Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 3 ❯ CHAPTER 73: GADDOS ( Chapter 7 )

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

Finding a secluded part of the Ribahn River, Soren bathed to remove the ash and dried blood from his skin. When he was sufficiently clean, he changed into fresh robes and boots he’d just purchased from Aimee.

He’d requested new clothing from the merchant weeks ago and given her his measurements, but he hadn’t actually purchased them until now. The timing seemed right, considering his shoes had continued to fall apart with every step since the dark magic attack. The rest of his clothes were hardly better, having seen too many battles and become motley with patches and repairs.

But the clothes Aimee had acquired were finer than he was used to. The tunic he donned now was dark blue, and the cloak white with gray embroidery. Green thread had been worked into the corner patterns, which were meant to indicate he was a wind sage. Everything was tailored to fit his small frame, and the fabric was of the highest quality. Aimee had even thrown in a fancy-looking dagger that attached to his new belt. More than just an accessory, it was deadly sharp.

Looking at his reflection in the murky water, he felt somewhat foolish. He didn’t usually care about his clothing, white cloaks were more Rhys’s style, and knives hardly seemed necessary when he carried a tome on his opposite hip. (He wondered if he shouldn’t have given Aimee so much freedom in what she ordered.) But he was also tired of being mistaken for a child, and he hoped these garments would remind people he was an accomplished sage, tactician, and mercenary

When he finally returned to the campsite, Oscar ran up to him, saying the rest of the army’s leadership was already in a meeting and that they’d been looking for him. Soren made straight for the war council, reprimanding himself for straying so far from camp to bathe.

“I am late. My apologies,” he said when he entered the yurt. Ike, Skrimir, Tibarn, Ranulf, Reyson, and Titania were already assembled around a map of Seliora.

“Ah, here comes the great strategist!” Skrimir greeted him warmly, taking Soren by surprise. He patted the space next to him with one massive hand. “Don’t be so shy. Come sit next to me.”

“Not if you begged me, Skrimir,” Soren shot back, taking the empty spot between Ike and Titania instead.

“Soren!” Titania shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry. He’s just rude to everyone.”

“You still don’t trust me?” Skrimir asked, crossing his arms. “Then I will take the first step. I admit that we won the last battle thanks to your cleverness. I underestimated the wisdom of the beorc. As a general of Gallia, you have my thanks.” He inclined his head (which Soren knew was a big deal coming from him).

He hesitated before replying, because he half-wondered if there was some trick or insult hidden in the prince’s words. “…You’re welcome,” he finally said.

Skrimir grinned and unfolded his arms. Moving his hands to his hips, he leaned over the map. “Now what do we do next? We hit Begnion hard in the last battle. Surely we will use this opportunity to wipe out the enemy entirely?”

“Actually, it would be unwise to launch a new offensive now,” Soren countered honestly. It was something he’d been thinking about all morning. “I recommend we negotiate a peace treaty with Begnion.”

“What!” Skrimir was obviously aghast. “You’d give up our best opportunity to crush Begnion for some peace treaty?”

“For once, Skrimir, take a moment to actually think.” Soren took a deep breath, and when he continued, he addressed everyone. He needed them all to understand this. “Yes, we crossed the river, but we haven’t so much as touched the Central Army. We lost seven hundred Gallians and one hundred Phoenicians last night—more than thirteen percent of our army. Meanwhile, Zelgius lost less than sixth percent, which means they still outnumber us by more than three to one.”

“Enough with all these numbers,” Skrimir pouted. “What do you mean?”

“Begnion has the advantage,” Soren answered firmly. “It would be foolish to press the attack.”

“I must ask you to think harder!” the prince growled. “A peace treaty? Now? My soldiers will never accept this! We need another way!”

Ike didn’t seem to like this plan either. “What do you think, Ranulf?” he asked, turning to him. “Do you feel the same way?”

“Well…” Ranulf raised both palms. “It’s not so much how I feel, but how the Gallian military operates. Once fighting begins, our warriors are trained not to see anything except the enemy in front of them. In a long fight like this, it’s even harder to keep perspective.”

