Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Visions of Peace ❯ Eye of the Storm ( Chapter 6 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

The Sixth Chapter - Eye of the Storm

Edgar closed his eyes and relaxed. The soft grasses beneath him were comfortable despite the dirt being a bit damp. He didn't mind though. It felt great to have sunlight shining on his face.

Everything had calmed down ever since the clouds started to disperse. Initially, the rains were welcome. After three days of constant downpour though, it was somewhat depressing. Still, there was the promise of sunshine after the storm and everyone had waited anxiously. When the first rays of light broke through the clouds, there had been a great celebration in the market. The merry-making lasted for more than two days before Nestil reverted back to its tranquil and serene state. The bustling masses were still there but the threat of impeding doom had passed. The newly arrived Imperials had helped in that regard. Nearly three hundred men now policed the overcrowded city. Their enlarged presence had brought order in a short period of time, eliminating much of the crime that the local militia could not handle.

Many of the refugees had begun to entertain the notion of staying in Nestil permanently. The Empire had already started laying the foundation of a barracks for their moderately-sized garrison; it was a promise of permanent protection against future monster rampages. With the roads to the south secured, supplies were no longer fetching astronomical prices. Everything was almost back to normal.

Edgar scoffed at that thought; the world would never be normal again. He had heard the rumors and whispers of the holocaust in the south. The civil war that gripped the Empire was beyond the scale that he or Marcus ever envisioned. Even if the refugees from the Core had been embellishing greatly, it would still mean thousands dead and perhaps some couple tens of thousands starving at the moment.

He never imagined that Gestahl's death would have such devastating consequences. Perhaps if they had guessed the extent of madness that would grip the Empire's generals then they, as Returners, could have planned ahead. At least the north was safe, Edgar acknowledged. Smaller city-states like Jidoor and Nikeah could sleep soundly. A repeated Doma-esque invasion was unlikely while the Empire tore itself apart.

The war was still his concern, no matter how improbable an invasion was. He was a King and the sovereignty of his kingdom was of the utmost importance. Civil unrest in the Empire might be initially good for Figaro but the outcome would decide their fate. He would have to continue working with the Returners to see what they could do. A military conflict had to be avoided at all costs. The power of the Empire was too vast for any nation to stand against alone.

Nestil was a crystal clear message of power to any that entertained notions that the Empire had been weakened. A small, tactically unimportant town so far from civilization had deserved a soldier for every ten civilians. It didn't matter that Nestil was now a hub of trade in Northern Tzen. Imperial manpower was vast beyond Edgar's worst nightmares.

"King Edgar," Cyan's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Edgar sat up. He fixed his messy blond hair and suppressed the urge to yawn. "What is it Cyan?"

No response. Edgar looked up and noticed the concern on Cyan's face. Had the former Doma Knight known of Edgar's thoughts, he would be frowning in the same manner. After all, Cyan had seen first-hand a small measure of the Empire's military might. Unlike the excursions to Narshe and Castle Figaro, Doma had been invaded by three divisions. Not even South Figaro had seen the numbers fielded against Southern Doma.

In fact, Edgar wondered how Castle Doma had held out as long as it did. The amount of power the Heavy Magitek Armors had was frightening. Siana and Davis had lectured him at length on the elite units of the Magitek Armor Corps. Those machinations could singly mow down entire battalions in the open field.

But the concern on Cyan's face was not of future conflict. Edgar set aside his dispiriting thoughts, though his mood remained dark. "What happened?" he asked.

"A degree of worriment," was Cyan's obscure response.

-=-

Kenneth was looking far more rested than the last time. The doctor was no more than two or three years older than Edgar, but the stress of his lifestyle had aged him considerably. His brown hair was frizzled, his beard unkempt, and his clothes were wrinkled and dirty.

"It showed up this morning on my doorstep," Kenneth explained. "I have no idea how it got here, but here it is."

A small package containing the herb Kenneth needed was now sitting on the glistening wooden table in Garrett's meeting room. There was just the three of them in the room. Garrett had left in the morning to find a friend.

The box itself was a complete mystery. A single piece of paper had been attached to it, the signature at the bottom clearly Locke's handwriting. Yet the entire situation made little sense and the note itself clarified nothing.

"Is it the right herb?" Edgar asked. If the box actually was from Locke, they could not simply discard the contents like the doctor suggested.

Kenneth shook his head. "Well," he said, "not exactly. It is laryl, but I'm not really comfortable with the situation." He was somewhat edgy, as if he wasn't sure how to explain the problem.

"What do you mean? It's not the right herb, but it is?" Edgar asked again.

Cyan was off to the side, his arms folded as he judged Kenneth's reaction.

Three days ago, they had witnessed Kenneth speaking with some officers from the local garrison. Although it was expected, Edgar wanted to keep a closer eye on the doctor. He was not a Returner like they were and unlike Garrett, there was no reason for the doctor to keep their presence a secret. Before he left, Locke had given Edgar a secret letter. He had written a short explanation of Garrett's previous encounter with the Empire. If the story was true, and Locke seemed to indicate so, then Garrett could be trusted.

Kenneth, on the other hand...

"The problem with these herbs is that they can easily be mixed with deadlier substances; especially when they have been prepared like this one has..."

"You're afraid that this might be fake, especially since the package only comes with a note saying it's from Locke," Edgar finished. "Can you do anything with the stuff?"

Kenneth shrugged. "One day, maybe two. That's how long it takes for me to make sure it's pure."

Edgar nodded. "Alright, then we'll leave it in your hands."

Kenneth stood up and took the package. He removed the letter. "Then I'll take my leave. Have a good day," Kenneth said before he left.

After the front door closed shut, Cyan stood up and retrieved the letter. It was on a yellowed parchment and had been sealed by a dot of red wax. They had already read its contents at least thrice over.

Cyan scanned it again while Edgar pondered the situation. It was too soon for Locke to make the return trip, considering the problem with chocobo-riding. Even had he stolen a mount, he would not have secretly delivered the herb without contacting them. Terra and Relm were still in his company. Locke might have been brash, but he was no fool.

He was a fool, but he wasn't irredeemably stupid, Edgar corrected himself. If the package was trustworthy then there were a few possibilities that remained, all of them bad. Edgar frowned. If it was a fake, then they had a dilemma to confront.

"What do you think," Cyan asked.

Edgar sighed. "This week has gotten worse and worse with each passing day," he said. "Even if the package was real, then Locke is in trouble of some sort. If the package is fake, then we're in trouble. Either way, someone is going to get hurt."

Cyan nodded. He had already thought about both possibilities and hoped the box was fake. It would mean that someone was spying on them in Nestil and that could be handled. If it were real... Cyan scowled. The thought of Relm being in danger boiled his blood.

Edgar stood up with a frustrated look on his face. "I hope Sabin is having an easier time than we are."

-=-

Sabin looked behind them. It was not an action out of paranoia, he could feel whether someone was following them or not. No, it was more of an act to ease her worries. Seeing nothing behind them, he hurried to catch her fleeting form.

Siana was tired. Sweat and dirt ran in streaks as she wiped at her brow. Her hood was still on despite the blazing heat. She kicked a rock in anger, silently cursing Edgar at the same time. After the debacle in Nestil, they had settled on an amicable solution after much debate. They could not kill Godric. He was too important and would be protected by more than they could safely handle.

