Disclaimer: The wonderful anime "Vision of Escaflowne" and all of its cast members are created and owned by Shouji Kawamori and Sunrise, Inc. If only use names and characters in the most illegal sense possible; this is, after all, a fanfic. Please don't sue me - I have no money to give you anyway! ************* "Feuerfest" by Kotetsu Part Four: Keeping a Secret ************* By mid-afternoon, the three visiting Madoshi had returned to the Vione. And they were furious. “He’s gone again?! And you don’t know where he is?!” Folken sighed, struggling to maintain some semblance of civility in his words. “I told you, Captain Albatou is *very* difficult to keep track of.” “The fate vibrations are breaking all previous records, and we return to find that - ONCE AGAIN - Captain Albatou is MIA. And you dare to maintain your stance that these two events are UNRELATED?!?!” “I didn’t say that the captain had nothing to do with your abnormal readings. I would just caution you against jumping to conclusions to quickly.” Folken fixed his gaze on the two silent companions of his antagonist. “Are you two ever going to say anything?” They shook their heads. “Right. I’m sorry that I asked.” Folken re-focused his attention on the fuming hawk-nosed Madoshi directly in front of him. “Believe me, if I knew the whereabouts of Captain Albatou right now, I wouldn’t hesitate to fetch him.” “Have you tried asking those Dragonslayers of his?” “Of course I have. They have no idea as to the whereabouts of their commander.” “Just . . . Just exactly how loyal are the Dragonslayers to Captain Albatou?” “Very loyal. But they would never lie to a Madoshi.” “Hmph. Somehow I doubt that.” He turned to his companions. “Isn’t it about time we reminded those impudent boys where their true loyalty lies?” Folken broke his mask of boredom and detachment for the first time that day. He lips twisted into a sneer of hatred. “Do not overstep your authority, friends. These boys are under *my* command, and I will not allow them to be punished for a crime that they did not commit.” Folken was pleasantly surprised to see the affect that his sudden change of face produced in the three Madoshi. They stepped backward, cowered, and gulped. Apparently, he had succeeded in frightening them. A lot. The middle Madoshi quivered, but stood his ground. “I will report to Emperor Dornkirk about your disrespect for your fellow colleagues!” “Go ahead. Dornkirk-sama doesn’t care.” Then, just for the sake of putting icing on the cake, Folken smiled. “Dornkirk-sama *likes* me.” “Very well!” the voice of the Madoshi shook with indignation and fear. “As soon as Captain Albatou appears again, hand him immediately over to us!” There was a whispering of shadows, and the three troublesome Madoshi were gone. Folken pondered to himself as he watched the Madoshi scurry down the long, dark hallway. He had never seen a fellow Madoshi scurry before. It was an exquisitely amusing sight. * * * “Wherever Dilandau-sama went, he must have his reasons--” “I’d bet a month’s salary that he went back to the bluewood forest.” “Oh, no. Not ‘the theory’ again.” Chesta and Gatti strode down the half-lit hallway, trying desperately to figure out the whereabouts of their captain. They had just finished one grueling interrogation session with one of the three visiting Madoshi, which had resulted in quite a bit of lying, and much vapid stupidity faked on their part. If the Madoshi did not produce results soon, there was sure to be another interrogation later that evening. “The Theory.” Chesta cleared his throat importantly. “The de Eowyn woman is behind all this.” “Because she’s a witch.” “Yes! She must a witch. She bewitched him.” “How? With what?” “I’m not sure, but he was babbling something about chicken this morning.” “Chicken?” “Yes. Chicken. You know, the more you say the word ‘chicken’, the less it sounds like a real word.” “I don’t think--” Gatti abruptly cut himself off, and cocked his head to the side, listening. Chesta blinked. “Wha--” Gatti clamped a hand over Chesta’s mouth. “Shhh! Madoshi.” He pointed down to the end of the hall, where three dark shadows were coming around a curve. “They’re talking about Dilandau-sama.” Chesta nodded his understanding, and the two Dragonslayers retreated silently back the way they had come. When they reached an intersection in the hallway, they crept back into the shadowy recesses of a dark corner, and listened silently and attentively. “Absolutely unbelievable, irresponsible, reprehensible behavior!!!! The whole lot of them ought to be fired. The captain is out of control, the Dragonslayers harbor misplaced loyalties, and that miserable excuse for a Madoshi--” “Sir?” A small, timid voice spoke up. “Lord Gerard, sir, I think that you had better look at these readings.” “I already looked at