Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 40: PALMENI TEMPLE ( Chapter 9 )

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

Soren and his spies rode out to Palmeni Temple, arriving just after sunset. While trying to ignore the rhythmic jolting of his steed and remain in control of the animal, he’d been surprisingly successful at turning his mind to the matter of solving the imbalance of power between Crimea and Begnion. No longer was he distracted by the old woman’s story about Galina, which he felt he’d heard days ago rather than mere hours. By the time Palmeni Temple came into view, Soren had a solution in mind, but he knew Ike and Elincia wouldn’t like it.

However, these thoughts were soon put aside as well. As the temple grew larger and clearer, Soren started to worry about Ike and wonder if the mercenaries had walked into a trap after all. His fears were alleviated when he saw Rolf sitting with his legs around the neck of a dragon statue presiding over the temple doors. Shinon leaned against its pedestal, and Sothe was leaning against the wall beside the door, doing tricks with a knife. Rolf waved wildly when he saw them approaching. In response, Jill and Marcia pushed their steeds to fly faster and swooped down to greet him. The mercenaries inside must have heard Rolf calling, because several appeared a moment later.

Even at this distance, Soren could tell they were bloodied. Some were even nursing wounds that hadn’t yet been healed. He kicked his horse into a quicker gait, even though he was a poor rider. But he managed better than Tormod, who was an even fresher novice when it came to riding. The boy spurred his pony and promptly lost control. The horse cantered off, catching the air of excitement and completely ignoring his rider. Muarim, who was loping alongside in his shifted form, immediately set about herding the pony in.

Soren ignored their antics while he and Tauroneo trotted up to the entrance. He dismounted as smoothly as he could (which was not very smoothly). Ignoring the mercenaries welcoming him, Soren pushed his way through the doors and sought Ike.

He, Titania, and Elincia were standing beyond a sea of pews, near the altar atop the temple’s dais. The injured lay or sat around them, patiently waiting for Rhys to heal their wounds. No one lay with a cloth over their face, so Soren assumed none had died. However, the pews and tiled floors were littered with blood and bodies, and they weren’t wearing Daein armor. “An ambush?” he asked by way of greeting.

Titania filled him in while Ike and Elincia continued their conversation. Soren had almost forgotten the princess had travelled with the mercenaries this afternoon. From what Soren could glean from their conversation (while also listening to Titania), the young princess had been shocked to witness the horrors of battle and the death of innocents right in front of her eyes, and Ike was apologizing. Titania’s explanation filled in the details.

Ike and the Greil Mercenaries hadn’t expected a fight, but they’d been ready for one—and it was a fight they’d found. Apparently, a coalition of bandits and local mercenaries had taken over Palmeni Temple, making hostages of the priests and acolytes who lived there and demanding food and gold from the surrounding townships. Drunk on the success of their exploitation, they’d been planning to overthrow the ‘Begnion invaders’ and take back Nevassa for themselves. They’d known the Crimea Liberation Army was small (of course having no knowledge of the reinforcements arriving this morning).

Titania continued to explain that, when the Greil Mercenaries had arrived, the bandits had taken the priests as human shields. Consequently, several had died, and those who’d survived were traumatized. Elincia, it seemed, was torn between guilt for bringing violence to this place and gladness for having freed the temple and surrounding towns from the bandits’ menace.

Satisfied with Titania’s story, Soren finally turned to Ike. It appeared Elincia had been fully calmed, and she looked like her regular self. Ike nodded to acknowledge Soren and Titania and then gestured at the altar, the large statue of Ashera, and the room in general. “I can’t help but think this is not what Nasir intended us to find,” he said. “Those bandits were formidable, but they were never a serious threat to our conquest. We should still search this place.”

“At once.” Titania saluted and stepped down from the dais. “Come on, you lot, we’re going to search this place from top to bottom!” The mercenaries who’d been lazing around the pews, loosening their armor and cleaning their weapons, suddenly leapt into action.

Ike turned to Soren, opening his mouth to ask—he assumed—how the day with Zelgius had gone, but Elincia interrupted him.

