Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 1 ❯ CHAPTER 13: PATH OF RADIANCE ( Chapter 13 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

The Mercenaries of Fayre boasted three times as many able bodies as the Greil Mercenaries, and there were no children living among them. That was probably for the best, because the men and women of this company were far from ideal role models. Their commander, a man named Monterrey (or simply Terry behind his back) was quite different from Greil too. He didn’t join his mercenaries in battle, was selective in the jobs he would accept, and only chose the ones that promised the greatest profit.

The biggest difference between the two companies, however, was the sense of competition between the members. Rather than being paid a regular wage, these mercenaries were rewarded for the number of kill assists, assisted kills, and solo kills they accomplished on each mission. The bloodier the job, the more they were paid. Killing a healer was worth extra points, which were compounded relative to the length of the battle after the time of the healer’s death. So if a mercenary was lucky enough to encounter and slaughter an unarmed cleric pressganged into a bandit company, they would then do their best to inhibit their comrades’ kills and keep the battle going on as long as possible while also winning additional kills themselves. Commander Terry’s deputies paid close attention to each mission to help confirm that the self-reported kills were accurate, and half the time out of battle was spent being called into the deputies’ office to corroborate claims prior to payout.

Soren could hardly believe what a mess the entire system was—not to mention rigged. It did not take him long to realize certain mercenaries banded together to corroborate false claims and take ownership of kills that were not their own. Luckily, Soren did not have to resort to the same scheming. Greil was still paying his wages while Soren fought for Terry free of charge.

He still pulled his weight on missions, but he never sought blood unnecessarily or volunteered for extra work. When not on a job, he trained with the Fayre Mercenaries’ other mages and explored Melior’s numerous libraries and bookstores. But he was really just biding his time until he would finally be granted approval to use the Royal Library.

Commander Terry had submitted a request on his behalf, but because entering the library meant passing through the castle walls and coming close to the palace, it could take weeks to be approved. Soren knew a mercenary wishing to study magic theory was not a high-priority reason for getting in, so he forced himself to be patient.

 

After three months, Soren was finally given the appropriate documentation. Now he frequented the Royal Library in his every spare moment. When accompanied by the Fayre mages, he could not pursue the scholarship he wished. But his standoffish attitude hadn’t made him any friends here, and usually the mages were more than willing to leave him unchaperoned. That left only the librarians, the guards, and his fellow readers to worry about. But the place was much emptier after sundown, so Soren began organizing his study sessions late at night. He would arrive back at the mercenaries’ base only a couple hours before dawn, utterly exhausted, but he felt he was running out of time now to find answers. 

On the fifth of these late-nights, Soren made his way to the library more determined than ever to find out what the mark on his forehead meant. If not that, then at least he would find proof that he couldn’t be a cursed Branded.

He presented his documentation to the guards, who grudgingly waved him through the gates. Then he walked to the library under the watchful eyes of the guards at their posts around the castle. They seemed tenser than usual, and there were more than Soren had seen on previous nights. He wondered if an important noble or foreign dignitary was visiting and hoped it wouldn’t interfere with his studies.

The library’s candlelit interior was quiet and calm. A few other scholars read by lanternlight or snoozed on their open books, but Soren was not concerned with them. They would probably leave in the next couple hours. He approached the front desk, where a single librarian was nodding off. His head jerked whenever it threatened to fall, and he snorted when he saw Soren approaching.

“What- er, good evening,” he said, clearly trying to rouse himself.

Soren presented his documents again. “I am a mage for the Mercenaries of Fayre,” he introduced himself, as he always did. “My commander ordered me to carry out research here.”

“A bit late for research isn’t it?” the old man sighed.

“Perhaps for an old man.”

The librarian scowled and grumbled about the ‘disrespectful youth of today’ while fumbling to check the oil level in his lantern. “What can I help you find then?”

“I will find it myself.” Soren took one of the candles from his desk and set off down the rows of shelves and ladders. The library was huge, with bookshelves that sprang high into the vaulted ceiling. There were islands of tables and archipelagoes of desks. There were mazes of cabinets and cases holding rare scrolls. But Soren was no longer awed by the grandeur of it. He knew his way around and went immediately to the section about subhumans (or ‘laguz’ as the texts often called them).

 

Although Soren intended to return to the base well before dawn, his growing frustration robbed him of his prudence. Hours slipped by, and although he skimmed through book after book, scroll after scroll, reading anything he could find not just about the Branded, but also Spirit Charmers, tattoos and birthmarks, slow aging and dwarfism, and lore surrounding supposedly cursed children. His investigations, however, were fruitless.

