Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 1 ❯ CHAPTER 22: ALLIES ( Chapter 22 )

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

A party of twelve had set out from the mercenary base, and although they no longer had Greil, Shinon, Gatrie, or the princess with them, their numbers had already swelled to seventeen (if one generously included the merchants and their laguz guides). Soren wondered if this had something to do with the way people naturally gravitated toward Ike. They trusted him, enjoyed talking to him, and even wanted him to lead despite his age and inexperience. In return, Ike listened to them, learned about their lives, and asked about the things they cared about. He made them feel safe, brave, and confident; he made them feel important.

Because of this, he was always surrounded by people as they marched to Zarzi, and Soren always seemed to be watching from afar. Ike was coming into his own as a commander. He embodied the best parts of both Greil and Elena, and Soren was oddly proud of him. As he followed Ike through the ancient forests, expansive valleys, and rolling mountains of Gallia, he realized he would probably follow him anywhere.

 

After three weeks, Castle Gallia finally appeared before them—or rather, above them. They exited a ravine into a section of forest where the trees were thinner and the ground well-worn. Above the trees, they could see the palace built into the side of a mountain: a sprawling chain of tall, stone walls. The castle was tier-shaped and resembled the cliffs around it, and as immense as it was, it was still far away.

Below the fortress was the capital city of Zarzi, which looked more like a human city than any of the laguz settlements Soren had seen so far. However, they weren’t allowed a closer look (not that Soren wanted one). Lethe and Mordecai led them around the city, approaching the castle via a mountain pass. Eventually, they reached the grand front doors, which were promptly pulled open by a pair of matching silver-haired tigers in their unshifted forms.

Soren had barely taken a step inside before Princess Elincia was there, racing to Ike like a little girl and clasping his hands in her own. She gushed about how glad she was to see them again and only tempered herself when expressing condolences for the loss of Greil. The pair chatted while the rest of the merchants and mercenaries wandered around the welcome hall.

It appeared the castle’s interior shared the same aesthetic as the exterior: simple, sturdy, enormous, and yet undeniably elegant. The perfectly parallel beams and curved ribs of the rafters each appeared to be an entire tree (and considering the size of the trees that grew in the Gallian forest, that was saying something). The walls were laid with rectangular stones larger than a man, and when Soren peered closer, he saw that they were also carved with painstaking designs that encircled the room.

While he was appreciating the architecture, Lethe and Mordecai conversed with the guards, and soon another Gallian soldier trotted into the room, announcing, “The king has arrived!” Another two guards opened the doors wider, and in walked the largest man Soren had ever seen.

The King of the Beasts resembled his castle in the sense that everything about him was big, from his nose down to each of the knuckles on each of his fingers. He was tall. His strides were long. He wore a sweeping blue and gold cloak with a huge white ruff at the collar. His beard and hair were blood red and grew out like a lion’s mane—which of course, it was. He was a lion, the strongest of all the beast laguz.

Lethe and Mordecai bowed low.

“Um…” Ike seemed taken off guard. “Hey there.”

Of all the words to greet a king, those wouldn’t have been Soren’s choice, but he was just glad he didn’t have to say anything at all.

“Thank you for coming to Gallia Palace. I am Caineghis, ruler of the Kingdom of Gallia,” the red lion boomed, proving his voice matched the rest of him. However, his words were refined and evenly spoken. He sounded like the highest of nobility, not a simple beast-man.

“These are the Greil Mercenaries,” Ike introduced the company with a wave of his arm. “I am Ike, their commander.”

“You have been raised well, young pup, I almost didn’t recognize you.” Caineghis’s eyes softened as she smiled down at Ike, who was clearly taken aback.

“What?”

Everyone looked confused except for Titania, who was smiling warmly. “When last you were here,” she explained, “you were still a small child.”

Soren allowed his confusion to fade. He realized he should not have been surprised that Greil had known the Beast King nor that the king would therefore know Ike.

“Is that you, Titania?” the king laughed, “It’s good to see you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty.” Titania bowed.

“The two of you are friends?” Ike was clearly baffled. “How? How does the king know me?”

