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For this one, I'm going to keep hush-hush about it. I won't reveal any details for now, but, hopefully, you'll tag on as you follow the story. (And I most certainly hope you can tag along; the story will get real confusing soon...at least, I hope it will.)

I estimate about twenty-five chapters in all, but those who have seen my writing has seen my...er...lack of consistency.

*****

Final Fantasy Tactics - The Roseate Knight Story
By Ysionris Gavotte

Prologue

It was near sunset at Mandalia Plains, where the sky was still blue, yet the clouds had already become to turn a faint shade of orange, when two knights crossed the plains as they commanded their Chocobos through the grasslands. In such times, mounted knights were not uncommon, and neither was the term "mercenary". For the hired arms-of-war knew very well that a time of upset was a rare opportunity in business.

The Chocobos were on rent, but the two of them guided the large feathered birds through Mandalia Plains with ease, allowing their Chocobos to move on at a moderate speed, but not letting them run to fast lest they lose too much energy when there was much more to cover. A snap of the reins here, and the Chocobos turned left, moving up a slightly higher field of grass, one that overlooked much of the terrain around them, giving them a better view of the grassy expanse.

The first rider was a lancer dressed in a simple metallic armor that coated him from head to toe, with only an open visor that showed his sharp blue eyes, perhaps the only exposed part of his body. A long blue cape flowed from the back of his armor with no symbols or markers, merely a plain cape, and he held a lance in his right hand with such ease and precision, giving the spear "presence", making him an intimidating sight, especially on a Chocobo.

The second was a knight, dressed in black with a cloak around him, no cape, and visible parts of light armor underneath the billowing fabric. A sword dangled by his hip, and it seemed that his intentions were polar opposite of his companion; he did not attempt to put emphasis on that which caused death, but seemed to hide it when necessary. His long brown hair fluttered along with the blades of grass on the plains as a gentle breeze blew past, blowing the stray strands of hair away from his green eyes.

The knight, who had guided his Chocobo right beside a low cliff edge, pulled on the reins of his Chocobo slightly for a moment, stopping the Chocobo as he slowly turned his head to the left and set his eyes on the background with his melancholy eyes, seemingly unfocused. The Chocobo made a soft "wark" sound, and attracted the attention of the lancer ahead of him. The lancer turned the Chocobo around just a bit to face the knight, looking at him, contemplating, giving the knight a moment of silence.

Finally, after a while, the lancer spoke up. "Tarkon."

The knight turned around, snapped his head toward the lancer as if he had been suddenly awakened from a reverie. His eyes focused once more as they settled on the lancer, who beckoned him with his left hand.

"Let’s go," the lancer replied, before turning his Chocobo back around and continuing down the plains.

Tarkon looked back at his left for another moment, then whispered, "...Right..." before following the lancer. A quotation from the Glabados Bible immediately came to his mind: "We shall fight battles in Your name, and the bodies of Thine enemies shall coat the earth which You created."

Below the cliff on lower elevation, in a mix of white and green robes, as well as blades and armor, was a carpet of bodies of knights from the battle that the two mercenaries were supposed to assist in.

"Coat the earth indeed," Tarkon whispered as he finally turned his eyes from the massacre in which he could not change.

*****

It had been another thirty-minute trek when the lancer spotted the survivors of this battle. The soldiers of Gallione seemed to have sought cover in a rock formation, and, had it not been for the excellent eyes of the lancer, it was likely that the mercenaries would never have found the troops they were supposed to support.

As they were forced to bring their Chocobos to a lower elevation, Tarkon looked at the carnage all around him. The bodies of knights and archers, squires and chemists, they had become part of the ground, most of them soldiers of Zaland, and it disturbed Tarkon slightly. It was not on his appearance, but, rather, the way in which he chose his words as he said, "So much death, and the war hasn’t even started..."

The lancer tilted his head slightly in Tarkon’s direction. "I’m not surprised," the lancer said indifferently, "Zaland is likely trying to cut off any possible reinforcements from Gallione. They came way too far, though. Too close to Igros. Whoever was commanding the armies out here was a fool."

Tarkon nodded, but only slightly, as he carefully guided his Chocobo through the mess of bodies, making sure that the bird’s talons do not touch any of the dead bodies. The Chocobo didn’t seem to need much encouragement; even it made nervous warking sounds as it carefully avoided the bodies and blood, shaking its feathers slightly every now and then.

From the rock cover, it had become apparent that the Gallione troops knew their position had been compromised. One warrior jumped out from behind the rocks, moving into an intimidating stance as he held a thin, curved sword at the mercenaries who approached. The mercenaries noticed that this man did not seem to be native to Gallione, and had beautiful long white-blond hair that fluttered in the wind. Tarkon recognized him to be of the samurai class, and found it ironic that there are actually such warriors here in Gallione.

"Halt!" the knight ordered, clearly somewhat nervous and agitated as he kept a safe distance away in front of the mercenaries, "Identify yourselves!"

The two mercenaries pulled on the reins, stopping their Chocobos in front of the young samurai. The lancer, still seated on his mount, put as much command and contempt into his voice as possible. "We are reinforcements from Igros. We are to see your commanding officer immediately."

The samurai dropped his sword only slightly from where he held at as he looked at the two in disbelief. His expression was one of incredulity as he said, "Reinforcements?" Taking another look, his voice was immediately laced with scorn and contempt, "What the hell...Igros sent two sellswords?"

The lancer chose not to take this insult personally as he commanded his Chocobo to take another step forward. "Unless you have a problem with that," the lancer replied with an edge to his voice, "I suggest you take me to your commanding officer now."

It appeared to be a moment of standoff as the samurai sized up the two mercenaries, uncertain whether to let them pass or just cut them down right there. However, all the hostility went out of him as a command was suddenly given by an older, gruffer voice from behind the rocks.

"Stand down, Elias," the voice said as its owner appeared from the rock formation behind Elias, marching towards the group. He had seen his fair share of battles, that was indeed true, as the lancer looked the man over. His gait was powerful, certain, and blood and dirt covered his battered armor and torn robes. He was indeed a man who led his troops at the frontline. His hair was gray, or perhaps that was just the dust that had gotten on it, and was in disarray. His glare was hawkish as he studied the two mercenaries with his black eyes. Had the lancer not been a mercenary, he probably would’ve respected this man more.

"You’re the commanding officer here?" Derlude asked, the edge out of his voice, his tone neutral, curt, unoffending, but definitely not showing any submission to this commander, who was definitely a noble by the way he held himself.

"Yes, I am Lord Francis Willfort," the man nodded as he stopped before the two mercenaries and crossed his arms, looking them over, and finished, "I suppose you are what Igros sent." He did not seem too surprised that his nation decided to send, of all people, two mercenaries to help with the war effort. Mercenaries were expendable, and they hardly cared about the plots in which the higher echelons spun them into so long as they are paid and are kept alive.

