Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 42: CRIMEA ( Chapter 11 )

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

The strike had gouged both his lungs. Soren lay there, gasping but unable to breath. He stared at the sky and panicked in the face of imminent death. Was he really going to die by Petrine’s hand, on the cusp of Crimea, with far more of Ike’s war left to fight? It felt unfair to leave so much unfinished and Ike to fight on alone.

But then a healer was standing over him, blocking Soren’s view of the sky with his square hat and cowl.  The milk-white fabric was embroidered with red. He was one of the new Begnion healers who’d joined them.

“*Heal*,” the bishop muttered so quietly Soren could hardly hear him. His staff responded to the instruction, and a green light seeped through Soren’s field of vision.

The healing was agonizing. It had never hurt like this when Mist or Rhys had tended his wounds, and Soren wondered if this man knew what he was doing. He wanted to spit angry words, but he couldn’t speak. His breath was barely coming back to him in fits and starts as his lungs rebuilt themselves. His heart seemed to stop and start again in random bursts. Each one brought a new wave of terrifying pain

The process seemed to go on forever—much longer than Soren was used to. He wondered if the wound was beyond this man’s ability to heal. He wondered if he would still die, and panic washed over him again.

“You!” Soren heard Petrine’s voice. She was nearby, and her shout brought him back to the present. “If I’d known you’d grow to be such a thorn in my side-” she grunted as she fought “-I would have reduced you to ashes when I had the chance-” more grunts “-Guess it’s not too late. Die!” Soren recognized the hoarse roars and grunts accompanying Petrine’s own. It was Ike.

He had engaged her again, which was probably the only reason she hadn’t finished Soren off or immolated the bishop kneeling over him. He followed their battle with his ears while he endured the pain of the healing. He listened intently to Ike’s breaths, ragged but stronger than his own. His vision began to fade, and he focused all of his attention on the sound of Ike fighting, his growls of frustration, and the nonsensical sounds he shouted when he swung his sword.

“Just die!” Ike finally screamed. At his words, the sound of crackling fire went out in a low whump, and the sounds of crashing metal ceased.

“Y-your…your Majesty…forgive me…please,” tumbled the moans of Petrine’s last breath. “Oh, I don’t want to die…”

Soren realized he must be quite close to the battle to hear her dying words. Then again, perhaps his hearing had expanded along with this odd sixth sense. The idea made Soren sick, and he felt like he was going to vomit. In fact, he did. Turning onto his side, he heaved just next to the bishop. The green glow disappeared, and he stood in surprise.

Soren wanted to wipe his mouth, but his arms wouldn’t obey him. The wound on his chest burst open from his convulsions, pouring blood. He was shaking. He was becoming numb, but he was still acutely aware of Ike dashing over to him.

“How is he?” Ike’s voice demanded.

“I will continue to work on him, my Lord,” said the bishop. “But he is fighting me.”

Soren glared sideways at him since he couldn’t move or speak. He wasn’t one of those soldiers who became so soft in the head that they resisted healing. He wanted to live.

Ike whistled urgently and called at the top of his lungs, “MIST!”

Whether or not she heard his call, Ike and the bishop pushed Soren back into a supine position. Ike snatched the bishop’s fancy hat off his head and pushed it against his chest to staunch the bleeding. Soren appreciated seeing that, and his involuntary laugh came up a bloody gurgle.

Meanwhile, he was aware of a beorc and laguz approaching—Mist and Lethe. He turned his newfound sense to the sound of fighting in the distance. The battle had moved away. Although he couldn’t see the troops’ movements, he could tell the Liberation Army was winning. Fear and joy filled the battlefield; the Daeins were fleeing or being slaughtered. The smell of blood rushed into his nose like never before, and he felt he was going to retch again. Is this how a laguz senses the world? he wondered in disgust. Why did I push myself to understand Petrine? What have I done?

“I’ve got him,” Mist said, getting to her knees. “Ike, they need you at the font. There’s a lady who wants to see Princess Elincia.”

Ike nodded and pressed a reassuring hand to Soren’s shoulder before running off. Mist glanced at the bishop. “You can go.”

The healer obeyed, apparently not willing to argue with the general’s sister. Soren could barely see Lethe pacing nearby. Clearly she resented having been reassigned as Mist’s bodyguard this late in the battle.

Mist hissed sympathetically through her teeth as she removed the bloody hat, proceeding to poke at Soren’s wound with careful fingers. “He made a mess, I’m afraid. But he probably saved your life.” Her tone was calm.

“*Mend*,” she commanded her staff, and a green glow once again filled Soren’s vision. It was so bright he had to close his eyes. This was the healing Soren was used to—no pain, only the easing of it.

When he felt he could talk again, he asked, “Was that man a novice?”

“No,” Mist answered. “I’m sure he was well educated. But you’re used to Rhys and me healing your wounds.” She released a sweet laugh. “Frankly, the pair of us know the bodies of every Greil Mercenary as well as we know our own, and that allows us to heal you much more quickly and smoothly.”

“I never knew,” Soren admitted, opening his eyes.

Mist tossed her shoulder, still holding her staff steadily. “You heal quicker than most. Rather than working with your body, that man was working against you. That probably hurt.”

Soren closed his eyes again. Mist may not have suspected he was a Branded, or even knew what a Branded was, but she knew he was different. He’d never realized he healed more quickly than the others, and neither Mist nor Rhys had ever mentioned it. I heal like a laguz, he thought dismally.

