14-Jan-2002
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 Ten - Mission (cont)
Part 22
At the nod, Dilandau snapped the scope into place, noting with satisfaction that the bay doors had been opened already in preparation. A hiss of the mechanics, still a little slow in their responses from the machine's dormancy, and the "cape" of the guymelef swung around the machine, enfolding it as much as possible with the irregularities now against the chestplate.
Unsatisfied, but content with the results, he moved the machine out, taking a quick route into the plains outside. Jajuka had had the foresight to pick a bay at the outskirts of the city, so even with the moderately effective cloaking, the chances that they had been spotted by those nations too interested in the workings of the country or by those enemies within was unlikely.
Long strides took the distance quickly, his viewer showing the city walls receding. Operating the simple functions of travel on automatic, he turned his attention to watch the southern horizon for a white form far too familiar to the Captain.
When the highest resolution of his viewer couldn't spot traces of the city to the west of them, Dilandau finally retracted the manteaux, with almost a careless gesture, the crimina metal released the cargo, letting it fall a few feet to the ground. Seeing no way of setting the king down easily, he set the machine to a kneeling position.
Van took the cue and jumped down, rolling to his feet. Without a backward look, he moved away from the red giant, out into the flat open space beyond. His head was tilted as if scanning the sky but there was no searching, just an unerring tilt to the south.
After only a few more minutes, something tiny and sparkling like ice on a distant mountain could be seen in the sky, rapidly approaching.
As a reflex, Dilandau had focused on the distant figure in the sky. He pushed the Alseides upright again, naturally pulling the protective cover of the stealth cloak around it, watching the dragon's approach with narrowed eyes. The displays of earlier that day had done nothing to soothe his nerves, and he was taking no chances. Just as reflexively, the crimina metal of the right hand was being warmed again, ready to become a weapon or fire if need be.
Van stood, shading his eyes with his hand. As the white metal dragon approached, he turned once, his eyes moving across the landscape and then somehow finding the cloaked guymelef.
"I have a request," he said, his voice not loud, but distinct enough carry.
A switch was pushed, allowing the other boy to be heard outside the cockpit. "That is?"
"If something happens to me. If I die," Van said, making certain there was no ambiguity. "Kill it."
Red eyes focused again on the viewer. He shuddered again, despite the heat of the interior of the Alseides. He had little trouble believing that the dragon was alive enough to be killed, though it sent chills through him. With a quirk of the corner of his lips, he used Van's own phrasing to accept. "As you wish," was all that came out, before the crackle of the communication shutting down punctuated it.
It might have been the perspective but Van seemed to flinch slightly, hearing the phrase. He turned away, waiting for the white dragon.
Escaflowne wheeled, circling. The mecha almost seemed to sense the presence of the other machine below. Van fixed his gaze, willing it down.
"We have something to do," he said aloud, his voice low and soothing. "Fanelia is in danger. Enemies are looking at her. We must do better this time."
There was no way to tell if the guymelef 'heard' him, but the white dragon dipped, folding her wings, and landed on the plain.
Shoving thoughts of anything but what had to be done far down into a secret place, Van jumped to the back of the metal dragon and gathered the controls in his hands. They felt comfortable. He'd an impression of comfort, welcoming. And a distant, but present, eagerness for battle.
Pulling back sharply on the guidelines, Van maneuvered the metal dragon into a leap to the sky. Wide silver wings beat, as the beautiful war machine rose. Turning once to look over his shoulder, towards the watching Alseides and its pilot, he called out, "Catch me, then!" and the flying dragon took off for the distant hills.
The boy only spared the supplies one glance before they were out of his mind, and his focus, a familiar phantom from the past. Tilting his head slightly downwards, his eyes lit up at the challenge. The red guymelef lost its shielding invisibility and transformed, gaining height, then speed, unwilling to give the other the advantage of distance.
Pushing the energy of the machine to flight functions, he followed the other's trail a moment before ducking and veering the machine off sharply, intent on using the high winds of the northern formations if not to cut the dragon off, then to gain a good deal on it.