The lancer, and Tarkon behind him, dismounted from their Chocobos and stepped in front of Lord Willfort. Tarkon took a position diagonal that of the lancer, behind him on the right, an obvious sign that the lancer had the authority here, but he wasn’t to be forgotten either. His eyes, seemingly blank, took a good look at the surroundings before settling them back on the company before them.

"That’s right," Derlude concurred, "I’m Derlude Helsrang, and this..." he motioned to the knight behind him, "...is Tarkon Elmdor. We’re supposed to take care of any further offensive Zaland tries to make. What’s the situation?"

The samurai called Elias seemed to be offended that the lancer would talk to Willfort as if he was a subordinate, but Willfort did not seem to mind as he casually replied, "Zaland made a pretty brash charge across Mandalia here. We had reports of suspicious figures in Gariland, but by the time we actually created a front here at Mandalia, they overwhelmed us. We were able to hold them off, but other than Elias and myself, we’ve only got two good men left, another two wounded pretty bad..." he shook his head, as if to get the shock out of his system, then added with a glare towards Derlude as if daring him to contradict the noble, "Zaland could not have mobilized this many troops in such a short time."

Derlude nodded, showing his agreement. "There has to be backing from Lesalia or Zeltennia."

"Impossible," Elias looked shocked as he said in disbelief, "Iveley would not be as stupid as to start a war like this!"

Willfort turned his head slightly took look at Elias out of the corner of his eyes. "Not impossible," he said sternly, almost like a professor lecturing a student who asked a question not befitting his intelligence, "Even Lord Aquanox is eager to put Lesalia and Zeltennia in its place. Besides, Iveley may not even be the one who made this decision to..."

Whatever Willfort had wanted to say, however, it was interrupted by a knight from behind the rock formation who had obviously been assigned to keep watch. "Enemy attack!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, "There’s more of them!"

The four of them had felt it even before the lookout had called out. Footsteps that were not quite concealed, coupled with the alert that they had been put on for being on the frontlines, meant that they had already knew something was coming. They turned to see a group of Zaland stragglers, about seven men strong, make their way through the grasslands as they move towards the rock formation, where the two knights were protecting their two injured comrades.

"They’re going to be overwhelmed!" Tarkon shouted in alarm as he dashed ahead, intending to render his assistance to the knights in front. Elias followed immediately as soon as he overcame his shock, then Derlude and Willfort, as they rushed to cover their comrades and stop the advance.

"Stragglers," Derlude said calmly to Willfort even as he ran at top speed towards the enemy, "Probably what was left of the enemy force. They don’t look like reinforcements. Guess this is where we step in."

Willfort nodded as the group of four stopped right in front of the rock formation, covering the two other knights, and held his sword up high as if it was a rallying point in which he gathered his troops, or what was left of it. "Hold the enemy here at Mandalia!" his voice, sounding like a loudspeaker with all the ferocity of a lion, boomed, "Do not let them pass!"

Tarkon nodded as the first Zaland soldier, a squire, raised his sword by bringing it up, preparing to swing it down for a punishing blow on Tarkon’s crown. Tarkon’s reflexes kicked in, however, and he pivoted on his heel, swung around, and came in from the side. The squire, seeing this, was forced to bend himself at an awkward angle as he swung the tip of his sword down, barely blocking Tarkon’s blow, and jumped away as soon as he realized Tarkon was no easy prey for his sword as Tarkon forced the squire out of a lock and chased after him.

Two knights had managed to gang up on Derlude, with one archer seemingly trying to take aim at the lancer. From the peripheral of his vision, Derlude could see that the two other Gallione knights were busy dealing with one knight, while Elias was taking on another two squires, and Lord Willfort dealing with a knight. Derlude avoided a swing from one knight, and, seeing how the other knight had stood at the correct position to receive Derlude’s dodge, right on his left, Derlude ducked and moved toward the second knight, allowing the knight’s sword-thrust to slide across his armor without causing any damage. Derlude shoved his shoulder into the knight’s chest, sending him reeling back slightly, and then went close-range with the other knight, his lance already upheld to parry the income blow of the sword, careful not to give the archer any opening to shoot at him without the risk of hitting his comrade.

Elias, meanwhile, was tasked with defending himself against two squires that had managed to trap him against the rock formation; it left him with no place to move, but it allowed him to defend only the fore without having to worry about anyone sneaking up from his flanks or from the rear. As the first squire charged with a sword blow, Elias raised his own sword, blocking the blow, before forcing the squire back with a thrust. The second squire, befitting his training, jumped in to cover his comrade, his dagger coming in low as he prepared to inflict a shrewd blow from below. Elias barely dodged the blow as he pressed himself against the rock face, watching the tip of the blade nearly scathe his armor, before bringing his own sword down, catching the Zaland squire across the side. He felt a moment of satisfaction as he watched the squire fall to the ground in a pool of blood; it wasn’t sadism, just proof of superiority against the other in terms of mind and muscle. But he was rudely awakened back to reality as the first squire, enraged by the death of his comrade, struck a heavy blow against Elias. Elias managed to parry the blow, but his hold faltered slightly against such a strike, and the squire’s sword slid from Elias’ own as it came down and took a chip off Elias’ armor.

Seeing that the two knights still standing in his service, Jeremiah and Tyrone, were busy trying to defend their fallen comrades from a knight most likely trying to pick off the injured first, Willfort stood his ground as a knight, seemingly the one in command, brought his sword up towards Willfort and struck, tip-first. His attacks were not swings, but thrusts, methodical, practical, and precise. Willfort knew from his training as a youth that these blows were the hardest to defend, and shifted his guard as he parried the blows by having to strike them away. One shrewd blow from the knight, a feint thrust which had immediately turned into a full-scale slash, was blocked by the noble commander at one point, who nearly staggered against the force as he found himself in need to catch a breath.

I’m getting too old for this, Willfort thought to himself as he attempted to keep his vigilance high.

In the meantime, Tarkon had managed to force his own opponent further backwards, his attacks relentless but light, throwing more blows at the squire than the squire could possibly handle, until the poor lad was reduced to having to constantly run backwards while defending Tarkon’s attacks. The squire, however, had the misfortune of suddenly crashing his back against a boulder he could not see lest he had eyes at the back of his head, and Tarkon, who had not quite anticipated the squire’s reaction, did not react in time until his blade had already shoved itself into the squire’s chest, piercing his heart before the tip made a clink sound indicating it had struck itself against the boulder. A pang of regret stabbed at Tarkon’s heart, almost as if the blade had entered his own heart as well, but he quickly suppressed it, as Derlude had taught him many times, before jumping back to assist his comrades.