When Mist was done, she helped him sit up. Soren traced his fingertips over the freshly grown skin. To his surprise, there was a rough ridge. Only hastily or incompetently healed wounds left scars; Mist never did. 

“Sorry about that,” she said with a shake of her head. “The scar tissue was already there from what the bishop did. There was nothing I could do. But it’s only on the surface, so you should be able to breathe fine.”

“It’s doesn’t matter.” Soren sighed and was glad the air moved smoothly in and out of his lungs. “You are an exemplary healer, Mist.”

She smiled broadly at the praise and began humming Elena’s heron galdr while she wiped her hands of his blood.

“The battle has moved on,” Lethe spoke up, “And there are more wounded where it has gone. Shall we go?”

Mist got to her feet and offered Soren a hand, but he pushed himself to stand without her help. He was dizzy from blood loss, but he couldn’t bring himself to lean on the young, cheerful healer right now. Mist stepped back. “Yes,” she answered Lethe, “Let’s go.”

The two women jogged off. Soren shuffled in the same direction, but that was the best he could do. He passed Petrine’s dead body. Her face was frozen in horror, and Soren was satisfying to know Ike had defeated her. Lifting his gaze to the living, he watched the battle drawing to a close. The Daein soldiers who hadn’t managed to escape were surrendering their weapons and kneeling on the bloody, rocky ground. Only a small faction seemed insistent on fighting to the death.

Meanwhile Ike was meeting someone who might be the leader of the mysterious battalion that had come to their aid. The new troops boasted an infantry regiment of about two hundred and a large cavalry regiment that could number as many as eight hundred. But the battle-riled horses were still trotting and frisking around the Daein prisoners, and Soren’s foggy mind found it difficult to get a proper estimate. Most of the soldiers were wearing the cream-white armor of Crimea, although their uniforms had been painted with green and brown streaks in an attempt at camouflage.

Soren hoped this indicated an enduring rebellion in Crimea and the survival of the royal army. The addition of Crimean-born soldiers would be a boon to their own army, both in fighting strength and symbolic authority. He was curious (and perhaps even optimistic) about what would happen next.

But he was also physically exhausted from the battle and mentally exhausted from the increase in his senses. He put his thoughts of Crimea aside and tried to understand his new awareness of the spent battlefield. Sounds weren’t necessarily louder, but they were clearer and more nuanced. Every scent was more pungent and distinct. The colors around him weren’t more vibrant, but there were somehow more diverse. The puddles of blood, rather than just being red, were a vast range of reds and browns. This would take some getting used to.

As he walked slowly toward the rest of the army, Titania galloped past with Elincia sitting behind her. The princess smiled and waved, but Soren didn’t return the gesture.

 

When he finally arrived, the princess was grasping forearms with a young swordswoman. She had sky-blue hair so long it extended past her waist, and her skin was so pale it seemed nearly translucent. Soren wondered if she was about to faint, but after a moment’s inspection, he realized she was unharmed. The blood that matted her hair and splashed her long white cloak and her tall white boots was not her own.

“There is no need to worry about that,” she was saying while beaming into Elincia’s face. “Tales of your exploits in Daein have reached every corner of Crimea. In every village, in every town, the people are talking. ‘Our fair king had a hidden child,’ they say. ‘The secret princess of Crimea is fighting to save us all!’” She laughed when Elincia blushed. “Furthermore,” she continued with a wink, “Daein soldiers have been frantically searching for a mysterious and elusive ‘Princess Crimea.’ All they have succeeded in doing is convincing the people that you are truly their princess. All of Crimea has been anxiously awaiting your return.” She laughed again, and this time Elincia joined her. The pair danced in a circle like children.

“Oh, Lucia, do you speak truly?” Elincia released her friend’s arms with a long happy breath. “They have…acknowledged my existence? I never…expected this day.”

The swordswoman—Lucia—continued to reassure Elincia, jabbering on about the underground efforts to oust Ashnard, but Soren turned his attention to Ranulf and Ike, who had observed the reunion and were now talking nearby. “News of your actions in Daein reached the ears of King Gallia through Nasir,” Ranulf was saying. “I then told Lucia, who passed it to the citizenry. You know, the thought that Nasir is a traitor just doesn’t feel right to me. I still can’t believe it.” He shook his head.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” Ike replied in hushed tones. Soren realized he wouldn’t have been able to overhear this conversation before today. It would have been murmuring, just voices, but now they were distinct words. Soren stared at the ground and wondered if he should be eavesdropping. “Look at what we know about the medallion,” Ike was saying. “We discovered it thanks to his hints. He’s helped us throughout our entire journey. In that, at least, he was not false. But if he won’t speak, there is nothing I can do to save him.”

“Let’s go see him,” Ranulf growled, “One way or another, I will loosen his tongue.”

The pair gave Elincia their farewells and left orders with Titania to lead the troops in setting up camp. Soren watched them go but remained with the army. As tired as he was, he could best serve Ike by assisting Titania. Ike didn’t need him to help interrogate Nasir (and after his last attempt, Soren wasn’t eager to try again). If anything valuable came to light, Soren knew Ike would tell him.