Van knew where he was going. He'd been taught the geography of Gaea, and he'd looked at the maps in the packet provided by Adelphos. He also knew too straight a trajectory was undesirable. Dissembling wasn't something Van cared for, and he found himself avoiding the conflict by thinking of it in terms of wondering how Folken would solve the problem. How to make an enemy believe he has being chased, so as to have an advantage. He could almost hear his brother's calm, deep voice in his ear, suggesting what direction to take, how to lose himself in the mountains, admonishing not to under estimate the enemy, or his ally...
The red guymelef had found the target it was looking for, a narrow but deep ravine, which had in the past been useful in exercises, Now he used the crosswinds hurtling through the jutting passage to give the extra speed he needed. Unable to see Escaflowne from his vantage, he kept deep within, knowing the dragon's wings would hamper it on that route paralleling the hillside.
Following some internal instinct, he choose a curve in the ravine, obscured by the hills itself, to surface quickly scanning the sky for the distinct shape of Escaflowne.
The white metal dragon was wheeling, circling the sky as if seeking its pursuer, or perhaps as if seeking whether there was a clear route to return, a passage home.
Locking on the sight above, Dilandau's hand twitched over the controls, considering. The crimina claws couldn't be engaged in flight mode, and with fire, he'd risk damaging the rider. He frowned a moment before, taking from his covered, engaging the dragon from behind as it turned its circuit. He'd just have to get closer.
The dragon reared in the air, as the red guymelef appeared in its path. The reaction was just as startled and desperate as if the game were being played for real. Wings beating, the guymelef's massive sword appeared, held in one clawed forelimb. It wasn't the best situation for a fight, and the best the quarry could do was fend and threaten, but it would be sheer luck to do any real damage this way. It was clear the dragon's pilot was simply trying to get space for another dash.
The Alseides bobbed easily, its maneuverability in the air making up for its lack of viable weapons as it evaded the wild slashes of the massive sword. Suddenly, the other machine dropped, the black mantle fluttering as it fell quickly to the ground, kneeling with one arm raised. A blade of metal speared up and through the air from the machine below.
The dragon wheeled, avoiding the sudden thrust, or mostly. A bare graze scored one back leg, but the avoidance cost the dragon some balance and it had to land or crash. It began transforming almost before it touched the earth and the tall white warrior again faced its crimson opponent, reenacting a memory from the Fate Wars.
The Alseides straightened, the metal retracting easily as it seemed to regard the white guymelef with eagerness. "Let's go Van!" came a voice, reflecting an eagerness bordering on passion. The Alseides formed a blade easily, not bothering with stealth. The other arm was poised, ready for an opening. Seemingly recklessly, the red machine attacked.
With no hint of hesitation, the white guymelef defended, and then attacked in turn, moving with the impossible, deadly grace that suggested something lighter, less armored, something alive... Inside the cockpit, sweat began running along Van's face, burning the blistered cheek. He could also feel another drip, running along his calf, a reasonably insignificant scratch but a reminder of the price of the game, and the need to be good, no better, to be the best, most skillful, to keep the white mecha from suffering significant damage.
Escaflowne engaged the red melef, metal on metal as the blades danced with each other, each one seeking and opening.
Dilandau giggled to himself, keeping the flash of panic that had appeared at first engagement down and repressed under the confidence he built up. He would not allow himself to choke this time. As the entire machine around him shuddered with the vibrations of the force of the two blades impacts, he glanced around; they were still a distance from where the real battle should play out.
Seeking an advantage, he let his blade get forced wide, then drew the other arm of the Alseides around, forming a second weapon, following through for the first.
The second blade was caught by Escaflowne's weapon in a sudden save, but the blades slid along each other without catching, and the tip of the Alseides' weapon scored briefly along the armored chest of the white melef. Van seemed to almost jump backwards, and stumble a step or two. The two steps became several more as the mecha seemed to panic. There was a screech as it began to transform into flight mode once more.
The Alseides had paused while Dilandau cursed and shut down the left arm. The score on the white melef had allowed the others blade to dig into the armor of the red melef's limb, forcing the other to take action or risk the flammable liquids within creating a far more severe emergency.
The curse became a growl as the couple seconds of time had allowed the other to get aloft. Even knowing it was a useless gesture, he sent a quick barrage of flame after the receding dragon, hissing as the lick of flames came a few feet short.