the fate vibration readings,” the louder voice, apparently belonging to Lord Gerard, snapped. “Sir, perhaps you should look again. The shape of this spike, right before the line goes off the chart . . .” There was a rustling of paper, and a pause in the conversation. “I know that shape. It’s a birth. Somebody had a baby. Good for them.” Lord Gerard sounded bored. “No, sir, not exactly. Lord Kerth and I were examining this formation while you were interrogating the Dragonslayers. It’s not . . . quite the same reading that occurs for a natural birth.” “What are you suggesting?” “The spike, its . . . It’s thinner than a birth, but taller. Far more astral energy than when a baby is born. But look at this--” There was more rustling of papers. “See? Upside-down, it’s the exact same marking as a brain-death. Not a body-death, but a brain-death. It signals the departure of a human soul.” “So?” “When viewed right-side-up again . . . It’s the opposite of a departure of a soul. It’s the *creation* of a human soul.” There was a pause. Chesta and Gatti exchanged puzzled glances. “They can keep track of this sort of stuff using fate vibrations?!” Gatti mouthed silently. Chesta gulped. Suddenly, the Madoshi seemed far more terrible and frightening than they ever had before. “So,” Lord Gerard began solemnly. “Are you suggesting that our test subject created its own independent soul?” “Yes, sir. That is the hypothesis that I am proposing.” “Why? How?” “Sir, if we knew the secrets to creating a human soul, then we would have bestowed one upon the test subject in the first place. We can create a body, and we can program a mind, based, of course, on the raw materials found in an already-living creature . . . but a soul, Sir, a soul is different. We have never been able to create a soul.” “And now we’ve succeeded?” “No. Some stimulus that the subject was exposed to prompted the independent creation of a soul.” “So . . . The experiment was a success! We have altered destiny and created an entirely different being, complete with its own soul!” “Now, Sir, I said before that the Madoshi cannot take credit for--” “This, fellow colleagues, calls for a celebration!” “But, Sir--” “No buts out of you! I’ll have none of it! I have an inkling for good wine, and some cheese! Shall we celebrate, gentlemen?” The timid voice sighed with resignation. “Yes, we shall.” Whomever the third shadow belonged to had not spoken a word during the entire exchange, and never did speak a single word at all. Lord Gerard laughed heartily. “Marvelous. Marvelous! This will make future experiments infinitely easier. It’s always simpler to pinch, cut, and mold a whole being than to build one entirely from scratch. Does that make any sense? Yes, of course it does. We shall celebrate. And when we are finished, we can have a long - long - chat with Captain Albatou.” The three shadows whispered by the hidden Dragonslayers, leaving a palatable chill in the air behind them. It was a long time before Gatti finally gathered the courage to speak. “Are they . . . gone?” Chesta held his breath for a moment, listening. “They’re gone.” “What kind of experiments were they talking about?” “It sounded like they created a monster.” “That must be why they’re so mad. If Dilandau-sama is messing with fate, then the unusual fate vibrations must be affecting their monster experiment,” Gatti concluded. Chesta nodded. “That makes sense. And now the monster has a soul. I bet they’re pretty happy about that.” “Chesta . . .” “What?” “That’s scary. If the Madoshi have the power to create souls.” “Hey! They didn’t . . . At least, they don’t know *how* it happened . . .” Gatti gingerly stepped back into the half-light of the hallway. “I hope they go away soon. I hope that Dilandau-sama comes back soon, and I hope that they don’t hurt him.” “Me, too,” Chesta sighed. “Me too.” Neither was willing to admit that they were feeling very, very afraid. * * * By the time that the sun had set, the stories and the afternoon chores had been finished, and Orinda was busy cooking supper. Vegetable stew, because she had been admonishing Dilandau all day for not eating enough vegetables. He had snapped at her that only sissy men ate vegetables, and then laughed sheepishly and apologized when he saw how angry she was getting. As soon as the two had returned inside the cabin, he had promptly flopped himself down on the couch and fallen into a deep sleep. Having learned by now that her guest’s habits were unpredictable and eccentric, Orinda didn’t mind in the least. In fact, she welcomed a few moments of peace and quiet to cook dinner and reflect on the events of the afternoon. The most remarkable change had come over Dilandau after lunch. The flushing was gone, as was the clumsiness with his feet. The obvious blush never left his cheeks, but