Chapter Two: The Unwitting Felony

It was amazing to think that the city of Vangrad was alive this early in the morning.

Its streets were already packed with silent, grey people, bundled up in drab cloaks to guard against the early morning cold. Cecil and Kain entered through the main gates. They were well enough known that the gatesman had no need to inquire into their identities; he simply opened the gates, which made nary a noise as they rose to allow entrance.

Vangrad was always characterized in the propaganda of Troia as a cold, impartial, and nearly vacant city of stone which slept under a churning gray sky. Really, nothing could have been further from the truth. Vangrad was colorful and beautiful, several public parks giving the city a lively and welcoming feel, and the river (which emptied into the lake the castle was built over) running through it became a symbol of its rhythm and vibrancy.

Even this early in the morning, when everything really was a bit gray, there were flashes of color. The rogue smile of a dancer and the ruffle of her magenta skirts, the violet cloak of a bard hailing from Damcyan billowing in the wind, the smell of the first baked goods from Dorian Grey’s… They all combined to give the visitor a whisper of an idea of what the city might be like during its most active hours.

Cecil and Kain stepped through the crowd gathered in the south square (there to await the set up of a group of skilled minstrels who had come from a city to the north, likely the Dark Knight’s outpost of Necrograd), past the marble fountain which slowly bubbled pale blue water, and took a sharp turn to the west, stepping onto a side road where the buildings were pressed very closely together.

Unlike some of the smaller, impoverished, foreign cities the two soldiers had been to Vangrad was spotlessly clean. Baron had such clean cities, perhaps, because it had developed indoor plumbing nearly two centuries ago, a whole century before everyone else in the world. Baron was known abroad (even by the grudging Troians) as the most advanced nation in the world, clearly reflected by their mantra of ‘progress, peace, and prosperity.’

The Dark Knight and the Dragon Knight stepped into the smallest, cheapest shop in the greater Vangrad area (that was even counting the small farming community outlying it), signified by the half rotted signpost and crumbling steps. The two men typically gave this shop their business for all their supply needs because the goods were at a lower price and of essentially the same quality.

“Masters Harvey and Highwind!” graciously exclaimed a bent old man with a waterfall of a gray beard and kind, watery eyes, “Another hunting trip, young lords?”

“Hello, Mr. Finnigan,” greeted Cecil mildly, carefully closing the creaky old door behind them. “I’m afraid that this is a hunting trip of a different sort. Do you have a small supply of salves on hand?”

Finnigan nodded, “is there anything else you desire, masters?”

“Yes,” Kain added from behind Cecil, stepping out of the shadows to stare at Finnigan. “Do you happen to have equipment for camping?”

The old man nodded again, raising his eyebrows, “you’re going far, sirs?”

“Just up to Mist,” Cecil commented offhandedly, fingering his coin purse in anticipation of the purchase and frowning at how light it felt. “Apparently there is some manor of beast there that requires slaying.”

The village of Mist, far to the north of Baron, was an inconsequential little place. It was so much so that it had never been on a map and even Baron, who brought weaker cities under their protection by assimilating them into the empire, had not interest in it. It was rumored to be home to a clan of Men who had Magic flow through their veins instead of blood.

Finnigan scuttled off to retrieve their purchase from the storeroom, as it was clear the conversation was now closed. Kain placed a hand on Cecil’s shoulder “, I’ll take this purchase. I’ve not managed to drain my family fortune yet, my friend.”

Cecil was about to remind Kain that this was his mission and thus his financial burden, but the old man returned and Kain paid before he could object.

Kain and Cecil stepped back into the early morning length, a pack full of their new equipment slung over Cecil’s shoulders (which he had insisted on carrying because Kain had made the payment). They needed rations yet, but the city was starting to awaken and Kain and Cecil had yet to eat. It was with this in mind that they set out for the nearby Dragon’s Maw Pub.

When they set foot in the ill-lit and smoke filled room they were met by the usual chorus of cheers as the men and women around the room raised their glasses in greeting. Cecil and Kain both smiled back, unable to help themselves surrounded by so many familiar faces.

“Why, if it isn’t the two young lords!” gushed a plump woman with wildly curly strawberry blonde hair and perpetually rosy cheeks. “D’in think I’d ever see ya’in here this early! Will it be the usual, boys?”

