Pillars of the Kingdom

Gam and New Presia? The western border of Emor itself? Jacin fell to wondering what they could possibly be getting sent to do. Branden certainly seemed to have a touch of surprise on his face when Serge declared his willingness to follow along. The elder knight inclined his head.

"Well, think about it, my friend," he began, "You requested these two to assist you, especially in the case that the others were unavailable. Who better to ensure that they are alright during your other objective than your friend and care-giver Serge?" The knight's gentle smile made any argument, logical or no, futile.

"I suppose you're right," Branden acquiesced. "Very well. Please, explain the mission, Lord Shade." He didn't seem too happy with the judgement, but he knew it was what it was. Yet he also claimed to be Serge's friend? How awkward.

"I thought you'd never ask," the old magic-user began in a soft voice. "The mission is fairly simplistic. You are all going to go out west and seek out the Shaman peoples."

This statement was uttered as if it meant nothing, yet the meaning was mindblowing. The Shamans were a group of people that, decades ago, had been involved in a major conflict with Emor over the western borders of Presia and, consequently, New Presia. The Shamans, though largely as ordinary as Jacin, were at an odd balance with the world around them. They did not often have the power to control demonic elementals or other monsters, but they could deter and conjure nature's forces as well as an Arcanic - And could commune with plants, it was rumored, or sculpt the earth to their wishes.

It appeared the Lieutenant was as shaken up as Jacin. "M'Lords and Ladies, I do not mean to show cowardice or to pass ill judgement upon your orders, but do you really believe myself and the Sergeant to be capable of going along with any strength of force into Shaman territory and exit with our lives?" The officer was so shaken that grammar escaped him.

"Easily, Lieutenant Maxton. I will train you along the journey, teaching you skills you do not have which will make you both better at self defense. You'll easily each move up one Rank, perhaps even two for young Jacin there." Serge's statement seemed almost like a bribe, but he did temper it with a more realistic approach. "Only so much advancement can really be done under these circumstances and without training under fire, but I think you'll find that by the time we get to the border, we'll be prepared for the possibility of a real threat.”

Jacin noticed Maxton's face winding up to talk, but it was Branden's gentle voice which cut him off before a word could be whispered. "I have to say, it almost sounds like nonsense, but it's true. You guys are good, but you haven't begun to touch your potential. If any one man can make you elite, Serge can. He did it to me. Lastly, I will be with you, and we will hopefully have others of great skill; you will be fine. Never underestimate an Hora."

The compliment brought a tinge of red to Jacin's cheeks, and he nodded softly, watching Charles contemplate.

"Fair enough. I accept the Council's mission," Charles said, bowing his head and looking expectantly to Jacin. There was a momentary pause as he seemed to consider it then he smiled.

"I accept the Council's mission," he declared as he overcame the trepidation of a possible vacation gone horribly wrong.

Chapter Seven

As he left the council room, he noticed the look in his eye from his friend. A faint nod was given to the old knight who'd raised him and Branden waved to Jacin and Charles.

"You guys go ahead. I have to take care of something," the weilder of ice said to the junior officers, fingers wriggling with lips curled into a simple smile.

"Sure!" Charles exclaimed. "Meet us later, alright?"

"Yeah! Later!" Jacin added, waving his hand as well.

The trip toward their usual meeting place was a short one - Branden left the palace and entered a small tavern in the center of the town, bowing his head twice to the bartender. The signal was recognized and Branden placed a hand on the bartop, under which had been slid a key. He stepped upstairs and entered a specific room, room 112.

Unlocking it and stepping through, he quickly locked the door behind him. The room looked like any other - A view-screen, a window, a bed, a lamp, the basics of a modern-day living room with just enough of an old-time feel. He remembered to check that the window curtains were closed – they were. The key to the room was placed in an envelope and he slid it under the door. He knew room service would be up within 5 minutes to take the key back downstairs.

He pulled from his pocket a second key, one that looked reminiscent of a long, slender hook. Moving to the back of the room, he tapped the wall gently until he found the hollow spot, placing the hook into a small hole in the wall and turning it. A tumbler clicked and Branden placed the wire-like key back in his pocket, pressing his fingers firmly against the wall and pressing it to the side, sliding the door open. He stepped through and into the dark, unlit staircase, closing and locking the door behind himself.