“My lord Ike,” she asked hesitantly, “May I join you?”

“Sure, why not?” Ike shrugged. “Everybody’s lending a-”

“Ike!” He was cut off by Mist shouting his name. She emerged from a stairwell across the room but was then lost in the crowd of mercenaries beginning their search. “Ike! Where are you?”

“Mist? I’m over here,” Ike called from the dais. He stepped to the edge, scanning for her, and leaving his conversations with both Soren and Elincia behind.

She dashed up the steps in a second and pulled him by the hand. “Ike! This way, quickly! Reyson’s in trouble!”

“What?” Ike let her pull him down the steps. Soren and Elincia were hot on their heels.

As a heron, Reyson had been born frail and weakhearted, not fit for war. And yet he'd endured countless battles as part of the Crimea Liberation Army and had never faltered. He could defend himself with the knife on his belt or his wings and fists in his unshifted form (apparently having been tutored in self-defense by the Hawk King), and Tanith had even ordered a blacksmith fashion him spurs he could loop around his ankles, turning his long, webbed feet into a semblance of a weapon in his shifted form. He was an expert at avoiding injury, even without Ulki and Janaff watching out for him. It didn’t make sense that he would become sick or wounded now.

The hawks flapped across the room, obviously having heard Mist’s cries. “What’s wrong with Prince Reyson? Where is he?” Janaff demanded, sounding like a worried parent.

“I’ll deal with it,” Ike assured as Mist pulled him toward the stairs.

Ulki and Janaff held back, but Soren and Elincia continued to follow Ike. Titania soon joined them. “Is something the matter with Prince Reyson?” she asked under her breath.

“Mist said he was in trouble,” Elincia answered, her face pinched.

Mist led them down a steep stairwell into a basement far below the temple. A dimly lit hallway led to several store rooms on either side, and Reyson was standing just within the doorway of one of them.

“Reyson, what is it?” asked Ike, but he showed no sign of having heard him.

“We were just looking around,” Mist explained in a hurried whisper, “He’s been like this from the moment he set foot in the room. He’s just staring at the walls.”

Ike nodded and squeezed her shoulder as if to assure her it wasn’t her fault. Then he pulled an unlit torch from the wall. Soren uttered small fire spell to get it going, and Ike nodded his thanks. With the light in hand, he edged around Reyson’s wings and into the mysterious room. Elincia was right behind him. Soren whispered another spell for his own torch, and Titania lit one off his while keeping her other arm wrapped around Mist’s shoulders. Then all three squeezed in after Ike and the princess.

The small room was empty save for the remnants of a rotten mattress on an old pallet and a long-dry waste bucket. The floor was stone matted with ancient straw, and near the bed was a rusty shackle on a chain. This was clearly a prisoner’s cell, which was surprising enough to find under a temple (although Soren knew from experience it was not unheard of). But most striking of all were the intricate scribbles covering all four walls.

Soren raised his torch for a better look.

“What is all this?” Ike asked, bringing his flame closer to the scratch work.

“Every wall has the same pattern on it,” Elincia observed.

“It’s not a pattern,” Soren countered. The handwriting was atrocious, but he’d recognized the characters instantly. “It’s an ancient language. All chants and spells in magic scrolls are written this way.”

“Can you read it, Soren?” Ike asked hopefully.

He glanced back at the wall, but he only recognized a word here and there. “Some,” he finally answered, “but not all. Spells are simple, whereas this is a complex narrative. I think Prince Reyson could read it.”

They all turned to the heron, but he still showed no sign that he could hear them talking about him.

“I bet this is the same language that Leanne was speaking,” Ike observed gently.

“It is,” Soren agreed, “It’s Serenes’ language. Their songs are all in this language too.”

“So, Reyson is reading what’s written on the walls?” Mist gave him a worried glance.

“It appears that way,” Titania whispered and began pulling Mist toward the door. “Shall we leave him be? There’s a lot of writing here. This could take hours.” She stuck her torch into a sconce by the door.

Ike nodded and stuck his own torch in the opposite sconce before gesturing for Elincia to exit ahead of him.