then again, the same slight blush was glowing on Orinda’s own cheeks all afternoon. For once, the young man actually seemed comfortable in his own body, as if it were really and truly his own body for the first time. And then there was that smile, that happy, contented smile that at first had sat on his lips as if it had never belonged there in the first place, but gradually had settled into his face and became a natural part of the aura of peace and contentment that he exuded. Orinda chewed on her lip as she sliced carrots and beets. “Oh, it’s you again, brain,” she muttered to herself. “Can’t you just leave me alone?” “He needs me.” “He’s beautiful and strong and intelligent and lonely and sad and frightened and confused and he needs me.” “Yeah. Go figure.” “That’s enough,” she hissed savagely. “I will *not* let you - myself - belittle this for me.” “Pardon?!” “I’m not crazy any more.” She jabbed her cutting knife angrily at a carrot. “They told me that I was cured.” “Buzz off. He’s crazy, too. That makes two of us.” There was a small sound from the living room, like the peeping of a mouse. “Is he talking in his sleep?” Orinda left the kitchen to investigate. He wasn’t talking - just sleeping, still and quiet, breathing shallowly. But it was not a peaceful, nor a particularly deep sleep. Shadows flickered across the boyish face - a brow furrowed, a lip twisted, an eyelid twitched. The shadows flitted and flickered, and the young man sighed in his sleep. Or it might have been a scream that escaped as a sigh. Orinda padded softly across the room and knelt by the couch, resting her hand on Dilandau’s brow. “Hey,” she whispered, “you might want to wake up now.” He gasped as his eyelids flew open, jerking away from her hand as if it had burned his skin, and launching his torso into an upright position. He sat, wild-eyed and panting, clutching the leather material of the couch with white knuckles. Orinda slowly brought her hands to her own chest. “Was it a nightmare?” she asked softly. He fixed his glazed, panicky eyes upon her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Orinda?!” “Yes?” “That’s a beautiful name. I just realized that I’ve never even used your name before. What does it mean?” “Oh, no you don’t. If you can remember your dreams, then you ought to tell me about them.” “No.” Dilandau shook his head, making a weak protest. His hands were shaking, and his voice shook too. “There are some things that--” “-are just too terrible to share,” Orinda finished as she sat on the couch beside him. “This is about the Madoshi, isn’t it.” “Mmmmm . . .” “Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you why I’m afraid of the Madoshi, if you’ll tell me why you’re afraid of the Madoshi.” Orinda could sense his hesitation and nervousness, so without waiting for a reply, she took a deep breath and began her confession. “Fine. I’ll go first. I think that it started before my parents died, but it didn’t get out of hand until after they both died . . . Hm. I was mentally ill as a child. I was screwed up, and bad. But the only person who knew about it was my caretaker, and I think I threatened her into silence during the hearings that declared me fit for independent living after my parents died. Other than a few court appearances, I was never out in public much, so it was easy to hide it. At first I was just depressed, but then I started finding things that could make me happy, that could take away the pain and the sadness. Only . . . This made the problem worse, because they weren’t *good* things. I was fascinated by the study of chemicals, and I loved toying with my chemistry set. I used to make my servants buy me goldfish, a dozen every week, and then I would devise creative ways to poison them with different chemicals. Sometimes I liked to see how long I could make them suffer, or if I could create a quick and gory death, or . . . I also liked to burn things. At first I dumped acids and bases on different surfaces to watch them erode . . . and then I started experimenting with flames. I started small fires all around the city, but I was never caught, and the fires were always blamed on mischievous young buys. They were declared acts of random vandalism. It wasn’t until years later that they would actually implicate me for all those fires. “Once I discovered the joy of setting things on fire, I never bothered with goldfish again. The fire became like a drug, like the only thing that could make me forget my loneliness and my sadness. But I also became very knowledgeable about chemicals and physics, and I decided that I might as well devote some of my inherited wealth to creating something . . . something *good*. Maybe it was a spectacular guilt trip that made me create the Zaibach Library of Physics and Chemical Studies. I don’t