(Updating every two weeks through May)

Chapter 115: An Irate Inquisitor

"I am sorry, Father Zalmour-"

Lucianada Zalmour's jaw clenched, and he felt a throbbing in his temple that a Healer had warned him about some months ago. "I was told he had returned to restock his supplies."

"Yes, Inquisitor," the Amazon agreed, inclining her head more deeply. "But he informed us that he could not stay long. The Holy Dragon had been sighted-"

"I believe we spoke of that name?" Zalmour asked.

The Amazon hesitated for a moment, inclined her head again. "It is simply the name given to it by the Ydoran texts-"

"Whatever the Ydorans called it, it does not seem to me to have any trace of God or His appointed Saint." Zalmour stared at the Amazon steadily. "The Violet Dragon, if you please."

The Amazon inclined her head again, and continued, "The Dragon has been sighted to the southeast, and Cardinal Bremondt wanted only to assure his ship's adequate supplies for the chase. He did pass on his apologies-"

"The Cardinal's zeal and diligence are admirable," grunted Zalmour. "But he is needed in Lionel, at the Confessor's request. He is aware of this need?"

"He is, Inquisitor," the Amazon said. "But his holy calling comes first."

His temple pounded like a great drum. Zalmour nodded curtly and turned away. He didn't trust himself to speak.

A gentle breeze caressed him as he strode away from the Amazon, rolling across the little island from the sea that surrounded them. To his left, uneven stone hills pockmarked with scrub grass and bird's nests hid the ocean from his view: to his right rose a great mound. The uneven ruin of the old Ydoran watchtower at the mound's crest was easily mistaken for a cairn from this distance.

Breathe, Lucian. Breathe.

Zalmour breathed as the Healer had instructed him: in for three, hold for three, out for three. Think of the Saint, and all his miracles: think of the ocean, and the gentle breeze: think of spring giving way to summer, and the changing of the seasons...

And the fires of war, into which the poor and vulnerable of Ivalice were being shoveled like coal into a furnace.

His temple throbbed with particular force, and his eyes snapped open. Inquisitors were trained to seek the truth with particular zeal. He understood why Marcel encouraged this war, rather than bring it to an end. But they were nearly finished now, and they needed Cardinal Bremondt to restore order in Lionel, so why was the fool still-?

"You alright there, Inquisitor?" called a rough voice.

Zalmour cocked his head over his shoulder. Alister Rosenheim was swaggering away from the Amazon encampment, swigging from a flask. The hilts of his mismatched swords dangled above his shoulders.

"A bit frustrated," Zalmour admitted. "I came as soon as I'd heard the Cardinal had returned..."

Alister shrugged. "Can't exactly blame him, can ya? Dragon's never been this close before."

Zalmour took another deep breath through his nose. In his one meeting with Bremondt since he'd arrived here weeks ago, he'd heard much of the Violet Dragon: its place in certain pagan scriptures of pre-Ydoran Ivalice, and the fantastic powers it could bestow on the one who tamed it. But chasing a Dragon out of stories seemed less important than helping the very real people Confessor Funeral had charged them to help.

"I'm surprised you didn't go with him," Zalmour said, rather than voicing any of his thoughts. "I'd think a dragon would be worthy prey."

"They are," Alister agreed. "But he wants her captured, not killed. Besides, I'm waiting on worthier prey." He tipped his flask to Zalmour and sauntered away, swigging from the flask as he went. Zalmour watched the swaying man with disdain. He'd heard good things about the legendary Alister Rosenheim, a man of such talent that the Templars often hired him for work when they were spread too thin. This drunk did not seem to match the legends he'd heard.

So many legends he couldn't believe in. This man. The Dragon.

The Braves.

Another deep breath: in three, hold three, out three. He could understand why a man might turn to drink, even if he could not condone it. He could understand why Bremondt would want to fulfill his long-cherished dream, even if he thought it reeked of a certain desperation. And he could understand why Marcel might use the legend of the Braves to finally unite Ivalice under the Saint...even if it filled with disgust.

His temple throbbed. So did his heart.

He sighed, and returned to the little skiff the Templars had prepared for his use. It was not the imposing monolith of the Cardinal's Invincible, but it was quite a treasure nonetheless, equipped with a repurposed airship engine. The technology to make ships fly had been lost, but they had begun to learn how to use those old engines to power other ships...especially as they enlisted the help of some of the most talented machinists of Goug.

