Legacy of Valshannar

by Servant of GOD

Sequel to Hammer of Terrascars. The lords of Elibe saw naught but a boy, yet the afflicted knew the gods' envoy. Glory shall forever embalm his name: Roy of Pherae, hero of undying fame.

2. Of Invasions and Innocents

Author's Corner:

I will only say this once: I do not own Fire Emblem.

---

Legacy of Valshannar – Chapter I

Of Invasions and Innocents

A moonless night enshrouded the Sacaen plains in its unending darkness. Here and there, the bright stars poked miniscule holes in the encompassing blanket of shadows. The obsidian twilight seemed to reflect the acrimony that dwelt in the hearts of the defeated Kutolah. Yesterday, their proud stallions and docile herds roamed the rolling plains of freedom. Today, their precious homeland groaned under the yoke of suppression. Tomorrow, perhaps even the nomadic Sacaens would be forced into a life of servitude and slavery.

Similar dark and sinister thoughts assailed the mind of Dayan, the Silver Wolf of the Kutolah Clan. During a weeklong guerilla campaign, Dayan and a courageous detachment of Kutolah nomads had delayed Bern's main army from reaching Bulgar. Launching petty sneak attacks and raids day and night, Dayan's group bought the necessary time for peaceful clans to seek refuge in Bulgar. Many brave lives were lost in many near-suicidal charges to thwart Bern's offensive, comrades Dayan knew all his life falling to a hailstorm of javelins, arrows, hand axes and magic. When the Silver Wolf had led his depleted but satisfied raiders into Bulgar, he was greeted with shouts of triumph and joy. In two days, those shouts would turn into screams of terror and pain as Bern's warriors drenched the city in Sacaen blood.

Of the various clans that sought the protection of Bulgar's high walls, only the Kutolah and Djute Clans possessed large numbers of clansmen capable of fighting. Most of the clans in Bulgar were, in fact, peaceful groups content with raising their herds or engaged in meager farming. Clan Bulgar, the chief among these tribes, had inhabited the city for many generations, relying on the sound walls for defense rather than keeping with the time-honored archery and horsemanship skills passed on by Hanon. Handicapped by the lack of available warriors, there was little the besieged could do save defending the walls from Bern's onslaught.

The city of Bulgar was founded over one thousand years ago, in a time when the flames of the Scouring had not turned the Sacaen plains to ashes. Legends hold that Hanon, weary at the end of her labors, desired a haven for all her children to live in without fear. Honoring their longstanding friendship, Roland, Elimine, Barigan and Hartmut all came with their skilled craftsmen and masons to Bulgar. For three years the craftsmen toiled against the savage winds overhead and the soft prairie underfoot until, at last, a looming city wall stood proud in its sea of grass. The masonry was stern and unyielding, withstanding the tests of time and the fury of nature for one thousand years. Elimine herself blessed the foundations so that, as long as the children of Hanon remain united in their cause, Bulgar shall never fall to its enemies. A thousand years passed, and the blessings still held; no foreign foe, bandit or otherwise, had ever breached the walls of Bulgar.

It was then that St. Elimine's words came true, Dayan thought bitterly.

Bulgar awoke to the sounds of screaming and slaughter. In the dead of night, Bulgar's northern gate had opened without a whisper of warning. Before the sentries even knew what was happening, Bern's elite soldiers had already breached the defenses. Door after door was kicked in, the inhabitants within slain immediately. In an unprecedented moment of carelessness, the Dragon Lord Brenya had lost control of her regiment. Frustrated and stung by the repeated annoyances during their lengthy march to Bulgar, Bern's warriors would only be appeased with blood. By the time Brenya caught word of the massacre, Bern's warriors had already smashed their way into the heart of the city.

Due to geographical locations, Bern's invasion had naturally commenced from the south, hence the majority of the Kutolah and Djute nomads were deployed at the southern gate. The non-violent clans, such as the Bulgar Clan, had amassed themselves towards the northern parts of the city. When the gates opened from the north, the defenseless Sacaens had no chance of survival with their defenders deployed in the south.

In the middle of Bulgar, the rallied Kutolah made their stand. Enraged at the wanton butchering, the Kutolah charged into battle led by their chieftain's son, Rath. While Rath's nomads rained arrows upon Bern's warriors, a group of myrmidons led by Guy the Sword Saint crashed into their flanks. Shocked by the ferocity of the defenders, the invaders hesitated even further when they received Brenya's orders to withdraw. A tired but victorious Kutolah Clan raised a cry of victory before Rath marshaled the riders to drive Bern's knights from Bulgar.

