Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 58: SABOTAGE ( Chapter 27 )

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

Soren made it as far as the base of the hill before stumbling and collapsing on the ground. He was not yet unconscious, and he fought to regain control of his limbs and his senses so he could stand and continue walking. But he merely fell again.

To his surprise, someone caught him the second time. “What’s going on with you?” Mia’s voice hissed.

Soren couldn’t form the words to answer, but he shuffled along with an arm around her neck for support. He detested this weakness, but he was in too much pain for it to really bother him.

When they stopped again, they were somewhere relatively dark. Mia gave him a canteen of water and began changing out of her disguise into her regular clothes. The water helped wake him up, and he realized they were in a small tent.

“There, you’ve got a little color back,” Mia observed, stuffing Percival’s clothes into a canvas bag. “Or, at least your eyes aren’t glassed over. What happened?” 

“A certain amount of strain is involved to work a spell at that distance,” Soren managed to answer, speaking slowly to be sure he didn’t slur his words.

“You knew this would happen and wanted to cheat anyway? You’re nuts.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Can you stand?”

In answer, Soren stood and took the two steps necessary to exit the tent. But once they were outside, Mia lent him her arm again, and he didn’t refuse it.

“I don’t get it, why go to these lengths?”

“It was supposed to be ‘fun’,” Soren answered honestly. “Ike suggested I try it.”

“The Boss told you to cheat?” she said incredulously.

“Of course not,” Soren quickly replied. “That was my idea.”

Mia shook her head as if she didn’t understand. “Are you going to do this tomorrow too, for the distance competitions?”

Soren shrugged. “That is currently the plan.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached the campsite. Ike jumped up at the sight of them. “There you are! We were getting worried when you disappeared.”

Soren pulled his weight off Mia but let her speak for him. “Soren wasn’t feeling well, so I took him somewhere to puke,” she lied.

“So you are sick!” Ike exclaimed, closing the distance between them. “You need to lie down. Now. That’s an order.”

Ike’s hands clamped down on his arm and the side of his neck. Mist seized him from the other side, grasping his opposite arm and his forehead to measure his temperature. It was only due to their support that he realized he probably would have fallen again only a few steps after letting go of Mia.

The siblings walked him to the tent, and Soren didn’t push them away. He went without a word—unable to argue or reclaim any dignity in this situation. He missed Ike’s touch when it was gone, but he couldn’t ask for him to stay either.

The pain followed him in his sleep, which was intermittent and not quite restful, but eventually the worst of it passed. Sometime in the night, he fell into oblivion.

 

That morning, the mercenaries feasted on a rich, crumbly brown bread Oscar had baked the day before, as well as two dozen slabs of bacon Gatrie had purchased from a butcher in the city. Soren was feeling better, so he joined the others and ate his fill.

However, he couldn’t help but notice Mia’s and Ike’s flickering glances. Mia looked at Ike as often as she looked at Soren, and the same was true for Ike looking at her. Their faces weren’t filled with worry as they’d been before; worry was only part of it now.

Soren suspected he knew what had happened, so he wasn’t surprised when Ike called him for a private meeting as soon as the meal was finished. He led him out of the campgrounds all the way to the river, which was turbulent and murky from last night’s rainfall.

“What did Mia tell you?” Soren asked when Ike’s feet came to a stop.

“Why do you think she told me anything?”

“General observation,” he answered with a wave of his hand.

Ike was frowning when he continued. “Well, yeah, she told me you made yourself sick cheating, and that she helped you.” His frown faded for a moment. “She also told me she’s been competing under an alias.”

“She’s loyal, but no good at artifice,” Soren sighed.

“Neither of you were at your best.” Ike frowned. “Everyone knew something was up.”

“Does everyone know the truth now?” He would be surprised if that were the case; they’d all been acting normally at breakfast.

Ike shook his head. “Just me.”

“If you suspected something, why didn’t you intervene?”