“The same goes for my tribe,” Tibarn added with a dark expression. “If we were to stop fighting now, I’d have to go around knocking every one of my men unconscious.” Soren understood he and the Phoenicians still wanted revenge for the attack on their island, but he’d hoped this victory might be enough to satisfy them. Obviously, that wasn’t going to be the case.

“But rushing headlong into the enemy and getting killed isn’t an option either,” Ranulf offered diplomatically. “Soren, can’t you think of something?”

All eyes were on him again, and Soren took his time constructing an answer. Yes, there was a path forward. They could pursue Zelgius’s army across Seliora, but that would mean the location of their next decisive battle would be entirely in Zelgius’s hands—and that gave him a dangerous advantage.

“Maybe it’s too much to ask,” Ranulf said after a while.

“No… I can do it,” Soren replied and told himself it was necessity, not pride, that forced him to agree. Everyone was expecting him to come up with a brilliant plan, and Ike was looking at him with utter confidence. If there was no option for retreat, he would come up with something. “Just let me think,” he sighed and closed his eyes.

One option was to head south, straight for Sienne, but then the Central Army would hit them from behind while the Capital Army hit them from the front. There would be no chance for survival.

Another option was to chase Zelgius down and attack his army from the rear. Doing so at night would give the Laguz Alliance the benefit of the Gallians’ night vision. But Zelgius knew the land well and was sure to make camp only in defensible positions. Neither would he allow himself to be easily snuck up on, and he was liable to turn such an assault into a counter-ambush. If anything went wrong, the Laguz Alliance could be decimated.

The third option was to move cautiously across Seliora, letting Zelgius lead them as if in a dance. When the Central Army finally stopped and fortified itself at its desired location—whether in a few days or a few weeks—that was when the Laguz Alliance would have to launch a devastating attack. Without knowing the location, it would be difficult to plan an offensive strategy. But if Soren trusted himself to come up with an idea when the time came, then this would be the best way to lull the Central Army into a false sense of security, and perhaps even trap them within their own defenses.

“Alright,” Soren finally said, opening his eyes. “Gather around the map. I’ll explain what we have to do…” At his words, everyone leaned in. Soren estimated the trajectory of the Central Army’s retreat and penned it into the paper. Then he described his plan for the Laguz Alliance’s pursuit and several contingencies depending which route Zelgius’s took east. That being said, he couldn’t actually predict where Zelgius was headed, and everything hinged on where the general chose to make his stand. 

 

Since the Laguz Alliance wasn’t seeking to negotiate at this time, they released all of their prisoners rather than keeping them hostage. They turned them over to the residents of a nearby town in return for medicine, traveling fare, and a herd of goats. Rifling through the remains of the Central Army’s camp was another good way to stock up on necessary supplies, and they even bolstered their funds with the valuables from the senator’s tents. Many of the laguz grumbled about picking through their enemies’ leftover, but soon they were ready to march again and that made them happy.

For two weeks, they chased the Central Army across Seliora. As could be expected, Zelgius sent small ambushes and distractions to slow them down, but the laguz handled each skirmish without a significant loss of life. Zelgius pulled ahead, and Soren let him go as long as they were only ever a day or two behind. 

By the end of the second week it was clear Zelgius intended to bypass Seliora entirely. He was heading straight to Gaddos, but Soren didn’t know what advantage he thought he would gain there. He considered the possibility that Zelgius may simply be stalling, but he couldn’t guess what for. It was maddening, and Soren anxiously awaited the scouts’ reports each day, hoping some new piece of information may reveal the general’s intentions.

 

Finally the hawk scouts reported that the Central Army had entered Castle Gaddos. This fort, which was located on the southwestern border of Gaddos hold, presided over Soze Pass, which led southward to central Begnion (and ultimately the capital). Zelgius was daring them to take it.

The land had grown rockier and more mountainous in recent days, although these limestone cliffs were unlike the volcanic ranges in central Tellius. They were striated and sheer, sometimes jutting out of the ground unexpectedly. To strike the heart of Begnion, the Laguz Alliance would have to take Soze Pass—and Soren would have to accept Zelgius’s dare.

“The entrance to Soze is Y-shaped,” Soren began, drawing everyone’s attention to the map the hawk scouts had sketched. “We may approach by either road, but at the intersection we will be faced with the fort’s archers and ballistae. The walls in front of Castle Gaddos are strong and the spine of rock at its back is impassible.”