With more blows coming down upon Willfort’s sword, the hawkish warrior could feel his endurance coming to an end. One did not fight a battle and then expect to block heavy blows in his direction without having his strength sapped faster than he could recover. Knowing that his choices were limited, Willfort decided to play a move as he focused on the opponent’s sword after clearing his mind, watching the sword’s every thrust, every move, anticipating where it was going to come from and when. And, when Willfort caught the right moment, he reached out with his armored hand just as the knight had shoved the tip of his sword at Willfort. The arm managed to catch the flat side of the blade, and Willfort pushed, forcing the blade to ricochet off the gauntlet that Willfort wore. With his sword knocked aside, the knight was helpless as Willfort sunk his own sword into the knight’s chest. For a good measure, he turned on the archer who was busy aiming an arrow at Derlude, and, in three long strides, stepped up behind him and lobbed off his head. The arrow flew from the bow, but it went wild, not hitting anyone as it sailed across the sky.

Seeing the archer dead, Derlude continued to block the attacks of the knight that he had been desperate to stay close to as cover, waiting for the other knight to approach. Just as the two knights had gotten close enough to team up on Derlude, Derlude dashed to one side, with both knights in a line in front of him, and then, with sickening force, shoved his lance through the stomach of the first knight and into the chest of the second.

Jeremiah and Tyrone had finally taken care of the knight that had confronted them, but Elias was beyond caring at the moment as the squire was on a frenzy, striking at him with frantic blows that Elias tried very hard to block. When possible, Elias tried to use his armor to deflect the blows instead to take some of the load off his arms, but he knew that, with the kind of attacks the squire was swinging at him, it was nearly impossible. His guard slipped for just a moment as he tried to adjust his arms to a more comfortable position, an opportunity the squire quickly took advantage of as he slipped to Elias’ vulnerable side and brought his sword forth. But before he could slice across Elias’ abdomen, a cry escaped the squire’s throat as he fell to the ground, with a panting Tarkon behind the squire, obviously having rushed to Elias’ aid, seeing that he was in danger. Elias was slightly stunned at the action; surely he hadn’t been saved by, of all people, a mercenary?

Tarkon pulled himself together as relaxed his shoulders for a split-second, looking around to see if anyone was in need of assistance, or if any enemy had attempted to sneak up from behind him, before standing upright. He took deep breaths, getting the adrenaline out of his system, before breathing, "...I think that’s all of them."

Derlude nodded, his lance still bloody from the two knights he had impaled, as he instinctively stepped beside Lance, almost as if he was a guardian to the young man. "Probably," Derlude replied, "I don’t see anyone else."

Willfort relaxed slightly, the muscles in his body slumping as it betrayed the age battles were doing to his body. He was coated in sweat as he steadied himself with his sword, looking around, and seemed to agree. Still, he was careful. "It would be best we make sure," Willfort said through deep breaths as he made a difficult effort to straighten himself, "Elias, take Jeremiah and Tyrone, patrol the area and..."

Willfort never had the opportunity to finish his sentence. Without warning, a long metal blade had protruded from Willfort’s chest with alarming speed. No one even knew what had happened until a wet sound escaped from Willfort’s chest as he looked at the blade coming out of his chest stupidly, almost wondering what had happened. Behind him, a man had shoved a sword violently into Willfort’s back, and held it there as he made a small grin. He was dressed in golden armor, slightly dull to reflect so little gleam from the metallic sheen that protected him, and green robes swirled around his body, giving him a regal yet bizarre look at the same time. His malevolent brown eyes shone in the darkness of the shadows his wild black hair created as a small laugh escaped from his lips.

"Heheh," the man chuckled, his lips curling into a sneer, almost mockingly as he pressed his face close to Willfort’s ear and whispered, "The services I perform in the name of God..."

Willfort seemed to be stunned by this sentence, his face contorting into one of surprise, fear, and anger, as he made out in broken gasps, "W...what?"

But the man did not allow Willfort to ask any questions as he kicked Willfort in the back, and Willfort unceremoniously flew off the sword as he tumbled through the air and made a sickening landing on the ground, blood trailing in the air, making Willfort’s flight path. It was then that Elias came to his senses.

"Lord Willfort!" Elias practically screamed as he rushed towards his liege in a panic. Derlude, recovering from his initial shock, immediately rushed after the knight who had stabbed Willfort, but the knight merely laughed, an insane cackle, as he escaped the plains by dashing away with surprising speed that even Derlude could not quite match. Derlude had only reached where the man had been before when he saw the killer speed away on the back of a Chocobo, escaping without giving any of them a chance to catch him.

"Dammit!" Derlude cursed through his teeth, the word blocked out by his helmet as he watched the knight ride away. His armored hand balled into an angered fist as he reprimanded himself for being so careless. How could he have not seen the man sneak up behind Willfort?

"Lord Willfort!" Elias’ desperate voice snapped Derlude out of his anger, and Derlude turned around to see Elias kneeling beside Willfort, supporting his head, with Tarkon kneeling down beside Elias, and the two knights Jeremiah and Tyrone on either side, looking at their lord with stricken faces, "Lord Willfort! Hang in there, please! I’m going to get some medicine..."

With the last of his strength, Willfort raised his hand towards Elias, his fingers trembling as he did so, and Elias quickly held it with his free hand, looking at Willfort with panic in his eyes, desperate for Willfort to tell him that he was fine.

Willfort, however, was not fine, and his last words would only render confusion to Elias. "T...tell..." Willfort croaked, his voice broken and his breathing sporadic and failing, "...Baelthzar...the Roseate Knights...compromised..."

Willfort’s hand went limp as it slipped out of Elias’ hand.

*****

A hook of a crescent moon shone through the night sky on the evening of what passed for Lord Francis Willfort’s funeral, blocked slightly only by the smoke coming from the funeral pyre that the soldiers that had once been under the noble’s command built within the evening. The sky was more blue than black, and it provided good light to the funeral assembly of seven, five of those who had once served Willfort, and two mercenaries who had came along for the ride.

It was Elias who led the ritual as he stood in front of the four knights, two who were injured and had to sit. The funeral pyre lit his eyes, eyes that studied the features of the lord he fought for as the fires would burn them all away, leaving him nothing but memories of the man he pledged loyalty to. His eyes were moist, but he held his tears back, watching the fire grow larger every minute.

On the sides, Tarkon and Derlude watched from a respectful distance, far enough to indicate that they knew they were outsiders, but close enough to show that they, too, had respected Lord Willfort during the five minutes that had been with him. There had been a presence of nobility and command about the man, the man who cared about his country, his people. Tarkon had actually wanted to help out when it came to building the funeral pyre, but Derlude took Tarkon aside to quietly expressed his disapproval. "We’re outsiders in this," Derlude said to Tarkon as Tarkon protested, "It’s their affair. Stay out of it."

