Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 3 ❯ CHAPTER 75: MARSH CROSSING ( Chapter 9 )

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

When they arrived at the Gallian encampment, Ranulf ran to meet them and immediately ushered Ike, Tibarn, Reyson, Titania, and Soren into a yurt while the rest of the mercenaries and hawks were told to get settled.

“So, you must have heard about Daein…” Ranulf pressed his ears back.

“The Daein Army is working with Begnion?” Ike growled. “That’s unexpected to say the least…”

“Why would Daein join the war?” Tibarn asked. “I thought all their resources would be tied up in reconstruction.”

“Yeah, that bothers me too.” Ranulf shook his head weakly. “There’s something weird about all of this. Didn’t Daein resent Begnion’s occupation? Why would they be so quick to help out their former enemy? I…” he trailed off, and not for the first time Soren had the feeling Ranulf was thinking about something troubling and not sharing the matter with the rest of the group.

But before Soren could goad Ranulf into telling everyone what he was thinking, Skrimir pushed his way into the yurt. “Why doesn’t matter,” he declared. “We are running out of time. We must deal with this quickly if we are to get home.”

“General Skrimir!” Ike greeted him. “Have you recovered from your wounds already?” He certainly did look whole and healthy again.

“Yes. Do not underestimate the healing power of the beast tribe,” Skrimir replied, but something about his tone and bearing were more subdued than before.

“Alright, everyone’s here,” Tibarn said, gesturing for them to come together. “Let’s begin this meeting in earnest.”

Ranulf unrolled a map of the river and weighted its corners. “The immediate threat is the Daein Army,” he said, pointing to where estimates of their units and numbers were sketched onto the map. “They’re dug in around the area we have to use to cross the Ribahn. Hm…maybe we can find another spot to cross?” With a sigh, he began shuffling through his other maps, but Soren knew this was futile.

It was spring now, and the majority of the river would be swollen. This marshy region was the only fordable section this far south, and the Central Army was hot on their heels. “No, we can’t afford it,” he said simply. “If we waste any more time, the Central Army will catch up to us. If that happens, we’re dead.”

“Ranulf,” Ike turned to him, “tell me your impression of the Daein Army. Anything special?”

Ranulf didn’t answer immediately. “…Well, there weren’t many of them,” he finally said, “but their morale was really high. Their commander seemed very clever as well.”

“It must be the Maiden of Dawn,” Soren thought aloud. When rumors of Daein’s rebellion had come trickling into Crimea, he’d wondered about this folk hero who’d come from nowhere and risen to the position of Daein’s premier general. But he’d never imagined she would be his enemy.

“Who is that again?” Ike asked, and Soren wasn’t surprised. He had always been more concerned with rumors of the Black Knight than anything else. A modicum of his attention had been spared for Ashnard’s secret heir, but that had left nothing to expend on the mysterious silver-haired maiden.

“She was the hero of Daein’s recent uprising,” Soren explained for his and the laguz’s benefit. “Micaiah is her name, if I recall correctly. Supposedly she has performed healing miracles and used clairvoyance to turn many losing battles into victories. An interesting figure.”

“Miracles?” Ranulf scoffed. “I find that a bit hard to swallow. Are you sure?”

“Who can say?” Soren replied diplomatically. “Personally, I doubt it. All I know is that the Daein Army believes in her, which makes her dangerous. The Maiden of Dawn is supposed to be the savior of Daein, whose miraculous powers freed their people from tyranny. In other words, her followers are fanatics who see her as a goddess. She will make a formidable enemy.”

“If we attack them head-on, the fighting won’t stop until one side is decimated,” Ranulf predicted. “There’s got to be a way to avoid that, right?”

“What about a decoy force, like we’ve used in the past?” Titania proposed optimistically.

“The decoy only works if your opponent doesn’t expect it,” Tibarn argued. “I wouldn’t count on the same strategy working twice.”

“Not necessarily,” Soren replied, deciding not to point out the fact that their most recent decoy strategy hadn’t ‘worked’ at all. “The empire assumes superiority over all other nations. Begnion is only using the Daein Army as a pawn to stop us and likely won’t care if it is destroyed in the process. As such, the Daein Army is most likely uninformed about our past tactics.”

