Once a Prince, Chapter 4
Once a Prince (Ike/Soren, Soren speculation)
Major speculation in this chapter. Hoo boy. You've been warned.
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Chapter 4: Maybe Later
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In which Ike sets a bad example, Boyd plays sidekick, and Soren finally gets some answers.
The Jaundiced Juggernaut was the closest inn to Ike's mercenary camp, and it was a road tavern seedy enough that most travelers would rather barter to spend the night in the stables than risk their neck inside. The clientele was exclusive, in as much as one had to be somewhat burlier than most just to get past the doorman.
That night the door was held by Marco, an ex-pirate with split nose and a very nasty demeanor. He stood easily six feet tall, and he had to turn sideways to get both shoulders through the doorframe. He considered himself particularly good at making sure only the 'right sort' of people got in to their establishment.
And he certainly wasn't going to take any lip from the blue-haired punk that was staring up at him.
"You adventurers?" he drawled, eyeing the small group suspiciously. He knew about adventurers, with their bright cloaks and jaunty hats. As far as he was concerned, adventurers meant trouble. And trouble wasn't getting into the Juggernaut on his watch.
"Mercenaries, actually," Ike said, trying to find a way to squeeze past the hulking man. "Now if you'll just let us by..."
Marco snorted and blocked any hope of entry with a meaty forearm. "I don't like adventurers. Boss don't like 'em neither. They make the regulars nervous."
"I assure you we've got no bounty on anyone in your establishment," Ike insisted. "We just want to talk to the innkeeper." He tried again to shoulder his way in, only to be shoved back roughly by a hand on his chest.
"Hey!" Boyd shouted from behind him. "Don't you know who that is you're pushing around? He's the -"
Ike held up a hand to silence him. He half-turned and gave a reassuring smile to his friend, who was flanked on either side by Mist and Rolf. They had tagged along as part of what Boyd had taken to calling "the little sister brigade" - at least that's what he called it when Rolf wasn't in earshot.
"I can handle this, Boyd," he said calmly. He turned back to the grinning doorman. "Now then, as I was saying..."
"Yer not gettin' through this door," Marco stated defiantly, crossing his arms across his massive chest. "Now go home before I haveta start breakin' things."
Ike sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know, for once I'd like to be able to solve a problem without resorting to violence."
Marco just grinned his twisted, toothy grin and cracked his knuckles ominously.
He probably didn't even know what hit him next. For the record, it was Ike.
He sagged to the floor as the foursome made their way around him and into the inn. "Ew," Mist commented as she stepped delicately over his legs. "I think you broke his nose..."
Ike gave her a sheepish look and grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the unconscious doorman. "Er. Try not to look."
"Yeah," Boyd said, herding Rolf past the scene. "Don't be like Uncle Ike. Violence isn't the answer."
"Except when it is," the young archer said with a roll of his eyes.
Boyd shared a knowing glance with Ike and mouthed "Puberty."
"Hey, I saw that! What are you saying? That was about me, wasn't it!"
Boyd shushed him as they entered the main tavern area of the inn. It was dark and reeked of smoke and liquor, and Mist made a noise and covered her nose with a handful of her scarf. A circular fireplace stood in the center of the room, but instead of a warm fire it only contained a smoldering pile of red coal. The adjacent firewood bin had been turned upside down and was serving as a footrest for a pair of very dingy-looking boots.
Thankfully, the 'regulars' didn't seem to register their presence. Most sat alone at the bar, deep in their cups or engaged by the barmaids. Some sat around wobbly round tables and threw dice or played cards, but their expressions were equally grim.
"You three stay here," Ike threw over his shoulder as he made his way over to the bar. "I need to talk to the innkeeper. This should only take a moment."
The surface of the bar was scarred and battered, and when Ike put his hands down on it he discovered it was also sticky. He sighed and tapped on the counter to get the attention of the innkeeper, an older man who was busy yelling at one of the barmaids.
He turned. "Yeah, whaddya -" he said noisily, stopping mid-sentence when his eyes landed on Ike's face. His expression soured. "Oh. One of you. I hope you killed Marco, because if you didn't I'm going to."
"Marco is fine. Well, will be fine." Ike detached a small purse from his belt and let it fall onto the counter with a dull clank. The innkeeper eyed it greedily. "This is for your trouble, and the information you're about to give me."
The old man snatched the bag up and tested its weight in his hand. "How much is this?" he asked suspiciously.
"Enough."
He sniffed. "Is it real?"
"If you know who I am, you know that it is."
He looked at Ike's face carefully. "Yeah, I know who you are," he finally admitted, pocketing the bag. "Whaddya want, then?"
Ike leaned forward. "I need a fireman. Know where I can find one?"
The innkeeper froze. He placed his hands on the counter and let his eyes travel warily around the room before leaning in close enough that Ike could smell the whiskey on his breath. "Don't got no fires here," he murmured. "Fireman's gone. Got that? Heard he went south."
