Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 41: RIVEN BRIDGE ( Chapter 10 )

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

It was the dead of winter when they reached the border, and the army marched in heavy boots and furs. At night they lit twice as many campfires and torches to fool enemy scouts into thinking they had more troops. For now, Soren wanted Daein to think the entire Begnion army had accompanied them. The truth would be revealed on the battlefield, but in the meantime this ploy discouraged ambushes. 

As for the battlefield itself, Soren had chosen Riven Bridge. Riven and Oribes were the safest crossings between Daein and Crimea, with Riven in north and Oribes in the south. Centuries’ worth of Crimean and Daein generals had determined that the northland favored an invasion from the Daein side and the southland an invasion from the Crimean side—due to the climb of the elevation and the availability of defensible cliffs. Soren wasn’t about to disagree with their assessments.

Considering the poor condition of the bridge when last he crossed it, Soren worried what state it would be in when they arrived. But as they drew closer, scouts reported that Daein had been repairing and rebuilding the bridge since the war had begun. These reports also stated that a large Daein battalion was now stationed there and that one of Ashnard’s Four Riders was in command. Upon hearing this news, Soren didn’t know whether to be more or less anxious about the crossing.

 

The night before they would reach the bridge, the Liberation Army was unexpectedly rejoined by Captain Ranulf of Gallia. The agile blue cat had crossed the mountains at a less hospitable juncture, but in doing so, he’d successfully avoided the eyes of Daein scouts.

Ike greeted him as an old friend, grasping his arm and pulling him in for firm embrace. Elincia curtsied, to which Ranulf bowed appropriately, and Titania shook his hand heartily. Ike then introduced him to Tanith and the Begnion lieutenants. They greeted him formally, and some with slight discomfort. Although they’d traveled and fought among birds and beasts, meeting a new laguz seemed difficult for them. Tanith was the only exception. She was always formal, always cold, and never uncomfortable.

“I have news from King Caineghis,” Ranulf announced, his tone becoming serious after the warm welcome. In answer, Ike took Ranulf aside, and they spoke quietly.

Soren tried not to eavesdrop, and the others shuffled their feet and traded soft words while they waited. Before long, the pair returned.

“Daein and Gallia are on the brink of war,” Ike reported. “The Gallian elders have finally agreed to support Princess Elincia and help her regain the throne. They’ll meet us in Crimea.”

Soren was glad the laguz had finally seen sense (although it was still frustrating it had taken them this long to realize a weak, untested leader like Elincia made a better neighbor than a strong, warmongering king like Ashnard). “What do they want in return?” he asked.

Ike glanced at Ranulf as if embarrassed, but he didn’t appear insulted. He answered readily: “Only Elincia’s friendship, and the promise of future alliances between our two nations.”

Soren gave him a skeptical look.

In return, Ranulf offered Soren a small (albeit annoyed) smile. Then he turned his full gaze on Elincia. Kneeled respectfully, he declared: “My king would like me to assure you that the victory of our integrated Liberation Army will belong to Crimea alone. We are merely acting in support of your own troops.”

“Th-thank you,” Elincia stuttered in reply, and there was no mistaking that her gratitude was genuine. Ranulf got to his feet and flashed her a comforting grin. 

Soren hadn’t expected the laguz to be less trouble than Begnion, so this was a satisfying surprise. He made no further protests or questions. Ike adjourned the meeting, Ranulf was taken into the hospitality of Lethe and Mordecai, and Elincia retreated to her tent to rest. Titania had scouts waiting for her to debrief them, and surely Tanith and the lieutenants had their troops to tuck into bed (or whatever it was they did to keep an eye on the men and women under their command).

As for Soren, he had fresh reports of Riven Bridge to study and plans to finalize for tomorrow’s battle. Although the sun had already set, Soren knew there was still a long night ahead.

 

“Soren! Are you in here?” Ike’s voice called in a hoarse whisper from beyond the flap of the strategy tent. The summons was accompanied by a light tapping on the canvas.

He yawned and checked the oil level in the lantern on his desk. “Yes…” he answered, trying to awaken his mind. He’d been dozing off while surveying the latest reports, which wasn’t unusual. He preferred to sleep in the strategy tent than the one he shared with a dozen mercenaries (even if it was colder).

Ike entered quickly and closed the flap carefully behind him. Soren hoped he appeared busy but then realized Ike wasn’t even looking at him. He had his eye to the crack in the canvas. “Ike? It’s late. What do you want?”

“Shhhh!”

Soren was quite confused by his behavior. If they were being raided ahead of the battle, surely he would hear sounds of conflict outside and surely Ike wouldn’t be hiding inside. It was unlike him to hide from anything. “Um, Ike?”

He moved a finger to his lips but kept one eye peering through the tent flap.

“Oh pooh,” pouted a woman’s voice outside. Her shadow cast its silhouette against the canvas. “How strange. I was sure he’d come this way,” she muttered. “Yoooowhoo!”

Soren recognized the voice of Aimee the merchant. “That voice,” he whispered, “it’s the woman from the item shop, isn’t it?”

