Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ A Sylphe's Journey ❯ Of Insults and Intrigue ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Escaflowne. What on Gaea ever made you think I did?

The time of day during which the mind still can not decide whether it is late night or early morning was when the Strategos most liked to work. Knowing he would not be bothered with the demands or the complaints or the general noise and bustle of drilling officers and bickering officials, Folken could mine the deepest pits of his psyche in search of solutions that he knew were lodged there, waiting to be uncovered. He preferred uninterrupted solitude for this task; the answers he found were often of the sort that can only be thought possible when one is alone in the dark.

Folken was not alone now, however. Behind him, using practised and perfected stealth, crept a figure as elusive as the shadows from which it had emerged. A gentle flick of a wrist released the dagger concealed within a sleeve, letting the clever little weapon slide noiselessly into a waiting palm. Skin tight garments prevented the tell tale rustle of fabric as an arm arched silently back and then began its swift journey towards his temple.

Folken could move with uncanny speed and fluidity for a man of his height, and in the time it takes to exhale, he was turned around, standing with the tip of his own well hidden sword pressed with deadly grace under his attacker's chin.

A delighted giggle escaped his would-be assassin's lips. "Glad to see you can still keep it up, Folkie!", she teased, surprisingly calm for someone who had more than several inches of rather sharp steel poised to pierce her jugular.

"Must you continue with this childish game, Tylann," he asked with exasperation, "It's getting tedious."

"Yes," she stated simply, stubbornly, "It's my game, and I'll play until I win. I lost this round, though. I admit it, so put away your sword."

"Not until you drop that dagger and kick it over here."

Tylann pouted, but did as he ordered. "Y'know, Folkie, " she said as she watched him slowly sheath his blade, then pick up the dagger, never taking his eyes from her, "I think it's the lack of trust in our relationship that bothers me most."

Ignoring her remark, Folken sat and gestured for Tylann to do the same. She plopped down sideways in the nearest chair, her legs dangling over an arm rest, and began to nonchalantly examine her fingernails. Deftly masking his annoyance, Folken marvelled for the hundredth time at how quickly this woman could shift mental gears, switching from cunning spy to captious child with the blink of an eye. She was, nevertheless, a master of the former profession.

Tylann had been gifted with utterly unremarkable features and form, giving her the vital ability to blend in no matter what the scenario. She could pass as Austurian or Ezgardian if she claimed to have been out in the sun too long; as Freidian or Daedalian if she said she'd been ill and indoors for the past few weeks. Clever excuses rolled off her tongue like candies and suddenly, no one paid anymore attention to the quiet, plain little chambermaid or kitchen girl or stable-hand. No one noticed when she slipped away into the night, their secrets her only baggage.

"What did you learn in Cesario?", asked Folken curtly, hoping for once Tylann would simply get to the point.

"Oh, Folkie, what didn't I learn?", came the impish reply.

Folken pursed his lips to keep an exasperated sigh from escaping his mouth. When not wearing her mask of humble servitude, Tylann was a precocious, wilful hoyden who, for some reason, seemed to take great amusement in trying to get a rise out of him. Understanding her value as an agent, the Strategos was willing to put up with the impudence but only to a certain extent.

"I would be most relieved to hear that you had learned whether or not it's worth paying them a diplomatic visit," he retorted. "That was the task I assigned you." Folken watched a grin creep slowly across her face at the tone of slight irritation he'd allowed himself to take and waited to see if Tylann would consider it a sufficient victory.

"It couldn't hurt," she admitted, astute enough to quit while she was ahead, "Cesario isn't outwardly hostile, but they're old fashioned..hell, make that archaic... and they don't trust Zaibach's new technology. Our Madoshi make 'em nervous. Not that I blame them on that count," Tylann added with a snort, "Those buggers freak the hell outta me."

Folken raised an eyebrow. "I was once a Madoshi, you know."

His young voyeur shot him a baleful glare. "Folkie, I'm insulted! What kinda spy would I be if I couldn't figure out what half of Zaibach already knows? I mean, for cryin' out loud, you still wear that ridiculous cloak. Makes you look like an overgrown fruit bat," she exclaimed in a huff.

