Chapter LXXXV: Agendas, Part Two

Murky and gray, Caedarva Mire was far from a popular attraction of the Empire of Aht Urhgan. Not only was it an unappealing bog filled with vicious insects, at some points the swamp was so thick it could actually swallow a person whole. Parts of the ground which appeared solid to the untrained eye could lead to sinkholes from which there was no escape. Innumerable dead shared unmarked graves in the thick, stagnant waters of Caedarva. Every so often, swelling gases or earthquakes would release these bodies back to the surface. This revolting sight prompted citizens of Nashmau, which stood just on the cusp of the shining Silver Seas and the dull, deadly swamp, to often refer to the area as "Cadaver Mire."

The dangerous environment was only half the problem. With such limited presence by the Empire, the Merrow thrived in the brackish waters, and Lamiae freely roamed the land. Called forth by their power, the ravenous undead remained on endless patrol, waiting for any sign of life so that they might cut it down. Perhaps more ominous than all were the Imps, declared by some to be messengers of the Dark Lord himself, flitting about on their tiny wings, in greater numbers than any other place in Aht Urhgan.

Doshu took a deep breath of the foul air, and smiled. It was good to be home.


His feet glided above the aqueous surface of the mire, never quite touching the thick muck. The Shadow Mantle on his back fluttered as he moved, absorbing the surrounding light and leaving a streak of black. Annihilator was a constant pulse at his side, waiting to have its power released. He appreciated the weapon's thirst for battle. Should a tool not strive to be the best at its specific purpose? Just like him, he thought. He only wanted to do that which was meant to do.

As his thoughts gracefully wove around his elegant plan, he stopped in front of his guests, giving a bow of his head in acknowledgment.


"Good evening, Medusa," he said with a smile. The snakewoman towered above him, her hips gently swaying back and forth. Her scaly flesh glittered in the moonlight, creating the image of a host of fireflies dancing beneath her skin. She gazed at him with fiendish red eyes, the snakes which comprised her hair slithering and hissing as he drew closer. "How does the evening find you?"

"I wonder at this game you play, Dark One," the Queen of the Lamiae sounded more bemused than anything. "You are unlike the other two-legs." She slithered closer to him, her shoulders rolling as she lowered her head to face him eye-to-eye. "Would you like to be my pet, Dark One?"

Doshu extended his hands. "I am flattered, Medusa, but I am afraid I must decline. There's far too much yet to do."

She watched him for a moment, her expression imperceptible, and then reared back up to her full height, making a single lazy gesture with one hand. One of her undead drauger lumbered forward, carrying with it a small bundle wrapped in cloth. "It will amuse me to see what you do next. Is our business complete?"

Doshu carefully accepted the offering, cradling it in one arm. "It is. I must depart at once. Thank you, dread Queen. You have not let me down."

"Complete? Complete! We are far from complete!" Doshu turned an eye in mild surprise to find the Moblin Megomak making his way up to the knoll where he and Medusa stood. The Moblin stood only as high as his waist, and was completely covered in a patchwork of leather clothes and red plated armor. A mask filtered his air, and a pair of scratched goggles wrapped on a cloth band concealed his eyes. The beastman was obviously in a huff, breath wheezing through the mask as he closed in on Doshu, tiny fists waving in consternation.

"Gurfurlur is dead! Do you have any idea how long it will take to make a new one? To find a suitable Troll? To pay for the surgeries? To find the right spells? This is disastrous! My mercenary army is in disarray!" He stamped up and down once, then angrily pulled his feet free of the ground when they sank into it. Instead he lanced a finger Doshu's way. "This is your fault, Imperial. You should pay for this, not me!"

"Megomak," He kept his voice steady. There was no reason to waste energy on this creature. "you were quite well-compensated already for your role, and you carried out your task as well as I could have expected. Please do not try my patience."

He expelled an angry huff. "What about her?" He jerked a thumb towards Medusa, who raised a scaly eyebrow. "They left us in the middle of the fight! You have some secret deal with the Lamiae! You promised not to keep me in the dark, and then you scheme behind my back. This is poor business, Imperial!"

The criminal Moblin the Empire had spent years trying to bring to justice actually cowered as Doshu leaned down to face him, flinching noticeably. "Listen to me," he spoke slowly and clearly. "Go back to Halvung and your Trolls. Enjoy the money I gave you. Your usefulness to me is done. Be grateful you lived up to my needs and leave."

"I would like to make him my pet," Medusa suddenly declared. "I am growing bored with this."

"N-no!" Megomak stammered, moving back several steps. He hit something as he retreated, and turned, giving a panicked cry as he realized that three of Medusa's drauger had boxed him in. The serpent queen glided forward across the murky, half-solid ground. "Wait! Wait!" He screamed.

"Do as you will," Doshu said dismissively, stepping away from the scene.

She closed in, hand reaching out for the Moblin. With a high-pitched yelp, he clapped his hands together, and Doshu drew the Shadow Mantle about himself quickly. A spark flared, and then an explosion shook the ground. It was hardly more than a loud flash, but when it cleared, Megomak was gone.

Medusa straightened, sighing. "No one wants to dance . . . " she complained.

