SaltyWaffles
I am dissapoint, son
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Don't worry--personal life always comes first. Take the time you need. I'll look forward to when you're back up and running
Familiar of the Fairy: Zero no Tsukaima Fanfic
- Thread starter Juubi-K
- Start date
Zaru
Beyond Prophecy
Take your time man. Can't rush quality I say
Chapter Four
- Location
- UK
Chapter Four
The Magic Academy, Kingdom of Tristain, 19th day of Feoh.
Dawn was breaking.
As Suleiman halted at the edge of the forest, he could see the first daylight rising on the distant horizon, the black of night turning to green, and grey, and brown as the yellow light spilled over it.
He smiled. He was in time. The same sun that rose before, far in the east, was also rising over his homeland of Arysia. So it had always done, so it always would do.
Suleiman went down on his right knee, his cloak spilling out around him. His open hands spread to face the rising sun, the tips of his fingers brushing the dew-laden grass. He raised his head, letting the light shine on his face, as he had done on so many mornings, from the day he could speak.
To you I give the morning, the light, and the sky.
To you I give the evening, the night, and the earth.
To you I give artifice, intellect, and feeling.
To you I give an open mind, an open heart, and hand
The prayer was simple, familiar. He had spoken it upon desert sands and windswept plains, upon earth frozen solid, and the hard wood of a ship's deck. It had accompanied him all the days of his life, and those of countless other lives, throughout his distant homeland.
He opened his eyes. The sun was still rising, and his heart rose with it.
From you the gift of wisdom, from you a sacred heritage
From you the light of reason, from you the heart that believes.
He remembered saying it for the first time, and his child's joy at being able to speak to the Prophet. He remembered the smiles of the grown-ups, and the pride in his father's eyes.
With the moon you watch us, with the stars you guide us
You are the morning and the evening star
With the sun you came, with the sun you departed
You are the light of the dawn
A feeling of peace settled upon him as he stood up, and gazed over the newly-lit landscape.
"That was beautiful!"
The voice made him jump almost out of his boots. He spun round, embarrassed and afraid.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" It was Tiffania, her hand flying to her mouth as she flinched from him. "I…I didn't mean to startle you!"
"It's…it's all right." Suleiman was relieved, but he felt his cheeks redden. "It's not something that needs to be hidden. I just…" He massaged the back of his neck. "I just never did it before someone not of my homeland, that's all."
"The words were so beautiful," Tiffania said, smiling. "Is it your custom to recite poetry to the sun?"
"It wasn't a poem," Suleiman replied, a little more testily than was entirely fair. After all, she could not have known anything of his people's beliefs. "It was a prayer to the Prophet Cyras, one we recite in the morning as the sun rises."
"A prayer?" Tiffania looked awkward. "I know what that is, but I've never said anything like that before."
"Never?" Suleiman was taken aback. He had never met anyone who knew literally nothing of religion. Even the crew of the Drinker of the Wind had faith, crudely expressed though it was.
"Never. I was never taught about such things." She smiled, and the irritation he felt at her questioning evaporated like the dew from the grass around them. "You see, I lived in the forest for as long as I could remember. Until Saito and Miss Louise came from me, and Miss Siesta and Miss Agnes too, I knew nothing about the world. I only know a song of Brimir's Familiars, though I can't say where I heard it from."
"A song? You like to sing?"
"Oh yes!" Tiffania's blue eyes sparkled. "I can sing it for you, if you like." She looked away, blushing, and Suleiman saw that she was carrying a small harp. He felt his own cheeks reddening, as he realised how much he wanted to hear her song.
"Oh, but…" The sight of a tree stump spared him further embarrassment. With a flourish he pulled his cloak from his shoulders and swept it over the smooth stump.
"Oh, thank you." Tiffania giggled as she sat down. Suleiman squatted nearby, his eyes on her as she cautiously plucked at her harp. The tone was evidently not to her liking.
"It…doesn't seem quite right," she said, her brow furrowing.
"Please, allow me." Suleiman held out his hands. Tiffania paused a moment, then handed the harp over. Suleiman held the instrument carefully, examining it with experienced eye. Its form was simple and elegant, almost certainly of Elvish make. With deft fingers he adjusted the strings, then handed it back to Tiffania. She plucked at it, smiling at the more pleasing tone.
"Thank you. I never knew exactly how to do it."
"I've been learning music since I was very young," Suleiman explained proudly. "I learnt the sitar mostly, but I've also played harps. Tuning them right is as much intuitive as anything else."
"I see." Tiffania nodded, understanding. "It was my mother's. I…taught myself."
"Then let me hear!" Suleiman almost shouted. Tiffania eased the harp into the crook of her arm and began to play. The melody seemed to whisper in the trees, beautiful and yet somehow haunting.
The left hand of God, Gandalfr
Brave shield of God
The right hand of God, Windalfr
Gentle flute of God
Suleiman was entranced. Her voice seemed to reach into his soul, caressing his heart and tempting his mind.
The mind of God, Miodaitnir
Fragment of God's wisdom
And lastly one more
Whose name is forgotten
I followed the four
We came to this place
Tiffania lowered her harp, a wistful smile on her face.
"It's beautiful, Miss Tiffania," Suleiman breathed. "But…it seems incomplete somehow."
"I thought so too," Tiffania agreed. "It's as if it were written by someone who didn't know the whole story." She paused, and her smile faltered. "Or as if…it was too painful to remember."
Suleiman did not reply. It occurred to him in that moment just how little he knew of Halkeginia, and its history.
An explosion made him jump. His head snapped round, staring back through the trees towards the academy. A column of black smoke was rising from one of the towers.
"Filthy dog!" The cry was distant, but just about audible. "You dare dream of bosoms other than your master's!? Lecherous beast! Water flea!"
"Oh dear," Tiffania commented. "Mister Saito has displeased Miss Louise again."
Alice la Durant was in good spirits.
Ordinarily, being packed off to a magic academy to train a bunch of young knights would have been a chore for a knight of her standing, but she didn't mind it much. After the Albion war, and months of skulduggery in Germania, it seemed like a pleasant distraction.
She brought her horse to a stop just inside the main gate, and stared up at the academy's central tower. She had seen taller and more ornate buildings in her time, but she was content to admit that it was impressive. A gaggle of students were hanging around the main doors talking among themselves, while others strolled in and out. It must have been breakfast time.
Alice grinned a broad, good-humoured grin. She remembered when she had been that age; so young, so full of vim and vigour, ready to take on the world. She remembered her investiture; the weight of her new cloak, her legs turning to jelly as she proceeded alongside her fellow candidates, the glory of the Sainte Chapelle rising up around her. She remembered King Joseph, enthroned in glory, with a smile on his face that only now struck her as somehow…strange. She remembered the joy on the faces of her brothers, the pride in her father's eyes.
It was only a few years, yet it seemed so long ago. Her sixteen-year-old self, newly inducted into the Knights of the Eastern Roses, was very different from her twenty-year-old self, no longer an Eastern Rose, but a Gallian Knight in the service of the Queen of Tristain. Two years in the Eastern Rose had brought her honour, and leading a squadron of knights against Reconquista had brought her fame.
Between them, they had taken her innocence.
Alice shook her head, driving the dark thoughts away. It was as her mother had warned her, yet she had chosen her path regardless. She no longer regretted it, no longer wondered if there could have been a better way. War was war, and death was death. Honour was honour, and Alice la Durant was Alice la Durant.
"Can I help you, Madame?"
Alice looked to see who had spoken. It was a guard, clad in a beret and doublet of the same green as the Queen's Musketeers, a halberd over his shoulder.
"I am Alice, Chevalresse la Durant," she introduced herself. "I am here by her Majesty's command, to act as instructor to the Order of the Ondine Knights."
"Yes Madame, you are expected," the guard replied, his face professionally blank. "Headmaster Osmond asks that you see him in his office on the top floor."
"Very well then. Max!" Alice turned to her squire, sitting on his own horse behind and to her left. "Stable the horses, and stow my baggage in my quarters. Then get yourself something to eat."
"Yes my lady! Thank you my lady!"
She got down from her horse, and watched Max lead them both away. She didn't mind admitting that she was fond of Maxwell Grey, with his mop of green hair and his bright, eager eyes. She had done well when she found him in Albion, amid the ruin and the destruction.
"Such a beautiful smile." Alice froze at the words, from a voice she knew only too well. "I would see it more often."
"Not for any word or deed of yours, Julio Cesare." Alice turned to face him. There indeed was Julio Cesare, in his white tunic and blue cape, smiling a smile that could charm any woman into his bed if he so desired.
Any woman but her.
"And there was me hoping we could have a pleasant conversation." If Julio was in any way crestfallen or hurt by her words, he showed no sign of it whatsoever. "But what brings you here, Alice? I was not aware you were still in Queen Henrietta's service."
"I could ask the same of you, Julio." Alice willed herself to calm down. Julio could be profoundly irritating, but he wasn't an enemy. "I would've thought you'd be back in Romalia with the Pope by now."
"Funny you should say that," Julio replied airily. "It was his Holiness who sent me here."
"Oh really." Alice concealed her intrigue, keeping her tone casual. "I wonder why?" She glanced meaningfully a gaggle of schoolgirls by the main doorway, all of whom were watching Julio with bright, adoring eyes. Julio followed her gaze, and let out a laugh.
"I know that's what you think of me," he said. "But I'm on a mission from his Holiness."
"A mission from his Holiness." Alice eyed him, searching his face for any hint, any sign. "If the Pope wanted something from the library, or the vault, he would have sent someone less visible. If he wanted someone dead, he wouldn't have it done here. That leaves… watching someone." Julio stared back at her, his eyes entirely unreadable.
"I may as well allow you that," he replied, still smiling. "Since it's what you believe anyway. But if you want any more than that you'll have to pay for it. Perhaps if you beat me, and make our score even?"
Alice allowed her lips to form a thin smile. Twenty-nine times they had duelled; fourteen times she had bested him. And there he was, offering her a chance to even the score.
"I'll hold you to that, Julio."
"Are you all right, Miss Tiffania?"
"Oh…yes! I'm fine!"
Suleiman was not convinced by that. Tiffania was smiling a smile that made his head feel light, but it hadn't been there a moment ago. Something was bothering her, and something told him it wasn't their shared secret; between her hat and his strip of cloth, their incriminating ears were well hidden.
"Miss Tiffania?"
"It's nothing, really!" Tiffania's façade of calm was not holding up well. "I'm just a little...nervous, that's all."
"Nervous?" Suleiman asked, surprised. Why was she nervous about going to the dining hall? "Is there something amiss?"
Tiffania faltered. She stopped, looking down at the floor, fidgeting awkwardly.
"It just gets...difficult, in there," she said.
"Difficult?" Suleiman was bewildered, but earnest. "What can I do to help?"
"Just...stay by my side." She turned her head to look at him, and managed a smile. "I'd feel so much better if you're with me."
"Oh, of course!" Suleiman fell in beside her as they continued along the cloister, wondering what on earth the problem could be.
The cloister was one of four, connecting four of the five towers to the academy's central tower. Tiffania and Suleiman proceeded through the double doors at the end of the cloister, and found themselves in a wide corridor that seemed to follow the curve of the outer wall. There were a few other students, all heading in the same direction as themselves. Suleiman felt their eyes upon him; or on Tiffania, he could not quite tell which. Two girls were watching him with what might have been curiosity, whispering among themselves as they walked by. A boy was gazing on Tiffania with what could only be adoration, while his female companion glared.
Suleiman had a sneaking suspicion as to what was bothering Tiffania. He was starting to feel the same way.
They rounded a corner, reaching a great atrium that seemed to take up most of the ground floor. A pair of staircases led up to the upper floor, between which the atrium narrowed into the dining hall. Three long tables dominated the floor, with another on a dais at the back of the hall; evidently the high table. High-backed chairs lined the tables, most of them already taken, though the high table was still vacant. The students were talking animatedly among themselves, paying little apparent attention to the newcomers.
Then someone saw them. Within moments, all eyes were upon them.
"Miss Tiffania!"
With a screech of chairs and a thunder of footsteps, the horde was upon them. Suleiman gaped in stunned disbelief as a swarm of boys surrounded himself and Tiffania. Their faces were bright with adoration, their arms full of gifts of every shape and size.
"Miss Tiffania, please accept this velvet cape!"
"Miss Tiffania, please accept this token of my utmost devotion!"
"Miss Tiffania! Let me twine this silver pendant about your swan-like throat!"
Tiffania whimpered and wailed under the onslaught of worship. Suleiman gasped as the crowd jostled him, almost knocking him to the ground in their ardour.
"Miss Tiffania, this hat would look so much better on you!" A brown-haired boy pushed forward, an expensive-looking pink hat clutched in his hands. "Please let me place it upon you!" He grabbed at the brim of Tiffania's hat. Tiffania squeaked and grabbed at the hat, trying to hold it in place. But the boy persisted, laughing at her apparent bashfulness.
"Let go!" Suleiman pushed himself between them, trying to prize his hands off the hat. "Let go of Miss Tiffania!" He shoved the boy, sending him staggering back.
"Who are you!?" demanded the youth angrily. The other boys began to back away from Suleiman and Tiffania, the atmosphere suddenly tense. "How dare you attack me!?"
"Leave her alone!" Suleiman blurted out, throwing his arms wide. "You can't treat someone like that!"
"Suleiman!" Tiffania cried.
"Fine words, for a commoner," sneered the youth. "Do you have the guts to back them up?"
Suleiman wanted to retort, to snap that he was a mirza of Arysia, and that no mirza would treat the least bandaka the way they were treating him. But his voice caught in his throat, his limbs locked as if frozen solid.
It was the chain. He had not felt it in many months, not since they had left Arysia. But there it was, slowly creeping up from the darkness, tightening itself around his heart. It was cold, chilling his heart, crushing his courage.
"Well?" The youth stepped forward, emboldened. "Nothing to say?" The entire hall was silent. Suleiman could feel their eyes upon him, their presence surrounding him, bearing down on him, just like the chain.
"All right! Break it up!" The angry voice cut through the tension like a blade through silk. Saito stormed through the crowd, coming to a halt in front of Suleiman. His face was grim, his eyes dark and threatening. Most of the boys recoiled, evidently intimidated, but the brown-haired youth stood firm, glaring venomously at Saito.
"I said," Saito growled, turning on the youth. "Break it up!"
"That commoner assaulted me!" the youth snapped back. "Am I to just let it go!?"
"It wasn't like that!" Tiffania pleaded. "He was just trying to protect me!" Suleiman's heart ached with shame, but still he could not speak.
"It wouldn't have happened if you weren't hassling Tiffania!" Saito glared at the youth. "That goes for the rest of you too!" He looked around the crowd, the boys shrinking from his angry gaze. The youth glowered at Saito, his lip twitching as if he wished to speak. But then, at last, his shoulders slumped.
"As you command, Monsieur le Chevalier." He almost spat the title.
"And just you remember it!" Saito retorted. As the boys slunk off, he turned to Tiffania. "Are you all right, Tiffa?"
"Oh, yes, thank you." She smiled, and Suleiman saw the light in her eyes, the light that had warmed his unhappy heart. That light was shining on Saito.
His heart sank.
Beatrice Yvonne, Princess of Guldenhorf, watched the dispersing crowd through narrowed eyes. She wouldn't have much cared, except that she had been at the center of it.
Tiffania Westwood. A complete nobody the Queen had found in a forest somewhere, yet she had all the boys sighing at her feet. Hair like a cascade of sunlight, skin the colour of milk, face like a porcelain doll, bosom like…well, like nothing Beatrice had ever seen. Yet it was obvious she had no noble upbringing or education. No manners, no experience in dealing with amorous young men.
Then what was she? Who was she to be so favoured? To attend the academy at the Queen's expense, attended by a servant, and yet she obviously wasn't a noble.
"Arrogant girl," growled Lizette, her green-haired friend seated to her right. "The boys are always fawning over her."
"And she still hasn't introduced herself to her Highness!" added Kitty, seated to her left. Her red hair was much shorter, tied in a pair of short pigtails. "Who does she think she is?"
Beatrice did not reply. Whoever or whatever that infuriating girl was, she knew it was beneath her dignity to rise to her insults; be they intentional or not.
"But what about that boy with her?" mused Constance, her third friend, with dark honey-coloured hair tied in a high ponytail. Her eyes followed the dark-skinned youth as he followed after Tiffania. "Who's he supposed to be?"
"He can't be a student," replied Kitty. "He must be her servant or something."
"What does she mean by bringing a servant?" demanded Lizette. "Only her highness can do that!"
And she was right. Literally no one else at the academy had brought their own servants. Technically Beatrice had not brought any either, for the academy's serving staff were regarded as among the best in the kingdom, and she had certainly found no cause for complaint. Lizette was referring to her bodyguards, her Luftpanzer Ritter.
Beatrice felt a surge of pride as she thought of the twenty dragon knights who had accompanied her on her father's orders. Officially they were only there to augment the academy's defences, and they did indeed perform such duties. But they were her father's knights, Guldenhorf's knights, and their first duty was to her. It made her feel special, important, even though she was only a first year student, and subject to the same rules as everyone else.
Her lip curled. For a brief time she had been the centre of attention, the darling of the first year students. All had paid court to her, seeking her favour, even if their families didn't owe her father money; and there were plenty who did. But for all that, she had not allowed herself to believe completely in their professions of friendship and devotion. Her mother had warned her against such flattery, and Beatrice had learnt the truth of it the hard way a few months ago, in Vindabona.
She shuddered at the memory. How could she have been so naïve, so blind? How could she have allowed him to deceive her like that? Why did she have to learn the truth, his real name, from her angry and disappointed father?
How could she have let herself feel the way she had?
She gritted her teeth behind her clenched lips, forcing the memory away as she glared at the now-seated Tiffania, and her strange servant standing by her chair. Still all eyes were on her.
Her mother had been right. She could not rely on any of them, nor trust them completely. When that wretched, ridiculously-proportioned girl had shown up, it was as if she, the Princess of Guldenhorf, suddenly no longer existed. Only Lizette, Kitty, and Constance had remained loyal, and she was grateful for it. She enjoyed their company, the opportunity to talk about frivolous things, the way they constantly complimented her and hung on her every word.
But no one, not a single one of them, would ever be her friend. She would not be deceived again, betrayed again.
So why, oh why, couldn't she stop thinking about Tiffania? She knew it was beneath her dignity, but she couldn't get that stupid girl out of her mind! Why?
"She should know her place!" declared Constance, glowering at the oblivious Tiffania.
"Well then," Beatrice said, in a low voice. "We shall have to put her there, shall we not?"
"What do you have in mind, Princess?" Kitty asked, almost bouncing with excitement. Beatrice allowed her thin, delicate mouth to curl into a sneer.
"We'll have a word with her, later."
Maxwell Gray was entranced.
Never, not once in his life, had he seen so many books. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, stacked in shelves as far as his eyes could see. Compendia and codices, manuals and monographs, treatises, tracts, tomes and textbooks; bound in cloth or buckrum, leather, and even vellum.
He loved books. He loved the scent of them, the feel of them, the mere presence of them. They were like old friends, gazing kindly upon him from their high shelves. To flip one open was to enter another world, another life. To see so many around him, to smell the old paper, was to step back in time, to a time and place long gone. They let him go home, if only for a little while.
Maxwell wandered here and there between the shelves, gazing in wonderment upon their contents. The majority were what the undiscerning would call spellbooks, but Maxwell understood far better. Back in the old days, before the founding of the academy, mages learnt their craft at their parents' knees, or else by doing. Most treated it as a mere tool even in the ancient days, much as they might treat a hunting hound or a sword. A rare few saw something more, their minds inspired by the mysteries at which common spells only hinted. It was they who had truly studied magic, who had filled tome after tome with spells, but also musings, hints, pearls of wisdom. Such old books were chaotic affairs, the random scribblings of brilliant and possibly unbalanced minds.
