The caravan had been attacked about a mile from the Observatorium, in a narrow place where the trees closed in around the road. Arden and Z'mona found two abandoned carts, the horses that once pulled them stolen, too. The drivers had been killed and dumped in the snow, and the cargo scattered about. Most of the crates were empty and broken, but they found a single crate that had been kicked under a wagon. It was still nailed shut, so Z'mona took it. Arden took charge of carrying the two dead porters to the Observatorium for burial.
This was hard work, and the heavy sky had begun to drop whirling snowflakes by the time they reached their destination. The dismayed guards received the corpses, and sent them on with the crate to Lord Portelaine.
Portelaine frowned when he saw them enter, and frowned still more when they reported their findings. He gestured to his guard to open the crate.
"I cannot say your news is good," Portelaine said as the guard pried off the crate lid. "But you did do what I asked. I suppose I will write letters of introduction for you to the other High Houses so you may seek your bloody airship. That will at least get you out of my hair." He rose to his feet and went to examine the crate.
Within the crate, on top of a layer of folded burlap, was a shipping manifest. "This box is addressed to Lord Francel of House Haillenarte," Portelaine remarked. "I suppose our intrepid outsiders could take him his box." He lifted the burlap and took a cursory look at the contents, which appeared to be bundles of clothing. On top of the bundles was a strange necklace with a white fang attached.
Portelaine picked up the necklace, took one look, and flung it back in the crate. "Halone have mercy! It's a draconian rosary!"
"A what?" Z'mona said, bending down to look.
"Touch it not," said Portelaine, staring as if he'd discovered a venomous snake. "Heretics perform their cursed rituals with those rosaries. Some say a few prayers are all it takes to transform them into dragons as they join our enemies. If this crate was bound for Lord Francel, then he must be a heretic, himself." He drew himself up, fists clenched. "You are outsiders, so you know naught of the dangers here. To associate with heretics is to become one, yourself. I must inform the inquisitors."
"What of our letters of introduction?" Arden asked.
Portelaine waved a dismissive hand, his gaze still fixed on that necklace with its fang. "None of that matters now. I cannot recommend that you associate with any man of House Haillenarte now that the accusation of heresy has fallen upon them. Get you gone, I have much to do." He flung the burlap over the rosary and slammed the crate lid as if trapping an animal.
As Arden and Z'mona turned to go, the guard in the corner stepped forward. "I will escort them out, sir."
Portelaine nodded, and the guard ushered Arden and Z'mona outside into the falling snow. There the guard peered around, making sure no one was in earshot, and stepped up to Arden and Z'mona. In a low voice he said, "Lord Francel is no heretic. He is a goodly, righteous man, wholly dedicated to the cause. I know this because I served House Haillenarte for years prior to the Calamity." He paused for breath and to look around once more.
"What must we do?" Arden asked, picking up the man's alarm.
The guard continued in an undertone, "You must go to the Skyfire Locks and warn him of the coming storm. The inquisitors are ruthless and will spare him no mercy. Speak to him of an edelweiss, and he will know you for a friend. Now, go."
Arden gestured to the blank sky of falling snow and the darkness already enshrouding the town. "Now? In this?"
"Now, I beg you," the guard said. "The Locks are halfway between here and Dragonhead. You can't miss them, they're a set of great fortifications in the mountainside. It's only a few hour's walk."
Arden inwardly groaned. "My chocobo will carry us there faster than walking. Shall I take the crate?"
"Nay, the inquisitors will demand it as evidence," said the guard. "Go, hurry." He returned indoors to his master.
Arden and Z'mona set out for the inn. "I'm beginning to heartily dislike this place," Arden muttered.
"Me too," said Z'mona. "Does no one think that someone might have sent the poor man that necklace simply to accuse him? Or maybe the heretics planted it, themselves?"
"Justice is lacking in this country," said Arden. "Suspicion rules in its place. Already I begin to look over my own shoulder."
As they reached the inn, Z'mona said, "I cannot stomach any more black bread. Maybe Lord Francel will feed us a better supper."
"I have food in my saddlebags," said Arden. "A little dried meat and fruit will go down sweet after the onions."
Swift greeted Arden with a whistle and nibbled his horns as he was led out of his stall.
"Keep an eye on that one," a stable man warned. "About took my arm off, he did."
Arden gave the chocobo a stern look.
"He wouldn't give me greens," Swift said. "He told me to be good first."
Arden sighed. "He must be bribed with Gysahl greens at all times."
"Mention that next time, would you?" the stable man said, displaying a bandaged arm.
Arden and Z'mona led Swift out of the town gates, where Arden dug through his saddlebags and supplied them with food for the journey. Then they mounted up and set off into the snow, their coats and hoods pulled close against the falling flakes.
Although it was mostly dark, the snow had its own radiance, allowing them to distinguish nearby landmarks like rocks and trees. Swift trotted through the snow cheerfully enough, his booties protecting his feet.
Arden was tired from a day of hard work, first rescuing the injured guard, then carrying the dead porters. The muffled silence of the falling snow, the cold numbing his face and hands, and the warmth of the bird beneath him combined to set him nodding off. Z'mona took to prodding him every few minutes to keep him awake.
Arden still managed to doze most of the way to the Skyfire Locks. He was mostly asleep when Swift halted and chirped, "Is this the place?"
