Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 3 ❯ CHAPTER 69: MUGILL ( Chapter 3 )

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

Ranulf’s claim about Kyza’s expertise proved true. The tiger had a keen eye for the appropriate garments, colors, and accessories necessary to pass the four off as demure young beorc women, and he proved adept at painting away Lethe and Lyre’s laguz markings. It was around this time that Mia barged into the shack and demanded to participate in the infiltration. Soren sent her to Ike, who (perhaps unsurprisingly) agreed. Mia returned, promising to stay calm and quiet on the mission, and despite the fact that getting five people over the wall would take longer, Soren didn’t argue.

It was his turn to receive a thick layer of the paste, which Kyza mixed to match his skin. It felt surprisingly heavy on his forehead, and when Kyza held a mirror to his face, Soren saw that the red lines of his Brand had become practically invisible. For the first time in his life, Soren looked like a beorc.

The effect was more unsettling than he’d anticipated, so when Kyza set down the mirror and began the next step—adding red pigment to his lips, pink powder to tops of his cheeks, and black ink to the corners of his eyes—Soren tried to distract himself with something he usually abhorred: conversation.

“How do you know how to do this anyway?” he growled at the tiger. “Do the duties of Gallian lieutenants often require them to masquerade as beorc women?”

Kyza didn’t immediately respond, apparently entirely focused on the task at hand.

However, Lyre spoke up from the other side of the room, where she was analyzing her already made-up face in a mirror. “Oh, it’s not part of his duties,” she replied, “Kyza switches back and forth and usually lives as a woman outside work hours.”

This surprised Soren, but Kyza didn’t bat an eyelash and no one else seemed surprised.

“That doesn’t quite answer my question,” he said, deciding to taking this information in stride. “Why live as a beorc woman?”

“I do not,” Kyza replied, now speaking for himself. “I am merely interested in the ideals of beorc beauty and have therefore studied and practiced these techniques previously. Would you deny that many beorc are equally fascinated by aspects of laguz culture?”

Soren knew laguz (especially the women of Gallia and the men of Serenes) were often fetishized by beorc high society, but he didn’t think that was what Kyza meant. Of course, there were many scholars who wished to study laguz magic, history, religion, architecture, agriculture, and so on, but that seemed different too. The cultural appreciation Kyza was describing first required respect for the laguz as equals, and Soren had seen little of that anywhere in Tellius. Finally, he replied: “I wouldn’t know,” and decided conversation had been a bad decision after all.

At this point, Kyza removed the leather cords that bound his hair and began draping the dark locks over his shoulders. When next he showed Soren the mirror, his reflection looked like someone else entirely.

Lethe and Lyre had already undergone their transformations, so Kyza next turned his brushes on Mist’s and Mia’s faces. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but Soren supposed it would be less suspicious if they all matched. (And Mia, for one, seemed to be enjoying herself and probably wouldn’t have accepted being left out.)

When the task was done, Soren checked his reflection again and turned his gaze over the others. Whether or not it was Kyza’s intention, he couldn’t help but think they all looked like rather cheap hires at some two-bit brothel. Despite the tiger’s expert hand, their makeup still looked heavily applied. Soren knew such large quantities could be used by sickly prostitutes to hide rashes and boils, and the colored sashes wrapped around Lethe’s and Lyre’s heads were often used by beorc women to hide premature balding from their clients. Soren just hoped the modest dresses and roomy cloaks would prevent the soldiers from actually mistaking them for prostitutes.

 

Darkness had already fallen, and an hour or so later, Soren was repelling down the side of Mugill’s northern wall. For now, visibility was slightly better than it had been during Flaguerre’s siege, but the fog still worked in their favor. It was also colder than the previous night, and Soren hoped that would help too.

By the time the Begnion guard marched back across the ramparts with torch in hand, all five interlopers were tucked into the shadows of Mugill’s cozy northern residential district. The thump of their boots and the swish of their skirts and cloaks were the only sounds in these empty streets, and the windows of the homes they passed were all dark. Soren wondered if the civilians had been evacuated deeper into the city or if they were merely abiding by a lights-out curfew.

He considered these details and absorbed every aspect of the sealed fortress in order to distract himself from his disguise and sticky forehead.

 

Eventually they arrived at their destination. “Sorry we’re late!” Mist called breathlessly when they finally jogged into the firelit stable yard.