"Medusa," Doshu's voice took on a hint of warning. "They will all come after you now. You must be ready."

She shrugged, slithering off towards the gray confines of her swampland home. "Let the two-legs do as they like. Perhaps it will relieve my boredom." The Lamia's head turned, and with a gleaming red eye she caught Doshu's gaze. "Do not forget, Dark One. When you achieve your goals, my reward will be a dance never-ending."

He nodded once. "You will never run short on pets again, dread Queen. I assure you."

The Gorgon took in his words, not removing her eyes from his. On his finger, the Shadow Ring he wore pulsed, repelling whatever magic she might be directing his way. He only smiled at her, giving her a deep bow as he kept the small bundle held close. She turned away at last, her drauger lurching close behind. "Fare you well, Dark One," she intoned as she left.

"And you, Medusa. And you." A moment later, shadows stretched across him, the blackness carrying him away as if on the wind. Only chirping insects broke the stillness of night in Caedarva Mire.



No sooner had he arrived back in Jeuno than the aggravation continued.

For its part, the Duchy still appeared almost as it always had - the exception being the Vanguard roaming its streets, of course. Ever since his first journey across the Gugru Blue as a boy, he had marveled at the Middle Lands seat of power. Built as it was, a city in the middle of the sea, a metropolis of engineering ingenuity, it could not help but inspire wonder. Thus when they disposed of its unnecessary inhabitants, Doshu made sure that the architecture remained intact. He prided himself on his appreciation for things of great beauty.

The Ducal Palace especially had captured his eye. With its soaring arcs and delicate spires, marble staircases and sweeping ballrooms, it was every inch a match for the Imperial Palace in Whitegate. He was quite enjoying using it as his base of operations. Not simply for the marvelous landscape of the palace and the surrounding Ru’Lude Gardens, either. In a more practical sense, its size allowed him to generously house his allies and commanders. As long as they stayed happy, they remained tractable. The last thing he needed was dissent.

So when he was greeted by a furious Chiz, his mood quickly deteriorated.

“This was a debacle, Doshu,” the Hume’s tone was nothing short of condescending. “All the effort put into keeping that idiot Razfahd in our pocket gone in an instant, and for what? We failed to capture the Astral Candescence. Our beastmen allies were cut to pieces. And now Kkel Solaar is back.”

The Thief was seated upon the banister of a marble staircase, twirling a half-eaten apple in his hands. Between sentences, he took a bite, the juices running down his chin. He never took his eyes off of Doshu. Of all their comrades, Chiz trusted him the least. Likely because he had the most to offer their cause, and Doshu knew it. The others were useful for their power or their dedication. Only Chiz matched him for cunning.

“I never understood what it was you were so afraid of,” he went on, swallowing the tender fruit, “but what I do know is that now Solaar is back, because I was following your orders. How long do you think it will be before the Empire shows up here?”

“They’ve been dealt with,” Doshu curtly responded, walking past him with only a hint of acknowledgment.

“Hey!” Chiz slid down, tossing his apple aside and drawing a knife in practically the same motion. The Hume and the Elvaan stood eye-to-eye as Chiz drew himself up in front of him. “You’re not so slick, Doshu,” he warned in a low tone. “You’ve been going behind our backs. You’re meeting with Angra Mainyu without telling us.”

He glared right back. “Your paranoia means nothing to me. I’ve been dealing with any number of situations right here to make sure that everything we’ve worked for doesn’t fall apart. When would I even have time?”

“Stop jerking me around,” he warned. “If you’re going to make a move without us you better believe I will stop you, pretty boy. We built this thing together, and we’re going to get what’s coming to us together.” His knife edged upwards, glinting in Jeuno’s moonlight as a freezing wind blew past. “Now you better tell me – “

Before he could finish, Doshu’s hand lashed out and clamped down on the Hume’s wrist. The knife fell from his grasp, and immediately it was snatched from him. A moment later he found himself pinned to the wall, his own blade against his throat. Doshu’s eyes were narrow slits as dark shapes swam across his pupils. Chiz looked down at the knife, teeth clenched, breathing quickly.

“I am working tirelessly to make our dreams a reality,” he snarled, “every day some new problem arises which I must deal with. Do I criticize you for failing to kill Kkel Solaar? No, because I have already moved on from this problem. Will I punish Attack for letting the North Wind escape? No, because I have found where he is going. Every time one of you fails, I pick up the slack. Meeting with Angra Mainyu? Pfeh!” He spit on the ground at Chiz’s feet. Pushing his body weight forward, he forced the thinner-framed Hume to flatten himself against the wall or have his own knife move through him. “We meet him together. We plan our next steps together. I would not betray you, and your paranoid delusions will tear everything apart. I swear to you Chiz, if you do this, if you ruin what we have when we are so close,” he leaned in menacingly, speaking through grinding teeth, “I will slit your fucking throat.”

Before another word could be said, Doshu growled in pain. It felt like something had pinched his wrist, and suddenly he could no longer hold the knife. Chiz pushed him back with a burst of surprising strength, capturing it before it even hit the ground. He now had both his blades drawn, pointed squarely at the Elvaan’s heart. The bald man’s face was a thundercloud.