He turned away from the river to face him. “Because I didn’t really care what it was. I was just glad to see you sharing a secret with someone other than me.”

It was not the response Soren was expecting, and it momentarily stunned him. “What- What do you mean by that?”

Ike pushed back his hair with one hand, only to have it flop back into place again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes it’s…hard, knowing I’m the only person you trust.”

Soren felt his skin crawl. “I’m sorry I am a burden. I should never have-”

“Stop right there,” Ike cut him off, “Don’t you dare say it!” There was a spark of anger in his fierce blue eyes. “I told you not to take it the wrong way. I am trying to tell you to open up to other people more, not to me less. Damn it, Soren, you can’t go backward!”

“I know that,” he said almost inaudibly. Sometimes he didn’t know how to respond to Ike when he was like this. The young commander cared about the mental and emotional states of everyone under his charge. It wasn’t a burden he needed to take on, but Ike chose to anyway. Soren had to agree it did sound incredibly heavy.

“You have friends, but you refuse to accept them,” Ike continued. “Yet here you were helping Mia and letting her help you. You were finally treating one of the others like a fr-”

“She was an asset,” Soren cut in, “and a mere quid pro quo arrangement can hardly be considered revelatory.”

“How can someone as smart as you lie to yourself?” Ike narrowed his eyes as if he truly didn’t understand. “Shouldn’t you be able to see through it?”

Soren considered how to reply. When he did, he just said, “This is not the lecture I was expecting. Aren’t you supposed to be chastising me for cheating?”

Ike barked a laugh and shook his head. “I don’t like the cheating and I don’t think you need to do it to enjoy the games, but I could have gotten over that. What I can’t get over is you hurting yourself. I’ve forbidden Mia from helping you anymore.”

“Mia and I do not have the same events today,” Soren answered calmly. “I am going to slip the page of spells into Shinon’s boot.”

Ike stared at him in bewilderment.

“A joke.” Soren gave a small smile as a peace offering. “That was the plan, but there was little chance of it succeeding. Regardless, if you order me to stop, I will stop.”

“That’s it?” Ike eyed him cautiously.

“That is it.” Soren nodded. “To be honest, it wasn’t any fun anyway. Too painful.”

Ike sighed in obvious relief. He turned back to the rushing water as if he found the energy invigorating. “You know the games aren’t really measuring anything, right? They aren’t tests, they’re games. Losing is half the fun.”

Soren cocked his head at such foolishness. “Tell that to Rhys,” he said. “The idiot lost thirty gold and has nothing but embarrassment to show for it.”

Ike turned back to him in surprise. “Rhys has been having a blast.”

“He’s been shy and uncomfortable, performing poorly, and the butt of many jokes these past three days,” Soren reported.

“You weren’t paying attention.” Ike shook his head. “Rhys was laughing, in his own little way. He might be shy—and half of everything out of his mouth might be self-deprecating—but I know he enjoyed participating with the rest of us, because he told me he did. The thing is, everyone likes to be in the spotlight once in a while. Even people like Rhys like the attention of a friend at the finish line or in the crowd cheering you on… I don’t know why you can’t see that.”

Reconsidering the events of the past three days, Soren had to admit there was some truth to what he said. “I do see it,” he finally admitted. “I just…never thought it was for me.”

Ike smiled, and there was compassion deep in the tiny crinkles around his eyes. “The mercenaries are your family. Just be here with us. Stop thinking about the next objective. Fun isn’t an objective.”

Soren furrowed his brow. “It is my job to always be thinking ahead and anticipating our next move.”

Ike shook his head. “We’re not at war anymore, Soren. We’re just playing some games.”

 

The first event of the day was a simple (and minimally popular) stone toss. The river stones they were using were more or less ovular and ranged in size and weight. Competitors had five minutes to choose the stones they intended to throw and mark them with their color.

