Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 3 ❯ CHAPTER 71: THE SESTOHL PLAINS ( Chapter 5 )

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

Despite the many laguz still nursing deep cuts, broken bones, bruised brains, and even missing eyes and ears, the Gallian Army marched out of Telgam City within the week. Mist and Rhys offered to heal anyone who would let them, but most laguz had never been touched by a magic staff before and refused. They insisted on relying on their race’s arcane healing properties, simply stitching wounds and setting bones in the meantime.

The army marched at a leisurely pace, leaving plenty of time for rest in the mornings and evenings. Since the spring floods were still a month or two away, Soren could think of no reason to rush. Neither the Ribahn River nor the Northern Army was going anywhere, and he himself had insisted on the importance of patience during this campaign. However, he was struggling to ignore the nagging question at the back of his mind: could Tibarn and Naesala really hold the Central Army back? They had a long way to march, and without a steady supply of food and fresh horses, they wouldn’t be able to reach the northlands any time soon. Even the slightest disruption from the bird tribes would be a considerable impediment. Ranulf’s plan should work—but then why did Soren not trust it?

“Maybe you just don’t like the fact that it was Ranulf’s idea instead of yours,” Titania teased when he finally gave voice to his trepidation. She glanced up from the papers she was reviewing.

“I would never jeopardize a good strategy for something so petty,” Soren shot back.

“If it is a good strategy, why are you whipping yourself into a tizzy?” she replied, opening her palm as if to gesture at his current mental state.

Soren just frowned and decided this would be the last time he ever consulted Titania over anything that could be misconstrued as emotional.

At his lack of response, she just sighed. “Go ahead and tell Ike about your bad feeling, then,” she gave in, turning back to her work. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I will do that,” Soren replied stiffly. Donning his cloak, he exited the tent without another word. Wandering the camp a moment, he easily located Ike near the merchant wagons, but he was disturbed to sense Aimee with him. The Greil Mercenaries had been trying to protect their commander from the insatiable woman for weeks, and someone would usually step in if Aimee managed to corner him. Now, however, they were alone.

“My hero plays hard to get! You’re only making me more interested,” Aimee was teasing. Soren hung back, occluded by one of the wagons.

“Will you let go of my hand?” Ike groaned. “Please?”

At this, Aimee just released a high-pitched chuckle. “Then tell me I’m beautiful!” she gasped. “Tell me I’m more beautiful than any woman in this camp!”

Soren wondering if Ike would want him to intervene or if he could even save him from her if he did.

“…And then you’ll let go of my hand?” Ike asked, sounding tired.

“Of course,” Aimee replied gleefully. “I’ll even give you everything you want for free.” Soren found himself looking at their feet under the wagon. Aimee had just thrown herself at Ike, and her right foot was now wrapped around his left ankle. Soren was suddenly—violently—reminded of Roark.

“Oh, alright then,” Ike surrendered.

“No Ike!” Soren shouted, louder than intended. “Don’t say another word.” He was running before he even realized he’d moved his feet. 

“That voice,” Aimee pouted. “It’s-”

Soren came around the back of the wagon in time to see Aimee disentangle her arms and legs from Ike’s. But she still didn’t let go of his hand, and she may even have gripped it tighter—like a child with a toy she didn’t want to share.

“C’mon, Soren.” Ike didn’t seem surprised by his sudden appearance. “She’s going to give us everything! For free.”

“Nothing in life is free, Ike,” Soren countered, eyeing their intertwined fingers with disgust. “Suppose you said what she asked you to say, what then?”

Ike just shrugged, and Aimee rested her cheek against his arm with a villainous smile playing across her lips.

Soren resisted the urge to demand she release hm and instead continued with his explanation: “You’d hear it all over the camp. In nearby villages. Eventually, the entire country would be saying it: ‘Ike, the hero of the Mad King’s War, is in love with Aimee the shop girl.’ Rumors can quickly spin out of control.”

“Come off it,” Ike chuckled. “You’re exaggerating.”

Soren was exaggerating, but it was the only thing he could think of to try to separate them. He glared at Aimee, and to his surprise, her cruel expression disappeared.

