Le Jeune Guilavene

Chapter 10:


Van saw them both long before they noticed him. From his vantage point, he had easily recognized and followed the movement of the two guardsmen, their armor poorly concealed with dark cloaks, despite the intense heat of the day. His first thought was Dilandu must have done something careless, which was true, even if young hunter could not remember what it was. He turned his gaze towards the opposite end of temple, watching the pale demon who had noticed the soldiers as well. Sensing his master’s gaze, Dilandu turned to catch his eyes.
Van patted Escaflowne, and the albino frowned. He disappeared in a bluish ‘poof’ of smoke, with only the white sword’s brief glowing to indicate where he had gone. Alone, the boy returned his attention to the two men trying to discreetly make their way towards the temple and search the crowd at the same time. They were doing a lousy job, and Van briefly entertained the idea that they were perhaps only decoys. No, if they were decoys they would not have tried to conceal their uniforms. He scanned the crowd and buildings one more time to be certain, than crept towards the temple entrance.
The young hunter could not get past the men, he knew. The temple was designed in such a way that he would never be able to leave without going down the stairs, which the soldiers were currently climbing. So he would try to loose them in the temple, and sneak out again when they were not looking. He hoped perhaps they would think he had left before they arrived, but he knew better than to hope.
Inside the temple, Van was momentarily blind from the light transition. When his eyes had adjusted he looked around in awe. The main room of the temple was an immense space, a series of ten columns lining a path from the entrance doors to a gigantic statue of Pherowae, her arms open and her smile affectionate. She was three stories high and made of stone, except for her hair made of pure gold, and her white tunic made from an enormous cloth. Spread about her feet were offerings of food, gold, and red and white peace blossoms. All about the room, hundreds of torches and candles illuminated the holy shrine with the shadowy figures of the clergy crept silently in and
out of adjoining doors.
Van was jolted out of his admiring daze, by the sound of the door opening just behind him. He mentally cursed himself and sprang into the shadows as quickly as he could. He managed to duct behind a large column. If the men had seen him, they gave no indication.
“You think we missed them, Drover?” asked the taller of the two in a hushed voice.
“Nah, they’re in here. I just now it,” replied the man called Drover.
“But I thought demons can’t enter these temples.”
“A lot of superstitious nonsense. The gods don’t care nowadays what happens in the world, and frankly I’m beginning to wonder if they ever did,” growled the plump soldier.
His partner looked at him with the most horrified expression.
“You’ll be struck dead for saying that here, mark my words. Nothing ticks them off more than sacrilege!”
Drover rolled his eyes and told him to shut up.
“Alright listen, Tobias, this is what we are going to do. I am going to search the temple and you are going to stay here and guard the door to make sure he does not try to sneak out. Got it? If I can’t find him I’ll come back here after the third bell toll during the temple mass, got it? Good.”
With that said, the ambitious and foolhardy man marched off in search of a demon and swordsman. Van watched him go, rather confused. The soldiers knew he was here, so why were there not any more soldiers helping them in their hunt? Silently, he crept through the darkness after the large man, hunting him even as he was supposedly being hunted.