The sounds of victory died away when a volley of arrows struck Rath from the saddle. Before Dayan's incredulous eyes, Djute nomads charged the Kutolah from the rear with swords drawn. Fatigued from their unprepared and lengthy battle with Bern, the Kutolah gave way before the fresh and merciless Djute. Nomad after nomad tumbled from the saddle as Djute arrows fell upon the Kutolah like a killing rain. Behind them, Bulgar's southern gate opened with a groan and more knights of Bern stampeded into Bulgar.

Recognizing disaster, Dayan was forced to gather as many of his clansmen as possible and flee Bulgar. With the Djute hounding them at every step, Dayan led his people towards the western gate. Every dozen steps or so, a brave Kutolah nomad would abandon his friend and family in a sacrificial charge against the pursuing Djute warriors. Every sacrifice bought the women and children a few more precious seconds to escape the encroaching swords. Under Dayan's orders, his granddaughter Sue galloped ahead to warn the defenders and open the gate. With the Djute swiftly gaining upon the refugees, Dayan could not risk spending precious time opening the gate personally.

By the time Dayan and his exhausted people reached the gate, they were dismayed at the sight of battle. Fortunately for the beleaguered Kutolah, the western gate was defended by Shin and his trustworthy band of nomads drawn completely from the Kutolah Clan. After a brief but vicious scuffle, Shin succeeded in driving off the Djute traitors and opened the gate for the refugees to pass. However, scarcely half the fleeing Kutolah had departed through the open gate when a horde of Bern knights and Djute horsemen arrived on the scene.

There was no conceivable way to stop them, Dayan thought as he recalled the abysmal number of nomads that surrounded him. If not for Guy's sacrifice, the Kutolah Clan would've ceased to exist that night. A throbbing bitterness beat in the breast of the Kutolah Chieftain as he recalled the last words he exchanged with the Sword Saint.

Four times the combined Bern and Djute war party advanced, and four times the dwindling Kutolah beat them back. The ground lay cluttered with corpses of men and horses, though occasionally a wounded horse screamed in pain. In the previous attack, Guy had lopped off the head of a powerful Bern knight who carried a shield with a fancy coat of arms. From the way their enemies hesitated, Guy had apparently slain either a famous warrior or the enemy commander. Granted a brief respite, the Kutolah slackened their white-knuckled fists briefly.

"Rally around, sons of the Kutolah," Dayan cried out. "Your womenfolk, children and aged parents flee behind you. Do we give them to the sword in order to save our own lives?"

"Never!" The nomads around him roared in reply.

"It has been my honor to lead you in life," Dayan continued. "Now, my warriors, I must demand of you one last feat of loyalty and courage. Even if all of us die here, the Kutolah must survive!"

"Chieftain, you must not die here."

Dayan turned to see Guy emerge bloodied, but still clasping his curved blade in one hand. The Sword Saint of the Kutolah had fought fiercely for his people's freedom, but these were times when one man's strength simply wasn't enough.

"Chieftain," Guy continued, "you are the Silver Wolf that the Kutolah look upon to bring strength to their arms, meat to their children, and hope for the future. You cannot die here!"

"Chieftain," Shin said, "Guy is correct, you must not fall here!"

Dayan looked towards the amassed Bern knights and Djute nomads preparing to advance again, "There is no hope for the Kutolah."

"You must not say that!" Guy exploded with an oath, "The Silver Wolf is a living guarantee that the Kutolah eagle will soar through the free blue skies once more! At times we may fly beneath the storms of worry and despair, but every Kutolah believes that you will lead us to a new future!"

The surrounding Kutolah murmured their agreement.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Dayan asked, "We cannot defeat this army with our current numbers."

"No, we cannot," Guy agreed, "but we can hold out long enough to close the gates after our people have left Bulgar."

Shin frowned, "Guy, the enemy will prevent us from closing the gates."

"Give me two men willing to die with me," Guy vowed, "and I will ensure no foe ever walks through this gate alive!"

"There will be no way out for you if the gates are closed," Dayan said.

"In times of strife and doubt, the Silver Wolf is worth ten Sword Saints," Guy declared, "If I die, another young Kutolah myrmidon will one day replace me. There is no replacement for you, Chieftain."

"Father Sky bless you," Dayan said in a resigned tone.

"And Mother Earth guide your hooves," Guy replied in the typical Sacaen parting words.

Dayan watched as his escorts hurried to join the retreating refugees, "Is there any unfinished task you wish for me to fulfill?"

Guy thought for a moment before smirking slightly, "Chief, if you ever run into a lady named Priscilla, please tell her that Guy took the path of Heath."

The ironbound doors swung to a close, locking the Sword Saint in a ring of enemies.

Around the brooding Kutolah chieftain, the god of sorrow reaped a bountiful harvest. Few families had been spared the torture of losing a cherished loved one. Fathers lost sons, wives missed husbands, children became orphans, and a tribe turned into an outcast. Those that were fortunate enough to bear their dead with them were at least able to give them a proper burial. The Sacaen custom called for a funeral pyre, so that Father Sky can spread their ashes across the plains of Sacae, where they shall become one with their beloved homeland. The Flame of Farewell, they called it, which would tell Father Sky of a worthy death.