“I have something I must tell you about your father, Greil.” Caineghis rubbed his chin in thought and surveyed the faces of the others in the room. “Lethe, Mordecai, leave us now. Escort our guests to their prepared rooms, so they may have a place to rest and heal their wounds.” He obviously wanted to talk with Ike alone.

“At once, my Lord!” Lethe saluted.

“Would it be best if I were to leave as well?” Elincia inquired.

“No, Princess, I would have you stay. And this one will also stay,” Caineghis declared. He gestured to a figure Soren was surprised he hadn’t noticed before. He must have come in behind the king and now stood as still as a statue, not making a sound. His ability to go unnoticed was remarkable considering he was almost as big as Caineghis—obviously another lion laguz. He had dark skin and black hair and was dressed in a uniform of black and dark purple. “This is Giffca, my shadow,” Caineghis explained, giving the other lion a small smile when their eyes met. “Pay him no more heed than you would the air.”

“Understood,” Ike said, “I would have Titania and Soren stay with me as well.”

Soren tore his eyes away from the king’s bodyguard. “Me?” he blurted in surprise. He had been expecting to leave with the others. But in a flash he caught Ike’s eye and understood—he was nervous, even if he didn’t dare show it to the king. 

“So be it,” Caineghis agreed. His eyes lingered on Soren a moment, and he resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze.

Lethe and Mordecai led the rest of the mercenaries and merchants through the main doors, while Caineghis and Giffca led Ike, Elincia, Titania, and Soren through a side door into a slightly smaller, cozier room with upholstered settees and cascades of sunlight coming through the tall windows.

Everyone took a seat except for Giffca who remained standing slightly behind Caineghis’s chair. Servants brought pitchers of water, glasses, and even little snacks that looked like thin strips of grilled meat wound around small sticks. But no one touched them, and no one spoke until the servants were gone.

“Now then, where to begin?” the king finally said. “Titania? How much did Greil tell his son?”

“Ike was raised with no knowledge of Gallia whatsoever, nor does he recall ever having been here,” she reported pleasantly.

“Is that so? Then it is best for me to tell him all that I know.” He shook his head in discouragement. “Although that is not much.”

“That’s all right,” Ike assured eagerly, “Whatever you can tell me would be much appreciated. I want to know more about my father.”

“Hmm,” Caineghis seemed to assess Ike. “You have good eyes. Honest and brave. I see your father in them. Some years ago, Greil, your father, worked as a mercenary for Gallia.” That was a piece of the puzzle Soren had not known, but it made sense. It explained why Greil and his family had lived in this country in the first place. “We forged a strong bond, he and I,” the king continued. “To speak truly, I still do not trust beorc. But your father was different. Princess Elincia’s father, King Ramon, and his brother, Lord Renning, are also of a different kind. All are—or were—exceptional men. Men in whom one could put his trust.”

Titania made a face, as if injured.

“Oh ho!” the King laughed. “Titania! You are an exception as well! Among beorc women, you are unique.”

Titania chuckled in return, clearly unoffended. “You are most gracious, Your Majesty.”

“My father was a mercenary for Gallia?” Ike repeated.

“Correct. And you and your sister, you were both born here in Gallia,” Caineghis explained, “You stayed only for a short time, but part of your childhood was spent within these borders,”

“Mist and I grew up here? Really?” Ike shook his head. “I don’t remember any of this at all.” He looked confused, as if searching for something he’d misplaced just a moment ago.

Ike had repressed his own memories; that had been the choice of his young, grief-stricken mind. But looking at him now, Soren felt somewhat guilty. Taking Greil’s request to heart, Soren never encouraged Ike to remember. No one had. Greil had never spoken of Elena, and Titania never mentioned her, although Soren inferred their paths had crossed. Mist hummed her songs but rarely reminisced. None of the mercenaries asked Ike about his mother or his childhood. But here was a laguz king, brazenly stirring parts of Ike’s mind that everyone else had agreed to leave untouched. 