As a consolation, Soren began pilfering any useful things he came across, including star atlases, various maps, and some misplaced pages of wind tomes with spells still intact. These he stowed away in his satchel. It had been a long time since Soren had stolen anything, but he didn’t have any qualms about it just now.

The sun began to rise, but Soren continued to work. He hadn’t slept, eaten, or drunk a sip of water all night. But he ignored his discomfort just as he ignored the first rays of sunlight filtering through the window and falling on his little research nook. He didn’t care about avoiding the eyes of other scholars; he didn’t care about keeping up appearances with the Mercenaries of Fayre. Only answers mattered. He was determined to stay all day if he had to.

But then the building shook as if hit by a sudden earthquake, and Soren forgot about his research entirely. The quake was followed by a thunderous roar that rose in pitch until becoming a terrible shriek. Soren clamped his hands over his ears and lurched to the window. Servants, soldiers, priests, knights, and nobles were all screaming and running in the courtyard below.

Another tremor hit, and bricks cascaded in front of the window, causing him to jump back. An enormous shadow swept overhead, flying from the library’s roof to the spire of the temple. Against the light of the rising sun, Soren saw a giant reptilian beast clamoring for purchase against the sliding shingles. But he didn’t stay to examine it; he knew he should already be running.

He grabbed his satchel, leaving books and scrolls strewn over the desk, and ran to the main exit, where he joined the throng of librarians, servants, and scholars also attempting to flee. Following the crowd, he quickly discovered people were being evacuated from the castle, which was already up in flames. A swarm of dracoknights was sweeping down on the soldiers frantically trying to man the battlements and Royal Knights defending stranded nobles.

Once out of the castle, Soren hoped he would have a better idea what was going on, but he did not. Smoke was rising from the eastern part of the city, and he heard the sounds of battle in the streets. Like most of the fleeing people, Soren headed west. He dashed through the fields surrounding the castle, and when he dared look over his shoulder, he saw black-armored cavalrymen pouring from the city streets into the fields, where a meager line of white-armored soldiers had managed to assemble an opposition.

Soren didn’t watch them get slaughtered, instead turning his face forward to look where he was going. Once in the streets of Melior, he struggled to avoid being trampled by the crowds of terrified civilians. The battle had not yet reached this far, but news of it had, and no one understood what was happening. Crimean paladins cantered here and there, shouting for people to exit the city—to grab their families and flee by order of the king. 

“What is happening?” a woman beseeched a young, nervous-looking soldier. “What’s going on?”

The soldier stared wide-eyed at her. “Daein is attacking!” he finally erupted, and people froze to listen. “They’re already here! King Ashnard rides at the head of his army, on the back of a black dragon!”

An old woman released a mournful cry, and some children started babbling incoherently to their parents, asking what the soldier meant. The parents didn’t answer their children. They merely picked them up or swung them onto their shoulders. Some people were attempting to take animals and carts with them, but the majority were running with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Soren did not stay to watch their efforts. He continued running until he was out of the city, and here he flagged down the first wagon that came his way and caught a ride with a half dozen other fleeing people.

Catching his breath, he watched the burning city grow smaller. The Daein army was oozing into it like a flood, and before Soren’s eyes the Crimean army came charging out of the smoldering outskirts. They rounded in an arc, pennants flapping, as they attempted to broadside Daein’s left flank. But even from this distance, Soren knew Crimea didn’t have a chance. Daein had all but completely taken the capital.

A moment later, the road dipped into a valley, and the city was lost from view. A little while after that, the wagon turned down a forest road, and the trees gave the illusion of safety. People started to whisper and cry about what had happened. But Soren knew they weren’t safe yet. If the Daein army had already reached the capital, their soldiers could be anywhere. He needed to get back to the Arbor and notify the Greil Mercenaries as quickly as possible: Crimea was at war.

 

“Soren’s back!” Mist’s voice rang out like a bell from the watchtower. He saw her twist around and disappear, undoubtedly sliding down the ladder.

Soren had been running for the past hour, and he wasn’t about to stop now. Despite the five days of exhaustion weighing on him, he didn’t stop until he was within the training yard. Trying to catch his breath, he rested his hands on his knees. “Where’s Greil?” he demanded in a ragged breath.

Rhys, who’d risen from his garden to stare, answered: “Uh, he’s in the mess hall…”

Everyone was staring in surprise and confusion. He wasn’t due back for another month, and he didn’t run places unnecessarily. But Soren couldn’t afford to explain the situation to everyone individually, so he forced himself to jog the rest of the way into the fort.