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Allen paced the length of his office, rubbing his temple and trying to alleviate the lingering remainder of his hangover. Early this morning, so damn early in fact that the gods still had to have been sleeping else they would have taken pity on him and had him struck dead by lightening, he had forced himself to the chief of the city’s security to debrief him on the situation. Well, actually Dryden did the actual talking, since the prince had still been fairly drunk and did not wish to draw attention to it by lisping or pointing out the chief was the ugliest woman he had ever seen. The merchant had even managed to get some of them to draw up a couple posters, which were horribly drawn, but at least they were something. Normally Gaddes would have helped with this, but he was still passed out at the inn next to the bar.
After informing the chief, they had returned to the Royal Guard headquarters. He had hoped to write up his report in his office and send the merchant home, but the rogue had found a tiny kitchen area in the corner of his office and had started making tea. He had found it so distracting that he could not concentrate on his report, and had takenpacipacing. However, when Dryden had finished, Allen had continued to pace once mentally stuck on the topic of Guilavene and the demons. The drinking binge over, he now had to worry and ponder endlessly over the matter.
“You really should just have some tea, your dehydrated and that’s what is causing your headache,” the brunette said, calmly sitting in Allen’s chair.
“I do not want any tea,” Allen snapped.
“Suit yourself.”
The prince glowered at his tea-obsessed demon consultant, his irritation at the man’s cavalier attitude growing with his headache. How the man could remain so ambiguous about everything that had happened, and acted as if he had merely seen an amusing play. He hated it, but even worse was he admired it in the man. Allen had to admit to himself he was envious of his composure and level headedness. Then again, Dryden would not be responsible if anyone was hurt so he supposed the man could afford to be that way. The thought only made him more jealous than before.
The captain let out a weary sigh and collapsed on a nearby couch. He was
tired, he realized, and that was what made him feel this way.
“This whole thing makes me nervous. I have no idea what I am doing, but
I can’t afford to do nothing,” the blond said, staring up at the ceiling.
“I know, and if it is any conciliation I think you are doing good job with what you have. This is a tricky situation, even the most experienced demon hunters would have to agree.”
Allen was silent a moment, thinking over his words.
“Thank you, Dryden. I value your opinion. Just the same, I will be more than little relieved when Balgus arrives.”
The roguish brunette chuckled into his tea.
“Ah yes, the Great Demon Hunter himself. So when will our veteran hero return?” Dryden asked.
“Three, maybe four days. Reinforcements a day after him, just in .”
.”
“Just in case? Aren’t you over reacting just a little?”
“Better safe than sorry,” the blonde said, peaking over the merchant from the couch.
“A phrase all merchants dread to hear,” the taller man cried melodramatically.
Allen chuckled softly, and finally began to relax on the couch’s plush cushions. Dryden did not disturb him, and instead opted for an uninterrupted study of the young prince. He was beautiful, no one could deny that. Compassionate, if a little bit too trusting. He had integrity, a trait Dryden found vastly overrated, but in the blonde he found it rather chag. g. Bravery? Perhaps, though the merchant doubted the man had ever been truly tested. Confidence and bravery were not the same thing after all. What he liked about him most of all, was his innocent sense of humor. He did not mean the man never told or laughed at a dirty joke, but he never indulged in joking at another’s expense. Perhaps it went along with his whole integrity thing.
Yes, Dryden decided, Allen was worth seducing.
The quick pitter-pattering of quickly approaching feet drew both men’s attention to the door of the office, even before it was swung upon. A young Palas soldier, flush and panting sprung into the room. The boy paused, his eyes widened in realization, and he leapt back out of the room. A moment later they both heard him knock at the door. The prince and the merchant shared a disbelieving looking, before turning their attention back to the door.
“Come in,” Allen ordered, standing up.
The youth reentered the room, and stiffly saluted. Allen looked over at Dryden, who simple shrug and shook his head.
“Ah, at ease soldier.”
The guardsman relaxed minutely, but still remain rather stiffly situated. The boy was clearly not one of his own. His men did not practice such ridiculous and time consuming behavior inside headquarters, unless the situation called for it. Judging by his uniform, he was a Palas city soldier, and barely out of training even.
“Can I help you?” Allen asked impatiently.
“Sir, I’ve come to repor’ a poss’ble lead on th’ whereabouzs of th’ d’mon, sir,” the young man let out in a one quick breath.
The captain of the Royal Guard blinked. The only words in that entire sentence he actually understood were the ‘sir’s. The blonde looked to his companion again.
“He says he thinks he knows where the demon is,” Dryden offered.
The prince’s attention snapped quickly the city guardsman, and he grasped him by the soldier, his face grim and dangerous.
“Where, where is it? Have you seen it yourself? Damn you, tell me everything!” he demand, scaring the poor idiot into a rambling mess.
After several moments of endless gibberish spilling forth, and not a word understood, Allen lost his patience and dragged him over to his desk. He took a pen and piece of paper, and order him to write the supposed location. The young guardsman trembled as he wrote, his handwriting almost as atrocious as his accent, but they could make it out. Qumeer Pherowaean Temple. Allen knew the place, after all, Pherowae was patron of all royal families. He stormed from his office, Dryden following him at a leisurely pace, and the petrified soldier still standing stupidly and staring blindly into space.
Why the hells couldn’t he have gone with Drover and Tobias?