With a slow blink, she seemed to give up. “Oooh, don’t be so sure!” she said, pulling her face away from Ike’s arm. Her voice was lighter now, as if she were merely playing a game. “With my network of merchants, I’ll spread the word to the four corners of Tellius! Within half a year, everyone will know. Then you will be mine forever, Ike! You’ll have no choice at all!” Putting her opposite hand on her hip, she released a haughty laugh.

“Man, you go right to the neck, don’t you?” Ike stared at her now as if she were some sort of wild creature holding his hand. “Alright, Soren. She’s all yours.” With that, he pulled his arm away, and Aimee let go this time. “Finish the negotiations for me?”

“Yes, sir,” Soren replied soberly. “What I do now, I do for the good of the company.”

Ike flashed a grateful grin before he sauntered off.

“No, Ike! Don’t go! Don’t do this to me!” Aimee reached for his shrinking back, but she didn’t grab or run after him. When he was gone, she plopped herself on the step of the wagon and crossed her legs. She didn’t look terribly heartbroken, but she didn’t look happy either.

“Well, now. Shall we get on with our business?” Soren stepped closer and wondered what in Tellius Ike had been buying to land himself in this situation.

Aimee tilted her chin away from him in a pout, but then she raised one hand and made a beckoning gesture.

Soren realized what it was she wanted, and after ascertaining that none of the mercenaries were within earshot and that the merchants were fast asleep, he gave it to her: “You’re looking more beautiful than ever, Miss Aimee,” he began, trying to make his voice convincing. He was not particularly good at giving compliments—and he didn’t actually care what Aimee looked like—but he would play along for Ike’s sake. “A true delight for the eyes.”

After struggling to keep a straight face, Aimee snorted in laughter and turned back to him. “Oooo, now you’re talking, you little lady-killer,” she teased.

“I know you won’t discount the goods to nothing, since it’s coming from me. So…how about you cut your prices down by three-quarters?” He threw out the number, not at all surprised if Aimee refused to honor the deal she’d only proposed because she’d been flirting.

“Oh…decisions, decisions,” she said, clearly wondering the same thing.

Since Soren was already debasing himself, he decided to go further: “You’re a diamond, and other beorc only glass beads, Miss Aimee.” This made Aimee grin widely, and Soren wasn’t quite sure whether she was laughing with him or at him. “I’ll buy more than enough to justify the discount,” he added.

“Half-price, maybe,” she replied, tapping her finger against the side of her mouth.

“A touch less than three-quarters, then.” Soren negotiated. He decided he would have to channel his inner Bastian if he was going to show he meant business: “What do you say, rose of Tellius? O goddess of desire?”

Aimee kicked up both her legs and clutched her stomach in laughter. “Alright, you win! Just this time, mind you.” Settling down, he took a wrapped package off of the step behind her. “Here, take this,” she said, and while it rested in her lap, she looped a cord off her neck and placed it on top. When Soren accepted the package, he saw that the cord’s pendant was a rectangular piece of silver imprinted with the seal of Aimee and Muston’s merchant company.

“A Silver Card?” Soren asked, honestly surprised she would give it to him. When the mercenaries had travelled with the Begnion caravan, not even Roark’s family had been willing to let them use their clan’s card. “I can buy anything for half-price at any shop?”

“That’s right,” Aimee sighed, perhaps surprising herself with the gift. “Remember what I said, though. It’s a limited-time deal. I’ll have to take it away soon.” In answer, Soren looped the cord around his own neck. “Oh, and while you own this card, you won’t be able to sell your weapons as raw material. Got that?”

“Understood, Miss Aimee,” he replied, then adding: “…Stay beautiful.” He didn’t need to keep stroking her ego at this point, but he did appreciate the gift. Taking a look at the package, he asked. “What is this anyway?”

“Oh, just a box of vulneraries, Ikey-poo was buying,” she said with a careless wave of her hand. “With that card, you now own me…a hundred gold.”

“I’ll go get the money,” Soren said. Moving the package to his hip, he turned to go, but then Aimee’s voice froze him.

