Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 60: NEW DAEIN ( Chapter 29 )

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

Upon leaving Telgam, the Greil Mercenaries headed east toward Seliora and then north on the road to Tor Garen. The mountain pass was vibrant with wildflowers this time of year and nearly unrecognizable from the day of the invasion. 

They passed through the wall fort with no difficulty. A pair of young Begnion soldiers were stationed inside the first gate. They smiled when the mercenaries reached them (having watched them walk up the long stairs), and Soren recalled a different welcome the last time they’d been here. Daein archers had showered them with arrows since the first step.

“Hello, friends,” one greeted them cheerily. Soren handed Ike their certification, which Ike then handed to the soldier who’d spoken. The boy’s eyes skimmed it carelessly. “Mercenaries huh? That’s neat!” Returning the scroll to Ike, he gestured that they should pass through.

“Good luck making your fortune in the new land!” said the other soldier with a wave.

No one said a word as they walked through the interior. The stone passage was eerily familiar and yet impossibly different. Instead of ebon soldiers wielding glistening weapons, they crossed crimson soldiers leaning against the walls, gazing out the windows with their helmets tucked under their arms, warming their hands by the braziers, chatting, and telling snide jokes to their companions. Most ignored the mercenaries; a few greeted them with a nod when they passed. The rafters had been repaired, and from them hung evenly-spaced red and gold banners. The catwalks on either side had been widened, giving easy access to the second and third levels of arrow loops, which were now little more than windows onto the mountain view.

Just as in the Grann Desert, Soren saw shadows of the bloodshed that had happened here. The ghosts of corpses settled like a miasma on the stone floor. He remembered this battle all too well, and he remembered Ike wanting to bury their enemies’ bodies. There was no sign of them now, not even a single bloodstain. 

The mercenaries were grim and tight-lipped, and Soren wondered if they saw the same shades. “Good times,” Shinon muttered, when they passed the spot where he and Ike had clashed. Ike only grunted.

When they reached the next Daein-facing exit, Soren half-expected to see a cloud of raven laguz flapping above the treetops, but of course there were none. Surprisingly, even the treetops themselves were gone. A great swath of land had been levelled on this side of border, and smoke rose from the chimneys of freshly-built houses. There was also a barracks teeming with soldiers, a carriage house and stables, and an inn with a freshly painted sign. ‘Welcome to New Daein!’ sang the curling letters.

Then Soren’s gaze fell on a small cemetery beside the settlement. He recognized it as a place where some Begnion soldiers had buried their dead comrades. He recalled them digging in the frozen earth with blue fingers, exhausted from the battle but relentless in their rituals. At the time, he’d seen it as a waste of energy—and he still did.

The engraved wooden stakes the soldiers had planted to mark the graves had been replaced by neat rows of headstones. But Soren knew there weren’t nearly enough stones to account for the graves dug there, and the dead weren’t buried in nice, even rows like these stones would suggest. A fence had been built around the plot, but Soren knew it didn’t encompass all the bodies. Casting his gaze around, he recalled soldiers burying their friends under that tree, below that cliff, next to that jutting boulder, in the spot where the inn was standing, in the spot where horses were now stabled, and so on. He wondered how many bodies had been exhumed to lay the foundations.

Turning his attention back to the cemetery, Soren noticed a stone tablet at its entrance. No doubt it said something about the heroic sacrifice of these soldiers, the importance of this victory for the war, and other such inspiring drivel. He didn’t read it.

 

From this settlement, a wide, straight road had been seamlessly paved with large flat stones. It moved up and down with the mountainous terrain, but the Begnion engineers had clearly worked hard to level the land, even cutting vast chunks out of the cliffs. Scorch marks still decorated the slashed rockface, and Soren wondered if lightning mages had been recruited for the brutish roadwork. (He imagined Ilyana would be willing to do it for a good meal.)

The mercenaries followed the road, from one settlement to the next, for over fifty miles until it suddenly stopped. A sun-weathered sign explained that this portion of the road was still incomplete and that construction would resume after the summer solstice and the end of the Ashera Week celebrations.

“What now?” Gatrie asked, sounding disappointed.

“There was a turnoff a half mile back,” was Ike’s answer. Since they didn’t have a particular destination, any road was as good as another.

For the rest of the month, the mercenaries traversed the backroads and mountain paths of country’s southern region. The Begnion occupants were determined that the Daein natives celebrate their empire’s holiest month, especially the week of festivities and prayer leading up to the solstice.

Although all beorc and laguz of Tellius worshipped Ashera as their mother goddess, there were variations outside of Begnion that the theocracy was hard-pressed to tolerate. Even when they’d been part of the empire, devout Daeins had always proven their faith through asceticism rather than celebration. A form of spiritualism had been popular in Talrega and polytheism embraced in Marado for thousands of years despite these faiths being considered sacrilege by the empire. Wherever the mercenaries travelled, the festive energy was strained and the forced gaiety hard to watch. Needless to say, the mercenaries didn’t partake in the celebrations if they could help it.

 

Eventually they made their way into the lowlands and, before long, came across another wide, straight avenue. Consulting his maps, Soren determined this was the same road, which was merely being assembled in segments wherever the land was gentlest. The mercenaries followed it for a couple weeks, staying at the bustling towns along its length.