“Yes, Miss Joy,” Cecil replied with uncharacteristic warmth in his voice as he set down their supplies on the worn wooden planks of a secluded corner of the room.

Miss Joy, the hostess, went off, bubbling to anyone who would listen about her ‘two favorite boys.’

“We should be out of Vangrad by midday,” Kain told Cecil, “which is sooner than I’d anticipated.”

Cecil didn’t reply. He was too busy watching the trio in the corner farthest from them. One of them was assuredly Lord Baigan, even though Cecil could only see the back of his shaved head. He was talking heatedly to a crooked looking man draped in a maroon cloak. What looked like a blue claw protruded from beneath the folds of the fabric to grasp a tankard of pale ale. The last was Lord Golbez, looking very much like a Chocobo would were he to be stuffed into a songbird’s cage. His amethyst eyes stared down at Lord Baigan as if he were contemplating frying the man for some unknown sin.

Again, a feeling of nagging familiarity overwhelmed Cecil, but this time he was able to push it from his mind and turn his face away, though with no small effort. Kain, meanwhile, had followed his faze, but turned his amber eyes back to Cecil when the Dark Knight fore his eyes away; “Lord Golbez truly bothers you, doesn’t he?

“Yes,” replied Cecil, removing his helm to place it upon the table, “I feel as if-“

But he was silenced by Miss Joy, who was bounding toward them, miraculously balancing both food and beverage in her arms. “Order’s up, boys!” she called to them. “Two beef stew, a pale ale, and a milk!”

“Thank you, Miss Joy,” Cecil told her as she placed their food upon the table.

She smiled genially, and them bustled away to shoo away some men who were after her cooling pie.

Cecil had sworn off alcohol in his fifteenth year when he had flooded the castle’s dungeons. It only turned him into a complete fool. He didn’t have a very high tolerance for the loathsome substance. Kain, however, was tolerant of nearly any amount, and made a point to remind Cecil that there was nothing wrong with a glass or two at meal time. It was so diluted, he claimed, that it wouldn’t even give Cecil a happy buzz. Cecil knew, however, that if he had one drink an innumerable amount would follow, and he would quickly drink himself into oblivion.

Golbez was not brought up again, and the two continued with their meal in peace. They finished their preparations, and left Vangrad around midday, just as Kain had predicted.

XXX

Cecil Harvey and Kain Highwind were naïve, mused the man inside of the maroon cloak, seated directly across from Baigan. How foolish to assume that he did not see them enter and depart. They were too far away to hear any of the fool Captain’s powerful boasting, thankfully, for he was revealing minute details of their plan, and, unlike the other customers in this dingy establishment, they would know well enough what they were speaking of to stop them.

Beside him stat Lord Golbez, staring at Baigan with greed apparent in his eyes; the hatred this man possessed for Cecil Harvey was a boon. It was a glorious thing that could be utilized for The Cause, and Lord Golbez was certain to know that. All they need do now was to plant the Chimerea Seed within him and wait fro the opportune moment to enact their plan. It was all going rather smoothly now that the obstacle of Cecil Harvey was removed from their path. Naïve he may be, but his sense of justice would never allow him to procure the remaining Crystals in Baron’s name; and The Crystals were everything.

“All that’s left to do now is convince His Highness to launch the attack,” Baigan said with a sneer, “and I don’t think that shall be a problem.”

“Indeed,” agreed Lord Golbez in his velveteen voice, carefully folding his hands in front of him, the vaguest ghost of a smile upon his face. “Then the announcement will be made tonight, I trust?”

“No,” the maroon cloaked man said, his voice much like steel claws running themselves along a slab of slate.
“We must wait for the conformation of Lord Captain Harvey’s death. The Council of Regents will never allow it otherwise. They think this journey one of redemption for their favorite member.”

Baigan frowned, “I never understood why his death was such a necessity. I believe Lord Harvey too difficult to kill, and wonder if this is all a waste of your precious time, Milord. No mere Dragon can slay that man, most especially when you’ve foolishly sent Lord Highwind with him.”

“I had no choice!” croaked the cloaked man viciously. “Captain Highwind overheard!”

“Enough,” Lord Golbez commanded, fire flashing in his eyes. “Cecil Harvey is a liability. Of all the men in Baron that may have been a threat to The Cause he was the only one who seemed immune to my … persuasion. This would not be a problem were the man not so noble,” he said the world disdainfully “, but as it is he could prove himself an irritation. I am curious, Lord Baigan, why you seem to so fervently believe he cannot be killed.”