As an additional incentive, Soren knew the sooner camp was set up, the sooner he could sleep. He already felt unconsciousness calling. However, it appeared Soren wouldn’t be able to rest yet, because not long after Ike and Ranulf’s departure, they came running back down Riven Bridge. Soren, Titania, Elincia, and Lucia raced to meet them. “He’s gone!” Ike explained. “Nasir is gone!”

“How?” Elincia gasped.

Lucia scowled. “That was the traitor you were keeping prisoner, right?”

Ranulf jerked his chin back the way they’d come. “The merchants and the guard all claimed to have seen nothing suspicious. He’s just gone.”

“I’ll organize a search party,” Titania said, sounding frazzled with urgency and exhaustion. “He can’t have gone far!” She ran to where some horses were tethered near the watchtower and commandeered the first one she reached.

Meanwhile Ranulf transformed and added: “I’ll recruit the other laguz. Maybe we can pick up his trail!” He bounded away on all fours.

Stomping across the battlefield, Ike grumpily took over the camp preparations, although Soren knew he would have rather joined the search. Lucia comforted Elincia, and rumor quickly spread of Nasir’s escape. Despite feeling alarmed (and oddly offended) by Nasir’s disappearance, Soren was too tired to deal with it. His senses were overwhelming, and he longed for the escape of sleep. As soon as an officer’s tent had been erected, Soren found a cot and collapsed into unconsciousness. 

 

When he awoke, he judged at least five hours had passed. It was night now, but instinct told him it wasn’t yet late. He tracked down Ike and found him still awake. Rather than nagging him to sleep, he asked about Nasir.

Ike shook his head. His eyes were hollow. “He disappeared like a phantom. Even the laguz couldn’t track him down. They’re still out searching, but I have a feeling Nasir is long gone.” He sighed. “And yet I also have a feeling I will meet him again…before this war is over.”

Soren had a similar feeling, but instead of agreeing he said, “All we can do now is move forward.”

Ike took a fortifying breath and twitched a weak grin. “I am glad you’re up. I was just about to meet with Lucia and her deputies to plan our next move, and I was terrified I’d have to go alone. That was quite the scratch you got earlier.”

Soren had changed robes, but he was aware of the scar stretching tightly across his chest. His hand strayed to it now, but he stopped himself. “Petrine was a formidable opponent. But you defeated her.” Commander Greil would be proud, Soren added mentally, but he didn’t say it. Ike didn’t need his coddling.

Ike nodded, seeming to accept the unspoken compliment. “Well, like you said, I didn’t have to do it alone. You took out her enchanted armor.”

“I would say it was nothing, but…” Soren shook his head.

“I don’t know how she got the drop on you like that, but don’t let it happen again.” Ike’s face was serious.

“I will do my best.”

Ike frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want some armor, I mean-”

Soren couldn’t help but smile. “I’m a mage, Ike. I need to be able to move.”

“What about some chain-”

“I am flattered by your concern,” Soren shut him down. “But did you not just say Lady Delbray was awaiting us? We should be going.”

Ike sighed. “Right, right. Just don’t go dying on me.”

“I am trying, Ike,” he replied honestly. Today’s battle had been long and frightening, and Soren had a bad feeling everything was going to be different after this. But now more than ever, he refused to leave Ike to fight this war on his own. There was so much left to do.

 

The next step for the Crimea Liberation Army was to increase its influence and fighting power by uniting with the rest of the rebel army at Castle Delbray—Lucia’s childhood home. She promised that her twin brother Geoffrey (a Royal Knight) was hiding there with a thousand infantry and another thousand cavalry. After remaining scattered and secret for over two years, the rebels had finally come together, which put them at considerable risk of being discovered.

The Liberation Army needed to unite with them as soon as possible, but the castle was still over a week’s march from Riven Bridge. Although Lucia assured them Daein had no clue the rebel army was sheltered at Delbray, Soren knew it wasn’t that simple. If the Daein escapees at Riven Bridge reported seeing Lucia leading the rebels, it wouldn’t take a genius to investigate her family’s summer mansion.

Whether or not Daein knew where they were headed, they hounded the Liberation Army constantly. But now that the liberation forces numbered six thousand, there was little Daein could do except slow them down until they amassed a second defensive army. Soren knew that would happen sooner rather than later.

He recommended they avoid unnecessary skirmishes so Daein couldn’t acquire information about their units, numbers, and tactics, but Elincia and Lucia glowed with optimism and ordered assaults they were sure to win. Twice they ran into Daein outposts, and each time the confident princess ordered they seize the block forts and free the surrounding villages. Another two times they entered towns to resupply and, when things got out of hand, ended up freeing them from the pressure of the enemy soldiers staying in their boarding houses.

In each of these cases, the civilians were spared casualties, and they applauded Elincia and sang her praises when she trotted through their villages on her dappled mare. Soren knew things would be different if they’d been caught in the crossfire. If they continued like this, it would only be a matter of time until Elincia’s warm smile was replaced by tears again. But he didn’t complain; he didn’t argue. He did his duty and watched for snipers in the upper windows whenever the princess made a public appearance.

 

The convoy wagons rolled steadily over the wide Crimean roads, and although it was winter, the weather was unseasonably mild. They weren’t locked in by snowstorms, and the impoverished citizens gladly donated whatever food and supplies they could spare. Scouts generally came back alive, the troops were happy, and the Crimean and Begnion forces were getting along. For the first time, the soldiers seemed almost as enamored with Elincia as they were with Ike, and she spent more time among them.