“No mountain is impassible to my people,” Tibarn argued with an eager grin. “We’ll get in and open the door for our four-legged brethren.”

“While that is not a completely imbecilic plan,” Soren returned coolly, “too many hawks would be shot out of the sky before you could reach the gate, let alone take it. The chance of success is dismally low.”

Tibarn frowned. “What do you suggest, then?”

“We must draw them out from behind their walls.”

Ike cocked his head. “How?”

Soren brought his fingers together and jumped right into it: “Tonight, under the cover of darkness, the Gallian Army must make haste to Castle Gaddos, leaving their supplies and lodgings behind. They must not make a single fire, and Janaff and Ulki must be lent to them to help root out and eliminate Begnion scouts. Along the way, they must split into two units: one led by Skrimir on the west road and one led by Ranulf on the north road. Each must get into place and be hidden from Begnion by morning. Meanwhile, the Phoenician Armada will vacate the camp at dawn, flying to Castle Gaddos and attacking it directly as a decoy. As you’ve said, Tibarn, walls and mountains are no problem to your kind, and you will be able to move in and out of their range. If Zelgius thinks the Gallians are still a day’s march away, he will let his army leave the fort to corral you and make better use of his superior numbers. When the majority are outside, you must wedge the portcullis open and retreat. Only then will Skrimir and Ranulf launch their attacks, coming down each road to strike the army before they can fall back. Even if a number manage to get inside, with the gate stuck open, the Gallians can pursue them into the interior. Zelgius will not be able to retreat down Soze Pass with the senators still sequestered in the castle. He will be forced to surrender.”

Silence followed his words, and Soren found himself taking a sip of water to wet his dry tongue. He had spent days thinking of this plan, guessing that Castle Gaddos might be Zelgius’s destination. The reports this morning only confirmed his suspicions and allowed him to finally share this strategy with everyone else. After contemplating the details for so long, the plan seemed to him like nothing but a simple decoy operation, but he knew that, to the others, it probably sounded convoluted.

“A decoy I get,” Ike finally said, “but won’t Zelgius suspect something when the hawks show up alone?”

Soren nodded. “Zelgius knows Tibarn’s face.” He turned to the Hawk King. “You must find him and convince him you’ve split from Gallia of your own accord. Engage him—even if only for a moment—and accuse the beasts of holding back. Say they are timid because they have not lost what you have lost. Show him your anger. Let him think the Phoenician Armada made a mistake in coming alone because you were too blinded by revenge to wait… Can you do that?”

Tibarn narrowed his eyes and his mouth stretched into something that was not quite a smile. “Aye,” he said, “I could do that.”

“Wait, are you sure, Tibarn?” Ranulf asked. “The risk to your soldiers is going to be-”

“We can do it,” Tibarn said again. He shook his head. “You should be worried about yourselves. You’ve got a lot of miles to cover, and you’ll be fighting dead tired. Can you do it?”

Ranulf smiled. “Coming from the man who flew to Phoenicis and back with enough strength to fight the next day? We Gallians could not call ourselves laguz if we didn’t try to match you!”

Tibarn barked and slapped his knee. “It is decided then!”

“We will crush the humans tomorrow!” Skrimir cheered. “I cannot wait. I want to fight the big one.”

Ranulf winced visibly. Skrimir had been oddly obsessed with Zelgius ever since he’d heard the man had left his second in command within an inch of his life, but Ranulf clearly didn’t want the pair to meet. “Well, hopefully Zelgius chooses to surrender before that happens,” he countered. “Then we can all have a nice long chat…” His voice and eyes grew distant, and Soren wondered what Zelgius could have said or done to make him so wary (other than cutting him into smithereens, of course).

“You chat; I fight,” Skrimir returned. “Let’s go!”

