Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 3 ❯ CHAPTER 68: STRATEGY ( Chapter 2 )

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

After appropriating food and supplies from the Flaguerre citizenry (who were so frightened of the laguz that they cooperated without complaint), Skrimir’s battalion spent a day resting in the citadel and (proverbially) licking their wounds. This meant the Greil Mercenaries also had a day of rest, and after the long night of the siege, they needed it.

However, Soren couldn’t stay asleep for long, and when he awoke, he sought out Ike to discuss their next move. He found him with Titania in the mess hall. Both appeared to have gotten as much sleep as him (which was to say, not much). Titania’s long red hair was loose around her shoulders, and she had dark circles under her eyes, which were staring into space above the steaming mug of coffee she held to her chin. There was a plate of food in front of her (which was mostly meat because it seemed the Gallian soldiers had no interest in vegetables), but she hadn’t yet eaten much of it. Ike, meanwhile, was chowing down with gusto.

Ranulf and some of his compatriots were sitting at a nearby table, but they were easy to ignore. Soren grabbed a plate of the greasy lamb and potatoes being served, ignoring the Gallian cook who looked right through him. Then he took his place by Ike, across from Titania. Ike greeted him with a mouth full of “Gub’mern’n.”

“Are you in a rush?” Soren asked quizzically.

Ike shrugged and swallowed. “Just hungry.”

Soren started cutting into his own breakfast, but he found himself doing much more cutting than eating. Soon the meat and potatoes were diced into perfectly chewable cubes, but he found he had little appetitive.

Ike glanced from Soren to Titania and back again. “What’s up with you two?”

Soren didn’t have an answer, so he ate his first bite to occupy his mouth. Fortunately, Titania did have something to say. “Ike, I’ve been thinking,” she began, “Is this war…something that we should really be fighting? After all, we know about Lehran’s Medallion…”

Soren was surprised by her sudden change of heart, and he wondered if it had been Skrimir’s savagery or merely reexperiencing the overwhelming nature of a real battle that had changed her mind. He tried to remember her burst of poetry the night of the contract signing: “‘As long as the dark god sleeps within the medallion, the world shall not war’,” he recalled. “Is that what you mean?”

“That’s right.” Titania took a sip of her coffee and nodded. “Our ancestors made a vow, and it is our responsibility to prevent the horror they strove against… ‘Let the land be not covered in war, else the dark god shall be freed of the medallion and the world destroyed’ …This war could easily spread across Tellius, and the dark god could be awakened. We were very fortunate during the Mad King’s War, but it was a close call. Can we count on being lucky again? Already we’re talking about a conflict between Begnion—the largest nation in Tellius—and three laguz countries. That’s half of the known world, and it’s not over yet. Have they all forgotten the possibility of the dark god’s rebirth?”

Ike didn’t answer immediately, and Soren didn’t want to respond. The only expertise he had in the matter of dark gods was witnessing Greil’s massacre as a child. But he couldn’t offer this contribution, and even if he did, it wouldn’t mean anything.

But then Ranulf slipped over to their table. “Hello all,” he greeted them, “Sorry to interrupt.” Intertwining his fingers on the tabletop, he replied charmingly: “Captain Titania, Soren, you’re both very perceptive. I’d expect nothing less from the deputy commander and strategist of the Greil Mercenaries. You don’t have to worry, though. The whole situation is under control. The medallion is under the protection of the Serenes royal family. Even if the god escaped, the herons can control it with their galdr.”

Soren didn’t like Ranulf’s tone nor his beseeching face. He needed the medallion to be a non-issue so he could continue with this war. He couldn’t accept it as a relevant danger.

“Reyson, Leanne, King Lorazieh, and…Prince Rafiel, was it?” Ike asked, counting on his fingers. There was still a strip of meat on his plate, but he was ignoring it for now.

“Ages ago,” Soren thought aloud, “it was a heron named Lehran who sealed the dark god within the medallion. You believe his kin can subdue it with the same seid magic?”

