Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 44: PINELL ( Chapter 13 )

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

That evening, nestled in the Marhaut Range, Soren pored over Gallian and Phoenician reports of the occupation. Crimea had changed considerably in the past two years. Entire towns had been wiped off the map, and new ones had sprung up where armies were stationed. Rivers had been dammed, forests had been leveled, and the balance of political power had been warped in Ashnard’s hand.

It would take a clear, targeted plan to oust Daein as quickly as possible. His mind raced, and hours slipped by without his noticing. The Crimean-Gallian-Phoenician-Begnion army was over twelve thousand strong, and it was probably the most diverse fighting force Tellius had ever seen. The offensive and defensive possibilities were incalculable, but Soren was determined to calculate them all.

 

The refugees returned to the mountain the next day, and Elincia promised this would be one step closer to eventually returning home. Many beorc soldiers helped move them, but the laguz held back. Some said they didn’t wish to scare the civilians, but others had no qualms claiming the humans didn’t deserve any more aid than the laguz was already providing. 

Ike, however, refused to accept either excuse, and by the afternoon, he and Ranulf had persuaded a group of beast soldiers to help transport goods, gather food, and prepare shelters for the displaced beorc. Ike simultaneously convinced the people to accept the aid and be kind. Soren found himself wondering if there was some skill Ike possessed that made him the only person in the world who could accomplish this, or if anyone might have done it if they’d tried. 

That evening, the hidden ravine was alive with Gallian drum music, dancing, and song as the members of the two armies got to know each other. All food was still strictly rationed, but as Soren walked around camp, he realized commiserating about hunger and fantasizing about home cooking bonded the troops almost as well as breaking bread together.

After night had fallen, Caineghis, Giffca, and a small party of guardsmen bid farewell. Dark gods aside, the Beast King couldn’t leave his nation for an extended period of time (especially not if it involved a fighting in a beorc war many of his senior statesmen still disproved of). Ike, Elincia, Tibarn, Reyson, and a few others saw them off. Soren skipped the affair to read the latest reports in the strategy tent.

 

For three days, the army rested, scouted, procured supplies, and enjoyed the Marhaut hot springs. Soren kept himself busy planning future routes, assaults, and contingencies, but he did enjoy not having to spend the majority of each day marching from place to place.

 

Eventually the day to make decisions arrived. The army’s leaders and their retainers were all in attendance. “Everyone seems to be here,” Ike said, standing on his toes to get a better view of the many people seated in the crowded tent. “Go ahead, Soren. You can begin now.”

All eyes moved to him.

“Very well.” Soren unrolled a large map of Crimea at the center table and placed stones on its corners. “Take a look at this map. The current position of our army is here in the Marhaut Range. If we want to hit Melior directly, there are two large outposts in our way—Fort Pinell and Castle Nados.” He pointed to each in turn.

“The dual redoubts were built to guardian our fair capital,” Bastian said, in a sing-song voice. (Having worked closely with him since Delbray, Soren was certain by now that ‘fair’ was his favorite word.) “But now Daein rules them both, and knows of us. With rations set, they could hold out a year. Say what you will of Daein and her foul plans, one must admire her skill in things of war.”

Despite his odd mannerisms and his devious nature, Soren couldn’t help but appreciate Bastian because he dared say things like that. And he was right—Crimea could learn a thing or two from Daein. No one else, however, seemed to appreciate the sentiment. “Come on, Bastian!” Geoffrey complained, “Why would you praise our foe?”

“I do but speak the mean of it, good sir,” was Bastian’s reply. “The truth is harsh, but lies would be worse still.”

“Will you two please shut up? Please?” Lucia snapped. “Sheesh!”

“Pinell and Nados are fairly close to one another,” Ike said to get them back on track. “I doubt they would expect us to attack both at once, but…” He glanced at Soren.

“That seems to be a waste of our strength,” Titania interjected. “And we don’t want to get ambushed from the rear while attacking.”

“We cannot divide our army, but we could send a small force to attack the base with the weaker defenses and keep it occupied,” Soren said firmly. “At the same time, the main army can focus on the other and conquer it.”