know. But I know what made me burn it down a year later . . . It was the Madoshi. They came in all the time, to study my books and ask me questions. I felt pretty important at the time, and pretty special. But then I saw the news reports about the new Guymelef designs, and I heard what was happening to the bordering kingdoms. So I . . . I became depressed again. I couldn’t believe that my knowledge and my research were being applied in such a way. I couldn’t believe that thousands of innocent people were burning to death because of the material that I gave the Madoshi access to.” She shuddered. “So I resolved to never help the Madoshi again. And I burned down the library. Every book, every scroll, every notebook, every scrap of knowledge in that library, I turned it all to ashes. And I’m still glad that I did it, even though I did go to prison because of it. “When I was fifteen, the Madoshi took me out of prison and brought me . . . somewhere. I don’t know. I’m fairly sure that it was their central offices in the city. It was dark, and there were no windows, and I never went outside. I don’t think that I saw the sun for an entire year. They said that I could be a great scientist, and a Madoshi myself, if I could be cured of my insanity. I told them where they could stick their cure. I guess that’s when we became enemies; but anyway, they still found some use for me. The knowledge that was lost when I burned the library was still stored in my head. So they let me burn things. I jumped at the opportunity to burn something, like an obedient dog. I must have been disgusting. But fire was a drug, and it was the only thing that kept me alive and sane during my year with the Madoshi. I helped them burn enemy villages and enemy fortresses, enemy weapons and enemy storehouses . . . I set up the whole thing, I helped lay out the equipment, and I was always the one who lit the match. I hated them, I hated their ‘cure’, I hated their sharp needles and bright lights and all the pain and suffering that they caused me, but I still did their dirty work for them. Because I *enjoyed* it. “But that wasn’t the worst part. There was one . . . Ah, it’s the only name that I remember. Lord Gerard. Gerard-sama, Gerard-chan, Gerard who can kiss my . . . Forget it. He did, anyway. What a creep. He was ugly, he was old, and he wasn’t the least bit ‘pure’ or ‘holy’ like the Madoshi were supposed to be. But he had achieved a high ranking after years in Dornkirk’s service, and he could pretty much do whatever he wanted without anyone asking questions. And God knows that I was neither mentally nor physically fit enough to fight him off. He made sure of that. So he had his fun with me. I’m sure that he’s had fun with plenty of other girls before and plenty of other girls after. But that knowledge never made me feel any better. It just made me hate him more. “And then one day, I snapped. “There was this particular Madoshi who unlocked my cell every morning and brought me food and drink - yes, I lived in a cell - and one day I attacked him. My fingernails had grown long and sharp, and my hands were strong, so I tore into his throat and ripped out his vocal cords. I also suspected that I had killed him - I never saw so much blood in my life - but they found out later that I missed the jugular vein and the cartoid artery. So he lived. But he never spoke again. I never did find out his name. “The Madoshi were going to kill me. Nobody would have ever found out. But kindly old Gerard-chan - may he rot in Hell - made arrangements for me to be merely exiled. Heck, I didn’t even have to leave the Empire of Zaibach, I would just have to live in the borderlands beyond the mountain range. So I took my leave of the Madoshi, and settled right here. And after the Bluewood Protection Act was passed, Lord Gerard made the arrangements with Emperor Dornkirk so that I could stay right here and never budge. I’m not grateful for the son-of-a-bitch, but I am glad that I’m living in this peaceful little forest. It’s a nice place, after all. And I’ve never felt sad enough to need to burn anything since. I guess that means that the Madoshi succeeded in curing me of my real madness; that last incident was just the natural result of their own machinations. At least, that’s how I like to think about it.” Orinda snapped her mouth shut, having spilled out the last portion of her story in one rushed gasp of breath. Then she closed her eyes, sighed, and flopped her head down onto Dilandau’s shoulder. Not in the least bit surprised, Dilandau responded by shifting his weight slightly and gingerly wrapping one arm around her waist. “It feels good to get that out of my system,” she murmured into the young man’s shoulder. “I know. I know that the Madoshi are bastards. But . . . But that still doesn’t explain