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Drover stalked the empty corridors of the temple with growing trepidation. This place was giving him the creeps. Everything was so large, dark, and quiet, with flickering torches causing the shadows of statues to move about on the walls and floor. Even the monks and priest, holy and supposedly compassionate men that they were, seemed sinister in their hooded robes and eerie silence. He was actually glad when he found the deserted corridor at the back of the building.
These rooms not nearly as high or large, being used mostly for storage, but they were not as well lit either. He stalked down the corridor, with a sort of resigned attitude. He had not seen any trace of the demon or the boy, and was beginning to think he had been wrong and that they were both long gone, if they had even been here in the first place. At the same time, he could not allow himself to do a half-ass job. If he did not search every single place they could be hiding, he would always wonder for the rest of his
life if that was what allowed the fugitives to get away. That and the fact it was a lot cooler in the temple than outside in the scorching summer sun.
Drover spun around suddenly, his heart feeling as if it had leapt into his throat and was stuck there. He did not know what it had been, but he could have sworn they he had seen or heard something from behind him. His beady eyes stared down the hall, but saw only a never ending darkness sprawled beyond the light of his own torch. He swallowed hard, and carefully lifted his crossbow in his right hand while his left balances his torch. He had a bit of a problem now. On one hand, he could not shoot nearly as accurately without both hands, but at the same time he could not see anything if he put down his torch. Also, they were both getting heavy in his arms.
For a long time, the plump soldier neither heard not saw anything, but instead of reassuring him that nothing was there, it made him realize he was completely alone with whatever he could sense watching him. And his arms were getting tired.
“Who- who’s out there?” he asked timidly.
No one answered of course, though the young hunter was extremely tempted. If he spoke now, then perhaps the man would panic and fire his crossbow prematurely, so he could move in for the strike. It was too risky, however, and he decided against it. The foolish guardsman might actually hit him or manage not to fire, and then he would know where Van was. The boy would just have to remain patient then. That was, after all, the key component to any hunt.

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Gaddes arrived at the temple only a short time before his captain. He and his men, still slightly hung over though they were, had been quick to respond when word had reached them of Dilandu’s appearance at the temple. The second-in-command had already sent some of the men to scout around the edge of the temple, while the rest remained with him to watch the temple’s only exit and wait for Allen to show.
The prince appeared mounted on his personal riding elk, the beast huffing and puffing from the exercise it was not used to receiving in the crowded city. Their captain practically leapt from it, letting one of the Palas guardsman run after the still moving animal, while Allen attended to his duty.
“Have you set up a perimeter, yet?” he began without preamble.
“Yes, sir,’ Gaddes confirmed, ‘And I’ve had the guardsmen clearing the street to help keep them out of the way.”
The captain nodded curtly in approval and began trch rch up the temple stairs, his men following close behind. Once they were up the steps far enough for no one to hear, the second-in-command asked softly in his best friend’s ear.
“Where is our brave merchant?”
A small smile graced the blonde’s lips.
“It would seem riding elk do not favor him, and he opted to stay behind.”
“He didn’t try to offer some tea before trying to mount it, did he?”
Allen’s smile widened, but he managed to force his laughter down. This was no time for games.