“You might have a point there,” Ranulf agreed, cocking his head. “I went scouting after the fog cleared, and their forces looked really unprepared to fight us. They had no ballistae, and they hadn’t fielded many fire mages. It felt like they didn’t know a thing about fighting laguz.”

“Then we should definitely have a decoy force hit them head-on while the bulk of the army crosses the river,” Soren declared. He pointed to the place on the map where he judged the decoy assault should take place and then gestured to where the armies should cross.

“I’ll head up the decoy force, then,” Ike volunteered. “The armies of Gallia and Phoenicis can cross the river while we fight.”

“I’ll go with you, Ike,” Ranulf added. “Daein would get suspicious if they didn’t see any laguz in the enemy force.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Tibarn agreed. “Take some of my men as well, if you want. I don’t want their talons getting dull.”

“The Laguz Alliance may have lost the war of might,” Ranulf announced proudly, “But we haven’t lost the war to save the lives of our kin! This fight will be ours!”

“Yes!” Skrimir roared with some of his old vigor. “With the fangs and wings of the laguz and knowledge of the beorc, we will return home!”

“Daein cannot stop us now,” Reyson declared in a soft but confident voice, “just as they could not stop us during the Mad King’s War. We can do this.”

“Now about our pay…” Soren said suddenly, surprising everyone.

“Soren!” Titania hissed. “We’re all in this together now. It’s not a matter of a contract!”

“Calm yourself, dame knight,” Tibarn laughed. “The boy is right. The Greil Mercenaries are taking a lot of risk in helping us out. Phoenicis will pay.”

“Gallia too!” Skrimir added.

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Soren replied coolly, taking out a stylus and scroll of fresh paper. Ike was shaking his head but he was also smiling. For a moment, Soren could almost forget his failure at Castle Gaddos.

 

While the rest of the army’s leadership departed, Soren asked Ike and Titania to stay. “There is a conflict of interest within the Greil Mercenaries that must be addressed,” he said. “In a worst-case scenario, we will not be able to trust our comrades in the coming battle. On the other hand, if they prove their loyalty, they may give us a unique advantage to destabilize Daein’s morale.”

“What in blazes are you talking about?” Ike asked with one eyebrow raised.

“I believe he is accusing Haar, Ilyana, and Brom of betraying us,” Titania translated indignantly.

“What?” Ike blanched.

“Potentially betraying us,” Soren countered. “We should track them down immediately to be certain they do not cross the river and alert their friends to our plan. The merchants too.”

“Soren, you’re being paranoid,” Ike scolded.

“I assure you I am not,” Soren replied. “Do you expect Brom to cross blades with his daughter?”

“We have no evidence she is among this particu-” Titania tried to argue, but Soren cut her off:

“Which is why we should have scouts looking for her and Jill specifically,” he said firmly. “Sothe and Tauroneo served as General Micaiah’s right and left hands during the war, did they not? It stands to reason they will be with her now… The Black Knight too, Ike.”

The change that came over him was instantaneous and alarming. A murderous stillness took him, and only his eyes slid to Soren’s. “…I thought the same,” he said, “The moment I heard Daein was here.”

“The Black Knight!” Titania gasped angrily. “But Ike…you cannot best him without Ragnell.”

“I know that,” Ike grimaced.

Soren raised his hands to calm them both (and hopefully coax Ike out of his dark mood). “If we encounter the Black Knight, we must avoid him, even if that means a premature retreat. But I do not believe the Maiden of Dawn will deploy someone so important on the frontlines. Her friends and our mutual acquaintances, on the other hand—those we may expect to see leading the defensive assault.”

“I don’t believe Brom and the others would betray us,” Ike sighed, coming back to himself, “but I don’t want to put him in that situation either.”

“You must meet with him and the others,” Soren advised seriously. “You must convince them to remain loyal.”

“I will,” Ike consented. “But I don’t believe for a moment that they’d waver.”

Soren nodded in acceptance of Ike’s blind trust, hoping it wouldn’t fail him now. After all, it was this unconditional confidence that made people follow him in the first place. “If you determine that you can trust them,” he continued, “then ask them to confront their friends and family on the field of battle and turn them from Daein’s side. If they join us, all the better, but if they merely desert Daein, this will still deal a damaging blow to the enemy’s morale. When the holy maiden’s own friends start deserting her, her soldiers may lose some of their faith.”