"South to where?"
The old man sniffed. "Don't know. He just disappeared. But get this - last I heard, he was doin' business with sub-humans."
"You mean laguz?"
"Whatever. Don't know how you could tell, though - small group came through here not long ago lookin' for him, and they looked perfectly normal to me."
Ike raised an eyebrow. "Normal? No wings or ears or anything?"
"Ayup."
"How about tattoos?"
"I don't... wait." The innkeeper furrowed his brow, bristly white eyebrows knitting together. "Now that you mention it, some of 'em did have tattoos. Didn't think anything of it, though."
"I see." Ike straightened up and tapped the counter. "Thanks, old man. Sorry again about Marco." He was turning to leave when a weathered hand stopped him.
"Didn't think it was like your type to need any... fires put out. I gotta ask - who do you need 'extinguished?' I might be able to arrange somethin'..."
Ike smirked. "I don't need anyone dead. Rather, this is about someone I'd very much like to keep alive." He waved with one hand and made his way towards the exit.
"Hmph," the innkeeper muttered under his breath, scrubbing at the counter with a grimy rag. "Good luck with that."
* * *
"Dragons?" Boyd exclaimed, a little louder than Ike would have liked.
"Really?" Mist chimed in, equally excited. They were moving quickly along the road back to camp, as Ike had decided they would need to enlist the help of several pegasus knights to get where they were going. It was already late afternoon, and he wanted to leave before nightfall. "Are we going to Goldoa?"
"No, I am going to Goldoa. You are staying at the camp."
She gaped and stopped in her tracks. "You can't be serious!"
Ike sighed and turned around. "Mist, I really don't want to argue about this. I need you to stay behind. Time is of the essence right now, and extra companions would slow me down."
"But Ike!" Mist reached out and grabbed his hands, her eyes large and pleading. "I'm not a kid anymore. I fought with you... I fight with you every day!"
"This isn't about you being a kid. It's about Soren, and I need to -"
"Need to what? You're not the only person that cares about him, you know!"
Ike looked down at her for a long moment before reaching to cup her cheek with his hand. "I know. Believe me, if I were you, I'd be upset too." He sighed. "Truthfully, I have selfish motives. With Titania and Soren gone, I can't just leave the camp alone. I need someone I can trust to run it while I'm gone." He looked into her eyes. "Do you think you can do that, Mist?"
She stared up at him, her objections for the moment forgotten. "...Me?"
"Yes," Ike nodded. "You're old enough now."
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded mutely. Ike gave her a gentle smile and squeezed her hand before turning back to the road. All four walked in silence for a while before Boyd piped up again.
"But Ike, how do you know they were dragons? Sounds like they coulda been any kind of laguz."
Ike shook his head. "The innkeeper said they didn't have ears or tails, and bird-tribe laguz have pretty obvious wings. Remember, dragons don't have any visually identifiable features in human form, save for a tattoo-like marking somewhere on their body."
"But anyone could have a tattoo. They could have just been normal humans, right?"
"Maybe. But he specifically mentioned 'sub-humans' and I've learned to trust the rumor mill in places like that. Wherever people spread gossip for their own protection, you can be pretty sure it's going to be right."
Boyd nodded thoughtfully. "So that's it, then? You're flying to Goldoa, just like that?"
"That's what I had in mind, yes."
"And you're going to somehow avoid getting ripped to shreds by the border patrols?"
"I'll find a way."
"And then you're going to knock on everyone's door and ask if they've seen a scrawny-looking human moping around?"
"If that's what it takes."
A pause. "You realize I'm going with you, right?"
Ike smiled. "I thought that's what you'd say. I don't suppose you feel like helping Mist run the camp?"
"No thanks. Paperwork and all that isn't really my thing."
"Then we'll just have to leave Rolf to help her."
Both of them chuckled at the indignant cry that came from behind them as they made their way back to camp.
* * *
The very first thing Soren did upon his arrival in Goldoa was have a very big meal. Kurthnaga and Gareth had escorted him to a secluded villa that was set on the edge of the lush jungle that skirted the bay. From one side of the villa, he had a beautiful view of the ocean and surrounding greenery, and from the other there was nothing but an expansive painted desert that seemed to stretch all the way to the horizon. Great canyons and monoliths of sandstone peppered that particular vista, and Soren was forced to remember that these were a people that could cross a desert as easily as he could cross a room.
The three of them sat on an ornate veranda while a handful of dutiful servants brought course after course of fruits and meats the equal to which Soren had never seen. Volke had already disappeared, probably to start his return journey in whatever regular boat they provided for him. It would certainly take him longer to get home than it had to get to Goldoa.