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The game was almost over. The guardsman’s arms were already shaking visible from the strain of holding the torch and crossbow. At least, Van hoped it was the strain. The man might merely be extremely frightened. They had been here for a long time, the flame of the torch already beginning grow weaker as the oil was slowly burned away. In all that time the man, Dover or Drover or something, had not moved from his spot. He could not seem to make himself move forward to even attempted to escape his all prevailing darkness and the unseen thing that lurked with in it.
Frankly, the boy was getting bored.
Wait. This might be it.
Van watched with growing anticipation as the man struggled with his weapon. It pointed towards the floor, but the man would lift it again, only to have it fall again. Each time it fell a little lower, and was just a little harder to lift again. The young hunter took his position, crouching low and staring directly down the path he would take. The torch was doing the guardsman more harm than good, for while it could illuminate Van at that
distance, it was more than adequate to illuminate the man and clear path the dark child could travel when he struck.
Finally, Drover let out one last painful groan as the crossbow fell again, nearly dropping his weapon altogether this time. A terrifying screech ran through the empty corridor, and the guardsman looked up just in time to see the creature bare down upon, its eyes wild and fangs bared. Then, there was only darkness.

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The soft echoes of the inhuman cry and the guardsman’s scream rang through corridors of the temple, causing soldiers and priests alike to look around with fearful eyes.
“Do you recognize that?” Gaddes as his his voice barely above a whisper.
“Van,” Allen answered, his expression grim.
“But where did it come from?”
“I don’t know. The echo in here is confusing me. We will split into two groups. You lead one party on the left side, I will lead the others on the right. We’ll meet here after mid-afternoon bell,” the captain instructed.
“Yes, sir!”
Allen lead his party through a door on the right wall, which opened into a wide squat corridor. A middle-aged monk was the only one in there, and he was currently distracted, looking down the hall from which he thought the eerie cries had come from. The prince asked him what was down there, and monk said it was mostly storage space. Allen thanked him and sent him back to the main sanctuary for his own safety, and they continued their hunt deeper into temple.

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Van tried adjusting his new gear one more time, but there really was nothing he could do at the moment to make it any better. The guardsman, who was currently lying unconscious on the floor, had luckily been rather short. However, he had also been very wide, and the excess material of his uniform was hanging in a rather unflattering manner. The boy sighed and decided he would have to wait to fix it outside. The armor was adjustable for a ‘one size fits all’ that was typical for a mass produced item, and Van was thankful for it. Only the helmet was a little too big, but it helped to conceal his face.

He had also taken the guardsman’s money. It made him feel a little bad, but the fact the man had tried to kill him eased his conscience considerably. There was not much, only about thirty jappas, but that was definitely more than Van currently had. He left the man his weapons, since he already had more than enough of his own.
When he was convinced there was nothing more he needed, he shoved his own cloths in his rucksack, took up the fading torch, and made his way back down the hall. He did not travel far, when the echoes of footsteps reached him. Almost panicking he threw down his torch stomped it out, kicked it to the side, and then ducked behind a nearby crate. There was just enough of the wooden box to hide his slender frame from anyone who might look his way, but he quickly realized if anyone should pass him he was in the wide open.
But it was too late. Van could already hear the soft tapping of footsteps and the scraping of rustling armor. He sank as far back into the shadows as he could and held perfectly still. The flickering light of torches appeared, growing brighter the closer the soldiers got. The boy’s breath caught in his throat and his mouth dry as the shadows of his hunters slide along the floor in front of him, followed soon after by their masters.
He recognized the first man immediately. His long golden braid unmistakable even in this darkness. Allen did not see him, however, as the prince’s focus was directed straight ahead and not to the side. s fes fear did not subside, until the third and fourth man passed him without even a glance in his direction. He remained still until the light was just out of range of himself, before slowly creeping out from his hiding spot.
The young hunter, however, forgot to take in consideration the sound that
his new armor made when he moved.
All of the soldiers immediately turned to him. The one closest to him, a bald man with a large scar on his head, sent six of his daggers flying after him in the dark. Van yelped in surprise as one struck him in the chest, but it bounced harmlessly off his breastplate with a resound ‘ding‘. Van did not hesitate, and turned on his heels, sprinting blindly down the dark hallway with his pursuers not far behind.
“Guilavene! Surrender and you will not be harmed!” he heard Allen yell out behind him.
If that were true, the boy reasoned, he would not have tried to kill me only a second ago. So he ran, stumbling and tripping over various items that littered the hall, but still always ahead of the Royal Guard and their light. He considered calling upon Dilandu, but decided he could only make this situation worse.
Van finally managed to find the door. Well, technically he just ran into it, but it was still found. Recovering quickly, he seized the door hand and pulled. Locked! The bastards had locked the door in case he managed to get past them! The bastards!
Shaking and wild with panic, he reached behind him and grabbed the first weapon he touched from his pack. Luckily, it happened to Escaflowne, the white blade glowing the just the faintest blue for him to see by. He unsheathed the sword and brought it down on the door in three swift strokes, the blade cutting through the wood as if it were paper. He kicked the door, and a large and roughly triangular piece of wood fell from the door. The slender youth squeezed through it, thanking Pherowae that nothing got caught on his way out. He stumbled out of the hole gracelessly, and jumped to his
feet.