“That’s the story,” Ranulf agreed, but Soren wasn’t convinced. According to his research, Lehran hadn’t even been a member of the royal clan. He’d borne black wings, belonging to a tribe of Serenes nobles whose magic was slightly different than the white-winged royals. Inherent abilities aside, galdr relied on the user’s knowledge, just as beorc magic did. If a song wasn’t passed down, it was lost forever, and neither Reyson nor Leanne had ever claimed to actually know the galdr for suppressing dark gods.

“And what magic is that?” he decided to ask.

“The heron galdr for sleep,” Ranulf replied, as if that should be sufficient. But once again, Soren didn’t think it was that simple. Eight hundred years ago, the entire word had been flooded before the dark god could be subdued. During that time—be it three minutes or three years—Tellius’s founding heroes had defeated the dark god, not the heron tribe. Lehran may have laid the final enchantment on the medallion, but it had been the beorc Altina, the lion Soan, and the dragon Dheginsea who’d first weakened the god in battle. Needless to say, it had taken more than a lullaby.

He was about to point out this fact, when Ranulf changed the subject: “We’ll be relying heavily on the strength of the Greil Mercenaries. I am counting on you all.”

“Understood.” Titania drew a long breath, and some of her old strength seemed to return. “We’ll do our best to see this conflict finished as quickly as possible. Right, Ike?”

“Yes,” Ike promised, “Of course.” It appeared he too was willing to trust the herons’ unconfirmed ability to tame the ancient evil.

Realizing that Ike, Ranulf, and Titania were waiting for him to add his approval, Soren decided to give it: “Very well, we will continue to confront Begnion as planned,” he said. After all, he didn’t actually know what happened eight hundred years ago, and he didn’t know what they could do differently now.

Ranulf changed the topic immediately, this time to speculate how the bird tribes were faring. Soren tuned him out, because speculation without evidence, conjured merely to pass the time, could be detrimental.

 

The next day, the Greil Mercenaries and Skrimir’s battalion left Flaguerre through the eastern gate and then turned south to Mugill. Elite messengers had already cut through the mountains to convey their victory to the rest of the army, and the plan was to attack Mugill together. However, Soren had yet to come up with a viable plan to getting either half of the army inside.

Mugill’s walls were taller than Flaguerre, and in better repair. The gates were stronger, and Soren doubted a good shove from Skrimir was going to knock even the smallest one down. Unlike Flaguerre, the fortifications were singular and complete—there were no crumbling outworks to find a crack in or a staggered defense to take advantage of. The troops and artillery were all within the city, and Soren had to find a way to get a thousand Gallian troops in from the north and four thousand from the west.

The challenge was simple: how could he open the doors from the inside? But the answer was elusive. When the mercenaries had taken these cities from Daein years ago, the garrison had been stretched thin, and the mercenaries had had time to starve and exhaust their enemies. But now Mugill was positively bursting with soldiers (including those who’d fled Flagurerre), and the Gallian Army couldn’t wait for Begnion to make a mistake. Therefore, Soren found himself hoping someone else would have an idea when they met for a strategy meeting around midday. After all, he couldn’t be expected to conjure a miraculous solution for every one of the laguz’s battles. (Or at least, he hoped he wasn’t expected to). 

They’d left Flaguerre only two hours ago, but they were already resting at a recently-evacuated village halfway between the two cities. The elevation was high, and visibility was good, making it a safe place from which to conduct last-minute reconnaissance and decide the best way to approach the city.

Ike and Ranulf chose one of the abandoned houses to serve as their headquarters (which appeared to belong to a turnip farmer) and stacked up the wood in the fireplace. With the air warming around them, Ranulf unrolled a map of the city on the farmer’s empty table. “Now, our next target is Mugill,” he began. “Its gates are already sealed, and it looks like they intend to keep them that way. This won’t go as easily as our battle in Flaguerre.”

Skrimir released a long yawn. “Beorc are all the same. We will run them down, just as before.”

“Skrimir, please…” Ranulf begged, “Listen. Just this once.”