However, Godric knew that both Siana and Sabin were in Nestil. The man was utterly loyal and incredibly stubborn. Siana cursed Sabin again for his idiocy. Why he had failed to kill Godric when he had the chance, she didn't know. They couldn't bargain or negotiate with Godric and as long as Strago and Setzer were injured, they could not outrun him. Sabin had really screwed up.

The solution was in Godric's ignorance. He did not know of Edgar, Cyan, or their injured comrades. Their plan was simple. Sabin and Siana would leave Nestil and leave a trail that could be followed by a sufficiently devoted enough tracker. That was easy; Siana had reiterated how unrelenting Godric could be. His whole life could be summed with that one word. As the youngest son of a poor rural family, he had struggled to help make ends meet. To that end, he joined the Imperial Army when he was fourteen. It was frowned on for such young children to be in the military, but he was a quick learner and eager to please. He had a promising career after he caught the eye of a Magitek pilot who had recently lost his own son.

His hard-headed and determined attitude had allowed him to perfect his Magitek piloting skills until he had command of the most powerful weapon in the Imperial arsenal: the Heavy-Siege Armor. That same outlook had landed him in the Imperial Special Forces, and then one of the few pilots deployed in Doma; a true honor considering the scarcity of heavy artillery during that war.

Now that same relentless drive was being used against him. Edgar had detailed out their strategy. They could not leave obvious details; Godric was too smart for that. He would instantly see through their game and realize they had something to hide. Instead, they were subtle but made mistakes. When they stayed in a tavern to rest the night, they talked too much. When they asked for directions, they left favorable impressions on the refugees. Edgar had brainstormed an idea of having Siana look paranoid, not difficult considering what they were doing, and had her wearing her hood regardless of the weather or time of day. Her brilliant red hair, a fiery shade that normally caught the eyes of roving men, was hidden under unassuming cloth. Yet strands peaked out underneath the cheap wool and everyone that noticed her had remembered it.

It was a devious, brilliant idea. Edgar was a genius, Siana acknowledged that. As they made their way to Halstead under the beating midday sun, she also acknowledged that he was also the dealer of heartless and sadistic punishments. She wiped her brow again as sweat ran down one cheek. Forcing them to travel together was nothing more than thinly veiled retribution.

Siana knew that Edgar blamed her for their sudden troubles. He was a charismatic man and had hid it well, but she could still feel his condescending eye on her back. After all, he was both a noble and a rebel. How much he must have hated her: an Imperial commoner.

It's too bad your own flesh and blood is so unrelentingly thickheaded, Siana spat on the mental image of Edgar Figaro.

"Halstead should be close now. Considering this heat, I'd say we're nearing a desert," Sabin remarked. He was carrying a large pack on his back, the same as the one on her back. His muscled form was covered by a thin sweat-drenched shirt, his cloak tossed over one shoulder carelessly.

Siana caught herself before she snapped a witty retort. She had quickly learned that silence was preferable to talking with Sabin. If they ever talked, the discussion would quickly devolve into a heated argument about the Empire. It was best if they didn't talk.

Over a decade ago, Halstead was a border town between the Empire and the two kingdoms of Tzen and Maranda. Despite the desert encroaching on the city, its enviable position made it into a prime trading center. The town grew in size until the Empire invaded Tzen. Then Marandan traders stopped going to Halstead, too many were afraid of the Empire's next move. It took years for relations to be repaired and now it was the only city in the Empire that could claim to be built on nothing more than trade.

Refugees from southern Tzen villages had fled here despite the sweltering heat. There was a very large garrison stationed in Halstead, since it had been feeding one of the supply trains of the Empire during the Marandan War. After the kingdom collapsed and the need for supplies diminished, the garrison had stayed for the strategic value of the city.

Now it was once again the forefront of war.

It was impossible to keep spies out of the city with so many refugees; the Imperial garrison commander had known this and did not even try to keep the unruly folk from entering Halstead. Instead, every building of military importance was heavily guarded and regular patrols of Magitek units made their rounds of the dusty city. Hours away from the city, Sabin had noticed quite a few sentries that were keeping watch for any possible incursions from the unfriendly Maranda-occupation troops.

They had talked to many a refugee fleeing from either small southern towns in Tzen or escaping the civil war that gripped the Core of the Empire. Siana was heartbroken upon hearing the news, and even Sabin could not ignore the plight of those caught in the monstrous holocaust. Disease, starvation, monsters and heartless soldiers ran unchecked in the Core, slaughtering thousands and leaving countless more at the doorstep of death. Most of the refugees carried little more than clothes, and some did not even have that luxury. Others were sickly and there were many traveling injured. They had escaped the dangers of the war with little more than their lives and now blindly sought protection in Halstead.

Sabin and Siana entered the city with little effort. It was amazing that Godric had not yet alerted all troops in the area of their criminal presence. They counted themselves lucky that the Empire was in such disorder; saved due to poor communication being maintained during these times of war. In peacetime, Godric would have sent a message to any city they could have escaped to. They would have been caught entering a village for supplies and held until the Magitek pilot could catch up.

Still, Sabin and Siana could not take the chance that Godric had sent word but the Imperials were too undermanned to care. They shrank away from the soldiers on duty and gave the Magitek armors wide-berth. They were leaving a trail for Godric to follow, not playing a game of chicken with the Imperial Army.

A promising tavern caught Siana's eye. It was not a run-down roadhouse like some of the places they had passed, but it was certainly not where the upper-class would venture. There were enough ill-behaved customers at the bar for a few to be picked up by Imperial soldiers and questioned, yet not enough of them to test their luck against Sabin. That was one of his few positive traits, Siana had noted a while ago. He could be quite intimidating.

Siana removed her hood and instantly attracted the attentions of some of the most revolting men ever born. They were disgusting trash. It had been years since she was on regular patrol, and even then she had rarely dealt with their kind. Piloting had spoiled her, Siana thought to herself. She gripped the dagger at her belt for reassurance and knew that she had two more in each boot if things got rough.

Siana frowned as she watched Sabin scowl and scare a few of the men back to the protective embrace of their ale. He cracked his knuckles and gestured at the few that didn't back off. She sighed. Aggression would only make the situation worse.

They found an empty table near the back of the establishment. Rickety old wood that was neither comfortable nor pleasant was still welcome. Her sore legs thanked her as she rested. Sabin ordered drinks in the meanwhile. His question about a place to stay caught the serving boy off-guard, and the kid ran off to find the owner of the bar.

A large man, not as muscular as Sabin but just as bulky, greeted them with a friendly smile and two glasses of water. He sat down despite being uninvited. "My lad tells me you're looking for a place to stay," he kept his voice low and made a deliberate gesture at the bar. None of the ruffians had heard; they were now too busy with their drinks. "That's pretty gutsy, considering the type that come here."

Mid-forties or so, he looked to be a smart man but cursed with a weight problem. But he had muscle hidden beneath that flab and could probably hold his own in a bar fight. The owner was a man that could be trusted, so long as they did not bring trouble. Siana looked for evidence of a weapon. None that she could find; that meant he was well-respected in his tavern. An interesting man, she judged.

