They see them as a stain on our prestige."
The king shook his head. "But prestige and status will not win us this war. Nor will they feed the people that depend on our ravaged lands. Only the blood and sweat of the people will carry us through these troubled times."
The king's gaze returned to Griffith and Guts. "I suspect that, with how long this war has gone, with entire noble houses a shadow of themselves if that, that you and your soldiers, and those like you, will form the cornerstone of this kingdom after this war ends."
Griffith bowed once again. "I can only thank you for your kind words, my lord."
Then, as Griffith looked up, his gaze went past the king, and Guts followed it to see a young woman, maybe even young enough to still call a girl, peeking out at them, her brown hair done up in buns as she regarded them with wide, dark gray eyes. "Who might that fair lady be?" Griffith asked.
The king looked behind himself as the young woman shied away for a moment. "Ah. That is my daughter Charlotte. It surprises me to see her this far out of the palace. She doesn't usually find most of the soldiers and nobles to her liking."
He beckoned her over. "Charlotte. If you will?"
She shied away once again, and the king chuckled. "My apologies, Lord Griffith. She's my only child. I've spoiled her somewhat."
The king and his retinue began to descend the staircase. "Come along, Charlotte. We'll be heading back for lunch now."
Charlotte followed behind the king and Julius, the guards keeping watch as she went. Then, she tripped on a wedge of stone in the floor of the landing, one that had stumbled Guts earlier before, sending her tipping forward.
Almost faster than Guts could blink, Griffith stepped forward, his crutch almost dropping from his hand as he put an arm in front of Charlotte, stopping her fall. As he lifted her back up, they regarded each other for a moment.
"Your pardon, my lady," Griffith said as Guts saw the princess looking at Griffith with an awestruck look. "Please be careful around some of these stones."
"How dare you touch the princess so casually!"
Julius strode back up the steps, backhanding Griffith with a cracking force. The sight of Griffith's head snapping back lit a fire in Guts' veins, and he stepped forward, his sword beginning to rise. "Hey, pal!"
He stepped forward and saw Julius flinch back as the guards took a step toward him, then Griffith's crutch caught his advance.
"Pardon my rudeness, Lord Julius," Griffith said, a cool tone to his words.
Julius regarded them for a moment when the king called back up the stairs. "What is going on up there?" he asked archly.
"Nothing, father," Charlotte replied, her voice surprisingly calm and composed for what could have happened.
Julius regarded them for a moment, then turned away, walking down the stairs toward the king. "Come along, my lady. We shouldn't keep your father waiting."
Guts saw the hesitation in Charlotte's eyes as she regarded Griffith, along with something else in her eyes that he couldn't quite place, before she turned away and followed the noble. Where had he seen that before?
He wasn't sure at the moment. But Griffith had once again proved himself a better man than most nobles. That was always satisfying to see.
. . .
Daniel sat quietly, hidden away behind a tree in a courtyard as he carved a small soldier that he would likely quietly give away, listening to the idle chatter of some of the castle's servants as it overpowered the quiet gurgling and splashing of a fountain at the courtyard's center.
They spoke, rather unsurprisingly, of Griffith. It was becoming a popular topic amongst the castle, he found.
"Have you heard?" one of the three maidservants said, clearly secure in her feeling that she and hers were alone. "The king may be thinking of elevating Lord Griffith to the title of Count, consolidating some of the lands that are left lordless under him."
"It doesn't surprise me at all." another said before sighing somewhat dreamily. "What I'd give for a chance to meet with him…"
"Just looking at him is almost a privilege." a third said, probably the youngest voice among the trio. "The prettiest person I've laid eyes on, and he isn't even a woman!"
"Not only that, but a well-decorated military leader, a swordsman without peer, elegant and dignified… whoever he decides to marry will be lucky indeed."
"And all while being a commoner by birth." the first servant said wondrously. "I'm terribly jealous of whoever's waiting on him."
"He'd be much less boorish and temperamental than a fair half of the generals and nobles here, that's for sure." the second lady said, the others stifling chuckles.
