Twisted Fortune - An Escaflowne Fanfiction
By Bonnejeanne and Nixers
Contact: bonnejeanne@yahoo.com and nixerchan@aol.com
Warnings: Spoilers,
Notes: Set a little over one year after Vision of Escaflowne's end.
Chapter Eight - A Strategic Return
Part 17
"Probably, but you were still delusional." Dilandau said after Van's breathing had evened and deepened. His own eyes closed in faith that his instincts would wake him the second a noise was out of place.
The noise came, an hour before dawn. Something indistinct, outside the shelter. After a moment it came again and his mind supplied the identification. The sound of a boot against the hard ground, perhaps six yards away.
Slowly and quietly, Dilandau got his feet under him, sliding his sword free without the telltale hiss of the metal against leather. In a crouch facing the flap of the door he glanced towards Van's bedroll past the long since dead fire of the previous night.
The curled up bundle never moved, only the thatch of wild dark hair visible.
With a mental hiss of disappointment, he counted Van out of the encounter coming. Carefully, he crept over to the wall adjacent to the flap, sword at ready.
The sounds never came any closer. After a period of silence, the one, soft scrape came again, from the same position outside.
The captain frowned, his patience low for these types of games. With a snarl, he cut the flap, his sword slicing through the dry hides with ease, unwilling to give whoever it was a critical moment of vulnerability through blindness.
Stepping out, garnet eyes instantly sought the direction of the noise, sweeping the terrain as he did for possible opponents with lighter footfalls.
He saw a single figure, gold-furred, waiting patiently.
With one last cursory search of the dimly lightening sky and the darkened landscape, he stepped towards the figure sheathing his sword as he approached.
Bowing slightly, Jajuka waited for the young man to come close enough for them to talk in low voices.
"My regrets that if took me so long to find you, Captain," he said softly.
Dilandau nodded, holding more surprise than anger. He hadn't expected anyone to catch up to them so quickly much less Jajuka with the guymelefs compromised. "How did you get here?" he asked in place of a reprimand.
"I don't think you've seen them, Captain, it's a new device, a half-sized melef scout. It carries a stealth manteaux but little armor or weaponry," the beastman explained.
"Reconnisance only," Dilandau agreed, it was not something he would favor but interesting to know, the technology had been developed in his absence. "No tracking on it?" he asked, raising a single eyebrow.
"Disabled," Jajuka answered. "I would not risk leading them to you. But... I've been trying to guess your destination and I admit, I've failed."
"So have I," Dilandau said with a touch of a scowl. "South at first, now back to the capitol. I have a job to finish and he," Dilandau indicated the shelter with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Wants to get a message back to Fanelia."
Jajuka tilted his head slightly. "Captain... I have a message for you from the general."
A look of curiosity brightened red eyes, even as Dilandau straightened a bit out of habitual training. He motioned for Jajuka to proceed.
"There have been inquiries made about the Fanelian king," Jajuka explained. "Adelphos desires to avoid an incident that will bring occupation forces or closer scrutiny. He's offered you an amnesty if you bring the young man back safely. The sorcerers are... disappointed but the point has been made with them not to interfere."
Dilandau grinned. "Convenient, if hollow. But, the only way to find out what else the man wants..." he said, laughing quietly to himself. Things were too easy, too perfect looking. In his experience, things were never as they seemed, usually much worse. "Unless you happen to know?" he asked.
The beastman shook his head. "He has something in mind, something he's guarded very closely, even from, in fact I would say especially from the sorcerers. The urgency seems to be eating at him." Jajuka shrugged slightly. "Some of the rumors paint the general as mad, but he's still the only one who seems able to hold things together at this time."
Intrigued by the implications he heard in the beastman's melodic voice, he shook his head. "Madness, in their view, is just not being able to predict what he's going to do. The sorcerers seem to enjoy their twisted politics more than their toys," he muttered with distaste. "I assume the General would be so generous as to provide transportation in an instant, but I doubt a message would make it over the mountains..."