  

While preparations were made, many Gallians chose to nap in anticipation of the long night. The Greil Mercenaries would be assigned to Ranulf’s northern battalion, which meant they had even farther to travel. Oscar was checking all of the horses’ hooves and gear, and Titania was trying to procure extra horses in case one twisted a hoof or collapsed from exhaustion during the hard ride. But Soren hoped that wouldn’t happen; even a small delay could be disastrous if it meant they didn’t get into position by daybreak. No matter how good Ulki’s ears were, he just had to miss one distant scout for Zelgius to know the Gallians were on his doorstep. Then he would never fall for Tibarn’s ploy. 

Soren was so busy thinking about how this strategy could so easily fail, he didn’t realize Ike had approached until he pressed both hands down on his shoulders. “This is going to work,” he said calmly, “so stop worrying.”

Soren shook his head but said nothing.

“You’re going to give yourself a headache wearing a face like that,” he goaded. “You should get some rest instead. We’re all going to need it for tonight.”

Soren sighed. “That is a perfectly logical suggestion,” he said, “but I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

Ike frowned. “You’ve been more stressed about this war than when we invaded Daein,” he observed. “But we were always outnumbered back then, and we still won.”

“We were both inexperienced back then,” he reminded, “and we were lucky. Ashnard, his Riders, and the majority of his troops were still in Crimea. We were never facing serious commanders, and the reserve troops were spread thin. We didn’t even realize how easy we had it.”

“Well, that may be true,” Ike pouted, “but we have a lot more experience now. We can make this work.”

Soren shook his head. “I hope so.”

“C’mon, let’s at least try to get some rest.” At Ike’s coaxing, Soren allowed himself to be led to one of the mercenaries’ nearest tents. As long as Ike was with him, he wasn’t as anxious, and eventually he did pass into a restful half-sleep.

  

Soren’s thighs were raw, and every bone in his body felt ground to dust from the constant jolting. His horse’s mouth frothed and withers twitched when they finally stopped. The laguz were exhausted too, having sustained their animal forms at a run for over six hours. Getting off the road before dawn, Ranulf’s battalion broke up and tucked itself into caves, crevasses, and blinds in the cliff-riddled landscape. Here they guzzled water and chewed the bunches of olivi grass they’d brought with them. These bitter herbs served as a mild analgesic and stimulant to beorc, but they were essential to laguz soldiers. Olivi grass helped them recover their energy and sustain their transformations far longer than they would naturally. Although this mission would deplete the store the Gallians had brought for the campaign, it was necessary if the army was going fight in the coming hours.

The Greil Mercenaries had no miracle herbs to revitalize them, but they did their best to rest their sore muscles and prepare for the battle. Meanwhile Ulki took out another Begnion scout before he could discover their hiding place, and Soren hoped Zelgius would be too distracted by Tibarn to realize his soldiers weren’t returning. The hawks should be launching their attack soon.

 

A half hour later, a hawk messenger appeared from the south. This was earlier than expected, but Ike and Ranulf commanded their troops get ready. Meanwhile, Soren and Titania rode out to meet the hawk, who was desperately looking for someone in command. When they approached, however, Soren noticed her wide eyes and frantic flapping. Something was wrong.

“Is it time?” Titania asked, apparently not noticing the hawk’s fear.

Landing in front of Titania’s horse, she didn’t even fold her wings. “General Skrimir charged early! The plan fell apart!”

“What!” Titania demanded, and the hawk shivered under her gaze.

“The gates aren’t open, but the beorc general had half his army hidden to the south. Skrimir’s unit is being hit from two sides.”

“What is Tibarn doing?” Soren demanded.

“The King is lending support, but we need new orders!” she returned frantically.

Soren yanked his horse’s reins, running back to where Ike, Ranulf, and Kyza were hiding nearby. Titania and the messenger were right behind him.

“Ike!” Titania cried, pulling ahead. “Skrimir has begun the charge early, and a company of enemy troops have appeared to the south of his forces.”

“General Zelgius seems to be in command,” Soren added.

“Uh oh.” Ike’s face fell. “That’s not good.”

“If Skrimir’s force collapses, we will be penned in by Begnion,” Soren hurried to explain. “We must change our strategy and give Skrimir a chance to fall back. Ike, let’s help with the rescue.”

“Got it,” Ike agreed. He turned to Ranulf: We’ll have to come around the fort fast and hit Zelgius’s army hard enough for them to have to regroup. While they do that, we find Skrimir. Once we have him, everyone retreats up the west road, got it?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Ranulf agreed. “Let’s go save Skrimir.”