Titania grasped her jaw, frowning into her hand. “I suppose that is true,” he mumbled between her fingers.

“I will ask them to do it,” Ike said, “but if they refuse, I won’t force them to fight anywhere near their loved ones.”

“And I will speak to Ranulf and his scouts,” Titania offered. “We may be able to determine which of these ‘mutual acquaintances’ may be present.”

“I am glad you can see reason,” Soren said by way of thanks. This made Ike grimace and Titania scowl.

 

The next morning, the night’s drizzle faded to a miserable fog, but it was the perfect opportunity to launch their attack. The Gallian Army left their yurts, carts, and the majority of their supplies behind so they could cross the river as quietly and nimbly as possible. (At the point of crossing, the water in the middle of the river was high enough to reach a cat laguz’s neck, which meant the lighter the better.)

Meanwhile, Ike’s regiment would strike Daein while it still appeared the entire Laguz Alliance was behind him. In truth, however, only fifty-two people comprised this decoy vanguard. In addition to the seventeen mercenaries (including Reyson, whom Ike had offered a temporary contract back at Seliora Castle), Ranulf was joining them with ten tigers, ten cats, and a pair of lions. Tibarn had also spared twelve hawks.

The Daein force, on the other hand, numbered over eight hundred if they coalesced as Soren predicted. Drawing away the troops to the south would allow the laguz to cross secretly, but if soldiers came from the north as well (from a post slightly farther away), the decoy force could be facing five hundred more.

Either way, they had to be extremely careful. Soren’s plan would only work if Ike’s regiment kept the fighting confined to the middle of the marsh, where mobility was greatly decreased by the tangled roots, mudholes, stagnant pools, and trickling streams. Soren had chosen this place because the river ran relatively deep and clear for over a mile on either side. The Daein troops wouldn’t be able to surround them (or at least, not easily). Whatever happened, the main army would have to cross quickly, and the decoy regiment just had to stay alive and keep up the ruse until then.

 

When they arrived, Ranulf stuck his nose to the air and waited silently for several moments. “Sothe is on the other side,” he said, “with General Micaiah.” He shook his feline head. “You know, I did tell them to leave.”

Ike patted his haunches sympathetically. “It’s time. Shall we?”

Ranulf didn’t seem to hear him. “If those two are still here...” His head hung low. “So much for friendly advice, I guess. Now it’s friends against friends…” He closed his eyes. “Things are getting crazy around here.”

“That may be,” Ike agreed, “But all we can do is fight. We may fight our friends, but we fight for our friends too. We are not in the wrong.”

Soren wondered if he was simply putting on a brave face. Friendship was important to Ike; it always had been. Surely this battle was not as easy for him as he pretended.

 

“Hit them hard, men!” Ike called when they first set foot on the soggy marsh grass. “Push through! We’re going home to Gallia!” Soren thought the statement might be overkill, but it couldn’t hurt to reinforce the illusion.

Dracoknight criers were already signaling the arrival of the vanguard to the ranks farther back, and Soren heard their voices and saw their shadows above. He conjured a Thunder spell to spook the nearest one, and at the same moment, the first line of Daein guardsmen rushed forward to engage the mercenaries.

A minute later, a dracoknight advance appeared in response to the scouts’ cries. The wave of shadows was clearly visible in the mist, and Soren began conjuring one Elthunder spell after another. Ilyana was beside him, doing the same. Her expression was grimmer than usual, and Soren wondered if she was worried one of the wyverns overhead could be Jill’s. As it was now, they couldn’t see the color of the creatures’ scales.

Haar and the hawks clashed with the dracoknight advance, and Soren and Ilyana paused their onslaught so they wouldn’t harm their allies. But he did keep his attention on the skies, in case any of the wyverns tried to slip away from the fight and scout east. If they did, they would discover no army there, and the plan would be ruined.

“*Spirits of lightning, follow my hand. Fry their flesh*,” Soren incanted as soon as he saw a shadow break away. It struck true, and a wyvern crashed into the water—red scales, not Jill. Shinon stuck an arrow through the rider’s heart before she or her beast could recover.