The closest soldiers, who’d been playing cards until hearing Mist’s announcement, suddenly leapt to their feet. “Who are you?” one demanded.

“Why are you outside? The city is under lockdown!” exclaimed another.

“You need permission to leave your homes!” declared the third.

These outbursts had drawn the attention of every soldier within earshot, including the ones currently standing on the wall above the gate. Soren counted thirty-two total: twenty on the ground and twelve archers on the battlements.

“What?” Mist cocked her head, not appearing the least afraid. “We were told to hand out food to all the watchmen.” She jostled her basket, which she held clasped with two hands against her stomach. The way she moved made the basket seem heavier than it was, and the tilt of her shoulders made her look weak under the burden.

“Wh-what?” the first soldier gaped.

Mist turned so she was facing Soren and the others. “Well, I guess this must not be the place,” she proposed tentatively, “Should we head back? I don’t want the food to spoil…” The pout in her voice was perfectly balanced, and Soren marveled at her skill as an actress.

Lyre adjusted her own basket, nervously rearranging the cloth as if embarrassed. “I don’t know…” she murmured and succeeded in revealing a loaf of freshly baked bread and the corner of a still-warm pork roast to the freezing night air. The scent must have reached the soldiers nearest her, one of whom immediately reached out and said, “W-wait! Don’t go! You don’t have to head back.”

A man with the winged helmet of a Begnion captain strode forward, and Soren was only worried for a second—then he saw his hungry eyes. “That food is for us. I’m sure of it!” he announced.

“Oh, wonderful!” Mist beamed, and her smile seemed to melt the heart of each soldier she made eye contact with. “Would you call everyone then, sir?” she asked, turning back to the captain. “We’ll pass out the food and drinks.” On her last word, she adjusted the basket again, this time moving it to her hip so she could hold it with one hand. The two liquor bottles inside clinked together. Drawing her free hand away, she loosened the scarf around her neck.

“Yes, certainly.” The captain’s eyes widened. “You lot! Form up!” This was followed by plenty of confusion and commotion as those farthest away didn’t know what they were supposed to be doing and those closest rushed eagerly toward Mist. “A line! Form a line!” the captain called. “Come now, comrades! Show these ladies the discipline of the Imperial Army!”

While Mist did most of the talking and made sure every soldier ate or drank at least a little, Soren did his best to mingle among them. He tried not to appear standoffish but quickly discovered he had no idea how to be charming. That being said, his lackluster performance didn’t seem to deter the soldiers, who beckoned, whistled, and called out to him to bring his basket over. (As he did so, he found himself sympathizing with his female comrades whom he knew endured such drivel on a regular basis from enemies, allies, and strangers alike.)

While Mist, Mia, and Lethe cajoled the men below, Soren and Lyre were escorted up the stairs to the ramparts, where they distributed the last of the food and alcohol until their baskets were empty. Their escort had been one of the first to eat, and now he was swaying. Fortunately Lyre seemed to notice this. She pulled her cloak tighter. “It’s so much colder up here,” she said with a false shiver, “but the view is amazing!” She took a step toward him, and as expected, he wrapped an arm around her. 

“Here, I’ll…keep you warm…” he mumbled, and Lyre supported his weight while he leaned his head into her neck and fondled her breasts. Her eyes widened in rage, but she maintained her submissive body language and didn’t react. Soren marveled at her discipline; he could never imagine Lethe abandoning her pride like this, even for the success of a mission.

With that thought in mind, he turned his gaze to the stable yard below. Soldiers were singing discordantly, and Soren heard slurred voices rising to meet him. The captain was already sitting in a slump, but Mist was crouched next to him, apparently talking and pretending he was behaving normally. The card-playing soldiers were also snoozing soundly. In one corner, it appeared a soldier was having some sort of seizure, but Lethe pulled him into a vacant stall (perhaps under the pretense of giving him some air). Now she was just staring at his lurching body with her head cocked. Soren hoped no one else would notice. Turning his gaze to the brazier where several people were gathered, he was surprised to see a flurry of activity. Mia was dancing in the center while soldiers sat around her, leaning against each other, and swiftly falling asleep.

Soren dared to think this plan was going perfectly, when he suddenly felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck and chest from behind. “*Spirits of-*” the ancient words came to his lips before he bit his tongue to stop them. He’d instinctively reached for the page of spells hidden under his dress, but now he moved his hand to the archer’s armored forearm instead.

“Yer a pre’y li’l gal…” his fowl-smelling breath hissed into his ear.