A flicker of lightning sprung up from his fingertips and lit the hallway, Branden using the very limited elemental power he had (aside from ice) to produce that precious light. He turned four times and exited to his left, entering a room which was lit by a quartet of light-bulbs in each corner, a fifth light hanging in the center of the rather small room. It did have some perks - Couches and a small cooling and heating unit, for days when the temperature might be unbearable, but the secret room was generally reserved for private meetings. Emergency lights, bright, were easily accessable should they need it, and some of the leading-edge technology imported from Yenohar had produced a small computer center in one of the corners.

Waiting there sat Branden's older friend Serge, no armor or sword with him, not even some form of noble clothing. He had both chilled tea and wine, a small glass of wine poured for himself and an empty glass waiting for Branden. The youth poured himself a glass of the wine and pressed it softly against Serge's before seating himself at a rounded table across from his friend.

"To what do I owe the invitation, Serge?" Branden said in that cheerful voice. "One look from you and I'm always here, another job done and another town saved, no?" The levity was met with an edge of seriousness - Branden had no reason to suspect what was coming.

"...I know you won't tell me the full truth if I ask why you're going to Yenohar," Serge responded softly, glancing downward for a moment. "You also know that I'm not going to ask you." At this point, Branden tilted his head to the right and seemed to want to interrupt. Serge never allowed him a chance. "We both know I trust you to only do good, my friend, but I want to know what's going through your mind right now."

Branden seemed to think about it, while Serge raised his glass to his lips and took one small sip from the wine. "...I suppose..." Branden began, trying to frame the words in his mind, "I suppose I just have to see some things for myself. You know that I would never be a hypocrite and go causing problems, but you also know I can't stand by and watch what's going on." There was definitely someone in Frost's mind when mentioning people standing by and watching others. Serge knew it as well as he did.

"'What's going on' is a lot of things, Branden, both good and bad. Ever since your father died, I know you've wanted revenge --" Serge began, but Branden held a hand up.

"This isn't about revenge. You know that if I find the ones responsible for my father's death, I will do all I can to bring them to the justice they are to be held to. I am not a rogue knight, but you also know if these people attack me I will not spare them." Branden thought for a moment he had a way out, but his luck was not that strong.

"It's not only revenge that I'm concerned about, Branden." Serge said, smiling in a very forlorn way. "If I could, I'd gladly help you kill the people responsible for Jeromiah's death. He and I, as well as the Lady Esmoranda, were great friends. It's that you're not as stable as you were three years ago, you're leading more with your emotions than you used to." Serge took a second sip from his wine, a larger one, as if he was relaxing in the conversation.

Branden clearly wasn't. "I...Suppose you have found some, ah, interesting things out, my friend and care-giver," he replied with a chuckle, hiding the nervousness almost perfectly - Not perfectly enough, though. "I just have to find some things out. I will never betray the citizens I swore to protect, and even these emotional fluctuations aren't going to change that." Branden rose his wine glass to his lips and took a very tiny sip, the taste of wine, at first, always a shocker.

"Branden...You don't have to tell me, but you know I have to ask," the old knight started, "Who are you meeting?"

The blue-haired man seemed to freeze for a moment. The words were said so casually that the elder knight might have been asking about the weather tomorrow. "I...I can't tell you their names, and they likely wouldn't matter if I could. What I can tell you is that these people and I share a like mind in bringing stability back to Emor. I am honor-bound to go, because one of them defeated me." Branden then set the wine glass down with enough force that the glass' contact with the wooden table echoed. It was meant to end the conversation, and it did.

"I see. It couldn't be Kendrick, since you two never agreed on a damn thing except that each of you was a sight for sore eyes and...Well, leave that to your imagination," Serge said, attempting a joke at what many Presians would have called sin, "And there aren't too many people who have wild ideas that you're friends with, so I guess I'm left in the dark. You know if you endanger the people of this country, we will become rivals despite how much I care for you as my own son." The elder's voice was heavy, was morose, but was firm.

"Trust me, Serge, I know."

"I do, Branden. I know you won't let me down." The confidence Serge had was only slightly marred by worry.

*****
Clarice finished packing her things and was preparing to mount the horse when, in the distance, she saw a rather strange looking vehicle. It was a four-wheeled automobile, but unlike most (which were Yenoharan in make) it was clearly custom-designed. One could easily say this because unlike standard Petrol-powered engines, this one produced very little noise and, as far as Clarice could tell, pollution. Very few cars with liquid or solid Crystal engines existed outside of Yenohar, after all, yet one was approaching at a high speed.

As it drove up, Clarice's face fell with surprise. She knew the paint and the general shape of the car - It was a prototype from Coaslund's research and development beauro. Furthermore, she knew the concealed weaponry the car packed - Not much, but enough to get the driver out of a tight spot. She knew all this because she knew the car's designer and builder.