“What do you think, Soren?” Ike turned to him.

“The Flaguerre survivors will have warned of our advance,” Soren replied, addressing Ranulf. “That’s so obvious, even you must have anticipated it. You don’t have a plan?” He passed a cold glare from Ranulf to Skrimir.

“Do no mock me, beorc boy,” Skrimir growled, taking a step forward. “Why should I bother with plans? No soldier would cower behind stone walls after being challenged to battle. We will issue a challenge, and they will meet it. We have no need for plans!” Judging by the confident grin playing on Skrimir’s lips, Soren realized he was actually serious.

“Do you realize how completely absurd you sound?” he asked, unwilling to hide his astonishment. “The enemy did not build the fortress so they could stand outside of it. They will not come out of their own accord.”

“But-” Skirmir seemed honestly surprised by this observation, and Soren wondered what Ranulf and Caineghis had been teaching him. “Those beorc cowards! They will hide from us? What do we do? I do not know how to fight cowards!”

“Don’t you get it?” Ranulf seemed to be losing his patience. “That’s what we’re trying to decide! Think, Skrimir. Just try.”

“No!” Skrimir pouted, “That’s your job, Ranulf! You’re my second in command. Think of a way for me to use my strength! Anything else is just a waste of time. I’ll be training outside. Tell me when you have this ‘plan’.” With that, he shouldered his way out of the house

“Wait, Skrimir!” Ranulf tried to call him back, but the prince didn’t return.

“…This is ridiculous,” Soren hissed when he thought Skrimir was far enough away not to overhear. “I’m amazed someone was desperate enough to make that fool a general.”

“I’m tempted to agree with you on that,” Ranulf admitted. He eased himself into one of the shack’s wooden chairs as if his whole body suddenly ached. “But there’s a reason he’s here…” He shook his head weakly—as if wondering if the reason even mattered. “Never in its history has Gallia invaded another country. We don’t have any experience or tactics to fall back on for this. On top of that, our general… Well, you’ve seen it yourself. He doesn’t pay attention to details, and he doesn’t strategize. Sadly, it’s not just Skrimir. Most Gallian soldiers are the same. They’re arrogant and stubborn. It doesn’t even occur to them that they won’t be able to power through the beorc forever.”

“Why isn’t Caineghis leading the army?” Ike asked in a voice that suggested he was trying to remember if an actual excuse had ever been given.

“It’s not an option,” Ranulf returned flatly. “We aren’t mobile like the bird tribes. Once we leave our lands, it isn’t easy for us to get back. We can’t take our King away from his domain.”

“Well, what about Giffca, then?” Ike proposed, “There have to be other capable generals in Gallia.”

“Yeah, you’d think General Giffca would lead, but…” Ranulf shook his head again. “Giffca has other duties to attend to, so really, that just leaves Skrimir.” (Soren suspected these other duties included warming the king’s bed.)

“I understand the reason you mentioned—why Skrimir is here,” he said, but he was sure to keep his voice hard. He was expressing his understanding, not his sympathy or agreement. “Laguz choose their leaders based solely on strength and breeding. If Skrimir is to be the next king, this war is the only opportunity for him to learn about strategy.”

“Exactly,” Ranulf sighed. “And since that’s the case, we need all the help we can get. Please, lend us your wisdom.” He slowly moved his mismatched eyes from Ike, to Titania, to Soren. “Without your help, this war’s outcome is certain.”

“You can count on us, Ranulf,” Ike promised.

“We’ve told you already,” Titania assured. “We’re here to help.” Any shred of yesterday’s doubt was gone.

Soren, however, was not certain, and Skrimir’s most recent outburst had him debating this whole arrangement. The Laguz Alliance would lose this war with Skrimir in command, and that would mean Soren, Ike, and the rest of the mercenaries losing their lives. If Soren served as the army’s strategist in every battle—if he strained his creativity to discover a workaround for every challenge—and if he was lucky enough for these strategies to actually work—only then would the Laguz Alliance have a chance. Soren didn’t want that responsibility. He didn’t want to fail. And he simply did not want to continue serving Skrimir.