"I don't really care about them," Sabin replied in an equally hushed voice. "I know it'll be difficult to find lodging at inns, too many coming in from the Core." He had grown quite comfortable with the slang that most Imperial citizens used. Siana had worked hard to remove the Figarian accent as well. His unique pronunciation would have alerted a clever man. They had to stay in Halstead for a while, so she couldn't have let such hints slip.

The tavern owner nodded knowingly. "That's right, it's a shithole down there -- forgive my language girl," he looked over at Siana for forgiveness. "Damned monsters are wrecking everything in sight ever since that accursed island flew over us. I knew it was a bad omen the day I saw it, that's what I told my lad, and then the Death Beams, hellrains, darkness, monsters..." He let loose a string of curses that almost made Siana smile. "I have never been happier to see those black metal beasts of the Imperials, that's for sure."

"Well that's why we came here. Safety in the city," Sabin acknowledged. "So do you have any rooms available?"

The tavern owner nodded. "I've got one left, it only has one bed but I'm sure that's no problem," he winked.

Siana felt her cheeks redden with rage at the implication.

"It's locked pretty tightly too, good since you have a lady with you. But usually my lad brings his wenches to that room, so he'll be mighty angry I'm renting it out."

Sabin understood. He was looking for a reason to give them the room. This was basically bartering. "Well we're thinking about staying at least a week, so how much are you asking?"

"Two thousand."

"Wow," Siana whispered. "That's insane." The place could not have fetched more than thirty gil a night, much less three hundred.

"Only if you throw in meals and give us a hand if there's trouble," Sabin said.

"I don't want any fights in my bar," the tavern owner frowned, "but you don't seem like the type to purposely pick them, no matter how big you are." He broke into a grand smile. "Done!" His arms spread extravagantly as he stood up. "I'll be back with your keys..." he trailed off, waiting for a name.

"Dale," Sabin replied. "Dale Telford."

"Glad to meet you Dale. Call me Bill."

Siana waited until the tavern owner was out of earshot before speaking. "Why would you pay such a crazy price?" she asked quietly. "It can't be all that difficult to find another place to house us for even half that price."

Sabin sipped from his glass of water. "He's a good man, I can tell from his attitude. Honest and hardworking, he won't deceive us or sell our names for any amount of money."

She glared at him. "I could see he's a good person, despite his efforts to hide it behind all that bulk. I just meant that you could have haggled and saved us some money."

"It's just a tiny bit of money," Sabin shrugged.

Siana turned her nose up into the air. Typical snobbish attitude, she should have expected no less from the brother of a King. What did that make him? She wondered. Her knowledge of royalty was quite limited, but she supposed he was a prince, or duke, or...

"And it's not even yours, it's Edgar's," Sabin continued. "Probably better to not argue over little things like a few hundred gil. Not if we plan on staying here for a while."

... a spoiled brat who had never had to make every last gil count; never gone hungry because there wasn't enough money to afford food; never known poverty in his life.

Silence settled in between them. Sabin sipped at his water noisily. "This will be the best spot to stay to give Godric a chance to catch up," he mused.

"That's why I chose it," Siana snapped back. Halstead was a busy city and with the world the way it was, she knew it would have been easy to slip in and out without effort. "You should look for a good driver in the meantime, it will take a while to find one with enough courage to cross the desert and take us deeper into Maranda."

Sabin finished his water. "You better be right about going that far south," he lowered his voice but the tone was no less threatening. "The refugees haven't exactly been praising the troops in Maranda."

Siana folded her arms and gave him a disdainful glare. "Well of the two of us, my advice isn't the one that got us into this mess."

Sabin returned the glare. "Just try not murder anyone here."

Siana let the comment slide. The spoiled noble probably wouldn't let anyone else have the last word.

-=-

They rode in silence. Everyone was on alert ever since the previous day's encounter with the dragon. The three Imperial soldiers remained in their formation, protecting Locke and Terra in the center of a triangle.

Once they had ridden past the border and into the Wilds, Farin had grown far more cautious. He regularly rode ahead of the group, scouting their surroundings and making sure of their safety.

The Wilds was a swath of land between the vast Ocean and the Kavanagh Mountain range. The area was unrelentingly hostile. The ground was rocky and dry, even the hardiest of weeds fought for their life here. Farming was out of the question and that meant no settlements. Beaches were non-existent, much of the coast consisted of a dizzyingly high cliffs. No boats could dock and that meant the region was useless to the Empire.

Monsters roamed the unpatrolled wastes and now the place was as barbaric as the Veldt. The Wilds lived up to its name.

Monsters were not the only threat. Ignoring the area did not mean complete abandonment. Spies and shadow operations worked in the countryside. Farin stated that he had a few men in the area. Locke's inquiry on what those soldiers were doing was met with a menacing stare. It was not his business, Farin replied.

Locke did not press the matter.

Donnach and Reinhardt had solemn dispositions. Their cheerful attitude faded as quickly as one would put out a candle. Eagle-eyes watched the hillsides regularly lest they be ambushed.

Locke had noticed that both men treated him with kinder words ever since they had been cleared of assassinating Leo Christophe. As for their treatment of Terra, it had always been courteous and well-mannered. But after her display of might against the dragon, that demeanor had been tempered with a dash of discretion.

Suddenly, Farin stopped his chocobo in front, his hand signaling for the group to do the same. Locke wondered what the problem was; he saw nothing ahead of them.

"Flanks," Farin ordered.

Both Donnach and Reinhardt spurred their mounts into action, dashing off in opposite directions.

"You two," Farin turned around. "Stay here, don't move, and don't act. If you're in danger, hold your position or head back," the soldier then spurred his chocobo. "Whatever you do, don't charge forward!" he yelled before his mount took him over the hill.

Unexpectedly left alone, Locke nervously glanced about. "Well this is surprising," he commented.

Terra nodded. "I don't think anything is nearby," she said. "I wonder what worries him."

Locke shrugged. This was the first time in many days that he could speak with Terra openly without being watched by Imperials. He took the chance before it slipped away. "What do you think about Farin?"

A gust of cold wind blew between them, causing Terra to tighten the brown cloak over her leather armor. Strands of her dyed blond hair tickled her face before she brushed them away. Her blue eyes gazed ahead, as if she could see Farin from her position atop a chocobo.

"He reminds me more and more of Leo," Terra said at last.

Locke nodded. "Yeah, he has those same mannerisms, although he's a lot blunter."

"We never fought at Leo's side," Terra said with a hint of regret. "I think there wouldn't be much difference."

Locke had not meant to bring the conversation to their fallen friend. Fortunately, something had been on his mind for the last day and it seemed like a good time to ask it. After all, she was far more responsive today than any other time in the past month. "Are you alright?" Seeing Terra's quizzical look, he elaborated. "You almost got yourself killed yesterday. Why did you freeze when the dragon was attacking us?"

Terra looked away. "Sorry about that," she said.

Locke rubbed his shoulder idly and brought his chocobo around to see Terra's expression. Though he had been burned by the dragon, the only real injury was to his arm. It was still hurting from when he had jumped off his chocobo in haste.

