Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 36: CASTLE SIEGE ( Chapter 5 )

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

Gatrie raised his shield and charged forward with his shoulder behind it, bellowing like a wild boar. On his left and right, Titania and Oscar raced forward, capitalizing on their weapons’ long reach and their horses’ steal-shod hooves. When they peeled off on either side, Gatrie lost his momentum and planted his shield in the floor. Behind him darted Zihark and Mia, who slashed in perfect unison despite their drastically different styles. Zihark wrestled, Mia danced, and their enemies bled.

Soren sent a ball of Elfire crashing down on one of the soldiers, who dropped his axe and tore off his helmet to escape the heat. But Soren merely urged to flames to spread and consume his face. He crumpled to his knees, screaming and burning, until Stefan appeared and decapitated him. The hermit offered him a familial smile over the smoking corpse, but Soren just glared back. Then he turned and walked to a different part of the room. There were too many swordsmen here for his taste—and yet not the one he wanted to fight beside.

Searching for Ike, he passed Nephenee and Jill working together to take down a phalanx of archers. Jill drew their fire, with her wyvern darting up and down, jumping from wall to wall, and even scrabbling over the rafters. She maneuvered expertly despite the limited airspace. Meanwhile Nephenee crept behind them. When the time was right, she began rapidly stabbing her lance into their necks and knees with an almost mechanical fluidity. Distracted by the assault, they disregarded Jill, whose wyvern plunged down, crushing them into the floor.

Moving on, Soren passed Reyson, who was standing rather than flying and seemed to be in trouble. The heron was glaring at a large lance knight approaching with hungry eyes. Reyson’s arms were crossed as if unimpressed. Soren began uttering a spell to save his life, but there was no need. Sothe sprinted from behind the nearest brazier. He grabbed the knight’s elbow before he could even react to the appearance of the small, green-haired boy. Then planting a foot on the steel poleyn shielding his kneecap, Sothe crawled up the man’s side and onto his back, where he wrapped his legs around his neck and stabbed two knives through the eyeholes of his helmet. The man screamed and teetered, trying to throw Sothe off, but he just twisted the blades deeper, stabbing his brain and ending his life. When the knight’s body fell, Sothe leapt nimbly off. He landed in front of Reyson, grinning. The heron merely nodded and, spreading his wings wide, took to the air.

Turning his prepared spell on someone else, Soren moved to the part of the hall where the battle was fiercest. Here he found Ike and Boyd fighting side by side—Ike with his broadsword and Boyd with a double-bladed axe in either hand and a hatchet on either hip. Tormod hid behind them, casting flame walls to keep them from becoming overwhelmed. Soren took his place beside Tormod and used Wind spells to fan the boy’s flames. He was able to strengthen, spread, and redirect them into adjacent enemies.

Nearby, Mordecai and Lethe were fighting a particularly violent-looking axewoman. She was large for beorc standards, and apparently very strong. It took both of the laguz to bring her down, and they only succeeded because Lethe grabbed her right arm and Mordecai her left leg. Perhaps it was an accident, but each laguz pulled in a different direction and the woman was ripped apart.

While they were handling her, two archers had crept up and now had arrows locked on either laguz. Leaving Tormod alone a moment, Soren stepped closer and unleased a single Wind spell. He targeted the closest archer, slicing his arm, shattering his bow, and sending him careening into the other so that, when his arrow flew, it easily missed Mordecai. The laguz took care of the rest, and Soren returned to supporting Ike.

 

Eventually the battle of the entrance hall was won, but it wasn’t taken easily. The Daein soldiers showed a strange abandon for their own lives. They refused to surrender or retreat when it became clear the mercenaries had bested them. Even the gravely injured struggled to rise and fight again.

Now with heaving chests and sweaty faces, the mercenaries glanced around. They were confused; they didn’t know what to do next. Ike, however, didn’t appear uncertain in the least. He glanced once at the grand double doors, which were firmly barred with the massive oak log, but then turned his gaze to the second pair of doors at the opposite end of the hall. He looked eager to keep moving.

“Do we go back?” Titania asked, voicing the question they were all thinking.

Ike shook his head. “I don’t think all of us together could move that log, and trying to chop through it would take too long. Anyway, the throne room’s this way.”

Soren walked where he was pointing and tried to open either of the double doors, but they wouldn’t budge. According to maps of the castle, these led to a middle hall and a grand staircase. The staircase, in turn, would have led to the throne room on the second floor. This would have been the fastest way to their destination, but it seemed Ashnard didn’t want to make it that easy for them. The iron doors, which were engraved with images of intertwined dragons, were firmly locked.

