(No double update this week or two weeks from now, folks. We'll be doing single chapters as we try and get this story moving. Please check out quickascanbe dot com and follow me on Facebook and Twitter if you're looking for more)
Chapter 107: My Brother's Killers
It was a little hard to breathe.
That was what first drew her out of the strange, miserable darkness. She knew the creaking rumble of a caravan from the many groggy trips she'd taken to one Templar outpost or another at her father's side: she could even make out the whine of its ancient engine fighting against gravity's pull to keep itself aloft. But why couldn't she breathe? Was she sick? When would she have gotten-
Memory came flooding back, and Melia tried to jerk herself upright. She couldn't quite manage it: her legs were bound together at the knees and ankles, and her hands were tied behind her back. She groaned into the rough fabric of the gag pulled tight against her teeth, it's knot digging into her scalp.
"Awake, are you?"
It was a woman's voice, deep and foreboding. Melia blinked tears out of her eyes and stared up at the silhouette gazing down upon her. Through the light coming in through the caravan's open rear she could just make out the blue-armored figure of Agrias Oaks.
"You broke my sword, Templar."
Melia wanted to say something bold and threatening, but the gag would have spoiled the effect. Instead she growled as menacingly as she could manage.
Agrias stared down at her a few moments longer, then took a few stumbling steps to the back of the caravan. It was tough going, with the caravan's own constant movement and the piles of supplies all around them. Bound bags, sheathed weapons, precious jewels and magic-enhancing materials...their plunder from Riovanes, Melia had to assume.
Something tickled at her brain then. She frowned, tried to trace the thought. Her father had said that Ramza had instigated a mutiny among the Khamja that had ended in Riovanes' destruction and the Grand Duke's death. But the little band Melia had spied on...they seemed mostly the same as the group that had killed the Cardinal in Lionel. Had the rogue Khamja gone to ground?
There was movement at the back of the caravan. A moment later, and the man who murdered her brother was picking his careful towards her, obscured by shadows the same way Agrias had been. She tried to growl at him the same way she'd growled at Agrias.
"I know, I'm sorry about the gag," Ramza said, and his voice was surprisingly soft, and surprisingly full of regret. "But we can't risk you giving our location away. We're too close to the Palace for that."
The Palace. Limberry Palace. Her father had been right: Ramza was after the Gemini Stone.
She said nothing, merely glared at him from her position at his feet. He crouched down in front of her, adjusting a tight bundle he held under one arm. "Do you need help sitting up?"
She growled again, more loudly than the first time. She would not let this murderer touch her, pretend at kindness before he revealed his cruelty. She didn't know what Ramza and his band of heretics had planned for her, but she was ready for it. She was a Templar, tougher even than her brother, and Izlude had been brave beyond reason, so she had to be braver still. She rolled onto her shoulder, gave an ab-twisting heave, and levered herself upright on her bound hands. Now it was a little easier to glare at Ramza.
"Good," Ramza said. "Didn't want you too uncomfortable." He paused, studying her for a time. Still impossible to make out his face in the darkness.
"We're going to let you go when this over," Ramza said.
Melia managed a stuttering laugh through her gag. Still the lies continued. Trying to get her to relax her guard, so their torture might break her more easily.
"Believe me or not, it doesn't matter," Ramza said. "We're going to let you go. We're keeping your Stone-"
Ah, that hurt. Her father had finally trusted her as a member of the Braves, and she had squandered that trust. Too weak to avenge Izlude. Too weak to stop this heretic.
"-but you'll be free to do as you please." He paused again. There was something strange in his voice. Melia steeled herself.
"Your brother was my enemy, Meliadoul Tengille," Ramza said. "He hurt Father Simon. He kidnapped my sister-"
"Mrrng?" Melia managed. The sound was startled out of her. She knew the heretic was full of lies and tricks, trying to break her...but her own father had admitted that Alma Beoulve was missing, and the Virgo Stone with her. Ramza was claiming that Izlude had taken her, and he might be lying, but...
But Izlude might have captured her, Melia admitted to herself. If she was working with her heretic brother, and he thought he might stop her without killing her... She could see it now, her ever-gallant brother kidnapping the noble lady and risking life and limb to whisk her away. Idiot. Her eyes burned.