Soren did his best to keep up with the two dragons, but their appetite bordered on unnatural and he had always been a light eater. Eventually he was reduced to polite nibbling and nodding to perplexingly inane small talk until he simply couldn't take it any more. The conversation lulled when Kurthnaga bit into a papaya, and Soren took the opportunity to demand what exactly he was doing there.
"What, exactly, am I doing here?" he demanded. He had always been tremendously faithful to his inner monologue.
Kurthnaga stopped chewing and looked over at him, then swallowed slowly and put the rest of the fruit down on the plate. He started to chuckle as he wiped his fingers on the napkin on his lap.
"What's so funny?" Soren asked, his ruby eyes narrowing.
"I'm sorry," the young prince said. He looked up with a warm smile. "It's just that you remind me of someone I met once."
Gareth turned his intense gaze on Soren. "His Majesty is not used to being addressed in such an informal manner," he said roughly.
"Oh, it's quite alright!" Kurthnaga insisted. "I like it. Is this how all beorc speak?"
"Er..." Soren shifted uncomfortably. "Not really. I might be... a little more abrasive than some."
"Well, I think it's honest. I value that." He stood and held out his hand to Soren. "Will you join me for a walk?"
"Will you explain to me why you dragged me halfway across the continent against my will?"
Kurthnaga laughed sheepishly. "I promise."
Soren looked from one dragon to the other before nodding and getting to his feet. The prince beckoned him to follow and then made his way off the veranda onto a steep spiral staircase that descended into the gardens below. They wound their way down in silence, Gareth tagging along for a while before Kurthnaga gave him a look and he backed off begrudgingly. At the bottom of the stair, Soren's sandals sank into soft, mossy soil, and walls of carefully groomed greenery rose on either side.
"This way," the prince said, grabbing his hand and tugging him along a cobbled path that wound deeper into the gardens. Soren stumbled and nearly jogged to keep up, feeling for a moment like they were young children playing a game of tag in the summer heat. The scenery was amazing - giant ferns padded the ground on either side of the path, and trimmed bushes rose up to wall them in to a kind of natural corridor. Above them, mossy vines looped around tree branches and carried tiny pink blossoms that smelled vaguely like honeysuckle. Soren could hardly absorb it all before they emerged into what looked like an inner courtyard.
A stone fountain occupied the middle of a circle of stone tiles that were actually quite cracked and overgrown. Soren stepped forward onto the uneven ground carefully and noticed that the both the style of decoration and the landscaping were significantly different than the gardens they had just been walking through, and looked much older and less well-maintained.
Kurthnaga took a deep, satisfied breath and ran forward to sit on the edge of the fountain. His legs kicked playfully as he leaned down and ran his fingers through the water there. "Isn't it wonderful?" he said, looking to Soren with shining amber eyes. "This is my favorite place. You can drink the water if you want - it's clear."
Soren approached the fountain and leaned over to look into the water. It was indeed clear, and he lingered for a moment to look at his reflection in the mirrored surface. Kurthnaga's face appeared next to his, and suddenly he was seized by that feeling of familiarity again. His expression turned bewildered, and the prince grinned and shattered the illusion with a flick of his hand in the water.
Soren straightened and sat down on the gravelly stone edge of the fountain. He met Kurthnaga's eyes and waited expectantly.
The prince leaned back, obviously much more at ease now that they were alone together. His gaze slid back to the surface of the water. "There's a freshwater spring here," he explained. "This whole forest draws life from it. It's one of the few places in Galdoa where anything is green." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Do you know why the landscaping is different in this one place?"
Soren looked around. The stonework was clearly very old, almost decrepit. Compared to the beauty of the gardens they had passed through, it was hardly worth preserving - he wondered why they kept it around at all. "I don't," he admitted, impatient for the young dragon to get to the point already.
"It's because this used to be a beorc settlement. A long, long time ago." Kurthnaga looked up with a sad smile. "It's the only thing left. The only piece of them that remains. I won't let them tear it down." He flicked his hand in the water idly.
"I didn't know there were any beorcs in this part of the world."
"There were," he sighed. "They were eliminated."
Soren looked up in surprise. "Why?"
"Are you that shocked? Look anywhere for hatred and bigotry and you will find it." His brow furrowed and his amber eyes darkened. "The beorc that lived here lived peacefully with many laguz. They were fishermen and traders, artisans and merchants - they were the ones that crafted the magical craft that carried you here."
"When was this?"
"Long, long ago. I was just a hatchling, but I remember. I came here often to visit my older sister. That used to be her house." He gestured towards the villa.
Soren frowned. "If the princess of Goldoa lived here among the beorc, why was the village destroyed? And what happened to her?"
Kurthnaga's eyes dropped to his lap, where his hands were twisting in the fabric of his tunic. "She did something unforgivable," he said quietly. "To my father, at least. And to many others."