Arden lifted his head. In the dark, he had a dim impression of stone walls protruding from the mountainside, and somewhere up the hill, a light burned. The snow still fell and a cold wind was beginning to swirl it into their faces.
"Can you find a way up there?" Arden asked.
"Certainly," said Swift, whose night vision was better than his riders'. He set off at an angle to the light and struck a path that wound its way up the mountain. In a few minutes they arrived at the top of a slope and found a low stone house built back under the trees as if hiding. Arden dismounted and realized Z'mona was asleep in the saddle, too. He knocked at the door and a guard opened it.
"Outsiders with a message for Lord Francel," Arden said.
The guard looked him over, then raised a lantern to peer at the chocobo with its sleeping passenger. "Better bring the bird around to the shelter at the back, and get your friend indoors. He'll freeze to death like that."
"Thank you, sir," Arden said. He led Swift around the house and found a small shelter piled with straw and greens. Two other chocobos sat in the straw, huddled together for warmth. They lifted their heads in curiosity as the strangers approached.
Arden shook Z'mona to awaken him and helped him dismount. Then he unsaddled Swift and put him into the stable, where the bird immediately sat down with the others. Arden and Z'mona made their way indoors, brushing off layers of snow that had collected on their fronts.
The guard inspected them again as they entered. Then he led them into a second room where a warm fire turned the stone walls almost cozy. A section had been arranged like a sitting room, with chairs and a sofa. Beyond this was a desk and shelves, where an Elezen in an expensive embroidered cloak was working. Arden noted that he bore a patch with the emblem of a rose upon it.
"Lord Francel, outsiders claiming to bear a message," said the guard.
Francel looked up with a frown. "Yes? What brings you out on a night like this?"
Arden stepped forward, trying to shake off his lethargy. "We seek the place where the edelweiss blooms."
Francel's eyebrows shot up. He glanced at his guards, then said, "I see Sir Carrilaut has not forgotten my mother's favorite flower. A pity it has not been seen in Coerthas since the Calamity. You may speak freely here, friend."
Arden related the tale of finding the box addressed to Lord Francel with the draconian rosary in it. As he spoke, two spots of color appeared in Francel's cheeks. When Arden finished, Francel's eyes flashed.
"That's...that's absurd! I would sooner die than become a thrall of the dragons!" He sat back in his chair and passed a hand over his face.
His guards looked at him anxiously. "What do we do, sir?"
Francel shook his head. "Alas, it matters little what I say at this point. Although the draconian rosary was not found in my possession, it will still be considered by many to be proof of my 'heresy.'I must do my utmost to prove my innocence to the inquisitors, for if they harbor even the slightest doubt…" He added in an undertone, "This will only add weight to the incessant accusations our house has suffered of late. It's as though the gods themselves are plotting our fall."
He turned to Arden and Z'mona. "You risk much by coming here. It is only proper that I recompense you for this deed. Tell me what you desire, and I shall do my best to provide."
Arden said apologetically, "We seek an airship believed lost in the Calamity. It appeared to have vanished over Coerthas, but no one will aid us."
Francel nodded and tapped his forefingers against his lips. "I see. It may require a prolonged effort to locate your quarry. I shall direct you to one in a better position to assist you. Lord Haurchefant of House Fortemps commands the garrison at Camp Dragonhead. Present to him this letter of introduction, and he will surely be receptive to your needs." He pulled a sheet of paper over and began to write.
Arden swayed a little. "Might we stay the night? We are weary and the weather is foul."
Francel shook his head. "You must not. The inquisitors may arrive at any hour of the night. If they find you here, you will be accused along with me. Dragonhead is only about a mile away, up the pass. The journey will not take long. I will provide you with hot drinks before you set out."
Twenty minutes later, Arden, Z'mona, and Swift were back on the road, this time bound for Camp Dragonhead. Swift trotted through the snow with much grumbling and snapping of his beak. Z'mona leaned against Arden's back and went to sleep again. Arden fought to stay awake. The hot tea inside him helped for a while, but the rising wind was bitter and the blowing snow often blocked his vision. He had to trust to Swift in those times. The bird pressed on, following the road by instinct, and never stopped grumbling. Perhaps it kept him warm.
A hazy warmth crept over Arden. He seemed to dream with his eyes open. He was back at home and his mother was baking something on her little wood stove. "You stay on that chocobo," she told him. "The heretics will find you if you don't."
"I have to get to Camp Dragonhead," he told her. "I'm so tired, Mother."
She turned with a smile. "You're already there, child."
He opened his eyes. Swift stood in the middle of a lighted courtyard. Three guards in heavy coats stood around them, calling to them and shaking them.
"Message for Lord Haurchefant," Arden said drowsily. "Sorry we're outsiders." His whole body was stiff with cold.
"Get them indoors," said one guard to his fellows. "They're freezing to death." He slapped Arden and Z'mona's legs. "Hoi! Stay awake, you two! You go to sleep in this, you never wake up again!"
Arden slid off the chocobo and pain shot up his legs. He collapsed to all fours in sleepy confusion about why his body didn't work. Beside him, Z'mona did the same with a gasp. The guards hauled them to their feet and half-carried them toward a building with lights in the windows.
"My chocobo," Arden panted. "See to him, don't let him freeze."
"Sir, this is the nation of Ishgard," the man replied. "We treat our birds better than royalty."
They entered the lights and warmth of a large room with a table in the middle covered in maps. A huge bearskin rug covered the stone floor, and a fire crackled at the far end. The guards deposited Arden and Z'mona on the rug before this fire, then pressed hot drinks into their hands.