“You want to threaten me, Doshu? You want to play that game?” He twirled his knives without taking his eyes away from him. “Come and try me. I’m the guy you love to have on your team,” the points on his weapons glinted in the autumn moon, “but hate to play against.”

“That sounds stupid,” Doshu chastised, rolling his wrist as feeling returned to it. Then, he deliberately and meaningfully drew forth Annihilator.

Chiz’s expression changed almost immediately. The Thief’s green eyes widened, and he took an involuntary step backwards as the silver gun’s muzzle began to glow. Doshu held it but feet from his head, the Shadow Mantle flaring behind him.

“Stand down, my friend.” He advised, keeping his voice calm. “We can address your concerns some other time.”

Frustration twisted Chiz’s face for only a moment before he lowered his arms, slowly returning his knives to their sheaths. “Fine,” he muttered, eyes still not moving from the gun. “Some other time.”

Doshu let Annihilator pulse for a moment longer, and then returned it to the holster at his side. “Here,” he said suddenly, extending the arm he had kept hidden behind his cloak, “a sign of my trust.”

“What’s this?” He sounded suspicious, but took the small bundle of cloth from Doshu’s hands. It shifted in his grasp, and he gasped, looking quickly back and forth from it to the Elvaan.

“This is the brat?”

“The “brat,” as you say, is going to be crucial to everything. Have the people I requested gathered?”

Chiz nodded absently, looking at the baby in his hands. “They’re in the meeting hall. Except for the Tarutaru and that dumb Galka of his – he still hasn’t recovered.”

“They won’t be necessary.” He said dismissively. He turned to leave, entering the Palace itself. “We will talk more, Chiz. There is still much to be done, and I need your trust.”

“We’ll see,” the Thief replied, and Doshu knew he had done little to blunt his suspicious nature. At least the issue was dropped for now.

“Of course,” was all he said. “I will see you again soon. And you too, Drake.”

With that, he left his cunning ally and the child, entering the meeting hall. Behind its great wooden doors, not even his Elvaan ears picked up what Chiz said next.

“That gun is his only advantage,” he told Drake, looking over the child with mild curiousity. Then his gaze shifted to the doors. “If I had a weapon like that, things would be different. And as it happens,” he picked up the baby to face him. It had bright blue eyes which looked back at him. He was not crying or fussing, and indeed looked only confused regarding his surroundings. Chiz smiled at him, then let it fall from his face at the boy did not return it. “As it happens,” he repeated, “I know exactly where to find one.”

Doshu tried not to let himself be distracted by his problems with Chiz as he looked around his gathering. Half a dozen of his most powerful soldiers waited around an oaken table. It quite a step up from the shadowy hovels Doshu, Chiz, Attack, and Secure first met around all those months ago, when the first part of their plan had just newly come to fruition. Now the others of less power and ability but no less desire to aid their cause sat in the chairs of kings and emperors. He imagined it felt like quite the honor.

Eudon, the archer, sat just to Doshu’s right as he took his place at the head of the table. Beside him, the Paladin and Dark Knight whom he brought with him, Therin Lahhan and Kain MacBeth, anxiously awaited their orders. They were eager, he knew, and hungry for the power he had promised. Eudon was more relaxed, more calculating and better suited for command. He was the right choice, Doshu knew, for leading the second tier of the cabal. Whereas Therin wore highly ornate armor inlaid with silver and gold, and Kain wore a stylized cuirass and helm designed to mimic the appearance of a demon, Eudon wore only what was practical and necessary for his work. He put no stock in shows of power or status. His was simply to perform his tasks, and do so to the best of his ability.

And there would be no shortage of work for him in the days and weeks to come.

Seated to the other side of him were Chiz’s subordinates, generously ceded to Doshu’s command for this endeavor. Rennie was stoic as always, though he appeared perhaps a bit agitated. His failure in Pso’Xja had yet to be addressed, and he knew it was coming. It mattered little to Doshu. He already had his next plan in motion regarding that matter. Next to Rennie, tapping her fingers incessantly against the table was Chiz’s other servant. Her blond hair was undone and loose at her shoulders, stopping just short of a suit of deep blue armor, forged from the same adaman which comprised Rennie’s mail. She was gnawing on her own knuckle, eyes darting back and forth at those gathered. Doshu knew better than to suspect madness or nervous tics on her part, though. Ainsoph was simply eager to begin shedding blood.

Then there was their sixth member, at the end of the table. His languid posture and lazy eyes made him look nearly half asleep. He wasn’t even wearing armor, though it had been provided for him. Instead he had on only a simple tunic and breeches, with a heavy cloak around his shoulders to ward off the chill. Lazily brushing a strand of red hair from his eyes, the Elvaan acknowledged Doshu with only the slightest inclination of his head before slumping back in his chair. The seeming disinterest did not bother him. He did not hire the mercenary Mertron for his manners, just his strength.

"Thank you for gathering here," he sat down, pyramiding his fingers before him. "And thank you especially to Eudon." Sprading his hand magnanimously towards the archer, he accepted his quiet nod of response. "When I sent him to scour the countryside for survivors I never expected the results to be quite so fruitful."

"I was there too," Kain blurted out, almost starting to his feet. "I was there, we helped find them."