Soren's heart skipped a beat and a sick feeling rose from the pit of his stomach. "They had an agreement... didn't they? The beorc and the laguz. They could live together harmoniously, but with one very important stipulation."
The prince nodded, a pained expression passing over his face. "The ancient taboo. They must never share love or interbreed - it was forbidden."
"Kurthnaga. Are you saying -"
"I'm saying my sister broke the rules. She fell in love with a beorc man, an artisan and skilled magician."
Soren got to his feet, his long robe swishing around his ankles. He clasped his hands over his ears and clenched his eyes shut. "I'm not hearing this!"
"Soren, you have to!" Kurthnaga stood and grabbed his forearms firmly, twisting them down and forcing the sage to look into his eyes. "They married in secret..."
"Shut up! I don't want to know!"
"They had a child..."
"STOP IT!" Soren tore away and fell to his knees on the rough stonework, covering his face with his hands. "Please..." he sobbed.
Kurthnaga just looked down at him, his face a mask of pity and sympathy. He knelt and placed a hand on Soren's back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have forced that on you."
Soren's shoulders shook as sobs wracked through his thin frame. He never wanted to know about his history. He never wanted to know about the laguz blood in his veins. He didn't care where it came from, and he hated the people that put it there. He hated them and everything they represented, everything they did to him. He hated that he was doomed to be an abomination because of their indiscretion. He never wanted to know who they were.
He sniffed and drew a shaky breath. "So... what? That was generations ago. Am I supposed to just... embrace you and call you 'uncle' now?"
Kurthnaga frowned. "That's not that this is about! I wanted..." he paused, trying to find the right words. "I remember my sister. She was happy with him. I don't think what they did was evil. I don't think she deserved to die! Please tell me you don't either..." He turned Soren towards him, the tone of his voice edging on desperation. "Please..."
Soren looked up at him, his eyes sore and red from crying. "I do," he said softly. "I'm sorry."
Kurthnaga looked as though someone had stabbed him through the chest. His eyes went wide and vulnerable, his expression completely slack. After a long moment of silence he shook his head and got to his feet. Soren simply stared at the ground, his eyes following the lines of the cracked tiles. "I loved the beorc," the prince finally said. "When my father found out about my sister, I did my best to save them. We loaded the women and children into one of the caravels - my sister's baby girl was on that boat too. They sailed for Gallia, and the men stayed and fought. They were proud and brave, even though they knew there was no hope for survival. As for the caravel... it came back empty."
He took a few steps backward and turned away. "I searched for my sister's kin for generations. Every lead fizzled out, and after my father closed our borders it got even harder. I was had given up when that beorc and his crew accidentally landed on our shores - Ike, was it? It was so faint, but I could smell it - my sister's blood, on that very ship." He smiled and closed his eyes. "I have never been happier than that day."
Soren sat back on his heels, then stood slowly. "So you abducted me? Brought me here against my will and forced a history I am deeply ashamed of out into the open?"
Kurthnaga turned towards him and met his gaze. "I am truly sorry for everything you went through to come here. But I had to operate in secrecy. If my father knew of your existence your life would be over. To this day he doesn't trust beorc to come inside our borders." He sighed. "I just want to return to that time of peace between our people. I thought you would share those sentiments."
"Oh," Soren laughed, a sharp barking sound that was more angry than amused. "I do. Beorc and laguz living together in harmony. Wouldn't that be great?" His face turned cold. "But I am neither, don't you see that? Even in that society, I don't belong. So I hope you understand... if I just don't see how I can help you."
A long moment of silence fell between them. Eventually Kurthnaga just shook his head and walked across the circle back to the path. He looked over at Soren. "Please take some time to think about it. A week. That's all I ask. One week, and then we'll send you home and never bother you again."
"You want me to stay here for a week?"
"I assure you that you will be very well taken care of."
Soren frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't want to stay. He didn't want to think about it. But something in the prince's earnest expression wore away at his resolve. Greil always said you had to look out for your family; he said family was the most important thing anyone could have. For so long, Greil's Mercenaries was his only family - now, like it or not, he had a new relative to consider. He found himself unable to turn his back on that, as much as he would have liked to. "Fine," he said grudgingly. "One week. Then I go back before the whole camp falls apart."
Kurthnaga smiled gratefully. "Thank you."
"Well, you are my great-great-great-great-great... um... how many greats is it?"
The dragon prince laughed. "Too many. Please, just call me Kurthnaga." He turned to leave Soren alone, but was stopped by a call from the sage.
"Kurthnaga?"
He looked over his shoulder. "Yes?"
"What was her name? Your sister."
He smiled. "Nala."
"Nala?"
"Yes. There are portraits of her in the villa, if you'd like to see them."
Soren paused. He looked to the side and brushed a piece of hair back out of his face. "I'm not ready right now," he admitted. "Maybe later."
"All right," the prince nodded, and high above them both a brightly colored bird sailed across the sun. "Maybe later."