"Well, this is a sight," said a voice nearby.
Arden blinked up at an Elezen man who had walked up to investigate them. Expensive robe, patch with the emblem of a unicorn on it. Another High House. "Lord Haurchefant?"
"Well met," said the man, kneeling beside them as the guards returned to their posts. "Who might you be, and what is this message you nearly gave your lives to deliver?"
Arden fumbled a cold hand inside his coat and found Francel's letter. He passed it to Haurchefant and wrapped his hands around his hot mug again.
Haurchefant opened the letter and tilted it to catch the firelight. He sobered and frowned. It seemed to Arden that he'd only ever seen Elezen in this place frown. Haurchefant looked like the rest, with the high cheekbones and narrow nose, but his fair hair hung untidily about his face instead of being combed severely back. It gave him a rumpled, approachable look, as if this man was a little less straight-laced than his countrymen.
Haurchefant shook his head and lowered the letter. "If there is any justice in this world, these charges will receive no serious consideration. It is beyond inconceivable…"
"We didn't understand it either, sir," Z'mona said over the rim of his mug. "We assumed the heretics had planted the rosary and left the crate on purpose."
"That is vastly more plausible than blaming Francel for the contents of a parcel he had not received," Haurchefant said. "Blame the sender, rather." He sighed, rose to his feet, and went to his desk across the room. It was a vast desk that took up a quarter of the room. He locked the letter in a drawer and returned to them, fetching a chair along the way and positioning it near the fire with them. This easy familiarity, and the fact that he did things without ordering his guards to wait on him, warmed Arden's heart toward him. Out of all the icy strangeness of Coerthas, Haurchefant was the first somewhat normal person they had met.
"The letter mentions that you seek a missing airship," Haurchefant said, crossing one leg over the other. "Tell me about it."
Arden told him the little they knew, including the ship being sighted from Gridania. Haurchefant listened attentively.
When he finished. Haurchefant said, "So this airship you speak of was last seen above Coerthas before the Calamity five years ago. I fear it may prove difficult to find any eyewitnesses to these events, for while Ishgard did not participate in the Battle of Carteneau, we were embroiled in our own internal conflicts at the time. Nevertheless, I will make inquiries on your behalf and share with you my findings in the future."
"Thank you, sir," Arden said with a weary grin. "I do hope you can get Lord Francel off. He seemed a decent fellow."
"He's a good man," Haurchefant agreed. "We seem to be losing a lot of them lately, and it tears my heart." He gazed pensively into the fire.
"It's nice to be treated decently for once," said Z'mona in an undertone to Arden. "Not like pariahs for existing."
Haurchefant overheard this and looked up. "Eh?"
"Your countrymen have kept us at arm's length," Arden explained. He touched one of his horns. "These don't help."
"I like adventurers," said Haurchefant with a grin of his own. "Here in Coerthas, we tend to lose ourselves in honor and combat and forget that such things as kindness and mirth exist. When adventurers carry those things into our lands, some of my countrymen are threatened, thinking laughter and a helping hand are signs of weakness, or at the worst, treachery. They shun them and spit upon them in an attempt to drive them from the land. As a result, our lands grow ever colder, both in climate and in spirit." He gazed into the fire for a moment. Then he seemed to recollect himself. "But where are my manners? Here you both sit, nearly overcome by cold to bring this news to me. You are welcome to the hospitality of Camp Dragonhead. I will send around for supper and lodging."
"Thank you, sir," Arden said. "I am too weary to properly express my gratitude."
Haurchefant waved a dismissive hand. "You may thank me tomorrow once you are rested. Hang tight, now. We'll see what the kitchen has available."
Z'mona leaned close to Arden. "It better not be onion soup and black bread."
Arden snickered.
As it turned out, they were given a hearty pumpkin soup and piles of salted crackers to eat it with. Arden and Z'mona stuffed themselves and felt much warmer and less ill afterward. Haurchefant sent them across the courtyard to the camp's barracks, where they were assigned a couple of bunks piled with blankets and furs. Arden crawled into his bunk and fell asleep at once.
He awoke feeling warm as toast, but with a weary lethargy still lingering. He could have slept the whole day. Instead he made himself get up.
Z'mona was still snoring in the bunk opposite his own, so Arden left him and went outside. A guard directed him to the mess hall, where Arden had a bowl of some other soup, a couple of fresh buns, and a boiled egg. The lethargy lifted a little as he ate. As he was finishing, Z'mona arrived and fetched his own breakfast, looking rumpled and sleepy.
"What I wouldn't give for a hot bath," the catboy said as he sat down across the table from Arden. "But after last night, my whole body flinches from getting that cold again."
"Makes me miss the Thanalan desert," Arden agreed. "I must thank Lord Haurchefant properly today for his kindness. He's the first decent person we've met in this icy wasteland."
"I do believe you're right," Z'mona said. He lowered his voice with a glance at the soldiers sitting further down the same table. "We could help him by clearing his friend's name."
"Is that something we could even do?" Arden asked. "We're outsiders. Our opinions are meaningless."
"I refuse to believe that," Z'mona said fiercely, laying back his ears. "If we can find evidence of the true perpetrator, then it shouldn't matter who we are."