Terra looked miserable. The question had left her dejected. He felt awful for asking the question and tried to redeem himself. "Listen," Locke said, "we've been through a lot lately and it just seems-"

"I don't want to talk about this," Terra interrupted him. She gave her chocobo a tap on the side, walking out in front of him so he could not see her face.

Locke sighed. "Terra," he started. "I'm not blaming you for anything." He avoided mentioning his injury. "I just want to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"I was scared, alright?" she was lying and Locke could hear that quite clearly. "Just leave me alone."

He wanted to press the issue but his instincts told him it was a bad idea. Since those feelings had saved him countless times in the past, he took the hint and quieted down.

-=-

The three soldiers returned before long, looking rustled but unharmed. Locke noticed that there were bloodstains hidden underneath their cloaks, and it seemed like quite a few of Donnach's weapons were missing.

"Monsters?" Locke asked.

Farin grunted. "A pack of them," he said. The three men assumed their defensive positions and continued their journey towards Albrook.

"Donny-boy decided to get too close to some minis," Reinhardt explained as they rode. "We cut most of them down but the lizards are as fast as they are small."

"Minis?" Locke asked.

"They're the little brothers of the green dragon from before, fortunately without the nasty fire breath," Reinhardt replied as he scratched his scruffy beard. "Fast little guys, they travel in big groups and wipe out packs of travelers like wolves would."

"We cut plenty of them down before," Donnach said. "Just never seen them in those numbers before." He shook his head. "I liked that axe too," he grumbled. "Never thought I'd lose it."

"You're lucky you didn't lose your chocobo," Reinhardt taunted. "Otherwise the General would tie you to Lightstride and haul you to Albrook."

"If we had armored mounts, then there would have been no problems going back for it," Donnach scowled.

"We don't, so stop whining. I wasted some of my favorite throwing daggers to save you," Reinhardt retorted.

Their argument died off as they traveled deeper into the Wilds. The path they followed twisted and turned through the grasslands, the plains themselves growing barer and barer with every passing hour. Not even the weeds grew here. After a while, they reached a deep gorge that was impassable. Farin took them east until they reached a great stone bridge, one that was falling into ruin. It was covered with the disgusting black tar that the Imperial men had called hellrain.

It was sufficient to bear their weight though, and they crossed quickly and found themselves in a withering forest. The black rain had killed what few trees could grow in the harsh ground. Thick, dark paste covered every leaf and the stench was horrible. They rode quickly and found themselves in an abandoned village.

Perhaps a month ago, it was the home to some hundred men and women. It was not a rich place to live. The roads were merely packed dirt from years of use; the houses were no more than mud cabins with thatched roofs. The food had been sparse here; there was little of value in the region. Yet the village was their home and nothing the Empire tried could force them to find so-called better lives in the city.

Farin had a solemn look on his face as he judged the village. He had been here many times, even stayed overnight once with the village elders.

"Monsters," he grumbled angrily as he dismounted into a puddle of the black tar. He whispered to his chocobo -- Locke believed its name was Lightstride by Reinhardt's comments -- and walked alone into one of the houses.

No one followed him. It was unnecessary. The house was small shack and it was doubtful anything could even harm the powerful knight. They looked around the deserted village. The black stuff had stuck everywhere, though it had long since stopped dripping and coagulated into deep puddles.

They sat in silence, the chocobos squawking ever so softly, as Farin entered house after house. He never said anything, never motioned for Donnach or Reinhardt, and never showed emotion on his face. He entered each house with the same disposition and closed the doors when he left, if the house had any doors still hanging from their hinges. A simple questioning glance to the bearded Reinhardt and Locke knew: to disturb Farin was certain death.

At last, Farin returned to the four of them and vaulted onto Lightstride. The chocobo immediately began to move and they hurried to catch him.

Locke braved the dangerous silence. His curiosity had gotten the best of him. "What happened?" he asked Farin.

Reinhardt gave Donnach a sidelong glance. This was going to be entertaining, his motions suggested.

Farin did not snap at Locke as was expected. Instead, the General spoke through gritted teeth. "Monsters, they rampaged the village and killed nearly everyone," he hissed.

Locke nodded. They knew that much from a casual glance. The town had been torn apart in a chaotic fashion, not invaded by soldiers and burnt to the ground. He wondered why Farin had taken so long to come to such a conclusion. "Do you think anyone escaped?" he asked.

Farin shook his head. "Not with much more than their lives and even if they did, where would they run? They're two days' march from the next closest garrison," he said.

"What if they ran away after the hellrain started pouring? This place is a mess and it seems obvious they never bothered trying to clean the stuff off," Reinhardt noted.

"That's a letter of reprimand on your record, Major," Farin growled.

Reinhardt gave the General a questioning look.

"There was plenty of evidence that the villagers never evacuated," Donnach spoke up. "Failing to take notice of that, you should have at least recognized the telltale signs of wolves. Looks like the last year with the Eighth Regiment spoiled you." He rode up beside Farin. "What happened to the garrison here? I saw no signs of their presence."

"Pulled out," Farin answered.

"Before the Long Night," Donnach finished.

"This would never have happened if that power-hungry Lilienthal-" Farin caught himself, suddenly remembering present company. He quieted down, a measure of anger disappearing in the process.

"What did Lilienthal do?"

It was Terra who asked, or surely Farin would have lashed out at Locke. Perhaps not physically, Reinhardt could not see the General ever hitting a civilian without purpose, but his choice of words would have certainly been creative. Yet the two soldiers were denied their commanding officer's wrath, all because of the naive blond-haired girl in their midst. Donnach shook his head, sharing Reinhardt's disappointment.

"Remiel Lilienthal was the governor of Albrook for the past decade. After the Esper attack on Vector, he took over as military commander there," Farin explained.

"Is he a bad man?" Terra asked again.

Her phrasing caused Farin to grin, the sides of his mouth curling upwards as he struggled to retain the righteous anger that had flared within him. "No," he said with much restraint. "He is not a bad man."

"What is he like then?" Locke asked. "We'll probably be meeting him anyways, and we've been told nothing about either this Remiel."

The sun was setting; its meager rays of light shining through the thick cloud cover were fading away leaving nothing but the shadows. It appeared that Farin was leading them into a forested area and they slowed their pace. Farin told Reinhardt and Donnach to travel ahead and find a place to camp before answering Locke's question.

"Lilienthal is a fool. He believes that the army should not bother with its expansions to protect those under the Empire," Farin explained. "No doubt it was his idea to recall the soldiers around here because of those idiotic beliefs."

"So there should have been a large garrison back there?" Locke still did not know the name of the ghost-town.

"That's right. It was one of the main reasons why the village was even there. I didn't find a sign of them though, so it's obvious Lilienthal told them to pack up and head back to Albrook."

"Have you met him before?" Terra caught up to Farin and rode beside him.

"Yes, Remiel Lilienthal is a powerful man for many reasons, chief of which is the House of Lilienthal itself. The Emperor and he were supposedly friends. I met him a few years back when he addressed the House of Lords," Farin replied. "Since then I have only seen him twice, though the most recent encounter is something to be proud of."

"What happened?"

Farin grinned. "I met him in battle of course, during the midst of Drummond's treachery."

"You were at Vector?"