“I’ll stop pursuing him, by the way,” she said. “So you don’t have to protect him from me anymore.”

Soren turned around, and he was surprised by her small, sad smile. “What changed your mind?” he asked suspiciously. Aimee was being too nice.

She shrugged one shoulder noncommittally and then drew her shawl tighter. “The look on your face,” she offered. “I didn’t realize he was taken; you should have said something sooner.”

Soren’s neck grew hot with embarrassment. “Ike isn’t ‘taken’ by anyone.” 

“Of course not.” Aimee waved her hand dismissively, as if to say she didn’t want to debate the subject. “Whatever the case, take good care of him.”

“He is my commander,” he replied carefully. “It is only natural that I look out for his best interest, including his reputation. What occurred tonight was nothing personal.”

“Right, right.” Aimee continued to wave him off. “I’m not offended at all. Now do be a dear and get my gold.” Soren left without another word, and when he returned later with the hundred gold pieces, he was relieved she made no further accusations.

When he returned to his tent, Ike and Titania were both there. “How’d it go?” Ike asked urgently.

In response, Soren gave him the box of vulneraries and lifted the Silver Card out of his shirt. “Aimee made us part of her family,” he replied casually. “We can claim a merchant’s fifty percent discount everywhere until the end of the campaign.”

Titania’s jaw dropped, and Ike clapped him on the back. “How in Ashera’s name did you manage that?”

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Soren replied simply.

Ike chuckled but didn’t push. “I owe you one.”

Sitting down, Soren started removing his boots for the night. Ike sat down too; he appeared to have been fixing a strap on his gauntlet, and he cut the last thread with his teeth now. Titania had been working on her report, but she didn’t return to it. Instead she spoke up: “I did tell Ike about your concerns.”

“Right,” Ike’s expression grew serious and he turned to him. “You think something bad is going to happen?”

Soren shook his head, because his baseless fears seemed silly now. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I was merely overthinking things.”

“Oh good.” Ike easily accepted that explanation, and the next moment he stretched and yawned. “I’m beat. Titania, are you still using that lantern?”

“Just finished,” she chirped. Folding her complete report, she doused the wick. “Sleep well,” she bid them as she exited the tent.

“Good night,” Ike yawned in reply. Turning onto his side, he folded his cape into a kind of pillow and set down his head. Soren watched his ribcage rise and fall incrementally with his breathing. As he lay down to sleep nearby, he resisted the urge to touch Ike’s back. He was not so far away that he couldn’t reach. But how would he explain himself if Ike felt it and turned over? Why did Soren want him to turn over? Why did he wish he could see Ike’s sleeping face, even though he had already seen it countless times before? After all this time, how could he still want to touch Ike so badly that his entire body became a pulsing ache?

As Soren considered these irrational thoughts, sleep eluded him, and the minutes stretched by. Eventually Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf came in from their shift at watch. The three brothers had been getting along remarkably well since Mugill, and they were chatting among themselves until they opened the tent flap to find Soren and Ike both seemingly asleep. Their conversation died instantly, and they tiptoed inside.

Weeks ago, Soren had heard the story of how the brothers had discovered Rolf’s mother in Mugill. Apparently this had led to some much-needed dialogue, which had, in turn, brought the siblings closer than ever. Soren did not particularly care about the intricacies of their family drama, but thinking about this triviality finally distracted Soren’s mind enough that he could fall asleep.

 

They reached the Ribahn River in a couple days, and as they approached, they divided into the three battalions. Ranulf had assigned the Greil Mercenaries to the northern battalion and put Ike in command. Skrimir was leading the central one, and Lieutenant Mordo the southern one. (Despite his overzealousness at Mugill, he had yet to lose command.) Ranulf and Kyza would be fighting with Skrimir, but they came to visit Ike before the charge to make sure preparations were complete.

“Ike! Are you in position?” Ranulf asked, transforming into his human shape when he arrived.

Ike clasped his arm in greeting. “Yeah. Ready when you are.”

“We’ll leave all the troops on the left to you beorc,” Ranulf teased with a grin, “Sound good?”