When they came to a massive swamp, the road ended. Here a sign said construction would resume when the land had been filled. A foreign concept at first, the mercenaries now didn’t blink at the idea of humans turning a swamp into a solid earth. After months in ‘New Daein’, is seemed the industrious Begnion occupation could do anything at all. The land was completely changed: forests had been cleared, rivers dammed, and bogs like this filled in to make way for new roads and farms. Entire villages had been dismantled, while others had sprouted out of nothing. Herds had been consolidated, fields sewn with vast irrigation networks, and mines plumbed deep for ore.

Leaving the swamp behind, the mercenaries once again followed smaller roads: both old Daein ones and new Begnion ones. These led from town to town, village to village, or (as was more often the case) from military outpost to military outpost. The land was spotted with these stations, and soldiers constantly marched between them like trains of ants. Soren wondered if the multitude of soldiers was really necessary to keep the peace.

Everywhere they went, Begnion pennants flapped against stone, wood, and sky. They bore the symbol of the Imperial Army, the insignia of the Apostle, the crests of Sainted families, and the seals of the senators. It seemed all of Begnion thought they could claim Daein by putting their name on it. Or perhaps this, like the abundance of soldiers, was merely a means of intimidation.

Despite (or possibly because of) the bravado, the mercenaries never witnessed an altercation between Daein civilians and Begnion troops. The only act of outright violence they’d seen was when a skinny Daein kid had attempted to steal a sack of food from a Begnion warehouse. The child didn’t make it far before getting an arrow in his back, and it had taken half the mercenary company to restrain Ike and convince him the soldiers were just doing their job.

Most of the Daeins they met were like that skinny boy—they seemed far too young, old, or sick. Soren wondered where all the able-bodied citizens had gone and could only assume the rumored Begnion workcamps were still thriving two years after the occupation had begun. Although the Greil Mercenaries never saw a camp themselves, they heard whispers. And if they headed toward one, Begnion soldiers politely (yet forcibly) redirected them, claiming construction, quarantine, or wildfires ahead.

In addition to the threat of workcamps, the occupation had other methods by which to keep the locals in line. Daein citizens were taxed heavily, and even the noble families had become all but completely destitute. Naturally, they weren’t allowed to make or own weapons—or hire mercenaries, even if they had money. This was ill news for the company.

Tribal strongholds like Talrega and Marado—for centuries both part of Daein and separate from it—were forced to bow down to the apostle as they’d never kneeled to anyone before. Throughout Daein’s history, they’d been at least partially independent. Even Ashnard had respected their autonomy, and Marado had gotten away with withholding soldiers for his war. But now the wyvern masters of Talrega had been forced to give up their dragons and all their secrets for breeding and training them. And in Marado—the only beorc hold where it was legal—same-sex couples were torn apart, their marriages voided, and the offenders beaten. Their sturdy northern horses were appropriated for the Imperial Army, and their herds of caribou were hunted mercilessly and sold as a delicacy in the south.

The Greil Mercenaries didn’t observe these things themselves, but rumors ran rampant. Soren tried to shield Ike from them if he could, and everyone in the company refrained from discussing the rumors too much.

 

Despite the welcome they’d received at Tor Garen, it became clear as the months drew on that the soldiers stationed here weren’t fond of the mercenaries. Most outpost commanders didn’t trust them, making it difficult to find work. Perhaps they could sense Ike and the others’ sympathy for the subjugated Daeins. But because it was illegal for Daein citizens to hire mercenaries, these Begnion commanders and the occasional free merchant or entrepreneur were their only source of employment.  

Without steady work, the summer months were lean ones. Everyone in the company grew solemn and lethargic. When they had no job to do, they spent the hottest part of the day dozing in the shade or lazing around an inn or tavern if they had the coin. Soren feared they were losing their edge. The sooner they left Daein, the better.

 

One night, Ike slammed his fists on the table, causing everyone’s plates and cups to rattle. “We have to help them!” he growled. They were eating at a small Daein-run inn, but there were still two Begnion soldiers sitting at a corner table, watching more than eating.

Titania widened her eyes in warning. “Careful, Ike.”

Ike shot the soldiers an annoyed glance, to which they only frowned deeper into their mustaches. He then turned back to the mercenaries, all of whom had edged their seats and bodies closer.

“There has to be an underground resistance,” Ike continued, his voice hushed but passionate. “We could find it and offer our services.”

“Absolutely not,” Soren shot back. “Even if there is such a resistance, they would be dirt poor and unable to pay us.”

“Pay us?” Rhys repeated, sounding faint. “That’s what you’re concerned about? What about the certainty of being arrested or killed!”

Titania shook her head. “Think, Ike. We’d help instigate another war. You can’t possibly want that. Daein has seen enough bloodshed.”

This seemed to resonate with him more than Soren’s or Rhys’s objections. He clasped his hands in front of his empty plate, clearly wrestling with his own mind.

“All things pass, don’t they?” Mia ventured. “This can’t last forever.”