"Move fast," he drawled, knowing the other could hear. He transformed his mecha rising into the air to give chase.
The activity on the edges of Basram's border had not gone unnoticed. As the country that had literally turned on its allies first, the leader of Basram had a healthy sense of paranoia about possible incursions by neighbors. The borders were constantly watched. Word was passed through a communications system, less sophisticated that the one Zaibach employed, but which was still rather advanced in the overall level of Gaean technology. The wires with their code of clicks transmitted the message that two unknown guymelefs were engaging in flight and battle on the edge of Basram territory, and seemed likely to compromise the border at any moment.
The descriptions which followed on the heels of the first report were remarkable, and the ruler of that country immediately sent the reports to his chief advisor, demanding his evaluation and advice.
Panting, Van flew Escaflowne into the wind, knowing almost the moment that he crossed the border into the other land. Playing the dangerous game to the end, he sped for the heartland, but was only a few leagues into Basram when a volley of field artillery from a concealed placement struck the white dragon in the chest, knocking her from the sky.
Dilandau watched the dragon go down, disappearing with a crash into the decent tree cover that grew in the lee of the mountains. The red melef turned sharply in the air, its sights locked onto the general area of the artillery's origin. Without bothering to take the time to zoom in, the Alseides laid a layer of fire over the concealment. "It's MY fight," was shouted over the roar of the flames catching in the area, before the melef plummeted following the dragon's decent.
Landing with a crash that shook the trees a second time, he formed a blade from the still cooling arm, seeking out location of the quarry.
Escaflowne had made it back into armored mode, but was literally on one knee, in the act of rising. At the red giant's appearance, the white mecha reached back for its sword, even before rising. The artillery hadn't done more than scratch the armored chest of the guymelef, but there were numerous small dents from the impact with the ground. Nothing a good buffing and a few well placed hammer strokes couldn't mend probably...
Inside, Van shook his head sharply, sending perspiration flying off his face. Feeling a bit off balance, he blinked, seeing the Alseides approaching quickly.
Dilandau closed the space quickly, before drawing short. A quick movement sent a few of the surrounding trees to the ground, clearing a better shot. The miscalculation opened the battlefield to outside viewing as well as gave Van a few precious seconds while the other set back, gathering energy for another strike with a crimina claw.
The extra second got Escaflowne back on its feet. The trees cut off maneuvering room, so Van squared and waited for the red melef to strike, or come closer.
The strike came almost instantly after, the metal reaching low, as if to disable the mech or to distract the pilot. In its wake, the Alseides had formed three curved blades from the right arm, as if in a twisted caricature of a bird's talons, as it charged Escaflowne, to strike in the first attack's wake.
Pinned against the trees, Van parried in a series of lightning moves, having no other options. The speed and ferocity of the encounter seemed to make something click inside and he suddenly pressed forward, sword whirling with preternatural swiftness and accuracy.
The Alseides took one, then another, step backward as its pilot was suddenly put on the defensive. Making an incoherent sound, Dilandau instinctively pressed back in his harness, away from the guymelef, sweat forming across his brow as he fought to regain a semblance of an offensive attack in this sudden flurry.
Condensing the three blades into one, he struck the other's blade, full on and with as much power as the machine could muster, attempting to push Escaflowne back a few feet. Pressed, he initiated the transformation, to flight mode, trying to give distance through speed.
As if reading his mind, the white mecha's blade slashed out, cutting a gouge in the left leg of the Alseides, not enough to cripple the mecha on the ground, but enough to limit its ability to transform to flight mode.
/Don't leave me,/ Van thought, trying to keep his mind clear. He could sense the approach of others, and knew he could not make this play last another act.
The Alseides reverted and fell back to the ground on its feet, with a whine and shriek of abused metal, as if protesting giving up that advantage. "Back OFF!" Dilandau shouted. The red guymelef shot fire to the ground between them, creating a barrier of flames. The winds in the area quickly catching the fire and pushing it back in Van's direction.
Instead of falling back, Escaflowne pushed forward, literally walking through the flames.
/I need you,/ Van thought, a little fuzzily. He wanted to keep the red melef in sight, it was important. "They're coming!" he cried, his voice harsh with the effort to be heard over the flames and the movement of the two machines.