Arden gazed at his friend in faint wonder at his conviction. Here was the bravado and courage he was always faking, but for the Miqo'te it was no act. Arden sat there for a moment, gathering his tired, battered spirits, seeking his own conviction. Something of himself had been buried along with the Scions of the Waking Sands, and he had not had time to properly mourn them or himself. Now he sat in this land of snow and suspicion, endangered by the very horns on his head, and all he really wanted to do was sand and shape wood into something useful, like a chair or a table. His dream the previous night had made him miss his mother and father with a pathetic, awful ache, and he wanted nothing more than to return to Othard and the plains and mountains of the Azim Steppes.
Z'mona read the melancholy in the slouch of his friend's shoulders and the angle of his head. He laid a hand on Arden's arm. "Cheer up, my friend. We'll ask around the camp about where their supply chain comes from. Someone is tampering with the shipments, and someone will know something. Pity we don't have piles of gil to pay bribes."
"It's a start," Arden agreed. "And no, this journey has wiped out any spare gil I had on hand. I haven't gone near a bank since the Vesper Bay incident."
"I never had much gil to begin with," said Z'mona. "I do mean to pay you back for these clothes someday." He grinned, his green eyes brightening. "We shall simply have to be persuasive."
They finished their meal and ventured out into the courtyard. The snow that had fallen overnight had blown into great drifts along the northern walls. Men were busy with shovels, clearing doorways and paths. A delivery cart had just arrived, this one drawn by horses instead of chocobos due to the weight. As Arden and Z'mona gazed around and drew their coats tighter around them, two familiar figures descended from the cart: Alphinaud and Cid Garlond.
Arden and Z'mona walked over to greet them. Alphinaud wore a coat over his thin clothing, but that was the only concession he had made for the climate. He shivered constantly, his teeth chattering. "Here you are," he said, trying to smile. "I am not dressed for such climes. Let us get indoors!"
"We'll take you to Lord Haurchefant," said Arden. "He's been quite kind to us."
As they crossed the courtyard, Cid murmured to Arden, "We came up from Mor Dhona on the supply wagon, but it's not been easy. They watch us all the time. We are not safe in Coerthas."
"We've discovered the same thing," Arden muttered. "The sooner we find your airship the better."
"That's the only reason I'm still here," Cid admitted.
"Remembering much?" Arden asked.
Cid shook his head. "Not a lot. But there isn't much about this place to jog my memory."
They reached the headquarters building and entered the warmth within. Alphinaud went to stand by the fire. Haurchefant wasn't there, but a few other Elezen stood around the big table in the center of the room, moving pins around the maps and arguing in low voices. They looked up with baleful expressions when the newcomers entered.
Arden tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. He followed Cid to the fire, and made sure Z'mona found a warm spot, too. They stood there in silence until the Elezen had gone back to their discussion. Then Arden reported their findings in a low voice. Alphinaud and Cid listened closely.
When he finished, Alphinaud said, "You've done as well as could be expected, I suppose. I had wondered at your reception, Arden, being Au Ra, but there's no help for it. Since our host is absent, why don't we try questioning people on our own? Camp Dragonhead seems a busy place. Surely someone will know something."
"Let's meet back here in an hour," Arden said. "Also they're serving breakfast in the mess hall if you're hungry."
"I just might," said Alphinaud, who had a teen boy's obsession with food.
The group left the headquarters building and scattered about Camp Dragonhead. It was really more of a keep, Arden observed. It was built of stone with two courtyards, with the inevitable harpoon launchers mounted on the battlements. As he explored, looking for a likely person to question, a bell clanged from the north gate. Soldiers grabbed their weapons and ran that direction. Arden ran with them, drawing his shortsword.
Fighting was happening outside the north gate. Men streamed through and immediately joined battle. Arden couldn't see what they were fighting until he left the gates, then stood staring for a moment.
A pack of dragons were assaulting the walls and gate, but they were like no dragons he'd ever seen. They ran on two legs and held up a set of dragon wings that didn't seem to do much. Their bodies were heavily armored, not with scales, but with hard crablike shells. And their heads–
"Dragon aevis!" a guard shouted. "Aim for the underbelly and throat!"
The monsters attacked the knights with savage excitement, ripping at them with teeth and claws. Some of them coughed crackling balls of lightning, which the armored knights hated. Arden joined in the attack on one such beast, which stunned a knight with lightning then pulled him down. Arden took advantage of its distraction, ducked low, and drove his sword between its forelegs, into its heart. The monster shrieked and spun upon him, teeth gnashing, his sword still stuck in its chest. Arden danced backwards and conjured stone from beneath the snow to impale the monster's belly. It shrieked and thrashed, refusing to die even though it was mortally wounded. The knights stabbed it with lances over and over until finally it lay still. Arden helped drag the wounded man clear, then conjured lilies and pressed them into the worst of his wounds.
"Thank you, sir," the knight gasped.
Three other dragon aevis were down and thrashing in the snow. The others ran off, back toward the mountains. The knights finished them off, then attended to their wounded. Arden hurried among them, dispensing lilies, and helping to lift bodies.
He found himself near one of the dragon aevis creatures. Now that it was no longer moving and attacking, he had a chance to look at its strange face. Its jaws were open, its teeth strangely even and square instead of being sharp. Like human teeth. The eyes were tiny and faced forward, and the nose had a fleshy bit like a human nose. In fact, the whole creature had an eerie tilt toward the human. Even the armored shell hung off its body in places like a knight's mail, such as where it overlapped the tail.