The other mercenaries understood what to do, and everyone standing near a door tried to open it. But only Brom’s was unlocked. The middle-aged axe knight shivered visibly when it opened and immediately closed and pressed his back against it.

“We go that way!” Ike declared. “Tie up the survivors and see if they won’t tell us what awaits us ahead. We move in five minutes.”

Not a moment was wasted as the mercenaries hauled the injured and disarmed Daeins to the corner of the room and began tying them up with their own belts, the strings of fallen bows, and whatever else they could find. Ike tried to interrogate a few of them himself, but they wouldn’t say anything useful. They would only claim Daein was assured victory, that it didn’t matter if they died, and that they even preferred it. One soldier attempted to kill himself when it became clear none of the mercenaries were going to do it, but Devdan intervened. The peculiar halberdier embraced the young man tightly, murmuring nonsense about mothers and babies, until the bewildered soldier gave up his concealed knife and promised not to try again.

Volke offered to get Ike the information he wanted: “I could convince any one of them to talk,” he said, gesturing to the prisoners with his eyes. “A thousand gold.”

Ike shook his head and ignored Volke’s offer. “We move out now!” he barked, and everyone regrouped behind him. He led the way through the passage Brom was guarding, despite Ulki’s warning that he could heard numerous soldiers breathing in the next room.

 

Ashnard’s strategy soon became clear: he’d turned his castle into a maze and was forcing the mercenaries to fight their way through it. Soren didn’t know where this path would end, but Ike seemed convinced it would take them to the throne room and the Mad King himself.

“You cannot be certain of that,” Soren counseled.

“Where else would he be leading us?” was Ike’s reply.

Soren didn’t have an answer. From everything he’d learned about Ashnard, these tactics didn’t make sense. King Daein was a man who favored—and excelled in—traditional methods of war. But his strategy today was akin to having the bowels of his castle digest the mercenary army until spitting them out wherever he wanted. It was anything but traditional, and time would tell if it would be effective.

 

As the day wore on, the mercenaries crossed from one room to the next, up and down packed stairs and corridors, and in and out of dark halls furnished with dark soldiers. Sometimes they met dead ends and were forced to return to rooms where reinforcements had already appeared, and upon defeating them, they would find a new door unlocked or unbarricaded. The maze seemed endless, and eventually the mercenaries’ stamina began to wane. It was all Ike could do to keep them going.

 

“For us there is no tomorrow!” a dying garrison commander shouted to his remaining troops. He staggered with a crazed look in his eye. “We cannot be beaten, nor can we withdraw!” His helmet was missing, and his face was bruised. Blood trickled from his severed left ear down neck, and one of Boyd’s hatchets was lodged in his right scapula. “We must defeat the Crimean Army and bring His Majesty back to us!”

The surviving soldiers rallied to his side. It was moments like this that the mercenaries’ morale and energy dipped lowest. No one understood what the commander was talking about or why all these soldiers were convinced they would win even if they died—and not understanding was exhausting. Even Soren felt drained from trying to figure it out. But this commander may have given him a clue.

He made his way closer, in case further hints were about to fall from the Daein’s lips, but a moment later, Astrid’s arrow found its mark in his chest. He instantly crumped to the floor, glancing around as if he had no idea where the arrow had come from. To answer his questioning gaze, Astrid sent a second arrow through his other lung.

“I cannot…stop your march…” the commander wheezed. “But…we are not defeated.” He smiled a corpse’s smile. “General Ena… Protect…the capital…” His face hit the stone floor, and Astrid was already feathering another opponent.

Soren jogged away from the fallen commander, searching for his friend. “Ike!” he called above the battle. “New information!”

At the sound of his name, Ike dispatched the spearman he was fighting and turned to him. “What is it?” he asked urgently

Soren gestured for him to retreat. After hesitating a moment, Ike consented to follow him. He knew there was a limit to how far he could drag Ike away from an ongoing battle, so he didn’t go too far. Once he could speak more easily, he launched into his explanation: “Surely you’ve noticed that these soldiers seem already beaten. They fight like demons for they have already accepted their death and have no fear of pain.”

Ike nodded and glanced back at the embattled Daeins. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

“And yet they seem convinced that they will win. It is maddening.”

“Yeah,” Ike agreed, “So?”

“The late commander you see there—” Soren pointed where he’d fallen “—said something before he died. He urged his troops to ‘bring back His Majesty’.”

You don’t mean-” Ike looked like he’d been slapped.

Soren nodded solemnly. “Ashnard may not even be here. If so, his troops know that we cannot win today. Routing even this entire castle will not free Crimea.”

