Fan Fiction ❯ Shielded in Broken Armours ❯ Part 1: Song of the Nightingale ( Chapter 1 )
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Fantasy / Adventure | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 11.30.2004 | Updated On: 11.30.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 5.1K | Visits: 216 | Status: Completed
by Alice Montrose
completed July 31, 2004
Chapter One
Sitting in his chair, Marzio listened to the continuous chatter of the other men. As usual, his suggestion would be rejected - but at least he had tried to warn them.
"This is ridiculous," Kelan Loreh-Ven, the King's chief advisor, said. "They will not attack us now - we have more soldiers, superior weapons. Besides, they cannot possibly be aware of our arrival!"
Marzio merely shook his head at the foolish highborn. He was certain that not only did the Demons know they had crossed the border dividing the two lands, but that the enemy also had an advantage in knowing the layout of the land. Even if the Army of Angelia would win the first few battles, that situation would change rapidly.
"They are cowards, and their prince but a child," Kelan continued, casting him a hateful glance. "From what I hear, he's more interested in books than properly running his land. And his Supreme Commander, that Tempesta... women should not be given such positions! All she'll probably care about is not getting blood all over her gown!"
These were two other things Marzio saw differently. Unlike his father, the young Prince of Demonis seemed to know very well what he was doing, even if he had no experience in a real battle. It was shown in his choice for the new Supreme Commander of Demonis - Tempesta Neri-Lokh was one of the best warriors Marzio had encountered in his life. They had both fought in the previous war, and he had seen her kill many on that occasion. By the time the battle had ended over, her armour and weapons had been sully with blood. She was a real challenge to anyone, no matter how skilled her opponent was. Demon female warriors also wore no gowns on a battlefield.
Marzio also knew that, should they be defeated, Lord Kelan would not take any of the blame, and it would all fall on him. Being High Commander of the Angelian Army brought a lot of responsibility on one's shoulder, but nobody bothered to ask him what the best way of handling things was. They didn't even care if more than half the country didn't want another war with Demonis.
It was sad to see King Raresh Teh-Kai of Angelia a puppet in his Court's hands; Princess Selena, King his only child and Marzio's close friend, had frequently complained about how easily her father would bow to Kelan's will. And the nobleman simply didn't stomach Marzio. The general in fact believed that Kelan had come on this expedition only to sabotage all his attempts of leading their forces towards victory. Not to mention the fact that the idea of a new war had been his, in spite of the knowledge that their country was not really prepared for another conflict with Demonis.
But there was nothing Marzio could do about this situation at the moment. He did not have enough power to oppose the War Council's decisions, backed up by the King's agreement on the matter. Except, perhaps, asking his men to be more vigilant from now on, and being constantly prepared in case anything would happen.
It had been nearly thirty days since they had left the capital city of Mnemon at the beginning of the month of Caldas, and here they were now, at the border dividing the two lands. A very long month, if one would ask him... but he couldn't complain. At least, the journey had been pretty much uneventful so far. That was going to change soon, of course. In crossing their own land, no sane creature could have opposed an armed party such as theirs. It had been both an honour and a difficult decision to accept the command when his King had offered it.
Marzio rose from his chair and, excused himself and left the large tent as fast as he could. He didn't like it there, among all those vultures. He looked at the river they had left behind that morning. It was the turning point of their expedition - the border that marked the unknown territory they had entered. The final obstacle between them and the enemy forces.
The High Commander of the Army of Angelia sighed. He looked around him, at the camp they had settled for the night. Not his choice, this one. He didn't like it one bit. He had the strange feeling their every move was being carefully watched. The enemy lands were not a suitable place for setting camp - after all, it was unknown to any Angelian soldier and he had a pretty good idea the enemy would not hesitate to attack. But the War Council had decided to cross the river and set camp in the valley. Under the circumstances, his young age and apparent lack of experience hadn't helped him much. It had been a difficult crossing, so turning back now was no option. If they were attacked, all they could do was hold their ground or escape south.
Out of an inner sense of preservation, he had decided to settle his quarters near the water course, where exposure was less than in other places of the valley. Having friendly territory behind him was a bit of a comfort. The tents of the Lords, on the other hand, had been placed near the rocky cliffs on the north side. A bad choice, because a simple rock fall would probably prove fatal. Not that he would miss them much... But orders were orders.
He strolled through the camp, noting the state of alertness most of his soldiers showed. They bowed as he passed, although of course it wasn't necessary. He had grown up together with most of them, the only difference being that he had the highest rank, both by birth and - now - by status. But he was not going to change his relationship with his comrades. He was many things, but not stupid.