Jajuka tilted his head. "I know that the General wants to speak with the Fanelian king, before sending him home. Captain... something ties you to this man..." It wasn't quite a question or a statement and Dilandau could easily ignore it if he saw fit.
Frustration and a touch of plea mixed in his voice. "You seem certain of that."
Jajuka shook his head. "Far from it Captain. Just wondering. I'm simply here to be of service to you."
The stiffness returned to the young man at the polite evasion. "I'll rendezvous with you again in an hour. Inform those who are interested that we will accept their ... hospitality," he said the last with a smirk. He was assuming that Jajuka, always seemingly so better prepared, had a means of communication, if not arrangements already made in the cases of several scenarios.
Jajuka nodded smartly. "Yes, Captain. An hour then, and where?"
Dilandau scanned the surroundings, now illuminated by the peeking of the sun over the horizon. He pointed to a small windshaped rock formation about a quarter of a mile to the northeast. It would serve well enough for a landmark. "Also, we require some minor medical supplies, bandage wraps and anticeptic," he said, almost as an afterthought.
The beastman nodded again. "Everything will be ready for you, Captain," he said, and saluted.
Dilandau returned the salute and turned his back, walking towards the opening in the shelter.
The beastman turned and blended into the landscape with uncanny skill and was soon lost to view.
He pushed through the opening that he himself had made, and walked back to the bedrolls, before nudging the one holding Van. "You have half an hour," he said curtly, loud enough to rouse the boy if he wasn't awake yet by some miracle.
There was a soft sound of protest, slightly muffled. Slowly Van lifted his head. His eyes were more than half lidded and his cheeks were flushed. Tendrils of dark hair were plastered to his forehead and neck.
Alarmed, Dilandau looked over the young king. His hand twitched to check the other's temperature, but his mind reminded him that it was a useless gesture with his gloves on. "How do you feel?" he asked.
Pushing himself up blindly, Van mumbled something in answer that didn't quite make it to coherency. He felt as if he were wrapped in a thick, hot blanket that seemed to rob him of strength. He focused on the thought that he could not allow himself to falter in front of the albino and forced his legs under him, swaying slightly.
Dilandau caught the boy's chin and tilted his head up so that their gazes met. He cursed slightly at the unfocused look he saw there, more that it seemed that his efforts last night were either wasted or came too late, most likely the latter, considering Van's strange behavior from the first.
Van moved unsteadily away from the grip on his chin, reaching a little wildly for the tunic hanging on the pommel of his sword. He knocked it off and gripped the sword hilt instead, thinking vaguely that he didn't want to put on the stiff tunic anyway.
Van's action caused Dilandau to take a step back himself, his own sword was loosed, held steadily but low, ready to slip into a defensive or offensive footing as he needed. "As much fun as this would be," Dilandau said, a hint of a giggle in his voice. "We have somewhere to be in an hour."
Van's eyes slid towards Dilandau, still clouded, as his lips curved to match the tone of voice. His wrist circled, almost negligently, but while his feet were unsteady, the movement of the blade was surprisingly clean. "Have we?" he answered vaguely, stepping uncertainly off the bedroll to firmer ground.
"A strict appointment," Dilandau said. He settled firmly into a defensive stance as muscles reacted and put him on his toes and raised his own sword. "Adelphos has offered an invitation north." Garnet eyes narrowed as his own expression slowly matched Van's. A voice reminded him that they didn't have the time, but he was losing interest in listening to that.
Little of what Dilandau said penetrated Van's hearing. He watched the tip of his blade and stepped a little to the side, still swaying. "You... chased me... and chased me... until I forgot what it was like not to have you there..." he murmured abstractly. His sword tip moved, not in any kind of clear attack, but bouncing against the other boy's raised blade almost playfully, with a ringing sound.
Dilandau tilted his head, the last of his reservation knocked aside by the sound of the sword meeting. Almost casually, as if more reflex than a serious test, he brought his sword around again, a slash to the chest he knew would be blocked. "Of course. You are my dragon," he said, purring the declaration. "There's no one else."