Swallowing his laughter, the Strategos made no reply. His mind was already navigating the twists and turns of this latest maze set out before him. He knew that Cesario's support was the key to winning over the duchy of Freid. Both countries were still deeply rooted in their ancient ways and showed little interest in embracing new alliances. The two nations had aided influenced one another since before the times when Zaibach had been a mere collection of warring states.

"So you believe that it would be possible to gain the Cesarian's trust?", he asked slowly.

Tylann shrugged. " 'S worth a shot," she acknowledged, "The new Caliph's not as stodgy as his old man. His head's in the clouds, if you ask me. Spends half his day riding horses and the other half whoring about the harem. Ignores his advisors too. Just lay it on thick with that crap about the 'glorious vision of Zaibach leading us into the bright new world', and the little shit won't know what hit 'im."

Folken nodded. "Just as I thought," he murmured, earning another glare from Tylann. The Strategos hid his smile; he was two-for-two this round.

"Tell me something, Folkie," snapped the nettled young woman, "Why do you bother sending me out to ask questions if you already know the answers?"

"Tylann," he replied, "If you were me and I were you, would you want me working for anyone but you?"

Amused, the spy shook her head. "Well, aren't we the clever bastard?", she chuckled.

Hitomi gave the report about Ceasarian court etiquette one last perusal before putting it away in her satchel along with several other books on the same subject. She had had a horrendous two weeks trying to fit centuries worth of complex traditions and form into a comprehensible ten page briefing. Every aspect of life within the upper classes was dictated by viciously rigid rules of deportment, and the slightest error could result in complete social ostracism at best, imprisonment or corporal punishment at worst. Hitomi supposed that this system made a sick sort of sense; the nobles were so busy planing out the proper outfits to wear to dinner that they had no time to plot less convenient things like a messy coup d'etat.

However, the creators of this twisted harmony had obviously given no thought to the sanity of Zaibach's newest diplomatic researcher. After discovering that at dinner it was acceptable to eat with the left hand, but only if you were male and happened to be wearing yellow that day, Hitomi had been convinced that she could save a great deal of time if she simply found a way to travel back in time to fourth century Cesario, brought along a really big stick and started beating some sense into everyone within reach. Were it not for Rouen's sound advice -- "Just learn enough so that we don't get arrested or start the next great war"-- Hitomi suspected that she would be encased in a straight jacket somewhere, gibbering about it not being proper to wear chartreuse and saffron at the same time unless the moon was waxing.

At the time, the work had seemed endless, but she had finally finished, and now the Vione was docked in the Caesarian port of Tirlrhem from which their party would leave for Ifrana, the capital.

As Hitomi glanced around her room once more to make certain that nothing had been forgotten, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror above her dresser. Pausing to take a longer look, the young woman smiled slightly, thinking that even Mother Aelfla would not know her now. Hitomi hardly recognized herself. Gone was the slightly scruffy tomboy with the waterfall of chestnut curls, and in her place, there stood a short haired stranger in a sleek leather uniform.

Not being a member of any military unit, Hitomi was not obligated to wear this formal attire everyday; only on official occasions such as meetings and visits. In a way, she was glad of this; the outfit was attractive, but somehow she felt uncomfortable when she saw herself wearing Zaibach's standard issue leather pants, vest, gloves, overskirt and high boots. Doing so made her feel as though the Hitomi she used to be was slowly fading away. This was why she'd been so happy to know that she was allowed to select the colour of the long sleeved blouse that would be worn beneath her black, silver trimmed vest . The deep lavender she had chosen reminded her of Aelfla's kind eyes and was something of a comfort.

The rational, practical side of Hitomi understood that her life with the dragon people was over, but the other part, the one which was heartbroken for the knowledge that yet another family had been lost to her, still clung desperately to anything that would spark the faintest memory of her former home. It was this part of her that made the young woman reach into her dresser drawer, take out a small cloth bundle, and slowly unwrap the only keepsake she had of her very first family.