Most of her time, however, was spent with Lucia. Apparently they’d been childhood friends, and they chatted the entire way to Delbray. Whether he wanted to or not, Soren overheard countless nostalgic stories. They often talked about Lucia’s brother Geoffrey and a man named Bastian who was another leader of the Crimean resistance.

Bastian’s was a name Soren was familiar with. He’d been one of Ramon’s senior advisers and, if the rumors were true, his best spymaster.

“In your absence, Princess, we used the cellars beneath the castle as a secret meeting place,” Lucia was explaining, “It is from there that we contacted other retainers who were hiding throughout the land.”

“And no one was discovered?” Ike asked in disbelief.

“We disguised ourselves as merchants or peasants—” Lucia flipped her long hair “—and the Daeins looked right past us. Their arrogance is without equal… However, now that we’ve heard of your return, we are bringing out our hidden armor and polishing away!”

“Merchants?” Elincia giggled. “Geoffrey is one thing, but I cannot imagine Bastian as a shopkeeper.”

“No one could. That’s why he dressed as a street performer.” Lucia nudged Elincia in the side, laughing. Their mirth grated on Soren’s nerves, but he wanted to learn everything he could about the people who would soon be joining the army. He hoped neither Geoffrey nor Bastian would pose a threat to Ike’s position as general.

“Now that I can see! I’m sure it suited him perfectly. Did he juggle and gambol about?”

“And Geoffrey… Never have you seen a merchant with such perfect posture!”

Soren rolled his eyes in frustration. This chatter was useless.

“Princess Elincia seems to be having a wonderful time,” Mist noted quietly. She was walking on the opposite side of Ike, and Soren, Ranulf, and Titania separated them from the nobles. “She’s been smiling and laughing for hours.”

“It seems she and Lucia grew up together. She feels completely at ease around her,” Ranulf added quietly. The group slowed their pace slightly until Elincia and Lucia were out of earshot. Both were completely absorbed in their own conversation and didn’t notice.

“The princess seemed to be of good cheer when she was with us as well, but I suppose she was putting on a brave face,” Ike noted with a touch of sadness (and perhaps jealousy).

 

That night, the company set up camp for the last time before they would reach Castle Delbray. Everyone was in high spirits. As he had for the past several days, Soren experimented with his new senses by tracking the movement of people throughout the camp.

When he was bored of this practice, he put the finishing touches on his report about the battle at Riven Bridge and delivered it to Ike. The report included an expense record of their recent purchases, a detailed map of Crimea with points of interest marked, and sheets of information he’d drawn up about the newest member of their team—the dracoknight Haar—as well as what he could find out about Lucia and Geoffrey Delbray, Count Bastian Fayre, and the other rebel leaders they had yet to meet. 

Ike’s eyes widened at the amount of work Soren had put into the report and thanked him for it. Then, as always, Ike put the report aside, where it would soon be covered by other papers and miscellaneous supplies. Soren could only smile and shake his head as he left Ike’s tent. He was an inspiring commander, but he was hopeless when it came to details.

 

A gentle rain was falling the next morning, which made the dismantling of the camp a cold, muddy affair. The drizzle continued as they marched the rest of the way to the castle.

“Once we cross the hills, we’ll be in Delbray territory,” Lucia said, pointing ahead. “Count Bastion went ahead of us, so they should know of your return by now.” A moment later, five figures appeared over the rise, speeding toward the army: three horsemen with two large birds flying overhead. “Speaking of which, here he comes now! I suppose he couldn’t wait any longer and came riding to meet you. How sweet,” Lucia cooed. But a moment later, her smile froze and cracked. She seemed to realize Bastian was riding at break-neck speed with two of Ike’s scouts on either side of him and Janaff and Ulki flying overhead.

“Princess Elincia! Lady Lucia!”

Elincia hadn’t caught onto the air of emergency yet. She picked up her skirts and ran ahead through the rain. “Bastian! There’s no need for you to rush so! I’m coming in your direction anyw-” She finally realized what was going on and backstepped all the way to the comfort of Lucia and the umbrella she was holding.

Bastian and the scouts reined to a halt in front of the company. Janaff and Ulki remained in the air, circling like vultures. The former spymaster was a middle-aged man who’d managed to retain the energy of youth. He had a head of blonde hair pulled back into a curly pony tail at the nape of his neck and a finely trimmed mustache and goatee. He wore a dark green cloak and carried a tome, signifying he was a wind mage. “We’ve been attacked!” he announced breathlessly. “Castle Delbray is surrounded by enemy troops!”

“No!” Elincia gasped. Her happiness these past few days shattered in her eyes.

“It can’t be…” Lucia’s lips were drawn thin, her eyes frightened.

“Geoffrey’s acting as a decoy,” Bastian continued, gripping his horse’s reins and attempting to calm it. The beast’s breath burst from its nostrils in steamy clouds. “You must continue on this road to the southwest.”

Lucia’s demeanor changed visibly. Drawing strength from somewhere within, stretching taller, setting her shoulders, she turned to Elincia. “So the enemy’s found us, eh?” she began confidently. “Nothing to do about it but change course. I’ll lead you to another hiding place.”

Elincia seemed surprised by her friend’s transformation. She looked as if a stranger was before her. “W-what are you saying, Lucia? We must help Geoffrey!” She turned to Bastian, her expression pleading. “Bastian?”