“Commander Ike? Where have you gone, handsome?” Aimee’s voice crooned. Her shadow grew bigger as she drew closer.

“Crud,” Ike cursed softly. In a single lunge, he leapt back, grabbed Soren’s arm, and hid them both behind the paltry frame of the folding desk.

“Did you run in here to escape?” Soren asked, keeping his voice low until he knew for certain what was going on.

“Look, whenever that woman corners me, it takes forever to get away. Let me hide in here until things simmer down,” Ike pleaded.

Soren hadn’t spent an evening alone with his friend for a long time—the last being a long night at the edge of a battlefield somewhere in the heart of Daein. Their lips had been dry and their voices cracked from rationing water, but they’d chatted long into the night anyway. Wind had whipped over the plains, straight into their tent, but it hadn’t been enough to engulf their whispers.

He recalled the long winter nights they’d spent together in Daein’s southern mountains almost a year ago now. His heart warmed at the prospect of talking, perhaps playing a game, and passing the hours until they both finally agreed to get some rest. He was tempted to give in, to let Ike stay. But reason intervened. “We begin marching early tomorrow morning. This is a waste of valuable time. I’ll go chase her away.” He stood abruptly and left the tent before he could change his mind.

“Wait! Soren!” Ike hissed, but he didn’t raise his voice or leave the desk’s illusion of safety.

A brazier was burning outside. Everyone should have been sleeping now except the soldiers on guard, and yet Aimee was jauntily walking about, peaking around corners and into tents She was holding a long, wrapped package in both hands. “Ike! Ikey-poo! Where aaare you?” she moaned.

Frozen in his tracks by the ridiculous nickname, Soren summoned his composure and refused to laugh. He approached her. “Aimee?”

She turned around excitedly, but her expression fell when she saw him. “Oh. Soren.”

He was well aware that he lacked attractive qualities in either appearance or personality. He was small, strange, and often rude. He definitely couldn’t compare to Ike’s charm and good looks. Therefore he wasn’t offended by her lack of interest. He knew she was objectively beautiful with her lush black hair and bright eyes, but Soren wasn’t interested in her either.

Aimee forced a friendlier expression, apparently realizing she’d been rude. “I mean, um… hi. What are you doing out so late?”

“Do you have some business with Ike?” Soren asked, ignoring her false kindness.

“Well, yes I do,” she answered, her cheeks bunching with hope. “I found a special something that I’d like to give him. Do you know where he is?” She clutched the package closer to her chest.

“Ike is…in a war meeting,” Soren lied. “If you have something for him, I can hold onto it for you.” He extended his palms.

Aimee retreated slightly. “Hmmm… What should I do? You see, I have this new staff…” She unwrapped the top of the package to reveal its intricately carved head—polished bronze in the shape of what might be a horse’s head with dragon spines instead of a mane. At the center was a precious stone that wavered between blood red and indigo in the firelight. “It’s very valuable. I’m not sure if I feel comfortable simply handing it over to someone who—” she seemed to search for the right excuse “—doesn’t understand that.”

Soren smirked at her floundering and read the word of power engraved on the staff: *Hammerne*. “That’s a Hammerne, is it not?” he asked, oddly satisfied to watch her expression sour as he proved her wrong. “A rare staff that can take any item, no matter how battered and worn, and repair it completely?” He’d seen the staff depicted in books, and its power was rumored to revitalize even an entire tome of spent spells. A rare item indeed, it had to be over a century old; no one had been able to enchant a new one in generations.

“Why…” Aimee frowned. “That’s right. You’re quite knowledgeable, aren’t you?” She sounded more annoyed than impressed.

“If I may continue, I believe there are only a few of these in all the world. It is truly priceless. And you want to give this to Ike?” Soren was tempted to betray Ike and announce his location just to get the incredible gift.

“Well, I do want to be helpful,” Aimee smiled, sensing victory.

The temptation passed, and Soren shook his head. He would not betray his friend. “If you truly wish to capture Ike’s attention, bringing him staves and whatnot will avail you nothing.”

Aimee was crestfallen. “What? Really? Oh, dear… I was hoping he would like it.” She looked at the priceless staff like it was a worthless stick.

“Food, however, would be much more effective than a staff. He’s particularly fond of spicy meat dishes.” It was a lie of course—Ike would eat anything and had the digestive system of a goat, but the shopkeeper didn’t need to know that. In fact, Soren had heard Aimee was a terrible cook. This would at least buy Ike some time.

“Is that so?” Aimee looked frustrated. “Cooking is not something I’m skilled at, but…” She smiled hugely. “Oh, I’ve got it! I know the perfect dish!”

“Ah, good!” Soren agreed sarcastically, “He will be very pleased!” His eyes wandered to the Hammerne staff. “Now, about that staff?”

“Hee hee!” Aimee laughed with a toss of her shoulder. “You can keep it as payment for the cooking tip!” She shoved it into his arms. “Take good care of it!” With that, she skipped merrily into the tent camp.

When she was gone, Soren said loud enough for Ike to hear: “Well, she’s unexpectedly generous.” He had no doubt Ike had been listening the entire time, and now he cautiously emerged. “I received something quite nice from your admirer, Ikey-poo. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Ike whined. His expression was conflicted and confused.