Major speculation in this chapter. Hoo boy. You've been warned.
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Chapter 4: Maybe Later
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In which Ike sets a bad example, Boyd plays sidekick, and Soren finally gets some answers.
The Jaundiced Juggernaut was the closest inn to Ike's mercenary camp, and it was a road tavern seedy enough that most travelers would rather barter to spend the night in the stables than risk their neck inside. The clientele was exclusive, in as much as one had to be somewhat burlier than most just to get past the doorman.
That night the door was held by Marco, an ex-pirate with split nose and a very nasty demeanor. He stood easily six feet tall, and he had to turn sideways to get both shoulders through the doorframe. He considered himself particularly good at making sure only the 'right sort' of people got in to their establishment.
And he certainly wasn't going to take any lip from the blue-haired punk that was staring up at him.
"You adventurers?" he drawled, eyeing the small group suspiciously. He knew about adventurers, with their bright cloaks and jaunty hats. As far as he was concerned, adventurers meant trouble. And trouble wasn't getting into the Juggernaut on his watch.
"Mercenaries, actually," Ike said, trying to find a way to squeeze past the hulking man. "Now if you'll just let us by..."
Marco snorted and blocked any hope of entry with a meaty forearm. "I don't like adventurers. Boss don't like 'em neither. They make the regulars nervous."
"I assure you we've got no bounty on anyone in your establishment," Ike insisted. "We just want to talk to the innkeeper." He tried again to shoulder his way in, only to be shoved back roughly by a hand on his chest.
"Hey!" Boyd shouted from behind him. "Don't you know who that is you're pushing around? He's the -"
Ike held up a hand to silence him. He half-turned and gave a reassuring smile to his friend, who was flanked on either side by Mist and Rolf. They had tagged along as part of what Boyd had taken to calling "the little sister brigade" - at least that's what he called it when Rolf wasn't in earshot.
"I can handle this, Boyd," he said calmly. He turned back to the grinning doorman. "Now then, as I was saying..."
"Yer not gettin' through this door," Marco stated defiantly, crossing his arms across his massive chest. "Now go home before I haveta start breakin' things."
Ike sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know, for once I'd like to be able to solve a problem without resorting to violence."
Marco just grinned his twisted, toothy grin and cracked his knuckles ominously.
He probably didn't even know what hit him next. For the record, it was Ike.
He sagged to the floor as the foursome made their way around him and into the inn. "Ew," Mist commented as she stepped delicately over his legs. "I think you broke his nose..."
Ike gave her a sheepish look and grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the unconscious doorman. "Er. Try not to look."
"Yeah," Boyd said, herding Rolf past the scene. "Don't be like Uncle Ike. Violence isn't the answer."
"Except when it is," the young archer said with a roll of his eyes.
Boyd shared a knowing glance with Ike and mouthed "Puberty."
"Hey, I saw that! What are you saying? That was about me, wasn't it!"
Boyd shushed him as they entered the main tavern area of the inn. It was dark and reeked of smoke and liquor, and Mist made a noise and covered her nose with a handful of her scarf. A circular fireplace stood in the center of the room, but instead of a warm fire it only contained a smoldering pile of red coal. The adjacent firewood bin had been turned upside down and was serving as a footrest for a pair of very dingy-looking boots.
Thankfully, the 'regulars' didn't seem to register their presence. Most sat alone at the bar, deep in their cups or engaged by the barmaids. Some sat around wobbly round tables and threw dice or played cards, but their expressions were equally grim.
"You three stay here," Ike threw over his shoulder as he made his way over to the bar. "I need to talk to the innkeeper. This should only take a moment."
The surface of the bar was scarred and battered, and when Ike put his hands down on it he discovered it was also sticky. He sighed and tapped on the counter to get the attention of the innkeeper, an older man who was busy yelling at one of the barmaids.
He turned. "Yeah, whaddya -" he said noisily, stopping mid-sentence when his eyes landed on Ike's face. His expression soured. "Oh. One of you. I hope you killed Marco, because if you didn't I'm going to."
"Marco is fine. Well, will be fine." Ike detached a small purse from his belt and let it fall onto the counter with a dull clank. The innkeeper eyed it greedily. "This is for your trouble, and the information you're about to give me."
The old man snatched the bag up and tested its weight in his hand. "How much is this?" he asked suspiciously.
"Enough."
He sniffed. "Is it real?"
"If you know who I am, you know that it is."
He looked at Ike's face carefully. "Yeah, I know who you are," he finally admitted, pocketing the bag. "Whaddya want, then?"
Ike leaned forward. "I need a fireman. Know where I can find one?"
The innkeeper froze. He placed his hands on the counter and let his eyes travel warily around the room before leaning in close enough that Ike could smell the whiskey on his breath. "Don't got no fires here," he murmured. "Fireman's gone. Got that? Heard he went south."