The words were almost soothing. Again, the sword moving more surely than the king's feet, the blow was parried, and followed with something frighteningly fast and unexpected from the feverish boy. The tip of his sword whispered through the air an inch from Dilandau's cheek, and the half-delighted expression on Van's face revealed that the inch was a deliberation, not an accident.
"Well, whatever the hell you are," the Fanelian purred back in a slightly lower register, "You're mine as well..."
A low hiss answered him, as half remembered pain of a throbbing behind that scar boiled up, a remembrance of some final separation from... something... "Then let's even the marking shall we?" Dilandau lunged forward, throwing himself completely into the fight. A foot lashed out to strike at Van's at the same time as the tip of his sword reached to draw blood.
Van watched the shiny metal come with no evidence of comprehension. His reflexes were more awake than he was, and his blade intercepted the other, knocking it up and away even as he went down on one knee from Dilandau's kick. Far, far away, something inside him began fighting to wake up. He regained his feet, but barely, parrying a series of following attacks as if surprised to see them.
Surprise at seeing the boy go down so easily at the most basic of attacks despite his easy recovery, cleared Dilandau's eyes slightly. The sense that something was off, that Van wasn't using everything, couldn't somehow... Dilandau stepped out of range, his sword still held up, but his breathing deep. It wasn't what he wanted. "You're ill," he said, brushing aside the blade that had followed his retreat with a negligent parry.
He ached to step back into the fray, and the conflict twisted his expressive face into clear frustration.
Those two words struck Van as funny, as well as somehow appropriate, and he started laughing. Dropping the Fanelian blade to the ground, he moved forward, grabbing at the tip of Dilandau's sword with fingers that would be sliced to the bone if they succeeded. "You want to fight! You always want to fight... then finish it! I'm tired..."
Dilandau growled, twitching his sword out of Van's reach. "You die... I die. I thought we established that," he smirked, sheathing his blade. "Not now, and never like this."
Van continued to move towards the other boy, his laughter turning into something else. He slid to his knees at Dilandau's feet, trying to remember what he was doing here. "As you wish," he whispered, vaguely.
Dilandau took a step backwards, for some reason, close to the same level of terror in him as when he'd seen Escaflowne bearing down on him, unholy and unstoppable. His foot fell awkwardly on a bedroll and he collapsed to a sitting position, not three feet away, his eyes wide. "Why?" he asked, unsteadily.
Van looked at the face suddenly back on a level with his own and tilted his head, watching Dilandau's lips move. "Why what?" he said, wiping his face absently.
"Why as I wish," he asked slowly, his voice uneven. "Why do you give a damn what I'd wish for?"
The words seemed to echo somewhere and Van, still vague and feverish, moved forward without thinking and pulled the other boy against him. "I don't know... I just do," he said, feeling an answer he couldn't quite reach just beyond the edges of the fog.
The boy against Van was trembling slightly. Gloved hands had found his bare arms and gripped them convulsively, but he made no move to push away. Dilandau was reeling with panic and a confusion of emotions he couldn't sort out much less begin to understand. He could feel the other boy's heat through his armor. Belatedly, he realized that the other must be burning with fever.
Each moment Dilandau stayed still, was a moment Van felt the body against his, and the sensation penetrated the heat, bypassed his confused mind, and moved into his soul with a sense of something answered and almost complete. Peace... that was it... there was a peace somewhere nearby, its memory was clear, though the details were escaping him. He closed his eyes in relief, soaking in the physical sensations with a certain knowledge they'd soon be taken away.
Dilandau broke away, his eyes unfocusing slightly as a sense of reluctance race through him powerfully, before disappearing in a flash of pain and nausea. His mind sharpened suddenly. "Have to go," he mumbled, "We have to meet Jajuka."