Soren chose almost arbitrarily, but his hand couldn’t help but stray to those he judged to be the most aerodynamic. The color he was assigned was light blue. When it was time to begin, the first round of competitors stepped up to throw their stones in under-hand fashion as far as they could. Soren felt silly, but it was a relief not to have to worry about using magic in coordination with the toss. He just had to chuck the stupid stone. There was no technique, no strategy.

When all the stones littered the ground, judges and their aides set about measuring, recording, and averaging the distances. The competitors could do no more, so they exchanged places with the next group. Soren returned to Ike’s side. “Well, that went poorly.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Ike drew a disappointed face. “Pebble projection is a valuable skill. I’m sorry to see you just don’t have it.”

Soren shrugged, saying, “It is more difficult than you would think,” and Ike cracked a smile.

 

The stone toss was a rather anticlimactic start to what was actually considered the most nerve-wracking day of the games. The fourth day was called ‘The Great Culling’ by many of the competitors and bettors alike. This evening was when the highest percentage of lowest ranked members would be removed from the standings. For those anywhere near the brink, today was the day to perform well. 

After the stone toss was a rock throw, in which men heaved boulders as far as they could. Soren watched Gatrie and Boyd each trying to get a spin or roll on their throws so that the rocks would tumble farther. Oscar, meanwhile, didn’t seem to understand the technique.

In the early afternoon was the caber toss, in which men launched large wooden poles as far as they could. Ike was one of the competitors in this event, and every mercenary who wasn’t competing came to cheer him on. It was a bizarre sport to observe, but Ike had clearly been practicing and handled himself well.

Finally it was time for the discus throw, which Soren had selected because it had seemed at least more manageable than the rock or caber contests. The discs they would be flinging resembled heavy plates, and Soren knew none of the mercenaries had ever attempted to throw anything like this before. However, Ike and Oscar had each been receiving lessons from one of their fellow competitors—someone who didn’t care if they were Crimean or Begnion. And shortly before the event, they each showed Soren and Shinon the basics of how to arc their arms and bodies and when to release the disc.

This brief tutorial did little to help Soren, who managed to throw the silly disc at almost a ninety-degree angle from his intended course. With that, he knew he would be out of the games—and he found he didn’t care at all. He returned to the mercenaries who teased him for how horribly he’d failed. But Soren didn’t mind; their mockery was oddly comforting.

It was during this bout of teasing that Soren heard a commotion on the other side of the field. “I knew it!” someone was saying, in a loud, self-important way. “He moves like a woman!”

“What does that even mean?” came the gruff reply. Soren turned toward the voices, and the other mercenaries followed his gaze. Mia was standing at the throwing line, with a man’s hand wrapped around her forearm while she pulled away. “Let go of me, you big lout!” she said in a deepened voice, but it was clear she wasn’t fooling anyone anymore. The man’s accusation had already drawn a crowd. The next round was supposed to begin soon, but the altercation disrupted the flow of bodies. Everyone was gravitating toward Mia, and that included the mercenaries. Ike jogged to the front.

“Let go of him!” he ordered (apparently having the instinct not to reveal her if he could help it). But at the same time, Mia jerked her arm up into the man’s nose, followed by a blow from her opposite fist.

“She broge by doze!” the man warbled, clutching his face.

“Is this guy bothering you?” Ike asked Mia as if they’d never met.

“Wait, I think Sam is onto something!” someone from the crowd called out.

“That is a woman!” declared someone else.

“Let me through!” ordered a judge, pushing his way past the competitors. “I will settle this. Please, let me through. I am a judge!” When he appeared in front of Mia, he squared his shoulders and stared at her intently. “Hat off.”

Mia sighed and removed her hat. “I’ll do you one better,” she said resignedly, in her regular voice. She stripped off the fake mustache, leaving a red mark on her upper lip. “Ta da!” She smiled, but her attempt at humor shriveled under the barrage of insults unleashed by the crowd.