“I think that’s a good idea,” she agreed. She pressed her palm to the prince’s arm as she passed, but he didn’t seem to register the touch.

Although the others left, Soren remained. He wanted to translate what he could, in case Reyson refused to share what he learned. As he read, the meanings of the words weren’t shocked into his brain like when he learned a new spell, but Soren hadn’t really expected them to. The shared knowledge and power of a spell-writer and spell-caster was required to do magic, but these words had been written with no power in them. The writer had merely been trying to express themself. Soren wondered how long they’d been trapped down here.

 He looked for words and grammatical structures he recognized and then sounded out the rest of the sentence. Sometimes this gave him the rough idea, but most of the time he didn’t have a clue. He found one sentence in which the writer expressed a longing to feel the wind again, but this was far from valuable information. He continued to read, hoping to come across the name of a person or place that would add some context.

There was one word in particular that reoccurred several times on the wall behind the bed. “Kou-Re,” the syllables said, and Soren couldn’t deny the familiarity struck him. Koure? he thought, although he knew how unlikely it was that the occupant of this room had anything to do with his childhood friend.

He tried to read the sentences the word occupied. ‘Koure is a fire inside,’ one seemed to say. Soren didn’t know what that meant, and he continued reading to no avail. When he’d garnered all he could from the walls and poked around the room a bit, he reported back to Ike in the temple’s main atrium.

“Ike…” he began.

“What is it?” he replied eagerly, closing the distance between them. Apparently he’d been waiting.

“From what I could gather, a person was locked in that room sometime in the past few decades. It’s quite possible they perished or were relocated long ago, and it appears the room was boarded and untouched until today.”

Ike seemed disappointed that he hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know. “You don’t know who it was, do you?”

“I wasn’t able to read enough of the writing, but…I found this under the bed.” Soren withdrew a small, disintegrating journal from his sleeve. He’d hidden it without Reyson noticing. The journal was written entirely in the ancient language and some pages were stained brown with blood. A long white feather, now yellowed with age, was stuck between the pages.

Ike withdrew it gingerly. “Is this…?”

A feather from the wing of a royal heron, Soren thought, but he merely said, “I think it may have belonged to whoever was imprisoned in that room.”

Ike nodded once, seeming to understand the implication.

 

The mercenaries set up camp within the temple. Night set in, and still they waited for Reyson. No one was able to find anything else remotely interesting about the temple, nor was there any record of a prisoner ever being kept in the basement. When they asked the surviving priests about it, they claimed to have no idea such a room existed. The most senior among them had served at Palmeni Temple for over fifteen years, and he claimed that room had always been locked tight until a few days ago when the bandits had smashed in the door, looking for valuables.

It was obvious this hidden prison was what Nasir had wanted them to find, but no one could guess why. Soren listened to Ike, Titania, Mist, Elincia, Tanith, Janaff, and Ulki speculate quietly among themselves until Ike jumped to his feet, causing them to fall silent. Reyson had finally emerged.

“I apologize. I took up much of your time,” he said.

“Reyson, you don’t look so good. Why don’t you rest for a bit?” Ike offered, gesturing to the hearth. 

He shook his head sternly. “No, I’m fine. It’s more important that we talk.”

Ike couldn’t hide his eagerness. “About the owner of this feather?”

Reyson took it gently from Ike’s hand. “Was it in that room?”

“Soren found it,” Ike explained. “Whose was it?”

“Lillia…” came Reyson’s answer, “my older sister. The writing on the walls is hers.”

“You have an older sister too?” Elincia asked in a soft, pleasant voice.

“Will you tell us about it?” Ike asked similarly. (Soren’s patience was wearing thin.)

“She was kidnapped twenty years ago, on the night of the Serenes Massacre. I-” Swallowing once, Reyson continued in a measured tone: “I thought that Lillia had been murdered along with my other brothers and sisters. I believed that until today…”

“Who took her?” Ike demanded, angry now.