“Fine by me,” Ike said confidently. “We’ll teach these nobles a thing or two.”

Ranulf chuckled and shook his head. “Seriously though, these are good laguz I’ve put in under your command. I know you’ll lead them well.”

“Just give the order.”

Ranulf nodded. “You can go ahead now.” With that, he slithered back into his feline shape. “Good luck!” he called before he and Kyza loped southward.

Ike wasted no time turning to his troops. “Alright, you heard him!” he called, raising his sword. “Move out!”

Soren and the rest of the mercenaries were marching at the head of the battalion, and soon a rockier, wooded section of the Sestohl Plains appeared before them. The ground dipped low, and the river widened into an everglade. But on the dry land before the marsh grass began, rows of glittering, red-armored soldiers were waiting for them. There were also twenty-five dracoknights floating above the trees.

This was the first time Soren had seen any of Begnion’s new wyvern army, and he was surprised how few there were. Then again, this was just one small section of the Ribahn River. He supposed there were probably many more elsewhere, perhaps with the Central Army. That being said, flying units had an inherent advantage over the range-less beast laguz, so Soren would have expected Begnion to deploy every one if its dragons up here in the north.

“Haar, Soren, Ilyana, Shinon, Rolf,” Ike barked, and Soren decided he should be focusing on the dracoknights that were here rather than the ones that weren’t. “You five need to take out those wyverns before they can hassle the laguz forces. The rest of us will get you over there.”

“Yes, sir!” the five barked in response.

“Let’s go!” Ike called loud enough for everyone to hear. “CHARGE!”

The beasts transformed and sprinted to the front. Upon Ike’s orders, they hit the Begnion frontlines with an oblong wedge formation. This allowed the majority of their forces to stay out of range of Begnion’s spear-throwing regiment, and it didn’t reveal where the point of the wedge would strike until the last second. The crimson soldiers’ perfect rows and columns disintegrated, and soon there was fighting in every direction.

Soren, however, focused on getting closer to the swamp so he could engage the dracoknights. Ilyana and the others were right behind him, and Haar was already flying ahead, where his black wyvern shrieked a challenge to its red-scaled brethren.

“Here they come!” Nephenee called. She was currently fending off two swordsmen. She kept her round shield up, letting it pivot away their blows until she had them lined up the way she wanted. Then she leapt back a step and lunged forward. Her long spear slid straight through the first soldier’s ribs, right below his armor, and didn’t lose momentum until it also impaled the second soldier. Soren admired her handiwork, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Haar was leading five of the wyverns straight to them, and Rolf and Shinon were already firing arrows from the cover of a boulder. “*Spirits of lightning-*” Ilyana began chanting, but Soren held out a hand to stop her.

“Wait until they’re closer!” he commanded. “They may turn back if they know we have magic users.”

Ilyana nodded but kept her tome raised and her finger and thumb pressed against the page.

Haar was leading the wyverns on a merry chase, but neither Rolf or Shinon had been able to find their marks yet. These riders may have only had a couple years to learn their trade, but they commanded their flying steeds like masters. Closer… Soren willed them, and soon Haar brought them in.

“Now!” Soren commanded, and he and Ilyana started chanting in unison: “*Spirits of lightning-*”

“*Spirits of lightning-*”

“*-follow my hand-*” Soren gestured sharply at the ones on Haar’s left.

“*-follow my hand-*” Ilyana raised her hand to the ones on his right.

“*-Fry their flesh!*”

“*-Fry their flesh!*”

With two ear-popping cracks, lightning dropped on the dracoknights. While the main bolts hit their intended targets, the ancillary branches leapt to the ones beside them, sending the wyverns spiraling in shock. Rolf and Shinon shot through the wings of the ones who tried to pull up before they crashed. 

Soren hadn’t stopped chanting to see if the first strike had been successful, and neither had Ilyana. They both completed second and third Elthunder spells before they stopped to catch their breath, and by then, the wyverns and their riders were nothing but smoking, twitching corpses lying on charred marsh grass.