Over the last century a newer, more organised style of learning had spread slowly across Halkeginia. These days the term spellbook referred specifically to a book of spells, of one variety or another, while a textbook contained other useful information. Maxwell could see plenty of both categories on the shelves, covering all four of the known elements and every known discipline and practice of magic, from potion-making to alchemical metallurgy to combat magic. There were many theses too, covering innumerable interpretations of the deeper mysteries of magic. Some even mused on the nature of the Void.
But for all that, Maxwell quite liked the old-style grimoires, as some called them. One could not glean information from them quite so efficiently, but they were more…fun somehow. They were quirky, deep, and infinitely fascinating. Getting his head around them was a challenge in itself.
So entranced was he by all the books, that he almost walked into the wall. Maxwell turned right, his attention on the contents of the shelf running parallel to the wall.
And then he saw her.
She was sitting with her back to the wall, the sunlight streaming in through the open window to illuminate the page of a huge tome open on her knees. Her hair was as blue as the sky, cut short around her chin, framing a face better suited to a porcelain doll, or perhaps a fairy. Blue-green eyes stared down through horn-rimmed spectacles, as a tiny hand deftly turned the page.
Maxwell didn't know why, but he couldn't take his eyes off her. It wasn't that she was beautiful, for he had seen plenty of beautiful girls. It was just…
She turned the page again, and he realised what it was. It was the way she turned them, with the practiced care of one who valued books, yet the ease of one who had done it a thousand times. Never, not since he had last been at home, with his mother and father, had he seen pages turned like that.
A sudden, mad impulse came upon him. He would speak to her. He would say something to this girl. He could see the academy's uniform, and knew that she would scorn him as a mere squire, but such thoughts could barely stay in his head. His only wish, his only thought, was to gaze straight into those turquoise eyes.
A strange gurgling cry rose from the window. Maxwell looked, and saw a pair of enormous green eyes staring down at him. He froze as he saw that the eyes belonged to an arrow-shaped head, considerably larger than his own, covered in blue scales.
Maxwell gulped. He knew a dragon when he saw one, though it didn't belong to any breed he had ever encountered.
"Uh…nice dragon…" he whimpered, trying to back away. The dragon let out a warbling coo, and Maxwell found himself pressed against the shelf behind him as a big, wet, leathery tongue engulfed him from head to foot. He tried to get away, half-screaming, half-laughing, but the tongue ran over him again and again, drenching him in dribble.
"Bad."
The dragon cried out in pain as something bopped it on the head. Maxwell opened his eyes as he felt the tongue withdraw, and saw the blue-haired girl standing nonchalantly by the window. In her tiny hand was a staff taller than herself, with the tip curled over like a shepherd's crook. She was looking at him, her eyes as emotionless as a doll's.
""Ah!" he yelled."I'm soaked!" He glanced back and forward, panic clouding his mind. How could he attend on his Mistress while drenched in dragon dribble?
"Stand still," the girl said, in the same deadpan tone. She moved her staff in a circular motion. Maxwell cried out in surprise and fear as he felt something sucking at him from all sides, as if he were trapped in the centre of a whirlwind. Why was she attacking him? Had he offended her that much?
"There." And the whirlwind was gone. Maxwell gaped as he saw a blob of what looked like murky water hovering in mid-air between them. He felt his clothes, and realised that they were quite dry. The girl gestured with her staff, and Maxwell looked on in wonderment as the blob levitated out of the window, and fell to the ground with a splash.
"I…" he stammered. "I…thank you so…" But before he could say any more, the girl reached her staff forward, laying its head on his shoulder. Her eyes were blank, but somehow hard.
"A squire should be resolute," she said. "Even in front of dragons."
Maxwell's heart sank, for her eyes told him the meaning of her words. He might be a commoner, with little hope of becoming a knight, but that did not exempt him from a squire's obligations. His Lady was responsible for him, and everything he said and did reflected upon her. He had cowered in the face of potential danger, shamed his Lady in front of another.
"I…I meant no…"
"You want to be a knight?"
The question caught Maxwell off-guard.
"I…"
The doll-like face remained expressionless, but Maxwell still felt awkward. He knew he was making a fool of himself, that a squire should answer plainly and clearly. But his mind was a-whirl, his thoughts running around and around in circles. And the weight of her staff pressing on his shoulder was starting to unnerve him.
"I…I have dreamed of being a Knight, Mademoiselle."
No response. Just more of those blue, blue eyes, that seemed to see right through him. Maxwell sighed.
"I will never be a knight, Mademoiselle," he said. "I am not of noble birth, nor have I any magical ability, nor do I care for fighting."
"Irrelevant."
Maxwell opened his mouth to retort, but no sound came out. For a moments, he couldn't make sense of her reply.
"Whom do you serve?" the girl suddenly asked. Maxwell finally mastered himself.
"Alice, Chevalresse la Durant," he replied, finding a little of his confidence. "I am her squire, Maxwell Grey."
Only then did he remember that she already knew he was a squire, and felt a complete fool. Not that she seemed to care.
"Never falter, never recoil," the girl said softly. "Keep no debt, and hold no grudge."
A distant bell chimed. The girl lifted the staff from his shoulder.
"Lunch," she said. Entranced as he was, it took Maxwell a few moments to notice the hint.
"Oh, uh, yes!" he stammered, backing away. "By your leave, Mademoiselle!" He bowed clumsily, then ran for the door.
"Big sister!" squealed Sylphid, poking her head in through the window. "That boy likes you!"
Tabitha did not reply, but turned and picked up her book; a copy of Godalming's Studies of Nature Magic. The morning had gone quickly, and she wanted to be early for lunch. If there was one thing Tabitha liked more than books, it was food.
"You should marry him!" the dragon went on, lost in her own happy world. "Then I can wear lots of pretty flowers! And you can lay many many eggs!"
"No," Tabitha replied, sliding the book back onto the shelf. She did not find him particularly objectionable, but his Lady was another matter. She knew the names of the Royal Knights of Gallia, well enough to have heard of a certain Alice la Durant, who had resigned from the Order of the Eastern Roses two years ago.
That in itself wasn't particularly suspicious; with the way King Joseph was carrying on, it was barely even surprising. But for her to come visiting the academy while she was there? That was a little too convenient for mere coincidence.
"I know why!" Sylphid giggled. "You'd rather have Saito!"
Tabitha paused, realising that she didn't have a clear answer. It wasn't that she cared about Saito, not really. But nor did she feel nothing for him either. He was a bright, friendly, good-natured soul, so unlike anyone else she'd ever met. She wondered if that was why she had gone to help him that time, when Albion had invaded. Had it been a mere act of benevolence? Had she merely not wanted him to die?
She wondered if he understood what becoming a knight would cost him. Somehow she doubted it.
"Oh come now, ladies! My lady mother could keep this up all day long!"
Alice smiled indulgently as she surveyed her students. There were nine of them, arranged in a well-spaced line on the grass of the Vestri court, performing the drills. The sword drill was simple enough; enough that even those children who called themselves the Ondine Knights could perform it. Thrust, parry, slash, guard; thrust, parry, slash, guard; again, and again, and again. All were red-faced, some of them breathing heavily, while one or two looked as if they were about to collapse.
She regarded them one by one. The black-haired one in the strange blue coat was holding up remarkably well, but that was no surprise. If he was indeed Saito, Chevalier de Hiraga, then the drills were unlikely to bother him much. The only strange thing was that he had chosen not to train with his sword – currently leaning against the wall of the wooden hut the Ondines optimistically called their headquarters – but with a wooden training sword.
Next to him was Guiche de Gramont, youngest son of General de Gramont, and supposedly the order's captain. He certainly looked like a typical Gramont, with his curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and a face that could turn young girls gooey with the slightest smile. Alas, he wasn't performing like a Gramont. For one who had earned a medal in Albion, he was finding a mere sword drill remarkably heavy going, if the sweat dripping off his red brow was anything to go by.
None of the others had any real reputation, though the Queen had been kind enough to provide her with relevant information. Malicorne de Grandple, holding up reasonably well despite his considerable bulk, had done a turn in the Air Fleet, and had been reckoned a useful officer. She recognized Baldwin de Ascalon, with his curly reddish-brown hair, a scion of an old and near-penniless noble family who had won fame as crusaders centuries ago. There was the bespectacled Reynald de Laval, a clever lad who apparently got all the order's paperwork dumped on him. Next to him was the green-haired Gimli de Montoire, whom Alice suspected was only in it to impress the girls. The two similar-looking boys further along line, one with honey-coloured hair, one in a browner shade, were the brothers Sevrin and Simon de Kassel. Last of all was Robert Joscelyn, a nobody from a rural gentry family who had made something of himself in Albion.
A mildly interesting bunch, all told. Alice liked to think they had potential, but at this rate it was going to take a while.
"All right! Rest!" The exhausted knights ceased their drill. Only Saito still stood up straight, but even he was visibly weary, red-faced and sweating.
"My arms…" groaned Gimli.
"I can't breathe…" croaked Reynald.
"That was…overwhelming…" moaned Guiche. "Mademoiselle la Chevalresse, is this the normal order of training in the Griffon Knights?"
"It certainly is!" declared Alice, beaming. "And in the Eastern Roses too!" She turned to Saito. "You're holding up well, Monsieur le Chevalier de Hiraga."
"Didn't anyone tell you?" Saito replied, wheezing slightly. "Agnes de Milan trained me a little while back. You've got nothing on her." He grinned confidently. Alice cocked an eyebrow, but kept up her smile. No one had mentioned that.
"A few moments rest, gentlemen!" she called out, returning her attention to the others. "And then we will work on your technique." A collective groan rang out, and Alice chuckled.
"Perhaps a demonstration might be of help!" Alice looked, and saw Julio Cesare strolling up, his customary smirk on his face. "I did promise you a duel, Mademoiselle la Chevalresse."
"Yes, you did." Alice's smile widened. She had been waiting for this for quite some time. "Let's show these children how it's done, Father Cesare."
Julio chuckled at her barb as they strode a little way from the exhausted Ondine Knights. A considerable crowd had gathered, and Alice only then noticed that the sun was falling, and classes must have risen for the day. The crowd were students, most of them female, all of them excited.
"Good luck Julio!"
"Don't lose to her Julio!"
"Do please win, oh Julio!"
Alice sighed inwardly at the girls' calls. She knew Julio Cesare well enough not to be overly surprised by his popularity with them. It was all the more reason to put him in his place.
"Good luck, Mademoiselle le Chevalresse!" called a male voice from the crowd. Alice saw a group of male students off to one side. Were they actually calling out to her?
"Win glory, Mademoiselle!" called other.
"Defeat the arrogant priest!"
All of a sudden, the atmosphere changed. The girls rounded on the boys, glaring venomously.
"Julio, don't lose to her!" one of them shrieked. The other girls broke it a cacophony of wrathful adoration. Alice glanced at Saito, who was massaging the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Ah, forgive them," Julio sighed. "They are young, and excitable." Alice did not bother to reply.
Then, just as she was about to turn away, she spotted a more familiar face in the crowd, topped by an equally familiar mop of green hair. It was Maxwell, her beloved squire, come to see her win another duel. The smile on his face warmed her heart, as it always did.
Yet another reason to win.
"En garde, Monsieur," she declared, dropping into a combat stance and raising her sword. Julio smiled, and drew his rapier.
"En garde, Mademoiselle."
For what seemed like an eternity, they stared into each-other's eyes. This was but the first stage of the battle, and Alice knew it well. It was said that when two warriors locked eyes in battle, each might gaze into the other's soul, and fight a duel therein.
Such a duel was taking place in that very moment. Hers was an unconquerable spirit, a lion's heart in a woman's body. So her father and brothers had agreed, much to her mother's frustration. So had all her comrades known, and even King Joseph had acknowledged. Through the portal of her eyes her spirit reached, seeking for its opponent.
But there was nothing to find. Never, not in all their duels, had she been able to see anything behind those mismatched eyes. Either he had no soul, or it was hidden behind defences of a nature she had never encountered elsewhere. What secrets might such a spirit hide? What terrible truths were hidden therein?
With a clink, their crossed blade-tips parted. Alice thrust, aiming for Julio's left shoulder. But the priest moved like water, slipping easily out of reach. She thrust again, but Julio dodged again, that infuriating smile spread across his face. Cries of delight rang out from the girls as he evaded her attacks, darting back with a dancer's grace.
Alice did not allow herself to get angry. She kept her face straight, her free hand firmly on her hip, striking at Julio with quick, staccato jabs. She knew what he was trying to do, and had no intention of falling for commonplace tricks. She kept her eyes firmly on him, watching the way he moved, the way he dodged, waiting for the moment.
Then she saw it.
She kicked, lashing out her leg to trip him. Julio leapt clear, landed lightly, then twirled out of her reach; the girls shrieking at his bravura. Alice fell back to avoid his swinging blade, then dropped back again as he went on the offensive, parrying every thrust as easily as he had parried hers. Frustration bubbled within her, but she managed to restrain it. She couldn't afford to lose control, not now, not against an opponent like him. But how to put him on the back foot?
She was still falling back, getting a little too close to the shed. Obviously he hoped she would back straight into the wall and make a fool of herself.
It gave her an idea.
Alice felt her heel touch the wooden wall. She saw a flash of something in Julio's eyes; a flash of triumph? If she was going to do it, it would have to be now.
So she did it.
She waited, focusing so hard that time seemed to slow down. She could see Julio begin his thrust, almost feel the wind of his rapier as it hissed through the air to prick her chest and mark her the vanquished. She waited, waited, waited…
Alice dropped, the rapier flashing over her head. She broke right, rolling to her feet, and her heart leapt to see Julio still turning, still on the back foot. She thrust for his chest, knowing that she finally had him.
With a clang, his blade knocked hers away. Alice froze, hardly daring to believe it. How could he have blocked her? How could he have been that fast?
Then she saw the anger in his eyes, and remembered the angle of the swing, the frantic force of it.
Not a swing, but a swipe. He had swiped, so desperate was he.
She had him.
Julio came at her again, eyes blazing. Alice saw her chance, and jinked to the left, his blade whistling past her cheek as she slashed at his sword hand. She felt the blade connect, saw his fingers twitch, the rapier falling away. She spun on her heel, darting around, away, and back again. Julio dropped to snatch up his sword, turned to rise…
And there she was, her blade hovering a hair's width from his white coat.
"Monsieur?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. Julio's eyes were bright with rage, and for a moment Alice thought he would try to attack. But then the battle-light was gone, as suddenly as it had appeared, and the smirk was back in place.
"Touché, Mademoiselle la Chevalresse." He let his sword fall from his hand. Alice felt her face split in a wide smile, and thrust out a hand. Still smirking, Julio allowed himself to be helped up. The boys were cheering, some of them quite raucously. The girls let out a collective squeal, and crowded around Julio, occasionally glaring daggers at Alice.
"Are you all right, Julio?"
"Are you hurt?"
"Did that vile woman harm you?"
Julio laughed at their attentions, brushing a lock of golden hair from his face. Alice sighed; that one would never change.
"Bravo! Bravo!" It was Guiche, seemingly jumping for joy. "Incomparable, Mademoiselle la Chevalresse!" He dropped to one knee, grabbing her free hand and bringing it almost to his lips.
"Ah, but for this tough leather glove," he breathed, wearing a look of soulful sorrow that would have made any young girl go gooey. "I might kiss you fair hand."
"You deserve worse than a leather glove, Guiche!" snapped a female voice. "How about a leather whip!?"
"M-M-M-M-M-Montmorency!" spluttered Guiche, horror and embarrassment flashing across his face. He spun around, still on his knees, as a girl with long, curly blonde hair approached, her face a picture of outrage. "It's not what it looks like!"
"Please excuse this embarrassment, Mademoiselle la Chevalresse." The girl named Montmorency pointedly ignored the pleading Guiche. "I was just coming to congratulate you on your victory, but this annoyance insisted on plying his trade."
"Montmorency!" Guiche moaned.
"A congratulation?" Alice was mildly surprised. "You didn't favour Julio?"
"It was a hard choice," replied Montmorency airily. "But I thought a Chevalresse deserved my support. There are far too few of them, in my view!"
"You think so?" Alice eyed the girl. She was quite cute, with a small nose and bright blue eyes, her face only mildly marred by a spread of freckles. But there was a haughtiness about her that set Alice's teeth on edge.
"With your permission, Mademoiselle la Chevalresse." Montmorency dropped a curtsey that was about as graceful as could be managed in a short, pleated skirt. "There's a bad smell here!" She turned on her heel and stalked off.
"Montmorency!" wailed Guiche, following her on his knees. "Montmorency my darling! It's a mistake! Please hear me out!" The students laughed at his discomfiture until they were out of sight.
"Ah, young love," Alice mused with a sigh. "Anyway gentlemen, that will be all for today." She turned away from the Ondine knights, and paused as she saw Maxwell standing there, a broad smile on his little face, a cloth in his outstretched hands. Resisting the temptation to kiss him on the forehead, Alice took the cloth and mopped her brow.
"You were excellent out there, my lady," he said, bright-eyed.
"And your timing is impeccable, Max." She smiled down at him. She had done a good thing when she pulled him from the rubble of his home, and nursed him back to health. She was not so naïve as to think too much of the life she had given him. Going from the freeborn son of respectable townsfolk to the servant of a mere knight was a fall by any standard but that of chivalry; and Alice had seen too much of life to put too much stock in it. Still, he seemed happy to serve her, and she was glad of his help, and his company.
A strange, warbling cry rang out. Puzzled, Alice looked up, and froze.
"Ah!" Maxwell cried out in surprise as an enormous blue-scaled dragon lumbered towards them. "It's Mademoiselle's familiar!" The dragon warbled, craned its long neck down, and starting licking Maxwell.
"Ah! That tickles!" Maxwell laughed aloud as the tongue slopped over him. Alice was frozen stiff, unable even to think.
"Dragon!" With a banshee shriek, Alice leapt back, landing in some unsuspecting person's arms.
"My lady!" Maxwell cried, as the dragon looked up in what might have been surprise.
"Get it away from me!" Alice shrieked, kicking her legs and waving her sword in front of the dragon's nose. "Dragon! Dragon! I hate dragons!"
"My lady!" Maxwell wailed. "Please come down! It's only Mademoiselle's familiar! She only wants to be your friend!"
The dragon cocked its head, seemingly confused. Then it lowered its head, eyes downcast, letting out a low, mournful moan.
"Oh now look what you've done!" complained Saito. "You've hurt Sylphid's feelings!" He patted the dragon's big head.
"I…I…I can't stand dragons!" snapped Alice, coming back to herself. "Dragons! Salamanders! I can't stand any of them!"
"Oh, my lady!" Maxwell looked hurt. Alice felt a twinge of embarrassment, both for herself and for Maxwell.
Then she realized that she was not on her feet; that someone was carrying her. All was silent as she turned her head, wondering who it was.
Julio smirked back at her, grinning like a cat who'd found the palace dairy unlocked and unguarded.
"PUT ME DOWN!" shrieked Alice, beating him over the head with the flat of her sword. "Put me down this instant!"
The students roared with laughter, some of them doubled over with it. Even the previously taciturn Saito was laughing. The dragon just looked confused.
The sun was falling, and Suleiman was happy.
Soon it would be time for dinner, and with the drama at the Vestri Court concluded, he was glad to accompany Tiffania on a short stroll to the main hall. The cloisters shaded them from the setting sun, and the breeze was pleasantly light. It reminded him of his father's palace on a good day, in happier times.
"That was…very strange," commented Tiffania.
"You think so, Miss Tiffania?" mused Suleiman. "They fought quite ferociously."
"I really don't like fighting," said Tiffania sadly. "I just don't understand Miss Alice."
"You don't?" Suleiman was mildly intrigued.
"She must have fought in so many battles," Tiffania went on. "She wasn't afraid of Julio at all. Yet…she was so frightened of Sylphid; and she's such a gentle dragon."
"If I may say so, Miss Tiffania," replied Suleiman. "Fear is…not a simple thing."