“I think it would serve Mist well on the battlefield,” Soren continued, rewrapping the head. But Ike’s expression hadn’t eased. “Don’t worry. No one needs to know how it came into our possession.”

“Fine, fine.” Ike forced a laugh, but Soren could tell something was still bothering him. “Thanks a lot, Soren. You’re a good friend.”

“Naturally,” he replied while searching for his next words. A cruel quip to continue teasing him? Or he could invite Ike back inside. They could spend the rest of the evening together, as Ike had originally requested. Perhaps that was what Ike had wanted, more than getting rid of Aimee. Soren considered his behavior today. Was he nervous on the eve of battle? Certainly the crossing of Riven Bridge would be one of their hardest yet. Failure could mean losing Crimea forever, but that was nothing new. Finally he just said: “We march early. I suggest you get some sleep.”

“You’re probably right,” Ike sighed. Soren handed him the Hammerne staff, knowing he would get it to Mist. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

Ike walked off in the opposite direction of Aimee.

Soren returned to the strategy tent. He looked at the desk, on which was laid a map of the region, the weather prediction from their Begnion cloud watchers, and the latest report from their scouts monitoring the enemy troops. On top of all of this were a couple papers with his scratch-work notes about the attack tomorrow. And in the corner under the lantern sat four neatly transcribed copies of Titania’s latest personal hygiene notice to be distributed amongst the troops. He turned away from these documents toward the cot in the corner. There was nothing more he could do now that would hasten their victory tomorrow.

 

The Liberation Army marched early and set eyes on Riven Bridge before noon. Soren had positioned their aerial units strategically around the column, flying at heights above and below the usual altitude of a dracoknight scout. Whenever enemies had appeared, one unit from below and one unit from above had launched themselves at the wyvern in a pincer move. In this way, they thwarted Daein’s attempts to gather intel on their numbers and units. Unfortunately, Soren knew that wouldn’t be enough to give them an edge today.

Before signaling the charge, the Liberation Army nestled itself in the nooks and crannies of the mountainous terrain. The soldiers adjusted their weapons and armor and took this chance to eat, drink, and relieve themselves before the battle. Some were obviously nervous. Only the vanguard would take the bridge, while the majority of the troops stayed on land and watched. But they would all taste blood by the end of the day. 

Soren, Ike, Ranulf, Elincia, and Titania crept to cliffs’ edge to examine their enemy more closely. The sky was nearly cloudless, and they traded a spyglass from one to the next for a crisp view. As had been reported by the reconnaissance teams, Riven Bridge was well-fortified and guarded by a battalion even larger than the entire Liberation Army. Soren estimated a thousand cavalry and four thousand infantry on land, another thousand infantry on the bridge, and five hundred dracoknights in the air. There were also five large, rolling catapults on land, two stationary ballistae on the Crimean side of the bridge, four small scorpions stationed on the bridge itself, and one ballista on the Daein side. The entire bridge had been repaired since Soren’s last crossing, and now it was fit for battle. The Daeins had constructed and expertly spaced wooden mantlets and sandbag barricades, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d set traps as well. 

Once they’d seen all there was to see, Soren, Titania, and Elincia began moving back the way they’d come. But then Ranulf asked why Nasir wasn’t here, and everyone froze. Ike explained, and the others lingered to listen. Soren, for one, wanted to see Ranulf’s reaction.

“Nasir is a Daein spy? No way!” he exclaimed. “That’s not possible. He was our spy!” This wasn’t the reaction Soren had expected, but the admission it contained was no surprise. Embarrassed, Ranulf proceeded to apologize for and explain Nasir’s role as an informant for Gallia during their trek to Begnion.

“None of this makes sense to me…” Ike was clearly dismayed.

“He worked for us on behalf of the King—but Daein? As a laguz, he would have absolutely no reason to work for them.” Ranulf’s tail twitched indignantly.

“There was also a Goldoan named Ena who was working as a general for Daein,” Ike admitted.

Ranulf’s fists clenched. “Are you serious?”

Ike nodded. “We were forced to fight her in the Daein capital. When we attempted to capture her, Nasir intervened and allowed her to escape. He betrayed us.”

Ranulf scratched his chin and began pacing. Soren could only catch a word here and there from his muttering. “Maybe that was… If that’s the case, then… I can see why… No, even so, teaming up with Daein is just too much… Hmm…”

“I hate to interrupt whatever it is you’re doing, but we still have a battle to attend to.” Ike gestured at the bridge and awaiting army.

“Let me speak to Nasir, please,” Ranulf begged, clearly distressed. 

“Once we’ve finished this battle, we can go together,” Ike agreed with a smile. “Alright?”

Ranulf nodded in relief. “Of course.”

 

They returned to their troops without another word, and Ike rallied them for the charge. As they marched out of hiding and onto the main road, Ike whispered to Soren: “Any last-minute suggestions?”

“Don’t fall over the side,” was his reply.

He hadn’t intended it as a joke, but to his surprise, Ike laughed heartily. His good mood spread to the soldiers and mercenaries who could hear him, and soon several people were laughing, even more were smiling, and the entire vanguard started moving faster. Then they were running, and the mounted units spurred their horses to the front.