“The walls say only that he was a large human. She probably never knew who it was. He thrust a clan treasure at her and demanded she use her magic to revive the thing sealed inside. He exhorter her…again and again, but to no avail. Lillia refused his request every time.” Reyson shook his head in frustration. “Because she did not possess that power.”

Soren, Ike, Titania, and Elincia traded glances. They were all thinking the same thing—Lehran’s Medallion. “Someone wanted to revive the dark god…” Elincia whispered. Only then did Soren realize Ike must have told her the true nature of the medallion. He wished Ike had consulted him first. For a moment, he feared Mist, Tanith, the hawks, and everyone else within earshot was about to learn the truth too, but no one asked Elincia what she was murmuring about.

“Shortly after she was brought here, Lillia fell ill. I am not surprised… It was a terrible time. She was imprisoned in that tiny room with no view of earth or sky for over a year.” Reyson’s even tone began to waver.

“Oh, that’s awful!” Mist declared. Her eyes grew moist with anger and sorrow, and Titania took her shoulder again.

“I beg your pardon,” Reyson said, apparently confused by Mist’s reaction. “Let me continue. A young beorc began coming to the room to care for Lillia. She had bluish hair and blue eyes…and her heart was unusually pure for a beorc.” His gaze flicked to Mist, who was wiping her eyes. “In time, she and Lillia became friends and shared a mutual trust. Lillia decided to entrust her hopes to the woman. They shared no common language, so it took some time. But eventually, the beorc woman understood what it was Lillia wanted…” His voice threatened to waver again. “Which was to take the treasure and the song and flee the temple.”

“Brother…” Mist glanced suddenly at Ike who was wearing a very serious expression.

“Was there anything else written about this beorc woman?” he demanded. “A name perhaps?”

“*Elena*” Reyson replied. “Translated to your language, it was probably Elena.”

“I knew it!” Mist exclaimed, to Reyson’s apparent confusion and alarm. “Mother! It was our mother!” Ike was laughing.

“What?” Reyson demanded, affronted.

“Are you sure?” Elincia asked skeptically.

“Our mother’s name was Elena,” Ike replied, beaming, “Like me, her hair was blue—as were her eyes. Reyson, the object you refer to as your clan treasure was an aged, bronze medallion, wasn’t it?”

“How…how did you know that?”

“The medallion became my mother’s keepsake. The song, too…” Ike grew quiet as if lost in foggy memories. Soren had to agree it made sense given all he knew about Greil and Elena. This explained how they’d come to possess the dangerous object and why they’d fled Daein when they did. “My parents both gave their lives to protect it,” Ike whispered almost inaudibly, and Soren wondered if Mist had heard those damning words. He also wondered (not for the first time) why Greil and Elena had protected the cursed artifact instead of smelting it, casting it into the sea, or otherwise disposing of the supposed ‘god’. 

“Ike!” Reyson gripped his shoulders. “You and Mist are Elena’s children? Then Lehran’s Medallion is here?” Judging by the panic in his voice, Soren wondered if he was thinking of the same folly.

Mist glanced at the ground awkwardly while Ike loosened the heron’s fingers from their talon-like grip. “The medallion was stolen,” he admitted, “probably by Daein.”

“It can’t…” Reyson deflated. “This is…unbelievable. Can a thing like this be chance?”

Ike shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t fully understand all that happened. But…it all makes sense. It all comes together.” Just then, Mist began singing with her hands clasped at her stomach. It was the ancient song Soren remember Elena used to sing, and the one Mist now hummed when doing chores for the mercenaries.

“Mist,” Elincia noted in confusion once she’d finished, “That’s the song that… But the melody’s a little different, isn’t it?

Ike nodded. “It’s galdr similar to the song Reyson and Leanne sang in the forest. My mother used to sing it as a lullaby.”

Mist smiled, and her hand found his.

“It is the song of release, the one Lillia entrusted to Elena,” Reyson explained.

“But I wore the medallion and sang that song almost every single night!” Mist said, suddenly alarmed. “And nothing ever happened.”

“The magical effect of the song is awakened by the power of the singer. It can’t be unleashed by just anyone. The true song can only be sung by a girl named Altina… Lillia wanted your mother to take the melody to Altina and return the medallion to its rightful place in Serenes Forest.”