“Maybe we should never have come back here,” Mist said, her voice hollow. On either side of her, Rolf and Boyd each moved to put an arm around her shoulders, but Rolf was quicker.

“Daeins wouldn’t want our help anyway,” Shinon cut in. “I don’t think they’d be quick to forgive ‘General Ike’.” As usual, he knew exactly where to poke a sharp stick and do the most damage.

Ike looked angry, but he also looked defeated. He didn’t object.

Soren hated to see him this way. “No one is at fault more than another. We merely followed the mandate of our contract holder.”

“I agree,” Oscar said, more gently. “What’s passed is exactly that: in the past. The only thing that we can do—and that the Daein people can do—is move forward from here. It may not be tomorrow, but as Mia said, I believe this shall pass given time.”

Ike shook his head. “What Begnion’s doing is wrong.”

“Is it?” Soren countered, wondering if he was about to make Ike feel better or worse. “Daein was ravaged by the war—not only the invasion of the Liberation Army but also by the Mad King’s invasion of Crimea in the first place. When Ashnard died, the country was left without a king or any sort of government fit to manage the it. Many would have tried to seize power with cunning and bloodlust, causing the entire nation to turn against itself. Soldiers who had committed atrocious crimes would have returned to Daein unpunished. Those resentful of their loss could even have risen against Crimea again. There was going to be pain and injustice no matter what. At least with Begnion on the inflicting side, Crimea remains safe and Daein has some hope of a future.”

Ike’s expression had soured, which at least meant he was listening, but the lecture certainly hadn’t had the mollifying effect Soren had hoped for.

“Soren’s right,” Titania said (which wasn’t something he was used to hearing from her). “It’s a hard truth. But it is what it is.”

“Maybe we should leave Daein,” Gatrie mumbled. “There’s no work ‘ere, and all this place brings is bad memories.”

“Maybe…” Ike repeated noncommittally.

The Greil Mercenaries were silent for several minutes. When conversation eventually resumed, it was about lighter topics. Not long after that, everyone turned in for the night. Gatrie’s suggestion was not revisited, but Soren had no doubt everyone was thinking the same thing: leaving Daein sounded like the right plan, but it also sounded like retreat. It felt like abandoning this nation and its people.

 

A few days later, Titania made a proposition she clearly hoped would lift everyone’s spirits. She unrolled a map of western Daein that she’d marked with symbols and notes. “Ike, Mist,” she said to them, although everyone was leaning in to see. “I’ve had an idea for a while now, but… Would you be interested in trying to learn more about Commander Greil? I mean Gawain of the Four Riders, the man he was before he fled Daein.”

Ike looked like a spooked deer, but Mist sighed and rested her palm on her cheek. “I have thought about it, but I don’t know...” She shook her head. “Even if we did find grandparents or cousins here in Daein… They would be strangers to us.”

“Cousins?” Ike repeated, and Soren wondered how the possibility could have never occurred to him before.

Titania nodded. “If he left family or friends behind, they might want to know what happened to him. Elena too. I think we should try.”

Soren peered at Titania and wondered what was going through her head. Pitching this idea in front of everyone made it difficult for Ike and Mist to refuse. She wanted this investigation, and Soren wondered how long she’d been planning it. Perhaps her tryst with Valjon hadn’t been an indication she’d moved on from Greil after all.

“I supposed we could try…” Mist gave in. “What are these places you’ve marked?” She drew a finger over the map.

“Wait, we can’t-” Ike didn’t seemed to know why he was protesting, but a moment later his excuses caught up to him: “It would be wrong to involve the whole company. We can’t ask you to do this for us.”

“Oh, I’m sure no one would mind.” Titania waved her hand flippantly. No one immediately contradicted her, so she proceeded to answer Mist’s question: “This is a library, one of the oldest in Daein. And these three are temples. Here is a former Daein fort; I’m sure Begnion controls it now, but they may still keep old military records,” she prattled on.

“Hey, I ain’t about to go read a bunch of musty old books,” Shinon interjected. “Not even for Greil, and not even if you paid me—which I’m guessin’ you’re not.”

Titania glared at him, but Ike answered before she could. “Exactly,” he said. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

Mist looked disappointed, and seeing this, Ike hesitated. Soren decided to prod the situation: “Titania’s proposal is not out of the question,” he said. “We were thinking about heading west anyway, right? We can find jobs on the way. Ike and Mist can stay behind in the libraries and whatnot. Titania, since this was her idea, can lead the missions.”

He waited for a wave of objections, but they didn’t come. Titania gritted her teeth, obviously annoyed that she would be barred from her own investigation, but she said stiffly: “Yes, I could do that.”

Ike didn’t protest either, even though he didn’t look particularly happy. He glanced at Mist, whose eyes were hopeful. “If you want to do this, Mist, I guess we could take a look around.”

The other mercenaries grumbled about going along with it as long as there was work where they were going. Soren could hardly believe he’d somehow settled the discussion when he had only meant to push Ike and Titania into revealing more of their motivations. To his annoyance, neither had revealed anything, and now the company was committed to this half-baked research mission. It was rare that his strategies backfired like this.

 

That night Soren overheard Ike and Mist discussing this development in soft tones. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you wanted this?” was Ike’s question.