why you’re *afraid* of them.” “Oh.” She opened her eyes and stared off into space. “I’m afraid of them because they made me hate myself. I’m afraid of them because they made me murder and maim and kill, and enjoy doing it, too. I’m afraid of them because they have that kind of power over people. I know that I was a headcase before I ever met the Madoshi, but I never enjoyed it when I killed goldfish, and I certainly never desired to kill a human being before.” “Hmmm.” Dilandau tilted his head, resting his cheek her crown of wiry auburn hair. “I’m sorry. I know that it doesn’t help, and it doesn’t mean anything, but I am sorry.” “No. It means a lot to me.” “Oh.” “But now you owe me your story. Tell me why you are afraid of the Madoshi.” Now it was his turn to close his eyes. His brow furrowed, and he shuddered slightly. “My earliest memories are of the Madoshi,” he began slowly, speaking with the awkward manner of someone with a sour taste in his mouth. “I don’t know how old I was. I guess I was eleven, or twelve.” “Those aren’t very early memories.” “They’re the earliest memories that *I* have.” “Oh.” “And I don’t have very coherent memories at all. There are flashes . . . The first time that I rode in the cockpit of a Guymelef, the first time that I met Chesta and Gatti, and a few other select memories . . . but mostly blank spots. I can’t even remember ever meeting Folken. I just knew that one day I was working under him. Sometimes, when he’s talking to me, he references conversations that I don’t remember having with him. And once in a while, a completely new Dragonslayer falls under my command, and the others tell me that he’s been there for weeks.” He sighed, letting out a long, defeated breath of air. “Maybe I should start at the beginning. Maybe it’ll make more sense that way. So . . . Right. When I was eleven or twelve years old, I remember being under the care of the Madoshi. My memories are the worst from those years. I remember a beast-man that taught me how to fight, how to handle a sword, and how to handle a Guymelef. But I also remember that the Madoshi caused me a lot of pain . . . There were needles, and bright lights, and long periods of darkness with no food and no water. If I cried, they beat me. If I fought back, they beat me. And finally I just learned to obey their orders, even if they didn’t make any sense. Sometimes they sat me down on this chair and asked me questions for hours, always taking notes - there were five or six of them in that room, taking notes. And the questions were stupid. ‘Did you like your breakfast this morning?’ and ‘Do your shoes fit you all right?’ They didn’t care about my answers, though. They just nodded and wrote them down. And they were always taking blood samples or skin samples, and I remember that those hurt the most, and they were never careful about when or where they pinched or pricked me. “There are so many blank spots in my memory. It’s like a sieve - I can’t remember anything important. I don’t even know when or how I became the captain of the Dragonslayers. I just was one day, and I knew that I had been for a year, and I knew the names of all of my men, but other than that I had no memory - no memory at all - for a period of six months. Six months!” Dilandau stopped speaking abruptly. Orinda could feel that his skin was flushed and warm underneath her cheek, but he was shivering nonetheless. She snuggled against him, closer and tighter. “So why are you afraid of the Madoshi?” “Because . . . Because THEY’RE the ones who steal my memories!” The accusation flew out of the boy’s mouth as a surge of anger tensed his entire frame. “Does that sound crazy! Hah! I bet it does.” He laughed, a sound that was somewhere between an insane cackle and a bitter, self-defeated sigh. “But it’s true. They can just reach into my head and steal my memories whenever they please! And I know why they do it, too. It’s punishment. They do it to punish me! They steal my memories, they steal my *life*, they--” He broke off abruptly, and clicked his teeth together, hissing a sharp intake of breath through his teeth. A cold chill shivered down his spine. “So. That’s what will happen.” “What?” “When the Madoshi find out about you, they’ll steal my memories again. They’ll destroy every memory that I have of you. They’ll wipe every trace of you out of *my* existence. They’ll--” his voice broke into a choking sob. Orinda lifted her head off his shoulder as his hand slid off her hip and he curled into himself, shrinking in defeat and despair. Orinda sat upright and pulled the shuddering boy into her chest, circling her arms around his frame and embracing him. She kissed the crown of his head and whispered into his ear. “It’s all right. It’s all right,” the only meaningless words of comfort that she could manage. “No!” He