Baigan sighed and admitted, reluctantly “, he is a virtuoso. His instructors at the Academy in Vangrad constantly complained of his laziness, but I once overheard him telling Lord Highwind that he only ‘slacked’ in order for the two of them to graduate in the same year. His instructors in Necrograd never reported a problem with him; in fact, they said he was bound to enter the service as an officer.”

“You have seen him in combat?” Lord Golbez queried.

“No, but I have seen the results,” Lord Baigan was bitter at the memory. “He decimated an entire militant Troian Elitist Group, and the only wounds he suffered were inflicted by the power of the blade he turned upon them.”

“If the Dragon doesn’t kill him, Milord,” the cloaked man assured his frowning lord, “the challenges he faces in Mist are certain to.”

“They ought to,” Lord Golbez rumbled. “I do not need opposition from someone who could become formidable.”

“Yes,” Lord Baigan’s expression brightened, as if he had remembered some cheerful fact. “That noble fool is not apt to harm a peasant.”

“Excellent,” Lord Golbez stood. “I must go inform our compatriots of this favorable news. I will see you when we sup.”

Shortly after that Lord Baigan excused himself, likely to go brood over the deep misfortune of his life and his hatred of Cecil Harvey.

Finally, the cloaked man was left alone with his ale.

XXX

For miles to the north, east, south and west extended a vast wilderness. Mountains loomed to the north, gazing down upon the golden plains with their dark and ever watchful eyes. To the east was the plain, and then beyond that the temperamental sea, her waters sparkling gleefully one moment, then turned turbulent the next. Southwards lay the forests of Baron, one of which Cecil had been discovered in over eighteen years before. Then, to the west, rested a brief desert, which soon gave way to oceans of green grass, waving in the friendly breeze.

Cecil and Kain traveled to the north, towards the wall of mountains, beyond which was the Valley of Mist, and the village that was their destination. They were nearing the end of their second full day of this journey, and the duo had set up camp at the base of one the hills in the hilland directly preceding the mountains. The day’s kill had been meager, but they still had plenty of dry rations, and so they were less likely to die of starvation than of boredom.

Cecil silently tended the flames of their fire while Kain cleaned their kill (Cecil was not known for his camp food: or any food, for that matter. It really was better if Kain did all of the cooking.). The sound of his dagger against the flesh of the beast and the crackling of the flames were the only noises that penetrated the stillness of their campsite. Suddenly, Cecil raised his head to stare at his companion, “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

Kain halted to return Cecil’s gaze, “Is that what you’ve been thinking about all of this time? Our orders?”

Cecil took out a small, gold ring, encrusted with rubies, from the satchel lying at his feet, laying it in his palm and holding it up for Kain to see. “What can be the purpose of this?”

Kain stared at it for a very long time, but then shook his head, “I have no idea, Cecil”

Cecil replaced the ring among their items and said nothing. He stared at his hands for a moment and then resumed tending the fire, his mind wandering to events long past, as it oft had a tendency to do in silent moments. The thought of how unbelievably painful it had been to loose the Red Wings was the first thought to surface; Kain was lucky, to still be able to touch the sky. Then he suddenly recalled how he’d been ordered here as if it were a mercy from the King to send him on this wild goose chase.

Not for the first time, Cecil wondered what had happened to his lord.

“Listen,” Kain finally said “, just take this chance, Cecil. I know how you feel about the King, but…” he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. “Just do it.”

Cecil didn’t argue. He didn’t feel like being angry with Kain at the moment, but something told him that this was all some mind game that the king was playing with him. The king, his king, was dead.

The rest of the night was largely uneventful. Kain prepared a tasteless stew, they ate it and some overly salty meat, cleared up, and then prepared for nightfall. Cecil took first watch, stooping over the fire, which he kept as low as possible as not to wake Kain. He stared into the darkness, fingering his silver ring, which he had taken with him, though he did not wear it underneath his armor. He no longer had to look at it to know what its appearance yielded to the eye. Simply feeling it, worn smooth through the years, was enough to bring him comfort.

