Chapter 9: Foes By Birth
...traders and entrepreneurs have ever been interested in the borderlands to the Zeklaus Desert. The south offers a chance for a faster trade, bypassing the nightmare of Dorter's roads if only someone can forge outposts along its small oases, and those willing to brave the baking heat of the sand dunes in a crossing to the north can find some of the most fertile land in all Ivalice, fed by the occasional lava flow from the volcano at the heart of the Bervenia mountains. But tough times leave little room for such endeavors: the 50 Years' War put an end to many of these outposts...
-Alazlam Durai, "Larger Consequences of the 50 Years' War
They heard the explosion just after daybreak.
They had left the inn at once, riding through the night, leaving behind the damp of Dorter and trotting into the low, dry cool of a desert at night. Argus had wanted to push the birds to their limit, and it had taken a great deal of effort to keep him in their pack of four. The Hokuten war mounts were sturdy birds that ran swift and true, but they could only take so much. Still, Ramza could hardly blame Argus for his haste. The Marquis was suddenly, unexpectedly in reach.
Was that why he'd hurt Ivan so badly?
The image haunted him. Argus pounding his bloody fists into the screaming boy, who'd already lost so much. Delita, standing impassively behind him. Was this the face of heroism? Was this what was required in the pursuit of Justice? In the name of Service?
But it had worked, hadn't it? Not by itself, but the three of them together. The pain, the threats, the indifference, and...
And whatever it was Ramza had done, that had made Ivan give up the location.
He wished the man well. He'd gotten in over his head, and tried to do what was right, and his friend had died in the course and...
Ah, God, but it was hard to be righteous.
They rode through the night, their eyes heavy, their bodies weary, their eyes fixed forward. Slowly, the sun rose in the east, and cast embers of dim golden fire across the dusty landscape, painted the warm dunes held together with scrub grass. Ramza kept his eyes open for any of the telltale landmarks Ivan had described to him: the way the dunes and hills would cluster together, to form almost a wall from which any guards could see you coming. Nestled within those hills was the outpost that now served as Gustav's headquarters.
Nestled in those hills would be the Marquis.
Thunder on the clear horizon—the same thunder they'd heard yesterday, when they'd found the hovel broken open. And in the distance, a rising plume of smoke, from behind a line of hills.
"Damn!" Argus shouted, and urged his bird on to a fast sprint. Ramza and the others exchanged panicked glances, and urged their birds onwards, just as quick. Ramza's head was filled with the image of those two deadly souls, the leaders of the Death Corps. And his ears were filled with the voice of a man who had spoken earnestly about the cause of justice.
They rode, as the sun baked down on them, and the birds sweated and stank in their exertion, and thunder sounded through a cloudless day.
They charged up the hill and spilled out onto the outpost—a low-slung building of wood, stone, and brick, almost fort-like in its construction. There had been sentries, but most of these appeared to be dead: male and female bodies scattered about a massive hole blasted into the side of the building. Delita looked thoughtfully and what seemed to be the doors, but Argus was already charging for the blast site.
"Argus!" Delita shouted, before he made it too far down the hill. "Back!"
Argus turned a dismissive glare back at Delita, but Delita gestured down at their mounts and said, "We don't want to lose the birds. You want to get the Marquis fast, right?"
"I-" Argus broke off. "Yes. You're right."
They dismounted, and led their birds back a little ways. Delita pulled out one of the posts and plunged it into the earth as best he could, and the four men hastily tied their birds.
"Should we leave a guard?" Ramza asked, finishing a knot.
"I'd like to," Delita said. "But I think we need all four of us."
He looked to the other three men, who nodded their assent. Then he gestured, and they surged forwards, heading for the blast site again. Ramza's leather armor pulled tight against his joints, and his oiled chainmail rattled o his chest. Everything felt very dreamy and very real, all at once. Like he was walking through a nightmare from which he could not awaken.
They entered into a hallway strewn with rubble and corpses, and might have been lost if they could not hear the sounds of fighting down a nearby staircase. Desperate shouts and the clanging of metal on metal filled the air, and Ramza drew his blade (remembering again the fight in the plains, and the spray of blood against his face). Together, the four men made their way down to the sound of the fight.
By the time they got there, it was already over.
They stepped out of a stairwell to find Wiegraf and Miluda, standing with bloody blades above a corpse. Argus made to fire an arrow, but the movement gave him away: Miluda rolled to one side, grabbed a piece of rubble, and hurled it at Argus in one fluid motion. The piece of brick struck him in the shoulder, and Argus fell backwards, releasing his arrow so it flew far overhead.