Greil was sitting at the long table with papers strewn around him and a mug of mead in his hand. But his concentration broke when Soren reached him, and he immediately knitted his eyebrows. “What happened?”

“Crimea is under attack.” Soren panted. “Daein.”

Greil’s surprise showed for only a second. Then he gave a single grim nod. “I will get everyone together, then you must tell your story.”

Titania strode purposefully into the room, obviously having followed him from the yard. “What is it?” she demanded.

Greil turned to her. “Troubling news indeed. Gather the troops.”

“Yes, Commander.” She saluted and left immediately.

Soren’s legs felt like lead, but he refused to sit down yet. Greil was sweeping up his papers, and Ike and Mist rushed in. Seeing Soren, Ike’s eyes lit up, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Greil cut him off, “Ike, if you’ve got time to waste you’ve got time to work. Get over to the briefing room.”

“Yes, sir,” Ike said resignedly, but before he passed back through the door, Soren heard him mutter under his breath: “What’s going on around here?”

Mist helped her father with the papers, and they followed him out. Greil’s and Titania’s voices were echoing throughout the keep, ordering everyone to the briefing room for an emergency meeting.

Soren decided he should catch up to Ike and immediately found him dragging his feet in the hall (perhaps waiting for Soren to find him). “Bad news,” Soren said when he reached him, answering his muttered question from before. “Something big is happening, and we need to formulate a plan of action.”

Ike’s face lit up. “Soren!”

“Hello, Ike.” He resisted the urge to mirror the smile. “Long time, no see.” Running his eyes over his friend, he could hardly believe how much he’d grown these past few months. His sleeves were ripped from the elbow down, and his muscles looked much more defined where they pressing against the remnants of the fabric. There was a bandage wrapped around his left forearm and a bruise on his jaw. Most noticeably of all, he had a sword—a real sword—hanging from his belt.

Soren wondered what he’d missed, but now wasn’t the time to ask. The fort had become an overturned anthill, and mercenaries were running down the halls, strapping on weapons and armor as they made for the briefing room. He and Ike let themselves be swept along with the rest, but they didn’t enter when they arrived. Instead, Ike stepped to the side and Soren loitered with him, assuming he wanted to continue their conversation without involving the three green-haired brothers already sitting at the round table.

“I’m happy to see you’re back.” Ike said, while Titania, Gatrie, and Shinon filed past. “But what happened? I thought you were going to be studying for a while longer.”

Soren shook his head. “It’s a long story,” he sighed, watching Rhys and Mist enter.

Next Greil strode into the room and took his place at the table, although he didn’t sit. “What’s the hold up?” he called. “Get over here now!”

“Let’s go. I’ll fill you in later,” Soren whispered, although he supposed he would probably be filling in everyone in a second.

The only two seats left were the one next to Titania and the one next to Greil. Greil indicated that he should join him, so Soren obediently stepped forward. Like Greil, he did not sit down.

 “You probably remember that Soren’s been training with another mercenary group,” Greil began, “Well he’s back now, and he has some unbelievable news.”

“And what news is that?” Ike asked, clearly frustrated.

Soren could finally answer: “It’s Crimea and Daein. They’ve gone to war.”

His words were met by a few tiny gasps, but mostly by stunned silence. “War? It…it can’t be!” Mist called out, and that was a sign for everyone to start talking over one another.

Greil made a sweeping gesture with both hands to silence them. “That is why I’ve called everyone here. Soren has more information. Go ahead, Soren.”

“Alright.” Taking a steadying breath, Soren extracted a slightly wrinkled map of Crimea (one of the ones he’d taken from the library) and unfolded it onto the table. “Take a look at this.”

Greil noticed its good quality. “Ah, it’s a map of Crimea, quite detailed by the look of it.”

“Yes.” Soren hoped that Greil’s explanation wasn’t necessary and that everyone here could at least recognize a map of their own country. If not, this was going to be a long war. “This is Melior, Crimea’s capital. Our base of operations is right about here.” He pointed to Arbor. “Everything started five days ago. I needed to do some research, so I went to the archives of Melior’s Royal Library.” (Of course, he would not elaborate on the nature of his research.) “Without warning, the scream of a terrible beast—a wyvern perhaps—rent the air, and the building was rocked by a tremor. I rushed outside and saw wave after wave of knights, cavalry, and wyvern riders, each clad in glistening ebon armor, black as night.”