Van sped down empty sanctuary, Allen and his men already struggling with the door behind him. There was only the guardsman that Drover had come with guarding the exit, and he was dealt with just as easily as the other man. Relieved of his money just as easily too.
Again, he was temporarily blinded as he entered the blinding light of a sunny day in the mid-afternoon. He could not afford to pause or hesitate, however, and sprang forward. He missed the stairs completely and fell a distance from the temple platform, to the grassy hill the structure was built upon. The young fugitive groaned painfully, but was unharmed. He continued forward, practically sliding the rest of the way down the steep hill to the cobblestone street of the market place. If anyone thought this was rather
strange, they took one look at his uniform and decided it was better not to comment.
By the time Allen had made it outside and recovered from his own temporary blindness, the fugitive had disappeared.
“Damn you, Van!” he growled viciously.
Silently, the captain of the Royal Guards swore he would catch that boy if it was last thing he ever did.

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The first thing Van did with his newly acquired money, was buy himself lunch. Two jappas got him a very fine native dish at a quiet little restraint. It was some sort of bread stuffed with a type of poultry, gravy, and herbs. It was very good and very filling, and the boy made a mental note to learn how it was made. In his armor, no one had bothered looking at him, despite his rather numerous weaponry, and it seemed they even went out of their way to ignore him. This was all very fine with the young fugitive. After all, he really did not need the attention.
The second was to purchase a room at a seedy little inn at the eastern end of the city. The man there asked if he wanted whore for the night and if so would he like girl or a boy. Van got the impression he had not been the only a ‘city guardsman’ this man was use to dealing with. He thanked him, but turned down the offer.
The room he was given was small, dirty, and infested with rodents. For the rodents he supposed he should be thankful, since they probably ate the giant insects. It was better than sleeping out in the open, however, and only five jappas a day. The linens appeared clean at least. When the innkeeper had left him, the boy quickly locked the doors and closed the shudders over his windows. He removed his armor, pleased to be out of the heavy and confining material.
“Dilandu,” Van summoned, holding Escaflowne in a casual grip.
The little demon appeared in a poof of blue smoke, yawning and stretching. He scanned the shabby little with obvious disdain.
“Is it your life’s ambition to visit every shit hole in this city or something?” he sneered.
“Be still, oh critical one,” the human said, tossing Dilandu his red shirt and tan pants.
The demon caught the bundled, and studied the clothing closely. He looked over at Van in his ridiculously large outfit and then back at his own bundle, sniffing at it. Before his imprisonment, the demon prince would never have had to stoop to wearing someone else’s clothing, but at least these were fairly clean. They smelled like the human, but it was not an unpleasant scent.
“I thought these were your clothes?” he said sarcastically.
“Yes, and I will expect them back later.”
Dilandu, having given his token protest, pulled off the blue and white flag in favor of Van’s clothes. The boy tried to ignore the demon’s lack of modesty by looking through his bag. The albino, once dressed, studied himself in a cracked mirror. The shirt was fine, he had always liked red and had worn shirts of similar design before, but he was not sure about the pants. They fit him well enough, hugging his slender form in a flattering manner, but he would have preferred them to be black over tan. Tan clashed with his white hair. Unable to do anything about it, he turned his attention back to Van.
The dark child had strapped Escaflowne to his back so it would still be touching his skin and allowing Dilandu to wander around, while still permitting his hands the freedom to work. He had removed his shirt and was carefully cutting it up with a pair of tiny scissors.
“What are you doing?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.
“I’m tailoring my new clothes. The man I took them from was considerably fatter than me, and the cloth bunches up inside my armor when I move. It’s very uncomfortable and looks silly,” Van explained.
“Ah, so what all did happen after you sent me back?” thbinobino said, acting as if he really was not that interested.
So the mortal told him about entering the temple, his stalking of the guardsman, his theft, Allen’s arrival, and the chase. Dilandu snickered through half the story and pretended to be more interested in his finger nails for the other half. When the tale was over, though, it was back to work. The remaining hours with enough daylight filtering through the shudders, was spent fixing Van’s disguise. The demon prince got the
prestigious job of dummy, and was stuck standing on a chair while the boy stabbed him with the sowing needles he had pulled from his rucksack. The boy, again with out clothes, was stuck with his needlework in only his loincloth and was no more comfortable than the demon.