Beowulf hurled himself forwards, but it was Miluda who rose to meet them and suddenly there was no sign of Wiegraf and Ramza wasn't sure where he could have gotten to. Miluda and Beowulf were a flurry of dancing steel, but Beowulf was being driven back, step by step. Delita and Ramza rushed forwards to support him.
And found that somehow they were still outmatched.
This was not the clumsy desperation of the man Ramza had fought on the Plains. She actually reminded him of his sparring matches against Delita back at the academy: that same economy of force, quietly but persistently targeting his weaknesses, forming an impassive wall of steel to any counter he attempted. But she was better than Delita: sharper, faster, deadlier. Though it was just her blade against their four, they were the ones being driven back. It was just so damn fast: no sooner had Ramza and Delita joined the fray then Beowulf was knocked backwards by a shoulder slammed into his solar plexus, and Miluda was spinning and dancing between them, keeping them off balance, her sharp sword tip darting like a needle, and Ramza could almost taste the death that hung on its sharp edge.
There was no time for thoughts of justice. There was only the aching of his arms with every impact, and the whistling of blades.
She struck with terrible force, and the blade fell from Ramza's numb fingers. Delita rushed to defend him, but fell back before a series of darting thrusts. She whirled on Ramza, scything her blade from side to side, and Ramza ducked and wove between each blow. He stumbled over some debris, lurched backwards to dodge her blade, hurled a handful of dust and pebbles up towards her face. She staggered away, narrowly deflecting Delita and Beowulf's charge.
"Enough!" boomed Wiegraf's deep, commanding voice. Ramza reflexively glanced towards him, then stopped dead. In time of war, the Marquis Elmdore had been known as the Silver Demon by allies and enemies alike, as a laughing reference to his fabled spirituality and an admonition of his terrible prowess on the battlefield. Even though Ramza had never met the man before, he could recognize the tell-tale silver-blonde hair. He could tell it was the Marquis that had Wiegraf's sword pressed against throat.
They froze, Miluda several feet from them with her sword sweeping slowly between all three of them.
"Move," Argus growled from the door. "And your sister dies." Ramza glanced over his shoulder: Argus had his arrow trained firmly on Miluda.
"And your Marquis will still be dead," Wiegraf said. "After all you've been through to save him, I think that'd be a shame."
"He's dead either way," Argus said. "I know your kind."
"You know nothing," spat Miluda.
"She's right," Wiegraf said. "The Brigade fought alongside the Marquis. He always treated us with respect. It's not his fault he's of noble blood."
"And yet you hold your sword to his neck," hissed Argus.
"Argus," Delita said warningly. He was breathing slow and steady, in that relaxed pose of poised danger Ramza had seen so often at the Academy. He was studying Wiegraf. "Why should we trust you?"
"The man responsible for your troubles lies dead," Wiegraf said, nodding towards the corpse on the floor a little ways behind Miluda. "I would not taint my cause by copying his methods."
"Taint your commoners' cause," sneered Argus.
"Taint my cause," Wiegraf continued. "The Marquis' abduction was an act of cowardice, just like these attacks on merchant convoys. When we taint ourselves with the blood of innocent men, we make ourselves like the bastards who claim nobility."
"You dare-!" Argus shouted.
"I dare," Wiegraf said. "Gustav is dead. Dealt with by the hands of the Corps." He paused, then looked around the room. "What became of Ivan?"
"He's alive," Ramza said. "I let him go."
"And we should just believe you?" Miluda whispered.
"You should," Ramza said. "He gave us this place, so we could stop Gustav if you couldn't."
"Hmmph!" Wiegraf grunted. "The boy's more idealistic than I am."
"I wouldn't go that far," Miluda said.
Wiegraf stared at Ramza. Ramza stared back at Wiegraf. Facing him on was a different experience. His eyes were serious, his face set, and his sword hand didn't shake. He looked nothing like Balbanes Beoulve, except that he wore the same cool, confident expression.
"You want the Marquis?" Wiegraf asked. "He's yours. Provided you let us go."
"What!" Argus roared.
"Graffy!" Miluda snapped. "We can take these children!"
"You can try!" Beowulf yelled.
"Perhaps," Wiegraf said. "Though I'm not sure what's to be gained by killing children whose only crime is service to a cause they think righteous."