"It isn't?"
"Cyras once told us; even the fearless warrior was once a child, and what child fears he cannot forget, in all the days of his life."
"Oh…" Tiffania fell silent, and seemed to be thinking hard. "He…cannot forget."
"Miss Tiffania?" Suleiman's good humor vanished as he saw her sorrow. "Did I…say something wrong?"
"Oh no! Not at all!" Tiffania's smile could've tamed an angry karkadann. The sight of it made Suleiman's heart leap.
"Would you like me to sing for you, my mistress?" he asked, taking an overly-dramatic bow.
"Oh!" Tiffania half-laughed, half-squeaked. "You don't need to call me that. You can call me…"
"Miss Westwood!"
The pleasant atmosphere suddenly vanished. Tiffania and Suleiman looked to see a quartet of young girls come striding along the cloisters towards them. They wore the academy's uniform, and they looked angry.
"He-hello," Tiffania replied. The girls stopped a few metres away.
"Miss Westwood!" A girl with blonde-running-to-brown hair in a ponytail took the lead, gesturing at a much shorter girl with blonde hair in twin tails. "Do you know who this person is?"
"I…I'm sorry," Tiffania pleaded, embarrassed and unsettled. "I…don't know your name."
"You don't know?!" The brown-haired girl looked suitably shocked. "This is Beatrice Yvonne von Guldenhorf, Princess of Guldenhorf!"
"P…princess?" Tiffania was shaking. "I…I'm so very sorry. I don't know about these things!"
"Is that how you apologise to her Highness?!" barked the brown-haired girl. "You've been here for days, yet you haven't even introduced yourself! You call yourself a noble!?"
"But...the thing is..." Tiffania stammered helplessly. "I'm...I'm not a noble..."
"Not a noble?" asked Beatrice, speaking for the first time. "You are attending a magic academy, attended by a servant, and you say you're not a noble?"
"How dare you have a servant!" snapped the girl with red hair in short pigtails. "Only Princess Guldenhorf may bring her own servants!"
"I'm sorry!" Tiffania whimpered. Suleiman yearned to do something, to stand up to those ill-tempered girls. But something held him back, like a chain pulled tight around his insides. He wanted to say something, to do something. But the chain held him fast, crushing his heart as it tried to rise.
Something in their faces, something in their eyes…
"It's looking at her Highness!" The brown-haired girl jabbed an accusing finger at Suleiman. "Have it disciplined immediately! Or will you insult her Highness again!?"
"I can't!" Tiffania wailed. "Please don't ask me to do that!" Suleiman wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. Beatrice looked from one to the other, with the sort of look she might have reserved for something she had found on the sole of her shoe. Then her haughty frown became a vulpine sneer.
"I don't think he's your servant," she said slyly.
"He's her boyfriend!" shrieked the redhead with the pigtails. "How dare you have a boyfriend when Princess Guldenhorf does not have one!"
There was a long, awkward pause. The redhead deflated, apparently having realised she had said too much. Beatrice stepped forward, her face falling back into that haughty, emotionless mask.
"You are a graceless girl," she said mildly, her blue eyes fixed on Tiffania. "But we are inclined to forgive...if you will remove that dirty hat."
Tiffania gasped, and Suleiman's blood ran cold. Bad enough that they bullied her, but he could tell that their motive was mere jealousy. If they saw the Elvish ears beneath her hat, things could only get worse.
"Apologise to her Highness!" hissed the redhead, rebounding from her embarrassment. "Take off that hat."
"I can't!" Tiffania pleaded, backing away as Beatrice's minions advanced on her, hands grabbing for the hat. Suleiman flinched, his mind in turmoil. He wanted to protect her, but his body wouldn't let him. He wanted to stand against them, but the chain kept dragging him back. And even if he could, what should he say? What should he do? He didn't know what to do!
"Hey! You girls!"
Suleiman looked, and saw Saito hurrying towards them, eyes bright with anger. He pushed in front of Tiffania; so forcefully that Beatrice's cronies flinched.
"Who do you think you are!?" snapped the redhead. "This is none of your business!"
"You're bullying Tiffania-chan!" retorted Saito. "It is my business!"
The redhead was about to say more, but Beatrice silenced her with a gesture, stepping forward to face Saito. She looked him up and down, and did not seem impressed.
"I saw you earlier," she said, a hard steel behind her soft tone. "You are…" She trailed off, her cold expression faltering. "Saiton Hirigaru?"
There was a long, awkward pause.
"Saiton Hiragagaga?" hazarded Beatrice, visibly struggling with the pronunciation.
"Saitoto Hiragago?" tried the redhead, glancing from one to the other of her friends.
"Saitona Hagaraga?" suggested the green-haired girl awkwardly.
"Sai Toharagigo?"
Saito's eyebrow began to twitch. Suleiman wondered how much more butchering of his name he could endure.
"Saito de Hiraga," he eventually said, very slowly, as if speaking to a particularly slow or stupid child. "Chevalier de Hiraga, Knight of the Water Spirit."
"And what of it?" Beatrice retorted coldly. "A mere knight, and an aventurier at that, has no business meddling in my affairs."
"Who're you calling a…!?"
"Why, if it isn't her highness, Princess Guldenhorf!" Guiche swept in front of Beatrice, knocking Saito to the ground. "What a pleasure it is to see you!"
"Mister Gramont." Beatrice smiled a supercilious smile. "Or should I say, Guiche, Chevalier de Gramont, Knight Captain of the Order of the Water Spirit."
"This is Saito!" proclaimed Guiche, grabbing a dazed Saito and holding him up like a pet cat. "A barbaric aventurier, only just made a knight! Really your highness, you should not be seen speaking with such a person!"
"But I…" Beatrice faltered.
"A noble lady never concerns herself with such petty matters," stage-whispered Guiche. "And she never allows herself to be caught off-guard."
Beatrice paused, and seemed to be thinking. Then she turned on her heel.
"Out of respect for our dear Chevalier de Gramont, I'll let this go for today." She walked off, her disconsolate followers falling in behind her. Then she stopped suddenly, and turned to face Tiffania.
"But," she pointed a finger straight at Tiffania, "when next we meet, you will take off that hat! Also," she sent a contemptuous glance Suleiman's way, "you may wish to find yourself a more gallant paramour."
With that she walked away, letting out a shrieking laugh. Her companions did likewise, their bizarre cackling echoing down the cloister.
Suleiman's heart sank. He felt sick, ashamed. Tiffania had needed his help, and he had just stood there, too terrified to speak let alone act.
Why? Why? Why was it always like this? Why could courage never come to him, when it came so easily to others?
Others, like Saito, and Guiche.
He shuddered, and hunched his shoulders, retreating into himself. He…he had tried to be brave, hadn't he? Wasn't that enough? Who were they to judge him? What did they know about him?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
"Suleiman?" Saito asked, turning towards him. "You okay? You've gone pale."
"Zahré mār!" barked Suleiman, in his native tongue.
"Whuh?" Saito sounded confused. Suleiman rounded on him, ready to unleash words his father would have beaten him for saying.
Then he saw the look in Tiffania's eyes, and his fury vanished. He turned on his heel and ran, ignoring them calling after him.
Nothing. He was nothing.
Finally got this done. I just hope the humour worked out; I don't have a lot of confidence in my comedy. As for the Ondine Knights, most of them were never named, and Gimli and Reynald were never given surnames AFAIK, so I invented some for them.
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This is one of those things where I wish I had read the original, so I could tell the difference between
* This is canon happening in the background.
* This is NOT canon happening in the background, and is a sign of big changes in the background with interesting implications.
* This is canon happening in the background.
* This is NOT canon happening in the background, and is a sign of big changes in the background with interesting implications.
Zaru
Beyond Prophecy
And the author clearly expanded beyond Halkiginia and had characters from there that are not asshole-ish elves.
And what things did you like if I may ask?
SaltyWaffles
I am dissapoint, son
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Huh. Didn't expect something like that from Suleiman, but it's promising to be quite intriguing.
Also, it's nice to see Saito being appreciated for his Only Sane Man status.
The gag with Saito's name was a nice touch. The duel was well done, although the sudden bout of rage in Julio was surprising and rather alarming. I like Alice as a character, although the way she reacted to Sylphid was a bit too over the top for my tastes.
Also, it's nice to see Saito being appreciated for his Only Sane Man status.
The gag with Saito's name was a nice touch. The duel was well done, although the sudden bout of rage in Julio was surprising and rather alarming. I like Alice as a character, although the way she reacted to Sylphid was a bit too over the top for my tastes.
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Zaru
Beyond Prophecy
Didn't expect him to clam up huh? When me and Juubi make OCs dang it we make sure they have flaws to develop! Suleiman and claming up. Maxwell being a shy guy. Alice and a fear for dragons regardless of size or cuteness in the same vein as Mokoto from Love Hina with Turtles. We know how bad OCs have become on FF.net. We have observed and we have learned.
Same here. Saito is a sane man in an insane world after all.
SaltyWaffles
I am dissapoint, son
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Oh, I'm not suggesting that Alice's fear of dragons is in any way bad; I think the way you had her express that fear was a little unbelievable and over-the-top. More realistic, trauma-induced fears would look more like "draw your weapon and attack it", "run the fuck away", or "just shut down/freeze in terror"--literally jumping into someone's arms is a tad...comical for something so serious.
Chapter Five
- Location
- UK
Chapter Five
The Magic Academy, Kingdom of Tristain, 20th day of Feoh.
"Mister Suleiman? What're you doing there?"
Suleiman groaned as he opened his eyes. He blinked, and the blurred image resolved into the face of Siesta.
"Miss Siesta?" he croaked. He tried to move, and realised he was in a sitting position, his stiff muscles aching as he tried to uncoil himself. "Wh...where...?"
"You're behind the Servants' Quarters" the maid explained. "Have you been here all night?"
Suleiman looked blearily around as Siesta helped him to his feet. They were standing in a shadowed space between a large building and the outer wall. His tunic and pants were clammy with dew, and his back ached as he straightened up.
"I..." Then he trailed off as he remembered the events of the previous evening. He remembered running from Tiffania and Saito, fleeing to hide in this dark place. He remembered hugging his knees, tears of shame and despair running down his cheeks, as the darkness closed in around him.
"You shouldn't sleep out in the open like this Mister Suleiman," Siesta admonished. "You'll catch your death."
"Perhaps I should have done," Suleiman replied mournfully.
"And you shouldn't say things like that either!"
Suleiman turned his head to face Siesta. She had a kind face, but there was a deeper quality to it, the knowing look of one who had seen a great deal of life; for better and for worse. It reminded him painfully of Majid.
"You'll feel better after something to eat," she insisted. "There's plenty of food down in the kitchens."
She smiled, and gestured for him to follow. Seeing little point in refusing, Suleiman fell in alongside her.
"So what happened last night?" Siesta asked. "I heard there was some trouble with Princess Guldenhorf."
"Yes, there was."
Suleiman told her of how Beatrice had threatened Tiffania, and how Saito had come to the rescue, while he had stood frozen in fear. Siesta sighed.
"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," she said. "I'd be wary of confronting a Princess too, even if she's only from a little place like Guldenhorf."
"I should have done something," Suleiman insisted. "I should have stood up for Miss Tiffania."
"And get beaten black and blue by the Luftpanzer Ritter?" Siesta gave him an indulgent smile. "You don't need to get into trouble over something silly like this."
"Saito did."
"Saito is Gandalfr. He doesn't have to be afraid of mages, or knights, or anyone really."
Suleiman saw the admiration in her eyes, and then remembered when he'd seen her together with Saito and Louise. He would've laughed, had he been in a better mood.
"Miss Tiffania was worried about you, you know," Siesta went on. "She even went looking for you."
"She didn't find me," Suleiman retorted; only to feel another twinge of shame at how petulant he sounded.
"Mister Saito stopped her," Siesta explained sourly. "It was getting dark, and he seemed to think you'd come back on your own."
Siesta led him through a narrow door, then down a circular staircase and along a dimly-lit corridor. Suleiman could hear the sounds of the kitchen long before he reached it; a cacophony of voices and footsteps, of clinking and clanking of metal and ceramic, the bubble of pots and the hiss of pans. Delicious scents filled Suleiman's nostrils as Siesta led him along the wall, skirting the edge of the organised chaos.
"It's very busy down here," he commented, as they stepped out of the main kitchen and into a side room.
"It always is at mealtimes," Siesta replied cheerfully. "Breakfast for a few hundred staff and students, not to mention us servants!"
The room was dominated by a long wooden table. Maids in the same black dresses and white aprons as Siesta were clearing away plates and cutlery. They looked up curiously as Siesta sat Suleiman down on a chair at the end of the table. A much younger boy with a mop of green hair looked up from his bowl.
"Oh, and this is Maxwell Grey," Siesta promptly introduced him. "He's the Chevalresse la Durant's squire, so he eats down here too. Maxwell, this is Suleiman, Miss Westwood's valet."
"Good morning!" Maxwell greeted him cheerfully. "I saw you yesterday, but I never got the chance to introduce myself."
"Good morning to you, Mister Grey."
"Please, just call me Maxwell," the boy replied, over Siesta's giggling. In spite of everything, Suleiman felt himself smile. There was a friendliness to Maxwell, and to Siesta too, that made him feel better about himself; that he was in good company.
"How very nostalgic!"
Suleiman jumped at the deep, growling voice behind him, and would have leapt out of his seat had Siesta not pressed him down.
"And good morning to you, Marteau!" Siesta greeted the monstrosity. "You wouldn't happen to have a decent breakfast to spare for Suleiman here, would you?"
"Suleiman eh?" The whatever-it-was came clumping round from behind him. Suleiman was relieved to see that Marteau was merely a very tall, very broad-shouldered, and very muscular human being, rather than some sort of terrible giant or troll. He was clad in a double-breasted white tunic, identical to those Suleiman had seen on the kitchen staff, but with a wide red neckerchief and, most curious of all, a tall cylindrical white hat. Blue eyes twinkled under thick brown eyebrows, and a smile creased a craggy, brown-bearded face.
"G…good morning, Sir Marteau," Suleiman babbled. Marteau burst out laughing.
"Don't call me sir!" he managed to say, between volcanic guffaws. "You make me sound like some noble! Call me Chef if you must, but Marteau is fine." He turned and opened his mouth.
"Antoine!" he bellowed, so loud that Suleiman's ears ached. "Broth and bread for Siesta's friend here! The good stuff, mark you!" He turned back to Suleiman, his smile returning.
"And don't you worry about it lad," he declared. "What those nobles don't know what hurt 'em!" He laughed. Suleiman did not have long to be unsettled, as the boy named Antoine returned with a tray and set it in front of him. On it was a bowl full of a thick broth, and a plate with a large bread roll. A tempting, meaty smell wafted up from the broth, making Suleiman's stomach growl.
"I take it you're enjoying that," Marteau commented with a grin as Suleiman tucked into the broth with some gusto.
"It's delicious!" Suleiman replied between mouthfuls. The meat in the broth was lamb, and there was plenty of it. The flavour was plainer than he had been used to in Arysia, but it was finer faire than much of what he'd eaten on the road with Majid.
"Eat to your heart's content!" Marteau wrapped a meaty arm around Suleiman's unsuspecting neck, drawing him close. "Any friend of Siesta's is a friend of mine!"
"Uh…!" Suleiman found this all very uncomfortable. "Would you mind…?"
"Don't worry!" Siesta interjected, smiling. "He's always been like this. He was the same with Saito when I brought him down here."
All at once the atmosphere changed. Marteau's craggy face darkened, and he disentangled himself from Suleiman.
"Don't talk to me about that sellout," he grumbled bitterly. All the other maids and kitchen boys made great shows of looking the other way. Even Maxwell looked nervous.
"Marteau," Siesta growled, her hands on her hips. "Are you still carrying on like this? What happened to our sword?"
"I'll tell you want happened!" the Chef barked back, making Suleiman jump. "He went and became a Chevalier, that's what! Now he's wagging his tail for the nobles!"
"That's not true and you know it!" snapped Siesta indignantly. "Saito won't change just because he became a Chevalier! He only accepted it because the Queen asked him personally! Would you turn down a gift from her Majesty?"
"Well, uh, no, but…!"
"Besides!" Siesta went on. "You've got no business criticizing him, not when you've got more money than most of the nobles here!"
Marteau glared at Siesta, and the maid stared back. Suleiman tried to get up, to flee the confrontation. But each stuck a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back down.
"You've gotten stubborn, Siesta," Marteau commented, through gritted teeth.
"I'm Saito's personal maid," Siesta replied. "If I don't stick up for him, no one will."
The tension lingered, making a few moments seem like an eternity. Then Marteau grinned.
"Maybe you're right," he said, sighing. "Anyway!" He slapped Suleiman on the shoulder, so hard as to almost knock his face into his bowl. "If your friend ever needs a meal, he can come by any time he wants!" He laughed, and strode back into the chaos of the kitchen.
"You'll get used to him eventually," Siesta said, smiling.
"Is it true what you said?" Suleiman asked. "Does he really have more money than the nobles here?"
"He certainly does!" Siesta laughed. "Noble households pay big money for skills like his."
"And this lot are all in hock to little Miss Guldenhorf!" called out a passing maid. Everyone laughed, except Suleiman.
"Guldenhorf?" he asked. "As in Princess Guldenhorf?"
"Princess?!" Siesta let out a laugh. "Well I suppose she can call herself that."
"She's not a Princess?"
"Well, she's allowed to use the title," Siesta explained. "But she wouldn't be able to otherwise. Her family say they're connected to the Royal family through King Philip, but they don't have much land. Their money's in commerce and banking."
"What's wrong with that?" Suleiman asked, noting what might have been scorn in her tone. Siesta began to laugh, then realized he was serious.
"Nobles have rules about things like that," Maxwell chimed in. "They're supposed to get money from land and doing noble jobs, like fighting and using magic. It's not like that where you're from?"
"No," Suleiman replied. "Not in the least. In Arysia, the most powerful are the Merchant Princes of the great cities."
"Arysia?" Maxwell perked up. "I've never met an Arysian before!"
"Well, that's not unusual around here." Suleiman smiled awkwardly.
"Hey you there!" called a voice from the doorway. "You in the blue!" Suleiman looked up to see a maid with brown hair in a ponytail entering the room.
"Yes?"
"You're Suley-man, right?" the maid asked, mispronouncing his name. "What's up with your lady?"
"My…you mean Miss Tiffania?"
"Miss Westwood, yes." The maid regarded him questioningly. "I just saw her a moment ago, heading for the Earth tower. What in the Founder's name was she wearing?"
"I…I don't understand." Suleiman was confused. The maid gave him an odd look.
"What're you talking about, Maria?" asked Siesta.
"She was wearing a funny outfit," Maria replied. "A sort of long cloak with a hood. It was all shades of yellow and brown."
"That sounds like an Elvish nomad's cloak," Maxwell mused. "Did the hood have feathers on it?"
"Yes, now that you mention it." Maria cocked her head. "Why would she…" She trailed off as she saw the look on Suleiman's face.
The tall wooden door loomed in front of Tiffania, as if trying to warn her from her chosen course.
"No" she thought, staring up at the door. "I have to do this. I can't give Saito any more trouble. Or Suleiman…"
Her face fell as she remembered the pain and shame in his eyes. He had been scared too. He had run away from her because he was ashamed of himself, or so Guiche had insisted. He had been ashamed, because he had been unable to protect her.
There was no alternative, no other way out. She had to show them the truth of herself; the truth written in the Elvish clothes upon her body, and the ears beneath her hood. If the truth was out, Saito wouldn't need to worry about her, and Suleiman wouldn't feel like he had to protect her. Neither of them would have to suffer because of her any more.
Tiffania wished he had come back. Saito and Guiche had both insisted that he would come back on his own, and she had trusted them. But she wished she had been able to find him, and tell him that it was all right; that she wasn't ashamed of him, or upset with him.
Too late now.