When they were done, Dilandu found himself a corner to nurse his wounds and licking the dirty feeling from wearing some soldiers unwashed clothing from his skin. Van was of a similar feeling and slipped into the bathroom to shower (with Escaflowne still strapped to his back). The tiles felt grimy r hir his feet and the water took almost ten minutes to turn from dark brown to colorless, but he was in no position to be picky. After his quick but thorough shower, he washed his new clothes in the bathtub and then hung them up to dry. Van entered he bedroom, wrapped only in a towel, which he discarded as he climbed into the bed.
“Dilandu, stand guard for tonight. I’m not sure if the Strategos is able to find us still or not,’ he said and then added, ‘If I look like I’m having a nightmare, wake me up.”
Dilandu said nothing and watched the boy drift reluctantly to sleep. When the human had entered the room, he was surprised by the sudden arousal he had felt. While they had been fixing the uniform, the demon had been too preoccupied by Van’s clumsy needlework to notice what a beautifully formed body he had. All firm and smooth, and toned by years of hard living. Dilandu licked his lips as he studied the young hunter sleeping quietly, wondering what it would be like to seduce the youth.
A very big mistake, he thought.
He mentally groaned at the thought of Van actually ending up the dominant one of the relationship, which was highly possible so long as he owned Escaflowne. That would be the worse blow to his pride possible, and he would sooner kill the dark child than to simply allow such a fate. Resigned to wait for a later opportunity, Dilandu made himself comfortable sitting at the end of the bed and keeping watch.

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“Back again, I see,” Folken purred softly into his dream lover’s ear.
“Unlike demons, humans need to sleep almost every night to remain healthy atrontrong,” Van said, curling into the demon’s chest.
Folken’s large warm hands rubbed his back in soothing circles, making him moan happily and relax more fully into him.
“So, you did not miss me?”
“Been too busy to miss you,” the boy replied softly, kissing the pale skin of the albino’s chest.
“With what?” he asked, smiling in amusement at Van’s affectionate attention.
“Allen is being a pain. Still thinks I’m ‘conspiring’ with you. What gave him that stupid idea?”
“I have no idea,” Folken chuckled, patting the boy on his naked buttock.
“Hey! This doesn’t count!”
“Mm.”
“Shut up.”
The Strategos chuckled and Van’s soft brown hair, but the dark child was feeling talkative now.
“They threw knives at me.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, and one hit me.”
The young man could feel the demon tense slightly.
“Are you hurt then?”
“No, I had armor on at the time.”
Folken relaxed, but also drew him tighter against him. The demon had been truly worried for a moment. If Van had been hit and was bleeding to death, he would have gone unconscious first and been sent to this dream world, then he would have sunk even deeper into the dead world where not even Folken could have helped him.
“You must be more careful, little one. I’m not there to protect you yet,” he whispered.
“I’m protected,” the boy protested childishly.
The demon chuckled.
“Is that so? So who is protecting you? The gods?”
Van flashed him an impish grin.
“No. Dilandu!”