"She was the one who told me where to find Virgo," Ramza said. "At Orbonne. Bad luck for everyone our paths crossed the way they did." He was quiet for a moment. "For me. For Alma. For Wiegraf. For Simon. For Izlude."
She growled again. She hated the fake pain in his voice.
Ramza did not respond to her growl. His head was titled off to one side, as though seeing something she couldn't.
"He tried to recruit me, you know," Ramza said.
Melia was silent, though her thoughts roiled. Did he mean...he couldn't...
"Your brother," Ramza continued. "He...when we found him, he tried to talk us out of fighting." He laughed. "Told me...told me that...that the Church's plan required sacrifice...but we could build a better Ivalice. I could be a Brave."
Melia spat out another laugh. Her brother's killer, a Brave? But memories of the Confessor tickled against the back of her mind. He had thought Ramza had the potential, too. And some part of her admired Izlude, naive and decent beyond reason, believing even the man who would one day kill him might find a place at his side in service to the Saint.
"We fought," Ramza said. "At Orbonne. And when we fought? I would have killed him."
Silence again. Melia didn't know what to do with this confession.
"But he escaped," Ramza said. "And the next time I saw him, he was already dead. I believe it was one of the Lucavi who killed him."
Her gagged laugh was sharper even than the first two. Right, this old lie. A clever one, just as the Confessor had admitted: perverting the Templar's new Braves with claims of demonic corruption. But a clever lie is still a lie, and the Saint's truth would prevail.
"I'm not asking you to believe me," Ramza said. "But I won't kill you, either." His voice was terribly soft, and terribly sad. "We're here to get my sister back. I won't blame you for trying to get justice for your brother." He pulled out the bundle from beneath his arm, and slowly unwrapped it. The golden gauntlets—her brother's gauntlets—glimmered in the faint light coming from the caravan entrance, as he set them down in front of her.
"Take these with you, when you go," he said, and stood up. "Radia's going to bring you food and water later. We'll knock you out if you scream, so I'd advise against it."
He turned away from her, and headed back to the caravan's exit. Melia stared down at her brother's gauntlets, and felt curiously light-headed. Lack of air from the gag? Or dizzy disbelief? These were heretics and murderers: shouldn't they be taunting her, torturing her?
She had no answer. But she wormed her way around the gauntlets, and drew them close to her, and wondered.
She was no closer to an answer when a wiry figure ducked into the caravan with a knotted pouch of food. A flash of light from outside caught Radia's red hair as she crouched in front of Melia, setting the food down in front of her and drawing her red-bladed sword. "Ramza already told you what happens if you scream?" she asked, though there was a strange twist in her voice. Melia nodded slowly, and Radia pulled the knot loose on the bag, then gently pulled down Melia's gag.
"Do you need food?" Radia asked. "Water?" She paused a moment, and added, "To relieve yourself?"
Ah, now Melia saw their game. Ramza had lowered her guard, with a gift of a weapon she could do nothing with. Now Radia would ask her what she needed, under cover of kindness, and then deny it to her once they knew what she craved. And to think, she had doubted for a moment-
"Listen," Radia said. "You're probably thinking we're gonna torture you with this somehow, and I guess I get what you're afraid of, but eating, drinking, pissing, and shitting are things all of us need to do. If you're right, and we're evil, then we already know you need to do these things. And if you're wrong, then you're gonna starve yourself, or piss yourself, for no good reason."
Melia grimaced at her captor, but could not immediately think of any reason she was wrong.
"Little hungry," she finally grunted. "And thirsty."
Radia nodded. "Eat," she said, pulling out a piece of dried fruit and putting it in front of Melia's mouth.
Melia glared at her, then took a bite. She paused midway through chewing. "Are these...my rations?"
Radia nodded. "After we knocked you out, we searched for your camp. Your pack bird's with us."
Melia felt a little flicker of relief. Some part of her had been afraid that the bird was starving where she'd left it in the shaded crevice behind and beneath her clifftop vantage point. She felt a little embarrassment, too: her captors had not merely bested her, but fixed her mistakes.
She chewed a little more food, and drank the tin cup of water Radia offered her. Then Radia leaned away from her. "You're a Templar."
Melia was quiet.
"And you have a Stone."
"You stole it," Melia growled.
"Better in our hands than in yours."