"Yes . . . of course." Doshu brushed past his hunger for recognition. He turned his eyes to Rennie, a subtle shift without turning his head. "I should not have to tell you that you will not be receiving another chance after this."

The Hume stared forward, his expression undaunted. "I was interfered with the first time. It will not happen again." Doshu let his eyes slide away. He had plans for Rennie which necessitated his presence, but could not let him think himself more valuable than anybody else. Clearing his throat, he got down to business.
“I won’t take up any more of your time than necessary,” Doshu said to start. “There is much to be done and we must start right away. You each have a specific task to perform, so let us get right into it.” Removing a scroll from the pouch near his back, he laid it out on the table. The map of the Meriphataud Mountains unfurled for all of them to see. “Listen carefully,” he continued, “this is how we will take Castle Oztroja.”


Three days had passed since Secure's army had begun leaving Sarutabaruta. Across plains of browning grass tipped with white frost, thousands of tracks had left a trail trampled up from the fields to the mountains. For the first time in weeks, the grasslands were clear.

From Heaven's Tower, Meowolf looked out his window and watched. Just as he had every day since the remnants of Secure's army began their withdrawal.

The atmopshere in Windurst had been as euphoric as the citizens could manage. Seeing the Vanguard which remained on the field of battle suddenly disperse sent a tidal wave of relief flooding through the city. Valiant as they were following their victory, the Federation Army simply had nothing left to give. They could rest easy though. After enduring nearly inconceivable loss and devastation, Windurst at last was safe again.

Death and destruction had taken their toll, however. All over the city tents or crude shelters dotted the landscape. Funeral pyres had burned for days now as the Mithra honored their dead in the Olzhiryan tradition. The Tarutaru buried their fallen, The Star Sibyl presiding over sorrowful mass services. Lines stretched around city blocks as those left homeless and orphaned waited for food. It was not uncommon to find families huddled together in the cold Windurst evenings, struggling to stay warm. The council was doing everything they could to provide for the people. With so many of the Federation's greatest mages dead, injured, or simply too weak to cast spells, and such a multitude to keep safe, their resources were stretched beyond the breaking point.

That Secure's army would simply leave was a cause for celebration. They could now try to fish from Sarutabaruta's streams, and gather what little it had to offer in the way of food before the winter settled in. There would be a little bit more to go around, and every scrap helped. It would take them years to recover fully, but at least now there was no visible threat. They had time and safety, which was more than they could claim since the invasion began.

Meowolf strapped his new shield across his back, wincing at the lingering pain in his chest. His bag was loaded with bread and dried meat, and he had a canteen filled with water from where the Starfruit Trees grew. His arms and armament had been repaired or replaced, his wounds tended to until his strength returned. Checking himself over one last time, the Galka slipped quietly from his room, shutting the door soundlessly.

Heaven's Tower was almost devoid of inhabitants these days. Those who were able spent nearly every waking moment out in the city, trying to repair buildings and lives. What few people did still wander its halls were mostly those walking back to their chambers so they might catch some sleep before returning to another day of rebuilding. The ministers and professors of the five Ministries, especially, were practically never around anymore. Day in and day out they were combing through the wreckage, trying to recover as much as they could. Untold numbers of magical items and invaluable tomes of knowledge could be lost if they did not act quickly. So as he wound his way down the corridors of Windurst's center of government, Meowolf encountered no one. It was better that way, he knew. It would be difficult to explain himself if questioned.

In no time at all, he was on the bridge outside. Dark skies greeted him, though he knew it was nearly noon. Heaving a sigh, he wondered if he would ever see the blue sky again. The pall of Dynamis was so thick now it was hard to remember what sunlight looked like. The grayish blob which hung overhead seemed nothing more than a blot in the sky, unable to pierce the thick veil of darkness spreading across the world. Meowolf turned his eyes away from the heavens. He had no desire to reflect on the misery quickly pervading all of Vana'diel. There was only one thing he needed to do now. Keeping his purpose firmly at the forefront of his thoughts, he crossed the bridge and left Heaven's Tower behind him.

Somewhere in the city, Tyrian and Sinti were helping manage one of the many large medical tents set up all across Windurst. Sinti had healed people until her magic ran out, and when that happened she began applying more traditional care. With his training, Tyrian knew all about setting bones, bandaging wounds, and making poultices. They, along with every White Mage who was capable, administered as much care as they could while resting their magical powers. There was no end to the demand for their services.

Elsewhere, Klades was helping to rebuild that which had been destroyed. To the dismay of the citizenry, it had been decided that restoring the city walls was paramount in the interests of Windurst. Thus far, however, no one challenged the notion that they should be prepared to be attacked again. The Onion Samurai worked day in and day out to transport new stones and timbers back and forth between construction zones. Slowly but surely, the skeletons of new walls were beginning to take shape.

Yasuchika was often away in high-level meetings. As the leader of the Capricornian War Warlocks, he the largest collection of mages still functional in the city. Magic was a precious commodity now. Thus his work required him to be constantly made aware of when and how it could best be used. His days were long and nights often restless as he coped to bear the burden of a Windurst which needed him more than ever.