“Luck was not with us, Princess,” Lucia spoke for the man, her voice firm. “We have no choice. We’ll have to abandon our companions in Castle Delbray.” Soren was impressed. She was a military commander after all, not just a lady of the court.

“No!” Elincia clenched her fists and stood tall to match her friend’s posture. “We will not! Geoffrey and the others have survived so much already…” She faltered a moment but set her shoulders again. “I will not abandon them!”

“Princess, please understand.” Lucia turned suddenly earnest—another transformation. She clutched Elincia’s hand and lowered herself to one knee in the mud. “If we could do so without danger to you, we would gladly risk our lives to go back.”

“We cannot do this! Please, Lucia!” She pulled her friend back up to standing. Lucia’s subservient attitude had clearly shaken her. “We must go to the castle! Bastian! You must not do this thing!”

“Geoffrey is a knight. In the name of our friend’s honor, Princess, you must escape,” was Bastian’s response.

“No… No! They’ve survived this long! They’re alive! NO!” Elincia shouted, sounding suddenly imperious. Soren was surprised by this as well. She didn’t sound like a whiny child anymore. She was being adamant, not stubborn.

The princess’s resolve was too much for Lucia, so the swordswoman rounded on Ike instead. “General Ike, we do not have much time. While we stand here squabbling, Daein scouts may spot our position. Please move the army southwest on this road.”

Soren looked at Ike’s face for the first time during this exchange and saw it set in a hard glare. “No,” Ike said sternly.

“Pardon? What did you say?” Lucia was flabbergasted.

“We’re going to the castle,” Ike said, his voice raised so everyone could hear. “If it’s surrounded by Daein troops, we just cut our way though and join the others. Understood?”

Every soldier and mercenary within earshot sent up a cheer, and those too far back cheered anyway.

“Weren’t you listening?” Lucia hissed. “I said we have no choice but to leave them behind! They were lost to us the moment the enemy discovered and surrounded them!” Soren understood where Lucia was coming from, but she clearly didn’t know Ike. Soren did.

“They’re not so lost that we can’t take them back.” Ike’s words were followed by another cheer.

Lucia crossed her arms. “You are the general of Crimea’s army, are you not?” she asked hotly. “Even if only for the moment.” She paused to let than sink in. “I would hope that you would act more in accordance with your responsibilities.”

“I didn’t choose or ask to be general,” Ike growled, “I was put here by matters of time and circumstance. But as a mercenary, I have a contract with Princess Elincia that’s still in effect. That means she’s my employer. And right now, my employer says she wants to go and save the people stuck in that castle. Is that correct, Elincia?” He looked past Lucia at the princess.

Elincia’s hands were firmly clenched at her side. Her shoulders were still rigidly set. “Yes.” She seemed to draw strength from Ike as she stared at him. “I don’t want-” She faltered for the barest moment. “I don’t want anyone else to be sacrificed.”

Now it was Lucia’s turn to look as if she didn’t recognize her friend.

Ike grinned widely. “So we are going to help them. If you’re so worried about the princess,” he addressed Lucia and Bastian, “I’ll leave her here with you, and you can keep her safe.” Without waiting for a reply Ike reached a hand above his head and gestured that the army should resume its march. He clapped a hand gently on Elincia’s arm as he passed.

Only then did she deflate the slightest bit. “My lord Ike…” she whispered with a small, proud smile playing on her lips.

 

The enemy battalion looked like a sea of glittering back insects. After a year of fighting the Daein Army, Soren knew he should be used to this, but he was always impressed by the number of soldiers Ashnard managed to raise and arm. Daein may not have been a particularly rich nation, but it was clear how they spent their money.

As Ulki and Janaff had reported, the troops laying siege to Delbray numbered just shy of ten thousand. This was the force Daein had amassed to squash the Liberation Army infiltrators. The rebels were just bait. 

“They’re coming into view! Combat formations!” Ike ordered, signaling Titania and the Begnion commanders with both arms. “Our goal is to rescue the knights defending the castle.” In a flurry of movement, the Liberation Army reorganized itself into the platoons Soren had assigned. “Attack!” Ike called. Sword raised, he barreled down the rainswept hillside, straight into the awaiting army.

Daein had already broken down Delbray’s front gate, but they had yet to take the castle. Rebel archers were manning the battlements, and according to the hawks’ reports, the rest of the infantry were holding the garrison. Meanwhile, the extensive cavalry regiment had poured out of the gate, and someone (assumedly Sir Geoffrey) was leading them in field maneuvers to keep the Daein army disorganized and unable to proceed with their siege.

Despite these efforts, the rebels would have been swiftly overrun if not for the Liberation Army. At their appearance, the Daein was forced to concentrate the bulk of their attention on defending their rear. That being said, they had clearly been expecting reinforcements and were ready. A bristling defensive line of pikemen—four men deep and hundreds long—was braced to stop their charge at the bottom of the hill.

But Ike couldn’t be stopped, and the Liberation Army blew through the lines infantry-first to preserve the Begnion and Crimean horses who came behind. When the way was open, the cavalry poured through the Daein ranks with another burst of speed.

Crimean warhorses were considered the best in the world, and facing a Crimean cavalry regiment on an open plain was said to be like watching an unstoppable tornado bearing down on you. But today the Daein Army saw only a shadow of that glory.