"Because of demons?" Melia asked as nastily as she could manage.
Radia nodded. "We've fought two of them so far."
Melia frowned. "Two?"
"The Cardinal and Wiegraf."
"You murdered Wiegraf," Melia hissed. "At the same time that you murdered my brother."
Radia shook her head. "I never met your brother," she said, but there was iron in her voice. "And I fought alongside Wiegraf, long before he was a Templar. You think I would lie about him now?"
"I cannot speak to the depths of your depravity," Melia growled, but felt a flicker of doubt. They'd rescued her pack bird, and Radia Gaffgarion had been a member of the Death Corps, serving under Wiegraf's own sister. Would she lie about him?
"No, I guess not." Radia was putting everything away, and standing up. "Someone will be back in a few hours with more food and water." She hesitated. "I'm...gonna have to gag you again."
Melia's mind worked feverishly. She could bite Radia's fingers, bowl her over, and then-
And then what? She'd still be tied up, and surrounded, and all she would have done is further piss off one of her captors, with no better hope of escape. Patience now, Melia. You may be captive now, but you are still a Templar. Your moment will come.
"Alright," she said, and Radia hooked the rough cloth into her mouth again, and tightened the knot. A little looser this time, easier to breathe through. A clumsy mistake? A little kindness? Or a trap, so she would scream and bring their ire down upon her?
Radia left, and Melia sat with her back braced against the caravan wall behind her, fighting against the stiffness and soreness in her bound limbs with slow flexing exercises to keep blood flowing. Her brother's gauntlets rested in the crook of her knees. Slowly, Melia began to hatch her plan. She would carry them with her when she asked to relieve herself. If they didn't intend to torture her, they would untie her legs, at least, and possibly her arms as well. If she could knock her guard off balance long enough to get at least one gauntlet on, she could outfight the rest of the group. Her pack bird was among them, and if she could reach the bird and start riding, she could well outrun them.
There was her plan. In the midst of captivity and confusion, she had a clear idea how she could thwart her captors, and escape. She waited eagerly. Then she waited patiently. Then she pretended to wait patiently, as her frustration grew and grew, and so did the pressure from her bladder, and the light leaking through the caravan's back through thinner and thinner with the setting of the sun.
But frustration and impatience were paths to failure, as her father had taught her when she was very young, and if he was cold and cruel that didn't mean his words couldn't hold truth. The Saint worked through willing hands just as well as unwilling ones (she thought this with a little wicked glee, comparing her father to the heretics who surrounded her). So she took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, and prayed.
Saint Ajora, God's chosen messenger, we thank you for your kindness and your teachings, and apologize with all our hearts, for the sins we have committed and will yet commit. Guide me best to serve you, and to build a better world, where all may known the glory of God's light, and you may Judge us worthy of your embrace.
A little calmer now. Perhaps her anger had blinded her, made her reckless when she ought to have stayed her hand. Or perhaps, by delivering her into the hands of her captors, the Saint would provide her a better moment to defeat them than she would ever have had in the Germinas Mountains. Or perhaps there were some members of this band not sworn to Ramza's blasphemous cause, who could be persuaded to follow a more Godly path.
So she waited, as the day passed. Waited, until only a rosy light glowed faintly through the caravan's back half, and Mustadio Bunansa heaved himself over the lip of the caravan's rear. He bustled to the humming engine at the caravan's center, and fiddled with its controls until its hum faded into silence, and thumped gently to the ground. A moment later, and a short, stocky figure vaulted easily into the caravan behind him. Her clothes were grey with grime, but Melia recognized the dark-skinned girl approaching her—the same one whose skin had deflected her sword the previous night. Her heart sank a little: she didn't see how she would get the best of this girl long enough to get her gauntlets on.
"Come on," the girl said, hauling her upright.
She did something with the knots tying Melia's hands and feet together, so that Melia could stand upright. Melia stumbled, fumbled, managed to wedge her brother's guantlets under one armpit. If the girl saw, she gave no notice: she led her through the stacked supplies to the caravan's exit at the rear, then wordlessly scooped Melia up over one shoulder and leapt to the ground with her as though she weighed no more than a bushel of apples.
Invincible skin, incredible strength, and terrible youth. This girl must be Rafa of Galthena, of Barinten's Hand.