Soren pulled the arm away and ducked out of the man’s embrace. Turning to face him, he kept his chin tucked down so the hood still shadowed his face. He didn’t trust his voice not to give him away, so he said nothing.

“Come on…” the archer moaned, and although Soren thought he could effectively fend off one soldier without magic, another was staggering toward him on his left. The rest of the archers had abandoned their bows and their watch. Some were sitting, some lying down, and still others were leaning over the parapets as if they suddenly had no fear of falling—but not these two.

The one in front of him embraced him again, sleepily nuzzling his neck. Soren set his feet and stopped himself from being knocked over. But a second later, the other man reached them and seized Soren’s face in his clumsy hands. To Soren’s horror, the man’s greasy maw dropped open, and his tongue swept a wet line from the corner of his mouth to his ear. Soren’s body shuddered in revulsion, and he resisted the urge to fight back or utter a wind spell that would slice these soldiers to bits.

With his head tilted to the side like this, he could see that not all of the soldiers on the ground were unconscious yet. One was pursuing Mist with lurching, disjointed steps, laughing and trying to grab her. Her face was split in a pained attempt to remain smiling, and she was walking backward with palms raised.

“This’n’s mine,” slurred the man at his neck to the man holding his face. He tried to push him away. “Get yer own.”

The man staggered back, and Soren hoped they would fight each other and leave him alone. Unfortunately, the man ran right back into Soren. This time he couldn’t keep his footing, not with both soldiers leaning on him. They fell awkwardly, and although Soren tried to pull himself away, the man with the grabby hands found his face again. He pushed Soren’s skull into the cold stone floor, and this time, his tongue found Soren’s mouth, which he tried to clamp shut in disgust.

The other man’s hands were starting to pinch and crawl steadily down his neck to his chest. “Har’ li’l, fla’ li’l, my li’l girl,” he mumble-sang as he continued down to his stomach.

Soren tried to push off the kissing man and then the singing man. He kicked out, but they were large and wearing armor. Soren had no leverage, and he was horrified by how weak and powerless he suddenly felt. The singing man’s searching, squeezing fingers had nearly reached his groin, and that was the last straw.

Whether or not the majority of the soldiers were unconscious, Soren couldn’t stand to wait any more. Wrenching his head to the side, he spat out the spell as quickly as he could. “*Spirits of wind*—” he wrenched his head to the other side to avoid the kissing man’s persistent tongue “—*follow my hand*—” he reached out his arm between the two archers, guiding the winds toward them “—*blast their flesh*!”

The gusts arced down, straight at Soren, but he split them, dividing the gale to either side, where the they hammered down on the men’s torsos. The archers jolted and shuddered under the attack, and one spat up blood on Soren’s face. But neither called out in pain or surprise, and in a moment, they were both dead.

Picking himself up, Soren glanced around to make sure no one had seen. Down below, everyone was either asleep or dead. Lethe was standing over the man who’d been pursuing Mist, and she had a shovel in her hands. Mist, meanwhile, was standing unharmed nearby. Across the yard, Mia tossed a sword into a horse stall and clasped her hands innocently behind her back, strutting away from two bodies lying beside the brazier.

Turning his attention back to the battlements, Soren noticed ten sleeping archers in addition to his two corpses. But the escort from below was missing. Lyre was looking over the wall with a grimace on her face. “I couldn’t help it,” she said, crossing her arms when she noticed Soren looking at her. “I threw him over the side.”

Since Soren didn’t remember hearing a scream and he didn’t hear trumpets of alarm now, he decided this was acceptable. “It is fine,” he said. “The plan still worked.” He and Lyre descended to the stable yard, where Mist was taking charge by locating the captain’s keys.

“Good work, everyone!” she said, walking over the gate. “Are you all alright?” She glanced left and right, assessing their appearances, but she didn’t comment on the blood staining Soren’s face and clothes.

While she worked the lock, he went to a horse trough and lifted handfuls of water to remove the man’s blood and saliva from his cheek. While he was at it, he kneeled down and scrubbed the makeup away. He wanted it gone; and he never wanted to think about the unpleasantness of this evening again. A horse knickered and lowered its head to nibble his hair, but Soren backed up before it could. “Don’t touch me,” he snarled at the animal before he could bite his tongue and feel foolish for the overreaction.