Farin nodded. "Of course, I led many cavalry charges and felled dozens of armors," he said proudly. "I engaged Lilienthal while covering our retreat. The man had cleverly realized we were withdrawing from the battlefield and tried to capitalize on it. There is no greater honor than the knowledge that my actions saved thousands of fatigued and battle-weary soldiers from being routed by a cavalry charge."

Terra was silent, astonished at Farin's actions.

"You didn't manage to injure him, did you?" Locke thought aloud. "After all, he's still alive. And why would you escort us then? I doubt you're very popular."

The look on Farin's face was deadly serious. "The possibility of a truce will save more lives than my sword can. Though this escort is small, that is only because of the insistence of Lilienthal. If I had my way, there would be no less than two platoons of my finest, rather than relying on two of my absolute finest. To say that you two are important is an understatement."

Locke nodded absent-mindedly. He was thinking of things other than the Imperial Civil War. After all, if Farin had not managed to kill this General they were meeting, it meant that the General was incredibly strong. Farin had been able to kill the dragon with a single blow and even if he was only half as skilled as Leo had been...

"You should know this though; Lilienthal is much more dangerous than he looks. You'll do well to avoid underestimating the breadth of his knowledge," Farin warned. "He is not a man to be trifled with."

-=-

Upon on the easternmost rim of the Kavanagh Mountains laid the unofficial borders of the Albrook Region. Known to the more learned as the Province of Alfort-Brougham, named for one of the greatest Emperors in history, it was rarely referred to as anything more than Albrook. This caused no small amount of confusion between the province and the city. To solve this problem, a young Emperor Gestahl had unsuccessfully tried to rename the region as Angevine. The backlash from popular opinion, as well as a warning from the reigning governor, had Gestahl rescinding his attempts. So the region continued its infamous confusion with a sense of dignity and pride.

Emperor Gestahl had been quite agitated by his subjects. After the Empire expanded to both the kingdoms of Tzen and Maranda, Gestahl had seen to it that both the capitals and the provinces had the same name. It was a minor display of vengefulness and certainly no one in the Empire dared to suggest the Emperor was behaving irrationally. The provinces that made up the Core cared little for the expansion. Tzen's noble house had been all executed and its citizens were no more than prisoners until the Emperor included them into the Empire many years later. Maranda's citizens were still considered war prizes and not protected by the Empire's numerous laws. Thus both Tzen and Maranda shared Albrook's confusing nomenclature without resistance.

When Farin alerted them that they were in Albrook territory, Locke could not understand how he had come to such a conclusion. Nothing had changed from their week-long ride through the Wilds; the rocky hillsides and forested canopy was the same and did not reveal any landmarks. However, despite being in enemy territory, there was no change in demeanor from any of the Imperial soldiers. They continued riding with the same casual glances to their sides that had somehow kept the monsters off their backs during the entire journey.

After another hour of steady traveling, Locke realized they were being followed. After years of working with the Returners, he had developed quite a few extraordinary skills. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck, eyes of a hunter watching his every move.

Locke rode up beside Farin, acting unconcerned. "I think we're being followed," he whispered as he idly rubbed a particularly deep scratch in his leather armor. One of the miniature dragons had gotten quite close during one of the past nights. Their group had been attacked at least once everyday and his armor only told half the story.

Farin's nodded, although Locke was unsure if it was a bob of the head due to his mount, or whether the soldier already knew. "If you're hungry, then eat while we ride. We're not stopping for you," he smoothly lied for the benefit of their pursuers.

The forests grew sparse as they left the Kavanagh Mountains. Albrook was in the midst of fertile grasslands. The breadbasket of the Empire, Albrook's farms were great in scale. The land was so rich that even with the industrialization of the Core and expansions within the continent, more farms had been unnecessary. Much of Albrook remained picturesque, with vast rolling plains of long yellow grassy stalks, Vais Gumes as it was called by the locals. The land had long since been tamed, monsters purged by roving hunters employed by the generous pocketbooks of Vector businessmen. Those same businessmen had then planted vineyards and orchards in abundance. Albrook's wines were well-renowned throughout the world.

Locke was remembering his last bottle of Alfort's Finest as they left the highlands. They rose to the top of a hill before Farin brought them to a halt.

The plains made it difficult for anything to hide, but somehow the Imperials had made it work to their advantage. Numerous yellow cloaked soldiers were waiting for them in the stalks of grasses, their arrows drawn and glinting in the sunlight, while five men barricaded the road with armored chocobos.

Farin held his hands high into the air. "I am of the Empire!" he called out.

Locke felt edgy from the affair; they were surrounded by at least two dozen men hiding in the grasses. There were also the heavy cavalry on the road, men that looked as equally menacing as Donnach and Reinhardt. Locke cast a glance at the two soldiers. They seemed at ease, their hands far from their weapons, while they watched their commander slowly ride towards the group of chocobo-mounted men.

"Yes, we could tell you were Imperial," the leader of the cavalry group replied. His face was hooded and his mouth covered by some sort of dusty cloth. Locke could not see what the man looked like.

Farin lowered his hands and reached into his cloak. He pulled out a silver medallion. "I am on official business to Albrook," he said. "I ask for safe passage and an escort, if available."

The hooded commander brought his chocobo beside Farin's and studied the medallion. "Your passage would have been acceptable three months ago. You are unwelcome here soldier."

Farin glanced back to Terra. "I am guarding civilians that General Lilienthal wishes to meet, Captain."

"Yes, I noticed the civilians already. Their presence, as well as the fact there are only three of you, is the only reason why you still breathe," the man pulled down his dirt-covered wool hood, revealing a mess of brown hair. "However, there are no orders remotely suggesting that traitors of Tzen are to be allowed within the regions of Albrook proper," the soldier retorted.

Farin nodded. "Understood, but my mission is to deliver these two to your General."

"And mine is to defend these lands from invaders. I suggest you take my generous offer and leave while you still can," the captain of the mounted men pulled on his hood again. "I admit it takes courage to enter hostile territory with the numbers here, but I have already given you far more leniency than you deserve. Leave."

Farin was immobile, the slight shaking of his head missed by all but the most attentive.

The mounted men slowly backed away after their captain rejoined the group. Their armored chocobos were slow and Farin could have probably easily kept pace with them, but instead Farin stood his ground and merely watched the commander of the group with his discerning gaze.

The commanding officer returned the glare with equal ferocity. "Shoot him if he does not leave," he called out. "Five."

Locke wondered why Reinhardt and Donnach were still motionless. Surely now was the time for action. He found his throat suddenly dry. How could he possibly protect Terra against so many arrows? How could he keep his promise?

"Four."

Terra was increasingly distressed. This was getting out of hand. She thought Danielle had already taken care of everything. Didn't this Lilienthal want to speak with her? Why would his men kill them?

"Three."

Farin idly scratched Lightstride's neck and whispered words of comfort.

The hooded commander raised his hand and made a circular motion of sorts. "Two," he added.

Locke's eyes searched the grasses around them. His last count was two dozen archers, but he swore there were less now. His hands still maintained a death grip on his knives though. He quickly planned the best way to draw the Imperials' attentions.

Locke did not notice Terra's hands tracing the motions of a spell, but Reinhardt did. The bearded soldier growled at Terra. "Stop."