They were nearly out of the mountains now, buried in a little valley between the verdant foothills trailing south into the heart of Limberry. A cool breeze rolled out of the east, and Melia's tingling limbs and abraded skin were grateful for its soothing touch. She stumbled along behind Rafa, as the other members of the group assembled their tents. None gave her more than a cursory look as she led her up over one hill, where Agrias Oaks was already standing, solemn as a statue, then down the opposite side. Here there was a large boulder, and a dark-skinned young man just finishing securing chains around its radius.
"We're going to chain you to this stone," he said, turning to face her with a solemn look. "And then untie your hands and feet. Give you freedom of movement for the night. If you'd like to relieve yourself in privacy you can let the guard know, then duck behind the rock. If you're out of view more than a minute, our watch comes looking."
No, surely not. Were they just going to hand her this chance to escape?
"I would remind you," the young man continued, with just a hint of amusement. "That the current guard may hold a grudge for your attack on her last night. Not to mention her two fellow Lionesses, Radia, Ramza, or my sister, who you tried to stab in the chest."
"No big deal," grunted Rafa.
"Perhaps not," responded the young man, who she realized must be Malak of Galthena. "But it's the principle of the thing." He smiled thinly at Melia. "So I would advise a certain amount of caution before you take advantage of our generosity."
Hm. He had a point. When she made her escape,she should make sure the right guard was on duty.
They secured a manacle around her leg, linked to the larger chain wrapped and knotted around the boulder, before swiftly untying the knotted ropes around her ankles and wrists. Melia held herself still through all of this, offering not even the smallest complaint. She was focusing inwards, reaching for her magic. With her hands free, she could easily slip on her brother's gauntlets. From there, breaking the chain would be a matter of seconds, and she could-
Two strong arms curled beneath her armpit, and she gasped and flailed futilely against their strength. Malak caught the gauntlets as they dropped out of her armpit. "We'll hold onto these until morning," he said, as Rafa released Melia from her grasp, and with an absent gesture pulled her gag down so it hung around her neck. Together, they headed back towards the camp.
"Fuck you!" she shrieked after them, but neither turned their heads.
"And if you wish to remain ungagged for the evening," Agrias called from her place on the hilltop. "I would refrain from further such outbursts."
Melia glared up at her, but did not scream again. The more attention she drew to herself, the worse her chances of breaking the chain that bound her. And even without her gauntlets and sword, she was sure she could gather the magic necessary to shatter the chain. She would wait for her moment, and trust in God's will.
"I'm going to relieve myself," she called up the hill.
"Sixty seconds, and I come after you," Agrias grunted.
Melia ducked behind the rock, hiked up her green robe, and squatted to relieve herself, keeping count up the while. She finished at 45 seconds, and was back out in front of the rock at 59. Agrias had already started down the slope, and they locked eyes with one another. With a grimace, Agrias walked slowly backwards, until she stood at her hilltop vantage once again.
They had left her the little pouch of rations (dried meat, fruit, and a single stale granola cake) and a tin canteen of water. She drank and ate a little, then sat crosslegged with her back braced against the boulder, staring up at Agrias. It was good to move freely again—to stretch legs and arms, feel blood flowing free of any bond but the single manacle around her ankle. Tonight, she would break that manacle. Tonight, she would escape.
The moon was a little brighter tonight, but half-covered in cloud, so ghostly shafts of pale radiance drifted vaguely here and there like fog across the nearby hills. Agrias (who, to her credit, did not keep eyes on Melia alone, but paced the hills looking for dnager, always returning within a handful of seconds to watch Melia again) was joined by Rafa and Malak a few hours later, shot one more poisonous look at Melia, and then trudged out of sight.
For a few minutes more, Rafa and Malak paced the surrounding hills, exchanging brief words. Then, they descended towards her.
"I'd like to talk to you," Malak said.
Melia shrugged. "So talk. I'm not going anywhere."
"You're planning to break your manacle tonight, get your pack bird, and escape."
A wave of cold rustled down Melia's spine. "How would I do that without-"
"Please," scoffed Malak. "You knew the moment we chained you here we were handing you a chance to escape, and you should know better than to think we didn't know that." He shot a guilty look at his sister. "We were Barinten's Hand, after all. He wanted us to be the only ones who could beat the Templars."