“I feel your parents were carrying a dark secret,” Caineghis continued. “Someone was hunting them, I’m sure of it. Ten or so years ago, when your mother was still alive, your father chose to leave Gallia. Before he left, I went to him and asked him to share his tale. I asked him, ‘Why are you being chased? Is there anything I can do to help?’ But I was unable to loosen his tongue. When I heard he’d returned to Gallia, and I thought I had another chance to hear his tale. But his fate was black indeed. If I had been faster, if I’d hastened my steps, perhaps things would be different.” He shook his mane regretfully.

“Wait! Now I understand. The voice I heard—” Ike stared at the king “—that was you, wasn’t it?” (Soren recalled the roaring he’d heard the night of Greil’s death, but he would hardly call that a ‘voice’.)

Caineghis sighed. “His wound was fatal. I could do nothing. I thought it best not to interfere in his final moments, so I remained hidden. Tell me, Ike…at his last, did he confess anything to you? The identity of the Black Knight, did he reveal it?”

“The Black Knight? No. I don’t know who he was. My father entrusted me with his command, told me to trust the King of Gallia—you—and to live peacefully in Gallia. He said to forget everything else.” Ike frowned as if disappointed.

Soren frowned too. Until now, Ike had refused to tell anyone Greil’s final words. Titania didn’t look happy either. Perhaps she felt slighted that he’d refused to tell her what he now shared freely with Caineghis. 

“Is that so?” the king nodded. “Well then, let me do as I can. If any of your mercenaries desire to live here, I will arrange it. I will vouchsafe them homes and land.”

“Your kindness is truly appreciated,” Ike replied politely, “But, speaking for myself, I couldn’t live here in peace. Not now. I will avenge my father. I cannot so quickly forget the past…” Ike’s expression darkened. “Or the Black Knight.”

“But, Ike! That’s not-” Titania began.

“I know. I’m not—” Ike shrugged “—I’m not strong enough. An opponent who could easily defeat my father is well beyond my reach. But that’s why I’ve devoted myself to growing stronger. I will lead my father’s mercenaries for the day when my chance for revenge arrives.”

“A prudent course of action,” Caineghis observed, “You look as one who would be more impulsive, but you are Greil’s son after all.”

Titania barked in surprise. “You’ve matured, Ike. It seems like yesterday that you were merely a child.”

“Titania,” Ike groaned in embarrassment.

“And now, I would ask a boon of you.” The king drew his massive palms together. “The strength of your mercenary band, Ike, would you lend it to Princess Elincia?”

“Are you serious?” Ike was obviously surprised, but Soren had suspected that this might happen. Elincia needed beorc vassals to serve her and be served by her. Otherwise she was no Princess Crimea at all.

“King Caineghis!” Elincia exclaimed, having remained silent this entire time. Apparently she hadn’t seen this coming either.

The king raised his hands to calm her. “Gallia and Crimea are allied nations—that cannot be denied. However, this alliance in reality binds only the royal families. It is not respected by our citizenry.”

Titania nodded solemnly. “The people of Gallia are seldom seen in Crimea, aren’t they? Even though our nations are friends, the people of Crimea have little real understanding of the laguz. Many of our people still use that undignified name—‘subhuman’—when they speak of laguz kind.”

Elincia wiped her eyes. “My father’s heart was filled with shame and sorrow over what you describe. More than any ruler in our history, he wanted to deepen relations between our peoples, and then…”

Caineghis nodded sympathetically. “Perhaps that is why Daein targeted him. Their hatred of the laguz is well known.”

“Could it be?” Ike murmured.

“In my heart of hearts, I would like to take guardianship of Princess Elincia and assist in the rebuilding of Crimea. However, anti-beorc sentiment is running high here in Gallia. If we were to offer safe harbor to Elincia, I feel many of our elder statesmen would protest.” Caineghis shook his head. “They would say that we are giving Daein an ideal excuse to attack.” Soren noted the king’s words with interest. Apparently, politics and prejudices were something all nations had in common.

“Which means Gallia can’t offer Princess Elincia any relief at all, is that it?” Ike asked.

“Unfortunately, it is true,” the king confirmed.