All over Windurst, the people Meowolf had met and come to know fought now to restore their city. Ryce-Rizzle and Harutaru led the Libran War Warlocks in handing out food and medical aid. Titania and the other Mithran Rangers scoured grasslands and waters for food. Semih Lafihna and Kaita kept watch over the city with the Patriarch Protectors, dissuading thieves from taking advantage of the beleaguered people. Even the personnel of Heaven's Tower he had barely met, such as Zoranos and Tskeun, were running themselves ragged keeping lines of communication open between all the city districts, making sure care was allocated quickly where and when it was needed.

There were some who could not help, no matter how much they wanted to. Captain Jaydeena remained bedridden, her condition constantly touch-and-go from the injuries she sustained. The Pythons surrounded their Captain's tent day in and day out, letting none but requested visitors and physicians enter. No one was sure when, or even if she would be able to fight again. In a similar condition was Captain Dieggo, or, as Meowolf knew him now, Semina-Baruha. Meowolf had been to see him once, in the triage where he was being cared for. Summoning Fenrir had taken everything from both the Tarutaru and the Terrestrial Avatar. The Great Beast had used everything he had to destroy the Behemoths and the Apocalyptic Beast. It now slumbered once more within Full Moon Fountain, and Dieggo's strength was just as depleted. Under his guard of the few remaining Ariesians, he slept most all the time, waking only fleetingly. Sometimes he would be conscious for an hour or so, sometimes just a few minutes. It was hard for Meowolf to see a man whom had been so full of fire, so defiant in the face of the adversity, reduced to such a state. He could only pray his friend would recover.

It seemed wherever he went, the Paladin found the people of Windurst banding together to help one another. Fighting together for so long, losing so many comrades-in-arms, and finally surviving against all odds had created a bond in all of the Federation's citizens. They were fighting past their weariness and injury. Now more than ever, they believed in Windurst,

Fighting down a pang of guilt at not staying to help, or even saying farewell to his friends, Meowolf slipped through the unwatched city gates. Taking a deep breath of the cold air, he left Windurst behind him.

He had saved a great many people during the war, but not all of them. There was one person left he had promised to protect.

The sun above providing no light for anyone to see him depart, Meowolf left to find Cullen.


The parapets of Castle Oztroja stood defiantly in face of the late autumn chill. Even in the arid landscape of Meriphataud Mountains, the changing seasons and lack of sunlight were causing the temperature to drop. Mornings would dawn with the scant vegetation in the area enveloped in its own frozen dew. Fog was rolling in as the air pressure fell, creating gray, depressing days. Standing atop the battlements and staring outwards, Rykoshet could not help but let the weather affect his mood.

Vile had not yet completely recovered. Though he was awake and aware, the burns he suffered battling Attack had gone down to the bone. Lethe was taking his time repairing them so as to not leave any lasting damage, and the process was arduous. Beyond that, the news which had greeted him upon his return was also sobering. Fated and Raidom were both injured. Eig was missing. Middlesky was dead. Odessa was beside herself with grief. She had proven inconsolable at first, but in the days since they had returned from the Northlands she had slowly come out of her reclusive shell, fueled increasingly by anger. She wandered the halls like a roving storm cloud, and no one was foolish enough to get in her way.

He leaned over the parapet, elbows resting on the carved stone. Looking out across the mountainous landscape, the Elvaan let the chill wind sweep through his blond hair. Once again, he did not know where to go from here.

"Your thoughts are troubled, Rykoshet,"

The Dark Knight turned in surprise to discover Fill standing in the doorway behind him. The North Wind smiled comfortingly, and Rykoshet sighed, turning back to his musings.

"I don't suppose you could do anything about the cold," he grumbled, rubbing his shoulders as another breath of wind blew by.

Fill shook his head. "The North Wind is not known for its warmth." Rykoshet gave a single grunt in response. A moment of stiff silence passed between them, untl the bearded Hume glided to the side of his host.

"Rykoshet, tell me what is on your mind." One of the Elvaan's dark eyes flicked towards him. "A great many things pass by on the wind. I can help you if you but ask."

"Help," he scoffed. "What could help us now?"

"I am the North Wind, Rykoshet. I am among the four most poweful sorcerers in Vana'diel." His tone had gone from soothing to coldly serious. "I can see your heart, and your soul. I know you have not yet given up."

He leaned forward, shaking his head as the wind stung at his ears. "It's hard, Fill. Everyone here is counting on me, and it seems that even when we win, we still end up losing."

"Do you intend to let them down?" Rykoshet said nothing. Fill smiled again, spreading his hands. "Then ask me what you want to know."

The Elvaan did not look at the North Wind, and instead kept his gaze firmly on the horizon. "I want to know why this is happening."

"Not an easy question," Fill's tone was somber. "If I were a defeatist, I would tell you it was because the Winds failed in their duty. But Dynamis remains constrained to its ancient borders due to our efforts. No, this is solely the work of greed, Rykoshet. Greed and a lust for power beyond anything mortals should strive for. Here, outside of my shelter, thing are being slowly revealed to me."

"Like what?"