The valley between the eastern hills and Delbray Castle was generally wide and flat, but the rain saturated the earth, threatening the horses’ ankles and damning any momentum they managed to build. A stream stretched across the battle from the eastern to western hills, but now the rain swelled it to a dangerous size, submerging the thin layer of ice that had crawled across it since winter had begun. The bridges threatened to be swamped, and those who wandered too close to the banks or accidentally stepped onto the fracturing ice fell in. Freezing water and heavy armor guaranteed drowning. For Daein, Begnion, and Crimean soldiers alike, this was a graceless battle, with too many wounds due to slipping in the mud or not being able to see arrows coming through the rain.

 

Soren struggled as much as anyone. Try as he might, he couldn’t stifle his Branded sense now that he’d awakened it, so he was determined to use it to his advantage. Having a better awareness of the battlefield gave him insight into where he should move to support struggling comrades. Sometimes he felt as if he were watching the fight with an objective bird’s-eye view. But the cacophony of signals was still overwhelming, and he was liable to lose track of the opponents in front of him, which could be a fatal mistake.

“Get your nose out of that book, Soren!” laughed Mia as she cut down a Daein axman heading straight for his side. “How many times am I going to have to save your skin?”

He should have seen or heard the soldier coming, but he’d had been distracted, following Ike’s dogged movement ahead. Ignoring Mia’s teasing, he tried to retrain his focus on his immediate attackers. He relied on wind and lightning magic, since fire required more effort in such wet environments. This battle promised to be a long one, and he tried to pace himself.

The armies became gridlocked after half an hour, but the fighting wore on. Eventually Lucia, Bastian, and a portion of Elincia’s guard raced down the hill to add their strength to the battle. Bastian proved himself a master wind sage, and Lucia surprised Soren with her prowess with a sword, despite her relatively young age and the fact that he would have assumed her a sheltered noble. However, their support accomplished little, and the battle wore on—freezing, messy, and desperate—for another hour.

Eventually the two armies squeezed onto the field on the far side of the river. Daein was forced to retreat and reassemble. Instead of pushing them, Ike commanded his troops scurry around the Daein forces, where they finally united with the other half of the rebel cavalry.

Morale rose high again, and they reengaged the Daein army. Soren wasn’t able to touch base with Ike to advise a change of tactics, and he was fairly certain Ike hadn’t been able to meet with Geoffrey yet, to discuss how to use their forces together. But (somewhat miraculously) the armies coalesced smoothly.

That being said, their joint efforts were more defensive than offensive, and as such, Daein was forcing them back. They were no longer able to protect the castle. However, the garrison troops seemed to realize this, and they turned the situation into an opportunity. While a limited regiment of archers kept up a facade of defense, the majority of the infantry troops poured around the side of the castle, broadsiding the Daein army.

“Forward!” Ike roared, “Reach them! Protect them!” The thousands of Begnion and Crimean soldiers at his back rushed forward to unite with the thousand who’d just risked their lives to give them a reprieve.

Daein staggered again, retreating slightly and reassembling. The Liberation Army was on better ground now, but there were still so many black-armored soldiers left to fight.

Soren was breathing hard, soaked to the bone, and shivering so badly he could hardly incant. But he continued to unleash spells as steadily as he could manage while also trying to ignored the scent of blood that permeated the battlefield. It seemed his sensitivity to this smell in particular had multiplied tenfold. The cloying, metallic odor churned his stomach like never before, and he swallowed hard to keep down bile.

However, when he dared to dwell on the repulsive scent, he did feel warmer. It livened his own blood and chased the numbness out of his hand and feet. There was a sheen of sweat under the icy rainwater on his skin. He wondered if he was just feverish from the strain, but whatever the case, he supposed it was better than hypothermia.

 

Eventually the deluge faded into cold, shimmering mist, and both armies slowed. It seemed every soldier was on their last legs, and Soren’s exhausted mind grew fanciful. He imagined this battle ending in a draw as everyone passed out at the same time. The night frost would steal their sleeping breaths, and the war would end with a field of icy corpses on Castle Delbray’s front lawn.

“Wake up,” he hissed to himself, scolding his failing mind.

He was saved further flights of fancy by a sudden and surprising call for retreat. Black horses with grumpy-sounding riders raced through the lines of black-armored soldiers at dizzying speeds, crying that this battle was over. Horns were blown, and the frontlines compressed in on themselves as the Daeins ran for their lives.

The Liberation Army chased them a quarter mile before Ike ordered a halt. Soren watched the Daein horde disappear over the western hills.

“It’s him…” Ike murmured as if deep in thought, and it took Soren a moment to understand who he was referring to.

The Black Knight was standing on the crest of the tallest hill. The sun was low in the sky, shining between shreds of mist and casting his dark silhouette at the same time it glanced off his wet armor, wreathing his head and shoulders in light. Soren wondered if he’d ordered Daein’s retreat, and his sense of victory turned hollow.

Once all the Daein soldiers were lost from view, the Black Knight finally turned and walked away. “Shall we go after him?” Titania asked through gritted teeth.

“No.” Ike tore his eyes away from the spot. “Send a squadron to retrieve the princess and the convoy. We rest here for the night. I must meet with the leader of the Crimean Rebel Army.”

“That would be me,” announced a man with bright blue hair and lime-green armor. Lucia was lending him a shoulder, but now he took his weight off her and stepped forward. One hand held a gash in his side just under his breastplate while the other held his horse’s reins. “Captain Geoffrey of the Royal Knights, at your service.” He gave a wince of a bow despite his wound.