Lord Haurchefant appeared among the men, speaking to the wounded and examining the slain monsters. He approached Arden, who stood a little apart from the rest. "I hear you know the healing arts, friend," Haurchefant said, clapping Arden on the shoulder. "Not what I expected at all! From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your swift action. You saved lives today."
"I do my duty when I can," said Arden. He gestured at the fallen monster. "What is this thing? It resembles a dragon, but it is no dragon."
Haurchefant looked at the beast and his smile vanished. A hard look entered his eyes. "It is a dragon aevis. When a heretic swears fealty to the dragons and drinks their blood, this is what he becomes. He is no longer man or dragon, but an evil hybrid of both."
"Heretics become dragon hybrids?" Arden exclaimed in horror. His hands flew to his horns. "They must think that I …"
"Yes, your kind are persecuted here," said Haurchefant. "No more talk here. Return with me."
Arden followed him back through the gates, pausing to watch the wounded men limping inside, supported by their fellows. Seeing the camp healers hurrying out to them, Arden was content to follow Haurchefant back to the headquarters building.
The room was empty now, the arguing commanders gone to deal with the attack. Haurchefant sat at his desk and indicated a chair for Arden. He said as if they had not been interrupted, "That is the sad history of Ishgard, my friend. For a thousand years we have fought this war of attrition, losing many in battle, but many who join our enemies. Now we live in a state of paranoia, fearful of anything that even resembles a dragon. I understand that the Auri race has no kinship with them, but the horns and scales do you no favors."
"Well do I know it," Arden muttered. "I wish only to find our airship and depart this place."
Haurchefant gazed at him for a moment. "Perhaps you would do something for me. We had a shipment of supplies arrive this morning. A portion was addressed to the Observatorium and the Skyfire Locks. They will not be moved until the roads are clear, so they stand in our south courtyard. An inspector has already gone over them, but I would appreciate a second opinion. I must know if any more draconian rosaries are being delivered, and to whom. Should you find any, it may be enough to halt Lord Francel's trial. They're holding it this afternoon."
"A trial? Already?" Arden exclaimed. "The man hadn't even been accused last night!"
"The inquisitors work quickly," Haurchefant said through tight lips. "I cannot inspect crates myself without drawing suspicion. It's well known that Francel and I are friends. But you, however, are a free agent here. As an outsider, your allegiances and motives are different from ours. Say you are working on behalf of the Twin Adders and no one will question."
"Very well," said Arden. He started to pull his knit cap over his head and horns, then halted and pulled it off. "This doesn't help, does it?"
Haurchefant eyed him with a grin. "It doesn't hide much, but the effort is amusing."
"Then I shall take my chances without it," Arden said, winding his scarf about his neck. "I hear with my horns, and the cap muffles them to an alarming degree."
"That's one thing that sets the Au Ra apart from dragons," Haurchefant said. "No dragons, elder, aevis, or wyvern, use horns for hearing. It should be an easy distinction, but not for paranoid Ishgard." He gestured. "May I ask the meaning of the ring on the left horn?"
"My coming of age," said Arden. "Left horn will bear emblems of age and achievement. Right will bear ornaments of wife and children."
"You are unmarried, I see," Haurchefant said. He rubbed his chin. "I have seen other Auri people with many decorations upon their horns and always wondered at the meaning. I was vaguely baffled that you had so few, but now I understand. I wish I had asked those others. They came here fleeing the Garleans, you see."
"What became of them?" Arden asked eagerly. "I have not seen any of my people since I arrived in Eorzea."
Haurchefant did not answer for a moment, his eyes dropping to his desk. Then he smiled sadly and shook his head. "I fear that my countrymen put them to the sword in the fear that they were Dravanian."
Arden turned quickly away and gazed into the fire to keep from striking something.
"Let us talk of other things," Haurchefant said hastily. "If you would inspect the cargo…"
"I'll do that," said Arden, and strode out. Rage against these people and this frigid land leaped and burned in his heart like the fires of Ifrit himself. It was too easy to imagine his own Ardakim tribe seeking aid and meeting drawn steel instead. He thought of his own father and his decorated horns lying dead upon the snow, or his little mother being cut down by a faceless knight in armor.
Seething, he crossed the courtyard to where crates stood in orderly stacks. A couple of couriers stood about them, drinking from steaming mugs and talking. Arden stalked up to them. "I have orders to inspect the contents of these crates."
"The inquisitors have already been over them," said one, eyeing Arden up and down.
"I'm to give a second opinion," Arden said. "Adventurer, you know. Lord Haurchefant is trying to keep me busy."
The men laughed. "Help yourself, then," said the man. "Tools are over there in the cart. Nail the tops back down when you're done."
Arden vented his rage on the crates, tearing the lids off with more violence than was necessary. The first few yielded nothing incriminating, being wrapped foodstuffs from Mor Dhona. As he nailed the lids back down, Cid and Z'mona approached.
"What is this?" Z'mona asked, ears pricked.
When Arden explained, Cid and Z'mona joined in. "I'll open crates, you search them," Cid said. "I know my way around hand tools." He efficiently pried the top off a crate as an example.
In this way they soon had a method to open, search, and close crates. They found food, weapons, and other supplies for the Observatorium and Skyfire Locks, but Arden had his eye on the smaller crates with personal addresses. They had found the first rosary in one such box, and he had an idea that they would find more.
