Chapter LCVIII: On the Trail

Tyrian watched the Tarutaru as he shuffled blades of dead grass between his fingers, letting the browning blades fall to the ground. He took a moment to sniff lightly at two of them, looking at them quizzically before lowering his ear to the frost-covered dirt. As concentration lined his brow, he lifted his head, adjusting the small beret he wore, and pointed north again. Tyrian sighed as he bounded off into the darkness once more, leaving the others to follow behind.

"Are you sure this guy knows what he's doing?" He asked, even as he urged his chocobo onwards.

"There are a lot of Rangers in Windurst," Titania told him, "and a lot of them specialize in tracking, but Holy-Moly is the best of them all."

Tyrian glanced doubtfully at the Tarutaru skipping away from them. With reluctance, he pushed down his fears and opted to keep moving on. He considered himself a passing fair Ranger, but he admitted he had barely been able to find Meowolf's trail. Holy-Moly had not only found the Galka's path, but pursued it out of Sarutabaruta and into Tahrongi Canyon. Still, he was dubious. Some of the traces he picked up as signs of Meowolf's passing through were questionable at best.

"If you weren't vouching for him . . . " he began.

"Believe me," Titania said reassuringly, catching her chocobo up to his. "Captain Rizzle knew what he was doing when he loaned us Holy's services."

"Maybe," he grunted. "I just wish that pig-headed fool hadn't run off in the first place."

"Tyrian," Sinti chastised at his side. "We know he had his reasons."

He set his jaw. "Reasons," he scoffed. "That two-faced witch isn't a reason to head off in the middle of the night chasing an army of demons."

"We don't know that's why he - "

"What, you think he went after Secure?" Tyrian cut the Mithra off. "Yeah, Klades wants to think that, too, but be serious." He directed his gaze out towards the distance, watching Holy-Moly continue to examine rocks, lightly brushing his fingers over them while peering at their surfaces. "Meowolf has never cared about revenge. He wants to protect people. And he's got it in his head that the Eastern whore is a damsel in distress."

Sinti did not reply, save a sad change of expression. Tyrian immediately regretted his harsh words, but did not take them back. They all knew why Meowolf had left, otherwise they would not have all decided to go after him and bring him back.

Of course, not all those who wanted to help were able. With Windurst's military exhausted by the war, only a select few who wished to help were allowed to leave Windurst. Himself, naturally, as well as Sinti and Klades were not bound to Windurst and thus free to come and go as they pleased. However, one of the original five Titania had brought back to the Federation with her had refused to join them.

"Windurst needs me, Tyrian." Yasuchika had told them, a pained but stern expression on his face.

"We need you, dammit, Meowolf needs you." He remembered standing in the Tarutaru's office, practically pulling his thick, dark hair out in aggravation. "Someone can take over for you here - "

"No," he said firmly, "they can't." The Black Mage looked from face to face, grimacing. "I've made my decision. This is my home, guys. I've got to protect my home."

Tyrian opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off as Klades walked in front of him. Kneeling, the Onion Samurai looked at Yasuchika eye-to-eye, an indiscernible expression on his face.

"Will we see you again?" He asked simply.

Yasuchika nodded. "One day, when this is all over, we can be Those Guys again."

"I would like that," the Samurai replied, and extended his hand. The Black Mage put his tiny palm forward, and the two shook hands briefly. Klades stood and turned, leaving the room without another word.

Tyrian began to protest, but Sinti put a hand on his shoulder. "Tyrian," she said in the voice that told him not to argue, "he has to do this."

He let out a deflating sigh. "Alright," he conceded. "Alright." With a look both serious and sad, he met Yasuchika's stern gaze. "It won't be the same without you," the Ranger told him.

The two shook hands as the Tarutaru smiled. "No," he agreed, "but I've made arrangements that I be replaced, so you'll still have some magic on your side."

And that was how they came to welcome Leeto-Eleeto as a traveling partner.

Spurred on by the thought of him, Tyrian turned to regard the combat caster in their ranks. He was chatting away with Klades, who for his part appeared to be politely enduring the onslaught of conversation. The mage had been vouched for by Yasuchika, and that would have to be enough. So, forward they went on Meowolf's trail, three Rangers, two mages, and a Samurai. And Tyrian went right on questioning the entire outing.

It wasn't long before they caught up to Holy-Moly, who was once again pressing his ear to the ground. Halting his chocobo, Tyrian gently rubbed the giant bird's neck as he surveyed the area.

"Have you found anything, Holy?" Titania asked as her chocobo pawed restlessly at the ground.