“I just… I don’t know,” was Mist’s reply. “Or, well, I know it doesn’t matter, but…” She continued to try to explain her feelings, but Soren moved out of earshot so he couldn’t eavesdrop any longer. He didn’t have a family; he hadn’t been raised by loving parents. He couldn’t understand what they were feeling, and he didn’t want to try.

Taking a moonlit walk to avoid overhearing the siblings, Soren soon caught sight of Titania sitting on a stump on a hill. The map was on her knees, and she’d stuck a torch in the ground. Adjusting his path so it would bring him up the hill behind her, Soren decided he would seek his answers directly. “What do you hope to find?” he asked when he was close enough.

Titania jumped as if she hadn’t heard him approaching. “Oh, Soren, it’s you.”

“Why this interest now?”

She folded the map. “I thought it would be good for Ike and Mist to learn a bit more about their parents,” she offered unconvincing.

“That won’t bring them back to life,” Soren returned.

“Of course not, but…” Titania shook her head and sighed. “In all the years I knew him, Greil never mentioned his life in Daein. Not once.”

“That is not unusual, for a man on the run,” Soren pointed out.

Titania stood. “When General Tauroneo joined us, he had such stories about Greil: stories of serving beside him, stories that sounded so familiar. ‘Gawain’ is not a stranger to me, yet it is a stranger’s name…” She withdrew the torch and started walking down the hill. “How can I not seek answers?”

Soren followed and tried to digest her words. But in the end, he still didn’t understand. He may not have known his parents, but Ike and Mist did. Titania already knew Greil as well as anyone. What ‘answers’ could she possibly be seeking?

 

Following Titania’s map, they went from one location to the next, staying a few days—a week at most—wherever Ike and Mist could find a scrap of paper bearing Greil’s former name. But there was not much to find. Despite his impressive (albeit short) military career and his four years serving as one of the Four Riders, not many documents had survived from that time. (In fact, an entire year’s worth of records was missing thanks to the King’s Plague of 623, when it appeared no one had bothered to write anything down.) 

When he wasn’t needed on a job, Soren helped Ike and Mist with their research. But even he couldn’t dredge up anything useful. Many records had been misplaced or neglected in the war (just as Koure had forewarned), and those that had survived had either been burned, moved, or put under guard by the Begnion occupation. The search was futile, and what little they did find suggested the family they were looking for didn’t exist.

Gawain had been a commoner before joining the army, so his family had no surname or lands to distinguish them. In a news report about his promotion to Rider, the ceremony’s chief witness was some random general, when a father or other family member would have been more traditional. A couple weeks later, Mist found a book of records listing all marriages, divorces, and land deals concerning generals and high-level commanders for the year 624. Under Gawain’s name, she found his marriage to Elena, who was described as a healer from the local abbey. The ceremony took place in Nevassa, was officiated by a local priest, and was attended by soldiers who’d served with Gawain and acolytes who’d served with Elena. No family members were mentioned on either the bride or groom’s side.

Soren would have considered that the end of the investigation, but the siblings kept searching until Titania’s map was exhausted. Aside from making the trek to Nevassa and searching the state library, there was nothing more they could do.

 

The next day, the mercenaries got a job locating and clearing a network of caves where Daein bandits were stockpiling stolen Begnion food. The commander in this region suspected the caves would be rife with traps, and she jumped at the opportunity to send the Greil Mercenaries to their deaths instead of her own troops. Ike and Titania accepted the job despite the danger, and for the first time in weeks, both Ike and Mist accompanied them on the mission.

The commander was right about the traps but wrong about the mercenaries succumbing to them. When the job was over, she reluctantly paid them, and they continued on their way. On the road again, someone finally broached the subject of the fruitless search; it was Gatrie. “So…that’s the end of the book-hopping, right?” he asked, “Where to next?”

“I heard rumor about an outpost a little north of here,” Titania answered, obviously trying to hide her disappointment and remain professional. “They’re waiting on reinforcements and may pay us to bolster their defenses until said reinforcements arrive.”

“Right…” Shinon tossed his head doubtfully. “If they don’t suspect us of being spies, like every other goddess-damned outpost in these boonies.”

“We’ll check it out,” Ike declared, sounding more eager than the situation called for. “Soren, confer with Titania and find us the best route.”

“Right away,” Soren promised, glad to see Ike’s spirits had improved. 

 

“I’m surprised…” he said when he finally got Ike alone a couple days later. They were scouting the outpost together, and he knew this would be his best chance to pick Ike’s brain, even if he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say.

“That they’re keeping so many people on the wall?” Ike supplied. “It’s to make it seem like they have more soldiers than they actually do, right?”

“Not that.” Soren shook his head. Rolf was nearby, but he didn’t seem to be listening. The seventeen-year-old boy was playing with the collapsible telescope like a toy. “You’ve been rather optimistic since leaving Temple Herald.”

“I’m always optimistic,” Ike countered.

“That is true,” Soren agreed, watching his footing as they picked their way to a higher lookout point. “It’s rather annoying actually.”

He laughed. “No need to be surprised then.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t want to learn about Gawain?” Soren asked plainly.