Marcia, Jill, Tanith, Ulki, Janaff, Reyson, and the thirty remaining Holy Guards collided with the dracoknights overhead, and soon their shadows were swooping every which way in the stark sunlight. Feathers, scales, and drops of blood rained on the charging troops. The airborne regiment was vastly outnumbered, but they could still lead the dracoknights within range of the Begnion archers hiding in the cliffs.

When the vanguard reached the fortifications at the base of the bridge, their momentum blew through the first three barricades, behind which, engineers were struggling to reload a stone ballista. Soren had hardly noticed their first volley, the attack having failed to even slow the charging army. Titania and Kieran took them out easily, and Boyd and Devdan each pressed a shoulder into the ballista’s arm, grunting as they turned it one hundred and eighty degrees. Others loaded the bucket with scoops of stone shrapnel, and Shinon hopped into the control position, looking like a child with a new toy.

Here they were beset by archers, mages, and swordsmen. But the vanguard pushed through, and Shinon laughed as he used the Daeins’ own catapult against them. Soren’s feet touched stone, and he began casting spells as quickly as he could utter them, aware that they needed this momentum to carry them as far as it could.

However, it didn’t last as long as he would have liked. The bridge was too well-fortified and the enemy combatants too well-placed; their progress ground to a halt.

They struggled not to be pushed back when Daein slid their mantlets aside, creating two aisles down which a dozen of horsemen charged. Ike barely managed to order countermeasures in time. The vanguard’s front line lost ground and took shelter to avoid being impaled and trampled. Some weren’t so lucky, and their crushed bodies were carried to the rear, where a phalanx of Begnion clerics waited.

Fresh soldiers filled the front line, and Ike urged them onward, hacking the cavalry to pieces and trying to make up the ground they’d just lost. Progress was slow.

Eventually they came within range of the first scorpion. These ballistae were placed such that, from here until the last quarter of the bridge, Soren determined they’d have to be careful of the flying bolts. These engineers proved less clumsy than the ones overwhelmed by the initial charge. They were relatively quick to reload, and the Liberation Army’s only salvation was that the scorpions appeared rather difficult to aim. That being said, the long-shafted steel bolts flew relentlessly into the vanguard’s ranks, scattering soldiers while skewering others. Shields and armor were nothing to them.

If these weren’t challenging enough, Daein’s ranged defense was further bolstered by clusters of mages who proved to be excellent users of magic. A few even wielded advanced spells like Blizzard. This long-distance wind magic was rare and powerful, and the gales were not only sharp but freezing cold. Soren had never owned the spell himself, but he was determined to prove his superiority as a wind mage by taking out these green-cloaked soldiers as swiftly as possible.

He relied on Elfire for this, which (in theory) should be most effective against wind magic users. Racing past his embattled comrades, he joined the front line to get as close as possible to the enemy mages. Here he unleashed fireballs from a variety of angles, trying to keep them confused. They were forced to abandoned their Blizzard attacks to conjure defensive gusts of Wind and Elwind. Soren felt the invisible blades graze his skin, but he was more resistant to wind magic than most. He could see the spells coming as if the disturbances in the air were as clear as steel swords, and the spirits balked before they bit him, caught somewhere between his will and the enemy mages’.  

By the time the mages were dead, Soren was sliced from head to toe as if he’d just been swimming in a pool of razors. But none of the wounds were deep, and he wasn’t losing so much blood that he couldn’t keep fighting. Although he fell back slightly, he tried to stay near Ike, who fought in the front line and called encouragement to his troops: “Do you see that? That’s Crimea! Right over there! Soldiers of Begnion, of Gallia, of Phoenicis—even if this is not your home, it’s somebody’s home. Fight for that! Fight for Crimea. It’s Princess Elincia’s home. It’s my home. Fight for Crimea! We’re almost there!”

His troops rallied to his call. They pushed harder. They made another dozen yards’ headway. But here the Daeins began activating their traps.

First the retreating soldiers threw down Shine Barriers—enchanted scrolls that created temporarily impassible walls of light. With these, they halted the Liberation Army’s advance long enough to organize themselves behind the next barricades. Once the magic faded, Ike and the others charged forward, but this wasn’t the end of Daein’s plan.

As Soren had suspected, they’d added their own alterations to the bridge when they’d repaired it. Holes had been dug in the floor, covered with a loosely interlocking, un-plastered bricks. The Daein soldiers stepped over these places, but when a mercenary or Begnion soldier set foot here, they were plunged up to their hips or shoulders, depending on the depth, and sometimes their feet dangled over the chasm below. Horses twisted and broke their front legs, and soldiers wasted time pulling out their comrades only to get stuck themselves with the next advance. Soren payed careful attention to the way the enemy soldiers managed their footing in order to avoid the hassle and embarrassment of becoming trapped himself.

Eventually Ike fell into one of these holes, and the army held its breath as he was helped out by Lethe and Zihark. Once he was safe, he continued to fight just as before, but morale had sunk low and they were slowly being pushed back. At that moment, Daein unleashed yet another surprise maneuver.