  Two shadows were approaching from the east, and Soren feared a couple of scouts had made it around. If so, he would make them regret coming back this way. He incanted another Elthunder spell, but before the shadows came into range, Soren realized they were laguz: Janaff and Ulki. He quickly redirected his spell into a nearby Daein axman instead.

“Ulki! What are you doing here?” Ike called when the hawk-man came into view.

“Orders of the king,” Ulki replied, and Janaff descended beside him. “We are here to assist you.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ike laughed. “You’re here to guard Reyson.” At his name, the heron flapped in place and turned his attention to the newcomers. But just then, a Daein archer shot at him, and he had to dart away to avoid her attack. Soren took it upon himself to eliminate the archer when she tried to pursue.

“Shh! Ike, please!” Ulki whispered. “I cannot let the prince hear about this! Please pretend that I’m only here to assist you, I beg you.”

“Sure, that’s fine with me.” Ike waved his hand casually. “Whatever your reasons, I appreciate the help. Thanks!” A Daein spearman was charging at him, but the man tripped on a root, and Ike chopped off his head as he fell.

“Don’t mention it,” Ulki replied, and he and Janaff both transformed. Ulki flew off in the direction Reyson had disappeared while Janaff plunged his talons into the eyes of a Daein swordsman.

Soren returned his attention to the skies, sending another Elthunder spell into a shadow he was reasonably certain was a dracoknight (and not Haar). Again it fell to the ground, and again Soren was relieved to see the red scales. He and Jill were not particularly close, and yet he dreaded meeting her or any former comrade in this marsh.

The mercenaries pushed forward until they were in the middle of the river, and here they lingered, letting the Daein soldiers come to them. Before long, the fateful moment arrived.

“Zihark!” came Mia’s scream. “Face me you coward!” These were not unfamiliar words from her mouth—Mia was always demanding friends and foes alike to fight her. But never before had Soren heard such pain in her challenge.

He moved toward her shout, oddly desperate to see who would win. “I’m sorry,” came Zihark’s solemn reply. “I didn’t want us to meet again like this. Forgive me.”

Mia’s reply was a wordless scream as she swept her sword down in a first strike. Zihark blocked with his own sword, and they struggled for leverage until Mia broke away. She struck again, and again, and Zihark blocked and parried. Soren didn’t intervene, but he did use wind and fire magic to keep other soldiers from coming to Zihark’s aid. As he did, he watched the match and found himself recalling the hundreds of times he’d seen them spar during the Mad King’s War. The energy was entirely different now.

When Mia finally had an opening to strike at his neck, her sword stopped before she could draw blood. Zihark reacted instantly, disarming her and cutting her hand. By the shock on his face, Soren could tell he regretted it.

Mia’s eyes were filled with hurt and fury, and she reached for her sword with her good hand. Zihark lunged to stop her, but then Ike was there, sending his fist and all of his momentum into Zihark’s face. His sword was safely sheathed on his back, but as soon as he regained his footing, he started pummeling him. “Get out of here, Zihark!” Ike growled before throwing a left hook. “Retreat, and tell your general to leave too!”

The swordsman refused to drop his sword. He tried to fight back, but Ike dodged each strike or blocked it with his gauntlets. He got a few more hits in before Zihark fell to the one knee. His eyes and cheeks were starting to swell, and blood trickled out of his nose and mouth. “The Greil Mercedaries,” he panted, “you really are here...” He gazed up at Ike as if looking for forgiveness. “There’s do way we cad wid this,” he consented, pulling himself to his feet. He stowed his sword and started backing up. “Sorry guys,” he told the soldiers nearby, pinching his broken nose. “I’b turding back for dow… I really sug’est you all retreat as’well.” With that, he jogged lopsidedly away.

Ignoring his recommendation, the surrounding Daeins roared and fought harder. Ike drew his sword and met them. Mia fended off her attackers with her non-dominant hand while she slowly retreated (surely to find Mist or Rhys). Soren continued to incant his spells, now dividing his attention between the skies and ground since most of the dracoknights had already been eliminated or were well within Haar and the hawks’ control.  

After a few minutes, Ilyana suddenly stopped chanting beside him. She was staring at someone she seemed to recognize, although Soren didn’t know the person. She was a young woman with short black hair, and she was currently healing a Daein lance night.

“Laura, what are you doing on the frontlines?” Ilyana asked as if in shock. 