Cid finished with the big crates and started on the small ones. Arden and Z'mona looked through them, and Z'mona gave a whistle. "Look," he said, holding aside a wad of packing paper. Another necklace with a dragon fang on it lay on top of the bundles within.
They summoned the freightmaster, who took one look at the rosary and recoiled in horror. "Where did that come from? It wasn't there when we loaded in Mor Dhona, I swear it!"
"Another here," said Cid. He lifted the lid on another crate to find a second rosary on top of the packing material.
"Fury preserve us," whispered the man, already nearly as pale as the snow around him.
"Z'mona, fetch Lord Haurchefant," said Arden. "No one touch those rosaries. I believe they have the power to ensorcel the mind."
Haurchefant arrived and there was quite a to-do. The camp priest removed the rosaries with tongs and placed them in a strong box. More men searched the shipments all over again. Curious onlookers gathered in the courtyard, hoping to see more rosaries discovered.
Arden found himself standing near a well-dressed woman who wore the sign of the unicorn on one shoulder. She smiled up at him. "You are the one who began this bustle? Thank you for that, it's made the morning far more interesting."
"I didn't come to root out heretics," Arden told her. "I came with my friends in search of an airship that crashed in the Calamity."
"I haven't heard anything about it," said the woman. "I doubt anyone in House Fortemps does, or I would definitely know about it. The topic on everyone's lips these days is what will become of young Lord Francel. Some say the allegations are long overdue, given how many members of House Haillenarte have been found guilty of heresy in recent days. I hear his trial is this afternoon. Up at Witchdrop, you know."
"Witchdrop?" Arden said. "My heart sinks at the very name."
"So it should," said the woman. "Witchdrop is a canyon they throw heretics into. The idea is that if the accused be innocent, then Halone will prevent him from striking the bottom. Let's just say that no one has been innocent yet."
Arden gaped at her, at a loss for words.
"That is Ishgard's way," said the woman. "Looks like they're finished over there. No more rosaries, I suppose."
Arden wanted to go back to Gridania. He stood there while the crowd dispersed, longing for the endless green, the warm, muggy air, and even the insects of the Twelveswood. No one there threw their countrymen into ravines or put refugees to the sword. Compared to the nation of Ishgard, the Gridanians had treated him with respect and kindness, only staring at his horns out of curiosity.
Z'mona found him and tugged him toward an empty corner of the courtyard, where Cid and Alphinaud stood talking. Arden went with him, only duty to his friends keeping him from bolting to the chocobo stables.
"Asking about the airship has borne no fruit," Alphinaud said as they arrived. "All anyone wants to talk about is Lord Francel's trial."
"Same here," said Z'mona. "Although I've also heard the knights talking about that Auri outsider who wielded a blade and healing magic at the same time." He punched Arden's arm. "You've been busy, my friend."
"Yes, I heard you helped fend off a dragon attack at the gates," said Alphinaud, turning to Arden. "What possessed you to do such a thing?"
"I didn't think about it," Arden said. "Let me tell you …" He explained about the dragon aevis monsters and of how heretics drank dragon's blood to transform. His friends were horrified.
"By the Twelve!" Alphinaud exclaimed. "The whole outpost at the top of the mountain is overrun by dragon aevis, I heard the knights saying. And those were once men?"
Cid shook his head. "What a dreadful place this is."
Alphinaud thought for a moment, his fair head on one side. "Still, Arden has won some goodwill for our cause. Men do not forget their healers. The discovery of those rosaries points to a bigger plot, and you may have saved lives doing it. If only we could halt that man's trial this afternoon."
Arden glanced at the cloudy sky. "It's nearly noon now. Perhaps we should report to Lord Haurchefant."
He led the group back inside the headquarters building. Haurchefant looked up from his desk as they approached. "There you are," he said with a smile. "By the Fury, you adventurers are proving your worth. I am this moment penning a missive to argue for Lord Francel's innocence."
"We'll not disturb you, then," said Arden. He and his friends took seats by the fire.
None of them spoke for a while, fearful of interfering with Lord Haurchefant's concentration. By and by, Arden became aware of Cid Garlond's unhappy expression. He slouched in his chair with his arms folded, his work-hardened hands idle. Arden studied him and thought of his own efforts to overcome battle trauma. Cid had gone through something just as awful as being sacrificed to Ifrit.
Arden leaned toward him and murmured, "Have any healers ever attended you?"
"At the beginning," Cid said. "When they took me to the church. I was all over blood, see." He touched a faint scar at his hairline. "I'd taken quite a rap."
"Yes, but afterward?" Arden pressed. "To help your memories return?"
Cid shook his head. "No. Any healers had more pressing matters to deal with."
Arden hesitated a second, then said, "I could try."
Cid looked up at him, startled. "You'd be willing?"
"I can't promise anything," Arden said. "And I'd work slowly. But you might notice a difference after a while."
"I've got no more memories to lose," Cid said. "Why not?"
Arden rested both hands on Cid's head, closed his eyes, and gently began to conjure healing power. The frozen land of Coerthas hadn't much life to give, but such as there was, Arden collected and trickled into Cid's head. He sensed damaged areas in the man's brain, places that had swollen, pressed against the inside of the skull, and darkened like a bruised apple. Arden focused on those places, pity welling up within him. Cid was still badly injured, but on the inside, where it didn't show. Had people been able to see it, he would have still been in a hospital, attended around the clock.