Once again opening aisles between the staggered barricades, the ebon soldiers made way for roaring beasts. The feral laguz bounded to the front and tore into the first people who stood in their way. Soren was momentarily stunned. They hadn’t faced the corrupted laguz since Begnion, and so he’d assumed they had been purely a Begnion invention. Perhaps that had been naïve of him. The smugglers would surely have sold to anyone who would buy them, and Daein would surely have paid. As he turned the pages of his tome back to his fire spells and squared his stance to the nearest beast, Soren wondered if he was still being too close-minded. It was possible the feral ones had been invented by Daein in the first place. 

He had no time to speculate further, because the creature before him seemed to resent its mangy coat being set aflame. Roaring in rage and pain, it abandoned its previous target and bounded for him instead. He unleashed another Elfire spell, but it was unclear whether that finished the beast off or Nephenee’s spear, which she threw with such force into its head that she altered the beast’s trajectory. But its momentum still carried it forward, and its bony haunches swung into Soren before he could get out of the way. The air was knocked out of his lungs, and both he and the beast topped near the edge. The feral tiger’s heavy body fell, still burning, over the side, while Soren held onto the parapet for dear life.

A red-armored halberdier seized the hood of his cloak and dragged him back to relative safety. Gasping to catch his breath, Soren took a moment to assess the battle. The Begnion soldiers were clearly shaken by the appearance of the feral laguz, but the experienced mercenaries knew how to handle them. Reyson had stopped singing his galdr and was staring, clearly appalled, while he hovered in the sky above the troops. Ulki and Janaff flew to join him, and it appeared they were trying to comfort him, although Soren couldn’t hear a word.

While his eyes were on the sky, he noticed a dracoknight floating even higher above the battle. This was not unusual, considering it’d been practically raining wyverns since this battle had begun. But this particular unit was peculiar, because he’d an opening to attack and hadn’t taken it. He could have slaughtered Reyson when the prince hadn’t been looking up, killing him before Ulki or Janaff reached him.

Furthermore, the wyvern was an unusual color—black rather than the normal red. This was not the first time he’d encountered a black wyvern, so Soren squinted for a closer look. The rider had a tell-tale eyepatch over his right eye. If he wasn’t mistaken, this was the captain of the Talregan Guard and the man who’d surrendered to the Liberation Army after Shiharam Fizzart had been defeated. Even if his indenture had expired and his debt been repaid, his and his wyvern’s armor should have been destroyed. Needless to say, it was frustrating to see him again.

“Hey, in’t that the dracoknight who done surrend’d ta us in Talrega?” Nephenee asked, apparently following Soren’s gaze. The battle had moved on without them.

“Not much of a surrender,” Soren replied, “if he is fighting for Daein again.”

To get to the bottom of this situation, Jill was Soren’s best resource. But she was fighting another dracoknight right now, far from her Talregan comrade. He looked around for some way of contacting her and saw Shinon.

“Shinon!” he called. “Get Jill’s attention.”

“If you say so,” he sneered and immediately shot an arrow in a high arc. It was precisely aimed and flew right past Jill’s face, sticking her opponent in the eye. The body slumped in its saddle, and its distressed wyvern flew away.

Jill twisted around furiously to see who’d shot at her. Shinon pointed at Soren. Soren held up his hand to get her attention. Wary and still angry, Jill guided her wyvern down to them. Shinon didn’t linger, making his way back to the frontlines. Knowing that was where he should be, Soren began talking as soon as Jill was within earshot and in as few words as possible: “Your friend from Talrega is back.” He pointed upward.

“Captain Haar’s here?” Jill replied, her voice full of surprise and hope. “I’ll talk to him!” With a flick of her reigns, her wyvern beat its massive green wings and pulled her high in the air.

Satisfied that Jill would handle the situation if it needed handling, Soren pushed his way to the front. Ike was in the lead, retaking ground lost to the feral laguz attack. He was injured, but not dangerously so. Soren was relieved, as he always was, to see he was okay. Titania and Ranulf fought on his left and right, and the three were laying waste to the soldiers and mages before them. Soren took his place just behind them, conjuring flames, gales, and lightning strikes in the enemy ranks.

When Ike fell back to be healed by an ever-present Mist, Soren took his chance to speak to him. “We are nearly two thirds of the way across,” he reported.

Mist gave Ike a flask from around her neck and set about inspecting his injured wrist. Soren thought it looked badly broken, but he was no expert.

Ike drank the water and replied, “That can’t be all you have to tell me.”

“Jill seems to have enlisted a Daein deserter to our cause.” Soren continued, pointing to the sky where Jill and Haar had been fighting side-by-side since the pair had reunited. “You may recognize the black wyvern and his one-eyed rider from our time in Talrega.”

Ike looked up and nodded in interest while Mist’s staff glowed green over his wrist and arm. “What does he say?”

“I have not had the chance to speak to him,” Soren explained curtly. “But I recommend you do. He may have information on the forces awaiting us on the other side.” He glanced at the majority of the Daein battalion still assembled calmly on the Crimean side of the border. 