Ike pouted. “You’re not the first person to ask me that question. In fact, you’re probably the last. Everyone thinks they can help me ‘come to terms with my father’s death’…but this has nothing to do with that.”

Soren frowned. “Well, this was a waste of my time then. I suppose I should have merely asked the others and gossiped about you behind your back.”

Ike stopped and squinted down at the fort. “C’mon, Rolf, you’re falling behind!” he called as loud as he dared. “Rolf!”

At that, Rolf lifted his head and jogged to meet them. “Sorry!”

“For the record, I was not concerned about your feelings,” Soren grumbled. “I wondered if you had intelligence you weren’t sharing.”

“Of course you were,” Ike chuckled.

“…Well?” Soren prodded.

“No, I don’t,” he finally answered. He held out his hand and Rolf gave him the spyglass. “It’s not important to me, honestly. I have Mist, and I have the mercenaries. That’s all I need. You asked me once if I ever worried about where I came from—the answer is still no.” He shrugged meaningfully. 

Soren pondered this a moment and decided to proceed even with Rolf listening: “Are you sure it has nothing to do with the fact that your bloodline, if it exists here in Daein, may have belonged to some soldier you felled during the war?”

Ike glanced sideways at him, even while keeping the telescope propped on his fingers. “I did think of that after we started searching, but no, I’m not afraid of that.” 

Rolf looked suddenly worried, glancing between Ike and Soren as if the possibility had never occurred to him. “Oh, that wouldn’t be any good at all…” he muttered.

Soren ignored him and resumed his questioning: “Then why go along with Titania’s plan?”

“It may not be important to me,” Ike answered, handing Soren the spyglass next, “But if Mist and Titania cared…I wasn’t going to say no to a bunch of musty old books.”

“How very kindhearted of you.” He didn’t get the impression Ike was lying, either to him or himself. When he was satisfied with his assessment of the Begnion garrison, Soren returned the spyglass.

Ike handed the device back to Rolf. “Hey Rolf, see if you can climb that tree and get a view of their stables. I want to know their mobility.”

Rolf saluted. “Aye-aye, Boss!”

When he’d pulled himself nearly out of sight, Ike spoke again. “Actually there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you too.”

“Hm?” Soren hummed, watching the rustle of branches that marked Rolf’s progress.

“Why didn’t you join us? Why didn’t you look for your own parents at the same time?”

Soren answered quietly, for fear their voices would drift up to Rolf’s perch. “What would I look for?” he scoffed. “I have no leads.”

“What about the old woman you mentioned?”

“Dead. I looked for her when we were in Nevassa.”

“You were born in Nevassa?” Ike repeated, keeping his voice quiet and his chin down.

“I don’t know,” Soren answered honestly, “but that is where she lived.”

“So you don’t have any other leads at all?”

“There was rumor of a drunk cobbler,” Soren recounted, “and a woman he may or may not have seen one night: a woman who may or may not have come looking for me.”

“Soren, that’s amazing!” Ike said a little too loudly.

The rustling above their heads signaled that Rolf was on his way down. Soren didn’t want to discuss this sensitive matter any longer. “The rumor is not worth pursuing,” he said quickly. “It is a fool’s hope. I won’t hobble myself with what-ifs and maybes.”

This answer seemed to frustrate Ike. “But I thought you…” he began, but after glancing at Rolf’s feet appearing above, he didn’t argue further.

Soren decided it was safe enough to say one more thing: “Of course I want to know,” he whispered. “But for now…I want to focus on where I am. You—the mercenaries—are all I need right now.”

Ike grinned widely, and Rolf dropped to the ground a moment later. “I got a good look!” he reported.

“Nice work!” Ike patted him on the back. Then he threw an arm around both Rolf’s and Soren’s shoulders, steering them back to camp. “How many horses?” he asked, as if he’d never lost focus on the reconnaissance.

 

As Shinon had predicted, the outpost captain suspected the mercenaries of being spies and rejected their offer. In response, Ike conveyed the information the mercenaries had acquired about the fort’s defenses and the capability of the rebel faction in the hills. “If we’re spies, then that’s all we’ve discovered,” he said, with his arms akimbo. “We know the rebels outnumber you, and we know you’re stuck here with reinforcements still a week away. You need our help, and we’re glad to give it—for a price.”

The captain looked unconvinced.

Soren showed him the company’s certification, along with a letter of introduction they’d received from another Begnion commander a couple months ago. After assessing these, the captain did seem to believe their authenticity, but he still refused to hire them.

Soren was about to give up, but then Ike made a different proposition: “How about this? Build a signal pyre on that hill.” He pointed. “We’ll stay in the village for a week.” He pointed to the distant lights. “If the rebels attack, light the fire with a flaming arrow. We’ll back you up right away, but you’ll have to pay double our asking price.”

The captain frowned, but he didn’t seem entirely opposed to the plan.

“Agreeing to this deal won’t cost you a single copper,” Soren pointed out. “But it could save your lives.”

After consulting privately with his lieutenant, the captain agreed to the insurance plan. “We’ll stack the wood,” he answered with a wave of his hand. “But I am sending a man with you to town. If he discovers you’ve pressured the rebels into attacking us, you will all die. Understood?”