Melia said nothing. The cold was deepening, and real fear joined with it. Maybe she couldn't escape them, after all. And who knew what these heretics were planning?
"We untied you because you deserve rest," Malak said. "And you deserve to know the truth."
That startled a laugh out of Melia, and a little warm anger to fight against her cold doubt. "Truth? From heretics and traitors like you?"
Malak locked eyes with her, and the pain and despair in those eyes blew out her brief embers of anger. No one so young should look so hurt.
"You came to avenge your brother," Malak said, and his voice was terribly kind. "If it were Rafa who had died, I would share your quest. So you deserve to know that Ramza Beoulve is not your enemy, because Ramza Beoulve didn't kill your brother."
"Liar!" Melia barked.
"Softly now," Rafa breathed. "Unless you'd like to be tied more securely."
Melia scowled at them, but said her next in a wrathful whisper: "Lie all you like, traitors. You cannot hide your sins."
"I've no intention of hiding my sins," Malak answered, locking eyes with her. Impossibly, the pain, regret, and guilt in those eyes had deepened. She wanted to hate that gaze. She couldn't quite manage it.
They held each other's gazes for a moment longer. Then Malak began to speak again. "The Grand Duke knew the Church had some hand in the War, but could not discover what. When we learned of Ramza Beoulve, and his potential involvement in Cardinal Delacroix's death, we suspected he might be the key to learning more, and compelling an alliance with the Church. We were sent to follow him, and learn what we could, to the benefit of our liege lord and his ambitions."
"And instead you joined him?" Melia sneered, though the anger in her voice sounded hollow even to her ears.
"No," Malak said. "We tracked him and his sister to Orbonne, and found Izlude and his company of Templars there already. There was a battle."
"A battle you fought in!" Melia growled. "Turning against your liege lord-"
She broke off. Both Malak and Rafa had flinched as though she had burned them, and the naked pain on their faces galled her.
"We took no part in that battle," Malak said at last. "Our orders were clear. We were not to risk ourselves unnecessarily, unless there was a prize worth claiming." He paused, closed his eyes for moment, opened them again. "Your brother was injured in the fighting. He had taken Alma Beoulve captive, but she was fighting against him. He was not watching his surroundings. And he carried a pair of Zodiac Stones."
Melia frowned at him. "You...captured him?"
Malak nodded. "Him and Alma both, and took them back to Riovanes."
"But that's...that's not what..." Melia shook her head, her father's voice thick in her ears as it had rung through the Conclave. "You're lying." But she didn't quite believe it. Why would the boy lie about having a hand in Izlude's death, while claiming to have been his captor? And besides, Radia and Ramza had already told her much the same. Some of what they said were lies, surely...but all of it?
"I wish I was," Malak said. "If I hadn't captured him, he'd still be alive."
And anger, hot and bright, cleaved through her doubt and uncertainty. "So you admit it!" Melia snarled, lunging towards him, only to be caught fast by the manacle she'd forgotten about. She hissed, in pain and rage, the metal scraping against her shin. She would shatter it, shatter him, shatter them all-!
Rafa stepped in front of her brother, caught Melia by the shoulders, and pushed her back with strength as quiet and irresistible as a river's flow. Melia's heels skidded in the dirt as she fought pointlessly to stop her.
"Your brother was the leverage the Grand Duke had been looking for," Rafa said, ignoring Melia's struggles. "He was proof of the Church's plot, and the Stones were a prize the Church needed. He had everything he needed to be brought into the Brave Plot, Meliadoul Tengille. But the Grand Duke would not be content to claim a simple seat at your table. He wanted more than that."
Whatever her anger, whatever her pain, Melia believed that. The Grand Duke was as greedy a tyrant as Larg and Goltanna, if a more subtle one.
"And how better to get what he wanted?" Malak asked. "Then to take the Germonique Gospel from the man who held it?" He smiled thinly "Ramza Beoulve had won the battle for Orbonne, after all. And we had his sister as a hostage."
Melia glared between them. "You would align yourself with a man who murders Templars and priests?"
"It's not murder to kill enemy soldiers who are trying to kill you," Rafa said. "And Alma Beoulve did not lay Simon's murder at Ramza's feet."
"Should I be surprised that the sister of a liar is a liar as well?"
"I imagine that's supposed to be a jab at me?" Rafa asked. She took a step backwards, though she was not quite out of reach.