sobbed into her chest. “It’s not all right! I can’t fight the Madoshi; I can’t WIN against them! And they’ll steal you away from me, forever! Oh, Orinda . . . Orinda . . . I don’t want to lose you, not like that, not because of *them* . . .” “Dilandau, listen to me.” Orinda’s voice was stern and hard. “Listen to me. The Madoshi can’t win. Because they can’t actually steal your memories. They can . . . repress them. That’s all. Memories are what constitutes a person’s soul. And nobody, not even the Madoshi, can steal your soul away from you. They can nip it and tuck it and mold it and pinch it, and that’s the terrible power that they wield, but your soul is always *there*, and always *whole*. Someday you will find your memories again. They’re buried deep within your soul, somewhere where the Madoshi hope that you’ll never find them. But you will, someday. You will. And I can guarantee that you will never, ever forget about me.” He sniffled. “Really?” “Yes. The trick is to create an unforgettable memory.” Dilandau raised his tear-stained face from her chest and gazed at her warm smile quizzically. “Like what?” he asked. “Like shingling the roof together? That was pretty fun. I don’t want to ever forget that.” “Um . . . not quite.” Orinda searched for the right words as she gently extracted the boy from her embrace. “Dilandau, have you . . . ever been with a woman before?” “Like . . . what . . . OH!” Sudden understanding flashed across his ruby irises. “Like--” he gulped nervously, and wonder of wonders, his voice actually squeaked. “You mean, like--” “Hush.” She placed on finger on his lips. With her other hand, she unbuttoned the top of her blouse. “Like this, exactly. Have you?” “Erm . . . no.” “Then we are faced with the more important question.” She licked her lips and tossed back her hair, letting it fall in a wave over her shoulder, as she withdrew her finger from his lips, momentarily teasing his lower lip with the ball of her finger before she brought her hand back to rest on her own thigh. “Do you want to--” “YES!!!!” He suddenly clamped a hand over his mouth and flushed a bright crimson, embarrassed for the first time that day. “I mean, uh, yes.” She leaned forward to kiss him, then paused, having second thoughts. “Not here,” she breathed out low and sultry, merely an inch from his face. “We should be in the bedroom. Make it proper. Make it official.” Dilandau, for his part, was utterly unable to wrest his wide-eyed gaze from the space between the open buttons of Orinda’s shirt. “Er, sure. Whatever you want.” “Let’s go, then.” She moved up and over him, climbing off the couch. Before he had a chance to protest, Orinda grabbed Dilandau around the arm, yanked him off the couch, and pulled him across the cabin. In the very few steps that it took for Orinda to reach her bedroom, quite a few thoughts managed to flash quickly through her brain. Orinda Muirne de Eowyn threw the startled captain of the Dragonslayers down onto her bed. “I’ll give you a memory you’ll never forget,” she grinned as she licked her lips. * * * The Alseides returned to its home dock late in the dark of the night. Fifteen Dragonslayers, half-dressed, some in their uniforms, some in their pajamas, and some in a strange combination of both, flooded the landing surrounding the red guymelef. The Madoshi came, too - lithe dark shadows that slithered toward the blood-colored giant. But the Dragonslayers had accomplished their objective of crowding the guymelef, and the Madoshi were unable to approach their target. “I say!” Lord Gerard tried to push aside the gaggle of Dragonslayers that stood between him and the pilot of the guymelef, who was climbing down from the cockpit. “Move out of the way, young men!” The Dragonslayers pretended not to hear him. “Dilandau-sama!” they called out. “Dilandau-sama!!!! We’re so glad that you’re back safe!!!” Dilandau jumped down from his guymelef and waved triumphantly to his men, grinning like a war hero who had just returned from a dangerous conquest. “Awww, you all missed me, didn’t you?” The Dragonslayers crowded him excitedly, and a roar of chaotic conversation flooded the dock. Three Madoshi stood, silent and fuming, at the back of the crowd. Lord Gerard whirled to face his colleagues. “Have you EVER seen such IMPUDENCE in your LIFE! This BLATANT lack of respect for proper authority must be corrected IMMEDIATELY!!!” “Oh, I don’t know about that,” murmured the fourth shadow that suddenly appeared beside Lord Gerard. “Most commanders in the military dream about this kind of loyalty from their men, but most never achieve it. I think that we have an exception to the rule.” “Oh, we have an EXCEPTION all right,” Gerard snarled. He dismissed Folken’s presence with an exasperated shake of his head and turned his attention back to the jabbering crowd of Dragonslayers. Then, taking a deep breath, he bellowed in his deepest, most sonorous voice, “*SILENCE!