The woman—Laura—glared back defiantly and didn’t let her staff’s green light fade. “This man is burned,” she replied. “Did you do this?”

Ilyana faltered, her mouth hanging open.

“Actually that was me,” Soren stepped in. “*Spirits of wind, slash the flesh before me.*” He shot a simple Wind spell, because he judged that was all it would take to defeat this unarmored, unarmed girl.

Rather than avoiding the attack, she covered the soldier with her own body. The blades of wind tore into her side and arm, instantly pulling her off him and tossing her into the mud. Ilyana didn’t move or say a thing. She had her tome in hand, but her arms were hanging limp at her side.

“Oh no, is this…blood?” Laura touched a hand to her side, and it came away red and brown. Soren imagined it had to sting. “I’m sorry, Lady Micaiah,” she murmured to herself, her face going pale. She picked herself up, using her staff for support. “I must heal my wounds…”

“Laura!” Ilyana cried, but after taking a single step, she faltered.

Soren had an Elfire spell prepared to finish the woman off, but seeing Ilyana’s face now, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He cast it at the injured knight instead, and soon his skin was smoldering within his armor.

There were plenty of soldiers to fight in the mist, and Soren turned his frustration on them instead of the retreating healer. The Wind and Elwind spells he cast cut through flesh, armor, and fog alike, and suddenly, in a gap in the mist, Soren saw something that turned his blood cold: the Black Knight was standing at the water’s edge, staring at the ongoing battle as if he could see it all perfectly. As always, his face was covered by his helmet, but it and his armor had obviously been cracked and repaired. Beside him stood a woman with bright, silver-white hair.

The fog swallowed them again, and Soren found himself walking backward. He hoped Ike wasn’t nearby; he hoped he hadn’t seen. He cast out his senses and found him immediately—he was close. Soren tried to calm his mind, telling himself that the Black Knight was still waiting on shore, that he hadn’t taken to the battlefield. But that could soon change.

Not watching where he was going, Soren’s foot sank into a mud puddle, and he fell. At that same moment, a Daein swordsman saw him. The man’s face split into a grin when he realized the helplessness of his prey, and he struck down. Soren threw up one hand in a lame attempt to block the blow, while his other hand descended to catch his fall.

The blade sliced into his wrist, and he hit the ground. The cut was deep, and Soren immediately felt as if his hand were gone. It was a surreal feeling—and full of pain. Seizing his bleeding wrist with his other hand, he pulled it into his chest. Arcing his back into the ground, he bit back a scream.

Above him, the swordsman was raising the sword for a finishing blow. Soren struggled to say the ancient words he knew so well, aware that he’d dropped his tome during the strike. It wasn’t far. He could still use it if he was quick enough.

But then Ike was there, catching the blow on his own sword and knocking the hilt back into the surprised soldier’s face. A couple of quick strikes later, the man was dead and Ike was kneeling over Soren. “That doesn’t look good,” he said, sheathing his sword and wasting no time seized the knife from Soren’s belt. Reaching behind his head, he used it to start a tear in his cape, cutting a long strip to use as a bandage.

Then he prised Soren’s fingers off the wound, causing the injured hand to flop away from the wrist in a way that nearly made Soren faint. He had been injured many times, but he’d never been this close to losing a limb. No amount of healing could regrow what was completely severed. He would become like Largo: pitied and useless.

“You’ll be fine,” Ike assured, as if reading his mind. He finishing tying the cloth, which was already turning a deeper shade of red. Soren knew the ulnar artery had been severed, and apparently so did Ike. Pulling the band off his head, he tied it tightly around Soren’s forearm to help stem the flow. Soren wondered, dimly, if the only reason Ike wore the headpiece was to use it as a tourniquet.

“Can you walk?” he demanded, shaking Soren’s shoulder. Then, without waiting for a reply, he picked him up and set him on his feet.

Finally finding his tongue, the words that came out of Soren’s mouth weren’t the ones he wanted: “The Black Knight…” he murmured, staring past Ike’s shoulder at the mist occluding the far shore. He didn’t want Ike to know the Black Knight was here, and yet he felt obligated to tell him. The knight felt like the explanation behind his pain and sudden weakness. Saying the words felt like they would help.