Rolf and Shinon turned their arrows on a couple mages coming out of the trees, and Haar went off to attract more dracoknights. However, Soren doubted the dracoknights would be willing to fly where they’d just seen powerful thunder magic strike down their comrades. “We need to move to a different part of the field,” he said to Iyana. “Haar will find us.”

“That makes sense,” Ike called, jogging over. (He’d never gone far.) Sticking his thumb and finger into his mouth, he whistled to get the team’s attention and called: “This way!”

  

They fought their way closer to the trees, and all around him, Soren saw laguz and beorc slashing at one another. He avoided any blade or blow aimed his direction, and he countered with Wind or Fire as needed. The path they were taking was leading them into the lowlands, and Soren didn’t like the rocky outcropping rising on their right.

“Archers!” Heather called when their helmets and faces appeared above the rise. “Shit!”

A regiment of eighteen or so had raised their bows to the sky, and Soren knew that he, Ike, and the rest of the mercenaries in this gulley would find themselves at the receiving end of the volley.

He started chanting Tornado before he’d even made the decision to try. Instinct brought the devastating spell to his lips, despite the fact that he was too far away to hit the clifftop archers. But by the time he reached the end of the incantation and the archers released their bowstrings, Soren knew what he needed to do.

Rather than releasing the winds’ raw power, he held onto it—holding the air in place. He recalled his experiments suspending a knife or javelin while cheating in the Telgam Games. This was far harder, but he had to believe it was possible. And if it was possible, he could do it.

Whipping his own arm and shoulder as a guide for the spell, he willed the enormous gust to shoot the arrows in a high arc, throwing them up at the archers with twice as much force as they’d been released. One arrow for each archer…find your mark, Soren thought, demanding that the winds obey him.

When he opened his eyes again, he couldn’t see the archers any more. They’d dropped out of view, which Soren hoped meant they were dead. His arms fell limply to his side, and he marveled at the fact that the spell hadn’t destroyed nor misaimed a single arrow.

“That’s a new trick,” Ike remarked in surprise, clapping Soren on the shoulder. “Thanks for the save!”

Just then, a single archer struggled to his feet atop the rise. “It’d be a better trick if he hadn’t missed one,” Shinon sneered, raising his bow. Even at this distance, his aim was perfect, and the soldier spun backward, dropping out of view like the rest.

“Let’s keep moving!” Ike called. “There are soldiers ahead!”

At his words, the soldiers who’d stayed back to avoid the volley now rushed forward. At the same time, Haar led six more dracoknights over the trees, and their speed shook the branches like a gale.

“We’re up again,” Ilyana said pleasantly, turning a page in her tome.

Soren shivered to rid himself of the fatigue brought on by the Tornado spell. Turning to his Elthunder spells, he prepared to strike the wyverns as soon as they came within range. In the meantime, Ike, Titania, Nephenee, Heather, Brom, and Mist were fending off the soldiers charging at them from the front. Soren trusted they would keep him safe.

 

The Begnion soldiers proved quite willing to retreat into the marsh, despite the fact that the wet terrain was just as bothersome to them as it was for the Gallians and mercenaries. Reinforcements trickled in from the north, but none came from the south (surely because Skrimir’s army was keeping them busy a few miles downriver). Soren wasn’t sure how much longer this battle would continue, considering the enemy troops were already falling back.

But he was certain defeating the local commander would only speed up the process, so when he deduced that one of the dracoknights was actually a captain relaying orders from above, he brought the man to Ike’s attention. “That’s the one you want!” he announced, pointing to where the wyvern’s armored belly was visible between the gaps in the canopy.

“Help me get him down to the ground, and we can end this!” Ike called back. Sheathing his sword, he ran in the direction the dragon captain was going. Soren wasted no time running with him, and Mia, Rolf, and Mist coalesced from the crowd to run alongside him. Either they heard what Soren had said, or they knew that if Ike was running somewhere with that look on his face, it was somewhere they wanted to be.