“Titania,” Ike turned to her, “let Tibarn know what we’re doing.”

She nodded and gestured for the messenger to come with her. A moment later, she was galloping down the road with the hawk flying overhead. Ike called for the rest of the battalion to come out of hiding; they wouldn’t be far behind her.

  

The archers and ballistae firing from the fort were devastating, even with Tibarn’s hawks trying to distract them. Soren chanted while he rode, pushing a river of wind alongside him and shredding the arrows coming in his direction. This protected the mercenaries nearby, but there was nothing he could do for the rest of the battalion, and there was certainly nothing he could do to stop the ballistae showering them with rock and shale.

Begnion’s ground troops saw them coming with ample time to form a defensive line. But at least this meant they temporarily pulled back from their ongoing battle with Skrimir’s battalion. A moment later, Ranulf’s battalion crashed into the Central Army, and Ike and Ranulf urged their troops not to slow down. While Soren fought his way through the frontlines, he tried to locate Zelgius or Skrimir, but they were nowhere to be seen. Ranulf and Kyza pulled away to the west, using their keen noses to track their leader. Soren, Ike, and the other mercenaries followed.

Soon they arrived at the base of a cliff, the slopes of which were not as sheer as those neighboring it. A winding trail was carved into the jutting rocks, and Soren saw plenty of red-armored soldiers and a few colorful cats and tigers caught in individual battles leading all the way to the top. Ranulf and Kyza were standing at the bottom, where they appeared to have met up with Lethe, Lyre, Mordecai, and a dozen other laguz.

“Where’s Skrimir?” Ike panted. Like Soren, he’d lost his horse in the battle and was now running on foot.

“He’s charged up that cliff, chasing after Zelgius.” Ranulf pointed with his muzzle.

“We have to get up there.” Ike adjusted his grip on his already blood-wet sword. “The two of us might be able to save him from Zelgius.”

“Kyza, can you carve us a path to the top?” Ranulf turned to him.

Ever unruffled, the blue-gray tiger gazed up the cliffside and nodded once. “Certainly, Captain,” he said, “We’ll neutralize anyone in your way.”

“Us too!” Lyre added excitedly.

“Alright!” Ike called, loud enough for every mercenary to hear. “Time is a factor here, everyone, so let’s make this quick!”

Kyza and the other laguz charged up the path with Ike and Ranulf right behind them. Soren and a few other mercenaries followed in their wake, finishing off anyone who managed to get to their feet after the laguz pushed past. Soren even used his knife for the first time—finding it convenient to sheathe the blade in the neck of a soldier trying to rise while simultaneously directing his next wind spell at a more mobile opponent. Meanwhile Titania and the rest of the beorc were guarding the base of the cliff to prevent additional soldiers from pursuing them. 

When they finally reached the top, the ground plateaued, and although there were several Gallians and Begnions here, Soren was surprised to see no one was fighting. Or rather, only two people were fighting: Skrimir and Zelgius.

The Gallian soldiers stood in a semicircle on the left, all in their human forms and with fists clenched. The Begnion soldiers stood in a semicircle on the right, and their weapons were all sheathed. The battle had clearly been going on for some time. Zelgius had a few scratches on his armor, but Skrimir was far worse. Blood smeared the ground, and there were pawprints everywhere. Although Skrimir’s fur also was red, it was easy to see the bloody gashes spreading with his every move and oozing down his legs, chest, and sides. A cut had been drawn down his forehead to his snout, and one eye was clamped closed.

“No!” Ranulf cried, when he saw the proud lion swaying on his feet. Zelgius spun his word, grasped it in both hands, and plunged it deep into Skrimir’s ribcage. “Skrimir!” Ranulf screamed, but Ike tackled his haunches to stop him from sprinting into the duel.