Ike nodded grimly. “Let’s get everyone inside.” He gestured for the knight to walk beside him, and the exhausted army made way. Soren followed them to the castle, past the gate Daein had battered down, and into the main courtyard. The rest of the army filed in behind.

The smell of death was much weaker here, and Soren finally began to relax. But he couldn’t rest yet. While Ike was meeting with Geoffrey, his officers made themselves busy. Titania dispatched Lucia with a team to retrieve Elincia, after which she arranged scouts to secure a perimeter of ten miles in every direction. Two of Ike’s Begnion lieutenants had died, so the other three were dividing and sharing the orphaned platoons until new leadership could be appointed. And Tanith was going around getting accurate casualty reports. That left Soren and Bastian the task of getting an infirmary established, the troops billeted, the gate repaired, supplies distributed, guard shifts assigned, and so on. The spymaster was a capable leader, which was a relief to Soren who didn’t want to shoulder such authority on his own.

As he worked, Soren overheard whispers among the weary, shivering troops. They wanted to know the significance of the man on the hill. Those who’d been with the army long enough to have heard the story of the man who killed General Ike’s father were eager to retell it. Rumors about the Black Knight ran rampant.

When Soren saw Rolf at the end of a corridor, he noticed the boy was chewing his lip nervously while staring out the window.

Later he passed Boyd in the main hall. He hadn’t removed any of his armor, and he kept drawing and stowing his axes as if he didn’t realize the fight was over.

Oscar was helping board the army’s numerous horses in the stables behind the castle, and when Soren checked in on their progress, he noticed the man’s gaze was stuck on the floor. He appeared lost in though and unable to meet anyone’s eye.

When Soren gave Ike a brief update later, he found Shinon staring at the commander through a crack in the door. He huffed and disappeared when caught.

Shortly after, Soren found Gatrie and Mia sitting at a table in the mess hall saying nothing. They were fortunate to have bowls of hot gruel in front of them, but neither was eating.

When he visited the infirmary for a most recent casualty report, he found Rhys looking uncharacteristically distracted from his work. As for Mist, she was positively jumpy and squeaked in surprise when Soren asked her about the survival of the injured troops.

“How’s Ike?” she asked. “Has he said anything about the Black Knight?”

“Not to me,” Soren replied briskly before getting the conversation back on track. But he couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand her concern. They were all worried about Ike and what he would do with the Black Knight so close.

Titania was the worst, however, because instead of appearing morose or anxious, she was cheerful after the hard-won victory. Soren knew this was an act, but her forced enthusiasm and bountiful congratulations invigorated the troops. Whatever room she entered suddenly buzzed with activity as idle hands found ways to be useful.

When they returned, Lucia escorted Elincia to the basement briefing room to join Ike and Geoffrey. Later that evening, she, Geoffrey, Bastian, and the rest of the Crimean troops assembled in the ballroom to acknowledge Elincia as the rightful ruler of Crimea and vow loyalty onto death. The princess accepted their fealty with poise.

Fortunately the ceremony wasn’t long. Although Soren had finally been able to eat something and change into dry robes by this point, he still hadn’t had any rest. Attending this little Crimean party felt like an intolerable waste of time.

 

Hours passed before he had a chance to speak with Ike privately. His face was grim but determined, and Soren had a feeling the Black Knight was on his mind. After handing him a written report, he expounded for a few minutes on the outcome of the battle, the state of preparations, and his assessment of the new troops. “I suggest we shelter here for a couple days while we scout the region,” he concluded, “The troops need time to recover. However, every day we linger increases the likelihood of Daein attempting siege again, and this castle was not built to withstand a major assault.”

“Fine. We’ll keep moving then,” Ike replied without looking at him. His tone was flat. “Thanks for the report. You can get some rest now.”

Soren didn’t appreciate being dismissed, and he didn’t leave.

“Unless there’s something else.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned.

“You are not such an idiot that you would go looking for the Black Knight, are you?”

Ike finally met his eyes and frowned. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Ike!” Soren fought the frustration rising in him. “Too much rides on your shoulders. You can’t throw your life away for nonsensical revenge.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, Soren,” he sighed. “Go get some rest. You’re tired.”

“I could say the same for you,” he hissed back. “Greil was at least awake when he fought the Black Knight. What can you accomplish half-dead, aside from getting yourself killed twice as quickly?”

“Watch it,” Ike warned.

Soren’s rant died on his lips. There were so many things he wanted to say. His tongue bristled with jabs he hoped would hurt Ike’s pride enough to keep him here tonight. But he couldn’t bring himself to voice them.

“I will do what I deem right as general of this army,” Ike finally said, filling the silence. “If you trust me, then that’s all you need to know.”

Soren eyed him carefully. “I trust you,” he whispered before departing.

 

Going to his quarters, Soren set himself by the window and refused to fall asleep. He’d chosen a room on the top floor with a view of the front gate and the field beyond. It was a small, dusty study, not an actual bedroom, but unrolling a bedroll on the floor made it one.

He waited while the castle tucked itself in for the night and became dark and quiet. The only movement was the guards on the wall, the sentries by the makeshift gate, and their fluttering torches. Soren’s head felt heavy on his shoulders, and his eyelids threatened to fall. But he would stay awake all night if it meant ascertaining Ike was safe.