Soren felt Ike’s muscles tense beside him and knew he was about to lunge into the center of the crowd. He grabbed his wrist to stop him. “This was her decision,” he whispered urgently. “We should leave, now, or risk appearing involved in some way.”

Ike gritted his teeth, but Mia merely raised her arms to nearest guard. “Take me away, copper,” she surrendered dramatically, and when she glanced to the side, she seemed to give Ike a small shake of her head.

Ike ripped his arm out of Soren’s grasp and gestured for the mercenaries to retreat. They disentangled themselves from the crowd and watched from a distance while Mia was led to the stockades at the center of the campgrounds.

Soren, Ike, and the others followed but held back. Another cheater was already serving his sentence in one of the wooden traps. A city guard was on duty protecting the prisoner, and he welcomed his comrade escorting Mia. Together they forced her to bend her neck and raise her arms into the wooden scaffolding.

Only when the second guard departed did Ike and the others walk forward to give Mia their condolences. Titania, however, had her arms crossed, saying, “You had to have known this would happen.” And Boyd was laughing, congratulating her on her nearly successful four-day subterfuge.

Mia was taking the turn of events fairly well. She joked along with the rest, but Soren could tell she was disappointed her fun had come to an end. If he was honest, seeing her like this made him grateful she’d betrayed him to Ike yesterday. Or else he might be in the same position.

 

At least one of the mercenaries remained with Mia through the rest of the afternoon and into the night, and even Soren found himself keeping her company when everyone marched to the stockades for a picnic dinner. The mercenaries sat as close to her as the guard would allow, and they chatted as easily as if her arms and neck weren’t encased in a wooden board. With a little wheedling, Mist even convinced the guard to let her feed Mia and hold a cup to her lips.

Everyone was in good spirits except for Titania, who was uncharacteristically quiet. She didn’t eat more than a slice of bread, and she kept her eyes on the setting sun as if tracking the time. She departed before the meal was over, bidding Mia a goodnight but declining to say where she was going.

When she was gone, Mia asked, “She can’t seriously be angry with me?”

“Oh, it’s not you,” Boyd answered with a snicker folded into his voice. This caught everyone’s attention, and even Soren was curious to see what gossip Boyd thought he had. “She’s nervous. It’s as simple as that,” he explained, raising his palms. “I hear she’s got a romantic rendezvous tonight.”

This drew a bark from Shinon, a chuckle from Gatrie, a couple confused glances from Mist and Rolf, and a long, affectionate ‘awww’ from Mia who then clicked her tongue, saying, “Then why didn’t she just say so?”

“Who exactly did you hear such a thing from?” Oscar asked suspiciously.

“Titania is never nervous,” Ike added, as if this were evidence to support Oscar’s doubt.

Boyd shrugged. “Some of the other competitors.”

“These competitors were talking about Titania?” Rhys asked as if he found the possibility offensive.

“’Course not,” Boyd shook his head. “They were talking about Valjon the Veteran, and rumor is ol’ Valjon’s got a hot date tonight with a tall, red-head woman. How many of those do we know?”

“Red-heads are not a dying breed, Boyd,” Rhys pouted.

“Wait, who the hell is Valjon?” Mia chimed in from her stockade block.

Boyd was about to answer, wearing a self-important grin, when Gatrie cut him off. “Wait, I’ve ‘eard of him—the one-legged guy, right? He was in my group for the rowing competition.”

“A fella with only one leg is competing, but I can’t?” Mia pouted.

“Oh, I saw him race with Oscar!” Rolf chimed in. “He was really good.”

Soren remembered seeing a few men with prosthetic limbs during the opening ceremonies, but he hadn’t expected any of them to make it this far. “Is this man still competing?” he asked curiously.

No one seemed to know the answer, but then Shinon spat in the dirt. “The gimp damn near outshot me yesterday,” he said, irritation thick in his voice. “So yeah, he’s still competing.”

“But that’s impossible!” Rolf chirruped. “You’re the best archer in all of Tellius.”