The Alseides seemed to pause, blade half formed as in a parody of human gesture, turned to spot the newcomers. The words broke through the passion he'd built to during the game, as quickly as Folken's calm orders for retreat. "Che' so they are," he said, eyes lidded. Raising the volume, his voice verged on a scream, "Then we finish this now!"
With that the entire machine lunged forward, blade extended, the other arm following, executing a crude punch to the chest of the other melef, knowing that at least the blade would be parried.
As if he could read the other's mind, Van obediently deflected the blade from the metal skin of Escaflowne with his sword, but the punch hit full on and the guymelef stumbled. Sword and arm dropping, the guymelef's other arm raised abortively in a gesture that could only be interpreted as surrender.
Either ignoring the sign, or uncaring, the red guymelef collided with Escaflowne, sending it to the forest floor again. The red melef, recovering quickly from the expected impact, drew up on one knee. Crimina metal shot out and converged, condensing into a pincher around the other machine and pinning it down. "Not risking this on gestures," Dilandau said, his voice pitched as if admonishing a child. "Leave the guymelef now."
The gears moved, protesting, and the cockpit opened. Hair dripping in soaked strings, Van climbed out, moving a bit oddly. He dropped to the ground beside Escaflowne, stumbling slightly before standing up fully.
The white shirt was stained with pink across the chest, as if from underneath.
From within the Alseides, Dilandau watched the other as the cockpit drained, the suit settling with a hiss. The albino had the hatch open and was leaping down the short distance to the ground the instant the all was in order. He drew his sword as he approached, pretending not to notice as the country's guymelefs approached the site, lumbering beasts in comparison to the grace of the interlocked mecha beside them.
Red eye flickered from the state of his 'captive' to the machine, a scowl threatening. Until finally, he noticed the melted part, scarring the faceplate of the warrior dragon, too similar to be a coincidence.
The giant machines pushing through the trees around them prevented any comment, but the anger was sharpening garnet eyes. "Drop your sword. Then put your hands forward and together," he ordered, fixing a smug smirk on his face.
Van met the garnet eyes, seeing the emotion there. It went against everything in him to surrender. There were things he feared, and finding himself in the hands of another sorcerer was one of them. Pulling his sword out carefully, his hand gripped the pommel tightly. With a near-physical effort, he forced his fingers to open. Keeping his eyes locked to the other boy's, in a voice too low to be overheard, he breathed, "Get me out of this whole or not at all."
A nod from the other boy was covered by the act of him looking down a moment, to untie the sash at his waist and sheath his own weapon quickly. He quickly knotted the sash into a passable restraint. The guymelef in the lead, wearing Basram's crest, knelt and settled, the cockpit opening. Another man, wearing a military uniform dropped from the protective armor and approached the two.
Dilandau straightened, glaring at the other man with a natural arrogance. As the man reached easy distance, the Captain raised his voice. "I, Dilandau Albatou, wish to be granted temporary immunity and safe passage. My quarrel is not with your country, but an old," he widened his smirk, giving the sash binding Van a good yank, "Rivalry. As a matter of honor, it is my right."
Before the Basram officer could answer, Van tossed his head and growled, "As sovereign of Fanelia, I demand that you take this criminal into custody and free me, and my guymelef, instantly."
The officer glanced from one of the boys to the other. The dry look on his face betrayed no surprise at the hostility that seemed to be apparent. He cleared his throat. "I am under no authority to do either. My orders are to bring both pilots who have invaded our borders before the throne immediately. You will appear before the king and he will hear out your grievances," he said.
"This is not of Basram's concern," Dilandau growled. Two of the guymelefs surrounding the pair shifted, focused now on the Captain and the Fanelian King.
"What happens within this country is naturally our concern," the officer replied. The man drew his sword, though ornamental, it rested easily in his palm. "The king's orders are strict."
Van lifted his head and then held his bound hands up. "I'll go before your king. Must I go like this?"
Dilandau glared at Van for a moment before smirking. "A good point, a more secure bonds would be useful," he said, a giggle making his voice sound morbidly playful. "However, since the king has afforded his invitation, I will escort my *prisoner* to his audience." The Captain said, brushing back one of his bangs.