My lord Ike, King Caineghis has advised me to turn to the Begnion Theocracy for aid in Crimean’s restoration. He says I should make of Begnion a formal request and gain the support of their shields,” Elincia explained tentatively.

At her words, Soren’s mind burst with an idea, and he had to stop himself from standing in excitement. Begnion had something he wanted, although he’d never imagined himself actually being able to travel there. The capital, Sienne, contained archives far superior to even Melior’s Royal Library. If there was any place with the resources to prove once and for all that he wasn’t a Branded, it was that city.

“Passage to Begnion will require several months at sea. An escort will be necessary,” Titania proposed.

“As you know, we lack the numbers to serve as a complete mercenary army. So if the Princess were willing to hire us as an escort, it would be an offer beyond our expectations,” Ike said formally, and Elincia beamed back at him. He stared into her eyes, and neither blinked until Ike broke the trance: “Titania, Soren!” he said, standing and gesturing for them to join him a short distance from the royals. “I think we should accept the king’s offer,” he whispered, and despite the laguz’s heightened hearing, Caineghis and Giffca pretended not to eavesdrop. “What do you say?”

“It’s what you want, right, Commander? Well, then, it’s our job to follow you,” Titania answered dutifully.

Soren wanted to agree right away, but he didn’t want Ike to question why he was so eager. “However you wish to proceed is fine,” he said carefully. “I will do all in my power to ensure that our road leads to success.” And to Begnion, he added mentally.

“Understood.” Ike bobbed his head. It was obviously the answer he’d wanted. Rejoining the king and princess, he announced: “As of now, the Greil Mercenaries shall assume the honor of serving as escort to the Princess of Crimea. Princess Elincia, our journey together will undoubtedly be a long one. May we serve you well.”

“Oh, thank you very much!” Elincia leapt from her seat and grasped his hands. “I only pray that I, in turn, may be worthy of your service!”

 

That evening, Soren and Titania put their heads together and ultimately decided there was no choice but to reach Begnion by sea, just as she’d predicted. The Erzt mountain range between Gallia and Begnion was virtually impassable, and the one safe path was guarded by a fortress city. According to Caineghis’s recent intelligence, an unknown conflict was ongoing in that region and the pass wasn’t safe. Heading south and cutting through Goldoa was also out of the question. The dragons’ borders were closed with no exceptions. As for going north, the old pass between Crimea and Begnion had been blocked for decades, and the idea of circling around through Daein was laughable. With no land routes open to them, the ocean was the only option.

That being said, laguz didn’t sail, so there were no ports or shipyards anywhere in Gallia. The Greil Mercenaries would have to return to Daein-held Crimea just to find a vessel and captain who could take them. This would be no easy task, and Soren knew there was a chance they would never even see the deck of a ship. If they made it that far, they would find themselves on a three-month voyage that would sure to be neither easy nor comfortable. But whatever the case, he had to agree it was the best plan they had.

 

Before returning north, they spent several days resting and ‘enjoying’ Gallian hospitality. They were given their own wing of the castle, in which everyone was assigned their own room and servants were readily available (even though they clearly resented doting on beorc).

Caineghis seemed to genuinely regret that he couldn’t help Elincia more, and he gave the mercenaries a large sum of money for transport and battle expenses. He also arranged a second wagon full of supplies. Traditionally laguz didn’t domesticate animals or travel by carriage, but some engaged in these activities as hobbyists. The mules were fat and poorly exercised, but they were a boon nonetheless. 

The king also signed an order temporarily transferring Lethe and Mordecai to Ike’s command, and he threw in Ranulf as a guide. There was no reason Lethe and Mordecai couldn’t continue to guide them, which meant Ranulf was probably just a symbol of the king’s authority. Soren could only guess he was meant to smooth the way and placate prejudiced beast-men who might try to stop them.

 

On the fifth day, everyone prepared to leave Zarzi, and for the first time since Gebal, Soren found Ike alone. He still hadn’t given him the report from the battle at the fjord. Now he gripped it firmly and approached.