“I see…” Ike nodded. “So which one has more soldiers?”

“That would be Fort Pinell.” Soren pointed to it again. “Reports estimate ten thousand, whereas Nados is furnished with only six thousand.” 

“Very well,” Tibarn said decidedly, “Then the main army should lead an assault on Fort Pinell. Meanwhile, I’ll take my armada and a unit or so of Gallians to Castle Nados. We’ll launch an attack, and when they come out to meet us, we’ll retreat. Then we’ll attack again!” The Hawk King laughed. “It will keep them busy.”

This was exactly the plan Soren had devised. Walls were useless against winged units, and Daein’s archers had likely never fought bird laguz before. They would have trouble calculating range initially. If Tibarn’s hawks insisted on retreating, the best tactic for Daein would be to deploy platoons of mounted archers beyond the castle walls. If Tibarn could draw them far enough away, the Gallian unit could then disrupt and kill the defenseless cavalry with little risk to themselves.

“That should give us the time we need,” Ike agreed. “We’ll take care of our front within a day, so you must retreat by nightfall.”

“It’s settled then.” Tibarn’s bobbed his head eagerly.

“Let’s go capture a fort!” Ike announced, to which everyone either cheered or saluted rigidly.

 

Moving the huge army took time. The route Soren charted led to Melior (and therefore Pinell and Nados) in as straight a line as possible, but they encountered numerous small ambushes while they marched, which inevitably slowed their progress. That being said, none of these skirmishes posed a serious threat to their newly amassed numbers.

The Phoenician scouts could travel long distances very quickly and always returned with detailed, accurate reports. The Gallian sentries always sensed would-be interlopers from a far distance, keeping their convoy wagons safe day and night. Thus protected, the Crimea Liberation Army washed through towns and villages like a purifying flame, burning away the black rot of Daein on their way to the capital.

 

After two weeks, they arrived at the place where the road split toward either Pinell or Nados. Here they made camp and divided their forces. Tibarn’s regiment of five hundred hawks and five hundred beasts would depart at sunrise the next morning. A few hours later, Ike’s army would attack Fort Pinell. The plan was to have the fort conquered by the end of the day. That was when Tibarn would call off his own attack and they’d regroup. 

Soren was lying on his cot, trying to get some sleep. He’d memorized the layout of Fort Pinell. He’d read all the reconnaissance reports about the troops stationed there and their commander. He was ready for tomorrow’s battle, which would be the greatest of the war so far, but his sleep was a fitful one.

Sometime in the early morning, he gave up trying to return to sleep. He traced Ike’s presence through the camp, which rustled quietly in the pre-dawn darkness as the anxious troops started to wake. Tibarn would be leaving soon, and Ike would be seeing him off. He didn’t intend to eavesdrop, or perhaps he did, because he wandered in that direction.

Tibarn, Reyson, and Ike were chatting while the hawk-beast battalion assembled behind them. Soren pretended to sift through the contents of the nearest convoy wagon. He was close enough to hear the conversation.

“Reyson, no,” Tibarn was saying, “I truly am sorry. Leanne’s kidnapping is completely my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. Please don’t apologize. I know she is alive,” Reyson said firmly, “These battlefields are filled with chaotic energy, but I can still sense her. It’s faint, but I know it’s Leanne.”

“Which is all the more reason for us to hurry,” Tibarn sighed, “There may be other ways to finish this, but crushing Daein is the surest.”

“Agreed,” Reyson said.

“Reyson,” Ike spoke up, “is this mysterious power that you use to sense Leanne something only herons possess?”

Tibarn laughed. “It’s not something any of the hawk clans have! That’s for sure!”

“That’s not true, Tibarn,” Reyson countered, “The power may differ in potency between us, but all laguz possess telesthesia to some degree.”

And the Branded, Soren thought sourly.

“Ah,” Tibarn replied with mock-dejection, “so it’s just that my sense isn’t developed, is that it?”