“The story’s becoming clearer and clearer,” Ike said, giving Mist’s hand a squeeze. “My father fled Daein to protect my mother, who was carrying the amulet.”

Soren frowned as he considered this. The name Altina sounded familiar, but he had a feeling it belonged to a character from centuries past, some historical hero perhaps. But Lillia had been imprisoned only twenty years ago. He supposed there could be many people by that name, and yet Elena had never found this Altina person and pass on the galdr.

That being said, perhaps it was for the best. Soren could understand why a homicidal maniac like Ashnard or the Black Knight may want to use the medallion’s power. But why the heron Lillia would ever want the medallion, the song, and the woman Altina in the same place at the same time, he couldn’t fathom. If he understood the implications correctly, such a thing could lead to a disaster far worse than the one Greil inflicted on that village.

 “King Ashnard took Lillia, didn’t he?” Reyson finally asked. It was the same conclusion Soren had come to.

“That would be the final piece of the puzzle. After all, the man who found my father was the king’s henchmen.”

“What?” Titania exclaimed, taking a sudden step forward. “Do you mean to say you know the identity of Greil’s killer? You know the identity of the Black Knight!” Her affection for Commander Greil was revealed in the intensity of her voice.

Ike shot her a confused glance. “I know him only as the mysterious Black Knight. But he is a servant of King Ashnard. One of his Four Riders.”

“Right,” Titania deflated, slightly embarrassed.

“Can we discuss this later?” Soren interjected, though he didn’t know why he was covering for Titania.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She released a forced laugh.

Soren closed his eyes a moment, deciding it was time to end this lengthy discussion. When he opened them again, he launched into his assessment: “Up to this point, we’ve all been fighting for the liberation of Crimea.” He gestured to Elincia. “Even if we now add stopping the dark god from being released—” he nodded to Reyson “—and punishing Commander Greil’s killer—” he nodded toward Titania and Ike “—our enemy remains unchanged. King Daein and his henchmen are the ones we must defeat.”

Everyone seemed to digest this while Soren’s mind whirred with questions: How did releasing the dark god allow Ashnard to harness its power? How would he employ that power to conquer the content? And what would be left if he did? Of course, there was also the question of how he would access the god’s power if heron galdr hadn’t been the key.

Naturally there were old questions that remained unanswered, even by this revelation. Soren still didn’t know why Ashnard had been so willing to abandon Daein, nor why dragons like Nasir and Ena were supporting him. If Nasir’s goals were somehow aligned with Ashnard’s, then why had he given them the hint about Palmeni Temple?

 “It’s mysterious, isn’t it?” Elincia said, drawing his attention back to the situation at hand. “I mean, Reyson said the same thing earlier, but…could all of this really be mere coincidence? The fall of Crimea, Ike’s parents, the death of Reyson’s sister—the fact that everything leads back to Daein…”

“If true, it changes the meaning behind this war.” Reyson shook his head in frustration. “The treatment of Lillia is one thing, but the assassination of the former apostle? The framing and destruction of my nation? If it was all part of Daein’s plan to steal the medallion and the song, then I- I have new reason to fight.” 

Soren agreed. It was hard to believe, but Mad King Ashnard had clearly been planning this for a long time. If he had truly killed his way to the crown using a plague as a cover and orchestrated the death of the apostle and the herons using double-sided bigotry as a ruse—he was not someone to be underestimated. The Greil Mercenaries were out of their league, but they were the only ones currently opposing Daein, so they had no choice but to continue.

 

Before going to bed that night, Soren returned to Lillia’s cell to take another look at the walls now that he knew the full story. Here he found Reyson kneeling. The heron’s eyes were closed, and Soren wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But they opened when his footsteps stopped in front of him.

He said nothing until Reyson spoke. “You hate laguz,” he said. His face was impassive.

“That doesn’t mean I condone what humans did to your sister and your people,” Soren replied honestly.

“You hate beorc too.”

Soren changed the subject. “You were down here a long time. I think there is more written on these walls that you haven’t shared.”