"Lord Willfort always said he didn’t want to be buried beneath the grave to be food for the soil," Elias suddenly said, and Tarkon realized that, by Elias’ tone, he was directing the words to the two mercenaries, almost as if telling them a story, "He preferred a more romantic death. He wished to be cremated, and wanted his ash to be blown away by the wind, where he would watch the world..." Elias lowered his head slightly, "...Indeed a romantic way for him to die."

Tarkon remained quiet as he contemplated Elias’ words, and Tarkon suddenly realized that, he too, felt a bit of sorrow. Derlude would surely have disapproved had he been psychic; it was his emphasis that rule number one was "not to develop sentimentality to one’s clients".

But this is one man even the legendary Derlude Helsrang himself might have served, Tarkon thought to himself.

"I was a nobody from nowhere," Elias continued as he finally turned his head towards the mercenaries, "A child without parents, a man without a country, a warrior without a lord. Lord Willfort changed all that. He washed me, clothed me, fed me...he was more of a father than I could ever ask for."

Tarkon found himself in an awkward position; how was he to know what Elias felt? He pursed his lips together and, following Derlude’s example, maintained his silence, but still covertly looked at Elias out from the corners of his eyes.

The tongues of flame began to lick away the flesh of the late Francis Willfort, but, thankfully, the fires obscured the scene.

Seeing that neither mercenary was going to say anything, Elias sighed and turned to face them full on. He paused, hesitated, then slowly said, "Lord Willfort was a man of honor. He...would’ve thanked you for your services today. I guess I’m the one that has to do that for him..."

"There’s no need," Derlude interrupted quickly, his voice neutral, not harsh, but not inviting negotiation either, "We’re just in it for the money."

Tarkon, obviously, didn’t quite agree with that. "Derlude," Tarkon frowned as he said quietly, but disapproval was in his voice, "You don’t have to be so harsh..."

"Building sentimentality with other soldiers isn’t wise," Derlude cut in as he turned his head slightly in Tarkon’s direction, his voice not unkindly but still stern, "We’re working with Gallione today; tomorrow it may be Lesalia that feeds us. Today’s allies may be tomorrow’s enemies. Don’t forget that."

Tarkon found that he had nothing to say that would convince Derlude otherwise; Derlude was sometimes quite stubborn when it came to his policies as a mercenary, as Tarkon had found out long before. Seeing this, Tarkon kept his silence as he looked away. His eyes settled on the burning body of Willfort for a moment, his shade being swallowed by the flames. The curtain of fire parted for just a moment, providing Tarkon with a glimpse of Willfort’s burning flesh, and Tarkon looked away from the hideous sight out of reflex.

Despite Derlude’s words, Elias did not seem to be too badly put off. "It’s fine," Elias replied quietly, nodding, "I understand. But Lord Willfort was a man of honor. Money or not, you helped him..." he looked away, almost embarrassed at what he was doing, and finally managed, "...thank you."

Derlude, feeling awkward about having to worry about courtesy and manners, did not speak as he looked slightly away and shifted his body uncomfortably. Tarkon seeing this, smiled just slightly, knowing exactly how Derlude felt.

"You’re welcome," Tarkon whispered to Elias with a slight smile, the first that had formed on his lips of the day.

This post has been edited by bond4154 on 3rd June 2006 14:02

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Nine-hundred ninety-nine billion nine-hundered ninety-nine million nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand nine-hundred ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall...

Chapter One

The return to Igros the following day took up the better part of the morning, and the timing of the troop of eight could not have been more coincidental with the typical lunchtime practiced by the inhabitants of Igros. With practically nothing better to do until then, the healthy six first sent the two injured knights to the hospital wing in the castle. The whispers and gossip around them had been evident, and the presence of these injured knights only served to pour more fuel on the situation, multiplying the gossip by the tenfold as the rumors were confirmed.

Already, rumors of war had made itself comfortable in the hospitality of Igros.

If anything, the weather did nothing to indicate what had happened at Mandalia. From the castle windows, Tarkon and Derlude could easily catch a view of the Igros cityscape from here, with white houses of wood and plaster stretching across the land until it ended right before the endless green of Mandalia, which stretched on in turn to the horizon, meeting the clear blue sky. With few puffy clouds in the blue and the pleasant shine of the Gallione sun in the sky, it could've been a holiday, for those who managed to care. But for Tarkon and Derlude, their cares were elsewhere as they walked into the chamber of Lord General Longeitz Sall, who was responsible for the troops beyond deployed for Zaland.

The entrance into his meeting chamber was preceded by a weapons check where the guards confiscated Tarkon's sword and Derlude's lance. Two guards checked the two of them for any hidden weapons while two other guards stood behind them, silently watching for any sudden moves. Afterwards, a nod from the guards, indicating that they were green, and the double doors of the chamber opened to reveal a rather stony interior. There were no pillars, and, save the wooden roof, the walls seemed to be made entirely out of stone. Colored light poured in from stained glass on the sides, while more brilliant white light shone in from the open windows as a gentle breeze blew in, rocking the red curtains from behind the Lord General as if the wind was singing a lullaby.

The doors behind the mercenaries closed slowly, and, with the click of the doors, Tarkon and Derlude stood before the mastermind of the Gallione military.

*****

Any first impression of Lord General Longeitz Sall, commanding general of the Gallione armed forces, authority second only to the commander-in-chief Lord Belasarius Aquanox, must begin with this: He was much too young. One expected the Lord General to be an elderly, hawkish man full of experience and dominance, imposing in stature, stern in appearance, strict in personality. The stories of the legendary hero of Gallione, Longeitz Sall, was that of an invincible champion, born to ride, born to kill, born to decimate all in the way. It could be heavily suspected that the stories were most likely created for the sake of a song.

Longeitz Sall was none of the descriptions that were used to tell his tale. Tall and lanky, aquiline and smiling, humble and gentle, Lord General Sall seemed to be more diplomat than warrior. However, no one ever had the stupidity to underestimate him. His skills as a mounted lancer were reowned, and it was often said that he could tame any Chocobo he chose as a mount. Dressed in the white-and-blue colors of Gallione, with clear blue eyes and brown hair combed into bangs, he stood at ease, his movements graceful and precise like that of a dancer, as he warmly received the two mercenaries who entered his chamber.

"Please," Sall said as he stood to receive the two guests from where he had sat on the other end of the long conference table, his position looking directly to the main doors of the room, "Be seated. I am glad that you have returned safely."

"Lord General," Derlude, with his helmet still on to obscure his head, nodded in recognition of Sall. Tarkon had a feeling that Derlude showed more courtesy towards Sall because Sall could've been a lord Derlude was willing to serve, that, and that Sall was a lancer even Derlude admired. Tarkon gave a formal bow as well before he and Derlude took their seats opposite of Sall, who sat down last.