 

“I am Istvan, general of Lord Seliora’s royal army!” declared the captain when Ike shouted at him from the center of a clearing. Rolf’s arrows and Soren’s winds had barred him from leaving the break in the trees, but he seemed content to linger. He wyvern beat its wings in place, bringing him closer to the ground so he could answer Ike’s challenge. “You, leader of subhuman filth! State your name!”

“I’m Ike of the Greil Mercenaries,” came his response. This was quickly followed by the ring of his sword as he drew it from the scabbard on his back. 

“Greil Mercenaries?” Istvan replied. “Never heard of them! So you’re just a bunch of small-time bandits?” He spun his axe around his hand in frustration. “If you were subhumans, our reward would have been bigger! My lord won’t be pleased by the heads of bandits!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about our heads,” Ike laughed. “You have no chance to win this fight. Leave while you can.”

Now it was Istvan who laughed, and Soren realized why when he saw the remaining dracoknights flying into the clearing to support their captain. Rolf started firing arrows, and Soren switched to thunder magic. “What luck!” cried Istvan. “The enemy comes in tiny numbers. Get them, comrades!” He cheered on his fellow wyvern-riders, two of whom descended on Mia and one on Mist. “We cannot let the other army take our reward! Crush the enemy and gain glory for Lord Seliora!” The captain dove on Ike with his axe held high and his wyvern’s fanged mouth outstretched.

Soren redirected his next Elthunder spell at Istvan, but he was too slow and Istvan reached Ike before he could stop him. Fortunately Ike was agile enough to throw himself out of the way before the fangs found his shoulder or the axe his head. While rolled back onto his feet, Soren covered him with quick Elwind and Elthunder spells, and only when Ike was clearly holding his own did Soren slow down. Now he could consider Istvan’s words.

It appeared Senator Seliora had promised bonuses to regiments that killed the most laguz. This wasn’t surprising and probably kept up morale among the troops stationed along the river. But what the captain had said about losing their kills to another army was disturbing. It was quite possible he was merely referring to the other battalions stationed along the Ribahn River, with whom he was competing to kill the most laguz. On the other hand, it was possible Istvan knew an additional army was on its way and wanted the troops under his command to kill as many Gallians as possible before it arrived to steal their glory.

As the sinking feeling in Soren’s gut grew stronger, his spells lost their touch, becoming weaker and poorly aimed. But this did not become a fatal mistake, because the dracoknights had all been defeated except for the captain. Istvan’s wyvern was dead, and he was now fighting Ike on foot. Fewer soldiers were entering the clearing now that Ike had the upper hand, and some cowards were running for their lives as if their captain were already dead. 

When Ike finally slew the man with a ferocious swipe at his leg and then an opposite swipe at his gut, Istvan fell into the mud, hugging his broken, bleeding body. “Wa-wait! This cannot be! Our… reward…” he muttered and shivered.

“The enemy general is down!” Ike called out, raising his hand as a signal to his own troops and the enemy alike. “Let the fleeing soldiers go. Everyone, fall back!”

With that, he started picking his way out of the trees, and Soren was right behind him. Ike’s orders were relayed in every direction, and soon the entire battalion was returning to the dry land on the west side of the river. They would hold this position until the other two battalions arrived; then the whole army would launch its pursuit.

 

Mist and Rhys healed the mercenaries and any laguz willing to accept their aid. Ike found a piece of high ground and stayed here, surveying the plains on both sides of the Ribahn. Soren stayed on the hill with him while Titania dispatched scouts to report on Begnion’s actions farther up river, but no more reinforcements were appearing, which was a good sign a full retreat had been called.

Eventually the scouts returned, saying Begnion’s troops were all leaving the river, falling back to the northeast, as expected. Not long after this, the rest of the Gallian Army appeared to the south, and soon Skrimir and Ranulf were joining Soren, Ike, and Titania on the hill.

“Hey, you’re done too?” Ranulf asked, glancing at the recovering troops spread out around them. “That was fast.”

“Yeah, it was easy work,” Ike replied with a shrug (even though Soren knew the battle hadn’t been that easy). “They retreated pretty quickly,” he concluded, and with that Soren did agree.

“Their soldiers were well-equipped and well-trained,” he added, “but their commanders were terrible.”