“The power is distributed something like this,” Reyson explained, sounding as if he were a patient teacher and the Hawk King a child, “Among the bird tribes, it’s very strong in the heron clan. Among the beast tribes, I’ve heard it’s most developed in the cat clan, though not as strongly as in the herons. As for the dragon tribes, it’s said they may be equal to, or even surpass, the strength of the herons.”

“Even though I knew not all laguz were alike,” Ike replied in awe, “There are even more difference than I’d imagined.”

“Your eyes should have told you that. Once we change, we don’t look alike, do we?” Tibarn teased.

“Good point.” It sounded like there was a smile in his voice.

Soren decided to move out of earshot. Soon he saw Tibarn and the other hawks take to the sky. Only then did Soren approach Ike directly.

“Are preparations underway,” Ike asked when he saw him.

“Titania is seeing to it.”

Ike just nodded. There were bags under his eyes. “Did you sleep at all?” Soren asked.

Ike shook his head. “Not much. You?”

“Enough,” Soren lied. “Tibarn’s unit has gone?”

“Yes, moments ago,” Ike said. He glanced to the east. “The sun will be rising soon.” At his words, the first rays of daylight started peeking over the tops of distant trees.

“General Ike!” A soldier clad in Crimean armor saluted as he marched toward them. Another followed at his side carrying an armful of scrolls.

“Yes?” Ike asked.

“May we ask that you review these manifests before the we move out?” he asked politely.

Ike glanced at Soren and winced as if in defeat, but when he turned back to the soldiers, he smiled. “Of course.”

The pair began asking questions while handing Ike one scroll after the next. They walked him through lists of units, their battalions, and their commanding officers so Ike could confirm everything was correct. Soren gave advice and answers when he could. Then came the complaints. Apparently one of the Gallian battalions needed more olivi grass to sustain their transformations. One beorc battalion had received a double ration of vulneraries while another had received none. The commander of one Begnion battalion was demanding one of the Crimean battalions’ mounted healers be assigned to his group. Some of the beorc were wondering why the Gallian King would not be fighting with the army if he is so great, and their criticism was causing the Gallian soldiers to raise their hackles (literally). The list of concerns went on.

Ike was surprisingly patient while each of these miscommunications and irregularities was addressed, and Soren felt oddly proud.  

After over half an hour of this, they were approached by a very peculiar sight. The busy camp made way for a small procession heading toward them. Bastian, Geoffrey, and Lucia followed Elincia, who was dressed in armor, carried a sword at her hip, wore a Mend staff on her back, and was leading a brilliant white pegasus by the reins. Ike’s jaw dropped, and one of the soldiers fumbled, dropping half the scrolls.

“My lord Ike.” Elincia inclined her head. Her hair had been woven into mound of braids atop her head, and instead of a tiara, she wore a thick, protective battle crown.

“Princess Elincia…” Ike said, but he didn’t seem to know what else to say. After a moment Elincia blushed, and Ike recovered himself slightly. “Huh? What’s going on? Why are you dressed like that?”

“I thought to join you on the battle lines,” was her answer. Soren could hardly believe what he was hearing. Elincia was their employer and the future queen. It was ridiculous that she should ask to fight beside her own soldiers. She wasn’t Commander Greil; she wasn’t a commander at all.

“Is that a pegasus?” Ike asked, tearing his eyes away. “Where’d you get that?”

“He belonged to my great-grandmother,” Elincia explained, stroking the beast’s long face. “I’m a bit nervous about riding him, but I’m going to try nevertheless.”

“I appreciate that you want to fight—” Ike shook his head “—but your retainers will never allow it. Will they?” He looked meaningfully at the trio.

Elincia flashed a knowing smile. “As for that…” She turned the others.

“Did you agree to this, Geoffrey?” Ike demanded.

“No.” He frowned “Personally, I am against it, but…” He threw up his hands. “She is the Princess, and it is her wish. What can I do.”

“The Princess’s great-grandmother was a Begnion Pegasus knight of some renown before marrying into House Ridell,” Lucia explained. “Princess Elincia herself is skilled at both riding and swordsmanship. As a child, she was granted permission to train in case the need for her to fight ever arose.”