Kathy hopped out of the car as if she had been expected and given a written invitation to prove it; neither was true. Nonetheless her brown hair, eyes, and slender, curved, full body was relaxing to Clarice's sensibilities. She smiled faintly, stepping over to her would-be lover.

"So," spoke the scientist as she approached the Fecha, canting her head to the side with a mischievous look in her eyes. "Surprised to see me?"

The question spoke for itself, and Clarice simply nodded her head. A moment of clearing her thoughts later and she scratched her forehead. "What...Err...Are you doing here?" It was about then that the flush came to Clarice's cheeks - She'd gotten away from Kathy for a reason, and that one issue had already returned to her mind.

"Lady Fecha, I come bearing a message. And the impulse to have a little fun." She said with a slight wink. It didn't take good eyes to see the red in Clarice's cheeks. "You've been given an order from the Council. Assist Branden Frost, Serge Lenkmen, and two others I don't know in contacting the Shamans."

Clarice blinked her eyes. "Might I dare, dare ask why?" The order seemed incredulous, as if Kathy might be joking about it. The only problem was that she knew Kathy didn't fool around when it came to orders - She was a little demon, alright, but not when it came to military affairs.

"Well, they need a little beefier backup and, to top it off, it's in regards to your pretty little theory," spoke the catlike woman, entering that two-to-four foot range everyone called "personal space" and placing a hand on Clarice's reddened cheek. The palm brushing her flesh didn't help dim that crimson hue, serving only to brighten it instead.

"K...Kathy..." Clarice spoke in a trembling voice, "When do I leave?" The attempt to change the subject might or might not work, but Clarice was cornered and she knew it.

"We. You see, Branden, Serge, and yourself are going with some kiddies. Some boys named Jacin and Charles." Clarice's eyes seemed to blink a slight bit, startlement running through her mind and visible through her pupils, and Kathy paused to ask the obvious. "You know them?"

"I fought both of them. Easily beaten, but with a lot of potential," she remarked, shaking her head at this decision. "Why would they possibly be sent along?"

Kathy wasn't going to leave her time to wonder. "It doesn't matter. Myself and Alan have volunteered to go with you as well. I'll do long-range support, and Alan can handle himself in a fight, as you well know."

Alan was a friend of Clarice's, one who she'd picked up a vibe from that he wanted to be more than friends. What would his role in this affair be? Close-quarters combat; Alan was a trained warrior who used a Spear-Sheild, a very tricky-to-learn weapon which amateurs would wind up dead using, dead by their own hand. It was a good thing Alan was classified as a Media, nearly a Fecha, though not quite at that esteemed rank.

"Oh great. Just what I needed." Clarice said to herself more than to Kathy, knowing that she'd be dealing, on a daily basis, with her greatest emotional struggle - Her attraction to Kathy and Alan and the fact she knew both were attracted to her.

"Hmmm?" The scientist queried.

"Nothing," Blind Justice replied.

"Good!" Kathy fell into her lover's embrace.
*****
"Do you really believe, Agent Black, Agent Gold, Agent Red, that this statement is justified?" Spoke the general in his quarters.

"Yes." Spoke the black-robed person. "I give complete confirmation to the theory. Cernai's relics are in those new grounds."

"Gold?" The older man spoke, removing his dark green cap and scratching greyed hair.

"Although I haven't seen as much evidence, I concur both with his theory and another held by both him and one of Coaslund's warriors, known as Blind Justice." The softer voice came from the gold-robed one.

"And Red?"

The deeper voice gave a faint nod, a laugh. "Most certainly. As you are clearly aware, General, the reason we get such confirmation in trios is mostly so that different Principalities may be represented, and in this I agree."

"Oh? I tend to agree as well. It makes the Recovery that much more important. Return to your posts."

The three figures nodded, robes slender against their bodies. They proceeded to step out of the office, and they nodded their heads to one another. The three of them placed their palms together and whispered words, then were gone in a flash.

Chapter Eight

The assembly was a rather motley one. It was fairly clear who the leaders of this party were, and even clearer who the less dependable were. Branden was mounted upon a white horse, one named Coldflame, and he was preparing to leave the group for the time being.

Unlike the practice battle the group had first met in, Branden wore instead a suit of masterfully made blue armor. The steel was light, sparsely covering his body, but not a dent adorned it. It seemed almost to fit around him as clothing might, not armor. Undoubtedly, this was conducive to his speed. While most of the armor matched his hair and eyes, that very light blue, the cape was a darker color, much like his sword's sheath.