Van's arms fell, but he clung to the feeling so close, accepting the near-incomprehensible words. Once again he began fighting to crawl to his feet, obediently, snagging the tunic but absently leaving the sword where it had fallen. He swayed towards the tent opening, brushing his hair absently out of his face, feeling almost cheerful.
With a glance towards the swaying boy, Dilandau scooped up the blade from where it was discarded, and put it carefully into his own belt, securing it haphazardly. With no hesitation, he stepped up to Van's side and wrapped an arm around the slightly shorter boy, steadying him in a strange parody of their earlier escape. He steered the feverish king out of the shelter, wearily thankful that he hadn't chosen anything incredibly far.
The contact strengthened Van and he moved, carrying his weight. Peering ahead, he muttered, "Where?"
"There," Dilandau said, pointing with his free hand towards the northeast. In the shadow of a rock spire, no guymelef waited but something like a large wagon with no obvious hitch or even animal to draw it forward.
It looked like a decent walk to Van, in his clouded state. Logic twisted and tangled in and out of the fever and he dropped the tunic from one trailing hand. Settling his arm more firmly around Dilandau's waist, he grimaced, as half-expected pain moved through his body. There was a sound of air moving and a bush of something soft and a sudden sweep of shadow as the white wings came out of his back. Before the other boy could react, they beat hard, and the two were lifted, rising with some labor.
Dilandau froze as his feet left the ground and the arms around his waste took the breath from him. As they gained height and he lost his shock, his hands gripped those keeping him safely aloft, fearing movement or struggle would have him dropped. Somehow he knew that the fevered Draconian wouldn't drop him, but that didn't chase away the fear of unfortunate and painful accidents.
It only took a few beats of the powerful wings to bring them to the rock formation and they descended, Van's arms loosening as the ground took their weight. The effort was too much for him and he slid down to his knees, as the wings seemed to vanish the same way they appeared, leaving a few white feathers floating to the ground.
Dilandau got to his feet and moved over to Van, conscious of the shocked eyes of the soldiers behind them. Carefully, he pulled Van to his feet, wrapping an arm around Van and shifting the boy's weight against him. He glowered at the soldiers, pretending flight was an every day occurrence. "Well?" he snapped at them.
Throwing each other looks from terrified to awestruck, the soldiers made efforts to resume some kind of normal operation, opening the vehicle and showing the Captain where he and his companion could enter and rest. One of the soldiers moved forward with a box of medical supplies as the others arranged themselves into an escort, and one prepared to drive the vehicle.
Sparing that soldier a glance as he took the medical kit, Dilandau arranged Van carefully, mindful of the other's back, and frowning at the swelling discoloration revealed there now that the crusted blood had broken in the impromptu flight. As the machine rumbled to life, he opened the box, going through the contents.
Gloved fingers picked through the compartments, finally plucking out a small bottle of ointment and a thick roll of white gauze. Dilandau ignored the quiet presence of the other guards, who despite their best efforts to remain professional speared both boys looks of apprehension or nervousness, whether from rumor or borne of the earlier spectacle. It was unclear and of no concern to Dilandau. As long as they followed orders.
"We aren't going directly to the General, are we," Dilandau asked, without a trace of a questioning in the tone.
The ranking officer answered quickly. "No sir. Jajuka arranged for you to stop at a house in the city first. Though the General is anxious to meet with you, he understands that the... the king will need some attention first."
Dilandau nodded slightly, turning back to his task, fingers fumbling a moment before opening the small jar. "It's going to sting," he said to Van in a low voice, hoping that the exhausted boy had heard enough to forestall his reflexes.
Van blinked and lifted his head. "I'm not a child, Balgas," he murmured a little out of focus.
"Of course," he said, voice low in an attempt to be soothing. Red eyes dared any of the other men in the jolting vehicle to comment. Quick fingers dabbed into the jar and smeared a liberal portion of the cloudy stuff on the reopened wound, adding extra in those areas that had already swollen. He was no doctor, but had to tend to himself enough times in early training.
