Disclaimer: Genso Suikoden III and all related characters are copyright to their original creator(s). Ardeth Chapel and related OC guests copyright C.R. Majors.

Authors Note: I can already promise this will be a lengthy fic, as a good portion of it has already been written. And while this fic does contain some OCs, rest assured that I will do my best to show the greatest respect possible to the existing characters and the vision of the original creator(s). I will also do my best to work in my own events in accordance with Suiko III's story so as not to off-set anything. Events may be slightly drawn out at best to allow for things such as realistic travel time. My focus will also be on the Knights of Zexen in terms of furthering character definition, as they were my favorite part of the game (particularly Roland, Salome, Percival and Borus, somewhat). So, on with the tale!

"Twice Born - Chapter 1"

The battle had been joined all too quickly. From all sides they came, attacking with such ruthless fervor as to rattle even the best knights to their bones. His sword grating against that of a young Karayan warrior with a high pitched shrieking, Elias struggled to maintain his edge. Armor already nicked and scored in dozens of places, the nineteen year old squire forced his opponent back with strength granted only by his pumping adrenaline. Yet even as his weapon struck a killing blow, Elias found himself besieged by half a dozen of the Lizard Clan. As the scaly soldiers advanced upon the exhausted young man, there lay little admiration in their amber eyes for his will to survive - this fight boasted no honor and would yield little mercy. The creatures eyed the squire as a cat would a cornered mouse.

Elias steeled his shaking nerves and hefted his sword up with a battle cry. The lizards hesitated no longer, the outburst catalyzing a brutal reaction as they tore into him. The edge of his blade found purchase in the gut of one foe, but just as quickly, one of their own penetrated a section of the youth's weakened armor and sliced into his flesh. Elias tumbled back, teeth gritted as he prepared for darkness to sweep over him...

...yet, it did not.

The trident-like weapon fell from the clawed hand of the nearest lizard fighter a split second following a high whistling sound that rent the smoke filled air, punctuated by the black shaft of an iron tipped arrow as it ripped into the unfortunate creature's right eye. Before the body could meet blood soaked soil, two more enemy fighters were impaled upon like projectiles. Elias looked up through glazed green eyes, past his sweat saturated, dark brown bangs to see two chestnut warhorses charging forward, the armor clad rider upon the first scattering the remaining Grasslanders around the squire with a few quick swipes of his broadsword.

"This isn't a battle, it's a damn massacre!" growled the lead knight, the hot night air warmed by the blazing fires set to the tents nearby ruffling his platinum blond, short cut hair. He brought his steed around behind the fallen squire, sword at the ready, should he be further challenged by any more Grasslanders. "It sickens me to say it, Roland, but I think a retreat is in order."

The second rider dismounted, moving to Elias' side with all haste. Stern and searching eyes surveying the damage done, Roland nodded grimly in agreement, elven ears twitching reflexively as the battle continued around them.

"Borus, summon Cedric."

Bringing a hollowed ram's horn to his lips, Borus called for his personal squire. As he did so, his fellow knight tore scraps from his own cloak to bind Elias' still seeping wounds.

"You would dismiss me, m'lord?" Elias managed to grunt out as a gaping wound on one leg was tied fast, pain shooting up and down the length of the limb.

Roland glanced at him, his usually cold eyes betraying hints of concern for his attendant. Elias savored the moment, despite their desperate situation. Rarely did the dignified archer display much emotion beyond anger and scorn for his enemies, and to see genuine worry in his eyes touched the youth. His bravery and hard were indeed valued and appreciated.

"We are being overwhelmed, Elias, and I would not care to see much more loss to our side," the elf stated before shifting his gaze back to the task at hand. "Our men are being treated as cattle to the slaughter... I would see a good man be spared before being sentenced to an unworthy death."

Elias found a smile creeping through his strained expression. Before he could speak, however, a second squire with shoulder length, raven black hair arrived, Borus urging his horse into the youth's wake to deter pursuit by two Karayan warriors.

"Cedric, we entrust Elias to you. Take him through the near grove of trees and beyond to the road back to Vinay del Zexay. We will rendezvous with you, there," Roland instructed as he helped his squire to stand and lean upon the other servant. As Cedric nodded, the elf rested on hand upon Elias' shoulder, making eye contact with his charge. "You will be avenged."

"You honor me, m'lord."