The small pendant's rose stone glowed softly in the ghostly torch light, and the necklace's small golden links were cool and somehow reassuring to the touch. Hitomi hadn't worn this, her only piece of jewellery, since the deaths of her parents and brother. Her last memories of them were too much for the small girl she had been to bear, so she had hidden the bauble away to forget, relieved to have it out of sight, but oddly glad to know that she had it all the same. Now, she undid the high collar of her vest and, for the first time in eleven years, slipped the slender chain over her head and tucked the necklace safely under her blouse before refastening her collar.

Finally feeling prepared, Hitomi gathered up her satchel and turned to leave the room, but stopped suddenly.

"I can't believe I almost forgot something so important," she muttered, running over to her desk chair and grabbing the soft, cream coloured scarf hanging over its back. She quickly wrapped the scarf about her head and then dashed out of the room, hurrying towards the Vione's exit gate. Rouen would be riding in the carriage with them, and if she was late, he'd tease her for the entire trip to Ifrana.

Standing stiffly in formation with the rest of the Ryuugekitai, Dalet watched Lord Folken and his new assistant climb aboard the carriage adorned with Zaibach's flag, its stylized red and black eye which gazed out at the world it wished to lead. Once the two were inside, he looked around quickly to make sure Refina wasn't watching him and then subtly elbowed his younger brother and fellow Ryuu, Miguel. "Why's Kanzaki got that scarf around her head?", he whispered.

Miguel rolled his cobalt eyes. "Didn't you even look at that report Rouen handed out?," he hissed, "Caesarian law says that women need to keep their hair covered up when they're in public. Lord Strategos thought it would be a good idea to observe the custom."

"No shit?," asked Dalet, raising his eyebrows, "All women?"

"Yeah. Except the harem girls. They have to wear these weird cloaks every time they go out. They're only allowed to let their eyes show."

"Would you guys shut up," snapped Gatti who was standing on his other side, "Lord Dilandau will be here any minute."

"Y'know, Gat, it wouldn't kill you to pull that stick out of your ass for awhile," Dalet drawled, "Besides," he added with a snicker, "Lord Dilandau can't be too nearby; Refina hasn't gone into heat yet."

"You're just jealous 'cause she's not itching to jump into your pants," snorted Miguel.

"Aren't you?", retorted Dalet, grinning when he saw his little brother blush. The Ryuu then glanced at the lady in question to make sure she wasn't listening. Refina'd kick his ass from here to Pallas if she overheard this conversation.

Miguel felt the irritating elbow nudge him once more. "What?!", he growled murderously.

"Why isn't Refina covering her hair. Don't tell me she's actually a guy in drag."

"Kanzaki found a loop-hole for her," Gatti quickly interjected, hoping to avoid a fratricidal incident, "She read that it's illegal in Cesario for soldiers to wear any adornment that isn't a part of their uniform, and since we Ryuugekitai have never worn scarves around our heads..."

"Hmph...Clever. I guess the little girl's been taking Strategos less--Ah! Watch it!", Dalet growled at Gatti and Miguel who had simultaneously and non-too-gently elbowed him.

"Stifle it!", they both hissed. Dalet took a hint from his comrades' now stiffened postures and adjusted his body language to match theirs just as Captain Albatou passed by, accompanied by Rouen, on his way to the carriage . Seemingly satisfied with the condition of his troops, Master Dilandau gave them the signal to mount their horses and ordered Refina to make sure the group stayed together.

When he heard the carriage door slam shut, Dalet felt that it was safe to breath again. He about faced with the rest of the Ryuugekitai and moving together, as always, in a perfectly synchronized unit, they walked quickly, efficiently towards the horses.

Once Dalet's feet were in the stirrups and the reins were in his hands, he turned again to Miguel who was mounted next to him. "So," he said with a conspiratorial grin, "Tell me more about this harem."

From his plushly upholstered and cushioned corner of this moving coffin they called a carriage, Dilandau found himself gazing once more at the young woman sitting accross from him. Well, anything is more interesting than this bloody scenery, he told himself, swiftly explaining away his wandering eyes. The coach was passing through one of Cesario's endless forests with nothing to see except tree after flaming, fucking tree, and the tedium was awful enough that Dilandau had even briefly considered the odious diversion of actual conversation to relieve his insufferable ennui.