"South to where?"
The old man sniffed. "Don't know. He just disappeared. But get this - last I heard, he was doin' business with sub-humans."
"You mean laguz?"
"Whatever. Don't know how you could tell, though - small group came through here not long ago lookin' for him, and they looked perfectly normal to me."
Ike raised an eyebrow. "Normal? No wings or ears or anything?"
"Ayup."
"How about tattoos?"
"I don't... wait." The innkeeper furrowed his brow, bristly white eyebrows knitting together. "Now that you mention it, some of 'em did have tattoos. Didn't think anything of it, though."
"I see." Ike straightened up and tapped the counter. "Thanks, old man. Sorry again about Marco." He was turning to leave when a weathered hand stopped him.
"Didn't think it was like your type to need any... fires put out. I gotta ask - who do you need 'extinguished?' I might be able to arrange somethin'..."
Ike smirked. "I don't need anyone dead. Rather, this is about someone I'd very much like to keep alive." He waved with one hand and made his way towards the exit.
"Hmph," the innkeeper muttered under his breath, scrubbing at the counter with a grimy rag. "Good luck with that."
* * *
"Dragons?" Boyd exclaimed, a little louder than Ike would have liked.
"Really?" Mist chimed in, equally excited. They were moving quickly along the road back to camp, as Ike had decided they would need to enlist the help of several pegasus knights to get where they were going. It was already late afternoon, and he wanted to leave before nightfall. "Are we going to Goldoa?"
"No, I am going to Goldoa. You are staying at the camp."
She gaped and stopped in her tracks. "You can't be serious!"
Ike sighed and turned around. "Mist, I really don't want to argue about this. I need you to stay behind. Time is of the essence right now, and extra companions would slow me down."
"But Ike!" Mist reached out and grabbed his hands, her eyes large and pleading. "I'm not a kid anymore. I fought with you... I fight with you every day!"
"This isn't about you being a kid. It's about Soren, and I need to -"
"Need to what? You're not the only person that cares about him, you know!"
Ike looked down at her for a long moment before reaching to cup her cheek with his hand. "I know. Believe me, if I were you, I'd be upset too." He sighed. "Truthfully, I have selfish motives. With Titania and Soren gone, I can't just leave the camp alone. I need someone I can trust to run it while I'm gone." He looked into her eyes. "Do you think you can do that, Mist?"
She stared up at him, her objections for the moment forgotten. "...Me?"
"Yes," Ike nodded. "You're old enough now."
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded mutely. Ike gave her a gentle smile and squeezed her hand before turning back to the road. All four walked in silence for a while before Boyd piped up again.
"But Ike, how do you know they were dragons? Sounds like they coulda been any kind of laguz."
Ike shook his head. "The innkeeper said they didn't have ears or tails, and bird-tribe laguz have pretty obvious wings. Remember, dragons don't have any visually identifiable features in human form, save for a tattoo-like marking somewhere on their body."
"But anyone could have a tattoo. They could have just been normal humans, right?"
"Maybe. But he specifically mentioned 'sub-humans' and I've learned to trust the rumor mill in places like that. Wherever people spread gossip for their own protection, you can be pretty sure it's going to be right."
Boyd nodded thoughtfully. "So that's it, then? You're flying to Goldoa, just like that?"
"That's what I had in mind, yes."
"And you're going to somehow avoid getting ripped to shreds by the border patrols?"
"I'll find a way."
"And then you're going to knock on everyone's door and ask if they've seen a scrawny-looking human moping around?"
"If that's what it takes."
A pause. "You realize I'm going with you, right?"
Ike smiled. "I thought that's what you'd say. I don't suppose you feel like helping Mist run the camp?"
"No thanks. Paperwork and all that isn't really my thing."
"Then we'll just have to leave Rolf to help her."
Both of them chuckled at the indignant cry that came from behind them as they made their way back to camp.
* * *
The very first thing Soren did upon his arrival in Goldoa was have a very big meal. Kurthnaga and Gareth had escorted him to a secluded villa that was set on the edge of the lush jungle that skirted the bay. From one side of the villa, he had a beautiful view of the ocean and surrounding greenery, and from the other there was nothing but an expansive painted desert that seemed to stretch all the way to the horizon. Great canyons and monoliths of sandstone peppered that particular vista, and Soren was forced to remember that these were a people that could cross a desert as easily as he could cross a room.
The three of them sat on an ornate veranda while a handful of dutiful servants brought course after course of fruits and meats the equal to which Soren had never seen. Volke had already disappeared, probably to start his return journey in whatever regular boat they provided for him. It would certainly take him longer to get home than it had to get to Goldoa.