No one spoke again. Melia waited. And waited. And waited some more. But neither Rafa nor Malak looked in any great hurry to speak.
"So when she lied," Melia said at last. "Who did she say-"
"Wiegraf Folles," Malak said.
Melia laughed, though Radia's words tickled at the back of her mind. "Why would he do that?"
"You could ask your father," Malak answered.
A shock of cold doused what few embers of anger remained. "What?"
"Your father," Malak repeated. "He brought Wiegraf with him, when he came to meet the Duke."
Melia made a sound back in her throat. She was not sure if it was supposed to be a dismissive laugh, or a grunt, or half a sob. "My father found Wiegraf dead in the ruins of your Castle-" she began, but still, Radia's words were with her.
"The Grand Duke wanted an alliance-" Malak started, then broke off and closed his eyes. "No. I'm sorry, Raf-"
"It's fine, Mal," Rafa answered, but her face looked like something carved from stone.
Malak nodded, and took a steadying breath. "The Grand Duke intended to use the Church to claim greater power across Ivalice. Perhaps to take the throne for himself, once he'd seated himself as a member of your Braves. That was why he sent the message to the Church. And your father answered his invitation. Along with Wiegraf Folles and Loffrey Wodring."
Another wave of cold, dribbling through down to the pit of her stomach, where it settled like ice. "Liar," she repeated, with a tremor in her voice. "They found him after you betrayed-"
"I did not turn against my Duke until the castle was already in flames." Malak's voice was frantic with grief "Even...even after I learned what he had done, I could not...I could not bring myself to..." He shook his head. "That is besides the point. I arranged for their arrival, as I arranged for Ramza's. We would capture him, and take the Gospel, and force your Church to seek terms with us. Grand Duke Barinten would be one of the rulers of Ivalice, one way or another."
"And then you betrayed him," Melia whispered.
Malak was quiet another moment. "And then," he repeated. "While I was busy trying to capture the man who saved my sister's life...the man who helped her, even when I..."
"Mal." Rafa's face was still as stone, but her voice was soft.
Malak took another breath. "There was an explosion. More power than I've ever seen, and you know what the Khamja were capable of. The wing of Riovanes around the Duke's salon was left in ruins. Our soldiers were slaughtered by apparitions of terrible magic in the field. Inside the castle, the were littered with the dead. I found Wiegraf Folles, surrounded by broken corpses. Ramza Beoulve fought him for me. To buy me time to find my sister, and his."
A moment's unease. There were the scattered reports of what had happened at Lionel Castle, weren't there? Of damage that far exceeded ordinary magic? And Riovanes held such rumors, as well. Was it really just heretic barbarism?
"You're ashamed of betraying your liege lord, so you concoct such lies?" Melia breathed, to fight against the doubt.
"I'm ashamed I did not betray the Grand Duke sooner," Malak said. "That I did not avenge the betrayals he inflicted on me, and my friends, and my sister."
The weighty pain in his voice was impossible to deny. Melia's tongue fumbled for words. "So what? Demons then? Just like Ramza claims?"
"I don't know what else can make a dead man walk," Rafa answered, and pulled down one leg of her muddy white pants. In the middle of the dark skin on her thigh was a wicked patch of gnarled pink scar tissue. "The Duke shot me, when I finally confronted him for what he'd done to me," Rafa said. "He shot Malak, too. And while I lay there bleeding, the Marquis Elmdor walked onto the roof of Riovanes Castle."
"You're lying," Melia's voice was firmer now, and the ice in her stomach had melted a little. "Only the Saint can bring the dead to life."
Malak and Rafa stared at her a moment, then looked towards each other. Abruptly, they burst out laughing. Melia, bound, doubting, afraid, exhausted, watched them, and felt a pang of fresh emotion: envy. She remembered laughing with Izlude like that. She never would again.
"Enough," Melia whispered. "Enough of your lies."
She closed her eyes, and turned away from them. She did not know if she could sleep. She did not know if they would hurt her, if she did. But her failure and her loss were both too heavy now. She could not bear to stay in this waking world where her brother was dead.
"Meliadoul Tengille."
Malak's voice was right above her. She opened her eyes and found him standing next to his sister, with that same awful weight in his gaze. "I captured your brother. I hurt your brother. I tortured your brother."