Steeling herself, Tiffania pushed the door open and stepped inside. All eyes turned to fix on her as she closed the door behind her. She saw their eyes grow wide in surprise, their mouths dropping open. Her classmates, the ones she hoped would be her friends.
"Miss Westwood!" cried a woman's voice. She glanced to her right, and saw Madame Chevreuse standing behind her desk, shock written all over her round face. "What…what kind of clothes are those?!"
She was normally a pleasant, considerate woman, and Tiffania regretted causing her trouble like this. But there was no going back.
"Everyone!" she called out, stepping in front of the teacher's desk, so that all could see her. "There's something very important I have to tell you all! This cloak…belonged to my mother!"
"What're you...what're you talking about?!" Chevreuse babbled. "Only the nomads wear cloaks like that!" The colour drained from her face.
"Don't' tell me…!"
"Yes." Tiffania took a deep breath, and reached up to her hood and pulled it down.
The chamber erupted, screams of terror filling her ears as the students ducked behind their desks or ran up the stairs away from her. Madame Chevreuse cowered behind her desk, whimpering like a child.
"An elf!"
"She'll kill us all!"
"Have mercy!"
Tiffania's heart ached. A part of her had known it would be like this, that they would fear her; maybe even hate her. But for all that, she had hoped it would not be so.
"Everyone!" she called out plaintively. "Don't be afraid! I came to make friends with you all!"
"Liar!" shrieked Beatrice's friend Kitty, hiding behind a desk near the back. "Why would an elf do that?!"
Tiffania lowered her head despondently. What had her mother's people done that that these children should fear them so? What had they done to make those men come looking for her, on that terrible day so long ago?
"I know that elves and humans have fought for a long time," she said. "But…my father and mother fell in love. I am as much human as I am elf."
"So you're a half-elf?"
Tiffania looked up, and saw Beatrice standing behind one of the desks at the back of the chamber. She stood with her hands on her hips, her face set in that same cold mask she had worn the day before. Some of the girls cowered behind her.
"In which case," Beatrice went on. "Which god do you believe in? The dark gods of the desert? Or our Holy Founder Brimir?"
"I was raised in the Westwood, alone," Tiffania replied. "I know nothing of any gods. I was not instructed in such things."
A rumble ran through the room, and Tiffania had a horrible feeling that she had just made her situation a lot worse. Beatrice's small mouth split into a vicious smirk.
"Well then," she said. "We shall have to do something about that. Luftpanzer Ritter!"
The door crashed open, and a half-dozen Luftpanzer Ritter thundered into the chamber, staves at the ready.
"Luftpanzer Ritter!" Beatrice thrust a finger at Tiffania. "Seize her!"
"All right! What's all the racket!?"
Alice swept into the headmaster's office without bothering to knock. A gaggle of teachers huddled around the main window, staring out at whatever very noisy commotion was going on outside. Osman sat at his desk, his curved pipe in his mouth, seemingly quite unperturbed.
"Mademoiselle la Chevalier!" Professor Bardin, a grey-haired man with a short moustache rounded on her as she approached. The Luftpanzer Ritter have attacked the Tower of Earth! The academy is in chaos!"
Alice strode over to the window. She could see the Luftpanzer Ritter's tents, clustered along the wall between the Tower of Void and the Tower of Fire. A crowd of students was gathering nearby, held back by a line of armoured figures that could only be the Luftpanzer Ritter. Another student stood behind the knights, and seemed to be the centre of attention. Alice couldn't see clearly at such a distance, but she had a sneaking suspicion as to who it was.
"Any idea what this is about?" she asked aloud.
"It's Miss Guldenhorf!" replied Bardin. "She had her knights kidnap Miss Westwood! She was spouting some nonsense about an inquisition!"
"Inquisition?" Alice was mystified. "Do we even have a priest here?"
"Miss Guldenhorf is, in addition to being the heiress of Guldenhorf, a Bishop," said Osman. He had not even opened his eyes, let alone looked up from his high-backed chair. "It's a hereditary sinecure."
Alice glanced from Osman to the crowd of rather frightened teachers. Her position at the academy was not formal, and as such this wasn't strictly speaking any of her business. That said, she supposed she should do something.
"Well then?" She fixed the teachers with a stern gaze. "What are we going to do about it?"
"I…I…Headmaster!" Bardin rounded on the remarkably relaxed Osman. "Your orders sir!"
All the other teachers regarded Osman expectantly. Osman took the pipe out of his mouth, and squinted through one eye at its contents.
"Your orders…" he said, his tone very calm. "…are to stay out of it."
The teachers stared at one-another in disbelief, but none among them dared say more.
"This could get ugly," Alice mused, glancing down again. There were no sign of the academy's guards, and she didn't blame them. A handful of men with halberds could do little against twenty of Halkeginia's finest mage-knights, and the Luftpanzer Ritter had a reputation for casual brutality.
"Nevertheless…" Osman sucked on his pipe. "You will stay out of it."
Alice sighed. Her sense of urgency warred with a shrewd caution that had saved her life many times. She was confident in herself and her skills, but not so sure how long she would last against twenty Luftpanzer Ritter. She could not ask the Ondine Knights to help her either; they were too young, too green, for a challenge like that.
At least she could trust Maxwell to stay out of it. The boy had a big heart, but also a sensible head on his shoulders. He wouldn't do anything too dangerous.
Beatrice Yvonne von Guldenhorf was in her element.
She stood tall, flanked by two of her knights, scanning her eyes around the crowd. They were nervous, uncertain, frightened even. That was good, for it meant they took her seriously.
Her knights formed a line in front of her, holding the crowd at bay, and her heart swelled at the sight of them. How fine her Luftpanzer Ritter looked, in their heavy cuirasses and pauldrons, their white cloaks hanging from their shoulders, their faces hidden behind their Totenkopf helmets. They were a worthy symbol of Guldenhorf, of her dignity.
Then she turned her eyes towards Tiffania, who had managed to rise to her knees. It did her heart good to see that infuriating boob monster humbled. But the denouement was soon to come. She glanced to her left, and saw two knights wrestling an enormous cauldron into position. Normally they used it for cooking, but today it would serve another, much better purpose.
"This inquisition is in session!" she proclaimed, loudly enough for the crowd to hear her. "As Princess of Guldenhorf I am also a Bishop, so I will preside!"
She heard the nervous muttering among the students. She enjoyed their disquiet, their fear. If she could not have their adulation, their affection, she would make do with their fear. Either way, she would not be ignored.
"Do you know what an inquisition involves?" she asked. Tiffania was trembling, too frightened to reply. Delicious.
"You said that you were not instructed in any religion," Beatrice went on. "That is not acceptable. As a Princess and a Bishop, I cannot allow an atheist to remain here."
More muttering from the crowd. Beatrice glanced at her friends, and saw the admiration on their faces. A nice little touch of complex theology; something to remind them all of the effort her father had put into her education.
"Therefore, I call upon you to recant your ignorance and declare your faith in our Founder Brimir, who is with God, and who is God."
The knights lowered their heads respectfully, and some of the students crossed themselves.
"What would you have me do?" Tiffania asked nervously. Beatrice felt her face rise into a vicious smirk.
"In a serious case like this, an ordeal is needed. You can prove your sincerity by climbing into that!"
She pointed at the cauldron, which was by now full of water. One of the two knights was applying a flame spell to the base, while the other stirred the already bubbling water. The look on Tiffania's infuriatingly perfect face was priceless.
"Don't worry!" Beatrice almost laughed. "If you truly believe, it will feel just right. If you are a liar," her smirk widened, "then you will boiled alive."
Another flurry of murmurs from the crowd. If that hadn't gotten their attention, nothing would.
"Stop!"
Beatrice turned, and saw Saito Hiraga shove his way through the crowd, his eyes flashing like lightning, only for Guiche and Malicorne to come racing after him and grab him by the arms.
"Let go of me! Are you scared of those knights?"
"You can't Saito!" Guiche pleaded. "It's an inquisition!"
"They'll name you a heretic!" Malicorne added. "And throw you in jail, or worse!"
Beatrice almost laughed. She despised the Gramonts; a bunch of muscled-headed louts who couldn't run an estate to save their lives. She thought even less of Guiche himself, a pathetic womanizing flatterer who had somehow cadged himself a medal in Albion. And as for the rumours she had heard about Malicorne de Grandple…
"Or you could just leave, and go back to the forest where you belong. That way, you won't have to take this chance." She looked down at Tiffania once again, reveling in the fear in those bright blue eyes.
But something was wrong. There was fear to be sure, but something else too. Far from quaking in blind terror, she just looked…pained somehow, hurt even.
Like…
Beatrice's blood turned to ice as she saw another face before her eyes. The face of a boy her own age, looking up at her from the ground, that dark night…
"What an unfortunate person," Tiffania said, standing up.
"What?!" Beatrice spluttered. "What did you say?"
"You're angry, because you didn't get your way. You're still a child."
For a moment Beatrice just stared at Tiffania, unable even to think, let alone react. And then she remembered.
"You're such a girl, Trixie!"
"And you're a dumkopff, Mihai!"
Beatrice shook her head, willing the vision to go away. She would not be tormented by him, not now!
"Luftpanzer Ritter!" she shrieked. "Throw her in the cauldron!"
"Halt!"
Beatrice glanced about, ready to unleash her vitriol on whosoever dared to interrupt. Her wrath turned to surprise as she saw who was rushing over the grass towards them.
"You?"
Suleiman didn't know what he was doing.
He didn't know what impulse had made him run all the way from the kitchens. He didn't know what madness had taken him from safety to the greatest danger. He didn't know what insanity had made him stand there, right in the line of fire.
And it no longer mattered.
"Suleiman!" cried Tiffania, seeing him.
"What're you doing, you idiot!?" Saito yelled. "Get out of there!"
But Suleiman ignored him. He remembered their encounter the day before, and looked straight into her eyes. He saw a flicker there, of anger perhaps, and behind her the dirty looks her friends were giving him. He had an edge, at least for the moment.
"Let her go," he repeated, keeping his tone steady. "She has done you no wrong. There is no justice in this."
He knew how to talk, to debate, to argue. Such things he had learnt from his father, and his tutors, back home in Arysia. Such skills, his father had always insisted, were the mark of a true mirza. At any other time and place, it would have been interesting to see how this Princess of Guldenhorf would match up. But this was a matter of life and death.
"That is not for you to say!" Beatrice snapped back, face twisted with anger and disgust. "She has offended me and the Founder Brimir by her presence here!"
"How is that justice?!" protested Suleiman. "To persecute another at your own whim?"
"She is an atheist who knows nothing of our Founder Brimir!" Beatrice was in a towering fury, or as close to one as girl of her age and build could manage. "She can respect our religion or leave!"
Suleiman heard the mutterings in the crowd, and got the horrible impression that some of them were on Beatrice's side. He had only one argument that might sway them.
"She is an innocent child of nature!" he pleaded. "She grew up alone in the forest, without parents to care for her or priests to instruct her! How can she honour gods of whom she knows nothing?"
The students looked at one-another, some of them casting pitying eyes on Tiffania. But Suleiman's heart ached as he saw the look she was giving him, and he realized what he had done. He had betrayed her trust, revealed something that she had not given him permission to reveal.
"It's the truth!" Saito stepped forward again, turning to face the crowd. "It was the hatred of humans that condemned her to that fate!"
"Silence!" Beatrice barked. She looked rattled, and Suleiman felt a touch of hope. "You're defending an enemy of our faith! That makes you an enemy too!"
"By what law?" demanded Suleiman. "What law condemns him merely for speaking?"
"Shut up!" Beatrice shrieked, rounding on Suleiman. "You dare talk back to me!? You're just a servant, and a cowardly one at that!"
Her smirk returned as Suleiman hung his head, his eyes screwed shut as the shame welled up inside him. There was the chain again, wrapped around his heart. He could feel it there, smothering his spirit, crushing his courage. He could feel it with every panting breath. It said no words, made no argument, but all the same it was there, holding him back, trying to drag him back, away from the danger.
He had enjoyed wandering the roads of Halkeginia, playing his sitar for adulation and a few coins. He had liked being a strolling musician, someone who didn't have to stay, didn't have to worry about the things his audiences had to deal with. He didn't have to face anything, he didn't have to take responsibility. It was an easy, carefree life, with little to fear that he couldn't simply run from.
He wanted to run. He wanted to grab Tiffania and get her away from this place, from those people. There was no way he could fight. If he fought, he would just get killed, and then where would she be?
"Suleiman!"
He shivered, his blood running cold as he remembered those faces; those smiling, evil faces bearing down upon him. He remembered the clink of their jewels, the glitter of the knives.
"Come out Suleiman!"
"This won't hurt…much!"
"It's better this way Suleiman! Don't make us kill you!"
"No..." he hissed. "No more!"
He reached for his headband. He heard Tiffania cry out, Saito yell a warning, but he did not relent. He tore the headband away, felt his long ears spring into place.
And heard the collective gasp from the crowd.
"You?!" Beatrice spluttered, looking at him as if he had sprouted horns.
"Yes!" Suleiman drew himself up. "I am a half-elf, no different from her! I am an Arysian, and as the light of Arta guides me, I will not tolerate this injustice!"
Beatrice looked as if she was being boiled herself. Her face was red with rage, her eyes bulging in a most unflattering manner.
"You…you dare…!" Beatrice screwed up her face and clenched her fists, the image of a child on the verge of a tantrum. "Apostate! Infidel! Luftpanzer Ritter! Throw them both in the pot!"
Suleiman tensed as the two knights flanking Beatrice stepped forward. He remembered his old lessons, and willed his body to relax. The knights stepped closer, armoured hands reached to grab him. He heard Tiffania whimper.
And he moved.
The knight on the right became the centre of his world. Suleiman lashed out with his right hand, knocking the knight's outstretched hand away, then drove his left palm into the bottom of his visor.
The knight grunted and rocked back, but Suleiman was already moving, dancing lightly to the right. He brought his left arm back, wrapping it around the knight's still-extended right arm as he planted his left foot and thrust up with his right knee. The combined momentum brought the unfortunate knight forward, Suleiman's knee catching him under his short breastplate. The knight gave a yell, and Suleiman twirled as he disconnected, sending him crashing to the ground in a clatter of armour plates.
Suleiman did not hear the gasps of astonishment. In his mind was the beat of drums, the clash of cymbals, the skirl of oboes and trumpets. It was the music the soldiers played, the music to which he had performed these arts before his father. It was the music of war, of righteous battle, of the triumph of truth.
His manoeuvre had brought him face-to-face with Beatrice who stared at him in horrified disbelief. But his attention was focused on the other Luftpanzer Ritter, who stepped sideways to shield her from him. The knight charged, jabbing his heavy staff at Suleiman's belly. Suleiman dodged the tip, then grabbed the haft and swung around it as it passed, sliding one leg forward. The knight tripped, and Suleiman broke away as he crashed to the ground, swearing viciously in a language Suleiman had never heard.
Time seemed to slow down. Suleiman stared at what he had wrought, hardly believing that he had done it.
He had beaten them. He had faced armoured warriors and hurled them to the ground. He could do this, he could…
His body erupted in blazing agony. Suleiman screamed as the lightning spell fried his body, its deadly energy coursing through his nerves, burning his flesh. He could smell ozone as he slumped to one knee, just in time to see one of the Luftpanzer Ritter swing his staff at him like a woodcutter's axe. The blow caught him in the stomach, hurling him away over the grass. He landed hard, bounced once, and came to rest.
"Suleiman!" His world was pain, but he could still hear Tiffania's voice. "Suleiman!"
Warm arms enfolded him, raising him up from the ground. Tiffania's angelic face entered his field of vision, and his heart ached at the horror and pain written across it.
"Suleiman!" Her voice was so sweet, so worried. "It's all right! You're safe now!"
"T…Tiffania," he croaked, as his voice returned. "Forgive me…I failed you…"
"Oh Suleiman!" Tiffania's eyes were wet with tears. "Why did you have to be so brave!?"
"Your champion is beaten!" Beatrice's voice cut through the moment. "Now, will you accept my mercy and leave?!"
Tiffania looked straight at Beatrice, her face unnaturally grim. Suleiman thought she would defy her, and he hoped she would. His blood boiled as he saw Beatrice's triumphant smirk, even as her face glowed red with fury, her brow gleaming with sweat. Around her, the knights he had beaten clambering to their feet, apparently unharmed.
"I have no choice."
Suleiman's heart sank. A groan went up from the crowd.
"Tiffania!" he pleaded, trying to rise. "You can't!"
"I must," Tiffania replied, smiling down at him again, caressing his cheek with a silk-soft hand. "You're my familiar. I can't let them hurt you anymore."
Tears welled up in Suleiman's eyes; tears of love and shame. He had failed her, robbed her of her chance to study at the academy, to meet other people and make friends with them; her fondest wish. She would have to leave, and give up her dream, because he wasn't strong enough.
And yet still she smiled at him. Still she looked down at him with those eyes; those eyes that hid no feelings and told no lies. Still she wanted to be with him.
Suleiman heard a hiss, and glanced up at Beatrice, half-expecting to see her laughing at them. But Beatrice wasn't laughing; far from it. Her face was a mask of mingled horror and fury, the same as when he had shown her his ears. He wondered what was going through her head.
"Well?! What're you waiting for?!" she barked. "Go! Get out!"
"You get out!" yelled a voice from the crowd. Within an instant the air rang with angry shouts, all of them directed at Beatrice and her knights.
"Leave them alone!"
"You've got no right!"
"This is Tristain! Go back to Guldenhorf!"
"Germanian slut!"
The crowd was alive now, pointing fingers and shaking fists. Some had drawn wands. Beatrice backed away, fear and rage warring for dominance on her face. Feeling the pain recede, Suleiman managed to sit up. He tried to rise, to call out to her, to bid her restrain herself. He knew what was coming.
"Luftpanzer Ritter!" she shrieked, her eyes screwed shut. "Crush them! Destroy them!"
Without a word, the knights levelled their staves. Bolts of lightning flashed from the tips, crackling and bursting in the ground before the students. The angry shouts became cries of fear, and the students ran screaming for their lives.
But not all of them.
With a shout of fury, Saito ripped Derflinger from the scabbard on his back. Now she had done it. Now she had gone beyond the pale. And he was going to do something about it.
"Ready Derf!" he growled, as he readied himself to charge.
"Any time, partner!" the sword drawled back. Saito charged, sprinting straight at the nearest Luftpanzer Ritter. The knight turned to face him, raising his staff to block. Saito swung Derflinger in a downward diagonal, tearing through the staff in a shower of splinters. The blade struck the knight on the shoulder, with an impact that should have broken Saito's arms. But the Gandalfr's power was equal to the task, and Saito saw the pauldron bend under the blow, heard the crunch of broken bone.
The knight fell, but already Saito was searching for his next target. Two more Luftpanzer Ritter had turned to face him, levelling their staves to blast him with deadly magic. Saito raised Derflinger to en garde position, and the lightning bolts earthed themselves in the glowing blade.
But Saito's confidence turned to fear as he saw, in the corner of his eye, two more knights circling around to his left. He gritted his teeth. He had seen this before, back in Albion on that fateful night. These Luftpanzer Ritter might take orders from a little brat like Beatrice, but they obviously weren't stupid. He saw the flanking knights levelling their staves, and prepared for the pain.
But it didn't come. The two knights paused, bringing their staves around as a pair of grey-green shapes charged past Saito to engage them. It took him a moment to recognize them; their feminine curves and enormous pauldrons, the white-crested helmets and long spears. He turned his head, and his clenched mouth split into a grin as he saw Guiche standing there, in what he must have thought was a heroic pose.
"Onward Ondine Knights!" he proclaimed, sweeping his ridiculous rose-wand around. "Onward for Saito! Onward for Suleiman! Onward for all the pretty ladies!" He swept his rose again, and the ground below him trembled, glowing with arcane light as a half-dozen new Valkryies emerged to join the battle.
Saito had to admit that Guiche was useful in a fight; when he could keep his eyes off the pretty ladies.