Sall was silent for a moment as he took out several pieces of parchment, began flipping through them to make sure who these two mercenaries were. It couldn't be blamed on the Lord General; as commander of thousands of troops, there were also mercenaries all over Ivalice looking for payment, and Sall was surely not required to remember every mercenary that offers his services to him.

After plucking two pieces of parchment out, Sall looked at the two mercenaries with the papers in hand. "Derlude Helsrang and Tarkon Elmdor," Sall mused as he looked at the two, "Your contract was to assist Lord Francis Willfort in holding the enemy forces at Mandalia, am I correct?"

"Yes, Lord General," Derlude nodded in agreement.

Sall set the two papers aside on the table, then clasped his hands together on the table. "I am to understand that Lord Willfort died last night on the battlefield."

Derlude, despite forced into an awkward situation, did not seem to falter in the least. "Yes, Lord General," Derlude replied with his usual precise, emotionless tone, "We succeeded in holding off the rest of the Zaland rebels at Mandalia along with Lord Willfort. However, after the rebels were defeated, Lord Willfort was assassinated by an individual we were unable to identify."

Sall pursed his lips in slight frustration, and it was obvious he was not optimistic with the situation. "So Lord Willfort was killed by an unknown individual," Sall nodded, "However, I am to understand that his body was cremated last night at Mandalia?"

"It was a decision that was not influenced by us," Derlude replied, almost accusatory in tone, "The men under his command were the ones that decided to cremate Lord Willfort with a funeral pyre. We played no role in what you may see as an...improper way of disposing of his body."

Sall smiled lightly, as if to lighten the tension a little; a man such as himself must have noticed Derlude's edge in defensiveness. "It isn't the body we're concerned about," Sall replied, "I do know that Lord Willfort had always wished to be cremated instead of buried. I respect his decision. What I disagree with, however, is that his body was burned before we could even examine his body and see what happened. It was a convenient way of ridding any potential evidence."

Derlude seemed to find some sense in this, but his voice was stern. "Like I have said before," Derlude repeated, "We did not influence this decision."

Sall laid his eyes on Derlude for a moment, studied him for a while, then drifted his gaze to Tarkon. Tarkon, however, did not speak, and Sall smiled before addressing Derlude. "Very well," Sall said, "The death of Lord Willfort was indeed a great loss for us, and he will surely be missed. However, I do agree that you were not responsible for his death, and we will very much look further into this matter. However, after this meeting, I will have an aide deliver your full payment. He will also ask for several details about the man who killed him. We will bring justice to the man who murdered Francis Willfort."

"Very well, Lord General," Derlude replied, and Tarkon noted that his voice was slightly more relaxed. Sall noticed this as well, and gave Derlude an approving nod. Then, he turned his head to Tarkon, his expression pleasantly curious.

"Do tell me, Tarkon Elmdor," Sall said as he smiled at Tarkon, "I've always wondered since you and Derlude Helsrang here came for this job, but I never quite had the opportunity to ask you. Could you possibly be related to the Marquis Elmdor of Limberry?"

It was not lost on Tarkon that Derlude immediately sent a warning glance in Tarkon's direction. But both knew the futility of the situation. It would be easy for Sall to check anyways, and since he had already brought the question up, there was no room for lying. Tarkon decided to play honest. "Yes," Tarkon nodded, but it was the only word that came from his lips.

Sall smiled. "There is no need to worry about revealing your heritage with me," Sall replied, "Limberry is neutral, after all. It just surprises me that a young noble such as yourself would live the life of a mercenary in a faraway land."

"Gallione is not far away," Tarkon replied, but silenced himself as he caught another warning look from Derlude. Despite the rudeness, Tarkon knew exactly why Derlude did not wish for him to reveal too much. The less people knew about Tarkon's heritage, the better. Derlude was doing it out of concern for Tarkon, protecting him, keeping him safe.

Sall must've seen the looks that were coming out of Derlude's visor as well, and decided it was best for all of them to leave the situation as it was. "Very well," Sall said, courtesy in his words as he stood up to dismiss his guests, "I suppose our meeting is over now. Again, I must thank you for your efforts to defend Igros. I am embarrassed to admit that such a large army of ours is slow to rouse, but we shall soon back Lionel with all that we have. I most certainly hope that we have a successful business venture for our mutual benefit once again."

"Of course, Lord General," Derlude replied, his voice decidedly polite as he stood, Tarkon following Derlude's example, "Then, we shall take our leave as we thank you for your hospitality."

"Are you sure I do not need to arrange rooms for you tonight?" Sall asked, one eyebrow arched.

"No, Lord General," Derlude replied, "We have a place to stay at Central Square. Thank you for your concerns, though."

Sall smiled as he shook his head from side to side slightly. "A leader sometimes needs to demonstrate care for his men as well," Sall replied, "I'd insist on providing quarters for you, but since you seem to already have a place to stay, then I will not press on the subject. I bid ye both farewell."

"Good afternoon, Lord General," Derlude nodded in Sall's direction. Tarkon managed another formal bow before following Derlude out of the room as well. Sall remained standing as he watched the backs of Tarkon and Derlude disappear behind the double doors that closed as they left.

An Elmdor in Gallione, Sall thought to himself as he sat down and folded his hands together in thought, could very much spell trouble.

*****

The questions that were asked of Tarkon and Derlude were simple and obvious. The assassin of Lord Willfort was to be described in appearance, in personality. How he appeared, what weapon he used, how he fought, all the usual questions were asked, none that stumped the usually perceptive mercenaries. The entire process of questioning and payment did not take more than half an hour.

After their weapons were returned to them, Tarkon and Derlude marched down the halls of Igros castle as they made their way steadfast to the exit, intending to leave for the next contract as soon as possible. Surrounded by gray stone walls, the excited voices of the Gallione knights were easily audible to the two mercenaries, who noticed the obvious excitement and efficiency in their manners. One could assume that they had just heard the most fantastic rumors, so Tarkon and Derlude kept an ear on the chatter that buzzed by their ears as they passed.

"...and it's said that it was Atlanti who killed him too..." a female knight said excitedly on Tarkon's left with two other knights who were obviously engaged in furious gossip.

"...especially since King Theodore of Fovoham just died," a male archer quipped to two female knights in a matter-of-fact manner, seemingly relaxed as he leaned against the wall, "Poor bloke. It was said that his health kept failing ever since his son ran away from home."

"...around Zaland are complete, which means it will make it harder to assault once we move the armies there," a male officer was reporting to another knight in a crisp tone, papers in hand, obviously making an intel report to his superior as the two passed the mercenaries at a fast pace, "The walls themselves aren't very well designed, but it'll limit the entry of our forces into the city. Already, Zaland is beginning to call its city a fort..."