Before the hooded commander spoke again, an arrow shot through the grasses and pierced Farin's shoulder.

Farin grunted and grabbed the arrow shaft. He ripped the projectile from his shoulder, the bladed arrow tearing its way out of his arm. It had slipped through the gap between two metal plates that protected his shoulder.

"That was a warning shot, the next dozen will not miss," the commander said. There was no change in his disposition, even if Farin's actions were totally unexpected. Instead, his hand came up and made a different circular motion.

"I rather not tear a path through our own," Farin said. "But you are leaving me no choice." Fresh blood ran down his arm but he paid no attention to the wound.

It was unlikely that any of the archers or mounted riders would have seen it coming. Farin's motions were smooth and gave nothing away. He would have drawn his blade and annihilated all five men before anyone could have responded. Lightstride would have carried him away from the first batch of arrows while Reinhardt and Donnach could have cut down the men where they hid.

Fortunately, no blood was spilt that day.

"Captain, keep your men in check!" a strong voice, old but full of vigor, commanded. Everyone but the archers turned to the new voice. Flanked by nearly twenty men on chocobos, an elder man rode on a silver-armored chocobo. He wore a traveler's cloak similar to Farin's, the green material seeming vastly out of place in the yellow fields.

Locke felt relieved. The tension slowly faded away, his knuckles still white around the handles of his blades, as the threat to Terra's life passed. He frowned though. Once again, he was impotent in the face of danger.

The hooded commander was obviously outranked by the newcomer. The original five men split apart and let the older soldier pass by.

"Colonel Norris Ferdinand," Farin greeted coldly.

The older soldier had long grey hair, though it had been tucked into his cloak while he rode. Wrinkles appeared in his face as he smiled. "Colonel Farin Starson," he replied. "Ever the stubborn soldier, don't you feel pain?"

Farin brushed at his arm. "It's a minor wound. I presume General Lilienthal sent you?" he purposely opened his cloak, taking the chance to clean the blood that ran down his arm and wetted his palm.

Norris raised an eyebrow. "Well, Brigadier-General. I'm not sure if I'm willing to honor that star."

"I couldn't care less, Ferdinand. An old tiger like you wouldn't put much stock into rank anyhow," Farin replied with disdain. "And being a former black-cloak doesn't breed respect, does it Colonel?"

Locke watched the exchange between the two men. They seemed to know each other relatively well.

"I honestly didn't believe the reports: that you would be headed here with merely two men and a pair of civilians. You were fortunate I was already in the area," Norris said. "The men around here are usually don't ask questions until their arrows are in your back." He pulled at the reins of his mount and spurred the chocobo past Starson. "Now, show some manners General."

"Those two," Farin pointed back at Terra and Locke, "are the ones that the Governor wanted to meet: Terra Branford and Locke Cole."

"You would do well to return the favor I have shown you, General Starson," Norris rebuked as he stroked his cleanly shaven chin. "And yes, I recognize the girl regardless of the hair color, and for that reason solely I am glad you aren't dead." He turned back to the hooded commander. "Captain, take your patrol elsewhere. I will escort these five."

The soldier saluted and hollered out commands. His men followed as he rode away, and the archers disappeared into the fields of yellow grasses like ghosts.

"I trust that General Lilienthal is well aware of us?" Farin asked. His tone had grown slightly more respectful.

Norris turned his attention back to Farin. "Of course. If you would order your men to follow, I do believe we can reach Albrook before nightfall."

-=-

The city of Albrook was a great metropolis, its size only dwarfed by the grand capital of Vector. From the distance, the city looked like it was invading the ocean. Its harbors alone were larger than the town of Nestil, and enormous fleets of warships could be seen miles away. Buildings and streets covered the land as far as one could see. It was home for hundreds of thousands of Imperial citizens and unlike Tzen, it had somehow avoided the great flocks of refugees. There were no fields of tents or increased military presence. In fact, Locke and Terra noticed that there was a disturbing lack of troops all together on the edges of the city. The last time they had been here, General Leo had made it clear that Albrook had more soldiers policing the streets than the city of Jidoor had people.

They rode through the streets with a great escort of chocobo riders. A few of the soldiers had been sent farther ahead, to clear the way and alert General Remiel Lilienthal. How the soldiers had kept the streets clear for Norris Ferdinand and his entourage, Locke did not know. They had been to the city before and it was busy at all hours of the day. Crowded streets that made the markets in Tzen look empty; Albrook was the second heart of the Empire. Yet the route they traveled through the city was mysteriously empty and try as he might, Locke could not see a single soldier on crowd control duty.

Locke did not see any change in the city from the last time they had been here. Though the road they traveled was clear, he could clearly hear the crowds from other streets. It seemed as if the civil war had not affected Albrook. In fact, their journey to the city had been curiously calm. No patrols had stopped them, nor were there signs of heavily fortified entrenchments or deserted villages. Locke wondered if this had been intentional. Certainly Albrook had to have been taxed by the civil war. Danielle's description of the Civil War suggested that Albrook should be in the same situation as Tzen was.

They rode along a road overseeing the shoreline. Terra found herself staring into the great southern ocean. In the distance, the sun was setting amidst a cacophony of golden light. Smooth rolling waves broke upon the harbors of Albrook, showering those working on the piers in amber glitter. Terra's eyes feasted in the gentle hue and caressing radiance, bringing a soft smile to her face.

Locke stared at Terra, her form basked in the honeyed brilliance. Her short hair fluttered teasingly in the mellow sea-breeze, her delicate features accentuated in the sunlight. He found it was suddenly difficult to breathe.

As she turned away from the scenery, Locke quickly found the reins of his chocobo intensely engrossing. When he judged it was safe, he sneaked a glance back Terra. She was staring ahead blankly, her eyes watery while her lips trembled ever so slightly. The look of regret and pain made Locke's heart heave in anguish.

"We're here," Norris said as the group of some three-dozen men came to a halt. Before them was a great mansion that was walled off from the main city. The iron gates in front were guarded by two men standing at attention. Locke could count another ten behind the walls, chatting idly near the guardhouse. The sound of dogs could be heard from within the premises.

It might have been originally designed as a mansion, but it was a castle in all but name. Stone walls rose well over six stories high, covered with vines and crowned by guard towers. Locke imagined archers positioned in those high perches letting loose volleys of arrows at invaders that had broken through the front gate. The entrance was a pair of huge wooden doors, at least three men high, that was set within a stone arch. At the very top of the arch was a statue of an angel with spread wings, resting her lance on the keystone.

While Norris spoke with the guards at the gate, Locke looked over at Farin and his two men. Heavily outnumbered and deep within enemy territory, Locke realized that he had a new degree of respect for those three soldiers. From what he could remember of Danielle's long talk, Remiel Lilienthal had only wanted to see Terra. The four of them were merely extra baggage and could have been killed at any time.

Norris returned with a friendly grin. He brushed at his grey hair while addressing the men that had escorted them from the Albrook borders. The soldiers nodded as Norris gave them their orders. He turned to Farin. "General Starson, I regret to inform you that we can't allow you inside the mansion," he said.

Farin nodded. "It's expected," he replied.

"My captain here will escort you and your men to a hotel. Your rooms are already paid for. All we ask is that you stay in them for the duration of this trip."