The color of Fill's eyes shifted and swirled as he lifted his chin skyward. "The names you were after. I see them now. There are many, as a conspiracy of this level requires such. But now, just as I stand revealed to them, so too are they to me." Closing his eyes now, the North Wind spoke in a voice which came from all around Rykoshet, rather than the brown-bearded Hume's lips. "The one we encountered at Pso'Xja is named Attack. He hails from Windurst, expelled long ago for the nature of his black arts. Working with him is Secure, from the Far East. He is a man of great wealth and stature in his homeland, but he yearns for more, always more. There is also Chiz, whose point of origin lay in Norg. His cunning is without equal. Finally there is Doshu, from Aht Uhrgan. Of him, much is still shrouded." He opened his eyes ,which had returned now to a solid, unmoving color. "There are others working with them, but they are only subordinates. Those four orchestrated the rupture between worlds which freed the horrors of Dynamis upon Vana'diel. And they have only just begun."

"All for power," Rykoshet shook his head. He clutched the broken linkshell still tied to his neck. "What are our chances of beating them? Of bringing things back to normal?"

Fill's gaze was hard. "Before you rescued me, infintesimal. Now, only slightly greater."

The Elvaan turned to face the North Wind. "So, why did we rescue you? If you're so all-powerful, can't you wave your hand and make all this disappear?"

He actually laughed in response, a hearty chuckle from deep in his throat. "Oh, Rykoshet, were it that simple don't you think I would have done so already? My power notwithstanding, I, and the other three Winds, are but mortals. We can be rended by blade or burned by spell just the same as you. We are also bound by rules as old as time itself." The comforting smile returned, but with something else behind it. His eyes were intent as he stretched his hand out towards the Elvaan.

"What are you doing?" Rykoshet asked, and then felt a chill pass over him as the North Wind's hand took hold of the linkshell strung on its leather cord around his neck.

"What will win this, Rykoshet, is the power of your friends. You have a knack like no one else in the world to unite others of great srength and talent under your banner. Already they have come to you, and will still come, but some you must seek out. They will be out there for you to find. Brought together, I know that not even Dynamis itself will be able to stand before your might." As Fill spoke, the dust surrounding them swirled at his feet, and a bright green aura flared around him as his robes whipped about in a wind of his own creation.

The feeling sweeping through Rykoshet changed as Fill closed his fist around his cracked linkshell. The bone-chilling cold suddenly became soothing, like fresh water splashing across his face. He took a deep breath, gasping at how startlingly crisp and delicious the air was in his lungs. A moment later it died down, and the North Wind released his grasp. Folding his hands back in his sleeves, he let the Dark Knight see with his own eyes what had happened.

"I still dare not exercise my power to its full extent," he told Rykoshet, "but something like this is but a trifle."

Disbelivingly, Rykoshet took hold of his linkshell. It was glowing a vibrant pink, pulsating with the energy coursing through it. Warm to the touch, he could now hear it humming softly as he ran his fingers across its surface. The break was gone, the crack sealed completely.

With a burst of child-like astonishment, he laughed out loud as he channeled a trickle of his chi into the shell, and a single, perfectly spherical pearl dropped into his palm.

"It's back," he whispered, looking back and forth from Fill's smiling visage to the pearl he held between two fingers. "It's back!"

"Use it well, Rykoshet," The North Wind bowed his head. "Do you mind?" Stretching out his hand, he opened his palm to the Elvaan. Rykoshet shot him a fierce grin.

"Not at all," he said with a fire he hadn't heard in his own voice for months. "Fill the North Wind, welcome to Those Guys." Handing over the pearl he had just created, he felt the familiar tingle of spiritual energy as it passed over to the Hume's ownership. A gust of wind shot up from his hand, and the tiny pink bauble began floating on it, suspended just behind Fill's left ear. He smiled at his new adornment, and also at Rykoshet's renewed enthusiasm.

"Rykoshet," a voice suddenly called. He turned to find Odessa, her long white hair tied in a braid behind her, opening the door to the castle tower. "Your - "

"Odessa," he took three easy strides on his long legs, bridging the distance between them. She looked startled as he suddenly closed in on her, and even moreso when he pressed his hands into hers. "Welcome to Those Guys.,"

"What are you talking ab - " she stopped, tearing her hands free only to realize something had been placed in her grasp. The White Mage stared, dumbfounded, at the linkpearl she now held. "How?" She blurted out, gaping both at the pearl and Rykoshet.

He gestured towards Fill, who gave a slight inclinaton of his head and indicated his own new pearl.

"This is . . . this is amazing," she whispered excitedly. "Rykoshet, I've never even heard of a shell being repaired once broken. It's a miracle." Her eyes were wide as she stared at the pearl. A smile breaking across her face for the first time in weeks, she brought the pearl to her lips and spoke. "Hello," her voice was uncertain, and she bit her lip right after speaking.

"Hello to you, Madame Odessa," Fill acknowledged, the pearl behind his ear sweeping around to his mouth. She heard his voice clear as a bell, but not through her own ears. It vibrated out from the pearl she held. With glee, she gripped it tightly, like a precious gem. Wordlessly, she walked over to Fill and embraced him. For his part, the North Wind looked rather embarassed.

"Thank you," she told him. He gave her his familiar smile, stroking a hand against his beard.