The officer again looked from both men. "As you are," was all he would say, in a tone that clearly stated that he wouldn't let the consequences of stepping in the middle of the dispute be on his head. He sheathed his sword, and nodded once briefly at the guymelefs half obscured by the trees. "This way." The officer turned, walking into the trees, motioning the others to follow.
Dilandau yanked on the end of the sash with perhaps a little more force than was necessary. As they walked, presumably towards the road, both men could make out several shadowing soldiers in the trees, obviously to assure their compliance. The albino smirked once, enjoying the gesture of wary respect.
Van settled in to a silent glower, finding it all to easy to 'pretend' in this situation. There was very little pretense about it. He'd been in similar situations, not once but a number of times. Each time he'd had no real idea or hope of how to get out of it. This time he had - possibly - an ally but even that had an element of uncertainty to it; he had no illusions about that. And the potential evil of the hands they were both in had been demonstrated on the Fortune Plains.
The distance to the roadway was made in silence, though the reasons behind each of the travelers' was as different as possible. The footfalls over leaves and twigs made the only noise in the absence of the wildlife that had scattered in the face of the battle, and the distant communications of the guymelef pilots they had left behind, trying to put out the fire that had started, before it spread to drier woodlands.
Even at the cleared road, little more than an expanded trail, it was another wait until a carriage drawn by two equines finally pulled to a stop in front of them. Dilandau had glanced over his shoulder more than once, not liking the idea of abandoning his newly recovered Alseides, but the conversation earlier with the officer had made it clear that he was not the one to make demands of, and further ones had been summarily ignored.
The carriage, when it had pulled up, was a simple one, well furnished, but the locks on the doors, set from the outside, left little illusions of the invitation extended.
Van seemed to bridle a little, pulling back, clearly reluctant to be put in the confinement of the carriage with his 'captor.'
The officer, behind Van, drew his sword from his sheath, only a few inches, so that the pommel of it could be felt against Van's back. "You will be escorted," he added.
The king threw a look from under dark bangs that clearly indicated his lack of confidence in the restraining capabilities of the escort. He gave in, but with signs of increasing agitation. His eyes tracked all the guards and Dilandau, marking weapons and positions.
Dilandau sat across from Van in the carriage, having relinquished the bonds with an air of ill concealed arrogance, and watched the other, seeming to enjoy the discomfort displayed.
The officer paused, as another man in uniform ran to catch their attention. "Captain Grahn?" the boy called, snapping to attention. He lifted Van's sword, offering it to the higher ranking officer. "We recovered this at the scene."
The Basram Captain glanced at the two he was escorting, eyes falling on Van's empty scabbard. "Yours?"
Van's chin came up. "Mine," he asserted with a growl. He twisted his hands in the confinement of the sash, working it loose.
Dilandau glowered, watching the Captain move forward with narrow red eyes. "Do not underestimate this one," he hissed, reaching forward to tighten the bonds. An overly sharp tug on the fabric ripped the cloth of the sash around Van's wrists.
The Basram Captain drew up, obviously not trusting either men. The opinion of the man was that he'd rather have both restrained. "I'll keep this safe for you," he gruffly promised the Fanelian, "In the happenstance that the king sees fit to return it." The last was said with doubt. The man's eyes had lingered a bit to long on the Fanelian crest as he sat in the box, the sword across his knees.
The only answer Van allowed was another low growl. He threw another glare at the albino for good measure, having jerked his hands away from the other. He noted the torn fabric. And he continued to survey the inside of the carriage, the escort and everything around him as if simply waiting for the right detail to slip into place.
The border patrol had picked them up some distance from civilization. Though the equine's long gait made good speed, if a jarring ride, the sun had worked its way far across the sky before they saw anything other than the gray-barked trees of the Basram forests. The sole village they passed gave way quickly into a white stone wall, almost blinding in contrast to the bright greens and dark hues that made up the rest of the surroundings.
