Ch2-1: Grief
What the chimera- blazin’ hell are we doing here?
The question resounded through Newt’s mind as the front gates of Baron Castle closed behind the staggering assembly of Mysidians. It couldn’t be fathomed. Who could forget the decree that Baron set against their city only five years prior? Yet still, as the flood waters swept away everything they had once owned, it was to Baron that the Elder had led them. Their footsteps echoed through the citadel of the heartless kingdom.
Screw this! I don’t care if they’ve got new management or not! The title “Paladin” means nothing, not he has the blood of innocents on his hands.
One of the guards reached out to him. It was an offer to retrieve the slumped form of AC from the White Mage’s shoulder. Newt responded with a snarled curse. At the sharpness of the scowl, the Baronian took a number of steps backwards.
As if a few feet between us is enough to keep you out of the range of my magic.
As the glare turned into a set of bared teeth, the guard swallowed nervously and retreated further.
You swordswags better be glad I never had it in me to take up the mantle of the Black Mage. Though it’s really a damn shame. The world would be a much better place without people like you taking up all the oxygen.
With a self-satisfied grunt, the White Mage shifted under the weight of his companion. In the midst of the destruction of Mysidia, Newt had managed to pull the limp form of AC from where he had been floating, face down in the churning sea. Though much taller than himself, the Black Mage was of slighter build, so there had been little difficulty dragging him through the swelling tide.
Why do I bother? I don’t give a flying float eye about this lousy excuse of a so-called war mage. He probably won’t make it through the night anyhow.
The mop of hair parted in a dripping ebony curtain across the pale face of the Black Mage. Where the acidic waters of the Crystal’s fury had pelted him, pitted marks of red-turned-black now marked his flesh. He had not uttered a single sound on the whole trek to Baron. Only the shallow rhythmic breathing that brushed past Newt’s ear gave any hint that the boy he carried was still alive.
The last thing the White Mage remembered before the pressing waters bared down upon them in the crystalline chambers was the blurred image of AC running towards him. He had cast himself down atop of Newt in a feeble attempt to shield him from the incoming catastrophe.
Fool. Why didn’t you run? You turned around to come back for me at the expense of your own life. And you hardly even know me!
Maybe it was due to this that the White Mage had emerged from the ruin a lot better off than the rest of the people of the city. Or rather, what was left of the people of the city.
The nation of Mages shuffled along behind him, the last remnants of groaning refugees from Mysidia. All they had managed to gather were their lives and the drenched clothes upon their back. Most of them bore numerous oozing burns upon their sallow flesh. The few that retained enough strength helped to carry the frail and the young. Even the Elder himself limped along with the support of companions on either side.
The city of Baron heard their mournful lament and shuddered.
They better pay attention! There’s some serious crap going down. I wonder how much information the Elder plans on giving out to this Cecil, Paladin King of Baron?
The gilded double doors that lead to the Baronian throne room protested as the guards threw their shoulders against them. A crack of dazzling sunlight fell in a band upon the royal red carpet at the threshold, stopping short only inches from the hem of the Elder’s robe. As the doors swung inwards, the light grew, bathing the group of blinking Mages in an awe-inspiring sense of reassurance.
Very… nice…
Newt could only curl his upper lip in attempt to fight the overwhelming sense of wonder that rose within him. Lowly-born, he had never seen the inside of such a richly dressed chamber before. With a deepening glower, he rolled his shoulders under the weight of his companion as the procession advanced into the vast stone-arched room.
Tall ivory-carved pillars traced their path on both sides. The strip of red carpet was so lush that it felt as if with every footfall one was sinking into the comfort of a cloud. The walls boasted tapestries stories high that were bright with a blush of antique color. Each scroll depicted fabled tales woven by bards of old throughout the passage of time. Presiding over all the majesty, stood a pair of rich golden high-backed thrones decorated with delicately sculpted coils and curves.
The man who occupied one of the thrones, however, proved to be the most ordinarily clad item within the room. He wore a simple rustic tunic and pair of slacks, both the color a dull peasant-brown. Even the cloak that draped quietly over one of his shoulders was made of a sturdy, yet mundane, material. It was an outfit that would not be out of place in any commoner’s wardrobe.
On the other hand, his features told him to be anything but ordinary. Piercing green eyes shone brilliantly under drifting locks of snowy white hair that was pinned back under the weight of a rather plain band of gold. As the man’s gaze lifted and drank in the suffering that stood before him, something about his expression spoke of a gentle and sincere compassion.
As the Elder laboriously lowered himself in a bow of respect, the other man stopped him. Rising to his own feet, the Paladin King of Baron strode down from his throne, meeting the Mysidian Elder as one would an equal. A shifting light cast over the white-haired man drawing a flickering crown of pure starlight there upon his brow.