"It was the least I could do. The rest lies with Rykoshet."

"You didn't have to say that," she said, her expression souring. Still, Rykoshet could see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she rolled her new linkpearl around in her hands.

"I've got to go get these out to everyone right away," he said. "This changes everything. We've got to make plans. I'll need to talk to Baeladar and ask him how we can best use this to our advantage. I'll call everybody in the castle together . . . "

"Oh!" Odessa's exclamation stopped Rykoshet in his tracks. Her eyes had gone wide, and he could see a touch of the color leaving her face. "Rykoshet, that's why I came up here in the first place! You've got to go to the main hall, right away."

"What for?" He already had his hand on the door leading back into the castle.

"Your Master is here, Rykoshet," the cold wind swept strands of her silver hair loose, brushing them across her face. "And he wants you to come with him right away."


Emblim took a long, appreciative look at the sunset as it settled against the mountains of Western Altepa. For all the weeks he trekked from San d'Oria to Bastok, the sky grew ever darker. Here, where the sun still shone, the light was welcomed back like an old friend.

Rabao was a small settlement of San d'Oria meant to lay claim to the otherwise abandoned Zepwell Island. With so great an Antican presence, as well as the other powerful monsters which roamed the desert, they never made it further than the oasis. Situated as it was, however, the town was ideal for their purposes. Surrounded by treacherous desert mountains, the only way through was a single enclosed pass which no army would be foolish enough to storm. While the Antican army was on the move, alll of Altepa was unsafe, but Rabao remained untouchable.

Reminded of their presence, he regretfully took his eyes off the hazy red glow in the distance, and raised the invention of Cid to his eyes once again.

"This really is an amazing device," he commented. "I've seen the spyglasses sailors use, but these are just as potent and far more compact. And no squinting." Through the lenses he pressed to his eyes, Emblim could see the antmen stretching out across the blond sands of the Western Altepa Desert. They seemed endless, as numerous as the stars slowly beginning to twinkle above.

"Thanks," Cid commented from beside him. The two men were crouched low against the rocks. From this distance, they did not believe they could be spotted, but were taking no chances. "I based the design on the Hume eye itself. The lenses work like a secondary set of eyes enhancing yer normal ones. So you've got a binary set of oculars."

"What do you call them?" Emblim asked, again peering out at the Antican horde.

"Cid-Scopes." He said proudly. "That's just a prototype, I'm workin' on gettin' these out to every scout in the field."

Emblim slid the set he had into his belt, turning away from the rock face. Sliding down, he landed against the sand and looked back up at the inventor. "I don't think we're going to learn anything new today. Might as well call it a night."

"Yer right," he sighed. "Best be gettin' back."

The gray-haired engineer joined Emblim on the ground, and together they made their way back into Rabao. It was a small town, built as it was against a man-made lake. In what had to constitute a nigh-miraculous feat of engineering, windmills pumped in water from beneath the surface to keep the lake filled, and it was even stocked with fish. The architecture all around was unique unto desert housing, designed to keep sunlight out and cool breezes in. Emblim knew that this time of year winter would be settling over the Konschtat Highlands, with cold winds blowing off from the Pashow Marshlands bringing in freezing rains and sleet for the rest of the season. Here in the desert, it was still bright and sunny every day, with hardly a cloud in the sky.

He was happy he got to see the sun again before the Antican army swept over all of them.

Hundreds upon hundreds of tents had been erected in the town, encircling the lake and pushing out into the small herding ranges and the San d'Orian auction house. The people and soliders of Bastok had taken refuge here, and were preparing to bear the brunt of the storm coming their way. There were many other refugees here, as it turned out, making the quiet desert town a sudden bustling hub of the international community. Emblim was worried they would push the scant resources of the town to their limit, but so far strict rationing had kept things relatively stable.

"We should see if any of the scouts came back yet," Cid suggestd, and Emblim nodded in agreement. They pushed their way through the crowded sands, the Paladin tugging at the unfamiliar deset clothing he wore. His suit of armor was a constant companion, but hardly suitable for wandering the streets of a sun-bleached village. Both he and Cid had taken to the light, airy robes which kept sand out of the eyes and burns off of the skin. His sword and shield waited for him back in the tent he shared with the others from San d'Oria.

Finally they came to a white, domed tent, the sigil of Bastok upon its entry flaps. The two entered, and Emblim was surprised to find Erilan waiting inside.

"Emblim!" The Elvaan said in surprise. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

The two clasped hands. "There's nothing much new to see, so we thought to check up on reports from those in the field."

Erilan nodded. "I had the same thought. We're talking ourselves in circles over at military command, I wanted to see if any new information had come to light." He too had donned the robes native to Rabao, and looked far more comfortable in them than Emblim did. He realized that for San d'Orian knights and nobility, Rabao was likely a popular and exotic vacation spot. Indeed, Erilan's robe was not only cut better, but he wore it in the most recent style. Emblim shook his head, wondering what he had gotten up to in this provincial town with its provincial girls.

He spotted the quizzical look Erilan was giving him and quickly brought his mind back to the present. "So," he brushed past the moment, "anything come in yet?"