Through the carriage's window could be made out the faint, distant tang of sea air, and the streets as they passed were cluttered with people. Loud calls and conversation floated to the ears within, indistinguishable as more than words. The people of the city seemed animated, if they passed a few sidelong and consternated glances at the coach. Wearing loose clothes, cut in an easy style and matching in hue the white stone that seemed a popular building material, the freedom it seemed to be fashioned after didn't reflect in the hard lines and wary glances of those in the open roadways.
The cluttered roads of what seemed to be an open market of some fashion, gave way to more private avenues, as dirt roads became more expensive cobbles. The small, stone buildings gave way to an inner wall, heavily guarded.
The check at the heavy portcullis went quickly. Beyond was what seemed a combination of a fortress and a palace. Made of heavy white stone, the architecture was smooth and seamless, but defensible in an extreme. Guard stations in the courtyard were the only decorations of the empty land.
Time for such observations was shortened as the coach came to a stop, and the two were signaled to exit with haste. Dilandau again caught up the end of the sash, ignoring the escort surrounding him, as if they were his own troops. Without waiting for them to lead, he pulled Van forward, towards the guarded gateway of the palaces' main entry.
The Basram Captain, taller by a head than both, caught up and took the lead with a few quick strides, but not before giving the Zaibach soldier a scathing look.
At the inner gates, Captain Grahn nodded, and two soldiers, wearing the blue grays of Basram's military cloth pushed the doors open, revealing a cavernous throne room.
The walls were of the same uniform white masonry, but the floor had been meticulously tiled with jade and turquoise stonework. There were few other adornments in the room, but as the soldiers escorting the pair spread out, it was easy to catch glimpses of concealed slits in the walls, where any number of archers could have trained arrows on the 'guests' of the king.
Directly across from them, at a distance above and beyond, meant to intimidate as well as separate, a short pudgy looking man sat on a throne attended at his side by what appeared to be an Advisor, as well as a small contingency of honor guards. The Basram king glanced frequently at the man beside him as the two entered, and as they stilled, he glared at those below. Immediately, the guards, save the escorting Captain dropped to one knee. The Captain, one hand on his sword, merely inclined his head deeply.
Dilandau glanced around him once before looking up at the king without tilting his head back. "Your Majesty," he said loudly, putting a bit of honey in his tone, and one hand tightening slightly around the end of the sash he still held. "I am sorry for the time and convenience this incident has robbed of your royal attention. This battle was not meant to carry so long as to enter your borders. If we may pass again back into Zaibach..."
Van lifted his head and squared his shoulders, looking up at the platform. He noted the king, and the Advisor with focused attention. He neither pulled at the sash nor acknowledged it.
"I am Van Fanel of Fanelia and I demand that you allow me to return to my home," he said in a clear voice, as if the Zaibach captain had never spoken.
The tall, slender figure of the advisor moved a little forward, and the man held something to his face. With a little surprise, Dilandau recognized it as a set of magnifying lenses on some kind of handle. He seemed to study both young men with equal intensity. Then he stepped back and bent next to the king's ear and spoke to him in a low voice.
"They should be held until their identities can be verified," he told the king. "I want to talk to the Zaibach soldier. The other... a cell. Until we can verify his claims. It's only reasonable."
The king had not turned, seemingly intent on the pale Captain's attempt to silence the other under the claim that the dark haired boy had no rights, as he'd surrendered clearly in battle. "The reports..." the king said, a little weakly. "... were clear of a dragon. They seem to dangerous to keep." A nervous flicker of small black eyes was the only attention the king gave, as he sought his advisor's face for a reaction.
"More dangerous to let go... think this is an accident? You'd rather face them on the other side of a battle, without knowing their secrets? Especially this supposed king. Not an opportunity to waste. I recognize the Zaibach soldier, he's the one who led the Dragonslayers in the Fate Wars. Formidable. I'd heard he was killed. Perhaps he might make an effective operative..."
The king fished a scrap of lace from his clothes and mopped his brow in small patting motions. With a bit of a slump, imperceptible to those below, he said. "I can only put my faith in your mastery of the fates," he said. Sitting up suddenly, he glowered down at the two below. "Enough. You have both violated the treaties of your countries by breaching our boarders without consent. Our law allows no excuses for such behavior and until your countries step forward to claim you and responsibility for your rash actions, I see no other course presented to me than to detain both. Guards."
THE END OF PART 22!