It was his oldest worldly possession. He’d been found all those years ago with this dangling from his neck upon a small chain. Cecil knew, somehow, that it was his mother’s, though he had never been sure why he felt this way. Once, Rosa had asked him about it, and had told her, though afterwards he’d felt foolish. Rosa had told him that he must feel her love for him in it, but Cecil dismissed this. If his parents had loved him then why did they leave him all alone in the forest? Why did they abandon him?

He was pulled from his musings by Kain, who was ready to relieve Cecil of his duty. Cecil, still holding his ring, fell into a dreamless sleep the moment his head hit the bedroll.

The next morning they woke and set out before dawn. By midday they had reached the entrance to Mist Cave and took a brief break before descending into the darkness. Mist Cave cut through the mountains they would have otherwise had to scale. It served as a shortcut that effectively cut a month off of their journey. It was the sole route to Damcyan, the country of wealthy traders, and was worn from frequent use by the Merchant’s Guild.

The minute Cecil stepped into the cave an energy crept up the back of his neck. Instinct told him they were not alone here, though the presence he felt was neither malignant nor benign. It was almost as if it were trying to gauge their character and determine whether or not it was going to give them passage to Mist. Kain apparently did not feel it, but the presence made itself known once they reached the end of the first bend.

“Men of Baron, leave this place,” it rumbled in a voice like a waterfall.

Cecil could have sword he felt the mist rising from the underground river constrict about them, but he shook off the feeling and pushed on thought the half light of the beast’s lair. At last it seemed they would reach their destination, but they were halted again by the voice, which spoke with anger evident in its deep voice, “I said leave! Do you mean to ignore my warning?”

“We must deliver this ring to the village beyond,” Cecil told the voice as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, not sure what he was expecting.

Whatever it may heave been, it was not the beast that condensed to solid form before them.

It was a Dragon, ten feet long and four feet thick, floating above them. Its body was long and serpentine, translucent white with long tendrils swirling off its narrow face and disappearing into the thick fog that had enveloped them. From the darkness shone forth a pair of glassy blue eyes, filled with wisdom, intelligence, and righteous fury.

“So be it,” it growled, and Cecil felt a pang of guilt stab his heart as he began to doubt himself (not for the first time).

Guilt had a time and place, however, and Cecil knew that this was not it.

The beast charged at them, its massive body uncoiling with frightening speed and grace. Kain launched himself into the air as Cecil rolled sideways, casting their equipment into a far off corner of the chamber. He narrowly avoided the snap of the Dragon’s jaws. Fluidly, Cecil drew his sword, turning it upon the beast with deadly agility and accuracy; it let out a bellow of pain as the dark blade sank into its flesh.

Rounding on Cecil, it lashed out with its whip like tail, but the Dark Knight was too quick, and somehow managed to jump the thing, though garbed in full body armor. Elegantly, he landed; crouching as the tail rebounded, blasting past his head and becoming embedded in the cavern wall.

Cecil took the brief respite to focus his energies, suddenly glowing violet with the darkness, his body filled with sudden aggression and hatred, coiled coldly within his stomach, a viper ready to strike. A grunt of exertion burst from his lips, and he sliced clean through the end of the Dragon’s tail, which gushed silvery steam instead of blood. Roaring in deepest agony, it was too distracted to retaliate when Kain landed upon it with his usual graceful ferocity, pushing his lance in and pulling it out in a matter of seconds, his terrible velocity making this no easy feat.

Then, it dissolved.

Kain’s muscles did not relax, nor could Cecil force himself to calm. A look passed between them.

 It was only their reflexes that saved them from the attack as they both dove to the rocky floor. Coming down on them from above, Kain blocked the Dragon’s attack by using his lance to force the Dragon’s face away from them; his lance becoming the only obstacle between them and the monster’s gaping maw.

Cecil saw his opportunity and thrust his sword upward through what he could only pray was a vital organ of this monstrosity. When it groaned feebly and went slack, its eyes loosing their light, Kain and Cecil struggled from their position beneath its massive carcass, sword and lance still clutched tightly in hand.

Panting, Cecil stood, not saying a word. He could feel blood seeping down his abdomen and was leaning on his sword for support. Kain gathered their scattered supplies from the floor, turning to his friend and tossing him a healing tonic.

Cecil caught the small, green, vial with one hand and uncorked it with his teeth, downing the vile tasting liquid in one gulp. Instantaneously, relief flooded through hid body, and he felt the heat of generic magic begin to stitch up the gash on his stomach. “We should move on.”