Shinon tossed his shoulders at the praise. “I said damn near. Of course he didn’t beat me. Those targets are so close, even you could have hit the bullseye, twerp.”

“Shinon’s ego aside,” Oscar sighed, “Weren’t we discussing Titania?”

“What she does with her free time is her business,” Ike declared, and that was the end of the discussion. The conversation moved on, and if Titania was truly meeting with this man, Soren could not know.

The Greil Mercenaries’ second-in-command had never shown romantic interest in anyone since Greil’s death, and Soren wondered what it meant if she was opening herself up now. Then again, he supposed the world was at peace again and everyone should be using this peace to make the most of their lives—everyone who could, anyway. Soren couldn’t think of anything he wanted in life that was actually attainable.

 

Titania arrived back at the campsite late in the night, but after registering her appearance with his Branded sense, Soren drifted back to sleep. In the morning, Boyd asked Titania directly if she’d been with Valjon. (Apparently he had a bet with Shinon at this point and something to prove.)

“As a matter of fact, I was,” Titania replied stiffly, “and that is none of your business.” Money exchanged hands, but no one dared push Titania for details.

Not long after this, Mia was released, and she seemed no worse for her night spent in the stockade block. She dressed in fresh clothes and scarfed down the porridge Oscar had made for breakfast, which was aromatic with cinnamon. Before she was done, however, a trio of guards stomped into their camp.

“Hey, no mustache here,” she said, pointing to her lip. “So unless bad table manners are against the rules now, I’m not going back to tha-”

“We are not here for you,” the one in front cut her off. “There’s been an anonymous tip that the competitors at this campsite are using performance-enhancing tonics in the games. We will now search the premises. Please stand aside.” The guards immediately set about tearing the tents apart, leaving the camp in worse disarray than last time. Finding nothing, they eventually went on their way without a word of apology.

“Well, I guess we can’t forget our fellow competitors have it out for us,” Ike noted. “Everyone be on your toes today.”

Boyd started laughing so hard that he bent double with a hand clamped to his side. “It’s-” He tried to catch his breath. “Today’s- Today’s balancing games, so we’re going to literally be on our toes!” No one seemed to think this was funny except for Boyd, but Ike was grinning in a way that indicated this unfortunate joke was intentional after all.  

Ike, Boyd, Shinon, Gatrie, and Oscar had all survived the culling and progressed to the fifth day of events, so they set out to their respective fields while the others stayed behind to clean up the campsite. “We’ll be right behind you!” Titania called with a wave.

Soren was surprised to find himself looking forward to being a spectator. Now that he wasn’t distracted by his own progress, he was curious how far Ike would go. Despite the risk of sabotage or of being beaten to a pulp in the final days, he wanted him to do well. He didn’t quite understand why, but he wanted everyone—even a bunch of strangers—to see how strong and talented Ike was.

 

The morning’s events consisted of two object-balancing games: one consisting of holding a ball on one’s knee and another holding a pole on one’s head. Ike, Shinon, and Boyd had signed up for the former, and Gatrie and Oscar for the latter. Apparently Valjon was also in the latter group, and Rolf (taking a page out of Boyd’s book) teased Titania when she elected to watch that event. She stared him down in response to the jab, and the fire in her eyes was enough to shut him up. To distance himself from her wrath, Rolf joined Soren, Mist, and Mia in the group that was going to see Ike and the others perform.

And ‘perform’ was the correct word to describe the event, because the line of men straining to balance large balls on their raised knees looked more like an array of circus performers than athletes. Even Ike looked silly, but he was smiling, and somehow that made the ridiculous exercise look fun.

 

Before noon was a water-based balancing event called log-rolling. It was the most popular of the day’s festivities, and an enormous crowd gathered around the banks of the pond, where the logs were bobbing on the calm water. Two people would stand on the log at a time, and without touching one another, they would try to avoid falling off. Ike, Gatrie, and Boyd had all signed up for this event, and each jumped into the cold water when it was their turn, apparently exciting to try their hand (or feet) at the task.