“Yeah, you don’t need to remind me,” Ike sighed. “This battle won’t be half over until we reach land.” With that, he clapped Mist on the arm, showing that his wrist was all but completely healed. “Tell Ranulf and Titania to keep pushing their left side. I’ll be right back.” He stood and ran off without another word.

Mist glanced at Soren and used her staff to push herself into a standing position. She looked exhausted. “You heard him,” she said, glancing a little forlornly at where her brother had disappeared. “Let’s rejoin the others at the front.”

Soren nodded, and they hurried to support the mercenaries at the head of the army, who’d managed to gain several yards in the time Ike had been under Mist’s care. As soon as they arrived, Soren began chanting spells and Mist exchanged her staff for her sword. Although Soren knew she was strong and skilled, she seemed to be conserving her energy. She settled for picking off soldiers who regained their footing after being struck down by another mercenary. As always, she was more concerned with the state of her allies than her enemies. Her eyes looked for openings in her friends’ flesh, not in her opponent’s guard.

“Ike says to keep going! They’re weak on the left,” Mist reported with a touch on Ranulf’s flank. He yowled in affirmation and lunged forward as if her touch had released a spring in his haunches.

“Hyaah!” Titania sang, kicking her horse and confirming that she’d heard Mist’s order. “To me!” she called, and mercenaries and soldiers alike thronged to her position. They pushed through another barricade and slashed through the enemy ranks on the left side of the bridge. Soren did his best to help by watching the enemy archers and mages and taking them out before they could do any real damage. Mist, meanwhile, split away to heal the gravely injured.

Jill and Haar eventually reappeared in the sky above, and Soren knew Ike wouldn’t be far behind. His troops cheered when he returned, parting to create a path that led him straight to a Daein shield knight. The armored soldier slammed his steel pavise to the ground between two barricades, securely closing the gap. Soren knew from watching the footwork of the enemy soldiers that there was a trap hole in front of him, and he opened his mouth to warn Ike. But there wasn’t time, and it wasn’t necessary. Ike used a broken pike to vault over the trap and the enemy shield. Twisting and drawing his sword, he wrapped one arm around the soldier’s helmet and sunk his blade under his chest plate. The knight fell, and Ike landed on his feet among enemy troops.

But his mercenaries weren’t about to let him stay there alone. Devdan thrust out his halberd, reaching for the fallen shield. With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed the leather strap and pulled it over the trap hole. Then he was the first to cross over, spinning his spear in tight circles to block enemy blows aimed at both Ike and himself. Titania was the next to cross, and then Stefan. Ranulf and Mordecai climbed over the sandbags on either side, toppling them in the process. Makalov and Kieran leapt their horses over the shortened obstructions, and Calill and Tormod ducked behind what was left to avoid a slew of Daein arrows. When they popped up again, Soren joined them in an onslaught of fire and wind.

When the immediate threat had passed, Soren found Ike and called him back. He retreated, panting and pale. His headband was soaked with sweat and blood. “What news from the Talregan captain?”

“He came to fight Petrine of the Four Riders. He may not like us, but he currently hates Ashnard and his cronies a lot more. He’s on our side.”

“General Petrine,” Soren repeated, glancing at the ranks awaiting them on Crimean soil, “So that is the Rider Ashnard chose to lead this defense.”

“She was trouble, even for my father,” Ike added somberly.

“We won’t fight her alone like he did.”

Ike’s mouth twisted into a resolved grin, but he merely grunted in response. Then he turned his gaze to the javelin whistling toward them. Soren had heard it as well, and the pair jumped apart to avoid it. There was no more time for conversation.

They were nearing the final scorpion, and while Ike and Ranulf traded blows with the charging soldiers, Soren stepped forward and decided to do something about it. He flipped to his most advanced wind spell, Tornado, and rather than slaying an individual, he targeted the scorpion’s entire vicinity. The ballista burst in splinters of wood, the sandbags in front of it erupted into a cyclone of dirt, and the winds picked up the engineer and surrounding archers, throwing their bodies into those outside the spell’s radius. Despite being impaled with debris and sliced by the winds, it appeared no one had died, but Mia and Stefan rectified the situation by rushing out and dipping their blades into the necks of anyone trying to rise. 

Oscar leapt his horse over the debris, and his spear decapitated an enemy axman before his mare’s front legs even touched the ground. Behind him jumped Makalov, who had a sword in either hand and was guiding his steed with his knees.

Ike and Ranulf rushed to finish their own battles so they could join the others at the new front. Soren hated to admit it, but Ike really did fight best when at the head of his company. He fought in Greil’s style: fast and strong, unrelenting, never wavering. He looked his opponents in the eye when he killed them, and he was always roaring as if victory was assured. He may not have been the biggest man in the fray, but his troops could always tell where he was.

They were finally nearing the end of the bridge, and Ike signaled for the rest of the forces to start crossing. A moment later, a final surge of energy pushed the Crimea Liberation Army onto solid land, demolishing the ballistae here.