* I COMMAND SILENCE ON BEHALF OF THE MADOSHI, UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF HIS EMINENCE EMPEROR DORNKIRK! AND I DEMAND A PRIVATE AUDIENCE WITH THE CAPTAIN OF THE DRAGONSLAYERS!” The crowd instantly fell silent, swayed, and parted like the Red Sea, leaving a long open space between the surprised captain and the three Madoshi. “Oh, Madoshi,” Dilandau muttered, grimacing slightly as he forced the word out of his mouth. “Didn’t know that you were back. Please accept my apologies for--” “That’s quite enough. You are to come with us immediately.” Dilandau took one step forward, toward the Madoshi. But only one. “Am I entitled to know the nature of this errand?” “No. You are not.” Dilandau retracted his step. “Funny. I somehow feel entitled to know exactly where you plan on taking me and why. Isn’t that funny? I think that it’s funny.” The Madoshi narrowed his eyes. “Do you really want to have a confrontation in front of your men?” “Why not? You don’t want them to know what *really* goes on in those secret laboratories of yours--” “That’s enough! I will not tolerate any more insubordination from you! You will be punished for this, *boy*, and punished severely! Now come here!” “Make me.” The words, calm and icy cool, flowed from Dilandau’s lips with followed by a “tsk” of contempt. The Dragonslayers gasped. The two Madoshi standing behind their speaker gasped. Folken raised one eyebrow. The middle Madoshi, clenching his jaw and trembling with rage, took a menacing step toward the diminutive captain. “Young man, listen to me. I am Lord Gerard de Concorde of the Imperial Madoshi, and I’ll have you know that your actions here, at this moment, constitute not only a serious risk of your own welfare and well-being, but that of your men as well.” Now it was Dilandau’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Gerard . . .” “That’s ‘Gerard-sama’ to you.” “Gerard . . .” Dilandau’s left eye began twitching, and his lips curled back into a sneer that his men recognized all too well. The Dragonslayers each took an involuntary step backwards. “What? Do you not like my name? I don’t care what you think.” “GERARD?!?!” Dilandau’s hand flew to his sword and he pulled it halfway out of its scabbard- But before the captain could act further, the tall, gangly, silent Madoshi that always hung slightly behind Lord Gerard suddenly darted forward. He seized Dilandau’s free hand, and before the startled captain could protest, the Madoshi pulled the hand toward its face and began sniffing it. Had Chesta and Gatti seen the three Madoshi that they overheard talking earlier that day, they would have recognized this third Madoshi as the one who never spoke at all. But as it was, they stood silent and disgusted, watching the spectacle unfold. “HEY!!!” Dilandau protested angrily as the sniffing Madoshi darted his tongue out and took a few experimental licks at the exposed flesh on Dilandau’s wrist. For the moment, whatever anger the name ‘Gerard’ had caused seemed to have abated. “NOW I *REALLY* FEEL ENTITLED TO KNOW THE MEANING OF THIS!” The Madoshi dropped Dilandau’s hand, turned toward Gerard, and nodded once, quickly and curtly. A sudden expression of triumph dawned across Lord Gerard’s face. “So . . . that’s it, then . . . it all makes sense . . .” Dilandau was wiping his hand furiously on his pants. “What’s his problem?!” “You’ll have to forgive Lord Kerth. He is unable to communicate through speaking, because,” and Gerard grinned maliciously, “he has no vocal cords.” Dilandau appeared momentarily startled, but he stood his ground. “I can tell everybody what you did to her,” he said loudly, threateningly. “That was years ago. But I can tell - everybody - exactly what you were doing *today*,” Lord Gerard countered just as threateningly, although his voice was much quieter than that of his adversary. “Lord Kerth never did forget the scent of that woman. And that scent is all over you. Damning evidence, to be sure. Do I need to remind you that it is a crime for a military official to engage in a physical relationship with a Zaibach citizen? Do I further need to remind you that it is also a crime for any citizen of the Zaibach Empire to interact with one who has been Exiled by official decree of the Madoshi?” “I know. Howie.” “Excuse me?” Dilandau turned away from the Madoshi. “HOWIE!” Something fluttered in the open cockpit of the Alseides. “What?” Lord Gerard craned his neck. “A messenger owl?” “HOWIE, GO! GET AWAY FROM HERE!” There was a collective murmur of surprise from the watching Dragonslayers as a white owl emerged from the Alseides and soared into the night sky. Dilandau turned back to face the Madoshi. “It