“That’s lucky for us, I suppose.” Ranulf grinned with his hands on his hips. He looked tired but uninjured. “Things seem to be working out pretty well so far. Unless they bring in a real commander, it’s only a matter of time before they wave the white flag.”

Just then, Soren noticed a cat racing toward them from the south. The army divided, making way so the scout wouldn’t have to slow down.

“We should press our ad-” Ike was saying, when he too noticed the incoming laguz. Everyone fell silent.

The cat transformed and fell to one knee as soon as he reached Skrimir and Ranulf. His chest was heaving as if he’d just run a long way. “E-enemies-” he gasped, “Enemies to the south! It’s the Central Army!”

“What!” Ranulf demanded, turning his nose to the wind as if that could confirm the scout’s claim. Ike glared toward the southeast, and Titania fumbled for the collapsed spyglass on her belt. Soren followed Ike’s gaze and squinted. Although it was difficult to distinguish at this distance, he saw a dark mass that he no longer believed to be the shadow of a cloud.

“Tibarn failed in stalling them…” Ike observed in a strained voice. “Does that mean he’s…dead?” Soren realized he was more worried about his hawk friends’ safety than the predicament that now faced the Gallian Army.

“Doubtful,” he replied. “I don’t think there was even a battle. The Central Army arrived too quickly.” This meant the bird tribes had either betrayed the Laguz Alliance or they’d been forced to retreat due to overwhelming odds. If the latter were the case, however, they should have sent a messenger days ago. This indicated that the former was more likely, but Soren did not voice these misgivings aloud.

Ranulf growled through gritted teeth. “We only know one thing for sure—the enemy now has the advantage.”

Titania nodded solemnly and handed the spyglass to Ike. “There are still enemies to the north,” she said, gesturing to where the river troops had retreated. “This is quickly turning into our worst-case scenario.”

“Skrimir, we must retreat,” Ranulf declared, turning to him. “We’re in serious trouble here.”

“Show my back to beorc?” Skrimir scoffed. “Never! We will fight on like the Gallians we are!”

“Skrimir, listen to me!” Ranulf hissed. “We must retreat. This is the Central Army we’re talking about!” He was no longer using the tone of a nagging parent. His patience with Skrimir had apparently met its end.

“Ah, finally!” Skrimir cracked his knuckles. “Finally, we get to fight the Begnion Central Army! I have been waiting for this!”

Silence stretched between them, and Skrimir and Ranulf glared at each other in a battle of wills. Skrimir was smiling as he glared; Ranulf was not. Finally, Ranulf took a deep breath. “I can see you won’t change your mind, Skrimir,” he said quietly. He glanced at the troops below, many of whom were looking up at the hill, awaiting orders. “Alright…if it has come to this…” Reaching out an arm, he gently pushed Ike back. Then he transformed.

“Are you joking?” Skrimir laughed, but there was now a touch of uncertainty in his voice. “You can’t beat me, Ranulf. You know that.”

Ike stepped farther back, taking Soren with him. Titania backed up on the other side, and her face was clearly distressed. Kyza turned and gestured that Lethe, Lyre, and the rest of the laguz nearby should also stay back. Soren could hardly believe Skrimir had pushed Ranulf to mutiny, and he was intrigued to see what would happen next. Part of him wanted Ranulf to succeed, because that would mean the army wouldn’t march across the Ribahn and be crushed. But losing Skrimir’s leadership could lead to infighting and confusion. The entire army could fall apart.

“I can’t let you or our men die in vain,” Ranulf said, arching his back and digging his claws into the ground. “It’s my job to keep you from doing anything that stupid. If I have to knock you out to keep you out of this battle, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“Fine. Try.” Skrimir transformed as well, and an instant later, an enormous red lion was roaring into Ranulf’s face. The sound reverberated over the army, and the troops fell into stillness and silence.

“Ike! Stop them!” Titania begged, her voice almost lost in the collapsing roar.

“No,” Ike decided. “They need to do this.”