Serge, Jacin, and Charles were mounted upon three fairly identical looking brown horses. Serge's looked a touch more muscular, as if the military was giving Jacin and Charles the bare bottom for this operation. While Serge was mounted in standard textbook style and Charles was only slightly sloppy (a personal trait more than a lack of experience), Jacin looked like a mess. His packing was, even to the untrained eye, fairly disorganized, while he was mounted in a haphazard fashion and seemed to have little control of the horse. He was preparing for quite an interesting journey indeed.

From Coaslund, there were three people - Clarice, who seemed to clearly lead her trio, Alan Booker, who wore silver armor and carried a large sheild-spear combination, and Kathy.

Alan had a grey haired beast which carried his spear-sheild with ease. The weapon would almost remind someone of a kite in its design - It was a triangular sheild with a spear held in it. The sheild protected the wearer at the same time as he attacked with the point, made for either slashing or thrusting. He had long blonde hair which, if he'd place his silver helmet on, would make for a rather picturesque image of a knight in shining armor. He was young looking, but he was clearly an adult. Green eyes shone from his handsome face, and he seemed polite enough, if not almost innocent.

"So we'll meet you at Errick's Point?" Serge asked Branden in a deeper voice than the one he usually spoke in. Jacin and Clarice didn't even pick up the slight difference in tone, though Charles canted his head a touch as a response.

"Yeah. If I'm not there a week after you get there, chances are the nation fell under serious attack!" Branden said with a chuckle. Both men proceeded to laugh, and only Charles caught the slight hesitation that Serge had. The knight shrugged his shoulders, deciding that Serge hadn't gotten the joke.

"Alright, pal. See you." Serge said, and Branden took off on his horse. His light blue armor, matched with a darker blue cloak that flapped in the breeze, quickly became a spot in the distance paired up with a white dot underneath him, until he crossed out of their field of vision. It was all rather romantic, an observer might feel.

"So, that's Branden," Serge said in a cheerful manner, glancing to the other two Gataminians. He'd resigned to fate, so it seemed, that Branden's personality would always be carefree.

"Yeah," Clarice muttered in response. She was smiling an innocent, approving smile.

"He's a nice kid," Kathy softly added into the mix, giving Clarice a slight grin as an answer to her beloved’s purity.

"Hey..." The other responded. What Clarice felt Kathy was thinking in this situation was overt, and not entirely inaccurate; more reason for her interjection.

"You have a little thing for my chilly friend?" Serge said, glancing back over his left shoulder toward the now brightly blushing woman.

"Not at all!" Clarice said indignantly. After all, he'd only, what, smacked her around the battlefield? Why would she have feelings toward a brute?

"Ahhh, please Clarice," A chipper voice spoke up, "Branden's a model on top of it all. Not that you couldn't be, if you wanted," Charles commented with a faint grin. It was true that Branden had made more than a few gold coins on some “action-shots.” Nothing overtly erotic, but with a figure like an Hora's one is hard pressed not to be...Interested in, say, a shirtless image.

"Yeah," stated Jacin in a more subdued voice, his right hand reaching up to graze his forehead and the spikes of hair above. "He's famous not just as a fighter but as one of the most eligible bachelors in Emor. Hell, he gets women easier than I get beat up," he jabbed with a faint grin to Charles, trying his best to make a joke.

"Dammit to hell, I don't like him!" Clarice exclaimed, to the laughter of the others. The only person who believed her was herself, though she was certainly right.

*****
"So what is Branden's deal?" The woman finally asked softly, lifting the tent flap. Serge glanced up from the book he was reading by flashlight, struggling to wake up for his coming turn at watch. The camp was set up in a rather small forest clearing, four farthings west of Gatamene City. With at least three days to go until they reached Errick's Point, they had plenty to talk about.

"His deal? Well, it's hard to explain. Branden's fairly popular, but he's no legend among Horas just yet. His father, on the other hand..." Serge trailed off, closing the book around a sliver of velvet and setting it down softly. It was a touchy subject that Clarice had raised, indeed.

"Jeromiah Frost," she stated bluntly to avoid the emotions attached. "One of the best Horas to fight in the war and a good friend of yours, if I recall." The stories were pretty vivid in Clarice's mind - She was a fan of history’s battles, thus there was little surprise she'd know of the tales of Jeromiah Frost and Serge Lenkmen. "He was assassinated, wasn't he?" This bit of information, however, was kept very secretive. His death was never denied, nor that there was foul play, but the exact details...