“The Daein Army?” Greil asked, but it did not sound like a question.

“Correct.”

“Was there provocation?” he asked next, although once again, it already sounded like he knew the answer.

Soren shook his head. “As you know, relations between Crimea and Daein have never been…friendly. However, the past centuries have seen only minor skirmishes, nothing approaching an attack of this size. Daein laid the capital to waste. I’ve never seen destruction on this scale before...” Even Greil’s massacre could not compare to the screams and flames rising from Melior, and Soren shook his head to banish the memory. “To accomplish such a feat, they must have dismantled Crimean intelligence and communication networks. I believe the crown had no warning whatsoever.”

After a few moments of silence, Titania spoke up.  “A swift attack, devastating and brutal…a daring gambit, indeed.”

“But if it succeeds, a very well-chosen one at that.” Greil nodded. “Yes, the King of Daein would not hesitate to employ such treacherous tactics.” He turned to Soren. “What happened next?”

Soren recounted what he’d seen and learned: “King Crimea’s brother deployed the Crimean army to meet the attack. The king ordered his people to flee the city before the battle reached them. Fearing the worst, I fled and made my way here.”

Greil sighed. “So we don’t know how the tides of battle flow now, do we? That’s alright. Word of war cannot have traveled far yet. We may well be the first ones who know of it out here. You did well to bring us this information, Soren. I know some risk was involved.”

“It was nothing,” he lied. He had traveled night and day, running whenever he’d had the energy. He’d hitched rides on whatever cart or wagon would take him, and he’d urged them to push their horses into a gallop if they didn’t yet know of the invasion. Squadrons of Daein cavalry and dracoknights had already begun spilling into the countryside, targeting military outposts, demanding the surrender of the militia, and terrorizing peasants for good measure. The roads had not always been safe, and Soren had cut cross-country to reach the base as soon as possible. The way Greil was looking at him now, with pride and gratitude, Soren wondered if he realized all that.

“Daein has invaded Crimea…” Titania shook her head in disbelief. “We may be mercenaries, but this still affects us.”

“What are we going to do?” Ike asked, looking from her to Greil.

“That is the question of the day,” Greil sighed. “How do you see it, Titania?”

Soren could have predicted her reply word-for-word. “Crimea,” she said warmly, “is the closest thing we have to a homeland. The Crimean royal family and noble houses have been generous to us with many lucrative jobs.” She was of course referring to the rare well-paying jobs she and Greil sometimes carried out. “From a moral standpoint as well as a business one, it is in our best interest to help Crimea.”

“And you, Soren?” Greil turned to him.

“I agree on one point: we are mercenaries.” He shook his head at the foolishness of Titania’s words. “We are not Crimea’s private militia. No coin has crossed our palms, so I think we should stay out of it.”

“So you would have us sit and watch as Crimea is overrun?” He spoke in an even tone, but Soren could tell he was already on Titania’s side.

“I would,” he answered anyway. “Daein’s troops are superior in both numbers and morale. The chances of a Crimean victory are slim indeed.”

“But Crimea is ruled by King Ramon who is known throughout the land for his wisdom,” Titania argued. “And his brother, Duke Renning, is said to possess peerless valor and courage. Daein may not find victory so easily.”

“Valor and courage are for children’s tales,” Soren returned. “In terms of military prowess, Daein’s King Ashnard is every bit Lord Renning’s equal. Victory will hinge on troops’ numbers and supplies, and Daein is superior in both. I think the outcome is painfully obvious.”

Titania’s cheeks flared red to match her hair. “Curse you, Soren! Crimea is not doomed! If they can turn aside Daein’s initial thrust and turn it into a test of endurance…”

Soren folded his arms. “With the Crimean army both demoralized and ill-prepared? They simply will not be able to hold out that long.”

“Alright. That’s enough, both of you. I hear what you’re saying. However we must ascertain the current situation before we decide on any action. We’ll send a scouting party to get a closer look at Melior. Ike, I want you in charge of this. Assemble your men and get going.”

Soren was baffled by Greil’s use of ‘your men’ and apparently so was Ike. “What? Me?” he asked in surprise.

Judging by the sword he now carried, Soren could deduce Ike was finally allowed on missions, but he never would have guessed Ike had begun leading them as well.

“Titania will accompany you as an advisor,” Greil added with finality.

“Commander, you must be joking!” Shinon exclaimed, standing from his chair. Apparently he was just as surprised as Soren and Ike himself. “He’s just a boy, and he’s had barely more than a taste of battle. What do you expect a whelp like him to accomplish?”