An instant later, Ranulf lunged left and then quickly right, aiming for Skrimir’s ear. Skrimir reared, pulling his head out of reach. Ranulf scrabbled against his neck instead, trying to find his jugular through his thick mane. But Skrimir landed and rolled, squishing Ranulf into the ground before getting back to his feet.

Ranulf lunged again, this time scratching Skrimir’s face, perhaps trying to blind him. He batted left and right, but then Skrimir’s jaw found Ranulf’s foreleg, driving him into the ground. Ranulf yelped pitifully, but when Skrimir let go, he wasted no time diving back in.

He bit and slashed at Skrimir’s legs, forcing him to back up in a circle. Skrimir was bigger and stronger, but Ranulf was faster. He actually managed to sink his teeth into one of the tendons in Skrimir’s hindleg, causing the lion to bellow angrily. Twisting around, he caught one of Ranulf’s legs in return and whipped him around in front.

Blood spattered, but Skrimir did not fall. Adjusting his jaws around the back of Ranulf’s neck, he started shaking him and hitting his head and body against the ground repeatedly. Ranulf tried to break away, but his paws couldn’t reach Skrimir’s face or chest. When his struggling slowed and weakened, Skrimir finally threw him.

Shaking, the cat tried to get to his feet, but Skrimir wasn’t holding back any more; he bounded forward. Despite the injury to his hindleg, he closed the distance between them in an instant and raised both his front paws to pounce down on Ranulf’s side.

Something cracked, and Ranulf collapsed. Instead of trying to rise again, he reverted his form. He didn’t move, but Soren was fairly confident he was unconscious rather than dead.

“Ranulf!” Ike shouted, and Soren seized his arm to stop him from rushing forward. He wasn’t convinced Skrimir was safe to approach right now.

“Do not worry about him,” the lion growled, not taking his eyes off Ranulf’s unmoving body. “I might have broken some bones, but he will heal quickly.” Taking a long breath, Skrimir turned back into his human form. Only then did Soren let go of Ike’s arm, suddenly feeling embarrassed by his protectiveness.

“My soldiers!” Skrimir bellowed, limping stiffly to the crest of the hill. “We are leaving! Head back to basecamp!” The army cheered obediently, and Skrimir turned around. Now he walked to Ranulf’s body and took it in his arms.

Ike winced sympathetically, although the lion was being quite gentle. “General Skrimir…” he began, but he didn’t seem to know what to say.

“We will return and regroup,” Skrimir sighed, adjusting Ranulf’s weigh. “It pains me, but we must. Damn it, Ranulf… He…got my leg.” Soren eyed the blood seeping down Skrimir’s pantleg into his boot. It did look quite painful.

“But you’re still willing to carry him?” Ike asked in disbelief.

“If he does not rest and heal, all his little chores fall on me. I can’t have that.” Without another word, Skrimir began descending the hill.

 

The army moved out immediately, and they didn’t stop until they reached the place where they’d made camp last night. Soren was worried the Central Army might pursue them, but the next morning, scouts reported that they’d joined with the Northern Army and were now making a semi-permanent camp on the Seliora-side of the Sestohl Plains.

The Gallian Army was stuck now on the west side of the Ribahn River. They were gridlocked, and for the next few days, each side built up and dug fortifications. The Ribahn River was the proverbial line in the sand, and whichever army crossed it first would be at a disadvantage. Only scouts and spies crossed the river now. Sometimes they died for the intelligence they gathered, but the information was invaluable nonetheless.

On the first day, Soren discovered General Zelgius was the leader of the Central Army, and on the second, scouts reported he’d taken command of the northern troops as well. A couple days later, Soren learned that Lord Seliora, Duke Gaddos, and a spattering of other nobles were holed up in a camp behind the army. Begnion was confident, and they had every right to be; all they had to do was sit there and wait for the laguz to tuck their tails between their legs and return to Gallia.

Whether the Central Army would pursue them in their retreat remained to be seen, but either way there was nothing Soren could do to turn this to their advantage. The Gallian Army was vastly outnumbered, and there was still no word from the bird tribes. He wondered if he should have foreseen this failure and somehow stopped it from happening.