Reyson’s feathers grew ruffled and stiff. He said nothing.

“And there’s this.” Soren took Lillia’s journal from his satchel and held it out.

Reyson’s eyes widened. Rising to his feet, he swept over to Soren in a single stride and plucked the journal from his hand. His fingers turned the pages reverently while his eyes devoured them ferociously. Eventually he calmed again. “It is more of the same,” he reported. Apparently the journal was enough of a peace offering to loosen his lips. “She describes her days, her mistreatment. She dreams of the Serenes.”

Soren had expected as much. He didn’t suspect Reyson of purposefully withholding information, especially now that he knew Ike and Mist were the children of his sister’s dear friend. But there was still something that didn’t sit well with him. “What does the word koure mean?” he finally asked.

Reyson tensed again, but this time he slowly released each taut feather. “As with many ancient words, it has several meanings.”

“Which are?”

“It may mean a gift that comes with many pains, a secret or endeavor with much at stake, or, colloquially, an unborn child.”

This piqued Soren’s interested. “Lillia was pregnant?”

Reyson cast his eyes to the walls again. The fury in his eyes cast sparks that twitched his brow. “A mixed child. Torn from her and killed by the guards who put it there.”

The conversation had dipped drastically into the subject Soren hated most. He didn’t want to hear anything else; he wanted to escape. He couldn’t stand to see the disgust in Reyson’s eyes turn on him. “I see,” he managed to say. Bending his neck in farewell, he abruptly left the room. To his relief, Reyson’s gaze didn’t follow him out. His eyes were glued to the walls.

 

In return for saving their lives, the surviving priests had given the mercenaries run of the temple. Everyone had been able to choose their own places to bunk, and the quickest got the best rooms. Soren, however, had chosen a small space just outside the kitchen, which may have been a servant’s quarters years ago when the temple had been grander. Since the end of the battle, the kitchen and main atrium had been where most of the planning and congregating had taken place, so Soren had determined it a beneficial place to be.

Now he was regretting this choice. Half the mercenaries were still awake despite the late hour, and Soren didn’t want to have to talk to anyone else today. He was nearly to his room when Ike cornered him.

His friend had a crease between his eyebrows as if he’d been holding them together all evening. “If you have a moment, Soren, we need to figure out what we are going to do about the Begnion army. Did they seem suspicious this afternoon?”

Soren shook his head regretfully, and reported what he could. “If the apostle has ulterior intentions,” he concluded, “she has instructed General Zelgius to be subtle about it. However, I believe the situation I previously explained is entirely natural in a case like this, and I still believe we should be cautious about accepting aid from Begnion.”

Ike gave a tired nod. “Yeah, I know. But do you think we have a chance at retaking Crimea without them?”

“No,” Soren answered carefully, “but that does not mean we should accept all of them. I suggest we take only the original number the apostle offered us. That would be sufficient for an invasion, as we have already proven by our taking of Daein.”

“That makes sense,” Ike agreed. His mood was brightening at the prospect of having a plan again. “But what do we do about Zelgius and the rest of the army?”

Soren hesitated. Between his visit to Nevassa, his interviews with Tauroneo and the others, and his trip here, he’d come up with a solution he knew would work. But he doubted Ike and Elincia would accept it. “I have an idea,” he began, “but you may not like it.”

Ike narrowed his eyes. “Shoot.”

Soren took a deep breath and continued: “We must turn down the empress’s aid without insulting her or Begnion. The presentation of a gift may soften our rejection if accompanied by a viable excuse.”

“But what do we have to give?” Ike asked, confused. “What could appease the apostle of Begnion?”

“Daein,” Soren answered simply. “The country of Daein was conquered in Crimea’s name. It is ours to do with what we will.”

“No.” Ike frowned.  “The Daein people are still free. We can’t just hand them over to Begnion.”

Soren tried to proceed patiently. “Ike, we have shattered the Daein people’s confidence, crippled their armies, and wrought a scar of battle on their land. They are our responsibility. But Elincia cannot rebuild two countries.”