Gatrie lost his footing almost immediately, but both Ike and Boyd performed decently—each outlasting their first opponents with some fancy footwork. But this was a tournament-style event, and neither one continued past their next match-ups.

Each time they dragged themselves out of the water, shivering and with blue lips, Titania was waiting with a dry blanket. Soren was right beside her, and as he watched Ike’s drenched shorts cling to his hips and the cool water stream off his limbs, raising goosebumps in their wake, Soren felt goosebumps rise on his own skin.

 

After a quick lunch, the first event of the afternoon was another water-based one. This took place in a different cove of the pond, in which narrow wooden poles had been erected standing straight out of the water. Pegs on either side made a sort of ladder, and the object was to climb up and remain standing on one leg as long as possible. Soren had originally signed up for this event, and he was glad he’d failed out of the games before having to face the indignity.

The one-legged competitor Valjon had also signed up for this event, and when it was his turn, Soren got his first good look at the man who’d been the center of so much gossip since last night. He wasn’t wearing his prosthetic now, but he had no problem swimming or pulling himself up the pole with his arms alone.

He was in good shape, but his dark hair, beard, and chest were marked with uneven splashes of gray. He was scarred, possibly from battle, and Soren wondered if ‘the Veteran’ was an appropriate appellation after all.

He remained composed and balanced for a long time (obviously having had plenty of practice). People chanted his name in the crowd, and Soren realized he must have become something of a folk hero these past few days.  When he finally lost his balance and fell into the water, the crowd cheered instead of offering a consolatory clap. When he swam to shore, a group of friends was waiting with a towel, a shirt, and his wooden leg.

“Aren’t you going to give him a good-job kiss?” Gatrie asked Titania, who glared in response. No one dared tease or test her further.

 

Later in the afternoon was the tight-rope walking competition, in which Shinon was the only mercenary to compete. He gamboled carelessly across the wire to the hisses of alarm rising from his fans. When he fell two thirds of the way across, he looked almost nonchalant dropping into the net. A collective gasp swept out of the crowd of girls, and they instantly ran to retrieve him. Gatrie was at the front of the pack. “You all right, bud?” he asked in alarm, but Shinon just scowled, clearly annoyed he was blocking his view of the attentive maidens.

 

Due to his subpar performance balancing a stick on his head and his complete inability to stand on a wet log, Gatrie was booted from the games that evening—to no one’s surprise. But ever a good sport, he insisted on treating the remaining competitors: Ike, Boyd, Shinon, and Oscar to dinner in town. Naturally, everyone insisted on joining. Rolf was ecstatic that both of his brothers had made it to the sixth day, and Soren elected to stay at the campsite if for no other reason than to avoid the teen’s mindless prattle.

The night was already cold, but there was ample firewood to be purchased at a premium from wily salespeople trundling along with donkey carts. Soren used some of the company’s funds to buy enough to last the night, and taking a peek into the mercenaries’ coffers made it clear they needed to start doing jobs again soon. Vacations like this were just too much of a drain on their savings. Since they were currently making their living as travelling sell-swords, they needed to be more cautious, always anticipating a dry spell. Then again, if one of the four remaining mercenaries managed to win the Telgam Games, the company would be set up well for months, if not years.

On second thought, however, Soren supposed the winner would have sole ownership of their reward. None would go to company expenses. Hypothetically, the winner could even buy their way out of their contract and leave the mercenary life for good. Either Oscar or Boyd might do that, not only for themselves but for their brothers. Shinon would do it in a heartbeat and probably buy himself a nice place in a city somewhere. But Ike would never leave the mercenaries, and he was too selfless to keep the pot for himself.

Sitting alone by the fire between the two tents, Soren found himself hoping Ike would win, and half-believing he actually had a chance.