He kept walking, checking the positions of his men, then the guard posts and everything else he could think of. By the time he found himself standing in front of his own tent, it was nearly dusk. The sun was now setting behind the breeze-blown waters of the Mauri, and the entire valley was shrouded in a deep orange light.
The sun's reflection in the water reminded him of an earlier time, when, still a child, he had watched the sunset with his father. Less than a month after that, his father had been killed. He had decided to live up to his memory, become a great warrior. It had been a hard path, but in the end he had succeeded. However, those days of youthful carelessness and freedom were something he had come to appreciate and miss.
The general groaned. He couldn't let himself think about these things, not now. They were at war, and an attack would probably take place soon. All he could do was hope it wouldn't come that evening or the following day. If it did, it would prove a disaster.
While turning his head from the now-almost-gone sun, Marzio's eyes caught a small reflection of light on the rocky wall's top. He thought he'd also seen a silhouette hidden under the trees, surveying the camp. But, before he could take a better look, it was gone.
He wasn't exactly sure what it had been - an enemy spy perhaps? But that would mean that this spy was wearing an armour - and no decent scout would do such a task in heavy battle armour. It was a job that required freedom of movement. And though wings did provide some sort of flying ability, it wouldn't hold for a long period of time and it was particularly tiresome. Unless, of course, the enemy camp was nearby...
He took another deep breath. He didn't want to think about that alternative. It would mean they were all doomed. His own pride and sense of self-preservation was fighting these thoughts. It was probably nothing, after all. Just some leaves glowing in the last rays of light, nothing more.
'You need a break,' he told himself. Besides, there was no way for a patrol to search the cliff for any sign of intruders. It was too steep to climb.
He went to his own tent, where a hot meal and a bed were waiting for him. His servant helped him remove the heavy silver-plated armour he wore. He ate in silence, recalling why he had refused to share a table with the Lords; he was sick of seeing their faces and listening to their arguments and preconceptions about Demonis. None of them had faced a Demon soldier in battle - the only ones they had seen had been those poor war prisoners that had been captured during the last expedition - farmers, not warriors. He laughed bitterly thinking about the surprise those abject dust bags would have on the battlefield. Provided they decided to show up at all, which he seriously doubted.
His arm hurt a little, reminding him of his previous encounter with the enemy. Almost six years had passed; he had been a young major back then, but the memories were vivid and somewhat frightening... The battle screams, the old Demon Prince and his Supreme Commander, leading their forces against them. Tempesta watching her father fall, and slaying everyone in her way until the general's killer was lying at her feet with his head cut off. (That sight had told Marzio more about the origins of the Angelians' general fear of the Demons than any of those idiotic legends he had heard as a child.) Then the prince had been injured, and Tempesta had called the retreat. The Angelians had claimed it as their victory, and had beheaded all the dead and wounded enemies. No Demon soldier had survived - but it was the Angelians that had been truly defeated. The Angelian Army knew it, Marzio knew it, and even the King did, though he had never admitted to it.
And what would happen now, only the Gods could know.
Marzio finished his frugal meal and lay down on the wooden frame that was his bed. The hard mattress and pillow were not very comfortable, but he was used to them. He didn't want his soldiers to think command had changed him too much, and he tried to keep their standards, as far as it was possible.
He closed his eyes, wondering if there was a chance to get out of this alive. If he did, he would settle down finally. Preferably away from the Court and its machinations; he longed to see the old family estate in the hills of Pythia.
He would also get himself a decent lover.
Of course, a man of his position would have been expected to marry and have children. But his choice of career had allowed him to choose between that and a life of celibacy. He had picked the latter, leaving the breeding part to his sister. He preferred men anyway; they were more honest than all those back-stabbing females most Angelian men considered inferior.
That reminded him once more of the difference between the Angelians and the warrior Demons. Not only did they consider women equal to men, but they also allowed them to join the army. And, though they seldom chose this, it was well-known that women warriors were much respected. Tempesta was, again, the perfect example.
He wondered why the woman haunted his thoughts so much. Maybe it was that, this time, they would confront as equals; as far as he was concerned, she was just as good as he was on the battlefield. And, of course, that fact should make things more interesting.