Suleiman watched as the Ondine knights engaged the Luftpanzer Ritter.
Malicorne led the charge, a blade of blue light extending from his wand. His girth and soft, fat face made him a comical sight, but the Luftpanzer Ritter weren't laughing. The other six Ondine knights raced past him, picking out their own targets. Those of the students who hadn't fled cheered them on.
Suleiman rose to a sitting position. His waist still ached from the blow it had suffered, but the strange, tingling pain of the lightning bolt had all but faded. Perhaps that particular knight hadn't meant to kill him after all. He stared at the battle, a part of him yearning to run over and join them. The sight of it thrilled him, driving away the pain and shame that had driven him to face those Guldenhorfers alone. It was magnificent! It was righteous!
"Awful…"
Suleiman glanced round, and saw that Tiffania was watching the battle too. She looked on in horror at the violence, her eyes full of sorrow.
"Awful," she repeated. Suleiman's heart ached for her, and he regretted his enthusiasm.
"Miss Tiffania," he said, trying to draw her attention away from the fighting. "Miss Tiffania, I'm sure it'll be all right."
"Are you so sure?" Mage and familiar looked up to see a young man with blonde hair standing casually beside them, as if he were watching a play or a wrestling bout. He wore a long white tunic, covered by a blue cape with a high collar. Suleiman recognized him immediately; he had seen the man mooching around the academy, being drooled-over by the girls. His name was…Julio?
"What do you mean?" he asked. The man was smiling, but there was a grim edge to it that Suleiman didn't like.
"Look closely," replied Julio Cesare, his still on the battle. "The Ondines are brave, but the Luftpanzer Ritter have something more."
Suleiman returned his attention to the fight. Another Luftpanzer Ritter had fallen to Saito's blade, but two of the eight survivors were pummeling him with spells; everything from lightning bolts to gusts of wind to fireballs. Three more had backed off from the melee, and were unleashing spell after spell on Guiche's golems, destroying them almost as quickly as he could summon them. That left three fighting back-to-back, holding their own against repeated attacks by Malicorne and four other Ondine knights. The other two Ondines, one of them Reynald, lay sprawled on the grass.
A cold lump formed in Suleiman's gut as he understood Julio's meaning. The Ondines were fighting as individuals, each his own champion, attacking with sword or spell as he pleased. The Luftpanzer Ritter fought as a team, a band of brothers who knew each-other's every move.
And more of them were coming. Suleiman saw yet more Luftpanzer Ritter hurrying along the battlements towards the battle. He saw them dropping from the wall, using wind magic to slow and control their falls. Twelve more, who in moments would join the battle.
Join the battle, and end it.
"Suleiman!" Tiffania protested as Suleiman stood up. "You can't go back in there! You're hurt!"
"I have to, Miss Tiffania," Suleiman replied grimly. "I have no choice. I…I can't let it end like this."
"What do you have in mind?" asked Julio. Suleiman did not reply, but strode towards the oncoming Luftpanzer Ritter. He heard Tiffania cry after him, but he pressed on, coming to a halt a safe distance from the melee. He willed his heart to slow, and reached within himself.
There it was, as it had always been, every moment of his life. There it was, waiting to be used, yearning to be unleashed. There it was, the truth of himself.
Suleiman cleared his mind, quieting the voices that pleaded with him not to use it. There was no choice now, no going back. His hands came together over his heart as if to pray, and he let out a deep sigh. He felt familiar warmth encompass him, like a fire newly-lit in his heart. He heard Tiffania gasp as white flames engulfed him, leaping up around him.
It came.
He heard Tiffania and Julio's gasps as it towered over them, a vaguely human shape glowing with white light. A hundred spindly arms sprouted from its back and sides, writhing around it like a mass of serpents. A bulbous head sprouted from a thick neck encircled with a string of beads, its narrow face gazing down upon them with a look of distant, dreamy sorrow.
The knights continued their charge, heedless of the danger before them. Behind Suleiman, the melee continued unabated. He was not surprised, for never in his life had he encountered someone who could actually see Guanyin. Only others like himself could see it, or so his father's sages had told him.
The foremost hands came together in a prayer-like posture. The half-closed eyes glowed with a pale, other-worldly light. Suleman moved his hands apart, the giant above him doing likewise. His eyes inspected the charging knights. He knew what he had to do.
"Hundred-Palms Guanyin. Twelve Palms." He thrust his hands forth, as if to strike his foe.
It moved.
Julio stared up at the apparition, lost in wonder.
Never, not even in Albion had he seen anything like it. At first he had thought it a great, spindly golem, cunningly fashioned from a cloud of iron filings; he had seen such tricks done before, by skilled Earth mages. But that had been no golem, he was certain. No golem, no matter what it was made of, could do what he had seen that thing do.
The twelve Luftpanzer Ritter lay sprawled on the grass, unconscious. The combat around the tents had ceased; students, Ondine Knights, and Luftpanzer Ritter staring at Suleiman in horrified disbelief. Julio watched as Suleiman turned, the apparition mimicking his move. Suleiman's face was expressionless, perfectly serene, as if his spirit was in communion with heaven itself. It made a sharp contrast with the faces of the students and Ondine knights.
Something niggled at Julio. Something about the way they looked at Suleiman, at the giant.
"Suleiman!" Tiffania cried. "Suleiman stop it! Please!" But Suleiman did not hear her. He thrust out his hand again, and another silver palm flashed out, sending an unfortunate Luftpanzer Ritter flying. His comrades answered with their magic, unleashing a fusillade of fire and lightning at Suleiman. But the hands moved again, palms moving ever-so-slowly to catch the blasts.
The blasts that were aimed at Suleiman. Not the giant, but Suleiman.
Julio looked over them all again; students, then Ondine Knights, then the Luftpanzer Ritter. He looked over them again, and again. They were alllooking straight at Suleiman.
All except Saito. He alone stared up at the giant.
"They can't see it," he thought. "They really can't see it. But Saito and I…"
He remembered the night he had first met Suleiman, in that tavern cellar in Sottolatorre. He remembered the two of them saying they were from Arysia.
Arysia. Of all the places, of all the dark corners of the whole damned world, it just had to be Arysia!
He knew about Arysia. He had read of it, so many times, in the Papal archives. He had read of the Prophetess named Cyras, who had made the deserts bloom and won over whole nations with words alone. He had read of the accursed Shapur, who had thrown back the Romalian legions a thousand years ago. He had learnt of the thrice-damned Ardashir, who had destroyed the crusader kingdom of Outremer; carved out of desert and scrub by brave crusaders and pilgrims many centuries ago.
The texts had told of hosts that covered the land from horizon to horizon, of horsemen in glittering mail who swept all before them, of arrows that blotted out the sun. They told of men riding great birds, of beasts clad in armour, charmed to obedience by master mages. They told of brave knights slaughtered, of cities overrun, of cathedrals smashed until not one stone stood upon another, of holy relics tossed on the bonfires.
They told of something else. They told of a warrior like no other. They told of dragons torn from the sky, of walls shivered down, of armies put to flight. Again and again, over thousands of years, this lone warrior appeared as Arysia went to war. Never the same person, and never the same power, but always the same name.
Avatar.
A cold knife twisted in Julio's gut. To think that such a power, such a threat, had been wandering Halkeginia unseen and unhindered. Did Henrietta know? If she did, then what plans did she have for such a weapon? And what of the Scarlet Tower? Was that why the Pope had ordered him to have Suleiman and his companion turn back?
Did Joseph know?
"Noisy."
A shiver ran down Julio's spine, and he looked to see what had caused it. He was more than a little surprised to see Louise standing next to him, wearing only a pink, expensive-looking nightgown. She looked like death warmed up, and that was putting it chivalrously. Sunken, black-rimmed eyes gazed with lither loathing at the battle.
"I was having a wonderful dream." Her voice was low, croaking. Julio wondered if she could see it too, but the thought evaporated as he saw her raise her wand.
"Miss Louise!" Tiffania pleaded. "No Miss Louise!"
"Miss Tiffania," Julio interjected, stepping around her to shield her from what was to come. "I think you had best keep your head down."
Beatrice raised her head from behind her arms, just in time to see the two knights in front of her slump to the ground. She glanced from left to right, the roar of the blast still ringing in her ears, hardly daring to believe what had just happened.
Her knights, her Luftpanzer Ritter, were all down. Some lay unmoving, others moaned and struggled to rise. The Ondine Knights were down also, Saito included. She glanced over to Suleiman, fearful that he might have survived the explosion. But he too was unconscious, lying in the arms of that blonde priest, Tiffania at his side.
The only one standing was that pink-haired girl she had seen the day before. She stood there in her nightgown, clutching an expensive-looking wand, a look on her face that could have curdled milk.
"Who are you?!" she demanded, turning her fear and frustration on the interfering girl. "How dare you interrupt an inquisition?!"
"Inquisition?" The girl turned to face her, and Beatrice flinched at her louring gaze. "Under what authority?"
"I...I am Beatrice Von Guldenhorf!" Beatrice shrieked. "I am a Bishop!"
"And I am Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Vallière," the girl replied. "And I say you are a twerp."
Beatrice's retort caught in her throat. There were three whom her father had warned her not to antagonize. First was the Queen, thought that went without saying. Second was Cardinal Mazarin, who also went without saying. The third was the House of Vallière, Royal Dukes of Tristain, with the blood of the Founder Brimir in their veins.
But Beatrice was too angry to think straight, and her pride was wounded. Why should she, the daughter and heiress of Guldenhorf, defer to a girl who couldn't even dress herself properly?
"You're interrupting an inquisition!" she declared, her confidence returning. "I shall report you to her Majesty the Queen and Cardinal Mazarin!"
"Oh will you?" Louise sneered. "You haven't even shown me your authority."
"I…I have the patents at home!" Beatrice snapped. That much was true, but Louise's persistence was getting to her.
"Your bishopric is a hereditary sinecure," Louise went on, loud enough that all around could hear. "And even if it wasn't, you haven't shown me the Papal exequatur, counter-signed by Cardinal Mazarin, giving you the authority to conduct inquisitions. I trust you have it?"
Beatrice felt something cold and hard in her stomach. She tried to reply, to counter Louise's words, but she couldn't speak, or even think.
"Shall I inform my cousin, the Queen, about this?" Louise asked. "Or the Cardinal maybe? I should warn yoy; the Inquisition does not take kindly to having its authority usurped."
Beatrice trembled, as she realised the enormity of what she had done. She looked around for help, for someone to protect her from this reality. But her Luftpanzer Ritter lay sprawled on the grass, in no condition to stand, let alone fight. She looked to her friends, for someone to say it wasn't true; but Constance, Kitty, and Lizette were too busy sneaking away to even look at her.
As she had always known they would.
"We don't know this girl!" pleaded Constance, as the students began to gather once again. Beatrice felt her blood run cold as they began to encircle her, some of them drawing wands. She could hear their angry mutterings as they closed in, surrounding her, engulfing her.
This was it. This was surely it. They would never let her go after humiliating them like that.
"Beatrice." Beatrice's heart clenched as she heard her name. She spun round, and saw Tiffania standing there, staring at her.
"S…stay back!" she pleaded, backing away as Tiffania advanced on her. Her legs gave way, and she fell to the ground. She shut her eyes, waiting for the vengeance of the half-elf.
But nothing happened.
Terrified, Beatrice opened one eye. There was Tiffania standing over her, that cold stare on her face. Beatrice stared up at her, wondering what she intended. She flinched as Tiffania suddenly crouched down in front of her.
And then smiled.
"Beatrice," she said gently. "Let's be friends."
For a few moments, Beatrice was too stunned to even speak. She could only stare into those blue eyes; those warm, gentle, undeceiving eyes. They reminded her of…
Beatrice let out a wail, as the last of her pride crumbled into dust. She buried her face in Tiffania's bosom, weeping like a child. Tiffania held her close, saying nothing, smiling gently.
Nearby, Louise muttered something about silly little girls and stalked off.
This one didn't take all that long. It's a little shorter than the others, since I cut out a couple of scenes that didn't really add anything. My only possible issue with it for the moment is that I ended up leaving out any mention of the bust-up between Saito and Louise that led to her stopping to the battle. That said, I've had enough complaints from readers tired of reading scenes they've already seen in Light Novels and anime alike to think I've made the right choice in this case.
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Stop: Stop
- Location
- The sixth circle of Hell (second on weekends)
- Pronouns
- She/Her
stop
This is pirated material. Rule 1 of SV is no illegal material. This is not a hard rule to follow. If the full text of a novel or the full video file of a movie that would cost you money to purchase in a shop is available online for free, there is a pretty good chance that it is pirated. So don't post it here.
SaltyWaffles
I am dissapoint, son
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I don't even know what this means. "Bust-up"? And I got the impression that Louise blew everyone up after the battle was pretty much already over anyway.
I think it was more an issue that there was too much of canon scenes in written form, especially early on, making the story's pacing too slow and bogged down.
There are other ways, too: showing the effects of canon scenes without showing the scenes themselves. If two characters had a fight, the next scene featuring them could simply have them acting more coldly to one another to a noticeable degree--a simple verbal explanation (like one character confirming to another that they had a fight with another character) would then suffice.
As for the rest: wasn't Saito capable of charging an entire freaking army, laden with mages both on-foot and mounted, and still wrecking them for a while before going down? Him being taken down by just a handful of non-mounted mages in close proximity seems rather odd, particularly given that he as a sword that absorbs magic.
Other than that: Suleiman OP, pls nerf, and goddamnit Tiffania, don't emulate Leeroy Jenkins.
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Zaru
Beyond Prophecy
Suleiman has limits to his power. You'll see that sook enough. It's not an all invincible magic, the power of the avatar.
- Location
- UK
Bust-up = a colloquialism for an argument or fight.
I should explain. I was referring to the argument between Saito and Louise earlier, when Saito was complaining about the way Tiffania was being treated, and Louise was angry with him for obsessing over it (and neglecting her). This was, in turn, why she got so angry and blew up the combatants; their fighting awoke her from a very pleasant dream about Saito.
Now that I think about it, that doesn't connect up all that well either. Perhaps best to leave it out after all.
I have given Saito's abilities some thought, and I'm musing on doing a full lore post for the Void Familiars. Here's what I've got in the meantime.
The primary Gandalfr ability is that it grants its bearer the ability to use any weapon he or she touches, as if they had been trained to a high level. As for his broader physical abilities, those require a little analysis. He can run very fast, make low-altitude long-jumps over distances of several metres at least, and make short-range high-jumps also. In Albion, he is able to jump high enough into the air that he flies over the assembled troops and lands among them. The world high-jump record is Javier Sotomayor at 2.45 metres, so Saito is well beyond that.
His one crucial weakness is that while the Gandalfr power overrides both fatigue and the ability to feel pain (even on damage that has already been inflicted), it does not protect him from direct physical injury. When fighting the Albion army, he is visibly injured by the arrows, and had already been tossed around by a large fireball. If even one of those bleeders was a main artery, he would be suffering dangerous blood loss within minutes.
My point for the moment is that for all Saito's considerable prowess, he might have taken on a 70,000 strong army, but he didn't single-handedly destroy a 70,000 strong army. In fact, he only seems to have managed a few dozen kills (some of which may have been injured or unconscious) before being worn down. This is not to say he achieved nothing. The obvious explanation for Mazarin's strategy is that the Albion commanders could not have believed that Saito was attacking alone. Thus they redeployed from column of march into battle formation, expecting to have to deal with the alliance army. By the time they realised their mistake, the alliance army was long gone. The Light Novels mention that Saito's attack spread confusion throughout the army, which would seem to back this up.
Coming back to the fight with the Luftpanzer Ritter, I agree that Saito probably could have taken them by himself. Perhaps his single most powerful attack, as displayed in Albion, was swinging his sword around to create a gust of wind (strong enough to knock armoured knights flying). But he couldn't manage it in this case because the Ondine Knights were in the way. Also, the Luftpanzer Ritter are responding to him knocking down two of their number in the obvious way; keep him at bay with ranged firepower while their comrades take down the rest of the Ondines. Saito could have won that one on his own, but between the Ondines getting in the way and Suleiman and Louise interfering, he never got the opportunity.
Also, I don't understand the Leeroy Jenkins comment.
SaltyWaffles
I am dissapoint, son
- Pronouns
- He/Him
What.
You, sir, have some research to do.
(Start with YouTube or KnowYourMemes).
Zaru
Beyond Prophecy
I'm sure he knows what LJ is. He doesn't understand where it fits I believe.
SaltyWaffles
I am dissapoint, son
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Tiffania: "This is totally the right thing to do! Don't worry, guys! I'm going to fix everything!"
*Rushes in to the hornet's nest in a manner that will instantly raise hell, without consulting or waiting for anyone*
Suleiman: "What is she...? ........ Oh my god, she just ran in."
...
*Rushes in after her, futilely hoping that things can be somehow prevented from completely going to hell*
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Zaru
Beyond Prophecy
Urge to write omake... Rising...
- Location
- UK
I had a sneaking suspicion that that's what you meant, but I thought best to ask first.
In defence of it, it seemed to be in character for Tiffania. She'd almost had her ears exposed twice, and it was clear that Beatrice intended to make an issue of it. Since her plan to hide her ears was proving non-viable, her only realistic options were to either flee the academy or to bring the whole thing out into the open.
I did try to give Tiffania an air of resignation or fear, since I don't think she would be so naive as to seriously believe everything would be fine. But she was determined not to have to go back into hiding, so her only way was forward.
In defence of it, it seemed to be in character for Tiffania. She'd almost had her ears exposed twice, and it was clear that Beatrice intended to make an issue of it. Since her plan to hide her ears was proving non-viable, her only realistic options were to either flee the academy or to bring the whole thing out into the open.
I did try to give Tiffania an air of resignation or fear, since I don't think she would be so naive as to seriously believe everything would be fine. But she was determined not to have to go back into hiding, so her only way was forward.
Zaru
Beyond Prophecy
That and Tiffania is a very kind and generous soul. A pacifist to the core. She would aim to stop fights or confrontation whenever and however possible(much like Suleiman portrayed here). The difference is that Suleiman is willing to take that extra step and fight for those he cares about. Tiffania will need to learn from him, and Suleiman some things from her.
As for Suleiman's power and it being "OP". Don't worry, Avatars have their strengths and weaknesses after all...
As for Suleiman's power and it being "OP". Don't worry, Avatars have their strengths and weaknesses after all...
Chapter Six
- Location
- UK
Chapter Six
The Magic Academy, Kingdom of Tristain, 20th Day of Feoh
Inside the academy infirmary, Suleiman lay on his bed, his mind in turmoil.
He was quite alone. The beds were separated by tall wooden screens, with curtains to hide each bed and its occupant from the rest of the infirmary. His curtains were open, but there was no one in sight. The cacophony of female squealing and shrieking was coming from a few beds to his right, where the Ondine Knights were being tended.
No one had come to see him except Maxwell, bringing a bouquet of flowers that now sat in a vase on the bedside table, giving his little world a much-needed splash of colour.
Suleiman was not much surprised by the neglect, and actually quite relieved. They should not have been able to see his Avatar, the mysterious, horrendous, wondrous power he had unleashed. No one could see a manifested Avatar, except another Avatar-bearer. They would never understand what his Avatar was, what he was, and that was probably for the best.
But even so, he would've thought Tiffania would have come to see him. Or at least, he'd hoped she would.
Or was she afraid of him too?
The pain had stopped, at least. He did not know enough of Halkeginian healing arts to pass judgement, but the attentions of the academy physician had soothed his over-wrought body that much, at least. He was awake, but his body felt leaden, as if the very life had been sucked out of it. Not that he was particularly surprised; when the Avatar came, the pain and weariness came always behind it. The last time he had summoned it, he had been near-helpless for days. Had Majid not nursed and protected him…
Majid…
He perked up suddenly as footsteps approached. Had she at last arrived?
Then his enthusiasm turned to bewilderment as Julio Cesare stepped around the partition.