“No!” Ike took a step back and grabbed the hilt of the sword. “No,” he repeated defiantly. “I don’t know why that man said what he did, and I don’t care. No king would abandon his nation like that. He’s waiting for us in the throne room, where I’m going to meet him and gut him myself.”

“He also mentioned a ‘General Ena’ who may be awaiting us ahead,” Soren added, deciding not to argue.

Without another word, Ike strode back into the fray. Soren hurried after him with his spell book in hand, but it quickly became clear Ike wasn’t set on fighting. He walked straight for the fallen commander’s body, which he rolled over and grabbed by the collar. “General Ena?” he demanded, with a rough shake. “Is that the next of King Ashnard’s pawns we have to defeat? Huh?” He gave the body another shake, but the man was already dead.

Mist appeared behind them. “Ike…?” she whispered uncertainly. She had her staff in one hand and her sword in the other.

Ike dropped the body and got back to his feet. Glancing around, he seemed to realize the battle was ending and his mercenaries were once again looking to him for guidance. “What are you lot doing sitting around? Press on!” he ordered, perhaps more tersely than usual. Soren realized this battle was grating on his nerves as much as everyone else’s.

But at his words, the mercenaries jumped into action. Shinon and Rolf started salvaging arrows from the corpses. Rhys began healing Makalov, who’d been knocked out cold, while Marcia was attempting to secure and calm her brother’s spooked horse. (The horses, pegasi, and wyvern all seemed to resent fighting indoors for so long.)

Soren caught his breath, drank some water, and bound a cut on his forearm. It wasn’t bad enough to warrant healing, and Rhys and Mist were busy anyway. While he was doing this, he kept an eye on Ike, who didn’t take water for himself until Mist forced him. When he did finally drink, he seemed to consider the canteen just another challenge to overcome, and he guzzled it seriously. Soren knew he was impatient to move on, and he wasn’t wrong. The longer they waited, the more chance the mercenaries had to realize their own exhaustion.

Then again, Soren wasn’t certain he wanted Ike and the others to keep charging blindly ahead. Ashnard or no Ashnard, medallion or no medallion—Soren didn’t know what they would find at the end of this maze, or if he even wanted to reach it.

 

Before long, the mercenaries entered another large battleground. This appeared to be the castle’s main dining hall, and recalling maps of the castle, Soren both hoped and feared this meant they were nearing a passage to the throne room.

The long tables that would have normally stood in neat rows were now either pressed against the walls or upturned as barricades. Massive dragon-bone chandeliers hung from the rafters traversing the vaulted ceiling, and the high walls were adorned with stained-glass windows depicting scenes from Daein myth and history. But the sun wasn’t strong this time of day, and the windows were only a shadow of their potential grandeur. The chandeliers were unlit, and the room was gloomy.

On the opposite side of the hall, the floor was elevated where the king’s table should have stood. But now it was empty save for a squadron of black-armored knights and a single white-armored one.

Soren squinted for a better look, but he couldn’t identify this man. He wielded a heavy lance in one hand, and his helmet was tucked under his opposite arm. His hair and beard were gray, but he was obviously not stooped or diminished with age. Soren wondered if this was one of Ashnard’s generals, perhaps even one of the Four Riders. He would have to be high-ranked to wear custom silver-white armor instead of the traditional black.

Soren decided this was a sign they were finally nearing the end. In fact, he wondered if this might be the person Ashnard had left in charge (if he was indeed still in Crimea). But he decided not to speculate further. There was still a battle to fight, and the long dining hall between the mercenaries and the old general was packed with ranks of Daein soldiers. Whoever he was, he wouldn’t be easy to reach.

“CHARGE!” Ike called, raising his sword and starting to run. His mercenaries echoed his roar and surged behind him like a tidal wave. Although Soren’s legs ached and he felt he’d reached the end of his strength, he managed to run fast enough to stay just behind Ike.

They crashed into the first row of soldiers and, more importantly, their interlocking shields. Ike and the others dug their heels in; they pushed, reached, and stabbed, trying to break through. Arrows came over the top, and those with shields raised them to protect those who did not. Those with armor, even just a few pieces, took their most protective stances. But arrowheads still bit flesh, and people cried out in pain.

Soren, meanwhile, used Thunder spells to summon lightning on the heads of the shield-bearers. Eventually the shield wall buckled, and the mercenaries broke through. Fighting erupted on all sides, and it was all Soren could to do to avoid the many sharp things slicing, jabbing, and flying at him from all angles.