"Your courage honors us all."

Then the two squires were off, Roland lending them his own horse to speed their escape. Borus offered his fellow Zexen a hand up onto his mount and the pair fled the area, pausing only on their way to the center of the conflict to claim a gray mare that had lost her rider. Muttering curses over the loss of the slain knight as he pulled himself into the saddle, Roland spurred the animal forward with Borus riding at his side.

"If we continue to remain hemmed in on all sides, there will be no way out for the men!" Borus called over the ringing din of the fighting around them. "We best find Lady Chris and put our heads together to find an escape route!"

"The situation as it is, large groups would be too easy to pursue, especially with the wounded," Roland responded, working to hide his frustration behind his even, monotone voice. "And quite frankly, I refuse to leave the dead! Our men should not be left on such tainted grounds..."

"Agreed. Any idea how many of ours remain?" the fair haired knight returned.

"Not enough to win." The pair had been joined by a third knight, riding with one hand upon his steed's reigns and the other gripping an elegantly fashioned mace. "They outnumber us three to one, still."

"You're supposed to be our strategist, Salome! Any ideas?" Borus questioned as they skirted a burning tent, the Zexen flag withering into black ashes.

"Unfortunately, yes."

Before the others could ask for clarification, Roland was forced to pick off a lizard who fancied a chance to battle three of Vinay del Zexay's most renowned knights. Borus granted a second challenger a swift passage to the afterlife with his blade, even as a fourth knight came into plain view on the rise before them. Riding upon a white warhorse, the female chased off a group of wounded Karayan warriors. Silvery bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat, the White Maiden greeted her men with hard violet eyes.

"Salome, we're in need of your advice," she began, tone of voice betraying a weariness not of fatigue, but of mental unrest. "Don't hold anything back."

A frown creased Salome's face as he hesitated a moment before offering his reply. "The main Karayan village is not far from here. More than likely, it has been emptied of all able bodied fighters."

Chris lowered her head in thought, even as Borus blanched at the thought. "Are you suggesting we assault an unarmed village?"

The strategist's eyes slipped shut briefly in obvious regret. "It may be all the chance we have."

"As much as I loathe the idea, it will hopefully draw the Grasslanders away from our men and back to the village, giving them a chance to retreat," Chris agreed.

Their elven comrade allowed a scowl to slip through. "These savages showed us little respect and honor in attacking our camp during what should have been a meeting to discuss a treaty. Consider this eye-for-an-eye justice."

"Justice or not, word is circulating that Myriam and Lanchet may have fallen in battle," Salome added, expression grim. "I wish we could confirm it, but..."

For several beats, the four rested uneasily in their saddles in silence, backed only by the somewhat distant sounds of open warfare. As the scream of a dying man echoed across the plains, Borus nodded, eyes fierce with resolution on the matter.

"Roland's right. Will we sacrifice our own troops for honor these plains dwelling scum haven't earned?"

"We'll discuss the ethics of the matter when this is over," Chris finally said as she took up the reigns. "Right now, every minute spent on this meeting is claiming lives on both sides."

Her mount galloped, off, the male knights pushing their own to follow. Borus lifted his ram's horn a second time, the instrument uttering a loud succession of short calls. Soon enough, a small group of knights broke clear of the fighting to follow their leaders.

"My apologies, m'lady," Salome said, horse pulling neck and neck with the Silver Maiden's own.

"Don't apologize for what you cannot control," she returned, eyes on the path ahead. "Even though I'm certain we'll all be sorry later, regardless."

The strategist merely nodded, her next words ringing in his ears as issued orders to all present. "Torch a few of the buildings to send smoke up, but take no life! These are women and children, not trained fighters... Remember this is only to save our own!"

Despite her words, however, Chris could not help but feel a rising sense of personal dread as the village came into sight.

Elias suppressed a grunt of pain as his fellow squire helped him out of the saddle. The pair sought refuge at the edge of the grove, near the road to Brass Castle and behind a large crop of thick brush. As Cedric eased his friend onto a soft patch of grass, his eyes swept over the hastily bandaged wound on Elias' leg.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Elias asked, eyes tightly shut, a grimace on his face.

"I'm sure the field medics can patch you up," Cedric replied, doing his best to sound reassuring, when in truth, he feared the injuries would eventually lead to the squire's untimely passing. "Just give Sir Borus and Sir Roland time to find a way out for the others, and we'll be alright."