But Petrine was no fool. Most of her soldiers had already retreated to form a defensive line fifty yards back. She’d forsaken the bridge at the last minute, knowing the remaining men were most useful as a suicide line between her battalion and the Liberation Army. Having failed to hold the bridge, these soldiers would now throw themselves at their enemy without fear of pain or death. Such was the price of honor for Daein soldiers in a time of war. Soren had seen such tactics often enough this past year.

Ike called the vanguard to a halt and ordered everyone to form a line to match Petrine’s. Only a small regiment still saw action, led by a Begnion lieutenant to seize the watchtower just to the north. Petrine had stocked it with archers, but these were apparently expendable, because she made no move to defend it. Marcia leapt from her pegasus’s back, making herself a small target as she flew like an arrow into the top battlements. With her taking the garrison by surprise at the top and with the Begnion commander purging it from the bottom, the tower was soon won. Upon Ike’s order, Mist, Rhys, and the others healers swiftly colonized it as a triage station, and those too injured to fight in the coming battle retreated here.

While this was happening, the rest of the army marched easily down the bridge. The clearing troops had pushed aside or dismantled the remnants of the Daein’s defenses, and these soldiers passed in minutes what the others had taken almost two hours to conquer.

Soren turned his gaze back to the new battlefield, and leaving Ike’s side, he took his place alongside the other mercenaries, becoming part of a line that was as taut as a bowstring. He could feel the Begnion soldiers filling in additional rows behind him, and he could see the rows lengthening on either side. But this was not entirely encouraging. The heavy losses Daein had sustained on the bridge had helped equalize the size of these two armies, but the Liberation Army was still outnumbered—and now they stood with their backs to a gaping abyss.

Soren’s gaze finally found Petrine, who sat astride a large black stallion, walking it calmly between the neat columns of fresh soldiers behind her and the ragged row of retreaters in front of her. Her horse, like Petrine herself, was plated in elegantly wrought black armor. In her hand, she gripped the notorious flame lance that was her weapon of choice. It was a long, wicked-looking weapon, and even from this distance Soren could see the spear point scatter sparks every time she changed direction.  

She didn’t order her men to attack yet. Soren noted the five catapults imbedded in her ranks—each loaded and aimed at the Liberation Army. But neither did Petrine order them to be fired. Soren understood her patience. She was waiting for her enemy to assemble in a tightly-packed herd for maximum efficacy of the projectiles. It was almost enough for Soren to recommend they charge now, but he knew attacking too soon, when the army wasn’t all present and hadn’t all been given their orders, was even more dangerous than allowing themselves to become the Daein engineers’ target practice.

Finally the bridge was empty, and both armies were ready. Petrine raised her fist, and the ballistae creaked. “Watch out!” Ike called, and Soren prepared for the worst.

But then something unexpected occurred. Screams of fear and surprise arose in the back of the Daeins’ southern flank. Other soldiers called out in alarm, frantically twisting around and back again, not knowing which direction to face. Petrine dropped her fist, turned in her saddle, and uttered something that was probably a curse.

A moment later, a cavalry army burst from the forest, broadsiding the Daein battalion. The horses and riders were just barely visible through the rows of glittering black armor that separated Ike’s army from this new one. But the commotion they caused was obvious.

Soren didn’t have time to examine these newcomers further, because Petrine’s interrupted gesture had released the catapults after all. A spattering of stones the size of human heads soared toward the Liberation Army, and Ike roared the order to charge: “Now!” he screamed. “Charge now! This is Crimea! We made it! Charge now!”

Mercenaries and soldiers dodged the projectiles to the best of their ability, but the suicide line surged to meet them. Careless of their own lives, they didn’t fear the onslaught of rock and falling from the sky. They cared only that they slow the Liberation Army’s charge and force them to linger in the ballistae’s range. To Soren’s frustration, they were successful.

While uttering spells and watching the quickly shifting tides of battle, Soren spared part of his attention to see what Petrine was up to. She had cantered to the center of her army, where she now seemed to be dividing her forces to deal with the parallel threats.

The Liberation Army overcame the suicide line at great cost and finally clashed with the fresh soldiers. Here they were relatively safe from the ballistae and archers, and hand-to-hand combat broke out all around. The terrain was rocky and flat, and there was no tactical advantage to gain.

As the Liberation Army pushed into the heart of the enemy battalion, Ike engaged Petrine twice to no effect. The Rider seemed to have no intention of fighting Ike one-on-one as she had with Greil, so another Daein soldier (or two or three) would promptly waylay him. And even when Ike did manage to trade a few blows with the Rider, she easily defended herself. He couldn’t even scratch her armor.

Makalov and Marcia tried a combination attack—Marcia from above and Makalov from the front. But all Petrine had to do was slam the butt of her spear on the ground beside her horse, and a wave of flame shot out in all directions. It climbed the front legs of Makalov’s steed, sending it screaming in fright and pain. Then Petrine gestured sharply into the sky and shot a jet of flame at Marcia. Her pegasus reared in terror and nearly dropped out of the air.