His companions, however, were otherwise occupied; the Strategos with gazing out the window, pondering matters which Dilandau was certain were far more dull than any tree and Rouen with plugging through Kanzaki's report so meticulously that the Ryuu captain wondered if his communications officer was committing the damn thing to memory. As for the author herself, the irritating female had had her nose stuck in a book on Cesarian greeting etiquette ever since Rouen had found a confusing passage in that ten page piece of kindling. Thus, Dilandau was left with nothing to do but watch Hitomi Kanzaki read.

Even with her hair cropped short and her thin figure revealed in a snug leather uniform, she hadn't lost the unique, otherworldly quality he'd noticed that first day in the hall. Lord Albatou was glad of this; if anyone was going to change her, it would be him. He did not want to break the girl, though. No, that would make her as colourless as every one else. He merely wanted to bend her, just ever so slightly. This task was far more difficult than the former, and never having attempted such a thing, Dilandau was not sure what his tactics should be.

Hitomi yawned suddenly, rousing him and the others, and to Dilandau's amazement, the Strategos gave what might be considered a chuckle.

"Try not to fall off the seat today," he requested, his voice ripe with amusement.

Dilandau blinked and quickly looked over to Rouen who appeared equally amazed. Was the Vione's only living shadow actually teasing a subordinate?

"Forgive me, my lord," laughed Hitomi, a faint flush rising in her cheeks, "The movement seems to make me drows--", she began, but was cut off by the frightened neigh of a horse and the shouts and cries of those outside.

The carriage lurched to a halt, and the mad pounding of hooves could be heard beating off into the distance.

With a growl, Dilandau wrenched the door open. "What the Hell is going on out here?!", he yelled, his eyes burning dangerously.

Showing obvious reluctance to do so, Gatti dismounted and came over to his master, kneeling at the carriage steps.

"Miguel Laberial's horse got spooked and bolted, my lord," he reported, "Refina's gone after him. Dalet and Ryuuon are following a little ways behind, sir."

Dilandau slammed the door in Gatti's face, turned and glared at Folken. "Have the Ryuugekitai ride horses to Ifrana," he spat, sarcastically echoing the Strategos' orders, "It will make matters so much simpler."

Pressing her muscled calves along the sides of her horse, Refina leaned forwards and urged it on faster. She could see Miguel about twenty feet ahead of her, but even from that distance, it was apparent that he didn't know what the hell he was doing. Remembering that Miguel and Dalet had been raised in the city, she realized that he must never have ridden a horse outside of the military academy's arena. Refina squeezed harder and slowly but surely began to gain on them.

"Miguel! Try to keep a deep seat and don't yank on the reins!", she shouted to him, but the wind stole the words from her lips and sent them dancing in the wrong direction. Peering once more at her panicked comrade, Refina saw him do the worst thing possible; he gave the reins a sharp, hard tug which startled his horse even more. The animal reared back, sending Miguel tumbling roughly to the ground.

Refina cursed under her breath as she neared the pair. The horse had ceased bucking and was now completely still. Unfortunately, so was Miguel. Dismounting, Refina hurried over and expertly calmed the still frightened beast before leading it away from its fallen rider; no sense in having him trampled as well as concussed.

Quickly returning to Miguel, she saw that at least he was still breathing. Not wanting to move him in case his back was injured, Refina lightly slapped his cheeks in an attempt to rouse him. "Miguel! Miguel can you hear me?", she called urgently.

His lids slowly rose to reveal a pair of terribly confused eyes, and Refina felt like laughing with relief.

"Ref...I...Wha' ha'....," Miguel mumbled, looking for all the world like a Madoshi trying to make sense of an ancient Atlantean equation.

"You fell off your horse, dumb ass," replied Refina with a grin. "No, hey, stay still," she urged, placing a hand on his chest when he tried to rise. "Can you feel your legs?"

She smiled again when she saw Miguel's boots bobbing about with the movement of his toes.

"REFINAAA!! MIGUEEELL!!! Where are you guys?!", Dalet called from somewhere nearby up the path.

"Over here," she called back in the direction which Dalet's voice had come from.