Ike frowned. “Sure, we’ll babysit your guy, but you’ve got to agree to the deal in writing.”

The captain nodded, and once the pact was made, the mercenaries departed. The captain and his guards filed back into the fort, and Soren wondered if Ike’s gamble would pay off. These soldiers were sitting on a stockpile of freshly harvested food and a hoard of tax money delayed on its way south. Knowing this, a faction of the local poor folk had transformed into desperate rebels, hiding in the hills and harassing travelers and messengers. Most had no weapons except for hunting bows, pitchforks, and threshing knives, but they had more horses. They could attempt a siege of the poorly guarded fort, and if so, the eleven mercenaries could tip the scales in the garrison’s favor. Only time would tell.

  

But time disappointed them. The days ticked by, and the mercenaries twiddled their thumbs, always keeping an eye on the hill beside the outpost. They were friendly toward the soldier in their midst. He was hardly older than Rolf: a new recruit who’d somehow offended the captain and landed himself in this position. After the first few days, he started to loosen up around the mercenaries and actually sleep at night.

On the sixth day, Titania came riding back reporting that the reinforcements were a half-day’s march away. Ike gripped his sword, staring at the hill as if he could will the pyre into flame. But as the hours passed, it became clear the rebels weren’t going to launch any sort of coherent offensive.

The gambit had failed—and the mercenaries were a week poorer for it. There had been nothing to do in the village except watch people separating cotton seeds for days, and Soren was annoyed by the waste of time. But he knew the other mercenaries were frustrated for an entirely different reason.

“They… They didn’t even try,” Mist muttered to herself, staring into the hills that marked rebel territory. “How can they not even try?”

“They had the numbers and the horses…” Rolf agreed quietly. “They really did have a chance”

“Maybe they knew we were here?” Titania suggested. “Perhaps the possibility of a counterassault from behind was too much for them.”

“Nah, they’re just cowards,” Shinon spat. “Disorganized cowards. There was never any chance they were gonna rise up. We beat them too good last time.”

“Enough,” Ike put an end to the speculation. “If everyone’s ready, let’s move on.” The others nodded their agreement.

Soren marveled at the fact that his comrades didn’t seem to know whose side they were on. With the exception of Shinon, they seemed to pity the Daeins who’d become hungry and frustrated enough to turn from farming to robbing. They sympathized with their plight and wanted them to show a little bravery. They wanted to see a bit of pride—even if they were going to be the ones to squash it.

 

Autumn was already here. The Greil Mercenaries had been in Daein for six months, and they must have overstayed their welcome. A few days after leaving that cotton-farming village, they arrived at a large town in which helmet-hooded eyes followed them everywhere. This was not entirely uncommon, but these soldiers were also gripping their weapons.

As they always did when entering a new town, the mercenaries spread out to search for potential jobs, but no one wandered far today. Soren reported to Ike’s side to share his observation that they were being followed, but Titania and Oscar were already here, making the same complaint.

“Yeah, I noticed. Something’s definitely up… Greil Mercenaries!” he called, and when he had everyone’s attention, he made the hand signal to regroup. From here he led them to a relatively empty intersection nearby. By the time they reached it, the remaining civilians had made themselves scarce.

“What’s up, Boss?” Boyd asked while scanning the roads in every direction. Each appeared empty, but the motions and shadows of soldiers were just visible in the mouths of alleyways. Not to mention the clank of armor and weapons—Soren was fairly sure it wasn’t his acute senses allowing him to hear it. These soldiers were just poor at stealth.

However, the mercenaries weren’t trying to escape, and they let the soldiers surround them at their leisure. “Your guess is as good as mine,” Ike answered with a shrug.

They waited a few moments longer, letting the soldiers break their cover and move in. When the their faces were close enough to see clearly, Soren saw confusion and annoyance. Half had bows trained on the mercenaries, with arrows knocked but strings not yet drawn.

Eventually the commander presented himself: a man with particularly bushy eyebrows and mustache. He scrunched them as if to appear surly, but it looked more like he had an itch on his nose and was trying to scratch it with the bristles. His stance, however, was one of a man ready for battle. “Hold!” he ordered unnecessarily.

“We haven’t done anything wrong,” was Ike’s reply.

“Mercenary scum,” the commander spat.

“Well, that hurts,” Ike replied dryly.

“You must leave. Sell-swords are not wanted or needed here!”

“We’re authorized to conduct our business in the Begnion Empire,” Ike said, his voice a warning. “We’ll go where there’s work, wanted or not.”

The commander bared his teeth. “Is that so?”

“Show him, Soren.” Ike’s voice was a nudge.

Soren rifled quickly through his bag to retrieve the documents bearing the apostle’s seal. These he brought to the commander, who snatched the scroll away, giving Soren a long glare of disgust. As with most people, his sneer lingered on his forehead. After a few seconds, he looked away so he could skim the letter.

When he finished, he crumpled the paper. “Hah,” he scoffed, tossing the certification to the ground. “Doesn’t matter.”

Soren tried to catch Ike’s eye, but his gaze was fixed on the commander. “How so?” Ike asked.

“The law’s changed. No more mercenaries in Daein. No one’s allowed to bear arms but military personnel.”