But the Demon Supreme Commander wasn't his biggest concern. It was the one behind her, the shadow figure he knew very little about. The young Prince of Demonis. Marzio had heard numerous rumours about Prince Nicolas Sagni-Dor's son; however, none of these could be confirmed because of the lack of diplomatic relationships between Angelia and Demonis after the war. However, the mysterious Demon prince was perhaps the favourite gossip subject at the Royal Court of Angelia.
The rumours varied from harmless to outrageous; the ladies, for example, had been appalled to hear the prince supposedly had huge bat-like wings, a bull's head covered in thick fur, and eyes that burned everything they looked upon. Marzio had merely shrugged at the exaggerations. What had interested him was the fact that the young sovereign had apparently spent many years in some hidden mountain retreat. And while courtiers had been pleased to see this as proof of the Demon's horrible appearance, Marzio had the feeling the 'retreat' was in fact none other than the Monastery of Dreak, training camp of Demonis' elite warriors. The thought was very distressing, for among the little Angelians knew about the Dreak warriors was the fact that they would die for their country and their prince, asking no questions and causing maximal damage in the process.
This, in turn, had Marzio wonder about other things. The new prince was considered a puppet in High Priest Lucifer's hands, just like King Teh-Kai was a puppet for the Angelian nobles. But if the prince had been trained as a Dreak, then this hypothesis would be false; and besides, the High Priest's strategies usually did not imply waiting for the enemy to come to you, but a quick attack as soon as the situation permitted it. Lord Lucifer was one who enjoyed a blood bath, and the situation for a Demon attack had already presented itself at least twice. Nothing had happened; and since Marzio was certain that the Demons knew they had crossed the river, it only meant they had a new strategist.
The worse thing was that the Angelian general didn't know what to expect. And would he see the Prince of Demonis leading his troops in battle, like his father had before him, or would the man rather remain in Aquiline, wait for the result of the first battle and then figure out what was to be done?
Marzio finally couldn't fight exhaustion anymore, so he closed his eyes and abandoned himself to a sleep that was not restful.
The Demon emissary approached the Angelian camp, wondering if there was any danger that he had not prepared for. It was, of course, most foolish to expose himself in this manner. Still, strangely, he felt safe. Not that the archers posted on top of the cliffs, out of sight, had anything to do with it...
But this was a matter of pride. And, in his particular case, some pleasure as well. If the Angelian High Commander was anything like he had been told, he would consider himself honoured to fight such an extraordinary opponent.
Marzio Zain-Reil. The General was member of an ancient family, with a long history of being honest and true to their word. Facing him didn't worry the Demon too much; it was the others he had to watch out for - the Lords of the War Council. The description he had been given of that pack of hungry wolves reminded him too much of the Court in Aquiline.
Naturally, General Neri-Lokh had been against this. She didn't want him there at all. She feared for his safety. But he had managed to calm her down somehow, and had promised to be extra-careful.
The camp was getting closer. Time for the show to begin.
He unfolded the yellow emissary's flag and waved it, being careful to be just out of the range of Angelian archers. Not that he really expected them all to be awake - it was still early in the morning.
His signal was answered promptly, so he approached the camp. He was met half-way by a squad of riders; the General's guards? He briefly spoke to their leader, a young and promising-looking captain, being determined not to reveal anything more than his mission required. Long years of training had taught him to be suspicious of everybody, friend or foe alike. Finally, he was granted safe passage to the camp and back. This was a good sign, though he expected an attack anyway. Still, he didn't want to think too much about it. Having your head spinning was not the best approach when negotiation was involved.
He was escorted through the narrow path between the rows of tents (it had seemed larger from up the cliff, he learned), and he tried to memorize all he could. He noted the Lords' quarters were raised really close to the massive rock wall. That could be used as an advantage, if necessary. The General's tent, though, was located on the bank of the river. Much easier to protect.
Dark expressions accompanied him on his route. He understood these men - they had no desire to come here to die. To them, his walking around alive was unthinkable.
Finally, they reached their destination. The guards posted themselves around him when he dismounted, swords drawn. He didn't let them intimidate him. He was used to being underestimated; now, though the situation was a complete opposite, things went exactly the same. He wondered if General Zain-Reil would trust him enough to talk to him in private.
During breakfast, Marzio received most unusual news. He had partly expected the Demons to send some scouts, or perhaps an emissary party. But here he was, being told that an emissary from the Prince of Demonis requested an audience, and that the man had come alone. Marzio was a bit shocked to hear there was no sign of any other Demons for at least a mile away.