Farin nodded again. "Your hospitality is appreciated. I just hope that you don't upgrade our rooms to solid stone and iron bars."

Norris grinned. "Just stay in your lovely suite and I'm sure nothing will happen. After a good night's rest, we'll discuss business."

About half of Norris' men led Farin, Donnach and Reinhardt away from the mansion. They rode away quickly and Locke suddenly felt strangely vulnerable with their departure. He pursed his lips together in confusion. They had merely switched one band of Imperials for another. Nothing had changed.

The remaining men began to dismount from their chocobos and Locke followed suit. He held out his hand to help Terra, but she avoided taking it and slipped off her bird with little effort.

Norris brushed at a speck of dirt on his cloak and then magnificently gestured at the mansion. "The General is waiting," he said.

-=-

Locke's assessment had been correct. The mansion's greeting hall could have put Castle Figaro to shame. The ceiling was twice as high than most, and the hall was decorated with great tapestries from wall to wall while the floors were covered with a thick, plush carpet. The walls were most interesting, they depicted some sort of grand battle between angels and monsters. Locke found himself staring at the scene in front of him. The angel in the center looked similar to the statue outside; her wings were spread wide while she wielded a mighty spear in defiance of the dark hoard. To her sides were two angels, their wings blackened or broken, lying on the ground in the throes of death.

"Beautiful, is she not?" Norris asked. "I always found white satin to be quite stimulating."

Locke averted his eyes when he realized Norris was referring to the angel's state of undress. He turned to Norris, who had a mischievous grin on his face that did not suit the elderly soldier.

Behind him, Terra was glaring at him.

"That's not what I was looking at," Locke grumbled.

"Yes, while I'm sure your excuse will be quite creative and what-not, I must insist again. Please remove your boots."

Locke realized that Terra had her boots off and Norris had changed into another pair of shoes. Both also had their cloaks off, Terra in the raggedy shirt and pants that they had bought in Nestil, Norris in long flowing grey robes. Somehow he had not heard Norris tell them to remove their coats and footwear.

"The General is quite insistent on keeping the carpets clean. Since you don't have a pair of shoes specifically for this household, you'll have to go barefoot," Norris leaned closer to Locke. He lowered his voice, but it was still loud enough for Terra to overhear. "I find going barefoot to be quite enjoyable. It's not satin sheets, but the carpets are quite sensual between my toes."

Locke grumbled as he removed his boots. He handed his cloak to one the soldiers standing nearby who hung his travel wear along with everyone else's.

Norris led them through the mansion, five men trailing behind them in similar shoes as the Colonel wore. Locke realized that the initial room had been the most poorly furnished area in the entire estate. The halls leading to the central chamber were decorated with great curtains flying the Imperial flag, magnificent paintings of the countryside or even more tapestries of angels. Suits of armor adorned every corner, while paintings of the sea decorated the few bare spots. A pair of men opened two sets of grand doors, made of polished metal, and the scene before them would have made a king envious. Marble statues that would not have been out of place in the center of fountains flanked both sides of great marble staircase. The wide stairs lead to a platform suspended in the air, which split into two more flights of stairs leading to the far sides of the room. Locke guessed that at least a hundred men could fit on the platform comfortably, and the space that the stairs occupied was larger than every single inn that he had ever stayed in. Servants hurried about while soldiers guarded many of the doors that led out of the central room.

They followed Norris up the marble staircase, which had a band of red carpet leading down the center of it. Locke's eyes were attracted by the great chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Finely crafted gold and silver with jewels of all colors held over a hundred candles in the air above the center platform. He guessed that for the price of the chandelier, he could buy a hundred ships and still have enough money remaining to crew them.

At the top of the staircase was a grand standard with a Coat of Arms displayed more prominently than even the Imperial flags. Locke knew at once that this was the standard of the House of Lilienthal.

On the third floor of the mansion, Norris led them past numerous guards and into a large expansive office. Bookshelves covered each wall and there were countless thousands of books held within. There was a single table, large enough for thirty men to dine on, littered with enough reports and opened books that it made Danielle's desk look organized. The table was expensive; Locke recognized the type of wood. He had given up trying to tally the costs of the mansion and decided to simply note the things of exceptional value. There was no reason for him to do such a thing, but it was an old habit that he enjoyed and could not quite suppress.

Leaning back in a tall cushioned chair, dressed in a fine blue coat and white ruffled shirt, was General Remiel Lilienthal. He had a book in one hand and read from behind a single monocle. A small oil lamp cast soft flickering light across his face, despite the entire room being lit by electric lights hung from the ceiling.

"General," Norris said as he saluted.

Remiel glanced up from his novel. He removed his monocle and set it on his desk carefully. Green eyes came up to judge those that stood before him.

"Norris, are these two the ones?"

Locke stared at the General in horror. It was a child.

Well, not a child. He was a young man, perhaps no more than eighteen years of age. Long brown hair that was done in a fine ponytail hung over one shoulder, his youthful visage offset by the serious look on his face.

Locke reminded himself that Celes was in her teens as well and she was a general too. The Empire had a peculiar method of promoting soldiers and seemed to favor personal strength over experience. He wiped the look from his face and put on a smile. The man might be seven years younger, but he was one of the most powerful people on the continent.

Norris nodded. "Terra Branford and her escort and friend, Locke Cole," he gestured at the two of them.

Remiel stood and walked around his vast desk. He held out his hand to Locke. "Remiel Lilienthal," he said as the two men shook hands.

"Pleased to meet you," Locke lied.

Remiel turned to Terra. He licked his lips. "Terra?"

Terra held out her hand. "Yes..." she trailed off.

Instead of shaking it, Remiel kissed her hand. He gazed into her eyes. "I must say, you are quite stunning in person. I expected your unique green hair though. I am unfamiliar with this style, is it new?"

Remiel was still holding onto her hand. For some inexplicable reason, Terra found it uncomfortable. She pulled her hand back. Fortunately, he did not notice the forcefulness of her actions and merely clasped his hands together. "No, it's not a new style," she replied nervously.

The General straightened. "Well then, please take a seat."

Locke heard the sound of men leaving the room; probably the guards that had trailed them the entire time through the mansion. Norris stayed though, leaning up against one of the bookshelves as he tried to make himself comfortable. Locke wondered why he didn't sit down; there were plenty of tall-backed chairs.

"Comfortable?" Remiel asked.

"Yes, but you'll have to excuse our nervousness," Locke said. "We're not really sure why we're here."

Terra was studying Remiel carefully. The moment they had met Norris Ferdinand, she had known that he was another of the magic-infused knights. He had a familiar aura about him that she could sense relatively easily. Unlike Danielle, he had not been hiding his abilities. Remiel might have been hiding his though, because she could not feel a similar aura. There was something there though, she was certain.

Remiel nodded and put away the novel he had been reading before. He closed the drawer softly and leaned back into his own chair. "Well, I must say I am somewhat taken aback by your appearance here. Danielle's communiquÈ was succinct, though that is of little surprise."

Norris chuckled. "She's short, sweet, and doesn't bother with any extra details. I doubt we have to tell you that though, you two already met her."