A snore escaped Cid. Under Arden's healing hands, he had fallen asleep in the chair. Arden kept working, but now he wondered if Cid slept very well with this much brain damage. At the least, he must have dreadful nightmares.
Alphinaud looked up, saw what was going on, and raised his eyebrows. He and Z'mona watched with interest as Arden worked his healing magic.
"No lilies?" Z'mona asked softly.
Arden shook his head. "Lilies are too strong. Brains are delicate and take the lightest of touches."
Z'mona rose and thoughtfully walked out. He returned a little later with a platter piled with loaves of bread and a wedge of cheese. He and Alphinaud set to work toasting bread over the fire.
Cid awoke with a snort. "What's this I smell?" He attacked the bread and cheese with more appetite than Arden had yet seen in him.
Haurchefant rose from his seat and sealed his letter with a bit of wax. "Done and only need to send it to the Holy See. I suppose I'd better have luncheon sent around before you all torture me with any more delicious smells."
"Apologies," Arden said, sandwiching a chunk of cheese between two slices of toast. "The cold weather gives one an appetite."
"It certainly does," Haurchefant agreed, and departed.
Arden, Z'mona, Alphinaud, and Cid had an agreeable meal around the fireplace. Arden kept waiting for Haurchefant to return, but nearly an hour ticked by before the Elezen returned. When he did, it was in a hurry.
"Lord Francel's trial began early!" Haurchefant exclaimed through the half-open door. "Come quickly!"
Arden leaped up and rushed to him. As they hurried toward the stables, Haurchefant exclaimed, "They have taken Lord Francel to Witchdrop! This is madness! The inquisitor does not have sufficient grounds to subject him to that manner of trial!"
"So this isn't normal for your people?" Arden inquired. He was reaching the point where nothing seemed too barbaric to lay at the feet of Ishgard.
"No, it's not!" Haurchefant exclaimed. "I will not stand idly by and allow an innocent man to die. Arden, I would dispatch you and one of my knights to Witchdrop to forestall the proceedings until such time as I am able to join you and petition Inquisitor Guillaime in person. I will endeavor not to keep you waiting too long."
As they reached the stables, Haurchefant added, "Do whatever you must to keep Lord Francel alive!" He raced to one of his knights and began giving him orders.
Arden retrieved Swift from the stables and mounted him bareback. As he emerged from the stable, another knight greeted him from the saddle of a black Ishgardian chocobo. "I am Sir Hourlinet. We must save Lord Francel. Ride swiftly!"
They guided their birds out the north gate and ran across the snow. Arden didn't know where Witchdrop lay and let the knight take the lead. His smaller, lighter bird sped ahead of them, while Swift's heavier feet sank into the snow at every step. But Swift ran on, glad for the chance to exercise his limbs, his hot breath streaming in puffs from his beak.
Hourlinet led them up a hill until they came to a dark ravine that split the earth. There they found a knight standing guard whose shield was blank. In the distance, Inquisitor Guillaume stood near the cliff's edge with Lord Francel.
Arden and Hourlinet leaped off their chocobos and ran to them. Inquisitor Guillaime was in the midst of accusing his victim.
"Joacin Charlemend Francel de Haillenarte─you stand accused of heresy against the Holy See of Ishgard. Is there aught you wish to say in your defense?"
Lord Francel lifted his head, fists clenched. Bright spots of color showed in his cheeks. His gaze turned to Arden and Hourlinet. "Hear me, brothers─these charges are false! The men and women of my line have ever opposed the Dravanians, and I am no different! Since the very birth of our nation, we have gladly shed blood in service to the Holy See! Condemn me and you will strike a blow for the enemies of Ishgard!"
Inquisitor Guillaime's gaze turned toward the newcomers for a second, then returned to Francel. He was cool and cold, unruffled by their appearance. He read from the open book in his hands. "It is for Halone to judge if you speak the truth. Prove your innocence in the eyes of gods and men. Leap from the cliff and entrust your fate to the Fury. The righteous shall take their place in Halone's halls, while the wicked shall reveal their drachen forms and be put to the sword!"
Lord Francel looked anxiously toward the cliff's edge.
Hourlinet stepped forward, one hand upraised. "In the name of House Fortemps, I beseech you─stay your hand!"
The Inquisitor and Francel both turned to him.
Hourlinet saluted. "Inquisitor, we are come on behalf of Lord Haurchefant. My lord has uncovered evidence which suggests that the charges against Lord Francel are without merit. We humbly request that these proceedings be suspended until such time as a full reexamination of the facts has been conducted."
Guillaime's lip curled in scorn. He looked down his nose at the knight. "Lord Haurchefant has allowed his personal relationship with the accused to cloud his judgment. That he should harbor private doubts, I might have allowed...but that he would dare interfere in legal proceedings sanctioned by the Holy See, I cannot." He closed his book and drew himself to his full height. "To defy the will of an inquisitor is to commit heresy! A crime for which there is but one punishment!" He gestured to his knight with the blank shield. "Sir Alderique! Deal with these two!"
Hourlinet grabbed Lord Francel and slung him behind him and Arden. "We must hold out until Lord Haurchefant arrives. Do not strike the Inquisitor!"
Arden was very much inclined to strike the Inquisitor, but Guillaime withdrew to a little distance, a dark look upon his face. Meanwhile, the knight with the blank shield drew his sword and advanced on them with purpose, his face hidden behind his visor. Hourlinet raised his own shield and sword and strode to meet him.