Still debating if this man was either a fool or the bravest warrior he had ever met, Marzio pulled on his uniform, considering the armour unnecessary, and stepped out of his tent just in time to see Lord Kelan approach. 'What's he doing up so early in the morning?' he wondered. He decided to ignore the man for now and take a better look at the enemy emissary instead.
From what he could tell, the Demon was lean and tall, and not extremely muscular. His built seemed more that of an athlete than of a professional fighter, but his pose suggested that he was in the right place and knew exactly what he was doing. He wore the red uniform and golden armour of the Prince's Personal Guard; his black wings were folded back, blending with the dark cloak on his shoulders, feathered ends nearly touching the bare ground at their feet. A golden helmet covered the officer's face, and Marzio could barely make out the man's eyes. They were dark and burning, the flames inside them almost making him back up a step or two.
Almost.
It was a bit unnerving, the way this man stood in front of them, defenceless against an entire army, yet so confident and proud. He had already made a very good impression on both Marzio and the guards; they all admired such self-control and bravery.
Kelan, on the other hand, seemed to find things quite different. He stepped forward and addressed the Demon on a tone that plainly showed his antipathy, "Well, and what is this? A spy in our camp? What do you think you're doing here, you scum?"
The enemy officer - for he was clearly an officer, one didn't send a lesser soldier on such errands - wisely chose not to answer the older nobleman's provocation and looked away. Receiving no answer, and thus considering himself ignored, the chief advisor carried on, "Maybe we should just kill you and send your head back to that coward prince of yours. That would teach you your place, Demon trash."
A disgusted sound was the only reply. But, this time, the officer's eyes met Kelan's, and the old man drew back several steps, pale and terrified. Then the eyes fixed on Marzio, and the revulsion and hatred he could plainly see seemed to gradually change into something else. What it was, he could not say.
The Demon addressed Marzio directly, in a soft yet firm voice that said he was used to command. "I am here on behalf of the Prince of Demonis. I carry a message for the High Commander of the Angelian Army. Will he receive me in private?"
Gaining a little confidence of his own, Marzio stepped forward and addressed the stranger in the same courteous manner the man had used. "I am General Zain-Reil. I will receive the emissary of the Prince, provided he leaves his weapons out here. They will be returned to him on his departure."
There was some slight amusement in the officer's eyes. A nod was his answer; with slow and gracious movements, the man disarmed himself, handing his sword and dagger to an Angelian guard positioned nearby. He then followed Marzio inside the tent, and more guards were posted outside. The general didn't want any unpleasant visitors, especially after seeing the look on Kelan's face when he had accepted.
Once inside the tent, Marzio became even more curious about his guest. The Demon scrutinized the environment, nodding in approval several times, which pleased the Angelian to a certain extent.
Marzio took his place behind the table, which had been cleaned of his earlier meal's remains, and invited the emissary to have a seat across from him. Nodding his acceptance, the officer proceeded to remove his helmet, finally uncovering his face.
The sight that met his eyes was breathtaking. From the way the man had handled himself outside Marzio had thought he would be at least of middle age; but by the looks of it, he was about five years younger than Marzio himself. And he was beautiful, in a male sort of way, with a smooth face, a small nose and a gracious mouth. His eyes were unusual, deep burgundy in colour and burning in his skull like pools of ruby stone, holding much more knowledge than one would expect at such a young age. But most amazing were the pale skin and his sleek reddish hair, which probably fell to the man's waist but had been braided in order to be hidden under the helmet, loose strands framing the fetching face. It seemed as frail and delicate as a spider's web, and all Marzio wanted to do was reach out and touch it.
Marzio was left speechless, and with the notion that, had they not been enemies, he would have taken this young officer to bed without a second thought.
He had probably been staring for quite a while when the Demon smiled briefly in complicity. "The sight pleases you, I take it?" he said, his soft tenor filled with more than a hint of humour.
The general coughed, trying to hide his discomfort at being caught staring shamelessly. "I did not mean to offend you," he offered. "I was merely thinking it is most unusual for a young man like you to be sent on such dangerous duties."
A flash through the claret eyes made Marzio realize that the Demon had probably taken greater offence in those words than in his stare, and he wanted to take them back. But before he could open his mouth again, the man spoke, "I can assure you, General, my rank in the Army is high enough. I am fully competent to be here today." His gaze softened somewhat, and he shrugged. "It is not your custom, I suppose."
'Blaming it on cultural differences? Is he trying to avoid a quarrel?' Marzio asked himself as his unexpected guest sat down in the chair across the table, and tilted his head to the left, returning the intense study he had been the subject of. Then, "May I proceed with my task?"