Locke noticed that Terra was looking behind Remiel. She was scanning the bookshelves, as if she was searching for something.

Remiel had not noticed her distraction. "Yes, to further our miscommunication, she neglected to alert us to the time of your arrival. I sent Norris post-haste upon reports of one Colonel Farin Starson being spotted approaching our borders."

"That would be Brigadier-General Starson now, General." Norris corrected.

Terra's eyes had locked on a single hardcover that was bound by gilded red leather. The words on the spine were unreadable, not from age but the runes were alien to her. Yet she felt a strange pull. There were many such books drawing her towards them all about the room, but that one red book was the strongest. The runes themselves seemed to reach out to her. They floated off the spine of the book, hanging in the air and distorting everything behind it. Heat seemed to shimmer in waves from each letter.

Terra heard the faintest of whispers emanating from it. The voices were too quiet to be heard but they gripped her with blissful noise; tantalizing promises that filled her mind with imagery.

"D¯d og ¯delggelse av verden," Remiel said quietly.

Terra snapped out of her trance. Her cheeks colored red when she realized that Remiel was looking at the book with her. He had read aloud the title of the volume she had been studying.

"Siste hÂpe for alt liv, ragnarok," Remiel finished reading the title and turned away from the book. "Does it interest you, dear one?" Remiel asked kindly. He did not seem angered by her curiosity.

"N-no," Terra stammered. She looked down at her feet in embarrassment.

Remiel glanced at Locke questioningly. Locke shrugged. He turned back to Terra. "As I was saying, I am uncomfortable with having a discussion tonight. Added to that fact is your nervousness. I doubt that Danielle was sufficiently tactful in her approach, though I am impressed that she swayed you to her cause. Her powers of persuasion must have grown since I last met with her."

Locke said nothing. Telling Remiel of their situation did not help them in anyways. If Danielle did not see fit to say something about Relm, neither would he.

"However, she did acquire your persons and I shall keep my end of the bargain. Compose thyselves, I mean you no harm and surely none shall afflict you under my watch. Norris shall keep you company for the night so that tomorrow," Remiel stopped, a smile touching his face. "Tomorrow, we shall dance."

"Dance?" Locke echoed. Locke wondered what he meant by 'dance'. The General seemed to speak a little like Cyan. It was probably a double-meaning of some sort.

"I am awfully rude today," Remiel remarked. "Yes, dance. Tomorrow is the end of the harvest season. The bounty was poor this year but there is still food aplenty and always a reason to celebrate. I host an annual ball here, within these grounds, and you should count yourselves lucky that you arrived in such a timely manner." His gaze settled on Terra. "Tomorrow night, you shall accompany me to the Messis Luna."

Terra's face was white. "Excuse me?" she asked.

Behind them, Norris chuckled.

Remiel gestured about him. "I have been immersed within my duties and forgotten to acquire an appropriate consort for tomorrow night. Yet it seems that the Gods have smiled upon me and delivered an angel into my midst. I would be a fool to squander such a beautiful gift."

Terra was torn between embarrassment and shock. She stammered nonsensically.

"This is ridiculous," Locke growled.

Remiel turned to Locke. "Feel free to explore Albrook in the meanwhile then; your invitation has just been rescinded."

"What?" Locke shot to his feet.

"Sit down lad," Remiel said as he folded his arms. "I may not have the temperament of Caleigh, but you stretch my patience."

Locke did not sit down and it took Norris' hand on his shoulder to force him back into his seat. He glared at Remiel, smoldering in rage.

"I did not request your presence, Locke Cole. The criterion I set was quite explicit. A single conversation with Miss Branford sans duress. You are neither welcome nor will you interfere with the ball tomorrow," his words became threatening at last. The kind manner he had regarded them vanished in the face of Locke's fury.

"I don't want to," Terra spoke up.

"Pardon me?" Remiel asked kindly.

"I don't want to go to this ball," Terra said. "It's cruel and unusual to twist this situation to your advantage."

Remiel acted mortified. "Surely it is not because you cannot bare the thought of being seen in public with myself. I may not turn heads during my nightly stroll, but I do have pride invested in my looks and charm."

Norris laughed behind them.

Terra glared at the General. "That's not what I mean," she said. It was true. He was quite handsome. His youthful vigor and sense of style were an attractive combination, and his manners were gentlemanly... when he was not threatening their lives. An ordinary woman would find him charming.

"Then speak your mind," Remiel said with flourish. "Insult me how you will, just avoid simply telling me I am an ugly man. I may not forgive that discourtesy."

Norris roared with laughter, nearly knocking over a shelf of books in the process.

Terra waited until the Norris regained his composure. She was still angry at Remiel. "I don't dance with strange men."

Remiel raised an eyebrow. "You are shy?" he asked.

She glared at him. "You know what I mean."

Remiel chuckled softly. "My dear, if that is the sole reason you have, then it is simply not enough to sway my mind. Please, prevail upon my conscience."

Terra blinked. Why was he doing this? She grumbled to herself as she thought of another excuse. This was beyond ridiculous, this was just madness.

"Well?" Remiel asked.

He was not giving her enough time to think. "I-" Terra's mind spun with reasons. What had Celes said, when they had convinced her to act on stage? No, even if she remembered the story correctly, those excuses would not be enough. Celes had ended up singing in front of several thousand, whatever she had said had obviously been a failure.

"I can't dance," she finally said. At least the excuse was true. She had never danced in her life.

Remiel was nodding his head in a knowing manner. "Yes. I too, share the pain of being untrained in the finer arts. My father felt such schooling was unbecoming for a strapping young lad."

Terra heaved a sigh of relief. That was lucky.

"Fear not, dear lady. I have redeemed my youth and have long since mastered the dance. As long as you follow my lead, you shall not fall," Remiel said with a grin on his face. "Any other concerns?"

Curses, Terra grumbled. Why couldn't this man take no for an answer? She couldn't think of any more excuses. "I have nothing to wear," she said knowing that it was weak defense.

Remiel sensed this as well. "Done," he pounded his desk with his hand and pounced on the opportunity. "You are unfamiliar with the city, such I shall have my best seamstresses and tailors find something to suit your dazzling beauty at my own expense." Before Terra managed to complain again, he held up his hand and stopped her. "There is no need to thank me for such kindness; it is I who is in your debt. Norris, please escort my date and her friend to their inn, I must return to my work."

Norris saluted and despite Terra's vocal opposition, dragged both her and Locke out of Remiel's office. The large wooden doors slammed shut behind them before Norris addressed the two.

"You two are both lucky, the General's in a good mood today. I've never seen anyone get away with so much."

Terra crossed her arms, an angry scowl on her face. Locke was silent, contemplating why Remiel had not simply threatened them like Danielle had.

Norris looked from one to the other, and then sighed. "I'll take you to your rooms. You will not be in the same hotel as Starson; most of them are completely full. Try to cheer up. Lilienthal has been extraordinarily patient with both of you. I've seen nobles executed for less. You didn't even have the manners to laugh at his jokes." He lowered his voice but still retained his good natured grin. "A General's jokes are always funny. Don't you ever forget that."

"He's a few eggs short of an omelet, isn't he?" Locke quipped.

Norris frowned. "And don't cross him; I would hate to kill either of you."