"...is going to be at Bethla!" a male squire was talking loudly and excitedly to his friends, a chemist and archer, "They're saying that they're turning the entire place into a fortress!"

"I'm glad that you're deciding to listen to the talking," Derlude's voice made a jagged cut through Tarkon's attention. Very few people could bring Tarkon out of his concentration, or lack of it, with only several words. Derlude was one of the very few.

"What?" Tarkon's head snapped towards Derlude in surprise, then, as the words registered, he blushed, "Oh...no, it's just, well, I thought it would be useful if I kept an ear out for what they were talking about."

"Wise choice," Derlude nodded as he continued to walk on without quite looking at Tarkon, "People should be subtle sometimes. Not to mention that they should be attentive to the world around him. I'm glad you aren't spacing out, like you usually do."

Tarkon gave Derlude a light, uneasy smile. He never misses anything, does he? Tarkon thought to himself in an amused manner.

It was well past lunch by the time Tarkon and Derlude left Igros castle, and as they stepped out onto the cobblestone floor into the main city, which was once again bustling with activity, they were quite surprised to see Elias waiting for them outside the castle gates, without his armor and wearing rather simple clothing, red robes, with his curved sword dangling from his side. His arms folded, he walked towards Tarkon and Derlude from the black cobblestone as soon as he saw them. The afternoon sun was unusually bright, but the temperature was relatively cool, the wind playing a pleasant breeze across Igros. Tarkon delighted himself to the background sounds of the populace working all over Igros as he looked across the cityscape that was Igros.

"I was waiting for you two for a while," Elias smiled lightly as the three of them stepped together on the black cobblestone on the main street in front of the castle gates, where a majestic fountain was spewing water outside, "I hope you had no problems with the Lord General."

"The Lord General was kind enough to us," Tarkon replied with a small smile, but he still seemed tired, as he did all the time, "But I'm surprised that you're here."

Elias shrugged. "Let's just say I've got to thank you for saving my life last night," Elias smiled as he gestured for the two to follow him, "Come on, it's past lunchtime, but I know a good place to get some eats."

Tarkon seemed confused at Elias' first statement. "We saved your life?" Tarkon repeated, a frown etched in his face.

"Yeah, that's right," Elias replied evenly as he shrugged, "I got careless with a squire, and you took care of him for me, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, that..." Tarkon nodded, pressed his lips together, then added as an afterthought, "Well...you're welcome." In truth, Tarkon had forgotten he had saved Elias' life by taking care of the last squire that had tried to stab Elias' abdomen. Or did he? Tarkon thought back, wondering if he had rushed over to take care of the last squire, or because he saw Elias was in trouble. Sometimes, Tarkon thought to himself, we can fool even ourselves. And he quietly quoted another verse from the Glabados Bible: "Without God, Man choose to believe what he wishes to believe."

Elias grinned at Tarkon. "I share the same code of honor as Lord Willfort," Elias laughed at Tarkon as he pushed the young mercenary slightly in the shoulder, "I pay my debts."

"You seem pretty easy about his death," Derlude noted neutrally as he crossed his arms.

Elias was a bit more somber as Derlude said this, but the smile didn't fade from his mouth, although his next words were spoken in a slightly quieter manner. "Lord Willfort always said there was a time for mourning, and a time for living," Elias replied, "He always said, 'Never forget, but move on.' I intend to follow his words."

Derlude studied Elias for a second through that visor of his, and as Elias developed a slight discomfort at Derlude's stare, Derlude nodded in a quietly approving manner. "Advice well spared," was what made of out Derlude's mouth.

"You have rather interesting hair," Tarkon suddenly said out of the blue, changing the subject without quite realizing how wise the action was, "Silvery-blond. I've never seen hair like yours before in Ivalice."

Elias blushed as he ran his hand through his long silver hair, which was elegantly tied into a ponytail at the back. "I used to hate it when I was younger," Elias admitted with a shy smile, "It gave me unwanted attention. People would stare at me, and others would look down upon me, say I wasn't from Ivalice. I often doubted where I was born, where I came from. I had wanted to go bald, at one time, to avoid such suspicions. But Lord Willfort encouraged me to stand strong against this, and keep my hair the way it was. I haven't regretted his advice."

As they turned down another large street in Igros, they almost ran into several mounted knights on Chocobos, who seemed to be in a hurry to make it to the castle. Elias avoided the Chocobos easily, but Derlude had to grab Tarkon by the back of his neck and move him out of the way before he got trampled on.

"Make way, make way!" the knights shouted as the crowd parted on the streets, moving to the sides of the road to make way for the mounted knights. Cheers also came from the townsfolk, who seemed rather excited and approving of their soldiers at work.

"Morale in Igros seems to be quite high," Tarkon noted as he watched the activity of the soldiers about; Elias led the two out of the path of a marching company of knights, who, with their polished armor, seemed to be reporting in for review as they marched on to the castle.

"Could be that the war hasn't started," Derlude shrugged, not caring much for the soldiers who marched by.

Elias satisfied himself with a bit of a smirk. "Could be that Argon is dead," Elias turned his head slightly to Tarkon and quipped.

"Lord Argon?" Tarkon sounded surprised as he nearly stopped in his tracks, looking at Elias with a shocked expression, "You mean Argon Iveley, son of Lord Nimoderis Iveley?" Beside Tarkon, Derlude looked mildly interested as well; it was obviously news that had not yet reached his ears.

"That's right," Elias grinned as he turned back to the road ahead of him, "Other than the fact that Argon is dead, nothing's been confirmed yet, but rumor has it that General Atlanti killed him."

"Supreme General of the Lesalian forces," Derlude's voice sounded skeptical behind his helmet, "Sounds fishy to me. I was under the impression that Tybalt Atlanti was loyal to Lesalia, and to Nimoderis Iveley in particular."

"That's what everyone thinks," Elias agreed, shrugging, "We don't know exactly what motivated the murder at the moment, although there are rumors that Tybalt and Argon were operating in the shadows about something. Kept a lot of things secret. Our spies had noticed long ago that the two seemed to be conspiring something, and that's how the rumor around Lesalia goes as well. I can only supposed that there was a bit of a 'falling out' between them. It's being said that Atlanti is currently being imprisoned for cases of treason."

"So that basically means Iveley just lost his son, not to mention his most experienced general," Derlude's chuckle sounded sarcastic, for some reason unknown to all but himself, "No wonder morale at Igros is high."

"Yeah," Elias nodded, "The only remaining question is who's going to succeed Atlanti for the role of Supreme General."