Marzio found himself more and more amazed by the strange warrior. "Of course. But first allow me to apologize for any offence Lord Kelan's words may have brought to you. He was not exactly a diplomat."
"It is not your place to apologize, General. I believe his lordship can do it himself, if he really wishes to." The elegant face then turned into a mask, showing no emotion whatsoever while he began to deliver the message. "My Lord Prince sends you his greetings. In spite of this most unexpected visit," and way in which he said it let Marzio understand it was not at all that unexpected, "His Highness is pleased to see that his neighbours have not forgotten our land. I am here to deliver a warning. Should you proceed any further without authorization, the conflict between our two armed parties will be imminent."
It was just as Marzio had feared. Not only had their arrival been anticipated, but also the battle had been carefully prepared in advance. There was to be no sign when the attack would come, and he doubted the emissary would reveal such information, even under torture. He gasped, and suddenly felt the pressing desire to be somewhere else. Home was his first choice on the list.
He thought again of the young officer's face as he had spoken. No sign of emotion except in his eyes, which were boiling with the same fire Marzio could not identify.
"Am I to deliver a reply?" the young man asked, pulling him out of his musings.
The general leaned back in his chair. "I must consult with the War Council before I can give one," he said pensively. "But my assumption is that the answer will be no."
It was the young man's time to take a deep breath. He suddenly seemed sad, and his eyes met Marzio's, fixing him in his chair. "Even if you are the High Commander, you really don't have much to say in the matter, do you?"
Marzio shook his head. "It is not my call. His Majesty ordered the attack, and I obey his will and that of the War Council. My hands are tied." The disappointment in Marzio's own voice made it clearly understood that he did not wish this war.
And the Demon returned his concern. "I feared it was so the moment I saw the looks on your soldiers' faces. And there is no way to stop the blood shed."
Marzio was getting unsettling thoughts. Perhaps the Demons were just as tired of the continuous fighting as the Angelians were. Perhaps the Prince of Demonis wanted peace, and his subjects agreed on the matter. A dozen suppositions spun in his head, and he closed his eyes trying to maintain whatever measure of control he had left.
He opened his eyes to find the Demon emissary looking at him in a very disturbing manner. Only now did he realize how much influence the man's simple presence had had on him. The prince had chosen his emissary well. The young officer's natural charisma couldn't have passed unnoticed, and Marzio admired his determination to accomplish his mission properly. 'Dreak,' Marzio's mind screamed. He was Dreak, pure and simple. A beautiful man turned into a lethal weapon.
It occurred to him the officer might be waiting for an answer. But he wasn't, not really. Instead, he spoke again, and the words surprised the general. "Then I can only hope you and I will not meet face to face on the battlefield." Another barely visible smile flew on the lush lips. "Finding a good leader for the army is a hard task, and you seem to fit the part just fine. It would be a shame to kill such a valuable man." There was respect in the Demon's voice, and it meant a great deal to Marzio, coming from an enemy officer. Then the emissary added teasingly, "Under other circumstances, I would have enjoyed having a different type of discussion with you."
His tone of voice implied the discussion he had in mind was not exactly of a very ethical kind, and it was confirmed when the man smiled impishly. "I believe now comes the part where you place me under arrest and kill me?"
That idea suddenly became inconceivable to Marzio. "No, I... You can safely go back to your prince and tell him... tell him that though I don't know the Council's decision yet, I can only assume there will be war."
"I understand." The young Demon stood up graciously and approached him. He pulled out something from under his now empty sword sheath and handed it to Marzio. It was a very sharp dagger, with a curious design on its hilt. "And I suggest you take better care, General. You never know where the blow may come from. Your guards didn't even bother to check my garments for a hidden weapon when I came in." Then he picked up his helmet, placed it on his head and left the tent without further comment.
Marzio threw the dagger on the bed and followed him shortly. Security had to be enforced, he decided.
As he got outside he saw the officer mount his black stallion. He ordered his Second-in-Command to make sure the Demon would make it safely past their lines. Then, he realized he didn't even know the man's name.
"Excuse me, Meris. One more thing."
Hearing the honorary title given to Dreak warriors, the helmeted face turned to face the general. Marzio had been right, then.
"Your name, if I might ask," he said.
The helmet muffled the tender voice, but the words came out clearly. "The name is Ignis." Then the Demon left in a cloud of dust, escorted by Ceni and his guards.