“Stop, Ranulf!” he ordered as they struggled. “Don’t get too close!” He pulled firmly on Ranulf’s tail, and the cat resigned himself to staring as his prince bled out. A second later, Skrimir reverted to his human form, looking even more mangled now that he was slightly smaller 

Satisfied that his opponent was at death’s door, Zelgius stowed his blade and walked to the edge of the cliff. “Heed my words, Laguz Alliance!” he bellowed to the battle below. Trumpeters relayed orders to halt and stand at attention, and the soldiers gradually stopped fighting. “I am Zelgius, General of the Begnion Central Army!” he continued, “Your general has fallen to my blade in single combat! My army does not wish to continue this senseless bloodshed. Leave this place immediately! Soldiers of Begnion! I forbid you to attack the fleeing laguz soldiers! This fight is finished!”

Trumpeters now relayed a command to retreat and standby, which prompted a panicked rush of murmuring among the troops. But the beorc and laguz were already disentangling themselves, moving to separate parts of the road-turned-battleground. As Zelgius’s order reached the fort, the archers and ballistae stopped firing.

But then, one of the Gallian soldiers rushed past Soren, coming to stand at the cliff’s edge just a few yards from Zelgius. “NO!” he shouted, and the resounding echo of his voice drew everyone’s attention back to the mount. “If General Skrimir is defeated, we must fight on in his name! We must get revenge! Don’t be fooled by that human! Fight on, brothers!” Drummers rolled out an attack order, and the battle immediately resumed.

Ranulf leapt to his feet (two of them this time), and Ike let him go. He rushed to stand between Zelgius and the soldier. “Stop!” he yelled, and the drumbeat swiftly turned. Fighting died down again, and the laguz raised their eyes and ears to him. “We will fall back! Brothers, sisters, listen to me! I swear upon my life that I’ll take Skrimir back with us! Fall back!” The drummers continued the relentless command for retreat, and the armies separated.  

“A wise choice.” Zelgius inclined his head to Ranulf and walked back to his awaiting men. “Levail, return to the fort,” he said dismissively to a young-looking man in ornate armor. He wore the badges of a minor general despite his age. “I have business to take care of.”

The younger general saluted and departed down the mountainside with his soldiers. The Gallians stepped aside to let them go, although they clearly weren’t happy about it. Meanwhile, Ike and Ranulf knelt by Skrimir’s body. Soren walked forward for a closer look as well, and he detected a haggard rise and fall on the left side of Skrimir’s chest. One lung was still working, and the lion prince was clinging to life—for now.

Zelgius stepped closer to the trio, and Ranulf asked without getting up: “What are you plotting? You could have crushed us.”

It was the same question on Soren’s mind, but he held back. Zelgius’s eyes were crawling over Ike, not Ranulf or Skrimir—and Soren didn’t like it. There was something else he didn’t like either, although he was having trouble putting his finger on the sensation. Even with his blade sheathed, Zelgius felt dangerous. Then, suddenly, Soren realized what he was feeling: Zelgius was a Branded. The familiarity rushed deep into his mind, to some instinctual place, just as it had with Petrine. He kicked himself for never noticing it back in Nevassa.

“True,” Zelgius finally answered, and he pulled his eyes away from Ike to address Ranulf’s question. “That’s exactly what the heads of the senate want. But the Apostle feels differently. She wishes to resolve this conflict without violence, but Begnion is not united on this idea.” He paused a moment, and his expression was dead serious. “If you arrange a peace proposal from your people, the Apostle will accept it.”

“But…to begin a peace talk under the current circumstances…” Ike shook his head.

“The most favorable opportunity for a peace talk would have been when you crossed the river,” Zelgius replied in an even tone. “You missed that chance, and now look at where you are.”

His words were a slap in the face, especially since Soren was already reeling from the discovery that Zelgius somehow had laguz blood. He tried not to think about that now, instead facing the fact that Zelgius was absolutely right. Soren should have convinced Skrimir and Tibarn to draw a treaty. He shouldn’t have capitulated to their thirst for revenge.

Soren felt suddenly ashamed. No matter his reason for pursuing this conflict, the fact of the matter was that he had failed. Zelgius had been prepared for them. He’d already positioned himself outside of Castle Gaddos. Soren’s decoy plan never would have worked. The truth of that stung. He couldn’t even find consolation in being bested by a better tactician. Zelgius didn’t do what he did to defeat the Laguz Alliance. He didn’t even want to fight. He’d challenged Skrimir to a duel simply to stop the bloodshed. If he’d actually wanted to defeat the Laguz Alliance in open battle, he would have.