Ike was sitting on a stone bench in one of the flat grassy courtyards that spotted the castle’s upper levels. There was no wall or even a fence barring the precipitous drop, but the view was admittedly breathtaking and Ike was sitting a good distance from the edge.

“Ike, here’s a summary of our last battle.” Soren began, handed him the scroll.

Ike didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. He quickly skimmed the paper, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket as if for safekeeping. “Thanks, Soren.”

He didn’t know what to say. Was this what their friendship had become? Was Soren merely a secretary who gave him reports he pretended to read? “That’s all I have to report,” he finally said. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Wait, Soren,” Ike called.

“Yes?”

“King Caineghis says that I’m lucky to have you.”

Soren was taken aback. “Why would you be talking with him about me?”

Ike shook his head and chuckled. “Don’t worry about whatever it is you worry yourself about. He wanted to know about all the mercenaries. But anyway, he said to keep you close in this war.”

“I already said I wouldn’t leave you,” Soren reminded.

“I know,” Ike tossed his head and changed the subject. “This is so strange. I would never have guessed I’d be here, in my father’s place, leading the company in a war... Did you know they gave me my mother and father’s old room? There’s a kid’s bed and a cradle. They didn’t change a thing… I think the king really wants to be welcoming to beorc. But all this tension—all this about laguz and beorc—it’s a whole new world.”

Soren remained silent. He had a feeling Ike’s musing was rhetorical. But when he didn’t continue, he wondered if he should have said something after all.

“I know you don’t like it here,” Ike finally said, his voice quiet. “Titania says most people are raised to fear and hate laguz.”

“I have my own reasons to dislike the laguz,” Soren replied. Since coming here, he hadn’t been blatantly ignored. No one looked through him as if he didn’t exist. But the servants and guards seemed to avoid looking at or interacting with him if they could help it, and Soren didn’t know whether this was paranoia or reality.

They were silent for a while longer, and Soren was glad Ike didn’t pry. Finally he spoke, changing the subject again: “On our way to Begnion we’ll pass the isles of Phoenicis and Kilvas. King Gallia says the bird tribes might cause us trouble. With some of the money he gave us, you should go buy some Elwind spells from the merchants. It might come in handy to turn their wings against them.”

“Thank you, Ike.” Soren said. “That is a good strategy.”

“Titania suggested it,” he admitted with a small smile.

Soren nodded and turned to leave. This time Ike didn’t call him back.

  

They took a more direct route back to Crimea, cutting their travel time down to only two weeks (Soren assumed this was possible due to Ranulf’s presence). Most nights they camped under the stars, but occasionally they lodged in an old fort along the way. When they made camp far from any beast towns, Ranulf gave permission for the mercenaries to draw their weapons and train. At this, they would spar immediately and with great enthusiasm, sometimes even skipping dinner. No one wanted to reenter Crimea with dulled instincts or a rusty arm.

During his years with the Greil Mercenaries, Soren had often practiced alongside the others, but he’d never played the role of instructor. Ike changed that now. “Soren, Ilyana,” he told them, “You two need to train everyone how to withstand magical attacks.”

Ilyana looked nervous. “I don’t know if I would be a good teacher…”

Soren said nothing.

“Back when we were just a regular mercenary company, we didn’t have to worry about things like this, but Daein will have plenty of mage soldiers in its army, so we’ve got to be prepared. I’m counting on you!” Ike’s eyes were shining.

Soren sighed. He could not refute such logic (or Ike’s excitement). “Alright then.”

Ilyana smiled, her confidence returning. “I will do my best, Commander Ike.”

Wielders of traditional weapons could easily practice with a blunted blade, bat, or long stick. Archers needed only targets, and if they wished to spar hand-to-hand, they could bring a simple slingshot into the ring to develop skills like dodging in close quarters and regaining footing to return fire. Mages on the other hand, required careful concentration and sufficient mastery of their elements to conjure blunted versions of their spells. (After all, it wouldn’t do to maim one’s comrades.)