But then he appeared, leading a horse and carrying a lantern—not safe at all. Although he was swamped by a large cloak, Soren could tell he was wearing his sword and armor underneath. The guards snapped to attention. Ike spoke to them, and they opened the gate just enough for him to slip through. Before Soren’s eyes, Ike mounted his chosen steed and loped across the battlefield toward the western hills.

Although he’d suspected Ike’s intentions, he was still shocked to see the yellow dot of his lantern grow smaller and farther away. He wondered if he should alert Titania, suddenly thinking that, if he’d woken her earlier back then, perhaps Greil could have been saved. He wondered if he should wake the entire castle. If all seven thousand soldiers poured into the night in their naught but bedclothes, perhaps they could rescue their general from certain doom. 

But Soren remained fixed to the spot long after Ike’s light had disappeared. He recalled Ike’s words, and he truly wanted to trust him. He wanted to believe Ike knew what he was doing and that he was strong and wise enough to face whatever he found over those hills.

 

Soren still hadn’t decided what he was going to do by the time Ike’s lantern reappeared a quarter hour later. The sight of him atop his horse, trotting over a field of corpses in the moonlight, brought stinging tears of relief to his eyes. His paralysis broke, and his joy was chased away by anger.

Slamming the door to the study, he flew down the many flights of stairs to meet his wayward commander in the main hall. Candles had been lit sparingly, and Soren waited in the shadows, leaning against a pillar. His hands were trembling, so he clenched them.

Ike soon appeared, with sagging shoulders and dragging feet. Even in the poor lighting Soren could see his split lip, bloody nose, and bruised face. He carried himself slow and tenderly, as if he didn’t expect anyone to be watching him and so didn’t care if he looked like a wreck.

“How was your tryst?” Soren asked, startling him.

“Shit, Soren!”

“Everything you hoped it would be?

Ike winced while he rolled his shoulder. The jump seemed to have aggravated a sprain. “You should be in bed…”

“Is that the Black Knight’s gauntlet I see imprinted in your cheek?” Soren took a step closer in mock examination.

Ike sighed. “I fought him, but my attacks had no effect at all. I think his armor is enchanted.”

“Like Petrine’s?” he asked dryly. After Riven Bridge, he’d attempted to warn him that all Four Riders would be similarly protected.

“No, this is some kind of older, deeper magic.” Ike shook his head. “I couldn’t make a scratch. I mean, not even a scratch.”

Soren’s hands started to shake again at the thought of how close he’d been to losing him. “Why did he let you go?” he asked, balling his fists and masking his voice. 

“I… I guess he didn’t want to fight me as I am now, so he roughed me up to make a point… But I have an idea how I can defeat him next time.”

“Next time?” Soren repeated incredulously. “Can you have really learned nothing from-”

“Go to bed, Soren,” Ike cut him off, scowling. He tried to push past, but Soren refused.

He placed him in front of his friend again, but this time he willed himself to be calm and patient. He raised his palms. “You said you had an idea… I have a penchant for ideas. Good ones at least. Tell me yours.”

Ike was still frowning, but he looked less angry. After hesitating a moment, he gave in. “…It’s a sword.”

“Your idea is a sword?” Soren raised an eyebrow. “Why am I not surprised...”

“I’ll show you,” Ike growled, taking him by the arm. He dragging him out of the main hall and down the corridor that led to his room.

When they reached it, Soren was oddly surprised to see it was small and simple—a servant’s room. He must have chosen it over the suites on the upper floors for its central location. Closing the door behind them, Ike lit a lantern and dragged something from under the bed.

“Is this the sword that is going to solve all your Black-Knight-related problems?” Soren asked, unable to keep the spite from his voice. He was still mad at him for riding off to get himself killed tonight.

Ike unwrapped the hefty blade and laid it on the bed. Now that it gleamed in the lanternlight, Soren recognized it instantly. This was Greil’s sword: the one that had propped up Elena’s body like a scarecrow’s stick. He wondered if Ike knew this mottled steel had once been wet with his mother’s blood.

He was staring at it with his brow furrowed. “The Black Knight gave it to my father that night in Gallia, but he refused to fight with it. I think it was his once … So I took it.”

“You’ve kept it this whole time?” Soren managed to ask.

“I’ve been keeping it in Aimee’s wagon when we’re on the road,” Ike explained. “If Father didn’t want to use it, then I didn’t want to… But tonight, the Black Knight said something strange. I think he wants me to fight him with it. I think it might be the only thing that can break the enchantment on his armor.”

“It’s possible…” Soren murmured, eyeing the ancient runes on the base of the blade. “It is called Ragnell,” he read aloud for Ike’s benefit. “I am no expert, but it appears quite old and yet well preserved. It may even be enchanted itself.”

Ike nodded to say he’d guessed the same. “So a sword’s not a bad idea, is it?”

Soren felt his frustration finally ebbing. “In this case, it just might work,” he conceded. “But it was still foolish to engage the Black Knight tonight.”

Ike frowned petulantly. “Consider it reconnaissance,” he grumbled. “We know about his armor and this sword now.”

Soren shook his head but made no reply. He knew he couldn’t convince Ike he’d done anything wrong. “I’m going to bed,” he announced, heading for the door. Ike didn’t call him back or make more excuses. Now that he was safe, Soren could finally sleep.