“Behold the pegasus and uniform!” Bastian sang loudly. “All treasures of our House Crimea fair. We did fear much that we would never see a chance to use them in their proper stead. Oh, muse of fire! I cannot find the words! Behold a light that dares shame the sun! Our Princess clad in raiment fair and fine gives us courage, love, and vigor to our cause.”

“I am surprised you were able to hide armor and a flying horse from the Daein army,” Ike grumbled, as if his doubt could make them disappear before his eyes.

“Lord Renning foresaw a time when the princess would need them and bade us convey them from the palace,” Bastian explained mournfully. “His thoughts were always of the Princess, even as his life abandoned him. ‘Be true to your heart, and live life as it dictates.’ Those were his final words to her.”

Elincia seemed to draw strength from Bastian’s poetry. “My lord uncle was always the one person who understood me best. Even though I’m dressed like this, I have no experience and do not expect to fight as well as the rest of you, but…” She frowned and stood straighter. “This constant waiting behind and doing nothing… It sets my heart beating with such unease I fear it may burst. Even if I cannot fight, I can use a staff to heal the wounded. If I can save just one soldier, it would mean so much to me… Please, my lord Ike. I promise to obey orders and stay out of harm’s way as best I can.”

Soren was tempted to respect Elincia for her resolve, but stronger than this temptation was the feeling that she was ruining everything. She was stealing Ike’s heart. The young commander had been infatuated with the princess from the moment they’d found her in those woods. Before leaving Begnion, he’d been named lord and general. He could court her if he wished, but Soren had never expected that to actually happen. Ike was most alive on the battlefield, and Soren couldn’t imagine him truly falling for someone who didn’t share that experience.

But here she was, armored and armed, ready for fight. There was a spark in her eyes that mirrored Ike’s own, and he clearly couldn’t look away. When this war was over, he would choose her over the Greil Mercenaries, and he would be right to do so. He would be a much-loved king.

By the time Soren returned his attention to the proceedings, Geoffrey and Lucia had just finished speaking on Elincia’s behalf.

“This is not something that I can allow or disallow,” Ike finally said, his voice only half-surrender. “She is my employer. If this is what the princess wants, all I can do is comply. Be careful, won’t you?”

“Oh, thank you so much!” Elincia brought her hands together and did a little hop on the balls of her feet that caused her armor to clank.

“Let us go forth like sunlight to the dawn!” Bastian crowed, “Elincia fights, and Crimea wins the day!” Every Crimean soldier within earshot cheered proudly.

Ike was smiling and Elincia was smiling, and they were smiling at each other.

Soren tried to destroy the moment. “We move out within the hour,” he said, but no one became disheartened by the thought of battle.

“Find Titania and see that the battalions are assembled,” Ike replied. “Elincia will fight under my command. Assign Kieran as Mist’s guard today. I’ll see to the changes discussed with these men.” He gestured to the Crimean soldiers behind him.

 

With Titania’s help, the massive army was appropriately segmented and made ready to march. Everyone had their orders, they knew their drills, and (with any luck) they would remember to watch their platoon commanders for guidance on the battlefield.

Soren’s strategy today depended on the simple task of pushing, dividing, and spreading out the enemy troops. Tessellation was the Liberation Army’s best chance of success. At the appropriate junctures, the platoon commanders would signal their troops to break up and spread out. The force of ten thousand would divide into forces of thirty-five hundred, which would divide into forces of eleven hundred, which would divide into forces of four hundred, which would divide into forces of one-hundred. At each point of division, some soldiers would die, someone would continue forward, and some would strike out on either side—becoming a new unit with a new commander, until the next subdivision.

The purpose of this was to gain the field. With a disproportionate number of cavalry and beast laguz (which Soren considered pseudo-cavalry), this was the only way the Liberation Army would be able to properly leverage its units and full numbers. If Daein’s defense remained solid, they would never infiltrate the fort.

Unfortunately, Soren knew many platoons would fail to act at the correct moments. They knew their orders now, but they would forget them when the chaos of battle surrounded them. On the field, they would kill or be killed. Soldiers would lash out violently, desperately. They would act on instinct, not a half-remembered strategy they pretended to understand during their briefing. They would act out of anger, fear, and an overfed feeling of bravery. Soren had seen many battles, and that was what always happened.