He was staring down at her, with that same terrible weight in those terribly young eyes. Melia's heart ached at the thought of poor, bright, desperate-for-approval Izlude, suffering to live up to his duty as a Templar and a Brave.
"He did not deserve that," Malak said. "He was brave, and funny, and true. He believed in the Templar cause, and in making a better Ivalice. And he did it while seeing the flaws in your father, and your Church. He was..." He trailed off, and took a deep breath. "Loffrey Wodring. Wiegraf Folles. Messam Elmdor, and his..." He trailed off, looking at Rafa. "What would you call them?"
"Harem assassins?" Rafa suggested.
Malak shrugged. "Elmdor, and two women who killed the Duke. And Vormav Tengille."
A flash of terrible anger, cleaving away exhaustion, and doubt, and fear. She stood slowly from her place against the boulder, daring them to try and stop her. "Are you trying to claim that my father killed my brother?"
She could shatter her manacle. She could tear flesh and break bones. She might be able to strangle Rafa, whatever strength she had. Her hands ached with a need for violence.
"I don't know who killed your brother," Malak said. "But we can answer that question for you, if you come with us."
"I don't have much choice, do I?" Melia asked, gesturing towards her manacle.
"You will attempt to escape, or kill us, or both, at the earliest opportunity," Malak said. "You are a trained and capable warrior, at least equal to your brother." He paused, and added, "In his opinion, you were the better fighter."
Ah, that hurt.
"If we're lying, then you wait for you moment, and kill us for all we've done," Malak said. "But if we're telling the truth, you'll kill the wrong men and women, and be no closer to avenging your brother's death." He jerked his head back the way he'd come. "I doubted Ramza Beoulve when he tried to tell me the truth. For that doubt, I lost my friends. I almost lost my sister. And I damn near lost my life." He leaned towards her. "I can't make you believe me, Meliadoul Tengille. But I can try to spare you my mistakes."
He glanced towards Rafa, who sighed and hurried back up the hill, before returning with Izlude's golden gauntlets in hand Melia stared at that bundle in disbelief. They knew what she would do, if she wore those gauntlets.
"Whatever demon lays inside the Marquis Elmdor, he took Ramza's sister hostage," Malak said. "We're going to the Limberry Palace, to get her back. Stay with us just a few days more, Meliadoul Tengille. If you think we're lying to you, get your vengeance. But if you see we're not..."
He offered her the gauntlets. Melia was quiet a moment. She could escape, if she wore those. She might not beat the whole company, but she could certainly win her freedom. She had no doubt of that.
"A few days?" she repeated. Malak nodded. Melia considered a moment longer, then stepped back. "No one will trust me if I have those gauntlets," she said. "Give them back to me when we get to the Palace. If you're telling the truth, I can help you. If you're not..."
Malak blinked at her in disbelief. Rafa looked similarly impressed. They shared a brief glance, before Malak said, "Are you sure-"
"The Saint works in mysterious ways," Melia said. "He delivered me to you unharmed, and prevented me from harming any of you. Perhaps it is his wish I get my vengeance another time. Or perhaps..."
Malak closed eyes glinting with tears. "Ah, he was right after all," he muttered. "As good as he was, you might be..." He nodded. "Meliadoul Tengille. I'm...honored to know you. And I hope..."
He shook his head, and headed up the hill. Rafa remained behind a moment longer. "Thank you," she said, with a grateful nod, and followed her brother.
Melia watched them, then laid down in the dirt, resting her head on interlaced hands and staring up towards the sky. Yes, the Saint did work in mysterious ways. She had, against all odds, found Ramza and his murderous company in the middle of a war, before they'd gotten the better of her. Now they took her captive, for reasons unknown, and peddled lies about demons and her father. But Melia had prayed to the Saint for guidance, and the Saint had provided.
Because Meliadoul Tengille had been sent to track Ramza and his friends as they searched for the Gemini Stone. But Knight-Commander Vormav Tengille had gone to Limberry Palace to find the Stone himself. In a few days, this band of heretics would face one of the Church's deadliest warriors. And if they were true to their word, they would face him with his armed and wrathful daughter right behind them. Caught in a trap of their own making.
The Saint would always deliver fortune to his faithful, and justice to the wicked.