He relied on his Wind and Elwind spells now. When he felt overwhelmed, he used broad gusts of air to push enemies back or knock them down. When he had the opportunity to focus, he cast more precise spells to cut through the soldiers’ armor and flesh. When he was doing well, the spells came to his lips in a never-ending chant, and one page after another flitted through his fingers.

 

Finally they pushed the Daeins back to the far wall. The surviving soldiers were trying to reorganized themselves atop the raised platform. Perhaps they thought the measly double step would protect them. But the enemy general was clearly not of that mindset; he donned his helmet and took his tall shield from a squire beside him. While his troops retreated and scrambled to remember basic formations, he stepped down from the stage.

“We fight to the last!” he announced, banging the shield on the ground and then pointing his lance straight at Ike.

“Do you think that’s General Ena?” Ike whispered to Soren.

He shook his head. “I do not believe it matters. Whoever he is, I will stand behind you as you take him down.”

“Right.” Ike grinned. He gripped his sword in both hands and ran forward. “Hyaa!” he cried, “Take this!” The old general easily blocked his first swipe—then his second and third. On the fourth, he let it glance off his armor as if to prove it would hardly leave a scratch.

Neither commander had ordered their troops to wait on their account, and so neither did. The mercenaries coursed around the embattled generals, and the Daein soldiers tried to stop them from climbing the steps.

Although Soren had said he would support him, he didn’t think Ike would appreciate his interference now. And Ike’s pride aside, the old man wasn’t hitting back anyway. Soren’s aid wasn’t necessary.

Stepping back and letting his next spell die on his lips, he watched Ike attack and the old man deflect. But a moment later, Soren was proven wrong, and the Daein general did fight back. He released a surprisingly rapid flurry of swipes and strikes with both ends of his lance. Ike dodged and parried until the onslaught ended. The old man looked pleased.

This condescension annoyed Soren enough to interfere after all. He shot two wind spells in quick succession, but the old man was spry for his age (especially considering his heavy armor) and pirouetted away from the gusts.

“No, Soren!” Ike cast out his hand before he could utter a third spell. “This guy’s mine!”

He had expected such a response, and now that the order had been explicitly given, he didn’t try to attack the general again. He merely watched them fight, wondering why this general would bother testing Ike—acting like this was some sort of game—when his soldiers were dying behind him.

Eventually Ike realized something was wrong too. “What is it?” he asked in annoyance. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I am Tauroneo, a general of Daein,” the old man announced. He immediately planted the butt of his lance on the ground and moved his shield to the side. It wasn’t the posture of a man who wanted to fight, so Ike, naturally, didn’t attack. “Young general of Crimea,” Tauroneo said, “I have but one question to ask you. Your swordsmanship is familiar… Who taught you to fight in this way? To the best of my knowledge, that style was used by only one man, an old friend mine.”

“My father,” Ike answered. “He taught me to use a sword.” Although he didn’t strike, he still refused to stow his blade. Soren appreciated his prudence.

“Is that so? Then you are Gawain’s son…”

The tip of Ike’s sword fell to the ground. “Wait, are you a friend of my father’s?”

Tauroneo laughed despite the number of ebon soldiers being slain around him. Leaning his lance again his shield arm, he removed his helmet. “We were good friends…long ago. How is the old goat?”

Ike finally sheathed his sword. He shook his head, and his face contained a hint of his old grief. “My father is dead. He was defeated and slain by a Daein general.” His eyes found Tauroneo’s, and Soren saw accusation there.

“That can’t be!” he seemed genuinely surprised and saddened. “For the Gawain I knew to be beaten… Who was it? Who took him down?”

“A knight encased in black armor,” was Ike’s reply.

“The Black Knight…” Tauroneo frowned. “I did not now his strength had grown so much…” He seemed suddenly puzzled, and with his lance still abandoned in the crook of his arm, he stroked his beard. Ike said nothing, and Tauroneo suddenly changed the subject: “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I have one sister,” Ike answered evenly. Soren was glad the question hadn’t caught him off guard. 

“In that case, I will not fight you. The world must not lose Gawain’s style of swordsmanship. You two must survive.” Tauroneo immediately emptied his arms of his lance, his helmet, and his massive shield. They fell to the ground in an enormous clatter, and the battle pulled to a halt as everyone turned to look. “I surrender!” Tauroneo announced loud enough for his troops to hear. “You may lock me away, execute me, or do what you will. I care not.” Dropping to one knee, Tauroneo offered his wrists.

Ike was clearly taken aback. “Are you sane?”