Before any of them could continue, a thunderous, angry voice shattered the calm. "What has you three standing about? Haven't you got duties to attend to?"
Daniel watched the three making their way toward a doorway, snide comments made to each other under their breaths escaping his hearing as they left who was surely Lord Julius alone in the courtyard for a moment.
"Such a shout as that could travel well beyond the confines of this courtyard." a weathered, somewhat raspy voice chided.
"Minister Foss," Julius said in slight surprise, his voice lowering as Daniel sharpened his hearing.
"You seem quite disturbed by something, Lord Julius." Foss continued, and though Daniel couldn't see him, he could imagine the man, a head like a ball of dough sitting atop an equally doughy, short body. "Is something the matter?"
"It's nothing," Julius replied vehemently.
It was silent for a moment. "Incidentally, General…" Foss began. "Did you hear from the king concerning the arrangements for the autumn hunt's guards?"
"Arrangement?" Julius said incredulously. "No. Adamar is likely still bringing me and my selected troops. As he always has."
"I see." Foss paused for a moment. "I've heard, unofficially of course, that the king is considering giving such a duty to the Band of the Falcon, as a reward for their gallantry."
"What?" Julius nearly shouted, and Daniel heard Foss gasp as Julius presumably grabbed him by the cloak. "The hunt has always been a gathering and sign of goodwill for the kingdom's nobles. One that has always been guarded by nobles. To think that a band of former thieves and murderers would be celebrated as they have been and usurp my position… what could Adamar be thinking?"
Foss sighed quietly. "Are you going to let this simply come to be?"
"Come to be?" Julius said incredulously. "I cannot disobey the king so blatantly. It would throw everything into chaos, give the Tudors exactly what they need to win."
"And yet, it is indisputable that the glories of the undefeated Band of the Falcon are fact. It is even whispered that their glory might eclipse that of the White Dragons and that your name shall be forgotten for Griffiths."
"What?" This time, the word was low, dangerous, almost the growl of a cornered animal. "How dare you."
"It is simply a rumor. One that many share, but a rumor nonetheless."
"Even still," Foss continued after a moment, "the longer this war goes on, the longer he and his Falcons have to distinguish themselves militarily. And the longer he has to ingratiate himself to the king and to those that see him as a valuable ally."
"Griffith might," Foss continued, his voice growing quiet, conspiratorial, "even claim the position of General."
"Impossible!" Julius spat. "I won't have it! Never in this kingdom's history have I even heard of a common-born general."
"And yet," Foss said after a moment, "the possibility does exist…"
"Even if Adamar wills it, I'll never accept it!" Julius swore.
It was silent for a moment. "However…" Foss began. "Hunting is a rather dangerous sport."
Foss paused. "One never knows what kind of dangers lie in wait, even in the controlled space of the fields."
"What do you mean?"
"There can be dangerous beasts hidden in the brush, waiting to strike unexpectedly."
"Of course. That's the thrill of hunting."
Daniel let out a quiet sigh that he was sure Foss succeeded in containing before elaborating. "Or, of course, accidents happen. A stray arrow or bolt aimed in the wrong direction. And sometimes, those arrowheads are covered in poison. To speed things along, of course."
"Wait… you mean…"
"A stray arrow," Foss said assuredly. "Covered in poison."
It was silent. Then Julius began to chuckle. The chuckle became outright laughter for a moment, a thing of joyous revelation, soon stifled. "A poisoned arrow? Interesting…"
Julius began to walk away. "A fitting end for a commoner," he said with grim amusement.
Daniel waited for a moment, his hearing returning to its normal sensitivity as he began to carve in a few spare details. The wings he wanted to put on the back, curving up and ending over the head of the soldier, were striking things…
"Oh. Hello."
Daniel blinked, looking over as he saw Minister Foss, looking at him in surprise. "Hello, sir," Daniel replied, standing and sheathing his carving knife. "I… don't believe I've seen you around. May I ask who you are?"
"I am Adelbrand Foss, Minister of Affairs for the kingdom." Foss' expression was guarded as he nodded.