was her suggestion. That I bring her owl with me. In case something happened.” He cocked his head. “I know that you wish to take punitive action against her, Lord Gerard. But trust me, she’ll be long gone before you even have a chance to go after her.” “Remarkable foresight. But then again, I already knew that the girl was a genius. Regardless, boy, there is nothing that can be done to help your situation right now.” Gerard grinned again, a grin cold enough to freeze the droplets of sweat that were sliding down Dilandau’s back. “Unfortunately, you will never see her again.” Dilandau took a step backward. “Dammit . . .” he muttered to himself, looking for an avenue - any avenue - of escape. “Trying to run will only make this worse, boy,” Lord Gerard announced as he slipped one hand out of his robe. In the hand he clutched a long, sharp hypodermic needle. “If you surrender now, I will not have to use this.” “No. I’ll never surrender to you. NOT EVER AGAIN!” “Very well.” Lord Gerard darted forward. And brought himself to an abrupt halt when fifteen Dragonslayers suddenly positioned themselves between him and the captain. They stood at attention, straight, tall and sure, completely blocking the Madoshi from his target. “I say, out of my way,” Lord Gerard growled. Migel, who was standing in front of the group, shook his head. “I don’t understand exactly what’s going on, Gerard-sama, but I don’t care. We’ve been told that Dilandau-sama is messing with your fate experiments, but that isn’t any fault of Dilandau-sama’s; furthermore, we have collected a substantial amount of evidence that implicates you and your colleagues in a variety of illegal and unjust activities, most of which have occurred here, on the Vione, over the past two days. Granted, whatever monstrous experiments you’re carrying out may in fact be legally sanctioned by the state. But that doesn’t make them any less unjust, and I’m sure that Emperor Dornkirk himself would disapprove of your actions, if he knew about them.” “If Dornkirk-sama knew . . .” Lord Gerard laughed contemptuously. “Boy, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” Migel thrust his chin forward in defiance. “It doesn’t matter. We won’t let you hurt Dilandau-sama.” Gerard snarled in anger, his eyes flickering from one Dragonslayer to the next. “Will none of you stand aside?” “No,” they answered in unison. “Folken!” Gerard whirled around to address the other Madoshi, who had been lurking in the shadows. “Order these boys to stand aside!” Folken yawned. “I’m sorry, but I think it’s past my bedtime. Good night.” And with that, he strode away from the dock. Gerard stared after Folken’s receding back with a mixed expression of disbelief and disgust. Then, slowly, he rotated his head until he was facing the Dragonslayers once again. “Well, then. I guess that I have no choice. Do you, Dragonslayers, accept the responsibility for your actions here tonight?” “Yes,” Migel answered for all of them. “We understand the consequences, and accept our punishment.” “Then why make a stand in the first place?” “Because we refuse to make pretences about false loyalties.” “I’ll show you where your true loyalties should be,” Gerard growled. “I am placing you all - fifteen Dragonslayers and one captain - under arrest. You will be taken to the capital city first thing tomorrow morning. Once there, you will be transported to the headquarters of the Madoshi to receive your punishment, as well as to be . . . re-adjusted. Anyone caught attempting to leave the Vione tonight can be legally executed on sight as per the provisions in--” “We know how an arrest works,” Dalet snapped. Gerard sniffed. “Very well. I bid you good evening, gentlemen. And I shall see you tomorrow morning.” There was a flickering of shadows, and the three Madoshi were gone. The loading dock was silent for a long, painful moment. Guimel coughed, softly, quietly. As if it were a signal, all fifteen Dragonslayers slowly turned around to face their captain, who had managed to bite his nails all the way down to the quick during the few brief moments when Migel confronted the Madoshi. The unspoken question hung in the air. Dilandau lowered his head, his bangs falling in a wave over his face and obscuring his ruby eyes. “Idiots. You didn’t have to do that. You don’t know what kind of pain the Madoshi can inflict upon you.” His voice was unusually subdued, as if the harsh reprimand behind the words was only a half-hearted attempt at asserting authority that Dilandau suddenly found himself very uncomfortable with wielding. “But we did it, Dilandau-sama.” “I know. I guess that’s why I owe it to you all . . . I might as well tell you what I did today, and what I found out.” And then Dilandau Albatou told his men all about Orinda Muirne de Eowyn. -- End Part Four --