"You are…Julio Cesare?" he hazarded, cocking his head. "We met in Sottolatorre?"
"Correct on both counts," Julio replied. His smile was charming, but there was something about the look in his eyes that set Suleiman on edge. "I thought I'd stop by to congratulate you on your magnificent efforts."
"I…I thank you." Suleiman felt his cheeks redden. "But…I don't think it was all that magnificent. I only handled two of them before they got me."
Julio chuckled at his words.
"Your unarmed style was quite something," he said. "But…that wasn't what I was talking about."
"I…don't understand." Suleiman's blood ran cold. How could he know? How could he possibly know?
"That mighty being you summoned," Julio went on, still smiling. "I believe it's what your people call an…avatar?"
Suleiman didn't reply. He couldn't reply. Julio just stood there, staring down at him through those strange, mismatched eyes.
"How do you know of this?" he asked, his voice hoarse with dread.
"Let's just say I see what others cannot," Julio replied airily. "But now it's my turn to ask the questions." He folded his arms, and his countenance darkened suddenly. "Why have you come to Halkeginia?"
Suleiman hesitated. He searched his thoughts for the right words, the words that would convince Julio that he had no evil intent. But how much dare he say without risk of revealing who he really was?
"I say again, son of Arysia," Julio's eyes flashed with a sudden intensity. "Why have you come to Halkeginia?"
"I…I didn't come to harm anyone, if that's what you're thinking." It sounded pathetic even to Suleiman.
"I…we came here to travel, to see and learn."
"You'll forgive me if I take that with a pinch of salt." Julio's smile faded. "I know what you are, Suleiman of Arysia, Suleiman the Avatar Mage. I know very well what you are capable of."
"But how?" Suleiman was confused. "How could you know of such a thing?"
"The Church possesses many old manuscripts," Julio replied solemnly. "Writings of our ancient empire, and of the crusades, speak from time to time of your people, whom they encountered in the Holy Land."
"You refer to the land of Brimir." Suleiman straightened his back as he spoke. "The land that lay between Nekhen and Ashur. The land that was divided by the seas. Yes, there were many wars in that place, with the Elves…"
"And with my people," Julio finished the sentence for him. "Yes. My country of Romalia had a great empire once, in times long past. It reached into the south, into the ancient land of Nekhen, and even into the lands of Arysia. But for the Elves, and your people, it might have claimed the Holy Land too."
"You sound disappointed," Suleiman commented sourly.
"Can you blame me?" Julio quipped, his smirk returning. "I bear the name of Julio Cesare, last and greatest of the Kings of Romalia, who conquered Gallia to earn his crown. Had petty and small-minded men not murdered him, and frittered Romalia's glory away in their own squabbles, my people would have ruled in Arysia, of that I am certain."
Suleiman knew the man was trying to provoke him, riling him to anger by wounding his pride. His father and tutors had taught him how to detect such a ploy, and warned him not to be goaded. To be provoked to anger was to lose a debate; or in the wrong company, one's life.
"That was a very long time ago," he replied mildly. "A thousand years, if I remember the histories."
"Yes, it was." If Julio was disappointed or unsettled by his ploy's failure, he made no show of it. "But the Kingdoms of Halkeginia returned to the Holy Land in later centuries…or at least they tried to. Sometimes they fought their way past the Elves, sometimes they failed. Once, around two centuries ago, they managed to establish a kingdom in the southern lands. It was called Outremer. Do you know of it?"
"I know of it." Suleiman felt his brow furrow with mingled anger and pride. "I know that the great Ardashir and his armies cast it down, and drove its people into the sea."
"So you do know." Julio's smile vanished, his eyes flashing with what might have been anger. "Do you know then, Suleiman, of the hundred noble knights whose throats he cut? Do you know of the cities of Edessa and Ascalon, torn stone from stone? Do you know of the precious bones of Saint Magravand, of the Staff of the Founder, of the holy shroud of Boniface, cast into the fires like so much refuse?"
"I…cannot say I did," Suleiman admitted, reasoning that he lost nothing by doing so. Julio was losing the argument by resorting to such ranting, and he was content to let him continue.
"Somehow I thought not." Julio's anger seemed to fade, but his gaze was still hard. "But I'm sure you know of the warrior who accompanied Ardashir, the warrior who snatched dragons from the sky and tore down walls, the warrior the Arysians called the Avatar."
"I know of him." Another admission that cost him nothing. "Tales are told of him in Arysia to this day."
"Then you know as well as I do, Suleiman of Arysia." Julio's smile crept back onto his face. "The Avatar is the herald of chaos, the bringer of misfortune." His smile became a smirk. "And that isn't the half of it."
"As I said," Suleiman insisted, unsettled, "I meant no harm by coming here."
"So you say." There was something unpleasant in Julio's tone. "But don't be so sure that you have a choice in the matter. There are many powers on this continent, seen and unseen, and your coming has tipped the balance. They will seek you, seek to bind you, to control you…or if they cannot do either of these, they will destroy you."
Suleiman felt cold inside. A part of him knew that Julio was telling the truth, but the rest of him cried out against it. Why him? What wrong had he done? Why would anyone seek out a power they could neither see nor touch? Why was he important?"
"Something to bear in mind, Lifdrasir." Julio turned on his heel and walked away, vanishing around the screen.
Suleiman sat where he was, his mind a blur. He hadn't exactly thought of Julio as a friend, but his hostility was no less jarring for that.
But even so, a part of him knew Julio was right. The Avatar was a power like no other, but a power capable only of destruction. No one knew why Cyras had bestowed the Avatars upon her people, to appear once for every generation. They had raised hills, beaten down mountains, drained rivers dry. They had toppled Sultans, burned cities, and shattered armies. Suleiman did not yet know what powers lay in Halkeginia, but he could hardly imagine anything capable of taking on an Avatar.
And Julio had seem him for what he was. But would he keep the secret to himself, or would he tell others?
And why had he called him Lifdrasir?
Suleiman knew about hidden meanings. When his tutors had taught him the arts of debate and conversation, they had taught him how a true Mirza could hide meaning in plain sight, implying something important without really spelling it out. Was that what Julio had been doing?
If so, what was his meaning?
The Scarlet Tower, Romalia
"And now, en pointe!"
The young man moaned in pain as his body forced itself up onto its toes. Fernando Sotomayor concentrated, his fingers deftly plying the strings of his violin. The bow darted back and forth, unleashing a rapid agitato. He smirked as the young man kicked and hopped in line with the music. He was doing remarkably well, all things considered.
"How are your toes?" he called out cheerfully. "These routines are very hard on the toes, so I'm told!"
"Please!" the young man whimpered. "Make it stop!"
"So soon?" Fernando sounded hurt. "But we've barely even started!"
A picture formed in his mind. An instant later the man wailed as he performed a petit jete, his wail becoming a yell of pain as he landed. Fernando could've sworn he had heard bones crack. It wouldn't be long now.
"I must compliment you on your dance, monsieur." A pirouette, and another, and another. "I've heard it said that the way of the sword and the ballet are one and the same. Monsieur, you are living proof."
"I can't! I can't!" howled the unfortunate man, tears of agony running down his burnt, scarred face.
"Then perhaps you will indulge my questions, monsieur." Fernando's tone was sweet reason. "Who were you following?"
"No!"
"A grand jete, monsieur?"
"No! Please!"
Fernando's predatory smirk widened, his violet eyes gleaming in the darkness. He alone could see the silver threads hanging down around his dancer, adhering to his body like a puppet's strings. It took but a thought to tweak them, to shift his puppet from one routine to another, to have it hop lightly towards the deep, black hole in the middle of the floor. The man screamed and pleaded as he danced closer to the abyss, but the invisible strings gave no respite.
"And…jete!" The man leapt across the gap, screaming in blind terror. He howled in pain as he landed and twirled.
"Who was it, monsieur?"
"No!"
"Jete!" Another leap, another shriek. "Will you not tell me, monsieur?"
"Mercy!"
"And again!" Fernando's heart soared at the elegance of it. The howling and whimpering and shrieking could not detract from the beauty of the dance, any more than his current appearance could.
"And once more?"
"Enough!" the man shrieked, as he neared the edge. "Enough! I'll tell you!"
"Tell me what?" Fernando asked, sending him over the hole once again.
"Please stop! Stop and I'll tell you!"
"Stop? Stop this wonderful dance?" Fernando played a flurry of fast couplets, his victim pirouetting in time, shrieking every time his toes touched the ground. "Monsieur, I could keep this up another hour at least, maybe even two!" He edged the dancer closer to the pit.
"We had to follow him!"
"Follow who?"
"The Arysian! We had to follow him! And take his companion!"
"Who wanted you to follow him?" Fernando had him hop around the rim of the pit.
"I don't know!"
"Jete!"
"Princess Isabella!" the man shrieked, as he flew over the pit. "It was Princess Isabella! She ordered us to find the Arysian!"
"I see." Fernando lowered the violin. The man landed, his foot twisting with a wet crack. He fell, screaming in agony as he crumpled in a broken heap.
"A rather unconventional method, your eminence," said Charlotte, emerging from the shadows by the wall.
"But effective, sister." Fernando gestured at the two guards waiting either side of the door. "My suspicions have been confirmed." He watched as the whimpering prisoner was hauled out of the chamber.
"A truth potion would have been faster, Grand Master," Charlotte pointed out.
"At the cost of his mind, sister," Fernando retorted mildly. "Also, I like to keep in practice."
"Yes, Grand Master."
"But enough of that." Fernando strode out into the corridor, Charlotte following after. The corridor was long and dark, lit red by the setting sun.
"I trust that what he just revealed had some meaning?" he mused.
"Reports have been coming in from our Gallian commanderies," Charlotte replied. "The North Parterre have been behaving strangely."
"Strangely? How?"
"I have collated the reports, Grand Master," Charlotte went on. "Almost all of them mention North Parterre agents, or known associates, active in their respective areas."
"They're on the lookout for someone," Fernando mused. "You suppose it might be the Arysian our friend was talking about?"
"It may well be, Grand Master. But it may also be a deception."
"A deception, Sister?"
"Princess Isabella may be a wicked girl, but she is also cunning, Grand Master." Fernando was more than a little amused by the obvious distaste in Charlotte's tone. "I wouldn't put it past her to attempt a deception, even on this scale. Besides, she only mentioned the one Arysian, where previously there were two."
"Nevertheless." The humour was gone from Fernando's tone. His eyes flashed with a fervour Charlotte knew well. "This is not something we can afford to ignore. Send word to all our Gallian commanderies to be on the lookout. If the Arysians come into their reach, they must take them…alive."
"As you command, Grand Master."
The Magic Academy, Kingdom of Tristain, 25th Day of Feoh
"Are you all right, Suleiman?"
"Huh?" Suleiman blinked, realising that Tiffania had just spoken to him. "Oh, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Tiffania asked. "You've been distant ever since…that day."
"Oh, that." Suleiman shook his head, driving away the fog that had hung around his mind since he had woken up. Four days in the infirmary had restored his strength, mostly, but he still felt groggy and light-headed.
"I'm sorry. I've just…I've had a lot to think about."
"About your power?"
Suleiman baulked, a cold knife twisting in his gut. He glanced back and forward, terrified that someone might have overhead. But the cloister along which they'd been strolling was deserted.
"Suleiman?"
"Miss Tiffania!" Suleiman hissed. "Please, please don't mention it to anyone! I'm in enough trouble as it is!"
"Trouble?" Tiffania looked worried. "Is something wrong?"
"Miss Tiffania…" He paused, clearing his throat. "I didn't mean to snap, but no one can know about this. I beg of you Miss Tiffania!"
He gazed pleadingly into her eyes. He hadn't wanted to be reminded of how vulnerable he was, of how much his fate lay in her hands. He was her familiar, her slave. She had every right, if she so chose, to reveal what she had seen, and what he had told her.
No matter what it might cost him.
"It's all right" Tiffania reassured him, clasping his hands in hers. "If you want it kept secret, I won't tell anyone."
Suleiman heaved a sigh of relief. He was fortunate in her, he knew; more fortunate than he deserved.
"I am grateful, Miss…"
"That dog!" The cry made them both jump. Suleiman and Tiffania looked along the cloister, seeking the source of it.
It was Louise, striding along with hunched shoulders and clenched fists, her brow creased with anger.
"Miss Louise?" hazarded Tiffania.
"Dog!" Louise growled. "Hypocrite!" She stormed past without acknowledging either of them. "Lecherous beast!"
She stopped suddenly, and Suleiman opened his mouth to enquire after her health.
"What're you looking at?!" she shrieked. Mage and familiar cried out as one, clutching each-other in fear. Louise muttered something venomous, then turned on her heel and stormed off towards the dining hall.
Suleiman was aware, in an intellectual context, that his face was nestled in Tiffania's cleavage. He also knew, in an intellectual context, that this was a severe breach of etiquette, and that he should remove himself from her bosom immediately and with contrition.
But for several wondrous, immoral moments, he could not bring himself to do so. With her soft warmth engulfing his face, and her scent filling his nostrils, he had no particular desire to go anywhere or do anything, for such would involve ending this foretaste of paradise.
Strange thoughts began to prey on his mind; strange, yet tempting. He began to wonder if would be so terrible, so immoral, to be more intimate with Tiffania. Would it be so wrong to share a bed with her? To lie enfolded in her arms, his face pressed into her soft, fragrant flesh, his arms holding her to him? After all, Louise and Saito shared a bed without being married, or even being lovers for that matter. Was it such a transgression?
He pulled back, gasping for breath, his heart clenching at what he had dared to think. This was Druj, no doubt about it. This was desire, yearning, foul and selfish lust.
"I'm sorry!" he wailed, shaking in terror and shame. "I should not have done it! It was Druj! It was wrong!"
"Suleiman…"
Suleiman saw the sad, hurt look in her eyes, and his heart ached at it. She was an innocent child of nature, ignorant of such things. She knew little or nothing of what men and women saw in one-another; her conduct the night before had proven that. If she knew nothing of lust, or desire, then how could she know of the laws that constrained them?
"Forgive me," he said. "It's not that I…" He trailed off. What could he possibly say?
"Is it…wrong for me to hug you?" Tiffania asked. She sounded like a child; a sad, lonely, hurt child who feared she had done something wrong. "Is that wrong for your people?"
"No!" Suleiman protested. "Not altogether!"
"But then…?"
Suleiman braced himself. There was only one thing he could think of. It might offend her, or upset her, or damage her reputation. But how else could he resolve this?
"In my country," he said. "I can greet a dear friend, like this." He stood on tip-toe, and kissed her on the cheek. He heard her oh of surprise, and dreaded for a moment that the gesture had indeed been unwelcome.
Then her sadness vanished, replaced with a bright smile that made Suleiman's heart leap.
"Then I'll do it too!" Tiffania leaned down and kissed his cheek in turn, making him blush.
"Shall we go then?" he asked.
"Yes!"
The pair strolled along the cloister, smiling like children.
As they passed through the open doors, the hall erupted in a cacophony of cheering and clapping as the students saw them. Suleiman and Tiffania paused, momentarily overwhelmed by the adulation.
"Miss Tiffania!" cried a familiar voice. Both looked to see Beatrice and her friends standing at one of the long tables, waving frantically to get their attention. "Over here, Miss Tiffania!"
Suleiman could not help but smile at the sight of them. He had heard from Tiffania that those four had made up, but it was still a pleasure to see.
"Miss Tiffania, Mister Suleiman!" Beatrice greeted them, smiling brightly. "Please do us the honour of sitting here! We've saved two seats!" She gestured at the two empty seats. Seeing no alternative, Suleiman and Tiffania sat down.
"Is there anything Miss Tiffania would like?" asked Constance enthusiastically. "Will you take wine? Or perhaps water?"
As Beatrice and her friends fussed over Tiffania, Suleiman glanced around the hall. The students were clustering around the table, expectant looks on their faces. The only exception he could see was Louise, sitting a few seats down the table from him. The look on her face implied that she found this all very beneath her.
"Tell us about your country, Suleiman!"
Suleiman paused awkwardly. He felt like the entire dining hall was staring at him. A sea of bright eyes surrounded him, every face at the table staring at him in expectation, with plenty more crowding around.
"Well, I'm…" Suleiman rubbed the back of his neck, trying to buy a little time.
"What does your family do?"
"Are there lots of half-elves?
"Are you married?"
It was all Suleiman could do not to cringe at the relentless babble of questioning.
"Please, everyone!" pleaded Tiffania, who looked as flustered as he felt. "Please…!"
"Be silent!" shrieked Beatrice, banging her goblet on the table for order. "Stop harassing Miss Tiffania and her familiar with your questions! Raise your hands and Miss Tiffania will choose!"
This seemed to calm them down a bit, though Suleiman was still more than a little disconcerted at the number of hands raised high.
"Uh…" Tiffania looked from one to the other, urged on by a nodding, smiling Beatrice.
"Uh…Mister Gimli?" She pointed at one of the Ondine Knights, the one with the green hair.
"Ah, Suleiman, tell us about that grappling style! The one you beat the Luftpanzer Ritter with!" Beatrice scowled visibly at the reminder, but the other Ondines clamoured in agreement. Suleiman cleared his throat
"It's…what we call the varzesh-e-Mirzani," he said. Since none of them spoke Elvish, let alone Arysian, there seemed little harm in telling them the name. "It's one of many barehanded styles known to my people."
"Can you teach it to us?" Gimli asked hopefully. Some of the other Ondines nodded enthusiastically.
"As leader of the Ondine Knights," drawled Guiche de Gramont, "I would consider it a privilege if you would consent to it."
"Well…I'll do my best for you," Suleiman said awkwardly. He looked around for Saito, but he was nowhere in sight.
"Miss Montmorency," Tiffania called out, pointing to a girl with bright blue eyes and blonde hair in long curls sitting next to Guiche.
"Are there many half-elves in your country?" she asked, her voice high and clear.
"Oh yes!" Suleiman replied, a little more enthusiastically than was entirely appropriate.
"There have been since the time of Cyras."
"And who is Cyras?" Louise cut in. She had risen from her seat and moved up the table to stand nearby. "Is it like our Founder Brimir?"
Suleiman felt the atmosphere become more serious. He paused, choosing his words.
"Cyras was our Prophetess in life," he said gravely. "She brought us together out of many peoples; the horse warriors of the steppe, the mountain men, the wanderers in the desert, Elves from out of Nepthys, and those who fled the power of the Ashur. She showed us the secrets of magic, and taught us the truth."
"And what is the truth?"
Suleiman cleared his throat.
"It is the truth we call Arta," he said, his heart swelling with pride to hear the words from his own mouth. "The way of Arta is to learn and understand, that we might adapt and grow, and thus attain happiness. We express Arta with good thoughts, good words, and good deeds, by which we bring good into the world. To follow Arta is to oppose Druj, that which opposes and prevents good."
He paused, wondering if his father would have been proud to hear him describe it. He glanced around the crowd, gauging their reactions. Some seemed deep in thought, while others looked confused, even unsettled. He didn't sense any hostility though.
"Mister Malicorne," Tiffania spoke up, pointing at a large, rather overweight boy with curly blonde hair and ruddy cheeks.
"Are your people friends with the Elves then?" he asked. "After all, you said Elves were part of your people."
"No indeed," Suleiman replied. "If anything, we're mortal enemies." He felt embarrassed saying it aloud, even more so when he saw how surprised his audience was.
"But why is that?" Beatrice looked and sounded bewildered.
"It's…a long story." And not one Suleiman thought suitable for the breakfast table, or any meal in good company. "Suffice to say, the Elves…"
He trailed off, glancing at Tiffania. He knew that Elves hated those of their kind who went to live among humans, and hated their half-human offspring even more. Their rantings and ravings on the subject were described in his people's most ancient histories. How would she feel if she were to learn of that hard truth? How would she cope with that knowledge?
"Suleiman?" Tiffania asked, looking at him quizzically.