Daniel smiled as he bowed slightly, his free hand coming to his chest. "I am Sir Daniel Theisman, Minister Foss. I beg your pardon. I was quite caught up in my work."
Foss glanced down at the wooden soldier in Daniel's hand, his tense expression only easing slightly. "I believe I've heard tell of you. The Midnight Dragon, in the ranks of the Band of the Falcon."
Daniel suppressed a tsk of annoyance. Fame was a two-edged sword, wasn't it? "I find myself unsurprised that my name has gotten this far."
"My apologies for the loudness of Lord Julius," Foss said, his face now unreadable. "I hope he did not disturb your recreation."
"Not at all," Daniel replied with an easy smile. "As I've said, I get caught up in my work, enough so that the world seems to fall away given enough time to concentrate."
Daniel paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "I do wonder what Lord Julius found so funny, though."
Foss was silent for the briefest of moments, and Daniel caught the panic that he so desperately smothered. "The idea of your Band of the Falcon providing the security for the coming autumn hunt, Sir Theisman."
"Ah." Daniel's brow arched slightly. "This is… quite the surprise to me."
Daniel shrugged. "I'm sure you intended that to be a surprise for us. My apologies for spoiling it to some extent."
"It's no great matter," Foss replied, a staying hand raised to Daniel. He was silent for a moment before he went on. "I have a question, if I may be so bold."
"Go on."
"Are you, perhaps, of noble birth?"
Daniel arched a brow. "What leads you to that presumption, Minister?"
Foss was silent for a moment as he contemplated the answer. "Your words and mannerisms are refined, your bearing almost… regal. Especially in the armor that I have seen you marching here in. What kingdom do you hail from, and what led you to throw in your lot with a band of commoners?"
Daniel smiled slightly for a moment, the expression vanishing with a breeze that rustled the branches of the tree they stood before. "The kingdom that gave me my image is gone. And my reasons for joining the Band of the Falcon are my own."
It was truth enough, whatever omissions he made. That was all it really needed to be, wasn't it?
Foss nodded. "I see. Good day to you."
Foss turned and began to walk away. Daniel let him get a little ways away. "I know your fear," he said, his once airy voice now cool and hard as a sword blade.
He saw Minister Foss flinch, the words almost seeming to physically strike the diminutive man as he paused, looking back at him. "And… what might that be?" he asked, his voice low even as he ensured they were alone.
"That I will go to Griffith, my commanding officer, and tell him of what I may or may not have heard. Rumors, of course, but rumors of an assassin, sent by Julius to ensure that he will never get the chance to earn the king's favor fully."
Daniel paused as Foss' eyes went wide and he fully turned to face back at the man he'd dismissed moments before as he continued. "And with that, the wrath of the Band would fall upon Julius, and all your schemes would come falling down around your ears, just before the kingdom of Midland followed."
"But…" Daniel paused for dramatic effect. "You are a lucky man today. I will do no such thing."
Foss visibly relaxed. "I see," he said, the slightest quiver in the man's voice.
"Make no mistake, however." Daniel continued, now beginning to step slowly, surely toward Foss. "I detest secret combinations. Especially those with the capacity to hurt my friends and family, as my companions in the Band of the Falcon have become."
He paused just in front of Foss, looking down at the man and seeing the all too slight shudder as he rested a palm on the hilt of his carving knife. "If you and yours hurt or kill any of my men, I will know who was the cause of it. And I will reap what is sown."
Foss nodded once, and Daniel's smile, thin and mirthless, returned. "Do not underestimate Griffith, however. Regardless of his birth, he is an adept player of the noble game. Better than I, even. You play against him at your own peril. Consider this a courtesy."
Daniel turned and began to walk away. "Wait!" Foss said urgently.
He paused and looked back at the short man, now seemingly so small in his somewhat billowy robes. "Why?"
Daniel fixed him in place with a cold, knowing stare, his face almost a burial mask in its void of expression. "Because for the moment, one portion of your goals and mine is in alignment. Do not mistake it for friendship. Or complicity."
Daniel let the words sink in. "Good day to you." he echoed.
Then, he exited the courtyard, leaving Minister Foss alone beside the fountain.