Soren and Ilyana began most training sessions by demonstrating full-powered spells, slowly repeating the incantation so the others would know what keywords to listen for, and re-explaining the best practices for predicting, avoiding, or deflecting the attacks. Then they would spar with one mercenary after another.

The weakened form of Thunder produced a mild spark, which would give an opponent an annoying (but innocuous) buzz. The speed and trajectory were the same as a regular spell, and therefore suitable for training purposes. Similarly, instead of Wind, Soren produced heavy gusts that could knock a fly out of the air but not hurt it. And finally, instead of Fire, the weakened spell conjured a hot plume of smoke that would cause the opponent to sneeze and choke but couldn’t actually burn anything.

Sileas had never sparred with Soren or forced him to fight anyone else. During his years alone, Soren had only fought when absolutely necessary. Instinct and desperation had been his teachers. And when he’d attempted to train himself, he had merely hit targets. It was only since joining the mercenaries that Soren had been forced to spar hand-to-hand. Over the years, he’d gotten quite used to it, and yet, these matches in Gallia were an entirely new experience.

Everyone was eager (some even vehement) to improve and grow stronger, and this included becoming better at fighting mages. Boyd and Mia in particular threw themselves at Soren and Ilyana’s tutelage—and often at Soren and Ilyana themselves. In return, Ike pushed the mages to improve their ability to dodge, reverse leverage, and even throw a punch or kick if need be. Soren hadn’t trained this hard in years, and he certainly hadn’t felt as incompetent as he did when being thrown into the dirt over and over.

Despite the bruises, embarrassment, and general hassle of the training, Soren found one advantage to these sparring matches that made the whole process worthwhile. Ike often chose to spar with Soren first, and when they were fighting, they would chat in an attempt to distract one another. Until the match ended, Soren had his friend to himself again, and it was as if they were simply friends after all. He could forget Ike was now his commander. He could forget he was in Gallia. He could even forget about the war.

Ike was most alive when he was fighting, and Soren was able to share this vivacity without the chaos of battle around them. There were no stakes. At worst, Soren would blow a large cloud of smoke into his chest, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to the forest floor. Or conversely, Ike’s practice sword would strike Soren in the knee, unbalancing him and leaving a nasty welt.

“Watch my feet,” Ike reprimanded in his usual way, “and my legs.” He moved through a set of offensive stances again. “Attacks only work with weight behind them. You can tell where the attack is coming from by where my weight is. You can tell where my weight is by where it isn’t.”

Soren rolled his eyes. “Believe it or not Ike, I know the basics of swordsmanship.”

“Getting cocky, is he?” Ike returned. “Let’s see how he does.” He moved through the stances again, faster this time.

“There!” Soren called when he saw his heel lift. He dodged the blade and stepped around Ike’s reach. He immediately released a blunted wind spell, and Ike dropped to avoid the gust. He kicked out a foot on the way down, and they both landed among the dirt and pine needles.

Ike was laughing. “When falling, anything’s game.”

Soren picked the needles out of his hair. “Such wisdom,” he noted airily. “Greil must have been quite the instructor.”

Ike picked himself up, grinning widely.

Elincia clapped from where she sat spectating. “Good show, Sir Ike!” she called.

In response, he rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly in her direction. Then he called to Marcia, who was standing behind the princess. She was holding a wooden pole and the reins of her pegasus. “You’re next, Marcia! Let’s see if you and Dovetail have learned anything since yesterday.”

Marcia’s smile was cunning. “I think you misremember who won last night’s match, Commander.” She mounted her steed and trotted forward.

Soren understood his time with Ike was over, and he left the makeshift ring. Rolf was eagerly awaiting his turn by an adjacent ring, in which Titania and Lethe were currently sparring. “Let me try again, let me try again!” he begged Soren. “I’m way faster than last time. Don’t go easy on me. I’m really going to get you this time!”

As annoyed with the boy’s exuberance as he was, Soren knew it was his job to spar with all the of the mercenaries, and Rolf needed the most improvement. He agreed, and as soon as Titania and Lethe were done, he joined the boy in the ring (or rather the assortment of stones and sticks arranged in something close to a circle). He spent the next half hour showing the kid no mercy. Oscar frowned disapprovingly, but Boyd laughed every time Rolf landed on his butt.