Refina sat back on her heels and examined Miguel some more. She would wait for Ryuuon, Mr. Medics expert, before touching him again. Knowing that the guy could have any number of injuries, Refina couldn't help but wonder why he looked so damn happy.

To escape from the tense silence held between the Strategos and the Ryuu captain, Hitomi left the carriage with the excuse of needing to stretch her legs. She took deep, grateful breaths of fresh air. Seeing small groups of young men clad in blue and black armour, talking in hushed tones, made her realize that there existed equal tension outside of the vehicle, yet some how it created a completely different atmosphere. Out here, the air was thick with worry rather than dense with scarcely controlled anger.

Hitomi walked over to Rouen who was now seated on a horse and keeping lookout along with Gatti.

"Any sign of them?", she asked.

"No," answered Rouen, keeping his eyes on the road, "Not to worry, though. Refina's a skilled horsewoman. She'll be able to handle this," he asserted, and Hitomi smiled at the pride in his voice.

Rouen had spoken true, for just moments later he and Gatti spotted the missing riders headed towards the rest of the party. Dalet was walking, leading both his and Miguel's horses, and Ryuuon rode alongside Refina who had Miguel seated in front of her. She was controlling the horse with one hand and keeping her other arm around Miguel, helping him to stay in the saddle. Though Miguel was obviously quite battered, he couldn't seem to keep a grin from sliding over his face, Hitomi noted with amusement.

"What did you do to yourself this time?", asked Gatti as he helped Miguel down.

"Ah, nothing much. Sprained wrist, twisted ankle--"

"Broken head," interjected Dalet, "But, I'm not sure he didn't have that before he fell off the horse."

"You have a funny way of showing sympathy, Dalet," said Chesta as he walked over and supported Miguel on his other side. "Lord Dilandau and Lord Strategos say you can ride in the carriage for the rest of the trip, Laberial," added the small blonde as he and Gatti guided their injured companion to the carriage.

"I wouldn't mind riding along with him," put in Ryuuon, "Just to keep an eye on him. Make sure the injuries aren't worse than I thought."

"You can take my seat," offered Hitomi.

"You can ride?", Refina asked, sceptically arching a brow.

Hitomi merely smiled at the other girl, walked over to one of the horses which Dalet was holding and mounted herself expertly in the saddle. She had a good posture, her toes were up in the stirrups, and she held the reins very naturally.

"Fine," snapped Refina without missing a beat. "You can switch places with Ryuuon...so long as Lord Dilandau agrees."

The captain's permission was obtained, and soon Zaibach's diplomatic convoy was enroute once more to the Cesarian capital. The afternoon was warm even in the thickly wooded forest, and Hitomi felt her spirits lift as she rode along listening to the foreign sounds of birds chirping and admiring the strange new landscape.

Much to her relief, Refina's position was at the front of the group while she rode at the very back between Gatti and that short, kind looking Ryuu named Chesta.

Gatti, on the other hand, was almost as tall as Rouen and he seemed to be the strong, silent type, never gazing anywhere but straight ahead while Chesta seemed to take as much joy in his surroundings as she did. Twice, Hitomi caught him glancing curiously at her, and on the third time, she laughed and said, "I'll bet you're wondering how a person who's supposed to have lived in a cave her whole life ever learned to ride a horse."

Chesta chuckled along with her. "Sorry," he said, "I wasn't trying to be rude, but how exactly did you learn?"

"Well, there are only so many goods that can be made in a mountain, and food can't be grown at all, so we always relied heavily on traders for things like pots and pans and fruit and vegetables. They'd come by about twice a month and stay for a few days. Some of them got to like me and would give me lessons on their horses when they were finished with their business."

"Was it strange not having humans around much?", asked Chesta, but Hitomi was no longer listening to him.

Something was...wrong. Hitomi couldn't explain how she knew this, but every fibre of her being was screaming that message to her. Her skin felt hyper-sensitive as she tried to focus on what was giving her these awful signals. The small links of her pendant's chain seemed to burn her flesh, and she could feel each one weighing against her throat and chest.

Desperately she looked about, trying too see any cause for alarm, and then there was no more time to think as she felt a heavy something drop onto her horse and then a knife's blade, cold as death pressed to her throat.

TBC...