Holy turned to face them, but just as he was about to open his mouth Tyrian slid from his mount, eyes fixed on the patch of grass the Tarutaru was standing next to. The sparse clump of half-frozen greenery was pressed close to the ground and covered in frost. He walked slowly towards it, tilting his head as his eyes crawled across every inch of the surrounding area.

"What is it, Tyrian?" Sinti asked, still atop her chocobo.

He did not reply, save for to motion for silence. The grass was not really different from any of the other innumerable growths dying underneath winter's heel. Tyrian was fixated more on the ground surrounding it.

Squinting, he scrutinized several square feet all around the few tiny blades of grass, even as Holy-Moly stood over him, hands on his hips, waiting for his conclusion.

"Meowolf was here," he said finally, standing to his full height. Holy nodded happily, smiling at the others.

"Are you sure?" Klades had caught up with the rest of them, and he eyed the area suspiciously. "You've never been able to pick up his trail before."

"He's been following Secure's army, it's impossible - " he stopped when Holy-Moly coughed, lifting his eyes meaningfully. " - it's . . . very difficult," he amended, "to try and pick out one trail amongst so many, but this is different." Kneeling down to face the dead plant, he beckoned them to come close. "The ground here wasn't trampled. This grass is only being weighed down by frost. Secure's army didn't pass this way."

Klades looked up, casting a glance around the area. "There's enough room that they might have swung north here, towards Meriphataud, without coming this way."

"Yes," Tyrian affirmed, "but someone came this way. There's a blade broken off where someone brushed against it, maybe only a few days ago."

"Should I melt some of the ice?" Leeto was running towards them, flames already springing from his palms.

"No!" Tyrian shouted, stopping the wizard in his tracks. "Meowolf's footprints are in the frost. We can - " he stopped, his eyes widening. "Wait."

Klades dismounted his chocobo, placing a hand on his great katana. "What's wrong?"

The Ranger dropped down to his knees, fingers pressing against the frost hastily as he perused the ground. It took him only moments to confirm his suspicions, and he cast a grave stare at the other.

"There are other tracks here."

"What?" Klades looked at Holy-Moly, who nodded grimly at Tyrian's words.

"We're not the only ones following Meowolf."


Huddled close to the small firepit he had dug, Meowolf stared into the flames as he sought to stave off the cold. The onset of winter in Tahrongi Canyon had left the barren landscape concealed beneath a layer of frost. All around the armor-clad Galka, the world was becoming frozen, encased in relentless tomb of ice. With no sun in the sky to illuminate the landscape, no moon to cast reflections upon the freezing ground, everything was simply cold and dead. Shivering, his breath freezing in front of him, he pulled the slim mantle around his shoulders closer.

Just miles from him, the remnants of Secure's army marched inexorably north. In the time he had followed them, he had yet to discern any reason for their distant trek across this harsh tundra. Yet still they moved, further every day, heading away from Windurst and towards Meriphataud Mountains. He had caught up with them in a matter of days, but no opportunity had presented itself to try and infiltrate their ranks. Even following them had proved dangerous, and he was forced to alter his path after a few days to avoid running into demons straggling behind.

Once, briefly, he had seen Cullen. Hidden atop a cliff peak he had been able to see the entire camp. In the middle of it was a single tent, where Secure spent his days. The Elvaan never left, as far as Meowolf could tell. When they began marching, a group of Vanguard lifted the entire thing up on poles and carried it. Only during one of their stops did he see Cullen emerge, shouting some of Secure's demands, and then disappear again into the tent. He could only barely see her, not enough to make out her face, but enough to see the chains wrapped around her wrists.

He felt a flush of heat at the thought. He had to find her again. She needed to be protected.

He may well have fallen asleep near the fire, formulating ways to sneak in and save her, had he not heard footsteps approaching.

Immediately he was on his feet, snatching his sword from its scabbard as he looked across the frozen landscape. His eyes struggled to pierce the darkness covering the canyon, but he could just barely make out two shapes close by, wandering near his camp.

He watched them carefully. They didn't appear to be walking towards him, and indeed after a moment they stopped altogether, turning and talking to one another.

Their voices carried on the wind, and Meowolf recognized a Bastokan accent when he heard it.

"Hey," he shouted, and the two turned in surprise. "Hey!"

"Who's there?" One of them asked cautiously. "Show yourself!"

"Over here," he waved his arms, but did not put away his sword. "Who are you?"

The two figures whispered something to one another, looking back and forth at Meowolf. "Is that a fire you have going over there?" One of them asked.

"Yes," he called back. "Come into the light where I can see you."

They remained where they were. "How do we know you're not a demon?"

"Do I look like a demon?" The Paladin called back angrily.