Miluda looked chastened, and Wiegraf continued, "Besides, even if we could, I doubt they'll be alone for long. The whole damn country's looking for the Marquis, and we haven't exactly been quiet."
He jerked his head back to the patch of wall next to him, and Miluda moved slowly to his side, glancing between the three men. With their backs to the wall, they began to circle towards the entrance.
"Get your friend away from the door," Wiegraf said, looking at Delita.
"I'm not going anywhere until the Marquis is safe," Argus said.
"If you want the Marquis safe, you'll move," Wiegraf said conversationally. "If you want the Marquis dead, you'll stay."
Ramza glanced towards Argus, not quite daring to speak. Argus' face was contorted in the same hateful snarl Ramza had first seen at the bar. He still had an arrow nocked to his bow. There was a brief, tense silence, and then Argus slowly stepped away from the entrance, circling around to the opposite wall.
"We're not gonna fight?" Beowulf asked, disappointed.
"You should be glad, boy," Wiegraf said. "I really don't want to kill you."
"I can't say the same," Beowulf said.
"You want to kill yourself?"
"That's not what I-hey!" Beowulf glared at Wiegraf.
"Funny," Delita said.
"Thanks," Wiegraf replied.
"You're joking with them!" Argus shouted, outraged.
"Sure," Delita said. "Long as they give us the Marquis. If they don't, we'll kill them."
"Confident, aren't you?" Miluda sneered. "You couldn't defeat me by yourselves. You think you can take the two of us?"
"Gustav," Ramza said, cutting through the noise. "He was your ally."
Wiegraf and Miluda stopped their slow inching. Miluda looked down at the ground: Wiegraf's blue eyes bored back into Ramza's.
"He was my friend," Wiegraf said.
"You killed him."
"We killed him," Miluda said softly.
"He deserved to die." Wiegraf's eyes closed briefly, then snapped back open, blazing with force. Ramza swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. "We deliver justice to those who think themselves beyond it's reach. Be they strong or weak. Be they friend or foe."
"Big words for a coward," Argus said.
"Call me what you will," Wiegraf said.
"That's what you want?" Ramza asked. "Justice?"
The fire in Wiegraf's eyes dimmed a little. He nodded, studying Ramza with obvious interest.
"Then don't go," Ramza said. "Come with us to Igros."
"Who are you to make such an offer, boy?" Miluda laughed, though there was little humor in the sound.
"Ramza Beoulve," Ramza said.
"Ramza!" Delita hissed.
Wiegraf and Miluda were staring at him in shock. Ramza extended his empty hands forwards, thinking of Ivan Mansel on the floor, thinking of the dead man's blood upon his face. Thinking of Balbanes' last words.
"Well," Wiegraf said. "You certainly live up to your name, don't you?"
They started inching to the door again. There was a slight smile on Wiegraf's face. "You've got a big heart, boy," Wiegraf said. "But you don't know the world that well, if you think the Crown would ever forgive us. If you think your brothers would ever forgive us."
"They would!" Ramza shouted, taking another step forwards as they neared the door. "We don't have to be enemies!"
Wiegraf sighed, and Miluda laughed that same cold laugh. "Boy," she said. "We were foes from birth."
Wiegraf shoved the Marquis to one side. Argus cried out, and loosed an arrow, but it was lost as Wiegraf swung his sword in a glowing arc. The world faded behind an explosion of crackling light and white-hot force, as thunder filled the air and turned all sound to a distant whine. Argus was thrown backwards: Ramza, Delita, and Beowulf staggered. The blast faded, and Ramza rushed forwards. Argus was already crawling forwards, eyes squinted as he coughed. His hands found the Marquis' shoulders, and he pulled the man into his lap, his fingers on his neck.
"Alive!" he croaked, though his voice was strangely muffled to Ramza's ears. "He's alive!"
Ramza nodded and stumbled past him, into the thick cloud of dust. He coughed once or twice as it became too much to bear, his nose filled with the acrid burning of old dirt and earth. The staircase had been destroyed.
He stared up after them, his mouth dry, his eyes watering, his head full of Wiegraf's righteous fire and kind, calm certainty that there could be no hope for peace and justice in the arms of the Beoulves. That they were foes by birth.
"Ramza," Delita said. Ramza glanced over his shoulder to find his friend watching him. "You okay?"
Ramza shook his head. Delita nodded, and gestured back at the Marquis. "We did it," he said, and his voice sounded as hollow as Ramza felt.