“Soren, say something!” Titania scolded, and he realized he’d been glaring at the door out of which Skrimir had disappeared.

“Well,” Ranulf observed, “Looks like your strategist isn’t fond of laguz just yet.”

Soren turned to Ranulf, but he refused to apologize or make his expression more amenable. The way he saw it, Ranulf was just as negligent as Skrimir. Had he and Caineghis truly believed hiring the Greil Mercenaries would be enough to gain victory?

“I’m sorry, Ranulf,” Titania apologized on his behalf. “He’s gotten better, but…”

“Soren.” Ike turned to him, and it was clear he was trying to sound serious without also sounding reprimanding. “Ranulf helped us out. On top of that, he’s our client. It’s our turn to return the favor, and our job to do it right. Got that?”

“…Fine,” Soren conceded. “But it’ll cost you more.”

Ike hesitated but then gave a small nod.

“Thanks,” Ranulf said in obvious relief, “all of you. We appreciate the help.”

Soren turned his gaze to the map, moving his eyes from one iron-bound gate to the next. “Give me some time to myself,” he said. “I’ll come up with a plan to get us through this mess.”

“Great,” Ike said (even though his voice indicated that he wasn’t quite sure it was great). “We’re counting on you, Soren.”

“I know,” he returned without looking up. “I will do what I can.” He reached for the first page of a report he’d already read, wondering if he might have missed something.

“I’ll tell Skrimir we’re delaying the invasion until tonight,” Ranulf offered, but Soren didn’t respond or look up. While he continued to read, the others left the shack. Ike was the last to leave, and although he seemed like he wanted to say something, he did not.

 

The afternoon slipped by, and Soren thought of innumerable ways he, Ike, the mercenaries, Skrimir, and the Gallian soldiers might all die horrible deaths to achieve absolutely nothing. He also thought of ways a large portion of the army might die so that Mugill could eventually be seized. But these strategies were not worth the mortal cost. This was only the second battle of the war; Soren needed to find a way to take Mugill without excessive losses.

When he needed to rest and reset his mind, Soren stared out of the shack’s windows. From here he could see Ike and Mia sparring, while Rhys served as referee and healer. (They appeared to be wielding their regular, unsheathed blades.)

Later he saw Boyd and Rolf fighting like a pair of little kids, despite the fact that Rolf was nineteen now and Boyd almost twenty-four. Rolf had grown long-legged and wiry, and Boyd could pass as Largo’s understudy.

Looking out a different window, Soren could see Mist sitting on a porch, mending clothes torn in the last battle, while Oscar was cooking over a massive spit nearby. A line of laguz had congregated to drool over the sizzling meat, while others dropped off the carcasses of animals they’d hunted in the woods or pilfered from the village’s abandoned pastures.

Skrimir was nowhere to be seen, but Ranulf and Kyza seemed to be keeping the troops busy. Lethe’s sister Lyre was always trailing behind one of them—and Gatrie always seemed to be trailing after Lyre. When he finally spoke to her, he blushed and looked nervous. When Lyre inevitably ran after Ranulf or Kyza again, Shinon approached. By his face and body language, it was obvious he was ridiculing Gatrie for something.

Soren pulled his attention back inside the turnip farmer’s house. He was foolishly letting his mind wander when he only had a few hours left to figure out how to get Mugill’s gates open. Staring at the city map, he had to admit the only way to accomplish this was to get a small force inside the city who could then unbar at least two gates before they were overwhelmed and slaughtered.

Gallian scouts had identified a couple places where the patrols were sporadic enough to leave a blind spot on the wall. One of these was only a quarter-mile from a minor entrance: a narrow gate leading to a horse paddock beyond the wall. If a small team could get over the wall, they could make their way to this entrance and let either the mercenaries or a specialized group of laguz, inside. However, even this entrance was amply guarded, and the team would have to defeat between thirty and forty soldiers—not counting the reinforcements who would arrive if someone sounded the alarm. Simply put, the team would die before they could open the little horse gate, let alone ferry in additional soldiers and get all the way to a main gate to let in Skrimir’s army.