“Very much so.” Tauroneo replied somberly. “I had already decided that I would die in this place. I have served this country for many years—since the time of the previous king. But the current regent… He rules through fear and wants nothing but war. I can abide it no longer.”

Soren was pleased by this sudden turn of events. At the old general’s word, several of the surviving soldiers had dropped their weapons in surrender. Others had panicked and fled—some to the other end of the hall, as if intending to escape, and others through the nearest door. These, it would seem, were retreating to the next battlefield.

“Let them go!” called Titania when a few mercenaries made to pursue. Soren agreed with her quick judgment. They had more pressing matters to deal with, because those who hadn’t retreated were fighting again—shooting arrows and slashing swords into the nearest distracted mercenary.

However, their instincts had been honed by months of war, and they were not easily caught unawares. Soren doubted anyone would be gravely injured, and so he didn’t feel obligated to aid in the suppression of the survivors. For now, he was far more interested in the ongoing dialogue between Ike and Tauroneo.

“If you plan on dying anyway,” Ike finally said, “join us.” He stepped forward and offered a hand. “We have need of strength such as yours.”

Soren winced at the ease with which his friend offered to trust his enemies. It wasn’t the course of action he would have suggested. If Tauroneo was surrendering, he would serve them better as a prisoner to be interrogated than an armed soldier who could stab them in the back.

“You would take a former Daein general?” he asked, apparently just as surprised as Soren. “I cannot. Your fellow Crimeans would resist. They would never accept it.”

“Our army does not have the luxury of being so picky.” Ike returned with an encouraging smile. “Please…lend us your strength.”

Tauroneo took a deep breath and let his gaze drift over the battlefield. Rising to his feet, he turned to watch the battle coming to a close behind him. “As you will,” he finally answered. “I’ve already thrown my life away. If it can serve you somehow, you may use me as you see fit.” He bowed his head, and when he raised it again, he accepted Ike’s handshake.

When this was done, Tauroneo gestured at the now-open doors at the end of the hall. “The throne room is not far now. I take it that is where you want to go?”

Ike nodded firmly, but he didn’t ask the ex-general who he would find there. Instead he took his leave of Tauroneo. Rejoining the others, he exchanged quick words with Titania. Soon the two disappeared through the open door left by the escaping soldiers, leading the mercenaries to whatever end this maze had in store.

However, Tauroneo was lingering, so Soren lingered to. The man picked up his lance and shield once more, and Soren was careful not to get too close. Eventually he spoke: “You’re a bit young to be a Crimean soldier, aren’t you?” he said, appraising him.

“Our army is not comprised of Crimean soldiers,” Soren replied, refusing to acknowledge the comment about his age.

The ex-general didn’t push the issue. “You remained here and listened to the conversation between me and Gawain’s son, why?”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “I am duty-bound to protect Ike. Those who distract him with words pose a threat.”

“Then the lad is lucky to have you watching out for him.” Tauroneo nodded amiably.

“More importantly, I wished to ask you something.” Soren took a deep breath. “Is King Daein here?”

Tauroneo seemed genuinely saddened. “I didn’t have the heart to warn Gawain’s son, but nay… He is not. He never returned from Crimea. I am sorry, but there is nothing for you to win this day.”

“I expected as much.” For a moment Soren listened to the sound of fighting coming from the corridor, to be sure his comrades hadn’t gone too far. Even if Ashnard wasn’t here, Lehran’s Medallion might be. “Do you know what weapon awaits us ahead?”

“Weapon?” Tauroneo repeated. He didn’t seem confused, but rather interested by Soren’s word choice.

“I do not believe these soldiers fight so confidently to their deaths because they take satisfaction in the fact that we are unable save Crimea. They are convinced Daein will not fall… So I ask again, what ultimate weapon could be waiting for us in the throne room?”

 Tauroneo pulled his face in sympathetic pain. “She is not a weapon but a monster. One who has threatened to devour anyone who retreats or surrenders…and who has promised to devour their enemies, so that their sacrifices will not be in vain.”

Soren waiting for a more substantial response. He didn’t appreciate riddles.

“I heard once that their weakness is lightning.” The old general raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “You may want to hurry. Gawain’s son will need you at the front.”

Soren may not have liked riddles, but he understood this one. He nodded once to affirm his understanding and then chased after the other mercenaries. Behind him, he heard the clank of the general’s armor as he jogged to keep up, but the suspicious new recruit wasn’t his concern now. As relieved as he was to hear that General Ena wasn’t wielding the medallion, she would still be a devastating opponent. Ike would need Soren’s help, and he’d just let him charge toward the throne room on his own.