After a few more pairings, Soren ended his evening, as he always did, by sparring with Ilyana. He’d had few occasions to fight fellow mages in his life, and so this was a valuable experience. Ilyana was hardly more than a novice herself, but she was creative and often unpredictable. Outside of a battle, she struck Soren as lazy and lethargic, and she acted timid around strangers. But in battle, she was full of energy. She never second guessed herself or held herself back as Soren would have expected.

“*Come down, Spirits of lightning!*” Ilyana called to the sky. Her pronunciation of the ancient language was crisp, albeit accented in the common tongue.

Soren felt the little hairs on the back of his neck and his arms rise at the pressure dropped. He lunged to the side, but the greenish spark zig-zagged to the ground faster than he could move and pinged his arm before he was clear. He felt a small vibrating and then a numbing sensation, but he caught himself out of the dodge and returned fire: “*Fly spirits of wind!*”

Rather than dropping to the ground, Ilyana raised her pink cape with one arm and twirled around the gust, using the fabric’s fluttering as a guide to safety. She swiftly released another spell: “*Come down, Spirits of lightning!*”

Soren was better this time. He avoided the spark entirely and spoke rapidly enough to utter two spells in quick succession. “*Fly spirits of wind!*” he said to release a gust of wind, and then “*Smolder, Spirits of flame!*” to conjure a ball of black smoke.

Although she knew what was coming, Ilyana couldn’t prepare herself in time, and the burst of smoke got her cape and her side, knocking her off balance and into the dirt. Had it been a real attack, she would have been set ablaze.

Coughing faintly, she remained lying on the ground. “Alright then,” she said contentedly. “You win tonight. I’m too hungry to concentrate on practice anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Soren replied and walked out of the ring.

Rhys jumped in to make sure she was okay and help her up, but Soren knew she was fine. She did this every night—when she was done fighting, she was absolutely done. All of her energy left her, and she was happy to sit or lay wherever she found herself.

Soren went to find something to drink, since his throat was dry from uttering incantations all evening. To his surprise, Elincia left the stump on which she’d been watching Ike’s duel and met him at the water barrel.

“Good evening, Soren,” she greeted him, perhaps a little nervously.

He didn’t say anything right away. He merely sipped and give her a withering look.

“I, um, wanted to commend you for your magery,” she began in her prim dialect, every word uttered distinctly. Even the interjected ‘um’ sounded prescribed.

Soren still said nothing.

“You know, my good friend Bastian is a wind mage like yourself. When I watch you spar, you remind me of him. He used to perform for me… He knew how bored I could be at the palace.”

“Bastian,” Soren repeated. “You mean the Count of Fayre.”

“Ah yes, you know hi-”

He didn’t let her finish. “Lord Bastian Count of Fayre, rumored to be King Ramon’s spymaster, tactician, and trusted confidant. A man employed by the crown and three times your age. He’s one you count as a good friend?”

“Well, I-”

“Of course,” Soren continued, “I’m using the wrong tense. He’s presumed dead. He was at the palace with the Late Lord Renning and the Late King Ramon, wasn’t he? Hm, now that I ask the question, I do wonder. He couldn’t have been much of a spymaster if he allowed King Ashnard to march all the way to Melior without a word of warning… Or perhaps he wasn’t much of a trusted confidant.”

His words were even more effective than he’d predicted, and tears were already welling in Elincia’s eyes. “You-you dare tarnish his good name!” Her face was flushed with anger.

Soren was already tired of this game. “I am merely speculating,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It is by speculating that I best serve the interests of the Greil Mercenaries.”

Elincia clutched her skirt. “Of course, I understand.” With the barest curtsy (which looked more like a compulsive twitch), she excused herself.

Soren watched her return to her tent instead of Ike’s ring. He wondered if she was going to cry in privacy. She has to toughen up eventually, he thought to himself. He then wondered why that interaction had occurred in the first place. Oh right, he realized, She came to give me a compliment.