As their swords clashed, Hourlinet exclaimed, "Your shield bears no device, sir! Do you serve the Holy See or one of the High Houses?"
"I serve a higher power!" the knight snarled. He laid into Hourlinet with a whirlwind of blows, keeping the knight on the back foot. Had Hourlinet not possessed his own shield, Alderique would have gutted him within moments. Arden watched this and his own shortsword felt inadequate by comparison. He'd stick to conjury for this one.
Lord Francel came up behind him. "Your sword," he murmured furiously. "Lend me your sword, adventurer!"
Arden drew it and passed it to him. "It is only a shortsword and I have no shield."
"It is enough to be armed," said Francel.
Hourlinet and Alderique were still going at it, but now Hourlinet was meeting each blow with his own sword. The two went at it hammer and tongs, thrusting, parrying, blocking with their shields, weaving and dodging, circling one another. Arden saw Hourlinet take a blow and begin limping, so he cast a couple of lilies on him. Hourlinet strengthened his attack at once.
"You!" Alderique bellowed. He abandoned Hourlinet and charged at Arden. "Healers are not welcome here!"
Arden conjured stone quicker than he ever had before. Remembering Titan's ability to trap enemies in piles of stone, he did the same to Alderique, calling loose rock from beneath the snow to encase him to the shoulders. The knight struggled and swore. Hourlinet had a moment to catch his breath.
"My side," he panted. "More healing magic, if you please."
As Arden mended Hourlinet, Alderique freed one hand. Flinging back his helmet visitor, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled.
From out of the canyon crawled a huge, snakey wyvern, its forearms doubling as leathery wings. Arden saw at a glance that this beast had never been a man–this was a true Dravanian, its sharp reptilian eyes sweeping the fight. With a blow of its tail it shattered the prison holding Alderique, freeing him.
"You would show your true colors, Alderique?" the Inquisitor shrieked from a distance. "Your treachery is laid bare!"
"Deal with the wyvern!" Hourlinet called to Arden and Francel. "We must hold out until Lord Haurchefant comes!"
Arden conjured more stone, but the wyvern fluttered over any spikes he drew from beneath the stone. It struck at him with its barbed tail, knocking him into the snow. Then it attacked Lord Francel, who attacked it with his shortsword.
Arden struggled to his feet, his right arm feeling strangely numb from the blow. His mail shirt had prevented the barbs on the tail from penetrating, but his arm had no such protection. He conjured a lily and pressed it to the numb place, then conjured more for Francel and Hourlinet.
Alderique and the wyvern drew close together, defending each other in a way that Arden would have liked to watch. It was a pity that they were enemies, because the sight of man and dragon combining fighting styles was a marvel. But they were actually too effective, and Arden was hard pressed to keep enough healing on his friends to keep them on their feet.
A chocobo whistled behind them. Lord Haurchefant arrived with his own bird running behind him, its barding hung with armor. Behind him came Swift in no armor at all, but with his feathers ruffled in rage.
Haurchefant joined the tiring Hourlinet and beat Alderique back. At the same time, the two chocobos attacked the wyvern, tearing holes in its wings with their sharp beaks. The wyvern screamed and struck at them, biting and clawing. Arden threw lilies in every direction, trying to keep the birds up, trying to save his Elezen friends.
Haurchefant struck down the wyvern as it was distracted with the chocobos. His sword found its chest and struck to the heart. The wyvern screamed and collapsed to the snow where it thrashed in death's agonies.
Hourlinet and Francel felled Alderique. The heretics knight collapsed to the trampled snow and lay still. Everyone had time to draw breath and look at one another.
Inquisitor Guillaime stalked forward and stood gazing down at the dead knight and wyvern. He did not look terribly surprised, which Arden found strange. Had he not noticed the Knight's blank shield?
As Hourlinet knelt over Alderique's body, Haurchefant turned to the Inquisitor. "It is not our intention to defy the will of the archbishop. But this trial─like many others, I fear─has been orchestrated by enemies of House Haillenarte. They have used you and your fellows to sow discord, Inquisitor─to set brother against brother, that we may tear ourselves apart."
Even now, with a heretic lying dead before him, the Inquisitor's cold eyes turned to Lord Francel, his prey, and the brave lord defending him. "The fevered imaginings of a desperate man. What proof have you of this?"
At that moment, Hourlinet pulled a string of beads with a fang on it from the dead heretic's pocket. He dropped it in the snow and flinched away. "Sir, look at this!"
"By the Fury," Haurchefant exclaimed. "A draconian rosary!" He picked it up with a thumb and forefinger and dangled it before the Inquisitor. "What more proof do you need, sir? Other rosaries were found in the cargo bound for other members of House Haillenarte. We have them locked up back at camp."
Guillaime drew a breath and grudgingly admitted defeat. "Your claims...would appear to have merit, Lord Haurchefant. I shall withdraw my charges against Lord Francel, pending further investigation."
Haurchefant bowed. "Thank you, sir. I suggest we return to camp. Where one wyvern growls, there the dragons prowl."
They called their chocobos and tramped back to the snowy road. As they mounted up, Inquisitor Guillaime said in a low voice to Arden, "I trust you have not lost sight of that which first brought you to Coerthas. Pray locate your errant airship...and use it."
Arden watched the Inquisitor ride ahead of him down the hill, and ground his teeth.