Requiem - Chapter 7

“How is he?” Boyd asked, running a hand quietly over the handle of his axe.

“Better,” was all Rhys said in reply. “Definitely better.”

Both of the young men were in Oscar’s room, watching the paladin with concerned looks on their faces. The oldest brother was still unconscious, but Rhys and Mist had managed to heal the wound on the side of his head and the other various burns all over his body. Now it was a tense waiting game to see if he would wake up or not. So far, he hadn’t showed any signs of regaining consciousness anytime soon.

“Isn’t there anything else you can do?” Boyd asked, upset.

“No,” Rhys answered. “If there was, I would have done it by now.”

Boyd growled, then snarled “This is all that dumb mage’s fault! If…if Soren wouldn’t have…I mean, if he…” He trailed off and pressed his head into his hands, not knowing what to say.

Rhys patted his shoulder comfortingly, then said “I’ll be back. Stay here with Oscar until I return.”

Boyd nodded, sitting down in a chair in the room, staring at his older brother’s face.

Rhys turned and walked out of the room, heading towards the kitchen. He was alone with his thoughts for a few moments, and they were all focused on one thing.

Soren, what were you thinking? What was going through your head when you did that? Why?

He shook his head, then looked up when he arrived at the kitchen. When he stepped in the room, he immediately came to a stop.

The depression and sadness in the room was nearly palpable, and Rhys felt it strongly. Most of the other mercenaries were in the room, and Rhys glanced around at them.

Mist was sitting at the table with Rolf, Gatrie and Mia, trying to comfort Rolf, who looked absolutely miserable.

Rhys looked to the side and spotted Shinon leaning against a wall nearby, a surprisingly sullen look on his face.

They all looked up as Rhys entered the room, and for a moment, their eyes held hope.

“How is he?” Rolf asked, worry tinting his young voice.

Rhys sighed, then said “Better. His wounds are healed, but he’s not waking up. I'm worried that he might have some brain damage, but until he wakes, I can't tell nor can I do anything else.”

Everyone immediately looked sad again, and Rolf buried his head into his arms. Mist hugged him tightly, trying to bring him some comfort.

Shinon shook his head, then said “That stupid Branded. I always knew there was something wrong with him.”

“Don’t talk bad about Soren,” Rhys snapped, and everyone glanced up at him in shock. Rhys cleared his throat nervously. “Um…never mind.” He quickly turned and left the room, deciding that it was wise to allow them their space.

The slender healer headed down the halls of the Greil Mercenaries base, going to the place he knew for sure that a certain person was at. He slowed down when he neared the door heading outside, into the courtyard. He paused at the door, then cautiously opened it, his gaze going straight to one spot.

Ike, who hadn't moved from his place on the ground against one of the walls.

He had been there for hours.

Ever since Soren had left.

Rhys sighed and walked over to his Commander, pausing about three feet away. Ike had his head turned down towards the ground, so he didn't notice Rhys was there until the healer coughed lightly to get his attention. Ike jumped slightly and glanced up, then said “Oh. Rhys. How is Oscar?”

“Better, as I’ve said twice before,” Rhys answered. He tilted his head to the side and said “Is something wrong, Commander?”

A pained look crossed Ike’s face, and he lowered his head again. “What do you think, Rhys?” he said. “Oscar’s hurt and possibly won’t recover, Soren somehow turned into a dragon and tried to kill him-”

“Now you know that wasn’t true,” Rhys said, cutting Ike off.

“What?” Ike said, glancing up at him.

Rhys shook his head. “I would think it would be obvious to you, since you were his closest friend. Soren was lying when he said those things, Ike. It was painfully obvious to someone like me, who can sense the emotions of others, but I thought for sure that you knew.”

Ike blinked, then looked away. “I know,” he said softly, and Rhys blinked.

“You…knew he was lying?” the healer said, backing up a pace. “And you…did nothing? I'm shocked, Ike.” He shook his head, then turned away. “Soren broke his own heart to try and keep the rest of us safe, when he didn’t have to. And you willingly let him.”

He then walked off, leaving Ike to remain lost in his thoughts, thinking over what had just been said.

*

Soren licked his lips, trying to get the taste of blood out of his mouth. He had eaten another rabbit, and had been just as revolted as the first time. The dragon mage had gone deeper into Gallia, trying to figure out where he was and where he was going. It wasn’t easy. He was going solely on a natural sense of direction, and he was worried he was getting himself lost.

He was fairly certain that he was going the right direction, so he kept going. Ugh. He was tired, and he wanted to stop and rest. Stress and sadness were wearing him down, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up to him. He shook his head, then tilted his skull around and stared at his wings.