This last remark seemed to make an impression, as Soren hoped it would. “You’re right,” Ike admitted. “Begnion is a rich and powerful country. It can rebuild Daein better than if we left them on their own.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Soren lied. “Right now, they are open to insurrection and attack.” He honestly didn’t care about the Daein people’s fate, but it was the perfect tool to secure Ike’s agreement. “So we will give Daein to the apostle and politely ask General Zelgius to support us from behind as he stays here to maintain ‘peace’ in his empress’s name.”

Ike bobbed his head in growing agreement. “It is the perfect way out of this,” he admitted, then adding with a smile, “You’re a genius, Soren.”

Soren shrugged. “I am aware.”

Ike laughed at that. “Of course, we will have to ask Princess Elincia. It is her decision.”

Soren narrowed his eyes warningly. “Elincia will listen to you. The trading of nations will be your call. Do not pretend otherwise.”

The laugh left Ike’s voice. “And I am listening to you…so really, it’s your call, isn’t it?”

Soren was momentarily stunned. He may have been Ike’s advisor, but the mercenary band was carrying more weight in this world than Greil had ever foreseen. He didn’t honestly know if he was qualified to make these decisions, but doubting himself wouldn’t get them anywhere. “I merely advise,” he said finally. “You are our general and commander, Ike.”

He frowned, and the gruff determination in his eyes made him look more like his father. “I know,” he said.

Ike met with Elincia in the morning, and she agreed to the plan. When they returned to Nevassa, they broke the news to Zelgius together. Soren was impressed by Elincia’s composure both before and after the meeting. She had won a significant political victory, and they were now poised to take back Crimea. Time would tell if she could lead them to military victory as well.  

 

The Crimea Liberation Army, their ranks swollen with fresh Begnion soldiers, marched out of Nevassa four days later. They moved across the Daein countryside, meeting no resistance as they headed for the western mountains. It appeared all troops stationed in northwest Daein had been pulled back to join the occupation forces in Crimea.

They took a route similar to the one Soren and Sileas had travelled years ago, although it had been late summer then and now winter was firmly setting in. He wavered between deciding which trip was more unpleasant and warded off memories of the neglectful sage and his too-large warhorse.

As he muddled through these memories, he knew he wasn’t the only one thinking of the past. But the other mercenaries’ memories were far sweeter. Each day he heard them reminiscing about the lives they’d left behind in Crimea. Over two years had passed since this journey had begun, and everyone agreed it felt more like a decade.

Rhys hadn’t been able to contact his sickly parents since the war had begun, and Nephenee longed to reach out to her family as well. Brom missed his wife and children. Kieran worried about his fellow knights. Calill wondered about her boyfriend and the tavern they managed in Melior. They all feared the worst even while hoping for the best.

Zihark, Sothe, Jill, and Tauroneo—all Daein natives—had agreed to remain with the company. They cast their eyes behind them and promised they’d return when the war was over. They did not yet know Elincia had bequeathed their homeland to Begnion.

Meanwhile Astrid, Makalov, Marcia, and Devdan—all Begnion natives—had begun asking Elincia about becoming citizens of Crimea when the war was over. The princess agreed they deserved a piece of what they were fighting for.

Everyone was looking forward to something, but Soren couldn’t bring himself to feel optimistic. Nasir, who now travelled with them in chains, had adamantly resisted interrogation. Soren was plagued by questions, not the least of which were the reason for his treachery, the motivation of the dragon general who’d escaped, and Ashnard’s plan for the medallion (which was likely already in his grasp).

Soren debated questioning Nasir himself, but he refrained due to the mere fact that the dragon still had leverage on him. If the he demanded he help him escape, Soren didn’t know what he’d do. In theory, he would do anything to keep his secret safe, but betraying Ike felt like too much.

As the weeks passed, his frustration only grew. He watched Nasir from afar, whenever he was loaded and unloaded from his cart, whenever he was fed, watered, and exercised. Sometimes the dragon glanced his way, as if he could feel Soren’s eyes, but his sly smile was gone. He was as calm as ever, but he also looked defeated. He walked as if his chains were impossibly heavy, and Soren couldn’t tell if it was an act.