"The tribes who joined with us were at odds with the rest of their people," he concluded. He felt foolish at the unworthy cop-out, an insult both to his audience and to his own integrity. But the thought of hurting Tiffania's feelings was far worse. Besides, it was broadly true.
"Miss…oh." Tiffania paused, realising that she did not know the name of the one she had pointed out. "Miss?"
"Kirche von Anhalt-Zerbst," replied a very tall, dark-skinned girl as she eased her way through the press of students. Suleiman was momentarily taken aback at the sight of her. She had long red hair down to her waist, and a pair of breasts as well-formed as Tiffania's and almost as large. Her full-lipped mouth wore an indulgent smile as she perched herself on the table.
"Ah!" Beatrice's smile looked distinctly forced. "Miss Zerbst."
"Meine gnädige frau," Kirche replied in her native tongue, without a hint of reverence. "Princess Guldenhorf."
"Oh!" Tiffania looked surprised. "You know each-other?"
"In a manner of speaking, Miss Tiffania," growled Beatrice, through gritted teeth in a smiling mouth.
"I couldn't help but hear," Kirche said, ignoring Beatrice, "you referred to your Prophet Cyras as a she. Your goddess is a woman then?"
"Oh…yes." Suleiman wondered where she was going with this.
"You see, I heard a very strange rumour about your country of Arysia," Kirche went on, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Is it true that in your country women have dominion over men?"
As one the students perked up, looking from one to another in surprise and disbelief, before turning their eyes once again to Suleiman.
"Well…" Suleiman faltered, wondering how best to reply. "It's...it's not quite like that."
"Can a woman inherit in her own right?" Kirche asked, apparently unperturbed.
"Why yes, of course." Suleiman was surprised by the question, and even more surprised by the reactions of the students. Why were they so surprised?
"Do women rule in your land?" Kirche went on. "That is, can a woman hold office? And can she inherit over a man?"
"Yes, on all three counts." Suleiman smiled nervously, looking from one to another of his audience. "Is that so strange?"
"It's strange to us," commented Gimli. "A land where women rule?"
"But…this kingdom is governed by a Queen," replied Suleiman, confused by his words.
"The Queen is a descendant of the Founder Brimir," Kirche said, still smiling. "Her right cannot be denied merely for the crime of being a woman."
Suleiman could not stop himself from looking as mystified as he felt. The crime of being a woman? Was she being flippant?
"A country ruled by women!" commented Montmorency. "What a curious notion!"
"It's bizarre!" cut in another of the Ondine knights, the one named Baldwin. "I mean, a country run by women!"
Some of the boys laughed with him. Suleiman could not help but notice how cold the atmosphere had suddenly become.
"Oh?" Kirche turned to face him, her smile still in place. "Are you suggesting a woman cannot hold office?"
"It's unheard-of!" Baldwin proclaimed, with a somewhat forced confidence. "It doesn't happen in any civilized country!"
"It happens in my country, from time to time" retorted Kirche, that rather unsettling smile still in place. Gimli, the green-haired Ondine, was edging away from Baldwin. "Are you suggesting that it isn't civilized?"
"It…it makes no sense!" Baldwin blurted out.
"It makes perfect sense!" declared Montmorency, standing up with her hands on her hips. "Girls are more intelligent and more sensible than boys! We should be the ones in charge!"
"Emotional and fickle you mean!" Baldwin sneered. "It takes real men to rule!"
"Who are you calling fickle!?" shrieked Louise, her eyes blazing.
"Uh…excuse me?" Suleiman pleaded, hoping to stem the conflict.
"Real men eh!" Kirche sneered, drawing an ornate wand from her cleavage. "Well, can a real man beat a mere woman in a contest of magic?!"
"I can!" Baldwin snapped, whipping out his own wand. Fear and anger warred on his face, in sharp contrast to Kirche's louche smirk.
"Everyone!" protested Tiffania. "Please! No violence!" But no one paid heed. The students were already squaring off; the boys calling out encouragement to Baldwin, the girls to Kirche. Suleiman's heart sank.
"Now really, everyone!" declared Guiche, sweeping forth to stand between the combatants. "This enmity is ugly and pointless!"
There was a pause, and the looks of anger and aggression turned to surprise and bewilderment. Even Kirche looked confused.
"Conflict between men and women is a horror, a nightmare!" Guiche went on. He turned to Montmorency and dropped to one knee, making her flinch in surprise.
"Only an uncivilised brute would question the absolute and unquestionable superiority of ladies." He looked up at the blushing Montmorency with a smile that would have turned an ice-hearted harridan into giggling jelly.
Suleiman was impressed. He had gotten the impression that Guiche was a good-natured airhead, but he seemed to have defused the situation by sheer weight of charm. His wooing was crude by Arysian standards, but the success was worthy of respect.
"Guiche…"
"Montmorency?"
"You are…"
"Yes?"
"A patronising fool!" Montmorency snapped up her wand. On the tables around her water, soup, and wine began to gush upward from their receptacles, coiling and massing in the air around her. Guiche had just long enough to look scared before the mass of liquid struck him, hurling him across the hall. He landed on a table-top, sending cups and plates flying as he slid across, slamming straight into three unfortunate boys too slow to get out of the way.
"Hey!" yelled a red-faced boy, his white shirt covered in broth. "That was my breakfast!"
Suleiman had a sinking feeling as time seemed to slow down. He had performed in enough sleazy taverns to know how this was going to go.
The boy raised his wand, unleashing a gust of wind. Montmorency yelped and ducked, the wind flashing past her over the table, sending a bowl of broth spinning through the air to land, by some dark miracle, on Louise's head. Suleiman watched in horrified fascination as the broth ran down Louise's face, soaking into her soft, curly, lovingly-brushed pink hair.
"You…!" Louise's face was a deep red, her hair coiling like a mass of snakes. "You…!"
"Selfish little Miss!" Saito griped aloud as he stalked along the cloister. "Nothing ever changes!"
He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, though experience suggested it could have been anything from a few minutes to a few hours. He'd been blown up by Louise enough times to be able to hazard a guess.
"That was quite a strong one" commented Derflinger from his scabbard on Saito's back. "I mean, for this time of day."
"It's her answer to everything!" Saito snapped. "Wake up too soon? Blow up Saito! Hair tangled? Blow up Saito! Chest like a washboard? Blow up Saito!"
"She's prideful" the sword replied, with the air of one who knew, despite being a theoretically inanimate object. "Most women are. She won't admit she's wrong for just any guy."
"Well you'd think I'd qualify by now!" Saito groused bitterly. Any reasonable person would have expected it, considering all the things they'd been through. All those adventures, all those dangers, all those frantic protestations of undying love. Was she ever going to truly open up to him? To trust him?
"Thing is, partner," Derflinger went on. "I've had a lot of partners over the years, and there's not many as dumb as you when it comes to women."
"Oh, thanks!" snarked Saito.
"Seriously!" the sword insisted. "You keep making the same old mistakes. You keep saying and doing things you know will set her off."
"It was just a dream!" protested Saito. "Besides, it's not my fault she's got a flat chest, and a chip on her shoulder the size of Tokyo."
"Face it partner," the sword went on. "You wouldn't like her half as much if she was any other way, right?"
"I'd like it a lot! Why can't she be more like…!?"
He had been about to say Siesta, but caught himself. She'd been a nice young girl when he'd first met her, but at some point she had mutated into a proper little minx, out to seduce him away from Louise at any cost. She was a dear friend, and he was more than a little attracted to her, but her schemes had gotten him exploded too many times for him to entirely trust her.
"Like Tiffania?" asked Derflinger.
"Tiffa?"
The present faded, as the lecherous beast hidden at the back of Saito's psyche worked its lascivious magic. Visions descended upon his mind; visions of Louise, her eyes big and bright, that innocent, trusting smile on her doll-like face, her breasts…
"Mister Saito, I made this for you. I hope you enjoy it."
"Mister Saito, I thought we could…snuggle tonight."
"Oh Mister Saito, thank you for saving me!"
"Ah…" Saito was vaguely aware that he was drooling, but the visions were too delicious for him to care. "Louise…little Louise…little miss…"
An explosion snapped him out of it, the heavenly sights vanishing as adrenalin thundered through his veins.
"And a good thing too," Derflinger muttered, not quite loud enough for Saito to hear.
"The hall!" Saito sprinted down the cloister, through the doors, and along the main corridor towards the dining hall. He rounded a corner into the hall…
…and stared.
The hall was in pandemonium. Tables lay on their sides, some of them blasted to matchwood, and several windows were smashed. Food and other substances were splattered over the floor and walls. In the centre of the hall two golems, one of which looked like it was made of mashed-up food, were wrestling. Some students lay dazed or unconscious on the floor, while others ducked up and down from behind whatever cover was to hand, firing off spells, hurling objects, and shouting insults.
"I'm not coming to the ball with you!"
"Fine! I hate your stupid soufflés anyway!"
"You dress badly and you can't dance!"
"And you're fat!"
"I lied! I never liked that scarf you bought me! I hate the colour!"
A familiar wailing caught Saito's attention. He saw Tiffania cowering behind what had once been a table, Suleiman at her side
"What the hell is going on!"
Eginheim, Aldera Province, Kingdom of Gallia, 28th Day of Feoh
He had arrived.
Majid paused a moment on the crest of a low rise, viewing the village in the morning light. It looked much as it had the night before, when he had first come upon it. Not wishing to test the villagers' hospitality, or their morals, he had spent the night some distance away, in a bivouac he had fashioned from leaves and sticks as the sun fell, then carefully destroyed as the sun rose.
He didn't want anyone knowing he had come this way.
He shifted his shoulders, feeling an unaccustomed pain in his back. It had gotten accustomed to soft beds in the course of his and his young master's journey, whereas before it could have endured almost any sleeping place without complaint.
Majid felt a twinge of loneliness. It occurred to him how useful Suleiman's performing arts were. They had gained them the entry to every tavern they had sought to stay at, and enough money to keep them in food and other supplies. Now, with his young master lost, he had no such appeal, no means of making himself welcome; especially not in a little place like Eginheim.
He eyed the village critically. It was somewhat larger than some he and Suleiman had encountered, its buildings larger and more prosperous-looking, located just on the edge of a vast forest. But it was some way off the beaten track, and Majid had no illusions about such places, or how those who inhabited them might treat a lone, armed traveller who dropped his guard for so much as a moment. They were too isolated, too far from any kind of help or protection, to take the chance that he wasn't hostile.
He strode down the hill, along the dirt track that was their link to the nearest road. The buildings were arranged in a wide horseshoe with a space in the middle, the open end facing the track along which he advanced. At first the villagers continued about whatever it was they were doing; some of them were chopping wood, others tending to the small plots behind each of the houses, while others seemed just to be socialising.
Then someone noticed him. To Majid's surprise they did not cry out, and to his relief they were not directly hostile. Women hustled their children back to their houses, while the men watched him with hard eyes, hands gripping axes, hoes, or whatever else they happened to be carrying. In the corner of his eyes Majid saw one or two of them disappearing into the houses, perhaps to arm themselves.
He came to a halt in the centre of the open space. It seemed as close as he dared go without provoking them too much. He could feel their eyes upon him from all sides. As he scanned his eyes around the village, he saw the looks they were giving him, a mix of curiosity and low-grade suspicion. They obviously weren't used to visitors.
"Who commands here?" he called out. Some of the villagers looked at one-another, and Majid wondered if they had understood him. Had he gotten the words wrong?
"Who are you?" demanded a harsh voice. Majid turned, and saw a young man striding towards him, his eyes hard. He was solidly-built, clad in rough homespuns, with rather messy blond hair. His hands were gripped at his sides.
"I am Majid," he replied, matching the young man's gaze with his own. "Are you in charge of this village?"
"I am," interjected another voice. A much older man, his face adorned with a rather fine white beard, hobbled up to stand beside the youth. He did not seem overly hostile, but there was suspicion in his eyes. "I am the headman. This is my son Sam. Welcome to Eginheim."
The old man seemed to be doing his best to defuse the situation. Majid reckoned it was the least he could do to reciprocate, no matter what the brute named Sam might have in mind.
"I thank you, headman." He lowered his head respectfully, and was surprised by a chorus of muttering from the villages. "I mean no harm or inconvenience. A wizard told me that birdmen reside in this part of the forest, and that you could lead me to them."
The atmosphere turned cold. Fear and anger warred on Sam's face, and even the old man looked worried.
"What do you want with them?" Sam asked suspiciously.
"I would speak with them," Majid replied. "The rest is private."
For a few moments no one spoke. Majid could've sworn he could hear a bow being drawn behind him.
"Why would we have anything to do with the birdmen?" the old man asked, seemingly mystified by his request.
"I was told you had intercourse with them." Majid noticed the looks he was now getting from the villagers, and wondered if he had chosen the right word.
"We…we deal with them sometimes," Sam admitted, with exaggerated caution. "Well we have to, don't we?! We can't go around fighting them all the time!"
"The Lady Knight said it was all right!" shouted one of the villagers. Others cried out in agreement.
"I don't care what your relationship is with them," Majid insisted. He was growing tired of this. "I just want to talk with them, that's all."
"I'll take you to them!" called out a voice from the house behind Sam. Another youth, looking like a younger version of Sam, came hurrying out of the house.
"Josiah!" Sam barked, half-indignant, half-horrified.
"It's all right Sam!" the youth pleaded. "I'll take him!"
"Are you mad?" snapped Sam. "What if he…?"
"It's the only way and you know it!" retorted the boy named Josiah. "Come monsieur, I'll show you to them."
Majid felt the eyes of the villagers boring into his back as he followed Josiah towards the forest. Their route took them between the buildings and into an open area behind the village. The ground was furrowed and bare of grass; Majid wondered if this was where they dragged their freshly-cut trees to be chopped up.
Josiah led the way through the forest, moving as easily as if the forest was his home; which in some respects it probably was. Majid followed more cautiously, eyes and ears alert for danger. On and on they went among the trees, until Majid had lost any sense of direction and all track of time.
A suddenly jingling made Majid jump. He dropped into a combat stance, ripping his scimitar from its scabbard. He glanced back and forth, ready to fight.
All he saw was Josiah, smiling indulgently at him.
"Wind chimes," he said, gesturing up at one of the trees. Majid followed his gesture, and saw a cluster of what looked like sticks hanging by strings from a branch. "You scare easily, monsieur."
Majid glowered. He felt a fool for having been so easily spooked.
"This forest has eyes," he hissed, sheathing his scimitar. "I swear it."
"You're not far wrong," Josiah replied, looking up at the trees around him. "There are plenty of things you don't know about the forest."
"My homeland is mostly desert and river valley," Majid retorted sourly. "I did not grow up frolicking amid the arboreal verdance."
"Neither did I." Josiah turned to face him. There was something strange in his aspect, a sort of…contentment. "I rarely used to go very far into the forest, and never this far. There was so much I didn't know, so much I feared."
"Until you met the birdmen?" hazarded Majid.
"Well…you might say that."
Josiah turned back to the trees. Majid's head snapped up as he heard a rustling in the upper branches. His heart froze as he saw the figures emerging from the mass of green, dozens, then scores of them, gazing down at him from the upper branches.
"You were right, my friend," Josiah said cheerfully. "This forest does have eyes. They've been watching us since we entered."
"You…know them?" Majid asked, awestruck and more than a little frightened.
"Know them?" The birdmen began to descend from the trees, broad white wings spreading from their backs to bear them down. Their shapes were otherwise human, their limbs long and narrow, clad in white gowns or short tunics. Josiah's look of contentment turned to adoration as his eyes fell on a particular birdman; a birdwoman to be exact, clad in a flowing white gown, her arms outstretched to greet him.
"Oh…" Majid breathed, as understanding dawned. "Does your village know about this?"
"I should say so!" declared Josiah, grinning as he slid an arm around the birdwoman's waist. "They were all at the wedding!" He laughed. Some of the birdmen laughed with him, but others stared at Majid with suspicious eyes.
"I am Aisha," said the birdwoman, stepping away from Josiah and standing in front of the group. "You are welcome here, Majid."
"I…thank you," he replied, bowing in the Arysian fashion. Had they been listening to him even when he was in the village? "I come before you to request your aid."
"What aid do you need?" Aisha asked. The birdmen were all staring at him, with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Majid began to wonder how they would respond to his request.
"A wizard told me that the spirits of the earth had the power to find any person anywhere," he said, loudly enough for all to hear. "He also told me that you birdmen were able to commune with them. Is this true?" There was a long, tense pause.
"What you say is true," said Aisha cautiously. "Do you wish to find someone?"
"Not long ago I was separated from my…companion," Majid explained. "One whose life means more to me than any other, including my own. I will pay any price for your help."
Another long pause. To Majid it was as if the birdmen were weighing him up, judging him, deciding whether or not he was a threat.
"We require no payment," Aisha said, smiling. "It is rare for a human to ask for our help, or even to speak to us without seeking violence."
"I was not aware of that," Majid replied, feeling awkward.
"We made peace with the humans of Eginheim," said one of the birdmen, a young male from the look of him. "But other humans attack us, or they try!"
"Which humans?" Majid was curious.
"Other humans came to the village not long ago," spoke up another birdman, an older male with a beard. "They told the villagers not to speak with us, or have anything to do with us. They said that all humans should hate us, and fight us, and that if they did not, they would be killed."
"Who were they?" Majid asked, turning to a sorrowful Josiah. "Do you know who they were?"
"They were church knights, I'm sure of it," Josiah replied. "They wore red cloaks. Do you know them?"
"No," Majid said, after thinking for a moment. "I know of no such people."
"It is of no consequence," Aisha said, her voice raised just a little. Majid noted how the birdmen deferred to her. Was she their leader?
"Majid," she said, turning her attention to him. "If you want to commune with the spirits, we can do it right now."
"Very well." Majid bowed again. Aisha led him to the centre of the clearing.
"The spirits will need to know who you're looking for," Aisha explained, standing in front of him. "I can summon them, but you must focus your thoughts on the one you seek."
"I see." Majid closed his eyes, and began to clear his mind. He heard Aisha speaking, chanting, in a language he didn't understand. Something shifted in the world around him, like a gust of wind.
"Who is it?" Aisha asked, her voice somehow distant. "What is the name?"
"Suleiman Reza Al-Karim," Majid replied.
"Who is he to you? What is his importance?"
"My lord," Majid breathed, as the feeling of otherness around him grew more pronounced. "My master. My brother. My friend."
"Think of him." Her voice sounded even more distant, as if she were speaking through a gust of wind. "Hold him in your heart, that the spirits might see him."
Majid thought back, picturing all the times, all the memories. They came, a few at a time, lingering at the edge of his thoughts.
"Young master, he is only a slave."
"He's not a slave. He is my Ghulam. He is my friend."
They were clearer now, getting clearer all the time. More came.
The faced swathed in strips of cloth, the eyes hard and appraising.
"You have learned much from me, Majid. Now, at last, you are fit to serve him directly."
"I am forever grateful, Mansahdar Silat."
Silat, his old mentor. Majid felt guilt at not having thought of him recently, and wondered what had become of him.
A smooth young face, with bright eyes. His pose was confident, his scimitar high.
"I'll beat you one day, Majid!"
"When the sands bloom again, young master!"
Majid felt warm inside as he relived those times. The visions seemed so much clearer than before. It was almost like living them all over again.
"Majid! Majid help!"
Running footsteps, the clatter of jewels and sequined silks. Eyes scan from left to right, hurry to the sound of the voice.
"Majid! Don't let them cut me!"
The warmth was gone, replace with a cold, sick fear. Why this memory? Why had this shadow fallen on his happiness? Majid tried to will it away, but something forced him to stay. Something nearby, something else, something that wanted to know.
He rounded the corner. There was Suleiman, running towards him, his little legs a blur, his face a mask of terror.
"Majid! Save me!"
A woman rounded the corner in hot pursuit. A young woman, richly dressed, a dagger in her hands, her face set.
"Majid!" Suleiman ran behind him, clinging to his leg in fear.