The brown haired young man shook his head. "No... The limb feels cold. Don't try to cheer me up with reassurances, Cedric."

Lowering his head, Cedric said nothing. He suspected that even if his comrade managed to live, he would never walk without aid, again. Such was the price of aspiring to the ranks of Vinay del Zexay's knighthood.

In continued silence, the young men waited, listening as the distant sound of battle began to die out.

The hovel shaped pyres leapt high, sending streams of golden embers skyward. Borus squinted through the smoke as he broke off from the rest upon Chris' orders, the panicked screams of fleeing women and children filling his ears. Spurring his mount onward, the knight rode towards the far end of the village. There, he found his way blocked by a young male Karayan, no older than thirteen winters, a curving dagger gripped tightly in one hand. Howling obscenities against the invader, the small warrior slashed at the Zexen steed, who evaded with a practiced sidestepping maneuver. Again, the child attacked and failed, missing his intended mark and finding a broadsword edge, instead. Borus parried the next few strikes, growing increasingly agitated each time the two weapons clashed.

Suddenly, as knight and horse rounded the little Karayan before a burning home at the very edge of the village, rage seized hold of Borus. Before he could so much as remind himself of Chris' orders, the tip of his blade slashed open the youth's torso, spilling bloody innards to the scorched soil.

Known as the Swordsman of Rage, Borus was reputed for his furious fighting prowess, but did he really lack so much self control? His heart pounding faster, his breath quickening, anger took hold of him in ways he could not comprehend. Whipped into a frenzy by the sight and smell of blood, he turned red mist hazed eyes upon a mother escaping the village, a baby clutched to her chest. The sound of hooves pounding against earth echoed as thunder in Brous' ears as his warhorse chased down the hapless female. In slow motion, he watched as his already tainted blade slaughtered mother and child. More shrieks to his left. Again, the sword cut the heated night air, biting into the shoulder of a teenage girl. Borus wheeled his horse about and forced the beast towards a family of mother, children and a grandfather scrambling for the road. Driven completely mad, the Swordsman of Rage relieved the straggling old man of his head. The rest fell just as easily, their life oozing into the dried up dirt beneath their bodies.

"You are Borus of the Six Mighty Zexen Knights?"

Horse wheeling again, the knight turned to eye a male and female pair, neither of whom appeared to be Karayan, but rather mercenaries. However, this seemed to matter little, as the man drew a blade.

"And you are?" Borus' own voice sounded little like his own, low and gurtal.

"Your opponent." The mercenary raised his weapon.

Rage washed anew over the maddened Zexen, adrenaline shooting through his veins. "You side with these cowardly savages? They've slaughtered my men like cattle! I'll spill your blood if that is so!"

Dismounting, Borus shook drops of crimson from his own sword before rushing to engage his new foe. The mercenary allowed him to come within range, and parried the first strike with relative ease. The anger coursing through the knight, while speeding his blows, dimmed his judgement. The two danced around one another, exchanging attacks, their blades sending sparks showering down about them.

"Who the hell are you?" Borus found himself demanding as their hilts locked. "Why are you here?"

"Are you knights so jealous of anyone interfering in your business with the Grasslanders?" the other questioned coolly, his one eye meeting Borus' two.

A roar escaped Borus as he threw the older male backwards and swung in for a killing stroke. However, his opponent regained his balance quickly, turning away the attack and introducing Borus to his gloved left fist. The Zexen skidded back, eyes narrowing before lunging in yet again. The two swords blurred, hammering one another with such speed and ferocity, it was a wonder either man could see the other's blade descend. Finally, their hilts met again, and the pair faced one another down, Borus breathing through bared and gritted teeth while the mercenary looked on with a hint of distaste.

"You fight well," the older man admitted, "but your lack of control could eventually be your undoing."

The mercenary shifted his weight and stance, one foot sliding behind Borus' left foot and hooking behind his ankle. Surprise broke over the knight's snarling visage too late as his foe drew back, yanking the Zexen off his feet in the same smooth move. Borus hit the dirt with a loud clatter as his armor chinked against itself, and before he could attempt to rise, the tip of a sword tapped lightly against the underside of his upturned chin. Eyes closing, he waited for the weapon to strike.

"How careless of me," he rasped through gritted teeth, sweat coursing down the sides of his face.