Van stiffened but didn't flinch. When it was done he sighed, and rested his face in his hands.
Quickly wrapping the area with a perfunctory air, Dilandau turned to the window to regard the changing surroundings, trying to ignore everything else around him in search of civilization on the horizon. As the bumpy terrain of the flatlands became the slightly smoother pathways of set roads, he relaxed in some minute way, feeling slightly more in his element.
The trip took some three or four hours, but once they reached smoother roadways they made fast time, for a ground transport. Van mostly appeared to doze, curling into the seat like a much smaller child. He stirred once, asking for water, and one of the soldiers jumped to hand Dilandau a canteen.
At last, they were surrounded by the streets and buildings of what had but lately been the most advanced and powerful city on Gaea. The signs of change were subtle but there, expressed largely in the lack of traffic and energy. The city wasn't deserted but the inhabitants seemed less interested in what they were doing, where they were going. And there were far fewer of them.
The vehicle turned into the gate of a moderate sized residence, which might once have been an officer's off duty home. There were a pair of guards at the gate but no others inside that Dilandau could see. As the vehicle came to a stop near the front entrance, Jajuka opened the door and stepped out, leaving it wide.
The soldiers opened the vehicle and stepped out, waiting at attention for their charges to debark.
Dilandau waved out the escort before turning to Van, one hand on the shoulder, shaking the boy out of the light doze.
Van opened his eyes and looked around, uncurling and moving to his feet in a fashion. "Where..."
"Just follow. You can get a bath and a doctor," he said distinctly, then climbed out, but hovered near the door, trying to affect an air of indifference.
Van's mind must have played a little substitution with him, for the word 'doctor' caused him to flinch. But he set his teeth and climbed out, looking around. His hand fell to his waist and he stopped, feeling an empty sheathe at his side, and backed up a step, with a look like an apprehensive child.
After a moment of deliberation, Dilandau took the Fanelian sword from his belt and offered it hilt first to Van. He looked towards the highest ranking soldier in the escort. "Don't take it from him if you value your life." He smirked, knowing than Van would likely be more of a threat in that scenario before Dilandau could think to draw his own blade to enforce the orders.
Van's hand closed over the hilt with undisguised relief and he slid it slowly back into the sheath.
The soldier sergeant blinked and gave his head a slight, negative shake. Saluting to Dilandau, the squad returned the vehicle. Their assignment had been to deliver the two to this location and they were sticking to the letter of the assignment for now.
Dilandau turned, a slight smile in acknowledgment of the beastman waiting with silent patience. It disappeared in an instant. "The rooms first. The doctor can be sent in."
Jajuka bowed and led the way inside the building. It was well furnished and had probably been some officer's pride. Only a few places were bare, where objects had been removed, probably to be sold. Jajuka led Dilandau to a large suite, with other rooms opening off of it, including a well-appointed bathing area. A chest stood in the room with articles in it - towels, clothing, combs and other items.
"Do you need me to assist...?" Jajuka said in a low voice, inclining his head towards the king. Van had followed Dilandau, looking at his surroundings with comprehension but some confusion.
Dilandau shook his head, a touch troubled from their escorted tour. It was nearly yesterday for him that Zaibach was buying riches and finery instead of pawning them. If the rich were hitting hard times. "No, it should be fine," the phrasing inviting the beastman to remain nearby.
Jajuka nodded and left the room, but left the door slightly ajar.
"Is this your house?" Van asked, a little vaguely.
"No, I have no home. Not like this." Dilandau said. He walked past the dark haired man, heading to prepare the bathroom, remembering Van's fumbling earlier.
Some of what was going on around him was getting through, if translated in a somewhat cloudy way. He pulled off his swordbelt, placing the weapon carefully on a dresser in easy reach. Then he pulled off his boots and pants, all that remained of his borrowed uniform. He plucked at the gauze wrapped around his chest as if trying to remember why it was there.