 

“Ike, Soren.” Titania approached just before the call to march. “I have just received the most recent report from our scouts, and there are more enemy soldiers than expected. With this morning’s reinforcements, the army deployed outside the walls now numbers nine thousand.”

“And we must assume the fort houses many more troops,” Soren added. “At least six thousand.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ike declared, “Even if they had twenty times our numbers, it wouldn’t change anything. We must overcome them. In this war, there can be no retreat.”

“Then this may prove to be a long battle,” was Soren’s reply.

“Soren, do you have any information on the enemy general?” Ike asked suddenly.

He was surprised; Ike didn’t usually care for such details. But he answered promptly: “Our intelligence indicates the commander of this army is Bertram, one of Daein’s Four Riders.”

“One of the Four Riders?” Ike repeated. “So he’s on par with that woman we fought earlier, General Petrine?”

“Not necessarily,” Soren cautioned. “The title of Rider is given to four persons of supposedly highest ability among the king’s advisers. In other words, whoever catches his eye at the moment.”

“The members can change, right? Bertram is one of the newer ones…” Titania attempted to remember.

Soren was disappointed she didn’t already have her enemies memorized. She was setting a bad example for Ike. “Most senior among the Riders is General Bryce, who served the previous king. Then there was General Petrine, who’d been part of Ashnard’s inner circle for some time before we defeated her at Riven Bridge. The enigmatic general known as the Black Knight did not rise to power until just before the start of the war, and the man we face today, General Bertram, displaced a previous Rider six months after the conquest of Melior. Those are the four.”

“We are certain this Black Knight is the same who murdered Commander Greil?” Titania asked timidly.

“Of that, there appears to be little doubt,” Soren replied. Unfortunately, it seemed they would have to defeat all Four Riders before they could reach the Mad King, which meant facing the Black Knight sooner or later. Soren glanced at Ike, searching his guarded expression for any sign of his intentions, but he revealed nothing.

“Tell us, Soren,” Titania asked, changing the subject, “do you have more information on General Bertram?”

“I don’t know where he hails from,” Soren admitted (in truth, Bertram was almost as much of an enigma as the Black Knight), “only that he appeared after the fall of Crimea and quickly gained Ashnard’s favor.”

“So he’s a man of no mean ability,” Titania sighed.

“Like the Black Knight, he always wears his armor and never shows his face unhelmed. Some say he’s not even in his armor, but that it’s inhabited by an ancient specter or a demonic creature. It’s all just superstition and rumor designed to heighten fear of him,” Soren explained.

“It’s not important.” Ike shook his head. “Once we cross swords, we’ll know the truth. Then we can discover for ourselves if he’s just a loudmouthed braggart or truly a monster. As long as our blades can wound him, I don’t care either way.” He turned abruptly and marched over to his awaiting troops.

Soren recalled what he’d said about his sword having no effect on the Black Knight. The possibility of an invulnerable enemy commander was concerning to say the least.

“Let’s go!” Ike called, and the army slowly started rolling out.

 

A wide valley stretched between the Crimea Liberation Army and Fort Pinell, but it was empty. They advanced, but the Daein forces remained where they were: tight formations near the fort, a moat of black armor. 

The land inclined gradually, which put Pinell above them. Ike called the army to a halt just out of range of the fort’s anti-siege ballistae. Three defensive trebuchets were mounted on the ramparts beside the eastern, southern, and western towers, and three more were stationed on the roof and landings of the keep itself. Soren knew these were going to be one of the biggest threats to the Liberation Army today.

“Loyal soldiers of Crimea!” Ike raised his sword, and people cheered. “Proud soldiers of Gallia! Brave soldiers of Begnion! My friends, this is Fort Pinell—” he pointed his blade behind him “—and it belongs to Crimea. Daein has no place here, and we will take it back!” By now his every sentence was earning roars, whistles, hollering voices, and banging weapons. “Charge now!”