The blade at his neck lingered only a few seconds longer before withdrawing, the mercenary sheathing the weapon with a soft click. "Your passions control you. Not very becoming of a knight."

A low growl escaped Borus, but more out of realization than fury; the mercenary was correct. As he sat up, two of his men appeared, raising their own weapons to block the passage of the mercenary as he and his female companion made to leave the burning village.

"Let them go."

"But, m'lord..." one soldier protested, trailing off as his commander gained his feet and waved him off with one hand.

"They aren't our enemies." Borus eyed the two hire swords before hauling himself back into the saddle of his mount. "Come. We need to find the others."

As the odd pair vanished into the smoke, the Swordsman of Rage turned his attention to the dead around him. The ground still lay slick with blood the soil had not yet been able to soak up. What had he done?

Horses running neck and neck, Roland and Salome circled the perimeter of the village before riding up onto a near rise on the plains. There, the pair came to a halt, mounts shivering and drenched in sweat. One hand brushing his hay colored bangs to shield his eyes from the blaze of the fires, Salome peered out across the darkened horizon line. There, the knight could just make out several groups of Grasslanders heading their way, easily identified by the larger lizard soldiers and their upheld, so uniquely fashioned weapons.

"It's worked," he announced wearily. "We best locate Borus and Chris before reinforcements arrive."

"Perhaps one of them will know exactly what's happened down there."

"I beg your pardon?" Salome glanced back at the archer, but the elf's keen eyes remained locked to the grisly scene laid out near the back of the village, where at least a dozen women, children and elderly lay dead. The human's eyes widened. "Merciful heaven!"

While dirty and scorched, the corpses were not burned; someone had intentionally delivered them all from the mortal coil. A handful of Zexen knights milled about near the village, apparently waiting for further orders, but precious little time remained before the Karayan warriors would return home. Those responsible for defying a code of honor would have to be ferreted out at later time.

"I will see to gathering the men. Find Lady Chris and Borus, and meet me by the road," Roland told his fellow Zexen before setting his borrowed mare down the rise.

The strategist shook his head, dismayed that yet more death had resulted from their attempt to save the troops. Horse plunging down the rise, Salome guided the tired animal towards the very heart of the destruction. Ahead of him, he could make out the ghostly white of the Silver Maiden's horse, and beyond her, three Grasslanders. Salome hurried his steed onward, fearing a few Karayan fighters had already made it back, but no, one hailed from the Duck Clan and the other two were young Karayan males, one of whom already lay dead.

"M'lady!" Salome winced internally as Chris' pained eyes met his own. "The Grasslanders are approaching. We need to get back to our comrades."

The female knight inclined her head a brief moment before looking to the Karayan youth and Duck Clan fighter nearby. Shame weighed her shoulders down, hardly lessened by the murderous glare of the blond haired Grasslander.

Salome urged his horse a few paces closer. "M'lady?"

Chris did not acknowledge her fellow Zexen, but instead rode out of the village as sympathetic words escaped her paled lips. "I'm sorry."

Behind her, Salome regarded the dead Karayan child with sad regret. Unlike some of his fellows, the mellow tactician did not bear such malicious feelings for the Grassland clans. With a snap of the reigns, he moved to follow Chris' white charger. Soon enough, Roland and Borus appeared alongside the two, the rest of the Zexen knights riding to the rear.

"He came at me, and I took his life," Salome heard Chris say, voice hollow against the wind.

"You acted upon instinct to defend yourself, m'lady. Any one of us would have done the same," he responded, hoping to offer some small degree of comfort.

"He was a child." Her eyes seemed to search the horizon line, gaze reaching beyond the physical path ahead towards her inward unrest. "Shame follows us tonight."

Unable to disagree, Salome held his tongue. Further attempts to console the warrior would only patronize her, wounding her pride moreso. Behind them, Borus bit his lower lip, swallowing down bloodstained guilt.

"Sir Roland?"

The gruff voice roused the elf from his thoughts, drawing his gaze from the sluggish activity of the hastily built campsite near the main road to Brass Castle. In desperate need of a moment's rest and requiring time to tend the wounded, the Zexen knights had decided to delay their return home by a few hours, perhaps until sunrise. The living and overall healthy outnumbered the gravely injured and dead, but this did little to cheer the stoic archer. Lowering his thin pipe, Roland turned fully towards the medic, who had addressed him from the flap of the nearest tent.