“Well, we weren’t informed of that,” Ike replied innocently.

“Well, you are now. Disarm yourselves.”

The mercenaries didn’t move a muscle, waiting for Ike’s decision.

“You can’t be arresting us,” Ike asked in disbelief. “Not after our first warning.”

“We’re deporting you,” the commander shot back. “Now disarm yourselves.”

Ike carefully withdrew his sword and, while laying it on the ground at his feet, asked, “Back to Begnion?”

The commander seemed pleased by his cooperation. “You curs don’t belong in the great nation of Begnion. You’ll be removed to Crimea.”

Ike didn’t respond to that, but he gestured that the rest of the mercenaries should lay down their weapons too. “Hands on top of your heads,” the commander ordered next. A squad of four soldiers emphasized his words by pulling the strings behind their arrows.

Ike obeyed, and the others followed suit.

Several soldiers rushed to collect their weapons. One grabbed the crumpled documents, and a couple more took up the horses’ reins. When they moved away, the commander spoke again: “Remain still.” While the mercenaries stood obediently, other soldiers came forward to clasp shackles around their ankles. They were connected to each other in a chain, with only a few feet of iron links between any two of them.

“Is this really necessary?” Ike asked.

“We don’t want you running off, do we?”

Ike sighed and mumbled, “As if living as a fugitive in Daein would be such a dream.”

“What was that?” the commander demanded.

Ike rolled his eyes. “I said travelling to Crimea with you is going to be such a dream.”

    

Luckily, they weren’t forced to walk the whole way to Crimea. At the edge of town, they were herded into a large carriage pulled by eight horses. The only sources of air were two narrow windows above their heads. Sitting down, they fit knee-to-knee.

Soren had seen carriages like this often enough these past few months, and he had no doubt the others had noticed them too. They’d just never imagined they would find themselves inside of one. The transportation of prisoners and indentured natives made possible the rebuilding of this nation, and Soren supposed he should be grateful they were just being deported. There were worse places this carriage could take them than Crimea.

 

They were released from the cart twice a day to eat and relieve themselves. If nature called at any other time, there was a bucket in the corner. (Soren was determined never to use the bucket.) At night, they slept curled up tightly or leaning against each other while sitting. But he tried to remain awake and standing as long as possible, because the air was fresher with everyone breathing softly on the floor.

Mist, Rolf, and Mia did their best to keep everyone’s spirits up. But over their prattle and jokes came the constant grumbling: “They clearly don’t know who we are,” “These aren’t anything like the soldiers we served with in the war,” “How have they never heard of the Greil Mercenaries?” “I wonder if the Apostle knows about this?” “Where do they get off treating us like criminals?” and so on.

Most of the time, Soren kept his lips tightly sealed, distracting himself with mental games, recalling bits of books he’d skimmed or started without finishing, out-strategizing imaginary enemies, and replaying past battles and sieges he would have planned differently in retrospect. Unfortunately, these mental exercises were no remedy for the boredom.

Two weeks were spent like this, until they finally left the claustrophobic carriage and continued on foot for another week. Each day, their group grew with even more deportees. Among these was another group of mercenaries. These were Begnion natives, but they were being deported to Crimea nonetheless. (The soldiers had no more respect for their sell-sword countrymen than they did the Greil Mercenaries.) There was also a small cohort of Crimean healers who’d come to help the Daein sick folk, a group of Crimean priests who’d come to restore Daein temples, and a group of Crimean scholars who’d come to record a modern history of Daein under Ashnard’s reign. There was even a group of travelling thespians, whose brightly-colored costumes were dimmed by their frustrated expressions, the chains around their ankles, and the innumerable days gone without bathing or a change of clothes.

The rest of the deportees were traders and tradesmen. Like their Begnion counterparts, these people had come from Crimea to sell their wares and services, hoping to make a fortune in the reconstruction of Daein (rather than the restoration of their own country.)

“It’s about time we kicked you rabble out,” Soren overheard a Begnion soldier grumble while checking the locks on their chains. “Maybe now we can get some lasting peace.”

“Do you think these Crimeans were really causing a problem for the occupation?” Ike asked once the soldier moved away. He didn’t turn around, but Soren knew he was asking him.

“No,” he answered. “More likely we are a scapegoat for Begnion’s failings. That, or…”

“Or?” Ike pushed, twisting so Soren could see one of his intense blue eyes.

“In light of their failure to completely subdue the nation, perhaps the Imperial Army is preparing new tactics and want to remove any potentially disapproving witnesses.”

“What kind of ‘new tactics’?” he asked suspiciously.

“I shouldn’t speculate further. An idle imagination can be a dangerous thing.”

Ike frowned, wrinkling his forehead. “Not long ago, I couldn’t stop you from over-thinking things.”

“And I am taking your advice,” Soren said stiffly. “As you pointed out, we are no longer at war. These are not our problems to solve.”

Ike waited as if expecting more. But Soren said nothing, not wanting to make him feel any worse than this visit to Daein already had. Eventually he faced forward again, and soon the familiar clinking of chains resumed.