Kain nodded and the two companions stepped into the light, out of the darkness of the burrow. Cecil squinted into the sunlight even through his visor, shielding himself with his arm, guarding himself against the thorny pain of the sunshine.

They were at the top of a hill, overlooking the twilit village of Mist, which slept unassumingly below them. It was less then an hour’s walk away. Together, the two companions set down the hill, the waning rays of daylight glinting off of their armor. After days of travel and the harsh battle they had only just conquered this was like a stroll in one of Vangrad’s many parks.

After a while, Kain tossed Cecil the gold ring and flashed his friend a smile, “now for the easy part.”

Cecil laughed, the dark cloud over his heart dissipating for the first time in days. He removed his helm, allowing his sweaty hair to tumble out into the cool early springtime breeze. “Indeed, my friend. Delivering a bauble is nothing. Perhaps I will yet be returned to my post.”

They were almost to the base of the foothill now, and thus to Mist.

Kain smirked, “I told you not to be worried, did I not?”

“Indeed you did! I can hardly believe I-!”

At the moment they drifted into the village the ring began to glow scarlet, burning hot. Cecil dropped the thing onto the ground in shock, recoiling as it shot a pillar of flame that spiraled to great heights, the womb of beasts shaped like spheres and forged of fire. They descended upon the village, sitting it swiftly ablaze.

When Cecil heard the first scream his palms began to sweat and his body to shake. He found he could no longer stand as a wave of remorse more potent than any he had ever felt overwhelmed him. All he could think was ‘No, not again! Please, Gaelach, no!’ Vaguely, he was aware Kain was speaking to him, and only became aware he was sobbing and crying out when Kain shook him violently.

“More innocents,” he blubbered incoherently. “Kain”, he pulled away. “We have to-! I can’t-!”

He made his way through the village, unsure of which woeful screams to heed, but at last he found one he was drawn to; the screams of a child.

Cecil felt as if the God of Justice were dead. If he were alive surely he could have prevented this – this atrocity. Surely, if he were alive, he would have sent Cecil some sign, any sign, that that accursed ring was evil. He cursed the star he was born under as he found what he was looking for.

She was a girl, no more than eight years old, weeping over the corpse of a woman. Her green hair clung to her face, which was flushed, her eyes puffy and red from her tears.

“What happened?” he asked, crouching by her, not even aware of Kain behind him.

“Someone-! Someone killed Mommy’s Dragon!” She sobbed, clinging further to the woman; her finger’s digging into the cloth of her shirt.

Cecil paled as her words sunk in. He had felled the Dragon. He had killed this girl’s mother. He alone was responsible for orphaning this girl.

“I’ve heard of these people,” Kain commented, and the way he spoke, as if she was some lower being, bothered Cecil. “Conjurers. They can call upon beasts called Eidolons to come to their aid in battle.”

“Then that Dragon…” Cecil shook his head, suddenly full of resolve that he should have found in Mysidia. “It was…”

“Well,” Kain raised his lance above his head as if to strike the girl “, we must be thorough.”

“No!” Cecil sprung to his feet, placing himself as a shield between them. “She’s a girl, Kain! Do you mean to tell me you can kill her?!”

“You mean to tell me you could disobey and order?” Kain asked.

“Yes!” Cecil exclaimed. “If it means… If it means this!” He frantically motioned about him. “If it means killing Dragons and making orphans! I won’t be used again!”

“You… you killed my Mommy,” the girl muttered in a voice dripping with hatred. “You… you murderer!”

“No!” he turned to her, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up; something was coming. “I did not know! I-!”

“Get away!” she shrieked. “I HATE YOU!”

All at once the ground exploded.

Cecil did not know what happened, but he was jarred from his feet and thrown violently to one direction, away from Kain. Tossed about like a doll, he slammed into a tree as the earth beneath him crumbled and rose, distorting the landscape.

This attack, this earth rending attack, was clearly meant to kill him.

Still thrown off balance, Cecil did not see the rock that fell from one of the newly formed cliffs above; if he had he likely could have dodged it. As it was, it tumbled from above and hit him upon the side of the head, knocking him clean out.

His last thoughts before slipping into oblivion were that, if he were to die, it was a death