Soren did his best to keep up with the two dragons, but their appetite bordered on unnatural and he had always been a light eater. Eventually he was reduced to polite nibbling and nodding to perplexingly inane small talk until he simply couldn't take it any more. The conversation lulled when Kurthnaga bit into a papaya, and Soren took the opportunity to demand what exactly he was doing there.
"What, exactly, am I doing here?" he demanded. He had always been tremendously faithful to his inner monologue.
Kurthnaga stopped chewing and looked over at him, then swallowed slowly and put the rest of the fruit down on the plate. He started to chuckle as he wiped his fingers on the napkin on his lap.
"What's so funny?" Soren asked, his ruby eyes narrowing.
"I'm sorry," the young prince said. He looked up with a warm smile. "It's just that you remind me of someone I met once."
Gareth turned his intense gaze on Soren. "His Majesty is not used to being addressed in such an informal manner," he said roughly.
"Oh, it's quite alright!" Kurthnaga insisted. "I like it. Is this how all beorc speak?"
"Er..." Soren shifted uncomfortably. "Not really. I might be... a little more abrasive than some."
"Well, I think it's honest. I value that." He stood and held out his hand to Soren. "Will you join me for a walk?"
"Will you explain to me why you dragged me halfway across the continent against my will?"
Kurthnaga laughed sheepishly. "I promise."
Soren looked from one dragon to the other before nodding and getting to his feet. The prince beckoned him to follow and then made his way off the veranda onto a steep spiral staircase that descended into the gardens below. They wound their way down in silence, Gareth tagging along for a while before Kurthnaga gave him a look and he backed off begrudgingly. At the bottom of the stair, Soren's sandals sank into soft, mossy soil, and walls of carefully groomed greenery rose on either side.
"This way," the prince said, grabbing his hand and tugging him along a cobbled path that wound deeper into the gardens. Soren stumbled and nearly jogged to keep up, feeling for a moment like they were young children playing a game of tag in the summer heat. The scenery was amazing - giant ferns padded the ground on either side of the path, and trimmed bushes rose up to wall them in to a kind of natural corridor. Above them, mossy vines looped around tree branches and carried tiny pink blossoms that smelled vaguely like honeysuckle. Soren could hardly absorb it all before they emerged into what looked like an inner courtyard.
A stone fountain occupied the middle of a circle of stone tiles that were actually quite cracked and overgrown. Soren stepped forward onto the uneven ground carefully and noticed that the both the style of decoration and the landscaping were significantly different than the gardens they had just been walking through, and looked much older and less well-maintained.
Kurthnaga took a deep, satisfied breath and ran forward to sit on the edge of the fountain. His legs kicked playfully as he leaned down and ran his fingers through the water there. "Isn't it wonderful?" he said, looking to Soren with shining amber eyes. "This is my favorite place. You can drink the water if you want - it's clear."
Soren approached the fountain and leaned over to look into the water. It was indeed clear, and he lingered for a moment to look at his reflection in the mirrored surface. Kurthnaga's face appeared next to his, and suddenly he was seized by that feeling of familiarity again. His expression turned bewildered, and the prince grinned and shattered the illusion with a flick of his hand in the water.
Soren straightened and sat down on the gravelly stone edge of the fountain. He met Kurthnaga's eyes and waited expectantly.
The prince leaned back, obviously much more at ease now that they were alone together. His gaze slid back to the surface of the water. "There's a freshwater spring here," he explained. "This whole forest draws life from it. It's one of the few places in Galdoa where anything is green." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Do you know why the landscaping is different in this one place?"
Soren looked around. The stonework was clearly very old, almost decrepit. Compared to the beauty of the gardens they had passed through, it was hardly worth preserving - he wondered why they kept it around at all. "I don't," he admitted, impatient for the young dragon to get to the point already.
"It's because this used to be a beorc settlement. A long, long time ago." Kurthnaga looked up with a sad smile. "It's the only thing left. The only piece of them that remains. I won't let them tear it down." He flicked his hand in the water idly.
"I didn't know there were any beorcs in this part of the world."
"There were," he sighed. "They were eliminated."
Soren looked up in surprise. "Why?"
"Are you that shocked? Look anywhere for hatred and bigotry and you will find it." His brow furrowed and his amber eyes darkened. "The beorc that lived here lived peacefully with many laguz. They were fishermen and traders, artisans and merchants - they were the ones that crafted the magical craft that carried you here."
"When was this?"
"Long, long ago. I was just a hatchling, but I remember. I came here often to visit my older sister. That used to be her house." He gestured towards the villa.
Soren frowned. "If the princess of Goldoa lived here among the beorc, why was the village destroyed? And what happened to her?"
Kurthnaga's eyes dropped to his lap, where his hands were twisting in the fabric of his tunic. "She did something unforgivable," he said quietly. "To my father, at least. And to many others."
Soren's heart skipped a beat and a sick feeling rose from the pit of his stomach. "They had an agreement... didn't they? The beorc and the laguz. They could live together harmoniously, but with one very important stipulation."