"Assassination en masse," Serge grudgingly answered, looking down. Most men would have reached for a glass of wine with that tone of voice, but Serge didn't make a move for a pain reducer, due both cases of having none around and that he refused alcohol's embrace. Clarice blinked her eyes, stunned at his fortitude, and Serge never even noticed. "Jeromiah's wife, as well as his retainers and friends...." Serge started, sighed, and then he shook his head. "Jeromiah was always close with his vassals, Branden grew up with their children. And all of them, every friend he had was killed right before his eyes."

Clarice didn't speak. She had no words which might begin to console this. "He came to me, Clarice, told me his tale. I promised to help him gain vengeance." Serge gave a strange sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and he looked up at her with glassy eyes visible in the lantern light. "Branden's stronger than me, I think. Faster, for certain, but...I also am afraid he's too weak inside to survive this."

Clarice found herself slowly regaining the ability to use words; now, she simply didn't know what to do with them. So she said the only thing that sounded vaguely appropriate; something that would continue Serge's diatribe. "Too weak to survive what?"

"You know. This transformation in energy. I'm no Arcanic, let alone a Shaman-trained one, but I feel the balance of the world as well, and it is changing." Serge paused, frowning, silent for a moment. "Plus...Well...His strength is bent toward the weak, he loves those who are defenseless, but I've never really seen him pressed to kill, either. He hasn't killed a single person in his entire life, I think." Her mouth gaped. "He's severely wounded people, but never taken a life. I raised him to respect life, not to mention his following his father's footsteps, but he's good enough that he could kill people without even trying and he knows it."

A Hora, and never having killed?! That was insanity. Severe wounds would keep most people in line, but if they were truly evil Clarice knew for certain the chances that they'd "leave him alone" after being humiliated in a battle. Much like the men she ran into on her way to Gatamene, sparing the criminally insane could lead to real trouble if they weren't crippled for life.

"Yeah. Pretty hard to believe. But you and me, we know better, eh?" He said with a faint smile, then a chuckle. "Not that I condone senseless killing. But Branden is...So innocent..." Serge trailed off again and closed his eyes.
*****
"You know, I like her..." Alan said in a mouse-soft voice as he rested his head outside, looking up to the stars in the sky.

"Yeah, I know. Its her choice, too. Not too big a deal." Kathy retorted in as gentle a voice as she could manage, unable to fully mask her contempt. This was quite annoying, considering Alan had damn well better know the nature of her feelings toward Clarice by now.

"So what do you think I should do?" The young man asked quietly. The older woman tried not to gag.

"You don't want me to answer that." Was the clever, almost-uncalled for reply.

"I thought you'd say that." Came the somber response. He knew where he was matched, and he fought off his frustration as he stood up. "I'm going to go take a walk, maybe exercise." With that, Alan had left. Kathy London didn't much care what he did, only that he was gone.
*****
"So what do you think the training is going to be like?" Charles said softly, stripping off the last of his armor. His watch was ending, and Serge had volunteered for this next sit. Then Jacin had to watch. All in all, it was a pretty good system; one day the Gataminians watched, the next the Coaslundians. Everyone got a full day of sleep and another where they had much of it, a system which could keep people in top shape for a good, long time.

"Well, I don't know..." Jacin said as he stretched, getting ready to return to bed. He'd gone to voulenteer to sit, but Serge had already beaten him to the punch. It was a most sad waste of a few minutes of continued sleep, and as everyone knows straight sleep is far better than two splintered halves. "Hopefully, it'll be useful."

"Serge..." the responder paused, searching for the right words, "Is really good," Charles said, shrugging his shoulders after failing that particular literary mission. "He's a real, live hero of a real, bloody war. It's so cool, to have a real fighter train us." Ahh, a wistful, youthful voice from a nearly-middle-aged man. "I suspect it'll have the same effect as the Gammin training or Swordpriest, in that we'll learn some supernatural powers as well as regular."

He doubted he'd be made into a Swordpriest, especially considering Serge was not one by any means, and as for a Monk that was as likely as him being made into a bird. Sorcery was also far from his mind - Despite the power that could be found by mimicking that of Arcanics, Charles was plainly uninterested. He'd rather learn some of the tricks of each school - The speed, the strength, and even a distance attack if he could. Most warriors learned at least one type of long-range, spiritual energy attack – Many learned more than that.

"Good. Now, I'm going to bed," Jacin said with a chuckle. Darkness enveloped the sky as a fog was creeping at his mind. He could only imagine that Charles was going to do the same. "Night, buddy."

Charles was unconscious as soon as he hit the bed.