Returning his attention to Mist, he could see that she’d opened the gate and was hanging a lantern in the threshold to signal that the mission was complete. When this was done, she addressed the others in a loud whisper: “While we wait for Ike, we had better tie everyone up! Make sure to prop some up so the look like they fell asleep on the job. Cover any bloodstains with hay.” She clapped her hands together. “Let’s get to work.”

  

“Looks like the watchmen are all asleep,” Ike observed when he and the other mercenaries finally darted through the gate. He cast his eyes over the last limp figure Lethe and Lyre were dropping into an empty stall. “Great job, everyone.”

Mist smiled at the praise and accepted the sword belt and staff he handed her.

“The first step is done,” Soren replied simply, “Next, we clear out the remaining guards to the west and open the main gate.” He handed him the reins of one of the nine horses Mist had saddled, and in return, Ike handed him his tome and holster.

While Soren was latching this on, he was surprised to feel a sudden, soft yank on his hair. Someone’s knuckles brushed the back of his neck. His jerked his head upward, but he wasn’t afraid. He knew who this was, and his shock was replaced by not-unpleasant bewilderment.

“Hey, don’t move,” Ike complained as he sloppily tied a leather cord to hold back the majority of his hair. “Blast, this is harder than you make it look,” he grumbled.

Soren was too tongue-tied to respond, but a moment later Ike was finished.

“Ranulf and his troops are waiting outside for us,” he announced loud enough for everyone to hear, “Let’s go!”

Soren remained frozen a few more seconds but finally managed to reclaim himself and finish strapping the tome on over his dress. Then he rushed to mount his horse and follow the others.

 

The scouts had reported that the northwestern gate was guarded with forty infantry, twenty archers, and three rolling catapults. A quarter mile behind the gate was a barracks tower that housed between fifty and seventy soldiers as reinforcements. Soren estimated a five-minute response time from the tower, which meant the mercenaries had only that long from the sounding of the first alarm to get the gate open and let Skrimir, Ranulf, and the rest of the battalion inside.

They crossed a few patrols and watchmen on their way to the gate, but they managed not to slow their charge. Rolf and Shinon took out any soldiers who noticed them from the wall, and Lethe and Lyre—who were loping alongside in their cat forms—tackled any unlucky patrolman who happened into their path.

Before long, they made it to the western gate, and at their approach, a chorus of trumpets and confused shouts rose from the soldiers. “Who-who are you!” one screamed when Ike leapt from his horse and drew his sword before touching the ground. He rolled, and by the time he was on his feet again, the man who’d asked the question was dead.

“Subhumans!” screamed another soldier, just before Lethe sunk her already bloody teeth into his neck.  

“What’s going on?” demanded another, who was now seeking shelter behind a stack of crates to avoid Rolf’s slew of arrows. “What happened to the lookout!”

A woman in a winged helmet, who must have been the captain of this regiment, jogged to the gatehouse. “Stand your ground!” she ordered her troops. “Our reinforcements will be here soon. Hold fast until they arrive! Do not let them near the gate!”

Over a minute had already elapsed, but Soren’s plan didn’t hinge on taking the gatehouse by force. Ike was already leading the mercenaries to the ballistae, and Soren conjured a Thunder spell to help eliminate the confused guardsmen and engineers manning the catapults. It was clear by their faces that they didn’t know whether to stay at their posts or join the rest of the troops who were now forming a shield wall by the gate. Before they could decide, however, they were completely routed, and Shinon was taking charge of the machines.

“Slide them all the way back! Move that one down a tick! A tick! Okay, twenty degrees! Not that way!” he hissed and rattled until Soren, Rolf, Rhys, and Mia had them in position. Ike, Gatrie, and Boyd were already loading the basins at the end of the catapults’ arms.

“Stop them!” growled the captain when she realized her mistake. Her soldiers broke formation, rushing forward, but Soren knew they wouldn’t make it.

Titania, Oscar, and Mist fended off the first to reach them, but the majority were still near the gate—just in time to be pummeled by rocks when Ike shouted, “Fire!”

Most ducked or threw themselves onto their stomachs, while others were only hit with minor debris. But still others were knocked completely off of their feet, their necks or legs broken, their skulls concussed or shattered. Most importantly of all, the central catapult sent a large boulder straight at the center of the gate. The wooden panels thumped loudly, the metal chains that reinforced them rattled, the wooden bar across them cracked.

“Don’t let them reload!” the captain ordered, and her soldiers resumed the charge.