Is this guy for real?
In spite of himself, Newt found his own head bowed in attempt to hide the fact that his mouth had fallen open in awe.
“Shiva! Get some healers in here!” the young king called sharply to the guards. The statement held little grandeur. They were the words of a soldier-turned-king.
Maybe it was because sympathy took the forefront to the expected cultured decorum. Or maybe it was the king’s presence of simple yet profound grace. Though respect in the eyes of the White Mage came grudgingly, it came nevertheless.
The Elder greeted the king with a weary outstretched hand. “Your Majesty…”
“Please, just Cecil. This is no time to hold on to formalities, old friend.”
“Cecil,” the older man nodded in stolid relief. Then with a hollow breath he threw the situation out upon the floor. “The Crystal of Water has been destroyed.”
There was only the slightest change in the Paladin’s expression. “How?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why?”
“That is unknown as well.”
“What are the casualties?”
“The entirety of the city has vanished under water. As for how many were lost, I cannot begin to estimate. It was the middle of the Festival and…”
The broken sound of choked sobs from the midst of the shivering crowd passed through the room. Somewhere a gentle voice crooned soothingly to a crying child.
After some time, the white-haired man spoke once again, his voice heavy with strain, “I see.”
Newt could feel it.
As he lifted his gaze to look upon the Paladin King, he became part of a plaintive sea of eyes that had fixed themselves upon their last glimmer of hope. An uneasy silence stretched between the lone man and the group of mages. They were all aware that the fate of Mysidia hung upon the warmth of the Ex-Dark Knight’s heart.
And still there was silence.
Why are you waiting?
The king’s face turned to the sound of a second attempt to hush a child’s cry from within the crowd. His expression had grown unreadable and distant.
Can’t you see how seriously screwed up some of these people are? If you turn us away now, you are no better than your murderous dark-hearted brother!
A tremble rose within the White Mage as the alien green eyes lifted, fixing upon him with a sharply knowing look. It was no more than a few seconds before the gaze drifted to study the rest of the multitude, yet it still left him weak in the knees.
Finally, the Paladin’s voice rose decisively. “I have sent for Baron’s best healers to take care of your wounded. On my honor, I will see to it personally that each one of you is safe to find refuge here. Arrangements will be made for all of you to stay within Baron Castle for as long as needed.”
At that, even the mouth of the Elder dropped open ever so slightly. “Cecil, we cannot re—”
An upraised hand sliced the sentence in mid-word. “I don’t want to hear a single note of protest. I will not see the people of our sister nation go homeless. Your tragedy is our tragedy.”
“I understand, but…”
The young king responded with a gentle grip upon the Elder’s hand. “Please. Be at ease. Let your people heal and rest. You are under the protection of the Nation of Baron.”
“It is for your nation that I now fear!”
The Paladin’s mouth became a sheer line of silence.
The Elder continued, voice thin with exhaustion, “There is something more than just the destruction of one Crystal at hand.”
“What do you mean?”
“First, the city was ravaged by an unpredicted tsunami. But…”
“But..?”
“But the fury of the ocean was nothing compared to the horror of the beast. In our escape through the Serpent Road, we were pursued.”
The white-haired man straightened in his stance, templing his fingertips together. Then he focused back on the Elder. “What sort of beast?”
“From what was reported, it is rumored to look like some sort of sea-serpent. And it is elemental in nature. I don’t think it is a coincidence that an elemental beast appeared at the moment of the Water Crystal’s destruction.”
“You believe it is that powerful a threat?”
“I know it is. I’ve seen what it has done even when faced with the entire Nation of Mysidia.”
As if to punctuate the answer, the earth gave a remote rumble.
You just had to ask, didn’t you?
Newt swallowed deeply. He had not seen the creature that the Elder spoke of. But he trusted the old man well enough to know that if he was afraid, there was good reason to be troubled.
Silence fell across the room as the vibration passed into nothing. All eyes had turned towards one another as if to seek out the answer in the person standing next to them.
Just they dared to draw breath once again, the ground beneath them shuddered, knocking them all to their knees. A terrible roaring thunder ripped through the air. The walls of the fortress groaned under the overwhelming pressure.
Somewhere in the near distance of the city, an emergency warning bell began to keen.
“Doric! Siamen! Bring me my armor!” As the ground danced drunkenly, the white-haired man found his footing and shouted orders to the shaken guards. Not even a hint of fear shown in the depths of his emerald eyes as the he retrieved his sword from its encasement on the wall.
Newt watched as the Paladin King swung on his heel and made his way out into the pandemonium that now filled the corridors of Baron Castle.