"I'm thinking Count Bedwine," Derlude quipped, "It's no secret that he's been wanting to take over the military as well, supposing that domestic affairs aren't enough to keep him concerned. I wouldn't be surprised if that weasel had his hand in the entire thing."

"We're actually hoping that it turns out to be the Count," Elias laughed, putting his right hand on his hip, "Sure, a lot of people fear him, but Bedwine isn't exactly what we'd call friendly with the rest of Iveley's advisors. This means less efficiency with the decision making at Lesalia."

"So Igros is using this chance and mobilizing its forces while Lesalia is still confused," Tarkon nodded, understanding the logic as his eyes seemed to become lost again, unfocused.

"Lord General Sall wants our armies to move out by tomorrow," Elias nodded, then added with a bit of distaste in his voice, "But I have a feeling that the decision may be influenced by Murond."

Tarkon stared at Elias. "Since when did the Glabados Church have authority over Gallione?" Tarkon asked, puzzled.

"The Church is Gallione's unofficial ally," Derlude said simply, "Murond is located much too close to Gallione and Lionel to try and oppose them. But even then, Murond is the only kingdom that exercises a certain amount of influence across every other kingdom. Although it is acknowledged that the Church favors Aquanox, even Lesalia isn't brash enough to denounce Murond as well, lest Iveley wants to be denounced as a heretic. The fact that the Lord General is a devout believer in the Glabados Church adds to it."

"In any case," Elias continued, "Murond wants to see Lesalia under its power as well. And, once the Gallione army completely mobilizes, Murond is hoping that Gallione might be able to intimidate Fovoham into an alliance as well. Especially since King Theodore just died recently, the leadership in Fovoham will take a moment to adjust. Murond wants to use that moment to force an alliance of sorts."

Tarkon nodded. "We've just heard," Tarkon replied, somewhat glad that he wasn't behind on the subject for once.

"We're here," Elias smiled as he suddenly stopped before what seemed like a bar. Nondescript and dirty, Tarkon nevertheless smelled a pleasant fragrance coming from the open door, which revealed a dim setting inside. Laughter could be heard from the interior, and Derlude seemed to shrug as he took in the sights; Derlude always seemed to be in better moods when at a bar.

"So a bar is where you suppose we'll grab some lunch?" Derlude sounded like he was grinning behind his helmet.

"Best food in Igros guaranteed," Elias grinned back as he slung his arms around the shoulders of Tarkon and Derlude and pushed them in, "Chow time."

*****

It was well in the afternoon, and getting late towards night, when the streets were quiet and deserted around the western side of Igros, where two figures had begun a business endeavor on the deserted streets. Here, on this side of the city, was home to several taverns as well as houses of the middle-class, but it was also a time after lunch and rest, and before the working class began to return home from their workplaces. It was relatively quiet at this time, and a perfect place, considering all circumstances, for the two men to meet without being overheard.

"That’s right," the young man nodded with a carefree shrug on his shoulders, "They're just three people who're going to take a rest after a good lunch. You guys shouldn’t have any problems with that, right? With the money I’m paying you."

The bandit crossed his arms as he pretended to pout, looking at the young man, studying him. "Hard to say," he said finally, tapping the foot with his toe, "These guys are supposed to be frontline troops, right? They may struggle a bit harder than most."

The young man, dressed rather handsomely in black robes, stood at relative ease on the cobblestone street, as if he didn't have a care in the world. There was an easy smile on his lips, and he exuded a cultured presence, definitely a learned individual with notable stature, perhaps the son of a noble of sorts. He had a handsome, fair face, young, but still exuding a mature air to it as he studied his business partner with his clear brown eyes from under his brown hair, which was somehow both organized and messy at the same time.

The bandit, meanwhile, fit the description of the other nondescript bandit lowlifes of the city, with green and brown clothes, cheap material, and a feathered cap. His face was somewhat rough, scarred and dirty, and his presence screamed exactly what he was, a bandit. It was obvious that the man spent most of his time stealing, raping, and killing.

The young man smiled a bit, a thin one that touched his lips. "So you’re trying to bargain with me," he mused.

It was the bandit's turn to shrug, but even he could not hide the smile from his mouth as he cocked his head to the side quizzically. "Not really," the bandit replied, sounding innocent, "just saying it may be difficult to kill them all. You got to be realistic, after all." He gave the young man a look as if the young man would know exactly what he was talking about.

The young man put a finger on his chin thoughtfully as he appraised this bandit. "Fine," he said with another shrug after a few moments of consideration, "How does 1500 gil sound to you?"

The bandit had to smile as the young man said these words. "Heh," the bandit grinned at the young man, looking at him almost with a sense of respect, "You really know how to bargain."

"Because I expect results," the young man said, a bit of his carefree nature going out of him as he looked at the bandit seriously, "Can you handle them?"

The bandit seemed satisfied as he crossed his arms confidently, grinning at the young man. "If it's three heads you want," the bandit agreed, "it's three heads you'll have."

"Good," the young man grinned as he looked down the street, watching the silhouettes of three figures appear from the other end, "Here they come now. Kill them all." With that, the young man disappeared down another side alley as he walked out of the scene in a relaxed manner. The bandit blew a whistle, and immediately, more of his minions began to appear on the streets, converging on the three figures that the young man was willing to pay a handsome price to kill.

Derlude, with his excellent eyes, did not miss a bit of what had happened. "Looks like someone's after us," Derlude stately bluntly as he tightened his hold on his lance, an obvious statement that meant he was going to kill and ask questions later.

Tarkon was fairly relaxed as well as his hand went ever so slowly into his cloak and was placed on the handle of his sword, but the sword was not drawn. "Did the enemy forces make it this far into Gallione?" Tarkon mused, obviously wondering if enemy forces were seeking revenge on the forces that defeated them at Mandalia.

"They don't look like the enemy," Derlude muttered as about six bandits had appeared from the shadows, two on the rooftops, one from each end of the street, and two more from back alleys, surrounding Tarkon, Derlude, and Elias, "More like bandits to me, hired by that man who just left..."

Elias, however, was slightly more panicky as he hesitated in drawing his sword and looked around wildly with open eyes, obviously uncomfortable with the prospect of being surrounded by bandits in his own hometown, or what passed for it. "Why would they be after us?" Elias demanded, as if Derlude had all the answers to his questions.

Derlude didn't bother trying to give him answers that he needed. "You can ask questions..." Derlude, started, and, in a sudden move, thrust his lance towards his body, and suddenly snapped it back at alarming speed towards a bandit who got to close, impaling him, "after we bring them down!" The bandit merely gaped as Derlude's lance went through his chest, creating a rather messy, bloody hole in his chest. Derlude twisted the lance slightly, then retracted it with more force than he had intended, letting the bandit fall to the floor in pool of his own blood.