The waves were calm, so his skiff rolled easily across the sea. A salty breeze caressed his skin, and tickled in his nose. The sun gleamed down from on high. The world was glorious. And the world felt wrong.

On the large island far to the north of Bremondt's encampment at the old shrine, he found Loffrey waiting for him on the dock. He threw him a rope, and the other man deftly tied it off and helped him up. "What word from Bremondt?" Loffrey asked.

"No word," Zalmour huffed. "He wasn't there."

Loffrey arched his thin eyebrows. "He doesn't linger, does he?"

"Time is of the essence," Zalmour replied, and gave Loffrey an amused look. "But I don't suppose I need to tell you that."

"I've never heard that joke before," Loffrey replied, with the slightest twitch of his lips. "Any instructions for me, Inquisitor?"

Zalmour shook his head, and bade the Time Knight farewell. The dig site was up ahead, a cloud of dust rising up above it. Impacts reverberated under Zalmour's feet as he approached the worn stone stairs and hurried down. Ahead of him, in the great cavernous interior of the old Ydoran research station, two great shapes of steel were hard at work shifting rubble from a half-collapsed chamber. Off to one side, Barich Fendsor sat at a makeshift table beneath a carefully-mounted rune lamp, poring over crumbling paper covered in a dense scrawl of water-damaged Ydoran runes with a magnifying glass in hand. He did not look up when Zalmour entered, but grunted, "Inquisitor," when he came close.

"Templar Barich," Zalmour responded. He felt the slightest flicker of discomfort at using Barich's new title.

Well over a year ago, Zalmour had lent a hand to the Goug Inquisition Office in their efforts to track down the ringleaders of the Society of Free Machinists, a group with loose ties to the men who had killed the Cardinal's family in their attempt on his life. Barich had been among the Society's most vocal members, ardent in his support for a free Goug...and equally vocal in his condemnation for what had been done to the Cardinal's family. Zalmour had not agreed with the decision to investigate Barich as a heretic...but he wasn't sure he agreed with his atonement in the ranks of the Templars, either. Still, the Saint found his servants in all walks of life. Who was Zalmour to judge a man who labored in the same cause as he did?

"The Cardinal's out again?" Barich asked.

Zalmour grimaced. "In spite of my request he remain-"

"He's a man driven by a higher purpose," Barich replied.

"You can't disable his ship?'

Barich chuckled. "You really want me to answer that question?" He looked up, shook his head. "I doubt it. I got her up and running again, but he's sunk quite a bit of time and ingenuity into it now. Not sure there's a ship to match her anywhere in Ivalice."

"And he uses it to hunt a Dragon," Zalmour grunted.

"Not just any Dragon," Barich said. "Save for the Dragoners, they've been dead a long time. If half of what the Cardinal says of it is true-"

"The safety of Ivalice comes first," Zalmour replied.

"For a given value of safety."

Zalmour arched his eyebrows. "Something on your mind, Templar?"

Barich shrugged, tapping the intricate, rune-laden sphere on the corner of the table. "These things aren't exactly gonna save lives, Inquisitor."

Zalmour sighed. "Sometimes, justice requires taking lives, not saving them."

"Justice..." Barich chuckled. "Right."

The one-time heretic's thoughts rubbed too closely against Zalmour's. He swallowed. "What are you looking at?" he asked, to change the subject.

"Ydoran design documents," Barich replied. "Wanna make sure we do this right."

"How do you mean?"

"The Ydorans weren't fools, Inquisitor," Barich replied. "They isolated their most dangerous projects. The Saint's Judgment may have been the will of God, but there was more than one man-made disaster even before the Ydorans came to power." He gestured around them. "Most of these islands were Ydoran research sites for projects they wanted isolated. Poisons, toxins, diseases...even a couple living weapons, like the Dragoners."

Zalmour frowned. "Is that why Bremondt is here?"

"Could be," Barich grunted. "Or, at least...maybe why the Dragon's here. They didn't want these things getting off the islands, if something went wrong." He chuckled again, jabbed his thumb at the laboring Workers. "One of the reasons I could get these boys up and running again. They had to be kept in good shape so they could blow up anyone who broke protocol and tried to escape quarantine."

Zalmour gave the Worker a nervous glance. He had read how dangerous these magitek soldiers could be, and had been given a brief demonstration of their power: one had opened its chest and unleashed a ray of crimson light that cleaved straight through a boulder. Imagine how much worse the creatures must be that they were designed to fight.

"So we're gonna follow their example," Barich said. "We're gonna clear a testing chamber before we put one of these things to use. That way, if anything goes wrong, we're not damning the whole kingdom." He as quiet for a moment, and Zalmour felt a flicker of warmth towards the man: however unusual a Templar he might be, he evidently took his duties seriously. "Assuming it works like it's supposed to, we'll shift to the Foundry in the Wastes and begin production."

"I appreciate your caution, Templar Barich, and your focus on the task appointed to you by the Confessor." He bit his tongue against the urge to add, "Unlike the Cardinal," and started to leave before his impulses could get the better of him. But he hadn't taken more then a step when he paused and looked back at Barich, still studying the papers spread before him intently. "These documents...do they pertain to the Mosfungus weapon?"

Barich looked a little sheepish. "Uh...I mean, not...not directly."

"So what do they pertain to?"

Barich shrugged. "It's...it's a little hard to tell without the Codex..."

"You seem quite enraptured, nevertheless."

"Well..." Barich hesitated. "I may be a Templar, Inquisitor, but I'm still a Machinist, you know? And...I mean, this is a holy mission, sure, but it's also still...you know."

"A dig?"

A soft smile on Barich's face. Zalmour rather liked it. "Yeah."

"You still haven't answered my question, Templar."

"I think-" Barich made sure to let his uncertainty color that word. "-that it's a kind of...master list for the intelligence officers who worked here?" He frowned. "It's hard to tell, they're pretty damaged from exposure and I'm missing a lot of'em, but I've seen some like'em before. Ydorans could be real concerned about efficiency, you know? So there was this idea someone had, that these remote outposts should be remote to keep Ivalice safe from them, but it also meant they might be safe if something went wrong at one of the other outposts...or if something went wrong with the Empire."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning a lot of these places had master lists they were supposed to keep updated from the main research outposts in the Empire, about where they were and what their focus was." He gestured around them. "S'actually how we found this place. Bremondt found an old Dragoner research post buried in the mountains near Goland, and that place pointed us here."

Zalmour nodded thoughtfully. "I believe I heard something about that. That Templar went rogue during the dig, didn't he? Killed Reis and fled."

Barich shrugged. "It was before my time, Inquisitor."

Zalmour thought for a moment, looking between Barich and the master list. "You believe you can find more outposts like this?"

Barich gave Zalmour an innocent look. "That would depend on who was allowed to head the expedition..."

Zalmour almost laughed. "Perhaps I will put in a good word for you. Anything promising?"

"S'hard to say. Like I said, these documents..." He shook his head. "Not sure if I'm missing something, but they references they're making to location don't make much sense. Some research outposts, sure, but some weirder stuff. Like Bethla Garrison, and Mullonde?"

"Our Mullonde?" asked Zalmour.

Bairch shook his head. "Old Mullonde. The Imperial Capitol."

"Gone with Ajora's judgment," Zalmour muttered.

Barich nodded. "And the Ydorans were pretty strict about making sure that kinda research was kept out of the Capitol. Only the tried and true stuff was supposed to be there. Kinda stuff that could keep the Emperor and his flunkies safe."

"Perhaps it was a hybrid program?" Zalmour suggested. "The safe, successful examples were use to protect Mullonde, while the experimental ones were confined to the safety of the outposts?"

"Not a bad thought, Inquisitor," Barich said. "You might make a half-decent Machinist."

"I don't know what I did to earn such an insult."

Barich laughed, and looked back at his documents. Zalmour leaned over his shoulder. He loved to serve the Church, to build a better world for God and the people he'd created by solving its mysteries and punishing the wicked. But he also loved the feeling of pitting his mind against the unknown, probing it for weaknesses, pushing it this way and pulling it that way until he finally saw the truth hidden in the knots of lies, uncertainties, and obfuscations. It was a feeling he'd had too rarely these days. The last time was when he'd tracked the heretic Ramza Beoulve to Lesalia.

"This outpost's project was..." Zalmour trailed off. "What was it again? Cloud...something."

"Cloud Strife," Barich answered.

Zalmour tapped near (but not on) the crumbling document. "What was the one in the capital?"

Barich frowned. "Project Ultima."