 

It was late when everyone returned to the campsite with full stomachs and buzzed heads. They laughed around the fire until trickling off to bed, and Soren slept lightly listening to them. Perhaps it was because of this that he was roused sometime in the early hours of the morning, having sensed people on the other side of the canvas walls. They lingered, and Soren considered emerging from the tent to scare them off. But he was surrounded by sleeping mercenaries—including a serenely snoozing Ike—and he didn’t want to make a commotion. Before much longer the bodies moved away, and Soren drifted back to sleep.

 

When he woke in the morning, Mist was preparing breakfast and Rolf was stacking the remaining kindling. They waved sleepily, and Soren scanned their supplies to see if anything was missing. Although he supposed it could have been a dream or even a trick of his imagination, he couldn’t forget having sensed two beorc visitors last night.

Finding nothing amiss, Soren set about his normal routine while the rest of the mercenaries slowly woke up. Mist served them fried eggs over day-old biscuits and re-heated gravy. It was meant to be a hearty meal to fortify the day’s fighters, but she’d added too much salt not only to the eggs but also to the gravy, which had already been seasoned.

Gatrie choked on the first bite (albeit discreetly) and reached for the nearest water bladder. As soon as he unplugged the top, Soren’s nose was struck by a sharp scent. Watching Gatrie take a long sip, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

However, Gatrie didn’t seem to notice anything wrong and breathed a satisfied sigh. He was about to take another when Soren stopped him. “Give that to me,” he said, more forcefully than intended. With a confused glance, Gatrie complied.

Raising it to his nose, Soren took a whiff. The scent was definitely coming from the water, but Gatrie hadn’t notice. Afraid his ability to detect the smell was somehow due to being a Branded, he was afraid to call attention to it. But neither could he stand by and do nothing if the water was contaminated.

“You going to drink that or just look at it?” Gatrie asked, “’cause I could use another swig.”

“Did I use too much salt again?” Mist asked dejectedly.

“I think it tastes just fine!” Rolf assured, although Soren noticed he was eating with tiny bites, rather than his usual gusto.

“Did you fill these this morning, Rolf?” Soren asked him.

“Sure did, all of them!”

“And did you clean them first?”

Rolf frowned. “Well, I figured they were clean enough since-”

“That is irresponsible. They could be growing a fungus. I will clean and refill them.” He immediately stood and looped the other bladders and canteens over his arms.

Rolf looked crestfallen at the censure. “I cleaned them really good just the o-”

“Hey do you have to take all of them?” Gatrie moaned, cutting Rolf off. He glanced meaningfully down at Mist’s breakfast.

Rhys had just emerged from the tent to join them. “What’s going on?” he asked, glancing at Soren, who surely looked like some sort of mad water thief.

“Nothing,” Soren replied, knowing that any attempt to explain himself would only make things worse. He took the water away, and dumped the contents when he came to the rocks next to the river.

The water looked mostly clear, but some had a few greenish-brown flecks. Running his finger along the inner rims, he found half had been smeared with a foul-smelling mash. Soren was no chemist, but the scent reminded him of the venin some bandit clans used to coat their blades. In an open wound, it inhibited clotting and promoted infection. If ingested, Soren had heard that the same toxin could cause vomiting and diarrhea—but not death if the victim remained hydrated.

Assuming this was the same toxin, or some relative, Gatrie was in for a rough day, but he would probably live. If this was another attempt at sabotage by their competitors, the mercenaries had a right to know. This was an escalation, and future escalations should be anticipated and prevented.  As he scraped out and scrubbed the water skins, Soren tried to think of a way to explain this to the others without drawing suspicion on himself.

 

When he returned to camp, he was greeted by the annoyed faces of the mercenaries who’d been forced to eat Mist’s cooking without a drop of water to sate them. Gatrie’s forehead was sweating visibly, and he was the first to seize the strap of a canteen off Soren’s arm. The rest quickly followed suit.

“What took you so long?” Boyd grumbled.