The two bandits on the roof, armed with crossbows, took aim at the three, but to their dismay, Derlude decided to go in for close-combat as he simply utilized his skills as a lancer and jumped onto the rooftops of the two-story houses in a single leap. The majority of the bandits gaped in surprise as Derlude made this athletic achievement, and Tarkon used this opportunity as he aimed his sword at a nearby bandit armed with a dagger, his sword aiming at the bandit's dagger hand. At the very last second, Tarkon nudged his sword slightly to the right, creating a gash across the arm, giving the bandit a flesh wound. The bandit dropped the dagger in shock and pain; Tarkon quickly placed one foot behind the bandit's ankle, grabbed him by the neck with his free hand, and then slammed his head onto the cobblestone ground. He was unconscious and definitely going to wake up with a massive headache, but at least he was still alive.

As Derlude dispatched the first archer with a very clean cut across the throat with his lance, Elias had overcome his initial shock of an ambush, and quickly jumped forward to cover Tarkon's back as he drew his katana, daring the remaining two bandits that were converging on them to come closer. They did, however, and Elias moved slightly to Tarkon's right to compensate for the enemy's flanking maneuver, and quickly brought his sword high to point as the bandit jumped into the air and slammed his dagger against Elias' katana. At the same time, Tarkon went low for the legs as the second bandit adopted a defensive position. Tarkon's bandit managed to jump nimbly away from the blow, but Tarkon followed up with what seemed like an uppercut with a blade; Tarkon miscalculated, and the blade went a bit too deep into the chest, and then the throat. By the time Tarkon had stopped himself and jumped back, the bandit was already falling backwards, with a straight red line going up and down on his chest and throat. With some regret, Tarkon quickly wheeled on his heel to assist Elias, but Elias had already neatly cut through his bandit's abdomen with a graceful dash, blood spraying from the open wound. Derlude also jumped down from the rooftops back down to the street, a silent indicator that he had finished off the two archers.

Derlude looked at Tarkon and Elias, made sure they were safe and the bandits would remain on the ground, before saying rather bluntly, "It looks as if someone is after us." He crossed his arms and pulled his lance close to himself in the process.

Tarkon nodded, obviously agreeing with Tarkon as he looked down the road they were on, as if expecting more bandits to come and ambush them. Elias looked annoyed as he sheathed his katana. "Could they be trying to kill us for what happened at Mandalia?" Elias asked Derlude.

"Probably," Tarkon asked the question as he continued to keep a lookout, "The problem is exactly why they're after us."

Elias shrugged, seemingly annoyed and unconcerned. "They’re probably trying to avenge their dead comrades," Elias concluded with a shrug.

"I disagree," Derlude's voice sounded a bit hard, "If they wanted to, why would they hire..." he gestured towards the bodies of the bandits on the ground, "...bandits like these to finish us off? It's revenge you're talking about. If I wanted revenge, I would make sure I killed them myself. No, I think they’re trying to silence us, and I am most certain that this is not the problem with Zaland."

Elias looked stunned as he stared at Derlude with wide-open eyes, an expression of incredulity on his face. "Silence us?" Elias repeated, obviously skeptical about the idea.

Tarkon didn't look too surprised by the suggestion, but he, too, did not seem very convinced, although he did look somewhat troubled. "You mean we saw something we weren't supposed to?"

"I'd think so..." Derlude nodded, suddenly squinted as his head snapped down the other end of the street, then grabbed both Tarkon and Elias and began to pull them into the dark alleyway, where he intended to hide in the shadows, "...Quiet. Both of you stay silent and hide here!" With that, he pressed the two of them against the wall, staying hidden in the shadows as they knelt behind a wooden barrel resting in the shade. Almost immediately, audible sounds of rushed footsteps grew as they approached their hiding spot, and the three could see two knights of Gallione in full armor rushing down the street, stopping right before the alleyway. Derlude pressed himself closer to the wall as he pushed both Tarkon and Elias further below the barrel, but the knights continued to look around, as if searching for something, without looking at the three.

"It's fine," Elias started as he began to stand, "Just our own..."

Derlude pushed Elias further down roughly to silence the young Gallione samurai.

"Strange," a younger knight looked around in frustration, the two obviously very agitated, "They said the three of them were headed this way for housing! Did they already leave the city?"

"Then it just compounds their guilt," the other knight, older and gruffer, said with a growl, "Heretics running away. Just like them."

"But is it true?" the first knight seemed to hesitate as he turned to face the other with a troubled expression, "That Elias is a heretic? I can’t believe it...Lord Willfort thought so highly of him."

Derlude had to shove Elias again to prevent him from making a sound at this statement. He was, however, somewhat proud that Tarkon had kept his silence and remained inhumanly immobile since they had hid here.

"Enough," the older knight snapped at his partner, making his younger companion cringe, "You saw the letter from the Glabados Church as well. There can be no mistake. We may still have a chance. They may still be around here. I'll go down that street, you check on that side. Whistle if you see anything."

"Right," the younger knight seemed too nervous to disagree, and the two of them rushed down the same street before splitting up at an intersection. After a few seconds, Derlude deemed it safe to come out as he released his hold on Tarkon and Elias as he walked out onto the street, looking at the street the knights had just rushed down. His arms crossed, he seemed to make a disapproving sound behind his helmet, obviously displeased by the way things were turning out here in Igros. Tarkon joined Derlude in looking down the road with his usual vacant expression, but it was Elias who seemed shocked and agitated.

" ...What the hell is going on?" Elias whispered, and then glared at the two mercenaries, as if they might provide an answer, or they were the cause of it all.

"So Gallione is after us too..." Tarkon whispered to no one in particular. Elias, however, heard this, and, taking cue from the sentence, exploded.

"I don’t get it!" Elias shouted at Tarkon and Derlude, obviously now thinking that they two were at fault, "How did they convince everyone that I’m a heretic and a traitor? I've been serving Lord Willfort loyally for years, and now, with a letter from the Glabados Church or whatever, I'm suddenly a heretic! It doesn’t make sense!"

"Calm down," Tarkon gently set his hands on Elias' shoulders, "It could be a mistake. Or maybe you can report to a higher chain of command and see if they can solve the problem. You're innocent, right? Then you shouldn't have any problems."

Derlude set his own gauntleted hand on Tarkon's shoulder, causing him to look back at the older mercenaries, but Derlude's voice sounded disapproving. "I don't think so," Derlude said in a low voice as he tightened his hold on Tarkon's shoulder, "Not that Elias isn't innocent, but I have a feeling that this isn't some sort of mistake. Someone’s trying to frame us. It would do us much good to get out of the city first and ask questions later."

This post has been edited by bond4154 on 9th June 2006 05:26

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Nine-hundred ninety-nine billion nine-hundered ninety-nine million nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand nine-hundred ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall...