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Chapter 50: Tightrope

In his time as a soldier, Gaffgarion had seen his share of danger. He had bargained with tyrants and stared down murderers. He had sought to claim debts from deadly men of fickle tempers, and had fought his way out of battles where every blade upon the field would gladly spill his blood. But he had never felt more keenly afraid than he did at this moment, sitting in the cozy salon of Lionel Castle.

He was not alone in the room. There were four others. Vormav Tengille (Knight-Captain of the fucking Templars, these were the enemies he had had to face in Araguay, these were the blades he had to fear), sat with his arms crossed, his flinty eyes staring vaguely into space. The red-haired man—Delita, thrice-damned Delita, alive and in their way—sat opposite him, mirroring his position. And obese Ludvich Baerd sat directly opposite Gaffgarion, his thin hair damp with sweat, looking even more nervous than Gaffgarion felt.

But Gaffgarion could well understand that, with the Cardinal pacing around them like a hungry lion looking for the weakest among the herd.

"This has been a disaster from start to finish," growled the Cardinal, after allowing the silence to stretch about them like a bowstring being pulled ready.

"A series of momentary setbacks," said Vormav. "I'm sure this incident with the Taurus will be the latest."

"It should not have happened!" roared the Cardinal, whirling around to face them.

"You set me to retrieve the Stone," quavered Ludvich. "And so I did. How was I to know it was a fake?"

"Does this look to you like an object of legend?" the Cardinal barked, snatching the fake Stone from atop his desk and holding it up into the light. Gaffgarion kept his mouth shut, but to him it did indeed; the way it gleamed in the light, and the way the Taurus insignia glittered.

Ludvich did not answer, either, and in a low voice the Cardinal said, "Or does this?" From within his robes he drew out a red Stone, and Gaffgarion felt himself recoil unconsciously against the back of the seat. The fake Stone caught the light, but the Scorpio produced its own, wine-red glow, which radiated with especial strength from the Scorpio insignia on its front.

"No need to get excited, Alphonse," said Vormav. "Put it away."

The Cardinal glared at the hard-eyed man, who lifted his flinty gaze to the Cardinal's face. After a moment, the Cardinal stuffed Scorpio back into his robes, though he kept the fake Stone in his hand.

"How was I suppose to know?" Ludvich demanded. "I'd never seen a Stone before."

The Cardinal turned his baleful gaze on Ludvich. Gaffgarion cleared his throat, and those scorching eyes whirled towards him instead. Gaffgarion shrugged nonchalantly, though his heart was beating fast. "This is all very interesting," Gaffgarion said. "But I'm not sure what it has to do with me."

The Cardinal's nostrils flared. "With the man responsible for disrupting our plans in the first place?"

"With the man responsible for chasing after those who disrupted his employer's plan?" countered Gaffgarion, though his heart lurched horribly in his chest. "If I disrupted your plans, you did not prepare well enough."

The Cardinal gave a startled bark of laughter. "You've a sharp tongue, sir?"

"When I must," Gaffgarion said.

"But that is not your only failure, is it?" the Cardinal asked. "You were supposed to subdue all the Lionesses. You only subdued two. Three, including your daughter."

Gaffgarion grimaced, trying not to remember the hurt and betrayal in Radia's eyes as he had brought her down in one quick tug on her field, sucking the strength from her limbs. "She was not where your guard captain told me she'd be," Gaffgarion grunted.

The Cardinal waved one hand dismissively, but turned those terrible eyes away from Gaffgarion's face. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"But the man makes a point!" the Cardinal exclaimed, as he turned his gaze upon Vormav Tengille. "The Princess came here without her Templar escort! Why was that, Vormav?"

"I'm not God, Alphonse," Vormav said. "I can't know everything." His eyes flickered to Delita. "But my intelligence was sorely lacking."

Delita scoffed. Both the Cardinal and the hard-eyed man pivoted to face him, violence in their eyes. "You disagree?" asked the Cardinal, in a calm voice quite at odds with his sparking eyes.

"Well, let's see," Delita said. "I was able to foil the assassins and whisk her from her own guards. The only reason we ran into any trouble was because Dycedarg had made preparations we hadn't anticipated—plans none of us could have anticipated. And now, after all our problems, the Princess is in our hands. Nothing's changed."

"It took too long," grunted Vormav. "You should have killed her guards and taken the Princess then and there."

Delita rolled his eyes. "Oh, a fine plan!" he exclaimed. "Certainly no risk in trying to kill the Lionesses and his daughter!" He jerked his head towards Gaffgarion.

"You left out the Beoulve," Vormav said shortly.

Delita nodded. "That's right."

"Because he's your friend."

"He used to be," Delita said. "And given my druthers, I'd prefer to keep him alive. Just like I'd prefer to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, when other means are available. Such as letting them walk right into our arms, instead of having to fight a bloody battle that we might not have won."

"Is that all?" Vormav asked.

"No!" snapped Delita. "Because you don't know Zalbaag Beoulve. And while we may have Dycedarg's cooperation-" His eyes flickered towards Gaffgarion. "-I assure you, his brother is in the dark. He may not care for Ramza, but he will investigate if we give him reason to."

The two men locked eyes. Gaffgarion distantly supposed he might have vouched for Delita—Zalbaag had already been suspicious enough when Gaffgarion had seen him, and if word had gotten out that his brother was involved it might be worse—but then, Delita had been a royal pain to him over the past few weeks, and he was not particularly inclined to help. Still, he felt as though he were wasting time.

"I hate to interrupt," Gaffgarion said. "But it seems to me my part in this is over." Vormav, Delita, and the Cardinal all swiveled their heads towards him. Gaffgarion smiled pleasantly, though his throat felt very dry, and continued, "The Princess is yours, to do with as you please. Lord Dycedarg has already agreed to move troops from Lesalia, per your request. And I believe I have made it perfectly clear the damage he could do to you, should you decide to cross him."

The Cardinal gave him a dismissive look. "I suppose you have."

"Splendid," Gaffarion said. "Then if you'll release my daughter I'll be on my way."

"And why should we do that?" Vormav asked.

A crack of cold pain across Gaffgarion's heart. His smiled faded. "That was part of the agreement."

He was sure of that. When Dycedarg had come to him with his suspicions of the Church—and the opportunity therein—Gaffgarion had helped him sort out the potential details of their agreement, and when he had taken the ship along the coast to Warjilis he had read and reread the agreement. Besides the money from Dycedarg, the Church had to agree to release his daughter, and drop all potential charges against her.

"Was it?" Vormav asked. "I don't recall. And it is so much ash, now."

Gaffgarion nodded slowly. The Cardinal was by reputation an astute general, but that did not necessarily make him adept at hand-to-hand combat. He knew Delita was a Mage Knight, and he had to assume that the head of the Templars was at least a Swordbreaker of great skill, if not more. Ludvich...heh. Ludvich wouldn't count much, either way.

It was possible he could kill them, but would it matter? It wouldn't let him save Radia.

"It was," Gaffgarion said firmly. "Dycedarg signed the agreement. To go against his terms is to render it null and void, and to leave me little recourse but violence."

Ludvich blinked his big dark eyes. The other three men were still, but something seemed wrong. Was there something a little smug in the Cardinal's eyes? A little condescending in Vormav's?

"Let us imagine that you manage to fight your way out of this room," the Cardinal said. "Do you think you could escape the Castle?"

Trapped. He felt nauseous and dizzy, a swaying vertigo sensation as though he were about to plummet from a breaking tightrope. He held himself very still, conscious of his sword on the table in front of him, and the matching swords of Vormav and Delita.

He could leave. If he did not strike first, interfering with Dycedarg's emissary would be seen as a hostile act. They would likely let him walk away, and he could make his case to Dycedarg. But in the meantime, Radia would remain imprisoned. And besides, he had the nagging sense that Dycedarg would not be willing to lose such a useful alliance for the sake of Gaffgarion or his daughter.

"What do you want?" Gaffgarion asked.

The Cardinal's eyebrows arched. "Where's that silver tongue?"

"I use it on women I'm trying to screw," Gaffgarion said shortly. "Not the men screwing me."

Delita snorted, and Ludvich managed a trembling smile across from Gaffgarion. He seemed much less sweaty and afraid than he had when he had first joined them, bearing the ill tidings of a Stone lost and Ramza and the Bunansas in the wind.

"We cannot move openly," Vormav said shortly. "Not until the girl is dealt with. There are few people I can trust. You are not one of them, but you know enough to be useful."

"And again I ask," Gaffgarion said, glaring at Vormav. "What do you want?"

"Your help in retrieving our Stone," Vormav said.

Gaffgarion considered. These Bunansas were an unknown quantity, but Ramza was not. He was well aware of the boy's abilities...and his shortcomings. Besides which, he did have the request from Gaffgarion to try and bring him back into the fold, as well as permission to do what was necessary, should he refuse.

"100,000," Gaffgarion said, almost before he knew what he saw saying.

Vormav blinked. "What?"

"100,000," Gaffgarion said. "50,000 upfront. 50,000 when I finish."

Vormav's eyes narrowed. "You are bargaining for your daughter's life."

"Yes, I'll want that as well," Gaffgarion said. "But I am mercenary. I do not work for free."

These men wanted his help. They denied him his daughter because they wanted something from him. But Gaffgarion had spent enough time at enough negotiations to know that they didn't hold all the cards, especially with Dycedarg backing him.

"100,000," agreed the Cardinal.

Everyone in the room stared at the Cardinal, who was smiling a little beneath his bushy mustache. "Are you sure, Alphonse?" Vormav asked, in a voice that seemed surprisingly indifferent.

"Why not?" asked Alphonse. "It is little enough for the prize he seeks to win. How shall you go about it?"

Gaffgarion had no idea. The boy was sure to come to Lionel, but how, and when?

"If I may?" Delita asked. Vormav and the Cardinal both turned their eyes to him. Vormav nodded curtly, and Delita continued, "The Lionesses are alive and unhurt?"

Gaffgarion nodded. "I didn't hurt them."

"They are bound," the Cardinal agreed. "But unharmed."

"That'll be bait enough for Ramza," Delita said. "Add the promise of the Princess, and you just have to pick where you set the trap."

"No one can know we hold the Princess," Vormav reminded him.

"Too true!" Delita agreed. "But if a trusted friend told him where they were?"

Vormav exhaled in a sound that might have been a laugh. "And should we trust you now?"

"Have you another way to bait the trap?" asked Delita.

Again, Vormav locked eyes with Delita. After a moment, Vormav nodded. "It could work." He glanced at Gaffgarion. "Assuming you agree."

Gaffgarion hesitated. He did not trust this snide, scheming boy, who had already caused him such grief. But the fact was that he couldn't predict how Ramza might come to Lionel, or even if he would. In order to lure him out—in order to lay hands on the Stone—they had to have a trap. And for a proper trap, you needed bait, and for your prey to believe it worth the risk to try for it.

"I think it could work," Gaffgarion said. "Though I think I shall make most of the arrangements after young Delita has departed. Don't want to risk him being forgetful and letting something slip."

He had expected the barb to draw some ire from Delita. Instead, the boy merely smiled. "A respectable bit of caution," Delita said. "No honor among thieves, after all."

"You are calling us thieves?" the Cardinal asked.

"Well, Ludvich is here," Delita said. "And we do mean to steal a Stone."

"More than one," Vormav said, rising from his chair. "Are we quite finished here?"

"I think so," the Cardinal said. "When do you wish to-"

"Later," Vormav said shortly, and left the room. That was a little odd, wasn't it? Vormav might answer only to the High Priest, but surely that did not entitle him to be so dismissive of the Church's sole Cardinal. But perhaps such ranks were incidental to this plot? Idly, Gaffgarion wondered exactly how many of the past two years' events these men had had a hand in.

"May we go as well, your Excellency?" Delita asked, keeping his seat—his tone and posture were much more appropriate to his rank. "We have arrangements to make."

"Quite right," Ludvich said. "I really must be getting back to Goug."

"In a moment," the Cardinal said. He was tossing the fake Taurus stone to himself, which glittered in the runic light as it rose and fell. "There is one matter still to be discussed."

Gaffgarion, Delita, and Ludvich remained seated, watching the Cardinal and the fake Stone. The Cardinal was silent for a time, and then said, "You have each been trusted with a great deal of responsibility." The Stone rose and fell." You are men, gifted as are all men with minds and wills and talents." Rose...fell. "I will trust you to execute your responsibilities to the best of your abilities." Rose...fell. "I will reward success."

Crash.

Ludvich screamed as the Cardinal grabbed him by the shoulder and smashed the fake Stone into his face. Shards of orange glass protruded from his cheeks, nose, forehead, and wobbled unsteadily from one sobbing eye. Ludvich collapsed backwards, clawing at his face. He tried to rise, and the Cardinal shoved him back down.

"And I will punish failure," the Cardinal said. "You may go now."

Ludvich hunched back in his chair, weeping and screaming, and the Cardinal stood over him with his back turned towards Delita and Gaffgarion, and bile rose in Gaffgarion's throat as fear choked him. He fumbled for his sword and stumbled from the room. Beside him, Delita wasn't doing too much better: his eyes were screwed up tight, and he was muttering something to himself, over and over. Behind them, there was a grinding, crinkling noise; Ludvich's screams climbed to a fever pitch.

They trapped him in circumstances beyond his control, mocked him for seeking a reward, and threatened death and torture should he fail. He was not merely afraid; he was offended, outraged...

And grimly certain that there was no hope in opposing them.

Still Delita muttered to himself. Gaffgarion focused on the words instead of focusing on Ludvich's screams, and thought he could make out what he was saying; "No more no more no more no more no more-" on and on and on.

"No more what?" Gaffgarion asked.