Eventually, he gave in. One night when they were still several days from the Crimean border, he dismissed the guards stationed outside Nasir’s prison cart a quarter hour ahead of their shift change. It was well past midnight, and the air was brittle. Nasir had a thick blanket pulled up to his chin, but when he moved, Soren heard the clank of his shackles. He had to be chained constantly to prevent him transforming. 

“Soren,” he greeted him, “Well, if this isn’t a surprise…”

However, it was Soren who was surprised, because Nasir had refused to speak to anyone since Nevassa. “Why- Why are you talking to me?”

“I believe you are the one who approached me, did you not?” He slid closer to the bars. Soren glared in response, which prompted Nasir to raise a manacled hand. “I enjoy our conversations,” he offered, but Soren detected sarcasm.

“Then will you answer my questions?”

“Unlikely,” he replied.

Soren decided to proceed anyway: “The woman you helped escape—was she important to Ashnard, or to you?”

Nasir blinked slowly and said nothing.

“How does Ashnard intend to use Lehran’s Medallion?”

Still no reply.

“Who were you contacting with that crystal? How does it work?”

Nasir shook his head as if to stay this was a waste of his time.

“Why betray Ike only to give him the clue about Palmeni Temple?” Soren growled. “Whose side are you on?”

Nasir sighed.

“Am I boring you?” he demanded, wondering why he’d dared think a confrontation like this would decrease his frustration. “I could make this interrogation more interesting.” He withdrew his tome to emphasize the threat.

Nasir didn’t seem impressed. “Oh, but what would Ike think?”

Now it was Soren who said nothing, but he refused to back down.

The dragon narrowed his eyes. “No…you were prepared for worse tonight,” he observed. “‘Release me, or I will reveal your secret’—if I had made such a demand, you were going to kill me and blame it on an escape attempt, weren’t you?”

Soren swallowed to prevent the denial that bubbled in his throat, because Nasir was right; that had been his plan for the worst-case scenario. But he wasn’t sure he would have gone through with it. He’d never killed anyone for his own purposes. Self-defense and mercenary work were one thing, but this would have been different.

Nasir wrapped both hands around the bars. The chain between them hit the metal, and the ring pierced the night. “Why does someone like you follow someone like him?” he asked gently, as if he honestly wanted to know the answer.

Soren couldn’t resist the taunting any longer. “Someone like me?” he snarled.

“I do not mean your mixed blood,” Nasir explained. “I mean someone who has so little regard for the lives of others. Ike cares about everyone; you care for nothing.”

“And what do you care for?” Soren returned. “To what do you vow loyalty?”

“A great many things, as it turns out,” he admitted in a sad voice. Releasing the bars, Nasir turned and leaned his back against the cart wall. 

Soren willed himself to calm down. Nasir appeared torn, and that was at least one thing he hadn’t known before. He reminded himself why he was here. “You didn’t want to betray Ike, but you had to. Is that it?”

Nasir said nothing.

“Did you know I was watching you?” Soren asked, surprising himself by the thought. “Did you want me to turn you in? If you’d been captured sooner, you would have failed in the line of duty…”

Nasir glanced sideways at him. “At times, yes, I knew. Although you are better at hiding yourself from me than most…” He slithered back under his blanket. “But no, I did not wish to be captured. That is why I threatened you, remember?” 

Soren scowled but forced himself to release his anger. “If you tell Ike everything you know, he may forgive you. Now that you have been captured anyway, you have nothing left to lose. Although Ashnard may not consider you a failure, I have little doubt he sees you as a liability. You miscalculated to land yourself in this position. But I am offering you an opportunity to become an informant rather than a prisoner.” He took a steadying breath. “Well?”

Nasir didn’t look at him when he answered. Pressing his head against the wooden wall, he closed his eyes. “I think not, Soren, although you make an admirable effort to appear sympathetic.”

“Then rot,” Soren shot back. Twisting on the spot, he departed without another word. He’d gotten everything he was going to out of the dragon.