He still had no idea how to use them, and it was driving him nuts. If he could fly, he could already been out of Gallia by this time. But no. Every attempt at flying had only ending up as a failure, so he had finally just stopped trying. If he couldn’t do it, he couldn't do it. Simple as that.

He was distracted by the fatigue that was gnawing at his body and his thoughts, so he didn't notice that he was being stalked until it was too late.

With a roar, a huge purplish-blue tiger laguz sprang out of the bushes, slamming into the dragon. Soren yelped in shock, then quickly struck back. He slammed a paw against the laguz’s head, which did nothing more than make it angrier. Both creatures fought to get the upper hand over each other, snarling and growling and roaring loudly. The laguz swiped a paw across Soren’s neck, tearing more jagged wounds in the black dragon’s scales.

Soren yelped in pain, feeling blood splatter from the trenches left behind from the tiger’s claws, then bit down into the laguz’s leg, feeling his knife-sharp teeth slice through fur, skin and flesh. The tiger roared, and within seconds, both creatures were so entangled in each other you would be hard pressed to tell where one ended and the other began. Soren soon began to get the upper hand in the battle, and it looked like he would win.

Then an orange cat raced out of the bushes behind him, and he knew he was in trouble.

The cat slammed into him from behind, clawing at his back. Soren arched his back in pain and screamed in agony, then shot fire from his mouth, twisted his head this way and that on his sinewy neck, throwing fire everywhere. The burning inferno forced the two laguz to back off, growling and hissing in rage.

Once Soren was finished, he backed up, breathing hard. He growled at the two laguz, who hissed back at him, forcing him backwards even further, until he found himself pinned against a tree. He snarled at them and they growled back, both sides glaring at each other. Soren was feeling dangerously lightheaded from the wounds on his neck and back, which were bleeding fairly well, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay conscious for much longer.

He panted, glaring at the laguz and seething with hatred, then froze, his eyes fixed on the two creatures. They were very, very familiar to him all of a sudden. He stared at them for a long, hard moment, then finally whispered “…Mordecai? Lethe?”

The two laguz blinked in shock, exchanging a quick glance with each other, then the orange cat spoke. “How do you know our names?” Lethe hissed, distrust etched onto her features.

Soren was teetering on the verge of unconsciousness, and he barely had the strength to keep his eyes open any longer. Finally, he spoke again. “It’s me…Soren,” he said softly, lowering his head slightly.

Mordecai and Lethe blinked sharply, then the cat spat “Lies! There’s no way you could-“

“Wait,” Mordecai said, lifting a paw to silence her. “It is Soren.”

“What? How do you know?” Lethe glared at him, then the dragon, then back again.

“His Branded mark is still there,” Mordecai said. “And his scent is still the scent of the Greil Mercenaries’ tactician. It is Soren.”

Lethe stared at him for a while longer, then sighed and said “Okay. We believe you, Soren.”

Soren let out a deep breath, then lost his hold on consciousness and collapsed, falling limply to the ground.

That prompted Mordecai and Lethe to hurry forward and take their human forms so they could examine him better. Mordecai gently touched fingers to the dragon’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, then said “He is very weak. We hurt him, Lethe.”

Lethe growled and said “There’s only one thing to do, then. We have to take him to the capital. King Caineghis will accept him and allow him to stay.”

Mordecai nodded, then bent down and carefully managed to put Soren over his shoulder, finding that the dragon was relatively light. Lethe stepped in and carried Soren’s head and neck, relieving Mordecai of a bit of the Branded dragon's weight.

Then they headed further into Gallia, right into the heart of the country that Soren hated the most.

*

When Lethe and Mordecai arrived in Gallia, they took Soren straight to the healers in King Caineghis’ castle. Lethe kicked the doors open and marched in, followed by Mordecai, who still carried most of Soren’s weight. Several healers looked up to see what the noise was about and gasped, seeing the unconscious dragon the two laguz held.

“What is this?” a healer exclaimed, hurrying forward to help Mordecai lower the dragon safely to the ground.

“Soren,” Mordecai murmured, staring down sympathetically at the dragon.

“Who…?” the healer started, but Lethe cut him off. “You!” she snapped, pointed to a smaller healer nearby. “Go to King Caineghis. Tell him that Soren, the tactician of the Greil Mercenaries, is here in the form of a black dragon. He will understand what that means.”

The healer nodded, then turned and raced away.

The other healers immediately began to work on Soren, doing their best to heal his wounds. Soren, even in his unconsciousness, could feel their hands on him. He didn’t like it at all. He knew that the hands that touched him were not people he knew. He struggled against them, unaware of anything going on around him.

The healers tried to hold him down so they could work better, but that just increased his struggles.

Finally, one of the healers said “We can’t work on him like this!”