As Daniel vanished, Foss leaned against the wall of the fountain, his heart pounding in his head as a simple question pressed out all subtlety and spycraft. 'What is he?'
. . .
Guts took a deep breath of the crisp night air as he tightened his grip on the sword in his hand, looking up at the moon. It was nice to get away from things, to have some time to himself. That he had to climb onto the roof of the barracks that they were housed in to do that was of little matter to him, however much curiosity it stirred among the others.
The moon was large and full tonight, casting down its pale glow upon the land. As he regarded it, the old scar in his shoulder tingled, and he recalled that wet, cold night so long ago. That feeling of loneliness that he'd felt, terrifying even for how brief it had been.
The moon, bright but distant, couldn't help but remind him of Griffith now, too. He recalled the words that he'd said earlier that day. "No. There's not a reason at all. Tell me, should I always have one of those each time I put myself in harm's way for you?"
'I don't know if that answer's enough. But for now… I'll raise my blade for him. Like he does for me.'
"Ah. There you are, Guts."
Guts looked over at Daniel, who crossed his arms on the rooftop. "Would you prefer to be left alone, or are you okay with my company tonight?"
Guts considered the question for a moment then shrugged. "I mean, you're welcome up here. As long as Corkus is waiting behind you."
Daniel chuckled as he hoisted himself onto the rooftop, walking over carefully to where Guts sat before sitting himself, looking up at the moon. "It's a terribly pretty night out."
Guts nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly.
Daniel looked over at Guts. "You don't usually sound like that unless you've got something on your mind. Care to share, or does it have to stew for a little longer?"
Guts sighed quietly after a moment, the sounds of the crickets, soft and far away, something to ponder alongside Daniel's curiosity. "Well… it's Griffith."
"I see," Daniel said quietly. "What about him?"
"Has he ever felt… distant to you? Like he's being caught up in trying to be a noble. Or at least look like it."
Daniel nodded. "Yes. I've gotten that feeling before."
"But when I talked to him earlier today, it wasn't that sort of person that I saw. I saw… well, I saw a friend."
Daniel was silent for a moment. "It's not unusual for people to have different faces when dealing with different people. The nobles use that in daily life. If Griffith wants to fulfill his desire of having a kingdom, then he's going to have to play that game too."
"But we know who he'll be on the battlefield." Guts said assuredly. "He's our leader. All this fancy court nonsense doesn't matter out there."
"On the contrary, Guts," Daniel said, a somber tone to his voice and a serious expression on his face. "Sometimes, the court nonsense can make all the difference between victory and defeat."
"The nobles aren't there screwing with the battle plans or telling people to stay. How could they mess with us out there?"
"In subtler ways." Daniel looked out into the night. "Cutting supplies of gunpowder or arrows or crossbow bolts. Making sure the horses are just underfed enough to get you to the battlefield but not fight. Making it so the medics' only real choice is who lives a cripple and who dies infected and bled out."
Guts looked on in horror. "These are the weapons that the nobles are most used to using. Especially when they have a grudge."
Guts' jaw clenched, and a fire lit in his chest, gleaming out from behind his eyes. "The bastards…"
"Of course, Guts, you have to remember that they're human." Daniel cautioned. "Some of them actually are even decent people, caught in a system that forces them to be ruthless or be destroyed."
Daniel paused. "And so, those good men have to make sacrifices. Sometimes willingly, sometimes not."
It was silent between them for a moment, then Guts looked back over at Daniel. "So, Griffith… he's one of those decent types, then?"
"He has all the potential to be it." Daniel paused. "But he will have to sacrifice something. My hope, my fear, is that he does not decide that we are a necessary part of that sacrifice."
"When his ambitions fail, death will visit you! A death you can never escape!"
"Is there anything we can do?"
Daniel smiled sadly. "That's a good question, Guts. As good a question as any. But for a kingdom, regardless of how many people surround him and support him, his dream is one that can only be achieved by his own will. No one else can decide for him."
Guts looked up at the moon. Pale. Distant. All too much, Griffith began to seem like the moon again.