A hiss and gurgle of water came from the room adjacent, and Dilandau returned a moment later, shedding his armored petticoat as he went. Irritably, he drew close enough and snatched Van's hand away from the wrappings. He frowned, then realized they'd need to come off anyway, and likely be changed anyway. Still, he noted with a sense of apprehension, the boy was probably unfit to be left alone in the bathroom.
"Lift your arms slightly," he said, enforcing his words as he removed the bandage, not really waiting for the others consent.
Van watched the process curiously. Then once he was free of the gauze, his hand closed over his sword sheath and he wandered, naked, in the direction of the water sound.
Dilandau snorted, a small laugh escaping at the rather ridiculous picture the other boy made. Not particularly interested in arguing over sheathed weapon, Dilandau pulled a chair out to just outside the door, his arms folding across his chest, to make sure the other didn't kill himself by accident. /That's my job,/ he thought, with a smirk.
Van discovered the overly large bathing pool, filled with water. He placed the sword in reach and stepped in, balancing with the careful attention of a drunk. The water was cool and he quickly sat in it, the basin deep enough to cover him to the shoulders in that position. Closing his eyes, he sat in the water for a while, then ducked his head under, reaching up to run his hands through matted and tangled locks of hair. It took a bit of doing but in a while, he was reasonably clean and the water was not.
Outside, Dilandau had taken to pacing, his ears still tuned to any silences that stretched a bit too long, occasionally taking covert glances to reinforce that. Having nothing to do had progressed from fidgeting, to a few practice sweeps of his sword, then finally to the tense motion now. He sighed. "I'm bored," he said, his voice rising. "Are you anywhere near done?"
He was answered by Van's figure, standing in the doorway, his weight poised on one foot, and the sword held loosely at his side. He was dripping a little, his dark hair plastered around his face and neck.
He looked the dripping boy, warily glancing at the sword. "There's towels there," he said vaguely waving in the direction of the trunk. He leaned back against the wall, not making any motion towards the boy. A repeat of their earlier sparring was an idea that had appeal, but with Jajuka so near...
Van managed to follow the gesture and found the open trunk. He pulled a towel from it and began blotting the moisture off his skin and rubbing it over his hair. He had to put the sword down and simply kept it close. Then he began poking in the chest, finding a pair of pants that would probably fit, and pulled them on.
Remembering the flinch earlier, Dilandau glanced over Van. "The doctor will be hear soon. You aren't going to give him trouble?"
The word again seemed to draw a reaction from the young king. His face went from apprehension to a scowl. He picked up the sword and looked around, finding a nice strategic corner he could back into.
Not understanding the source, Dilandau tried reasoning briefly. "I can't do anything for you. You won't make it back to Fanelia in this state," he added.
"I will," Van contradicted briefly, settling into his corner. He unsheathed his sword and laid it across his knees.
"And I'd bed a sorceress first," came the sarcastic retort. He sighed. "Will you stay here at least? If you are so set against it, I'll find out what they need."
"I'll stay," Van answered. "You should bathe... you don't look like yourself..."
Dilandau raised an eyebrow, his vanity rising defensively. "And how should I look?" he asked flatly.
Van closed his eyes, pulling up a memory picture and the impression that had come with its first viewing. "Like a princeling who has nothing better to do than preen," he quoted from the memory of his own thoughts.
The Captain's eyes narrowed, the earlier charitability disappearing. "What in Fate's name possessed me to complain about your silence?" he growled. His eyes raked over the king. "Though I'd imagine your country could benefit from the introduction of a comb."
Van looked back, the change in mood not affecting him in the least. He had a possibly temporary sense of well being from the bath. "Not Fanelia," he said. "Just me." Then he smiled.
Dilandau blinked, set off guard slightly, not expecting the touch of humor from Van. "Fine," he said, with a touch of a smile replacing the irritation. He ran his fingers through his hair, and walked towards the adjoining room. "But try not to maim the doctor too much while I'm gone. It becomes difficult to be treated again."
Van glanced at the other boy, not making any promises.