However, Ike, Shinon, Gatrie, and Boyd were already resetting and reloading, and Soren and the rest were ready to defend them. “*Spirits of the wind, rip apart these skies,*” Soren chanted, conjuring Tornado for the first time in years, “*lay waste to my enemy!*” The winds encased a half dozen soldiers, hitting them from all angles, tearing their armor and shredding any exposed flesh. When the spell faded, the three at the center crumpled to the ground, pooling blood even if they weren’t dead yet. The other three were quickly picked off by Rolf’s arrows and Mist’s sword.

Soren could hear a tide of noise rising in the streets behind him, and he knew the reinforcements couldn’t be more than a minute away. If this volley didn’t work, the mercenaries would be caught between the gatekeepers and the reinforcements, and they would be killed.

“Fire!” Ike shouted at the same moment he rushed past Soren, raising his sword in both hands. The rocks flew overhead, and three big ones collided with the gate in quick succession. When the last one made contact, the doors split apart with an enormous crack.

“No… We’ve lost the gate!” the captain cried in despair. She and her soldiers were looking over their shoulders at the ajar panels, and the mercenaries wasted no time taking advantage of their lapse in attention.

The first wave of reinforcements was arriving, and the mercenaries pushed forward to get away from them, cutting down the survivors of the original regiment and braving the rain of arrows from atop the wall.

Soren abandoned his own safety and focused on weaving a wall of wind to slash the arrows out of the air before his comrades turned into pin cushions. Then, suddenly, the arrows stopped. The archers had turned their attention to the other side. Soren heard Skrimir roaring beyond.

Glancing around, Soren saw that Ike was locked in battle with the captain. “When did subhumans learn to wield swords?” she gasped. “Impossible! I can’t believe my eyes!”

Ike laughed. “You underestimate them,” he replied before his blade found purchase on the inside of her right arm. With what looked to Soren like a flick of his wrist, Ike removed her limb from the elbow down, and her sword landed into the dirt. She fell to her knees, screaming and holding the bleeding stump.

Ike glanced around, and his eyes found Soren’s. “Are we clear?” he asked.

“Yes,” Soren replied. Tearing his gaze away from Ike, he saw Gatrie and Boyd pushing the gate open wider. Soren could see Skrimir now, charging at the head of his beast army. On unspoken agreement, he and Ike got out of the way. “Good work, everyone!” Ike called above the sound of the beast stampede.

The mercenaries cheered their agreement, while Lethe and Lyre raced up the stairs built into the side of the gatehouse. At the top they tore into the archers currently firing on the Gallians. “I’m coming too!” declared Mia, who plunged her sword into its scabbard and scrambled up the ladder on the opposite side.

Just then, Skrimir burst through the open gate, and the gust of air the laguz charge brought with it was enough to flutter Soren’s cloak and skirt. Skrimir ran right over the Begnion captain, who’d remained kneeling and sobbing in the middle of the bailey. Any other soldiers who hadn’t gotten out of the way were similarly trampled.

While the laguz began fighting the reinforcements, Titania and Oscar trotted up with the majority of the escaped horses in tow. “We couldn’t find all of them, so we’ll have to double up!” Titania announced, and Oscar extended a hand to Rolf, who accepted it and hopped behind his brother.

Soon everyone was mounted, and Soren found himself sharing a horse with Rhys. Since he was marginally a better rider, he was seated in front, and Rhys had his hands wrapped around him for safety. With memory of the Begnion soldiers still fresh in his mind, Soren was even more opposed to being touched than usual right now. But he bit back his disgust and urged the horse in the direction they’d come.

“Wait!” Ike ordered and called up to the ramparts: “Hey, Mia!”

“Coming, Boss!” came her voice. A moment later, she was sliding down a rope, which she then leapt off of, landing right behind Ike’s saddle. “Wa-hoo!” she shouted when the creature inevitable spooked and took off running.

“Yah!” Titania kicked her own steed so they wouldn’t get too far ahead, and everyone else spurred their mounts to join the charge.

Soren’s stupid horse backed up several steps and jerked its head against the reins, but eventually it gave in to his orders and ran to catch up with the rest.

“We’re heading straight east until we get to the next big gate!” Ike reminded everyone when he had regained control of his steed. “Don’t stop if you don’t have to!”