"One of the scout was supposed to be here," Cid murmered, looking about the expansive two-room tent. "Hey!" He boomed, planting his fists on his hips. "Towering Inferno! Are you back yet?"

Almost instantly, the flaps to the back portion of the tent flared open. A gargantuan Galka surged forward, fire in his eyes as he bared his teeth angrily. Emblim gaped. Stripped to the waist, the alabaster-skinned giant easily broke seven feet of taut and toned muscle. His fingers were like sausages, his fists giant hams. He had a chest thicker than a barrel, and arms straining with sinew. The black hair on the back of his head bristled as his eyes fell on the Chief Engineer.

"I told you never to call me that!" He bellowed. "That's a slave name! My name is Riidley!"

"How in Altana's name were you hiding back there?" Erilan wondered aloud, astonished. "You're a giant!"

"Oh, is that all you see," Emblim was beginning to rapidly see how Towering Inferno got his name. "A big ol' field hand, huh? Maybe a nice pack mule for the mines?" Riidley's words seemed more confusing to Erilan than anything. "I am a solider, and I am back in the land of my birth. I was communicating with the land of my ancestors, ripped away from their home."

"Yeah, so," Cid stepped up to the Galka unafraid. He barely came to the hulk's chest. "you were sleeping. It's a good thing you don't snore, or yer like t'inhale th tent."

Riidley's eyes burned as he stared down at the old man, but Cid stared right back up, setting his jaw. "You think you understand - "

"Enough chit-chat, boy! Tell us what you saw!"

"Boy?!" Riidley's voice was an indignant rage.

"Riidley!" Emblim stepped forward, gently but urgently pushing Cid out of the way. The Galka glared down, his face a thunderstorm. "Riidley - what is your rank, soldier?"

"Sergeant of the Iron Musketeers, sir," he put a spiteful emphasis on the "sir." Emblim suppressed a grimace. Bastok was full of Galkas who - perhaps not without justification - thought themselves held down by the Humes. It was clear Riidley counted himself among their number.

"Sergeant, I'm Captain Emblim of the Mythril Musketeers." Riidley was slow to return his snapped salute. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the smaller man in front of him. "We're trying to deal with the Antican threat as soon as possible, and so we need the information you've gathered. I'll accept your report now."

"Oh, so the ants push my people out of our home and the Humes don't bat an eyelash, but now that it's inconveniencing you, you can't get rid of them fast enough. I get it."

"That's not - " Emblim was cut off as Erilan suddenly spoke, his voice practically scandalized.

"That's how you let subordinates talk to you in the Bastokan military?" He looked at Emblim, amazed, and then turned to Riidley. "And you, soldier, that's how you address a commanding officer? What is wrong with you backwards Bastokans? You'd be court martialed in a heartbeat in San d'Oria."

"What do you know, Elvaan?" Riidley shifted his bulk forward, his head nearly scraping the top of the tent.

Erilan stared up at him. Taller than Emblim or Cid, he was still dwarfed by the Galka. Still, his blue eyes pierced through Riidley's burning gaze with an intensity Emblim had not known his friend to possess. "I know that the San d'Orian army is the best one in the world, and we wouldn't put up with this kind of behavior for half a second. Your commanding officer made a request of you. You call yourself a soldier? Then you damn better well honor it, Sergeant. That's what military life is about."

Riidley stared down at the Elvaan, breath rising in his chest. His hands clenched and unclenched as he set his teeth together. After a long pause, he twisted his head slightly, looking down at Emblim again.

"Got nothing to report," he rumbled. "The ants are all over the desert. Quicksands Caves is practically emptied out, they're all on the move north. I didn't see leader or any demons or any of that stuff we're on the lookout for. Just ants."

"Wait a second," Cid's face had suddenly lit up. "Quicksands Caves has been abandoned?"

"You heard me - " Erilan coughed mightily, and Riidley shot him an angry glance. "Yes, sir," he ground out through clenched teeth. "There''s only a token guard still in place. The entire Antican army is on the field."

"My boy, you've been more help than you know." The old inventor's eyes were alight with ideas swirling behind them. Riidley shook his head, brushing past him and into the back.

"Whatever, old man. I'm going back to sleep."

"You didn't ask - " Erilan was about to speak, but Emblim cut him off.

"I wouldn't push it," he whispered, "but thanks."

The huge Galka folded the tent back up behind him and settled to the ground as Cid urgently rushed Emblim back out into the twilight. Erilan followed, curious as to what was happening.

"We've got a chance," Cid said immediately upon exiting the tent. Emblim peered at him, not sure if he had heard correctly.

"What are you talking about?" The Paladin responded.

"Quicksands Caves, boy! Emb, listen," he drew the Hume in close, and spoke in conspiratorial whispers. "You can't tell anybody, not yet. But I'm hiding something there."

"In Quicksands Caves?" Cid gave a start when Erilan chimed in, having forgotten he was there.

"Curse yer Elvaan ears," he muttered, "but alright, yer a friend of Emb's so you must be trustworthy. Listen up, meat shields. We've got one chance to get this right, but if we do, it means we all go home."

As the plan to save the people of Bastok began to take shape, dusk claimed the skies of Rabao, and a cool desert breeze began to blow in from the west.