“Think it over,” Zelgius concluded. “I’ll give you three days. Request a peace talk within that time. If that isn’t possible, negotiations are over.” He paused a moment to let that sink in. “I sincerely hope that won’t be the case.” With that, he walked away, but not without first saying over his shoulder: “As for the heir of King Caineghis, he will be fine. Treat his wounds quickly.”

With the victorious general’s permission, Mist flew forward as if a string holding her back had suddenly snapped. She joined Ike and Ranulf at Skrimir’s side and immediately started healing him. “You mean you didn’t finish him off on purpose?” Ike asked in astonishment. “Why not?”

“It does not matter who the enemy is. If there is a way to avoid taking a life, that is the path I will choose. Leave now. I swear upon my name that my men will not attack as you retreat.” With that, Zelgius turned his face forward again and continued down the cliffside path.

 When Skrimir was breathing with two lungs again and no longer pouring blood like a slaughtered pig, Ranulf and Ike each took one of his arms and started dragging him down the cliff. At the bottom, they met Titania, Tibarn, Reyson, Mordo, and the rest of the Laguz Alliance. No one said a word, and they started the slow march up the west road, back to the camp they’d vacated last night.

Most of the soldiers were badly injured, and there were many hawks who were forced to walk due to broken or shredded wings. Even before they arrived at camp, Soren estimated nine hundred Gallians and six hundred Phoenicians dead. More would surely succumb to their injuries in the coming hours, and infections in the coming days.

Mist and Rhys healed everyone they could along the way, stopping every mile or so when a significant number of the troops could no longer take another step. Their pride sufficiently crushed, no one complained or rejected the healers’ alms. The pair sapped two staves completely dry and then donated the sticks as crutches. They continued to sap their own energy as well and only stopped when they both collapsed from magic exhaustion, clammy, feverish, and shivering. Ike gave Skrimir’s left side to another soldier and ended up carrying Mist instead. He scolded her unconscious body for her carelessness, but Soren knew how worried he really was. Titania walked beside her steed with Rhys slumped in the saddle. Her stallion was limping too, but apparently she wasn’t willing to leave him behind.

 

They didn’t arrive back at the camp until long after nightfall, and here they stayed for a few hours while tending the injured and replenishing their strength with food and water. When Mist regained consciousness, Ike forbid her from healing anyone again until she’d recovered her full strength. All the vulneraries were soon used up, but hundreds were still too injured to march.

But neither could they stay here. Even if Zelgius kept his promise, he’d warned that the theocracy was divided on how to address the laguz invasion. It was still too likely that they’d be followed and ambushed, so they resumed their march at dawn. Many of the soldiers carried their injured brethren on their backs or pulled two or more in handcarts. Some hawks strung hammocks between them and carried their broken comrades that way. Aimee and Muston made room in their wagons to carry even more.

“There you are,” Ike said when he tracked Soren down. He’d been marching among the troops instead of with the mercenaries, and he felt guilty now that Ike approached him—as if he had been caught hiding. “We need to find somewhere defensible we can stay while we figure out what to do. Where should we go?”

Soren opened his mouth to answer, but the bitterness of defeat stilled his tongue. He second-guessed himself, wondering if the destination he proposed would be a trap or another foolish hope.

“Soren, snap out of it!” Ike scolded. “We’re not done yet.”

He did not reply to that, because Ike was wrong. They were done. There would be no coming back from this defeat.

“No one blames you,” Ike growled under his breath, “If anything, you were the only one who was actually right. The rest of us are to blame for not taking peace when we had the chance! But thinking about the past is a waste of time. We’re here now, and we still need you. I still need you. Focus!”

Soren shook his head, surprised by the strength of Ike’s words. “…Seliora Castle,” he finally said. “It’s a day’s march west. We already know Lord Seliora and his guards won’t be there since they’ve united with the Central Army.”

Ike smiled in relief. “A senator’s family home? Sounds perfect.”

“I am sorry,” Soren said, meeting Ike’s gaze. “I will try to be more attentive.”

“We still have a job to do,” Ike reminded him. “As long as we’re alive, we will still have a job to do.”