“Yes, Boss!” the others replied. And yet they hadn’t gone more than a mile before Oscar suddenly pulled to halt. Soren could neither see nor sense any Begnion soldiers around, so he had no idea what had caused him to stop. Some civilians had poked their heads out to see the horses, but they’d been doing that for several blocks now. It shouldn’t have been surprising.

“Boyd!” Ike called, “Go check on them and catch up! We can’t afford to stop!”

“Aye, Boss!” Boyd saluted and started slowing down. Soon all three brothers were lost from view. This wasn’t part of the plan, but Soren just gritted his teeth and hoped they would still be enough to take the eastern gate.

 

Most of the reinforcements in this district were already being deployed to help counteract Skrimir’s assault. But there would still be fifty or so soldiers stationed at the gate, and reinforcements could come from the south with a response time of about ten minutes. 

“We hit them fast and get that gate open, same as last time!” Ike encouraged the others, but Soren noticed his eyes kept flicking backward as if to confirm that Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf had yet to catch up.

When they neared the wall, Soren heard a deafening chorus of angry roars and realized the tiger laguz known as Lieutenant Mordo must have already started the siege. By the sound of it, his troops were trying to batter down the gate, which was ridiculous given its fortification. Meanwhile they were being pelted with arrows from atop the wall and steel bolts from the mounted scorpions. There were also more Begnion soldiers here than expected, because Mordo’s premature assault had drawn them out.

“We’re late,” Ike called out, “We have to help them! Hurry!”

Since there were no catapults here and the scorpions would be difficult to reach, the mercenaries would seize this gate by more traditional means. First they used their momentum to plow their way to the front, and here Gatrie and Ike dismounted and attempted to heave the giant wooden plank out of its lock. Meanwhile, Soren and the others set up a perimeter and devoted every ounce of their strength to defending them.

Soren cast Tornado a second time, and when that was not enough to make a difference, he tried to cast Bolganone. “*Spirits of flame, molten rock, lay waste to my enemy!*” He willed the lava to make a barrier between Ike and his would-be attackers, but he couldn’t maintain it for more than a ten seconds before he was hit by dizziness and had to let it go.

Summoning his strength, he cast two spells in quick succession and sustained them both at the same time: Bolganone to make another moat and Wind to take out the arrows that had just started flying. The strain was even worse, and he felt as if the spells were trying to pull his consciousness in two directions, threatening to tear him apart. The impudent spirits rebelled against his control, like children who both demanded his full attention. Again he had to release the spells, and the backlash of pain and dizziness was so fierce he thought at first that he’d been bludgeoned in the back of the head.

But he was still standing and still conscious, and his efforts had bought time for Boyd to appear. He lent his shoulder to Gatrie and Ike, helping to finally budge the heavy timber. Oscar was here as well, impaling Begnion soldiers on the end of his lance, and Rolf was sitting backwards behind him, firing arrows into anyone Oscar missed. Soren cast a few simple spells to stay alive, but they were all he could manage now. A soldier thumped him in the face with the butt of his axe, and with Soren’s final spell, he electrocuted him.

“Clear the way!” Ike bellowed, and Soren didn’t need a second warning. Abandoning the stunned axman, he ran to the side and pressed himself against the gatehouse. An instant later, a flood of laguz poured into the baily, decimating the regiment Soren and the others had been struggling to fend off.

Panting hard, Soren tasted blood and wiped his mouth. His nose was bleeding freely over his mouth and chin. Ike and Boyd joined him, staying against the wall to avoid the stampeding laguz.

“We did it,” Ike sighed in relief. He removed the band around his forehead and used his teeth to tie it around his arm as a tourniquet. There was an arrow shaft sticking out of his forearm, but Soren respected his decision not to remove it until he had Mist or Rhys present.

“Sorry about that,” Boyd grumbled. “We had a little family issue.”

“You can tell me about it later.” Ike shook his head. “You were there when we needed you, and that’s what matters.”

“Still… Sorry.”

Soren was mildly curious to know what had happened, but not enough to ask. He wiped his mouth again and focused on regaining his breathing. As soon as this hoard of laguz was out of the way, he was going to find a healer, get his nose fixed, and call it a night. The Gallian Army was over five thousand strong. Now that they were inside, they didn’t need him.

“Heh, nice dress,” Boyd teased, and it took Soren a moment to realize he was talking to him.

Looking down at the ripped, bloodstained garment, Soren suddenly felt it had been a very long night. “Shud ub,” he said, shooting Boyd an annoyed glance and pinching his broken nose.