He started running, and the frontal wedge was right behind him. A third of the army split to the right, and another split to the left. The majority of each were laguz, balanced with Crimean and Begnion horsemen. The middle section was predominantly infantry, with the vanguard comprised of Ike’s mercenaries. Soren was there, running beside him, and he didn’t stop running when they came within range and the trebuchets started flinging their deadly payloads.

Ahead of them were the shoulder-to-shoulder Daeins, whose ranks arced around the fort’s round walls. Their shields were locked; their pikes were out. But before Soren, Ike, and the others could reach them, they were forced to climb over the trenches and subsequent mounds of dirt that had been dug to break their momentum. As expected, this age-old tactic was highly effective, and the Liberation Army’s vanguard struggled to break Daein’s ranks once they reached the other side.

Behind the frontlines, row upon row of enemy archers fired volleys into the Liberation Army’s ranks. By the time the last row had fired, the first row had redrawn, and so the hellish rain never ceased. 

There were mages too, wielding powerful spells like Thoron and Bolganone. The initial bolt from Thoron was enough to kill an individual and stun whoever was standing beside them, and the second half of the attack—an orb of crackling electricity that fell from the sky—was enough to knock out and seriously injure anyone caught in the vicinity. As for Bolganone, it could be even worse, because—packed in tightly as they were—it was difficult to see the ground glowing red-hot as the dirt turned to magma. The brutal fire attack was a limb-eater, burning away the victim’s feet, legs, and arms if they toppled and tried to catch themselves. Of course, this depended on how long the enemy mage was able to sustain the spell. And judging by the sobbing cries and mutilated corpses around him, Soren judged these mages were quite powerful. 

All the while, the trebuchets barraged the army with heavy, rolling stones, each of which took out a line of soldiers just waiting for their chance to fight. The Liberation Army was being obliterated, and Soren’s plan wasn’t working. The Daein’s defense was too strong, their ranks too compact. They wouldn’t let themselves be drawn out, but until that happened, the trebuchets were going to keep firing.

“Find the cracks!” Ike was calling. “Remember the plan! Push! Push! Stay with your platoon commanders! Wait for the signals! We’re doing alright!” His encouragement heartened everyone who managed to hear it over the cacophony of death. Soren willed himself to take heart as well and paced himself as he incanted his spells. He reminded himself that he’d known this was going to be a long battle.

Finally they’d made enough progress to warrant the first signal. Begnion troops were trained to obey coordinated horn blows to tell them where to go and what to do next on the field of battle. The Crimean military used a symbology of tall, colored flags, which usually fluttered above the rump of the commander’s horse. As for Gallian soldiers, Soren had recently discovered they followed a code of drumbeats and roars. On the journey to Pinell, he’d integrated the best of these practices for full battlefield communication, and the platoon commanders had trained their troops vigorously to memorize and obey the new signals. Now they were given, and the first division occurred. The platoons concentrated, pushed, and then divided, pressing to the sides. The swarm of confused Daein seethed away, keeping themselves alive and setting up new defenses.

Before long, Ike called for the second divide, and each platoon multiplied again. By now, the Daein soldiers had been spread out into the trebuchet’s range, so the engineers could only target the most distant troops or else injure their own people.

After the third divide, the Daeins were spread out enough that the cavalry and laguz on either side could finally pick up speed and conduct their maneuvers effectively. Before, everyone had merely been battering the exterior of Daein’s defenses, but now the fight was all around them. The Liberation Army had fallen back, but that was necessary. Outside Pinell was a large valley just waiting to be watered with blood, and now the two armies splashed across it.

This wasn’t Soren preferred type of battle, but it was what the Liberation Army needed right now. Fighting enemies on all sides meant watching flailing bodies in every direction and having to discern in an instant which ones were attacking him. It meant hearing cries behind his head and having to twist around to see if it was an incoming attack or just someone rolling on the ground in pain. He needed to be constantly on his toes and always with a defensive spell on his lips. But he could do it. He promised himself he would hold out until the end.