Delita glanced at him. Gaffgarion missed a step. In spite of what they'd seen, Delita's eyes seemed calm and bright.

"Just something I promised," Delita said, as casually as though Gaffgarion had asked what he was having for dinner. "I like to remind myself when...well, I'm sure you understand."

Ludvich's screams had petered out, but now and then a whimpering screech rose up from behind them.

"I realize you are hesitant to discuss details with me," Delita said. "But if Ramza is to walk into your trap I will need to know where to send him."

Gaffgarion swallowed against the dryness of his throat. The way these men looked—the distant and dispassionate awareness in Delita's eyes, the dismissiveness in Vormav's, the easy brutality of the Cardinal...it was beyond him. He did not recall ever feeling so completely out of his depth.

Outrage almost choked him then. What right did these men have, to put him in this position? After all Gaffgarion had done—after the men he'd killed, bargained with, reasoned with, blackmailed, intimidated? Was he not supposed to be safe? Was he not supposed to be free?

Blasphemous courage mingled with his outrage. He bared his teeth in a savage grin. "The Gallows," he said.

Delita stared at him blankly, and then his eyes widened. "You don't mean...Golgolloda Gallows?"

"Why not?" asked Gaffgarion.

Delita shook his head. "Do you want them to name you a heretic?"

"I want to go home," Gaffgarion snapped. "But if I am being forced to work here, then I will proceed in a manner of my own choosing."

Delita's mouth twisted to one side. There was something a little surprised in his eyes...and perhaps something a little sympathetic. "Very well," he agreed. "Golgollada. What shall I tell him?"

"That the Church recognizes how dangerous the Princess is to the order of Ivalice," Gaffgarion said. "And aim to placate both lions at once by removing the threat to their supremacy."

"And her guards, as well?" Delita asked.

"Accessories to her treason."

"Including your daughter?"

A pang against Gaffgarion's ribs, but he took a breath and said, "He doesn't know I'm involved, does he?"

Delita shook his head. "I wasn't planning on telling him."

"Good."

"Do you intend to take them all to the Gallows?" Delita asked.

Gaffgarion hesitated. The Lionesses had already proven themselves dangerous, even without Captain Oaks to guide them. Gaffgarion was more than equipped to deal with the mages, but with Radia there he ran the risk of someone who could counter his power.

As Delita had said before, however, you needed bait to set a trap. And if Ramza was able to reconnoiter the Gallows and learned there were no prisoners on site, surely that would tip their hand.

"I do," Gaffgarion said.

Delita nodded. He looked casually around the hall, then said, "May I offer a word of caution?"

"Could I stop you?" Gaffgarion snorted.

A smile flitted across Delita's face. "You cannot bring too large an escort from Lionel," he said. "Ramza may want to play the hero, but we both know he can be cautious. He won't throw his life away without hope of success."

Gaffgarion had to admit, the boy had a point. Ramza might still be too idealistic for his own good, but he did have a rather quick mind. "Your point?" Gaffgarion grunted, not wanting to admit he appreciated the advice.

"You'll have to bring a relatively light escort," Delita said. "Light enough that your daughter and the Lionesses might well escape, if someone should free them. Be on the lookout. You never know who you can trust."

Gaffgarion frowned at him. Was that the boy's advice? Don't give the prisoners a chance to escape? That was fucking obvious, wasn't it?

Except...that wasn't what he'd said, was it? "If someone should free them," that's what he'd said, but who was that someone? Was it Ramza, fighting through a trap he'd never see coming? Or...or could it be Gaffgarion himself?

It wasn't impossible, was it? If he could free the prisoners and arm them...the four of them had already slaughtered the false Nanten soldiers at Orbonne. Why not kill the soldiers? Escape with his daughter? Would the Church really risk making an enemy of Dycedarg Beoulve for so small a matter?

Or could it be that this was a trap? That Delita played at some game of his own, and intended for Gaffgarion to blunder into betrayal? Revenge for the Falls?

Except Ramza had told Gaffgarion his story. The story of a man whose sister had been taken through no fault of her own, killed simply because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A loved one endangered by circumstance, just like Radia.

Gaffgarion stared at the boy, trying to glean something from his calm face. But the eyes, while bright, betrayed nothing.

"It's good advice," Gaffgarion said. "I'll think carefully on it."

Delita nodded, and headed down the hall. Gaffgarion stared after him long after he'd faded from sight, his jaw clenched, thinking of the impossible enemies that surrounded him, thinking of the task he'd been charged with, thinking of weapons and supplies, soldiers and positions, and thinking most of all of the possibility that Delita had dangled in front of him, trying to figure out if it was a genuine hope or the bait of an insidious trap.

And as his mind raced, he could feel the tightrope sway beneath his feet.