But they didn’t. Ike followed his gaze, and for a moment, Soren thought he was about the charge through the marsh to meet the Black Knight head on—holy sword or no holy sword. But then he just shook his head and started pulling Soren so they were both shambling away from the frontlines. “We’ll be able to retreat soon,” he said, “We just need to hold on a little longer.”

Eventually they arrived at the back of the regiment, where Rhys was currently healing a stab wound in Titania’s shoulder. “How fares the battle?” she asked.

“We’re holding them,” Ike replied quickly. “Rhys, when you’re done. Soren’s hand is pretty messed up.” Holding Soren steady with one arm, he used the other to brush his cloak away. He returned the dagger to its sheath and slid his tome into its holster.

Soren jolted in surprise—he hadn’t realized Ike had picked up the spell book. The mist around him seemed to be growing denser, but he knew it was actually his vision fading. The blood had soaked through Ike’s cape and was now dripping onto his feet. He was watching the falling drops when the ground suddenly surged toward him. He would have fallen if Ike hadn’t braced him with both hands. “Hey!” he said, his tone almost scolding. Soren tried to get his feet back under him.

“He’s losing too much blood,” Rhys said, and the light of his staff faded. “Sorry, Titania.”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised, standing up.

Just then, Janaff dropped out of the sky in front of them. “Ike! Word from the King—the main force has crossed the river. We did it!”

“Excellent.” Ike grinned. Handing Soren’s weight to Janaff in a way that made Soren feel more like an object than a person, he turned around and cupped his mouth in his hands. “Everyone!” he shouted into the fog, “Let’s meet up with the main force!”

The stamp of feet through mud and moss was instantly audible, as the whole regiment turned and fled at the same time. Ike snatched Soren back from Janaff, and he felt ridiculous for being unable to stand without help. The blood from his wrist was now soaked into his chest, where he held it tightly clamped. “Hold on, Soren,” Ike whispered, “We’re getting out of here.” They were both running now (or rather, Ike was running and carrying most of Soren’s weight while he struggled to move his feet, even a little bit).

When they got to the edge of the marsh, Soren smelled oil and saw a fire leap to life behind them. His vision was blurry and narrow. Ike threw him unceremoniously into one of the boats and sat Rhys forcefully beside him. Titania leapt in, and after her came some other mercenaries whose faces swam when Soren tried to look at them. He looked up at the sky instead. The clouds and fog were clearing, and he could see scraps of blue behind the shreds of white and gray. Then he saw the hawks dive down, seizing the lead ropes. The boat started moving at the same time Rhys finally unwrapped his wrist. Still afraid he would lose it, Soren continued to stare at the sky instead.

 

Once they’d gotten far enough downstream that the Daein Army couldn’t pursue them, the boats butted against the shore, and everyone unloaded. Soren tried to move his fingers and found they were slow to respond. “It will take a while for you to fully recover,” Rhys said, stepping out of the boat. “But I promise you will get full feeling back in time.”

Soren didn’t respond at first, but he supposed he should be grateful to Rhys for saving his hand. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. Rhys smiled and reached to help him out of the boat, but Soren didn’t take his arm. Although he was still dizzy, he had regained consciousness enough for this. His head swam when he stepped onto solid ground, but he focused his vision on a single tree in the distance until his balance steadied.

“The Gallian Army isn’t far!” Ike announced, “Let’s catch up and show Daein what we’re really made of!”

More than half the group ran north with Ike and Ranulf, but Soren walked. Soon the Gallian and Phoenician armies came into view. Soren climbed to the top of the nearest hill. He was done fighting for the day, but he wanted to see Daein retreat.

Despite the fact that many laguz were still injured, those still able to fight surged to the front, roaring ferociously while the others merely jogged in the back in their unshifted forms. It was an effective display, and in the distance, Soren could already see the Daein Army seething away in fear. The mass of black-armored soldiers grew smaller and smaller, and the laguz horde pulled to a halt by the time they reached the track of ground that had been Daein’s main camp.

With a sigh, Soren started down the hill again. Ike and the others who’d wanted to rejoin the main force hadn’t made it in time, and their charge had fizzled to a standstill before they’d even gotten close. Suddenly everyone seemed to realize their exhaustion from the battle, and some sat in the grass while others pressed their hands to their knees, panting.