  

Rather than heading for one of the mountain passes between Daein and Crimea, the soldiers brought the deportees to a port town and loaded them onto a ship that reeked of fish. Their chains were removed, and only a small number of soldiers accompanied them on the brief voyage along the Oribes Sea.

These soldiers became more relaxed when the bland Daein coast was exchanged for the stark barrier mountains. They joked with the crew and some of the deportees, who outnumbered them now. The disgruntled passengers were not inclined to joke back, but they did breathe a collective sigh of relief in their own time. Their difficult sojourn as prisoners was behind them.

The deportees huddled under blankets with steaming bowls of cod soup in their hands, and they spoke among themselves about what they were going to do once they landed in Crimea. The Greil Mercenaries were no exception; they convened in the bow of the ship, where the cold wind twisted their hair and coated their faces in salt.

Rolf perched confidently on the gunwale, against which Mist was leaning. Oscar stood on the other side, with one arm half-outstretched as if ready to grab his brother if he fell. Boyd was sitting on the base of the bowsprit. Shinon sat cross-legged on a barrel, next to which Rhys stood meekly. Gatrie settled his weight on a pile of rope as if it were some kind of cushion, and Mia had one leg up on the anchor chain, her hands on her hips. Meanwhile Ike had his back to the foremast, facing them all. Soren made sure to stand on his right, and Titania was on his left. Surveying his comrades, Soren was satisfied to see their spirits were returning. He saw it in the lines of their faces, the movements of their limbs, and even the looseness of the knuckles in their hands.

Only Ike’s jaw was still hesitant. His stance was tense, and his fingers were half-curled like they wanted to be fists. Soren wished he would just let the Daein matter go.

“So, we’re heading back home to Crimea,” Ike began. “I’m sure you’ve all been thinking about what you’d like to do when we arrive.”

“Thinking and walking,” Gatrie grumbled in lighthearted resignation. “There wasn’t much else to do, was there?”

“So let’s hear it.”

“Are we staying in Crimea, Brother?” Mist asked tentatively.

“What do you mean?” Ike asked, though Soren had little doubt he understood.

“Is our vacation over?” Rolf clarified.

“We weren’t on vacation. We were working.” 

Chastised, Rolf dropped his gaze to the deck.

“In answer to your question, Mist—” Ike turned to her “—that’s up to all of us. We can stay in Crimea for as long as we want.”

“Then,” Mist replied, “I’d like to check on the old fort again.”

Ike nodded. “We can head in that direction.”

Rhys raised his hand, saying, “I haven’t received a letter from my parents since we left Begnion, and I would like to visit them…if possible.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ike replied with genuine compassion—the shadow of Daein leaving him. “We’ll head toward Arbor first thing!”

Gatrie sighed contentedly. “There’s a lass in Arbor who said she’d wait for me. Wonder if she’s still there…”

Mia elbowed him in the side. “For her sake, I hope she’s long gone!”

“Will we present ourselves to her majesty?” Oscar asked, his careful eyes on Ike’s face.

He frowned. “I’d like to avoid that if possible. It’s only been two years since the war ended. Let’s keep a low profile for now.”

Oscar bobbed his head in consent, and everyone else nodded, grunted, or otherwise voiced their agreement. 

“I understand your reasoning,” Titania mused aloud, “but mightn’t it be a moot point if our names are recognized?” She shook her head. “Hopefully the Crimeans, at least, know who saved them from Ashnard.”

Ike smiled inwardly, as if he’d just thought of something clever. “We’ll just call ourselves the Grail Mercenaries for a while.”

“What?” Titania asked in confusion. 

Grail,” Ike repeated, “with an ‘a’.”

Titania snorted while the others grinned. Soren grimaced (although he was glad to see Ike was in a joking mood).

“And, what, are you going to be Spike?” Boyd guffawed.

“Only if you’re Lloyd,” was Ike’s reply, which sent him reeling with laughter.

Ike swept his hand through the air. “In all seriousness, I don’t think we should have to go by assumed names. Let’s just keep doing small-time work, like we did before the war.”

Titania, Oscar, Gatrie, and Boyd gave soft nods and fond smiles. 

“I agree with Ike’s assessment,” Soren finally spoke up. “If we deny we are the same mercenaries who won the war, who’s to tell us differently?” He paused a moment to let that sink in. “That being said—” he turned to face Ike fully “—I do question the logic of this plan. By winning the war, we earned esteem for our company. What good is that if we don’t use it to acquire high-paying contracts? ‘Keeping a low profile,’ as you have said, is a poor strategy for improving profits.”

“The whelp knows what he’s talking about,” Shinon yawned. 

Ike crossed his arms and held Soren’s gaze. “But that’s not what Crimea needs from us right now. I say we forgo profit to do what’s best for Queen Elincia and Crimea as a whole!”

Rolf cheered at these words.

“Idiot,” Shinon muttered under his breath.

“And what the Boss says goes.” Boyd punched him in the arm.

Shinon’s eyes shot daggers.

“Very well,” Soren conceded. He would respect Ike’s decision, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. Whether he was trying to help her or avoid her, Ike was thinking of Elincia first and the rest of the mercenaries second. Soren’s old jealousy bubbled to the surface, despite his efforts to suppress it.