“I’m sorry,” Rolf chirped.

“Asshole,” Shinon hissed.

“I really am sorry,” Rolf said again, looking from Soren to the others and surely blaming himself for the situation.

“Really, was this necessary?” Titania said, clicking her dry tongue to the roof of her mouth a few times for good measure.

“It’s my eggs, isn’t it?” Mist said, glancing at the remnants. She seemed to be blaming herself as much as Rolf.

Soren ignored the comments. Catching Ike’s eye, he said, “A word, Ike?”

Ike nodded, and they strode away from camp. “What is it?” he asked when they were out of earshot of the others.

Despite the sensitive topic and the proximity of potential eavesdroppers, Soren felt comfortable enough speaking freely so long as they kept moving. “I believe someone snuck into our camp last night to pollute our drinking water.”

Ike cocked his head. “Rolf filled them this morning.”

“The poison was applied just within the opening. Judging by Gatrie’s reaction, it was virtually tasteless.”

“Wait, you saw it?”

“Believe it or not,” Soren replied, “taking the water away was not some sort of uncharacteristic prank.”

“You said Gatrie’s reaction? Are you telling me he’s been poisoned?”

“Yes, technically.”

Ike twisted on the spot and quickened his pace back to camp. “You should have started with that! Why drag me away?”

Soren was surprised by the anger in his friend’s voice. “I didn’t want to raise suspicion.”

“Of whom? Whatever coward did this?”

“Of myself,” Soren answered in a low hiss. “If I was beorc, I would not have detected the poison.”

This caused Ike to stop and face him. His expression was torn. “I will always keep your secret,” he said, “but maybe you should ask yourself if it’s worth your comrades’ lives.”

He started off again, and Soren could only mumble, “I am sure it was not a lethal dosage…”

When they returned to the campsite, Ike put his hands on his hips and announced: “Soren heard someone messing with our stuff last night. Turns out they were drugging our water.”

Mia (the only one currently drinking) spat out her mouthful in a panicked spurt.

“Don’t worry. It’s clean now. Gatrie is likely the only one affected.”

The big man looked green around the gills, and Ike’s words only served to make him greener. “I knew there was something musty-tasting about that water!” he whined.

“Then why did you drink it?” Soren asked in annoyance.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Gatrie returned angrily.

Soren had no answer for that.

“Rhys, do you have any antitoxins or maybe a panacea in your bag?” Ike asked the healer.

“I’ll check right away!”

“Sorry about this, Gatrie,” Ike turned to him. “I bet that water was meant for me, Boyd, Oscar, or Shinon. This has sabotage written all over it.”

“Ah, it’s alright, Boss. I don’t mind taking one for the team. But you’ve got to kick some serious butt today, ya hear?” Despite his words, Gatrie was clearly nervous for what was to come.

“Did you save any of the toxin, Soren?” Titania asked with arms crossed. “We may be able to track down its source.”

He shook his head. “An inexcusable oversight on my part, but it has all been washed away by now.”

“I’m so sorry.” Rolf was absolutely mortified. “This is all my fault. I should have noticed!”

“You did nothing wrong,” Oscar said, touching his brother’s shoulder. “Soren was wrong to blame you.” He looked pointedly at him, as if expecting an apology.

Oscar was usually easygoing, but he could be protective of his brothers (and especially of Rolf’s delicate feelings). Soren didn’t want to seed resentment, but he refused to be coerced into an apology. “Although he did not set the poison himself, Rolf could have been more vigilant. I stand by what I said.”

Oscar was about to reply, when Ike intervened: “Enough blaming each other! Check the rest of the supplies to be sure nothing else was tampered with. Oscar, Boyd, you two should be preparing for the first event.”

At his words, all grumbling came to an end and everyone found a task to do—including Soren. As he worked, he wondered if he was being selfish by prioritizing his own camouflage over the good of the company, and if so, whether or not that was wrong.