In the wake of these defeats, a path had opened up between Soren and the enemy general. Knowing it was his turn to try his hand at attacking her, Soren carefully advanced. Petrine saw him approaching and sent a wave of flame to meet him. However, Soren knew these tricks by now. He skipped over the wave, to which she replied by shooting a jet of fire. To avoid this, Soren sought shelter behind a fallen horse. When he emerged, she sent another wave, but Soren once again needed only to time his jump appropriately. Now she slashed her spear through the air, sending an arc of fire racing toward him. Soren ducked to avoid this, never stopping his forward movement.

Petrine maintained her onslaught of fiery attacks, but they were more predictable and easier to avoid than Ena’s dragon breath. They were also weaker than the dragon’s flame, and he found he could redirect or block them with wind magic if he timed his spells correctly. In this way, inch by inch, Soren fended off her attacks and drew closer.

When he was near enough, Soren finally attempted to strike the enemy general directly. First he cast Elwind, then Elfire, and finally Elthunder. The onslaught was quick and precise, and Soren hoped one of the elements would be more effective than the others.

However, Petrine had incredible reflexes and complete mastery of her mount. She avoided every spell. Soren tried again. And again. He kept up the onslaught, but even when a spell made a connection, it hardly seemed to faze her. The armor she wore was obviously enchanted, blunting the force of magical attacks. Before long, Soren was on the defensive again, trying his best to avoid not just the fire but the long reach of the spear itself. He ducked, rolled, sidestepped, lunged, and jumped to avoid her strikes. Soren was light on his feet and had good instincts. Those were the only things protecting him now.

“You…” Petrine eventually said. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t slow her attacks. “That mark on your brow.”

Irritated by the observation, Soren sent a particularly sharp gale straight for her face: “*Spirits of wind, slash the flesh before me.*”

Petrine divided the attack with her blade, sending the gusts to either side. Her long green hair fluttered in the breeze, and several strands were sliced free and fluttered away from her body. Deep cuts like claw marks appeared in the armor over her shoulders, but she was otherwise undamaged.

Petrine smiled. “That’s not a charm of the dead, is it? You’re no Spirit Charmer.” She shot a blast of fire.

Rather than avoid it, Soren cast a large plume of flame himself. He poured his energy into the spell until it finally overcame Petrine’s and blew up in her face.

“Hmph!” Petrine gasped. Her horse reared, whinnying in terror. But the fire couldn’t burn Petrine or her steed. Apparently its armor was enchanted as well. “You may be able to fool others, but not me,” she continued, “Because we’re the same, see?” Her grin twisted to the side, crooked and cruel.

Soren glanced around to make sure none of his company was close enough to hear Petrine’s words, and he was fairly satisfied everyone was too busy locked in their own battles to pay attention. However, Soren was nothing if not cautious, and he refused to respond directly. “The same?” he repeated, then casting an Elthunder spell she easily grounded with her spear. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m nothing like you. You kill for sport, and hide your fear behind a wall of bravado. Now let me show you true fear.” He flipped the pages of his tome to the incantation for Tornado. After the trick he pulled on the bridge, he only had two left. I’ll make this count, he thought. But even as he concentrated on gathering the swirling storm around him, he was distracted by what Petrine had said.

He focused on her with every sense he could muster. He wanted to understand her every movement, see her every breath. Part of him was looking for a weakness. But another part was searching for whatever it was she and Stefan had sensed in him. If she was a Branded as she implied, it stood to reason that Soren would be able to determine this fact with as much certainly as she’d just identified him. What was this power Branded had to recognize one another?

The spell complete, Soren ceased his chanting and released the attack. The winds surged upon Petrine from all sides. She cast walls of fire to block the gales, but they weren’t strong enough. The winds ripped through her defenses, through her horse’s armor and flesh, and even through some of her own. While he stood firmly, maintaining the storm as long as he could, Soren continued to press the boundaries of his senses. Petrine’s steed collapsed. She hit the ground, rolling away to keep her footing, and that’s when he felt it, as if a tremor had just run through the earth from her body to the soles of his feet.

It was like a slight tingling, and yet it wasn’t a physical sensation at all. Soren felt the small hairs on his forearms and the back of his neck stand on end. It was too faint to be a scent, and too unidentifiable. It was more like a breath, but without sound or smell or heat.

Despite the weakness of the signal, its familiarity was potent. It felt like returning to the mercenary’s fort after a long time away—the drafty halls, the odor of the old rooms, the unique way sound echoed off the stone walls and ceilings. It felt like putting on an old pair of socks he’d lost for months and found under his bed, only then realizing they’d been gone. This strange sensation said only one thing: We are the same.

Soren was stunned. She really was a Branded. As was Stefan. Soren was suddenly acutely aware of the hermit’s presence elsewhere on the battlefield. Taking a long breath, Soren could suddenly feel everyone around him: a sea of beorc with some scattered flashes of laguz—and then there was Stefan, Petrine, and Soren himself.

Overwhelmed as he was by this sudden consciousness, he didn’t notice Petrine rise from where she’d fallen, clutch her spear, and spin it in a fiery circle. The blade ripped across Soren’s chest and sent him flying into the dirt. The weapon’s magic instantly cauterized the wound, but it didn’t matter. The spear had slashed deep, grazing so close to his heart he could feel its heat in his blood.