The key now was for the platoons to stay together even while they fought out of formation. They needed to be ready for the tide of battle to change again—such as when Daein managed to open up channels and deploy their feral laguz. Jill and Haar were giving Ike frequent reports to make up for what he couldn’t see. According to them, a hundred feral cats and tigers had been unleashed. But Soren had prepared for this. Evenly dispersed among the army were special units of laguz-killers: fire mages and soldiers wielding specialized, serrated weapons. To Soren’s satisfaction, he heard and saw the signals summoning these units, and Haar later reported that the threats had been neutralized.

Unfortunately, Soren later heard reports that Daein had prepared similar countermeasures, and phalanxes of Daein ‘hunters’ were targeting the Gallian soldiers with the same laguz-killing weapons. When Ike heard this, he ordered additional healers to move from the center of the battlefield to the sides to better support them. 

The exception was the healing regiment that scurried under Elincia’s shadow. They kept themselves busy at the core of the army, fighting to create protective rings of shields and shine barriers, at the center of which mortally injured soldiers and mercenaries could be healed enough to return to the fray. Crimean soldiers in particular flocked to Elincia for healing, and they squealed like wild pigs whenever her pegasus flew over their heads.

She never strayed far, so Ike, Titania, and Soren could keep an eye on her. Although she was not an expert swordswoman, she held her own and did not shy away from taking a life when need be. Bastian stayed close to her and her healing regiment, since Lucia and Geoffrey were leading separate platoons, and even her ancient pegasus did its part to protect her, apparently remembering battle well despite spending the past fifty years as a leisure horse in the royal stables. 

Eventually the battlefield thinned. The Daein soldiers were attempting to remember their training and consolidate near the fort again. Another two thousand soldiers slipped outside when it was safe to open the gates, and both armies seemed to take a moment’s reprieve. However, this benefited Daein more than the Liberation Army. They were able to reclaim and reform their defenses, and when fighting resumed again in earnest, it seemed the Crimean forces were starting from scratch with another straight charge.

The hours drew on. When Soren was injured, he found a healer. When he needed to rest his tongue or catch his breath, he fell back to recover. But he stayed with his platoon; he stayed with Ike.

Eventually they reached the wall, and the time came to truly lay siege. Arrows poured from the battlements, but the appropriate platoons remembered their orders and proceeded with mantelets and pavises. They stayed in a cocoon formation around the battering ram, which another platoon was responsible for moving into position. All of the ranged units concentrated their fire on battlements, and Soren, Bastian, and the rest of the wind mages did their part to knock as many enemy arrows out of the sky as they could. Meanwhile, the rest of the army was busy fighting the remnants of the exterior forces.

When they were through, Ike’s platoon led the charge into the bailey. Those platoons whose job until now had merely been to stay together and disperse the Daein troops now had new missions, and fortunately they seemed to remember them. Some groups held the bailey. Some groups set out for the south tower, others the north, east, and west. Some groups sought ways onto the battlements, to end the rain of arrows at its source. Others went to secure the back gate. And the majority moved onto the keep. The battering ram was rolled forward, and soon the entrance to the keep was down as well. Soren remained with Ike’s group, and naturally, they were the first to pour inside.

Fighting around Soren was an eclectic team. Calill and Largo were tavern keepers from Melior, but here they were, roasting and crushing soldiers as if they’d done it their entire lives. Nephenee and Brom were farmers, but she finessed her spear and he his axe as if their hands had never known a hoe and shovel. Tormod and Muarim were freedom fighters from Begnion; this wasn’t their fight, but they were here anyway. Jill and Haar were Talregans, and yet they were killing their own people without hesitation. Astrid was a noblewoman who could have stayed home and been drinking tea safe in her family’s mansion right now. Reyson was a member of an endangered species; he didn’t have to risk his life and his people’s legacy in a place like this, but here he was. Makalov was a gambler, Sothe a thief, Volke an assassin, and Stefan a Branded. They were an unsavory bunch. It didn’t make sense that they considered each other friends and comrades, that they would die for each other without regrets. They were mercenaries, not soldiers—they weren’t bound by duty. But something else drove them to incredible feats.