"Elias?" the elf questioned, concern well hidden behind a straight face. Roland prayed for the well being of his squire; he had no tears left to shed following the deaths of the Captain and Vice Captain some days before, added to that, the confirmed deaths of two respected knights, Myriam and Lanchet.

"He will live," the middle aged medic responded, one hand running over his balding head as he let out a weary sigh. "But he will never become a knight. I'm sorry, m'lord."

"I see." Wisps of pale blue smoke curled from Roland's nostrils as he mulled over the good, yet so very unfortunate news. His gaze wandered momentarily to the tall silhouette standing on a grassy slope overlooking the road. Salome. "Garret?" the archer then inquired, pale eyes tracking back to the man by the tent flap.

"He died shortly after the tents were pitched," came the bitter reply, the fellow saddened by the complete loss of Salome's charge. "Come inside, m'lord. Your squire wishes to see you before the sleep aid is administered, if you would indulge the poor young man's request?"

Roland stole one last pull on his pipe before tapping the last embers out on the sole of one boot. The medic vanished inside the tent, the knight doing likewise a beat later.

"Salome?"

"Yes, Borus?" Arms folded across his armored chest, the older man did not turn to meet the younger as he approached.

"My...condolences, my friend," Borus offered as he came to stand beside his comrade. "Cedric just informed me."

The tactician's head dipped slowly in a nod, eyes closing as a deep sigh escaped him. "Such are the risks of knights and squires."

Borus furrowed his brows. "You've no more to say than that? Garret served faithfully for more than three years!"

A bitter smile tainted Salome's features in response. "Sometimes all one can do in order to cope in troubled times is to rationalize. Garret's life fell short far too soon, and I will miss him terribly. Yet, I realize he would be loathe know if I lost my focus as your strategist for his sake."

"I suppose that much is true. It just angers to think that good men like him would still be alive, if not for the treachery of the Grasslanders!"

"I blame myself, partially, for what happened." Salome shrugged as he caught sight of Borus' frown out of the corner of one eye. "I should have foreseen a possible attack and planned accordingly. They say one should always hope for the best, but plan for the worst."

"Quit blaming yourself. You cannot be held responsible for knowing and preparing for every last little thing. By the goddess, the last thing we need is the strategic brains of our operation losing his mind over details!"

"Ever the passionate one." A small, but genuine smile finally curved Salome's lips. "Thank you for your kind words, Borus. At least a man can always count on his closest companions to stand by his side."

A low grunt issued from the other knight, indicating both his agreement on the matter, yet hesitation to elaborate. Borus may have been passionate type, but not necessarily the sentimental fool, either. Men were men, and there was no reason to overdo things with mush between them.

The minutes passed in silence as the two watched the first rays of sun peeking over the distant east horizon. The camp would soon be packed up, and the journey back to Brass Castle would commence. Some, however, seemed eager to depart a bit sooner.

Roland approached the pair, stripped of his heavy armor and garbed in lighter, more pliable leather armor, instead. A traveling cloak graced his shoulders, his quiver of arrows and bow strapped to his back beneath the flowing length of dark purple cloth. At his side was a black racer with its hooves shod in fabric "booties", far from the usual fare of knights, who generally chose to ride the more sturdy warhorses.

"Going somewhere, Roland?" Salome asked, one eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

"I've business to attend to before returning home." The elf nodded towards the medic tent. "My destination is not far from Vinay del Zexay, however, so I won't be long."

"Do you need accompaniment?" Borus inquired. "There still may be Grasslanders about, looking for targets."

"And elf travels faster alone, no offense intended to the two of you," came the usually stern response. "My heritage demands that I understand the land and what it can and will yield up. I will be fine."

"The goddess give you speed, then," Salome said with a curt nod. "We will meet you back at Brass Castle."

Roland returned the nod before saddling up and taking hold of the reigns. Nudging the horse forward with his heels, the archer guided his ride down the slope, across the road, and into the adjoining grove, opting for an out of sight shortcut.

"We best prepare to leave, ourselves," Salome concluded with a sigh as soon as their comrade was out of sight. "I should see to Garret, personally."

"Oh?" Borus trekked after the other as he headed for the tents where the dead lay, covered by their own tattered cloaks.

"Yes. His family is counting upon me as much as I counted upon that young man."