"Ghulam! Begone!" the woman snapped imperiously. "Do not interfere!"
"Don't let her cut me!" Majid glanced down, and saw his wide, terrified eyes. "Please?"
"My lady, forbear!" Majid drew his scimitar. "You will not harm my young master!"
"You dare!" the woman shrieked. "You dare draw on me! You will die for this!"
"Alaleh! Be wary!" Another woman appeared, this one much older. "Beware the Silahtars!"
"Give me the brat!" the girl shrieked, her knife aimed for his heart. "I'm not afraid of you!" More women appeared, some with daggers.
"Guards!" Majid barked. "Guards to the harem!"
"DAMN YOU!" The girl charged, teeth bared like a tiger, her knife flashing for his throat.
"MAJID!"
The glittering scimitar, the hiss of cutting air, the spurt of blood.
"Alaleh! My child!"
"The guards! Run!"
"We'll die for this!"
The vision was gone. Majid clutched at his head, howling in anguish as the darkest spectres of his past rose to torment him.
"Stop it!" he cried. "Leave my memories alone!"
"Calm yourself, friend Majid!" pleaded a voice nearby. Hands caught him, steadied him. Majid saw birdmen all around him, their eyes full of innocent, almost child-like pity. Aisha was in front of him, arms held out to either side, as if to embrace a lover. Wind gusted, circling a thousand tiny motes of light around and around her. The trees around them were alive with those same tiny lights. Aisha's eyes were closed, whispered syllables sliding from her open mouth.
The wind stopped, and as one the tiny lights burst out away from her like a thousand shooting stars.
It was over.
Aisha breathed a heavy breath, and Josiah rushed to steady her.
"Your friend is alive," she said, her voice hoarse. It was all Majid could do not to fall to his knees, so great was his relief.
"But where is he!?" he asked frantically. "What has become of him?"
He faltered, his excitement fading as he saw the look in Aisha's eyes. It was as if a terrible burden had settled upon her heart.
"I…cannot say where he is." Majid's heart sank.
"But…you said…"
"The spirits do not know the place." Aisha replied, her eyes full of sorrow. "It is to the north, beyond the lake where the Water Spirit Ondine resides; but the spirits do not know what humans call these places."
"Is that all?" Majid knew that he was behaving ungratefully, but he couldn't help himself. "Was there nothing else?"
Aisha paused, and Majid saw that strange pain in her eyes once again. What did she know that she was so reluctant to tell him?
"The spirits…see things, friend Majid," she eventually said. "They see the ties that bind people and things together. Your friend has many such ties binding him."
"What ties?" demanded Majid. He remembered what the old wizard had told him about the Summoning spell. "Have they seen the one who took him?"
"The spirits do not know for certain," Aisha warned. "But he is tied most especially to a particular person, one the spirits know well, for she lived among them for many a year. She is a half-elf…named Tiffania."
Majid was stunned. A half-elf? In Halkeginia?
"He is also bound to a distant land, in sorrowful memory," Aisha went on. "This in turn binds him to you. But it also binds him to two others."
"Others?" Majid was sure the distant land was their native Arysia. "What others?"
"Two of them," repeated Aisha. "Both of them possessed of terrible powers. They seek him for the power within him, and would use him for dire ends."
"Who are they?" Majid's blood ran cold at her words. "Tell me who they are! Are they near him?"
"One I cannot name, friend Majid." Aisha looked as if she had stared into the abyss. "His aura is so terrible that the spirits recoil from him. The other is a woman, of great power and wisdom, bound to another by love."
Majid's mind was a blur. What horrors might his young master have to face? What were these two whom Aisha had been shown; these two enemies who seemed to hail from his homeland of Arysia? And what could be so dangerous that even spirits fled from it in fear?
Was it him?
"Please forgive my selfishness, most revered Aisha," he said, bowing to her in profound gratitude. "But I must plead with you again. Is there nothing more you can tell me? If I do not learn where my young master is, and quickly, then these enemies may find him before I do!"
All was silent. Aisha and Josiah looked at one-another, and Majid felt his heart ache at the tenderness in their eyes. It had been a long time since he had looked upon such a love. Suleiman would have been composing songs about it for weeks afterwards had he seen it.
"The tie that binds your friend to Sheffield," Aisha said cautiously, "binds them both to another."
"Who is this person?" Majid pleaded. "I beg of you! Who is it!?"
"You don't know what you ask, friend Majid," Josiah interjected. He looked as torn and conflicted as Aisha did.
"She is a dear friend to us," Aisha added. "She who was sent to destroy us, yet saved us. She who brought our peoples together, and made our marriage possible." She squeezed Josiah's hand.
"If what she did became known," Josiah spoke up, "it would doom her, and someone very precious to her. She told us no more than that."
The clearing was silent for a long time.
"You need not say," Majid said eventually, bowing his head. "I have asked too much already. If there is any repayment I can offer you, do not hesitate to ask."
"No payment is necessary, friend Majid." Aisha smiled, but there was a sorrow behind her smile that unsettled him. "But you must beware. Your friend…may not be as you knew him."
"If he is enslaved, I shall free him," Majid replied grimly. "If he is bewitched, I will restore him. If he is dead, I will avenge him. Regardless, my home is where he is."
Aisha looked at him for a few moments, then let out nervous giggle.
"I fear the enemy you will face," she said, "is not one that any sword or magic can defeat."
The Magic Academy, Kingdom of Tristain
"Are you all right, Suleiman?"
Suleiman sighed. Even Chef Marteau's lamb broth wasn't doing much for his mood that morning.
"I can't help but feel like it's my fault," he replied sorrowfully.
"Oh that?" Siesta rolled her eyes. "No point in getting upset about that lot." The handful of maids, grooms, and cooks still seated around the table muttered in agreement, as did Maxwell Grey.
"I never knew that it would cause so much trouble," Suleiman went on. "I only told them about my homeland, and then all of a sudden they started fighting among themselves."
"They're always fighting about something!" insisted Siesta. "This is nothing new!"
"It isn't?" Suleiman was surprised.
"Of course not!" cut in Lola, a blonde maid who was apparently Siesta's roommate. "Last time it was the girls having a huge argument over who had the biggest breasts!"
"And the boys are just as bad!" added Siesta, through a chorus of laughter. "Every time a new girl arrives, they go completely insane!"
More laughter.
"But even so," Suleiman insisted. "Days and days of servant duties." He hung his head.
"They'll probably blame me for it."
The students found to be involved in the dining hall riot had been given two options for their punishment. One was the cancellation of the Sleipnir Ball, the other was performing servant duties every day until the day of the ball. Needless to say, they had voted for the latter.
"Well they've got no business doing so!" declared Siesta. "It's their own fault!"
"You won't hear any complaint from us!" added Lola cheerfully. "We've gotten all this time off because of it!"
"Oh really?" groused Kamille, a maid with short red hair. "It means more work for us in the end! I'll bet not one of those little misses has a clue how to turn down a bed!"
"Oh I don't know," Siesta mused. "There's probably one or two that might!"
"Might they?" Suleiman was intrigued. "But…I thought all the students here were nobles."
"They are, strictly speaking." Siesta giggled. "But there are nobles, and there are nobles."
"It's like this," Maxwell explained, seeing his bewilderment. "There are a handful of very important noble families in the Kingdom who dominate the court and the government. Families like…the Vallieres and the Montmorencys, and the Gramonts too. None of the lesser nobles can get important jobs without their patronage."
"Valliere, and Montmorency," Suleiman mused. "Aren't their daughters here?"
"Yes, that's them!" Lola confirmed. "Though they don't all have loads of money. The Montmorencys are penniless! So are most of the big-name families!" More laughter.
"But then, how do they manage?" Suleiman was thoroughly confused.
"They get special treatment on account of their lineage," replied Maxwell. "It would be a complete disgrace if their children couldn't attend the academy."
"But…" Suleiman paused, wondering if he ought to say what he was thinking. "I've seen Miss Montmorency, but she doesn't seem penniless."
"She isn't!" cut in Kamille, smirking. "She uses her magic to make perfumes to order for rich ladies in the capital! She's got plenty of money!"
"Doesn't she send any to her family?"
"She daren't. They'd go wild if they knew she was a working girl!" Kamille sniggered at her own joke, and some of the servants laughed.
"I don't understand."
"It's commerce, dear," said Dominique, a maid with long, very straight brown hair. "Nobles aren't allowed. Their families take their titles away if they get caught." There was a murmur of agreement from around the table.
"It seems very strange to me," Suleiman said. "Not letting nobles use their magic to make money."
"That's nobles for you," commented Kamille sourly. "Loads of pride, not a drop of sense."
"So, the other type of noble." Suleiman turned back to Maxwell. "They don't have any money?"
"They're the provincial types," Maxwell replied. "Low-level nobles, mostly in the country but there's some in the towns too. The only jobs they can take without losing their titles are in the Church or in the armed forces, usually as officers or knights."
"Or they try and make a living off their estates," Siesta cut in. "But the top families own most of the land, and they don't look after it very well. And they keep getting themselves into terrible debt by living too lavishly."
"Our lord back home can barely make a living off his estate," Lola added. "He farms his field like everyone else, and his wife only has the one maid."
"I see." Suleiman paused, trying to take it all in. "I'm still wondering though. How can I settle my account with the students?"
"I don't see why you have to," commented Kamille. "It's not your responsibility."
"Even so." Suleiman sighed. "I feel like I should do something." He looked around the room, and saw what looked like a couple of wineskins hanging from a hook on the wall. An idea popped into his head.
"Siesta?" he asked. "Might I borrow those?"
"Oh miserable disgrace! Oh agony!" moaned Guiche.
Around him the rest of the Ondine Knights, with the sole exception of Saito, were down on their knees, picking weeds from the grass of the Austri plaza. It was only the latest in a series of equally menial and humiliating duties they had endured for the past week.
The ground in front of him rumbled, bursting open to reveal a great wedge-shaped head, covered in brown scales. A blue triangle crowned its brow, above and between a pair of big blue eyes.
"Verdandi!" Guiche bleated, leaning forward to embrace his beloved familiar. "Oh Verdandi, have you come to comfort me again?" The giant mole snuffled, patting his head with one enormous clawed paw.
"Uwah!" wailed Malicorne. "I'm hungry! I'm thirsty! My delicate body isn't made for strenuous labour!"
"Be strong Malicorne!" called Gimli. His fingers were stained green from his labours. "They won't break us with this! We have our pride as Ondine Knights!"
"It could be worse," commented Reynald, with forced cheerfulness. "We could be doing maid duty like the girls."
"Oh! My Montmorency!" wailed Guiche. "My beautiful, delicate Montmorency, being forced to perform menial tasks in the garb of a lowly maid!" Then he realized what he had just said.
"Oh what I'd give to see that!" he thought. The delightful image took form in his mind, making him snigger.
"Hey you!" A bolt of water caught him in the back of his head, knocking him forward onto Verdandi. "Stop daydreaming and get back to work!"
"Yes Professor Bardin!" The boys returned swiftly to their work.
"I want this plaza weeded by noon!" barked the Professor. "Or no lunch!" He turned on his heel and strode away.
"Tyrant!" growled Gimli.
"Don't waste your time!" retorted Reynald. "He'll just come up with something worse."
"All this because we got in a fight," complained Baldwin de Ascalon. "It was those girls who started it!"
"That's quite immaterial!" drawled Guiche, even as he plucked weeds from the soil with dirty fingers. "As knights it is our duty to uphold fair ladies, no matter the situation!"
"Soo-soo-sook! Soo-soo-sook!"
"Who said that?" Guiche paused in his plucking, glancing left and right. Had someone's familiar escaped?
"Soo-soo-sook!"
His eyes fell on a pair of legs, clad in very baggy white trousers. He traced them upward to a blue tunic tied with a red sash, and further up to a bronze-skinned face, smiling pleasantly down at him.
"Soo-soo-sook!" Suleiman proclaimed happily.
"Suleiman?" Guiche blinked at him in surprise. "What manner of sound is that?"
"It's the water-seller's cry!" Suleiman held up two wineskins, which he'd been carrying under his arms. An array of mugs and goblets hung by their handles from his belt. "Can I interest you in some refreshment?"
"Refreshment?" snapped Baldwin, glowering at Suleiman. "You think we'll…?"
"Water!" Malicorne barrelled into Baldwin, knocking him to the ground. He rolled over the unfortunate knight like a wave, coming to a halt at Suleiman's feet. "Water!"
"By all means!" Suleiman popped the cap from the left-hand wineskin with his thumb, filled one of his mugs, and handed it down to Malicorne. The portly youth gulped it down greedily.
"Is water all you have?" asked Reynald, sounding a little disappointed. Suleiman's grin widened.
"This one's water," he said in a low voice, gesturing with the left-hand wineskin, "and this
one's wine!" He gestured with the right.
"Worthy gentleman!" Guiche grabbed the right-hand wineskin, tore off the cap, and began pouring the wine down his throat.
"You'd better not backwash in that!" snapped Robert de Joscelyn.
"That's enough for you, Mister Guiche." Suleiman took back the wineskin, ignoring Guiche's plaintive wails, and filled a goblet for Robert, then two more for the De Kassel twins.
"Ah! I needed that!" exclaimed Robert, having drained his goblet.
"Wine's a good friend to a troubled knight!" added Reynald, as Suleiman finished filling his goblet. "As is the man who brings it!"
"I thank you sir knight!" Suleiman grinned. "Oh, but where is Mister Saito? I would've thought he would be here."
"No," groused Gimli. "He isn't."
"Oh?" Suleiman was surprised. "But I thought he was of your order?"
"So did we," grumbled Reynald. "Apparently not enough so to help us out here."
"Ah, technically he doesn't have to," Malicorne pointed out, holding out his goblet for wine. "He wasn't involved in the fight."
"Even so," griped Reynald. He brightened, and looked up at Suleiman. "Perhaps you will join us in his place, Mister Suleiman."
"Uh," Suleiman laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am honoured, sir, but…"
"Wait a minute!" snapped Baldwin, who by then had managed to rise to his knees. "We can't just invite this…foreigner!"
"Why not?" Malicorne looked at him in surprise. "Saito's foreign, and you didn't complain when he joined."
"He's the one who gave the girls ideas!" growled Baldwin, glaring up at Suleiman. "I won't accept him until he tells them to stop this nonsense about boys and girls being equal!"
"Alas, monsieur," Suleiman replied, still smiling. "I have no such authority."
"It's your fault!" Baldwin bellowed. "They're full of themselves because of you!"
There was a remarkably long pause.
"Baldwin," said Guiche, in a world-weary tone. "Did you have a row with Maria?"
"Don't talk to me about that wench!" Baldwin snapped. He folded his arms and looked away. "That scarf was expensive!"
The others laughed at him.
"But Suleiman," Reynald turned back to Suleiman. "You will accept, won't you?"
"That may be difficult, Mister Reynald." Suleiman rubbed the back of his neck. "For one, I will be required to swear in the name of Brimir. For another, I must have Miss Tiffania's permission."
"But surely you will consent to show us your grappling?" pleaded Guiche. "It would be a boon to us if you did!" The others piped up in agreement, apart from the sulking Baldwin.
"I would be happy to!" Suleiman proclaimed, grinning.
"Would you care for some wine, Miss Tiffania?"
"I…I'm all right, thank you," pleaded Tiffania nervously.
"Can we bring you another cushion perhaps?"
"Would you like some more cookberry pie?"
Beatrice and her friends clustered around Tiffania, babbling one over-enthusiastic offer of service after another. Arrayed along the table to either side of her were other students; the handful who had managed to avoid punishment for the brawl. Around the dining hall, several 'maids' were at work, cleaning the walls, floors, and windows under the watchful eye of Professor Chevreuse. None of them were enjoying themselves.
"This is so demeaning!"
"My hands!"
"They could at least let us use magic!"
The sight of so many cute girls in maid outfits was a delight to a certain Saito Hiraga. But not half as delightful as the person standing in front of him.
"So…" he drawled, leaning an arm on the table as he looked the heavenly vision up and down. "What's for breakfast this morning, little Louise?"
"Saito…" snarled Louise. She was shaking with volcanic fury, clutching at the long black dress with clawed hands. But her rage could not diminish her unimaginable cuteness. Between the frilly white apron that was so charming, and the frilly hairband that topped her utterly adorable head, the whole effect made Saito want to wrap his arms around her and never let go.
Even if she was bound to blow him halfway across the kingdom the minute she got her wand back.
"Ah, we seem to be forgetting ourselves!" Saito's grin widened. This had to be karmic justice; there was no other explanation.
"M…Master Saito!" Louise somehow forced the words out. "Breakfast for this morning is cookberry pie, also lamb broth with white bread." She gestured to a trolley, on which sat the dishes thus described.
"That sounds great!" Saito sighed happily. "Ah, it's so nice being waited on by nobility!"
"So…" Louise somehow forced a smile onto her face. It was the sort of smile Saito would expect to see on the face of Izanami in hell. "This is the sort of thing you like, Saito?"
"Like?"
"You like to see your master…dressed as a maid," Louise went on. "It pleases you to see your master…humbled…humiliated…"
"Humbled? Humiliated?" Saito shook his head. "Don't say that, little Louise! You're the cutest out of all the maids!"
"C…!" Louise looked away, her fury melting into bashfulness. "You have no right to call me cute! You're a lowly familiar!"
"I may be a familiar," Saito retorted. "But you're my maid, and I say you're the cutest!"
"I…I'm not cute." Louise started shaking again. "A, a, a, and it's only until the end of this week, after which I will punish you!"
"I don't mind that," drawled Saito. "I don't care what you do to me, so long as I can look at you like this." His grin became a lascivious smirk. He didn't care if she did blow him halfway across the kingdom. He'd never get a chance like this again.
"Also Louise, there's something more I'd like from you."
"What would that be...master?"
"I want you to say…" He paused, barely able to contain himself. "Say…would you like breakfast, or a bath…or me?"
"Uh partner," warned Derflinger. "You might not wanna push your luck."
Louise twitched. Saito wondered for a moment if he had indeed pushed her too far. But she was just too damn cute when she was angry!
"M, m, m, m, master!" Louise forced out. "Would you like…breakfast, or a…bath…or…me?"
"That's not how you do it!" Louise jumped as Kirche came sashaying along the other side of the table. Saito gaped as she rounded the table, appearing in all her glory. Her maid uniform was for the most part standard, the exception being the non-standard hemline. Whereas the regulation length was down to the ankles, Kirche's stopped well above the knee, with sheer black stockings and matching suspenders on display. Between that and the dress being rather tight around the bust, the ensemble was more than enough to get Saito's blood pumping.
"Kirche!" Louise shrieked. "What kind of uniform is that!?"
"Just a little something I had stashed away for an emergency." Kirche leaned against the table, angling her body just right to send blood rushing to Saito's head. "Do you like it, darling?"
"Oh!" Saito felt himself beginning to drool. "Oh yes!"
"In any case!" Louise was visibly restraining herself. "I am in the process of servingSaito breakfast!" She flapped her hand at Kirche. "Go and seduce someone else! It's what you're good at!"
"Oh, my precious master," Kirche drawled, ignoring Louise. "Would you like breakfast, or a bath, or…me?"
Saito let out what might have been a laugh, but which even to him sounded like a hyena having a heart attack. It had been a long time since anything had turned him on this much.
"Saito!" Louise grabbed a slice of pie from the trolley and thrust it at Saito. "It's time to eat your breakfast!"
"Saito doesn't want to eat from your hand!" Kirche grabbed a spoonful of broth and held it out in the same manner. "Say ah, darling!"
"Saito! You want this piece of pie, don't you!"
"I think Saito's in the mood for broth!"
"Ah!" Saito thought, as the girls shoved food in his face. "Two beautiful girls are fighting over who gets to feed me. I don't care if Louise blasts me to the moon!"
Done at last. Figuring out precisely how to arrange this was proving very tricky; especially how much focus to put on Saito and Louise. I think this broadly works.
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