"Beautiful," he said suddenly.
"What?" Dilandau asked pausing in the doorframe, looking at the boy curiously.
"How you should look... I think you even said so yourself, though I'm not sure I remember..."
His hand reached up to cover his right cheek, even as the other curled into a fist. "*Should* look. You're right on that at least."
"That doesn't change anything," Van said, glancing at the covered cheek. Then he dropped his eyes and looked away.
He glared, unconvinced. "It changed everything." He said curtly, the door slamming closed behind him.
Van looked at the door, tilting his head. He smiled slightly.
On the other side the door, Dilandau let the chill water of the bath drain away, then refill with warmer liquid. Unlacing his light violet undershirt, he leaned forward, meeting eyes with those in the mirror. There were hints there, half remembered... before, he could pretend there was something there, hidden in his memory, his reflection.
It was intangible proof that he wasn't just a creation as was claimed, just a vague feeling. The pale scar, striking to his eyes against colorless skin, was that separation. There was no trace of that sensation of familiarity anymore.
It had changed everything. It was to him, the mark of everything going so wrong and so right at the same time. The reality he'd known, become comfortable and self assured in had disappeared then. It was ironic that he found the basis of his next and most enduring reality in the man who'd made the mark.
Was that why there was this... connection? Why his rage for the boy now came and went, instead of that ever-present malignancy driving him on recklessly? First his face, then the world, now he was finding himself inexplicably changed in the aftermath of his long sleep.
Giving his reflection a snarl, he carefully removed his circlet, placing it on the counter below the mirror, now steaming with the warmer air coming from the deepest basin. He traded it for a heavy-backed silver hairbrush.
Stepping back, his eyes lit up as he threw the brush hard into the fragile glass covering the metal backed mirror. The shattering held a satisfying musical sound as glittering shards fell and bounced around his feet. Vague memories surfaced of doing the same to every mirror on the Vione.
Feeling gratified and calmer, he shucked off the rest of his clothes, his feet nimbly sidestepping the glass on his way towards the bath.
The sound of glass breaking in the next room pulled Van to his feet and the door opened seconds later.
Half stepping into the bath when the door had opened, he regarded the intruder with lidded dispassion. "If you slice your feet, I'm *not* pulling the glass."
Van looked from Dilandau to the mirror and back, frowning. He took a rather overly long moment to look the other boy over to make sure there were no injuries. With an unreadable expression, he disappeared, closing the door behind him.
It was the same sound that had distracted Van from another man's entrance. Dressed in whites, a short, balding human stood in the doorway. He cleared his throat politely.
The sword was out in and instant as Van backed towards the nearest vertical wall.
The man held up his hands, eyes widening slightly at the bared steel. "I... I was told that you needed medical attention... feverpossibleinfectionmulitplelacerations," the man rambled quickly, his tone indicating less professionalism in his panic.
"Leave your potions and go," Van said curtly.
"Potion?" The man looked confused a moment. "Oh, no we aren't so uncivilized... I could give you some medication, but we'll need to go over the dosages."
"If you are so civilized then write them down and leave them," Van growled.
"Please if you'll just allow me," he wheedled, taking a step towards Van hesitantly.
The sword tip moved up warningly.
The doctor glanced out the doorway he'd entered, a nervous entreaty in his gaze. The answer he received had to have been affirmative since he backed off instantly. His hands fumbled as he set down the medical kit that he had held and pulled a small sheaf of papers from the pocket in his jacket.
He quickly fished a wrapped charcoal stick from another and scribbled quickly on the topmost layer. The medic dropped the paper to the top of the kit, relinquishing it to the rather feral looking boy on the far side of the room. His stride, as he was leaving, was the restrained half-walk of someone trying their best not to run.
Van waited until he was certain the man was gone before returning to his corner and dropping onto the floor. His energy was coming and going in waves. He placed the sword across his knees again and leaned his head back against the walls, closing his eyes.
THE END OF PART 17!