“Then perhaps I can be of assistance,” a voice sounded, and they all turned to see a new figure walking into the healing hall.

Nasir.

The white dragon laguz walked quietly over to the healers and the black dragon Branded, his dark eyes fixed on Soren. For some reason, the healers had the sense to back up and give Nasir plenty of room. The laguz walked to Soren’s head and bent down, carefully stroking a hand down the Branded’s black scales.

He then touched a hand to Soren’s forehead and said “Sleep.”

Instantly, Soren was cast into such a deep slumber that he wouldn’t be able to feel a thing.

“There,” Nasir said, straightened and backing up a few paces. “He will not awaken until I remove the spell. You may heal him now.”

The healers exchanged glances, then got to work.

Nasir watched with a practical eye, already thinking deeply over what this could mean. Soren, tactician of the Greil Mercenaries, in Gallia, far from Ike and the others, as a black dragon. How could this have happened? Can this be reversed? I wonder. Why, however, would Soren be so far from home? And completely alone as well. What happened to him to have caused something like this?

The white dragon laguz sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, then lifted his head when the doors banged open to reveal Caineghis, who had been walking so quickly that he had left his escort behind.

“Is it true?” the King said. “Soren is here?”

The healers all bowed deeply to him, along with Mordecai and Lethe, while Nasir merely dipped his head.

“Yes,” Nasir said. “He is here and alone. None of the other Mercenaries grace us with their presence today.”

Caineghis frowned, pausing near the light-blue-haired laguz, then looked down at the black dragon laying on the ground. “He is a dragon,” the King said simply. “I thought my subordinate was joking when he told me this. I see now that it is true. But why?”

“I do not know,” Nasir said. “I cast a sleep spell on him to make the healing go smoother. He was not taking kindly to the healers’ efforts.”

“Lucky for us that you decided to pay us a visit a few days ago, eh Nasir?" Caineghis chuckled, patting the white dragon on his shoulder.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Nasir said with a wry smile. “I merely chanced to be passing close by and decided to stop in. Nothing more.”
“Ah. Of course,” Caineghis said, smiling slightly.

He turned his attention back to Soren and said “Still... This troubles me. I wonder if the Mercenaries even know that their tactician is here?”

“It seems unlikely, but stranger things have happened, your Majesty,” Nasir said politely.

Caineghis nodded, then turned to Lethe and said “Go and find me our fastest runner. Have them report back to me at once. I will have them deliver a message to the Mercenaries, informing them that their mage is here.”

“Yes, your Highness,” Lethe said, then turned and sped out.

Caineghis watched her go, then turned to Nasir and said “We will keep Soren here until the message is received.”

Nasir nodded once, then said “I would be willing to let him stay in my quarters. They are better fitted for a dragon, after all.”

Caineghis nodded and said “As you wish. I fear, though, that he will not take kindly to our hospitality.”

Nasir smiled slightly and said “Indeed. He’s like that.”

A few more minutes passed and the runner finally showed up. She walked in with her head held high, red tail flowing behind her.

Sylvan bowed low to her king and said “You summoned me, your Majesty?”

“Yes,” Caineghis said. “I have a great need for your swiftness, Sylvan. Take a message to Ike, the Commander of the Greil Mercenaries, in Crimea. Tell him that his tactician, Soren, has come to Gallia in the form of a black dragon. We will do our best to keep Soren here until they figure out what to do with him. That is all.”

“Soren?” Sylvan said, blinking sharply. She looked over at the dragon and gasped softly, but that was all she did to show her shock at seeing the dragon again. “Y-yes, my King. I will leave immediately,” she said, bowing to him again. She transformed into a cat and turned, trotting out the door. Once she was outside completely, she sped up into a run, racing in the direction of the Greil Mercenaries base.

Nasir watched her go through a window, then said “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Caineghis stared at him, then turned and watched the healers finish up with Soren. Once they were done, Caineghis turned to Mordecai and said “Help take Soren to Nasir’s room in the eastern tower.”

Mordecai nodded, then bent down and picked Soren up, carrying him easily.

“I suppose that means I’ll take my leave now, your Highness,” Nasir said, tilting his head at Caineghis.

“You are free to go,” the King said, smiling. “Take care.”

“Always,” Nasir answered, then walked out, letting Mordecai follow him. He led the way up to his tower room, which was big enough to accommodate three full-sized dragons. “Lay him down on the bed,” he said.

Mordecai moved to do as he was told, gently placing the long Branded dragon on the large bed.

“Thank you,” Nasir said, nodding to the tiger laguz. “If I require your help again, I will call for you.”

Mordecai smiled, then turned and left.

Nasir watched him go, then turned to stare at Soren. “Well, my odd little friend,” he said. “I suppose we’ll see what your comrades have to say about these past events.”