Rubbing his temples, Soren tried to think of a new solution. The scent of Oscar’s cookfire drifted through the windows, and his stomach gurgled hungrily. His gaze strayed to a plate of food Mist had brought him hours ago. He’d been too distracted to touch it. Now it was cold, and there was a fly buzzing around it.

Looking out the window again, he saw Oscar serving yet another happy laguz with perky ears and hungry eyes. Then he looked at Mist, who’d finished her sewing and was now moving among the soldiers with a water pail and cup. Even from this distance, Soren could see her easy smile and disarming eyes. An idea struck him: Mist could be the key.

 

“I knew you could do it,” Ike said when Soren called them back, announcing that he’d come up with a solution. Skrimir hadn’t heeded the call, but Ranulf, Ike, and Titania had each returned.

“What’s the plan?” Ranulf asked excitedly.

“We select four women from the troops, dress them in plainclothes, and lift them over the wall with baskets of food and alcohol for the soldiers stationed at the northern horse gate. We will only have a couple minutes to get them over, so it must be fast. This food shall be dosed with sedatives, and when the soldiers are asleep, the operatives will unlock the gate to allow the rest of the Greil Mercenaries inside. The united party will then proceed one mile to the west where they will access the enemy ballistae and seize the northwestern gate. From here Skrimir can begin the siege of the city, while the Greil Mercenaries move swiftly to the northeastern gate, repeat the process, and allow Lieutenant Mordo and the rest of the army inside. With two main gates open, the city will inevitably fall to Gallia.”

After only a moment of contemplation, the questions came in a flood:

“What sedatives?” Ike asked in confusion. “Where can we get them?”

“Why do the operatives have to be women?” Titania asked huffily.

“How can we come up with four people?” Ranulf asked hopelessly. “The soldiers would recognize a laguz...”

Soren raised a hand to silence them. “We must send runners back to Flaguerre at once and have them requisition as much henbane, mandrake, and datura as possible from the local apothecaries. They must also acquire at least four bottles of the strongest liquor they can find, and—equally as important—performers’ makeup.”

“Why the makeup?” Ike asked, his confusion unabated.

“I recommend attaching Lethe and Lyre to this mission, and unfortunately, both have laguz markings on their cheeks. In the dark, and with hoods up, an actor’s makeup may be enough to hide them. Headscarves and dresses will have to suffice to hide their other laguz attributes.”

“And how are we going to hide Lethe’s personality?” Titania muttered under her breath.

It may have been rhetorical, but Soren answered anyway: “Lethe will have to act the part of a docile beorc woman. Or at the very least, she will have to keep her mouth shut. Lyre, I am less concerned about, and with Mist leading them, they should be able to pass as Begnion citizens.”

“Mist?” Ike repeated, his confusion evaporating. “No, it’s too dangerous.”

“I have to agree with Ike,” Ranulf said, “What if Lethe and Lyre are discovered? Even if they transform and get away, they’ll be trapped in the city and hunted down.”

“These poisons you speak of can cause hallucinations and aberrant behavior,” Titania added. “If the soldiers discover what’s happening before they fall asleep, they may lash out at the women who brought them the food.”

“Or what if not all the soldiers are hungry?” Ike asked, “There are too many things that can go wrong.”

Soren refused to back down. “This is the only way we are getting into the city tonight,” he said firmly. “If the soldiers do not want to eat, then Mist must convince them to. She can do it; you know she can.” This he said directly to Ike. “They will fall at her feet.”

Ike looked grumpily back at him but didn’t immediately respond.

Soren took this as permission to continue: “If some soldiers do not succumb to the poison, the operatives will have to eliminate them. Although Mist may not bring a sword with her, she can certainly pick one off of a fallen soldier. Lethe and Lyre will have their claws in case of emergency. None are defenseless.”