The duo talked amongst themselves again. Meowolf's eyes were adjusting to their shadowed forms, and he could tell now that both speakers were Galka, like him.

"We're cold," he heard one of them say, and realized the wind was carrying their conversation his way. "He doesn't look like a demon, let's just go down there."

"He could be disguising himself," the other protested. "I don't want to risk it."

"He has a fire," the other one said plaintively. "It's freezing out here."

"But - "

"Hey," Meowolf called out again. "I'll come to you, and we can walk back together. I'll lead you here."

A moment of silence followed, broken up only by some urgent whispering he couldn't quite make out. Finally, one of them called back his way.

"Alright," he said, "You come to us."

Sheathing his sword, Meowolf came forward. As he got closer to them, he started to make them out a bit better. One of the Galka was dressed in heavy black armor inlaid with brass, in a style very similar to that which Klades wore. He had a sword, a great katana, fastened around his waist. The one next to him was covered in layers of heavy blue robes, and he could see a gnarled staff on his back. Both were large and foreboding, eyeing Meowolf warily as he climbed the icy hill towards them.

He had made it almost half way when he heard a sound like a twig breaking, and then the ground pulled away from him.

It took him a moment to realize what had happened. Wind rushed past him as he was lifted into the air, and thick hemp ropes pressed into his face. An angered cry escaped him as he struggled, but the net around him only tightened with each twist. He could see the other two Galka coming forward now, looking up at him from several feet below. Both were smiling, watching his plight without concern. Growling, he reached for his sword, but his arms were trapped in the ropes. Every time he moved it felt like it just made they only cut deeper into him.

"Bang up job, mates," a voice called from the darkness. Meowolf ceased his struggling, clutching angrily at the net as he looked around for the speaker. From the flickering flames of his still-burning fire, a grinning man stepped out from the shadows. One of his eyes was a brilliant shade of blue, so vibrant it was visible even by the scant firelight. The other was a blind white, a long and jagged scar running from forehead to chin crossing over it. The sides of his scalp were shaved, and the hair atop his head was drawn back into a tight ponytail behind him. His hands were clasped behind his back as he slowly walked a circle around the net, nodding to the other two Galka as he did. "I can't believe ye offered to come to them." He laughed. "Never saw that coming! Ha!"

"What is this?" Meowolf demanded. "Let me down!"

"Quit yer bellyachin," the scarred man said dismissively, turning around. "Dark Templar, Dark Goliath," he said, acknowledging the other two, "you done good. Let's truss this sucker up an' head back."

"You got it, boss," the one with the sword marched forward, and with one swift cut he severed the rope holding up the net. Meowolf came crashing to the ground, the wind rushing out of him. Spots flashed before his eyes as a heavy foot suddenly pressed down on the small of his back. He grunted as ropes pressed the chain mail links of his armor into his wrists. His struggles were rendered futile as an oppressive weight forced him down, and he saw the Galka wearing robes chanting a binding spell at him.

"Done up like a Starlight Eve dinner, you are," the scar-faced man laughed. "Alright mates, pick 'im up, let's get 'im movin'."

"Where to, Magitek?" the armored Galka asked.

Meowolf felt himself being pulled up, and with a sudden jerk he was eye-to-eye with his abductor. The one-eyed man was kneeling down, a toothy grin on his face. Violently the Paladin lurched forward, straining agains the ropes holding him back and the magic holding him down. Magitek did not even move, instead smiling broader at his struggles.

"Fiesty one, aintcha? S'alright, fight all ye want. 'Ey, Goliath," he turned to the robed Galka, "yer magic whammy's got 'im down nice 'n secure like, don't it?"

He nodded, folding his arms into his robes. "He's not going anywhere, boss, not unless we want him to."

Magitek turned back, still smiling. "Ye see there? Ye should save yer strength, boyo. Ain't gonna be easy gettin' where we're goin'." Standing, he smoothed out the front of the heavy furs he wore. "Well, enough jaw stretchin'. Let's get a move on. Client ain't gonna wait forever."

"But boss - " the one with the sword started.

"Ah, right, where are me manners? Sorry, Templar, plum forgot." He patted the Galka on the shoulder. "Into the mountains, that's where 'e's waitin'. Better hurry before th' weather gets even worse."

"Who," Meowolf growled, trying to force his legs up. "Who hired you?"

The three exchanged a series of glances before Magitek finally shrugged, an indifferent expression on his face. "Guess there ain't no harm in tellin' ye. Don't know who ye are or what ye did t' make people wanna kill ye even after th' end o' th' world, but - " he smiled again. "I don't get paid for askin' questions. I'm here t' take ye to a fella named Dracu, an brother, I wouldn't wanna be in yer shoes once we get there."