Greil narrowed his eyes. “Ah, Shinon, since you’re so concerned, you can go as well.”

“Wait, that’s not what I-” Shinon pouted. “Ugh, blast.”

“Now who else?” Greil mused. “Gatrie, Rhys, and Soren. That should do.”

Although he would have rather rested, Soren knew he couldn’t refuse this assignment. He was the only with knowledge of the invasion and the state of the roads.

No one else argued, but Ike still didn’t seem convinced he was the right choice for the job. “Father, wait, why do you want me-”

“That is an order. Get moving. There is no time to waste.”

Ike’s gaze dropped to the tabletop. “Yes, sir.”

Greil was the first to leave the room, and Titania was right beside him. “I’m going out for a bit. I want you to give Ike some direction,” he said, and Titania pulled to a halt.

“Understood,” she replied with a firm salute.

“…Yes, sir,” Ike murmured again, as if in a daze. Everyone left the room except for those assigned to the scouting party. Taking a deep breath, Ike finally stood. “Pack what you need, and be ready at the front gate in, uh, a quarter hour.”

 

Soren drank his fill of water and ate a bit of cold food while the others packed provisions for the road. Mist (ever empathetic) offered to pack a bag for him so he could have a moment’s rest before heading out again. He changed his clothes and exchanged his boots for the extra pair he’d left at the base. He hadn’t entered his room in months, but he didn’t have time to feel nostalgic, even if he were so inclined.

The scouting party soon departed, and Soren found himself traveling back the way he’d come. They marched for a day before coming across evidence of a skirmish on a woodland road. Daein soldiers in black armor, Crimean soldiers in white armor, and Royal Knights in lavender, emerald, yellow, silver, and navy littered the road or lay among the trees. A small but well-crafted carriage lay broken in a ditch, with the door smashed in and one of the wheels broken off. Soren suspected it must have belonged to a fleeing noble. The surviving horses—some Daein, some Crimean—wandered the woods. Most were marked with ghastly wounds, and Rhys and Titania tried to coax them. But they were still skittish from the battle and kept their distance.

“Let’s rest a while,” Ike announced, although he still seemed self-conscious about being the one giving orders. “Look around, and we’ll see if we can’t tell who won here.”

 “An excellent idea,” Titania agreed, “Perhaps this will give us a clue as to how Crimea is faring in the war.” Soren did not think a single battlefield could support such a generalization. But any information could be useful, so he kept his mouth such. “Make a perimeter and work inward. Be wary of survivors.”

Soren, Shinon, and Gatrie each moved in a different direction to do as she commanded. Meanwhile Titania and Rhys converged on Ike with encouraging voices. Soren had heard them whispering about a pep-talk they wanted to give him, and apparently now was the time.

Ignoring their conversation, Soren turned his ears to the quiet forest and the subdued sound of crows plucking at corpses. He judged the battle must have occurred only a few hours ago. They were still far from Melior and this wasn’t a well-travelled thoroughfare, so the Daein squadron must have been pursuing this carriage and its entourage specifically. The number of Royal Knights indicated that the noble must have been someone important. Taking a look inside the carriage, Soren saw the upholstery bore the emblem of the royal family, but there was no sign of the occupant.

He continued down the road and then cut in an arc through the woods before returning to Ike. The number of dead Daeins surpassed the Crimeans, but Soren could not determine from the footprints if anyone had left this battlefield alive.

While scanning the ground, his mind turned to Greil and the fact that he’d sent them out here with Ike in command and very little direction. Blindly wandering and hoping to gain insight into the tides of war was not an effective tactic. Soren suspected Greil never intended for them to lay eyes on Melior. He may want them to accidentally trip in trouble, and if not that, he probably wanted Ike to see the horror of war and be inspired to action.

“How do things look over there, Soren?” Ike asked, when he returned from his circuit. He looked a little happier, which meant Titania and Rhys’s plan must have been a success.

“Same as here,” Soren reported. “There are corpses strewn everywhere. There are quite a lot of them, especially when you consider how far we are from the capital.”

Titania joined them, with Rhys at her side. “Are they Crimean?”

“Judging by the armor—” Rhys glanced queasily at the nearest body “—the vast majority of the dead are Daein soldiers.”

“So Crimea has the upper hand?” Ike asked hopefully.

“Just the opposite, I think,” Soren answered. “The Crimean soldiers were members of the Imperial Guard. That means King Ramon—or another member of the royal family—was on the move when Daein soldiers fell on them.”