“Well,” Ranulf waffled, “maybe this could work after all…”

“I will go as well then!” Titania volunteered. “I will be the fourth woman, and I vow I will see the gate opened such that no blade or claw need be raised.”

“Unfortunately, you’re too tall,” Soren shot her down. “The reason for small, female operatives is not only that they will be easy to get over the wall but also that they will appear nonthreatening to the Begnion soldiers, the majority of whom are likely to be—statistically speaking—men interested in women. You are simply too threatening.”

Titania crossed her arms, but by the jut of her jaw, Soren knew she saw his logic. “Who then—Mia?”

“That is who I was thinking,” Soren agreed.

“Mia can’t do a Begnion accent,” Ike said suddenly, reminded everyone that he was there, even if he was brooding in the corner. “She can’t do it.”

Soren knew he was right about the accent, but he refused to let Mia’s poor acting skills ruin his plan. “Then she can keep as silent as Lethe,” he shot back, “or she can try her best.”

“No,” Ike said more firmly. “It has to be you.”

Soren furrowed his brow in annoyance. “Hilarious, Ike,” he replied, but he did give in: “Fine. Then we can send only three operatives, but they will not be able to carry as much food.”

“I’m not joking,” Ike said firmly.

“Ike,” Soren hissed in warning. He suddenly felt the heat of embarrassment crawling under his collar. It was true that he was small, his hair was long, his neck was smooth, and if he wore a dress, he could probably pass as a girl in the dark. But he was also a Branded. “For obvious reasons,” he said, keeping his voice objective. “That would not work.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Titania forced a laugh, trying to brighten the mood, “You might make a lovely girl, Soren.”

“If we’re already covering up Lethe and Lyre’s marks, we can paint over your tattoo,” Ike said firmly.

“And if the soldiers discover I am not a girl?” Soren asked through gritted teeth.

“You being a boy is no more dangerous than Lethe and Lyre being laguz,” Ike returned confidently. “This is the only way I’m agreeing to this hairbrained scheme.”

“Isn’t that rather petty?” Soren asked in annoyance, wondering if it could possibly be fair for Ike to punish him just for putting Mist in harm’s way. 

“This isn’t about you; it’s about Mist,” Ike declared. “I trust you won’t let anything happen to her.”

This explanation made Soren’s frustration and embarrassment fade away. “Fine,” he conceded. “I will be the fourth operative. But we must put this plan into action quickly. Ranulf-” He turned to him.

“Uh, right!” The cat-man seemed somewhat mystified by the argument he’d just watch unfold, but at Soren’s prompting, he came back to himself and flashed a smile. “I’ll go tell Skrimir and get him to agree. Then I’ll send a party back to Flaguerre for supplies straight away!” With that, he leapt to his feet and dashed out of the shack. However, he did pause at the door, just long enough to say: “Oh, also, I’ll ask Kyza to help with the disguises. He knows what he’s doing.” With that he disappeared.

Titania stretched her arms above her head. “I believe this plan will work,” she announced before standing, “and to see it succeed, I will do my part. By your leave, Ike, I will go confer with the scouts and identify our opening to get the four over the wall tonight. Shinon was instrumental the last time we needed to rig a pulley system. I’ll be sure to acquire his help.”

Ike raised a hand to wave her off. “Yeah, do that. I’ll break the news to Mist and the others.” Titania marched out of the shack, and Ike turned to Soren. His mouth was set in a flat line as if thinking about something.

“I would not have suggested this plan if I did not believe it has the best chance of success,” Soren said to cut off whatever he was about to say.

“I know,” Ike replied, and he released a long exhale through his nose. “And I know Mist is capable of defending herself… But, it’s still a relief to know you’ll be there too.”

Soren nodded, taking a small moment to simply appreciate Ike’s trust.

Ike cleared his throat. “While I’m talking to the others, you should try to scrounge up some dresses and cloaks around the village. I’ll send them to find you after, so you can all get ready.”

“I will,” Soren agreed.