The prince nodded, a pained expression passing over his face. "The ancient taboo. They must never share love or interbreed - it was forbidden."
"Kurthnaga. Are you saying -"
"I'm saying my sister broke the rules. She fell in love with a beorc man, an artisan and skilled magician."
Soren got to his feet, his long robe swishing around his ankles. He clasped his hands over his ears and clenched his eyes shut. "I'm not hearing this!"
"Soren, you have to!" Kurthnaga stood and grabbed his forearms firmly, twisting them down and forcing the sage to look into his eyes. "They married in secret..."
"Shut up! I don't want to know!"
"They had a child..."
"STOP IT!" Soren tore away and fell to his knees on the rough stonework, covering his face with his hands. "Please..." he sobbed.
Kurthnaga just looked down at him, his face a mask of pity and sympathy. He knelt and placed a hand on Soren's back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have forced that on you."
Soren's shoulders shook as sobs wracked through his thin frame. He never wanted to know about his history. He never wanted to know about the laguz blood in his veins. He didn't care where it came from, and he hated the people that put it there. He hated them and everything they represented, everything they did to him. He hated that he was doomed to be an abomination because of their indiscretion. He never wanted to know who they were.
He sniffed and drew a shaky breath. "So... what? That was generations ago. Am I supposed to just... embrace you and call you 'uncle' now?"
Kurthnaga frowned. "That's not that this is about! I wanted..." he paused, trying to find the right words. "I remember my sister. She was happy with him. I don't think what they did was evil. I don't think she deserved to die! Please tell me you don't either..." He turned Soren towards him, the tone of his voice edging on desperation. "Please..."
Soren looked up at him, his eyes sore and red from crying. "I do," he said softly. "I'm sorry."
Kurthnaga looked as though someone had stabbed him through the chest. His eyes went wide and vulnerable, his expression completely slack. After a long moment of silence he shook his head and got to his feet. Soren simply stared at the ground, his eyes following the lines of the cracked tiles. "I loved the beorc," the prince finally said. "When my father found out about my sister, I did my best to save them. We loaded the women and children into one of the caravels - my sister's baby girl was on that boat too. They sailed for Gallia, and the men stayed and fought. They were proud and brave, even though they knew there was no hope for survival. As for the caravel... it came back empty."
He took a few steps backward and turned away. "I searched for my sister's kin for generations. Every lead fizzled out, and after my father closed our borders it got even harder. I was had given up when that beorc and his crew accidentally landed on our shores - Ike, was it? It was so faint, but I could smell it - my sister's blood, on that very ship." He smiled and closed his eyes. "I have never been happier than that day."
Soren sat back on his heels, then stood slowly. "So you abducted me? Brought me here against my will and forced a history I am deeply ashamed of out into the open?"
Kurthnaga turned towards him and met his gaze. "I am truly sorry for everything you went through to come here. But I had to operate in secrecy. If my father knew of your existence your life would be over. To this day he doesn't trust beorc to come inside our borders." He sighed. "I just want to return to that time of peace between our people. I thought you would share those sentiments."
"Oh," Soren laughed, a sharp barking sound that was more angry than amused. "I do. Beorc and laguz living together in harmony. Wouldn't that be great?" His face turned cold. "But I am neither, don't you see that? Even in that society, I don't belong. So I hope you understand... if I just don't see how I can help you."
A long moment of silence fell between them. Eventually Kurthnaga just shook his head and walked across the circle back to the path. He looked over at Soren. "Please take some time to think about it. A week. That's all I ask. One week, and then we'll send you home and never bother you again."
"You want me to stay here for a week?"
"I assure you that you will be very well taken care of."
Soren frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't want to stay. He didn't want to think about it. But something in the prince's earnest expression wore away at his resolve. Greil always said you had to look out for your family; he said family was the most important thing anyone could have. For so long, Greil's Mercenaries was his only family - now, like it or not, he had a new relative to consider. He found himself unable to turn his back on that, as much as he would have liked to. "Fine," he said grudgingly. "One week. Then I go back before the whole camp falls apart."
Kurthnaga smiled gratefully. "Thank you."
"Well, you are my great-great-great-great-great... um... how many greats is it?"
The dragon prince laughed. "Too many. Please, just call me Kurthnaga." He turned to leave Soren alone, but was stopped by a call from the sage.
"Kurthnaga?"
He looked over his shoulder. "Yes?"
"What was her name? Your sister."
He smiled. "Nala."
"Nala?"
"Yes. There are portraits of her in the villa, if you'd like to see them."
Soren paused. He looked to the side and brushed a piece of hair back out of his face. "I'm not ready right now," he admitted. "Maybe later."
"All right," the prince nodded, and high above them both a brightly colored bird sailed across the sun. "Maybe later."