For the first time, Soren noticed Jill’s green wyvern flying with Haar’s black one, and they both landed now. Teetering at the edge of consciousness during the escape, he hadn’t even realized she’d joined them. But he was glad she had.  

Looking around, Soren took stock of the other people who’d been too injured or otherwise uninclined to join Ike’s fruitless charge. Oscar was limping along, and Mist was lending her shoulder to Heather, who had a bandage wrapped around her head. Brom was walking with a jaunt in his step, despite also wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. Soren wondered if he’d met his daughter in the marsh, and curiosity drew him closer.

“I’m so proud of her,” Brom expounded to the laguz walking beside him. “Did’ya see her swing? The arms of a goddess, I tell you!”

The tiger gritted his teeth and pushed back his ears as if wishing he could escape Brom’s companionship. But his leg was clearly injured, so he was forced to limp along with the ax knight. Soren pulled away before he could be sucked into the same conversation.

When this little group reunited with Ike and the others, the young commander rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, Daein get’s the idea.”

“They will retreat north until Begnion gives them new orders,” Soren predicted. “It is possible they too will begin pursuing us now. But it is still the Central Army that we must fear. This delay cost the laguz several precious days, and thanks to Daein’s ambush, even more are injured than before. We must make haste for Gallia.”

Ike nodded firmly. “We’ll make it,” he said, then adding, “I’m glad to see you’re on your feet. You had me worried for a second. How’s your hand?”

Soren raised his arm and tried to touch his thumb to his pinky. His fingers twitched and missed once before making the connection. “Still attached,” he finally said, “The median nerve was severed, but Rhys says it will heal in time.”

He was lowering his hand again when Ike suddenly caught it like a delicate butterfly. His hands were gentle, but his touch was a cage. The slight pressure of his fingertips caused Soren’s entire body to freeze. “Can you feel this?” he asked.

Soren gave a quiver of a nod. “Mostly. Some parts are still numb.”

Ike adjusted his grip on Soren’s slack fingers (and what must be a clammy palm by now). Embarrassed, Soren wished Ike would let go. “Here?” he asked.

Soren tried to move his pinky finger under Ike’s touch, but the last three fingers barely obeyed him, only giving the slightly twitch. “Not very much,” he replied, half-hoping Ike would move his touch back to the part of his hand that he could actually feel. Even rough, even filthy with sweat and dirt, and even with blood drying around his fingernails—Soren loved those hands. 

Ike nodded and let go. “Good thing you’re not a swordsman. I’d be in trouble if I couldn’t use my hand for even a day!”

Soren shrugged. “I suppose that is true. As long as I have my voice, I can fight.”

“And your spell tome,” Ike said pointedly, glancing at where it was now safely holstered. “You almost left that behind, you know.”

“I was a little distracted,” Soren answered, rolling his wrist meaningfully.

Ike narrowed his eyes. “I think you were distracted in the first place,” he teased, “Otherwise you wouldn’t have let some random soldier almost cut your hand off.”

“I didn’t let-” Soren tried to argue.

“You said you saw the Black Knight.” Ike’s teasing tone was gone. Apparently he was done beating around the bush.

“Yes, I did.”

“How did he…look?” There was an undercurrent of frustration in his voice.

“The same as he did during the Mad King’s War, I assume,” Soren replied. “Although I only saw him for a moment back then. His armor has clearly been repaired, but I would assume the enchantment on it is still in effect.”

Ike glared at the ground, offering no response. Soren didn’t know what he expected him to say. He already knew how he felt about the Black Knight. And, per Ike’s orders, they weren’t supposed to rehash the same debate.

“Thank you for not leaving me to go fight him,” Soren eventually said, surprised that the words had actually slipped out of his mouth.

But now Ike looked surprised. “I’d never do that,” he assured. Then he pushed his hand through his equally dirty hair and sighed. “Look, your life is more important to me than his death, okay?”

Soren’s throat closed, not allowing him to reply, so he merely shook his head. What Ike claimed may be true, but for a moment, that decision hadn’t been easy for him to make. Soren had seen the hunger in his eyes, his craving to duel the Black Knight. That had been the real reason Soren had been careless—not because he feared the knight, but because he feared what would happen to Ike if they fought again.