“Could it have been Lord Renning?” Titania asked in distress.

Soren shook his head. She should have had the sense to conclude it was not; she was a former Royal Knight after all. “No. As long as the Crimean army still draws breath, Lord Renning will not leave their command. Perhaps another member of the court.”

“Yo!” Gatrie jogged up to them, his armor clanking loudly. “We’ve got Daein soldiers moving in on our location! And they don’t look happy!”

Shinon heard the commotion and came loping back through the trees. Titania mounted her steed, and the mercenaries instinctively regrouped in a defensive formation. A small contingent of soldiers appeared. Their commander’s black armor was festooned with brass, but Soren suspected he was still of a low rank. He shouted from afar: “You there! Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Titania rested her reins on her lap and raised both hands. Her body language was complacent, despite the ferocity of her glare. “We’re no one you need-”

“You’re armed! Heed me! Drop your weapons and surrender! Act quickly, or else!”

Shinon scowled and stroked the fletching of the arrows slung on his back. “Listen to me, fool. You’re making a mistake. We’re not-”

“Ah, not going to cooperate, eh?” the commander smiled. “In that case, ready your weapons!”

“Tsk!” Titania drew her poleax. “Headstrong fools!”

Soren shook his head. “Getting caught up in some skirmish is not part of the plan…” he muttered, even though he suspected Greil had intended this. He may not have wanted them harmed, but wanted them on the side of Crimea in this war, one way or another.

“They’re obviously not going to listen to us. Greil Mercenaries, get ready to fight!” Ike called. The hesitancy was gone from his voice. 

The commander planted his spear at his feet and chuckled. His men all followed his example. Evidently, they would wait for the mercenaries to accept the challenge—the picture of good sport, and yet they snickered arrogantly.

“Alright, Ike,” Shinon shot him a sideways sneer. “Let’s see how you handle the role of captain. Well? What are your orders, boy? We’ll do what you say, so long as you hurry up and spit it out!”

Under his barrage, Ike’s confidence crumpled. “I know. I know! I’m thinking! Give me a moment will you, Shinon?”

Soren sympathized with his friend and resented Shinon for wasting their time. He tried to catch Ike’s eye, having devised a suitable plan the moment the soldiers had appeared. But if he spoke up now, he would jeopardize Ike’s standing in the minds of his peers.

“Bah,” Shinon spat, “Useless! We’d be better led with Mist than this soft, untested whelp.”

“Let’s see.” Ike glanced around. “We’re in the middle of the road, and there’s not much cover.” He caught Soren’s eyes but didn’t seem to understand their meaning. However, he did find something logical to say: “Soren and Rhys are vulnerable, so we have to protect them from enemy attacks…right?”

Ike was no brilliant tactician, but he could at least see the basics.  “That’s a sound a sound strategy, Ike,” he agreed. “I can attack from behind your defenses. Good thinking.” He didn’t want to coddle his friend, but right now he needed all the help he could get.

Ike seemed to brighten. “Do you mean that?”

Soren hardened his gaze. They didn’t have time for further discussion.

Shinon rolled his eyes.

“Um…” Ike returned his attention to the soldiers awaiting them. They were smiling, expecting an easy slaughter. His eyes narrowed into a glare. “Alright! Let’s do that then.”

“Everyone, positions! You know what to do.” Titania looped her reigns around one arm and pointed her axe at the soldiers. Her hair danced like flames around her face.

The enemy commander released a bark of laughter and signaled his men to march forward in an attack formation.

Gatrie hefted his spear and roared: “Bring it on!”

Shinon fell back slightly, behind Gatrie’s broad back. Pointing his bow high, he wasted no time releasing arrows. Each one easily passed over their shield wall and fell on a soldier.

Rhys moved even farther back so he would be out the range of the enemy archers returning fire. But his eyes were alert for any sign he was needed.

Soren stepped behind Ike and did his best to avoid the enemy volleys. He stuck his thumb between the pages of his tome, the spells ready on his lips.

Ike had two swords on his hip now, and he drew the new one Mist had given him on behalf of Greil before they’d left the base. He held it with a grace of purpose Soren had never seen in him before. It hit him now that his friend had become a killer—like Soren and the rest. While he’d been away, seeking answers he never found, he had missed Ike’s first mission, his first kill. Had Ike needed comfort or guidance when it happened? Or had he been more prepared than Soren that day in the temple? Now was not the time to ask such questions, nor would it ever be.