Unfortunately, for a clan in exile, a funeral pyre would give off smoke signals that would lead the pursuers to them. It was with heavy hearts that the Kutolah committed their dead to soil. The Sacaens held that anyone buried within Mother Earth would be eternally doomed to wander the afterlife, never hearing the voice of Father Sky bidding them hasten to heaven. Many secretly marked the location of their dead, vowing to return and lighting a proper Flame of Farewell.

"Chieftain…"

Dayan's face looked up to see Shin standing before him with a young nomad named Caln. Caln's mother was a Sacaen, but his father was an Etrurian merchant. Due to his heritage, Caln inherited a foreign look about him that allowed him easy passage through and from Bulgar. Taking after his father, Caln became a merchant that transported wares between Etruria and Sacae. Though his mother came from Kutolah, Caln's frequent dealings with multiple tribes permitted the young merchant to enter Bulgar without exciting Djute alarm. Dayan had dispatched Caln to infiltrate Bulgar in order to provide more information.

"Chieftain," Caln began, "I understand that Rath is dead, but…"

Dayan raised a hand to silence him, "Caln, make your report."

Surprised at the emotionless reply, Caln quickly recovered, "I was able to enter Bulgar safely from the east. The northern part of the city is awash in the blood of the other clans. And the damnable Djute were openly mingling with Bern's soldiers! If I wasn't occupied with my task, I'd have slit their throats from…"

"Enough," Dayan said, his eyes searching Caln's face, "What news?"

"I overheard that the general forbade the murder of any more Sacaens," Caln continued furiously, "Apparently, Master Guy managed to take with him nearly forty well-known knights of Bern or Djute nomads. The Djute were all for mounting Rath and Guy's head on pikes for all to see, but the general denied that as well. She even went as far as burning the corpses in the Sacaen way!"

Shin grunted, "Amazing that there is still honor in Bern."

"Shin," Dayan said, "is there any news of Sue?"

The nomad shook his head, "We have not found any sign of her, chieftain. She may have wandered beyond the plains."

"Find her and bring her back alive at any cost," Dayan said, "Sue is the only family that remains to me, and the last memory of my son. I mistreated my son by sending him on a fool's journey in his youth, but that shall not happen to my granddaughter!"

Shin nodded, "I hear and obey."

Dayan nodded, "You are both dismissed."

As Caln and Shin walked away, Caln couldn't help but remark, "The old man scares me, Shin. His son is dead and his granddaughter is missing, but he doesn't shed a tear for either of them! What's wrong with him?"

Shin didn't reply. How little you know of our chieftain, Caln, Shin glanced at the merchant-turned-spy. The wolf shows no emotion when leading the pack. He only grieves in private, where no one can see his sorrow. His strength is limitless before the pack; his scars are revealed only in darkness. That is the way of the Silver Wolf.

---

War is not solely the business of lords, but impacted the common folk as well. While nobles rolled the dice in the game of glory, it was the commoners that felt the brunt of every castle sacked and every town taken. The able-bodied men were conscripted into armies, leaving their families to cope the best they could during harvest time. The aforementioned harvest was then subject to taxes and tribute, things essential for a kingdom's war chest. When armies, friendly or hostile, pass by a village, the inhabitants bar their doors and pray that the occasional looting would be the worst mishap they run across.

During the times of conflict and struggle, bandits and faithless mercenaries also take advantage of the exhausted imperial legions. With so many professional soldiers busy fighting wars, the local towns and villages become increasingly vulnerable to bandit raids and attacks. With the exception of Bern and, to a lesser extent, Etruria, most of Elibe saw a rapid rise in the number of bandit attacks. On a good day, the bandits might attack a village, burn a few crops, and then leave out of boredom. On a bad day, lives are lost, valuables are stolen, and children are abandoned.

Yet not all hope was lost for these parentless orphans.

The Elimine Church still worked tirelessly to bring peace and comfort to the faithful. Examples of their devotion to this worthy cause can be seen by the numerous orphanages the church established to care for these wayward children. In these orphanages, children were taught to read and write, to rebuild their faith in God, and to believe in a better tomorrow. Too many of them are little boys and girls in appearance only, though they fully tasted the bitterness of adult responsibilities. The priests and bishops that run these orphanages endlessly seek methods to restore their innocent childhoods.

Near the outskirts of Araphen, a red-roofed orphanage could be seen with nearly a dozen children playing in its front yard. A green-haired youth clad in a novice's robes sat on a log near them with a book in hand. The youth occasionally looked up to ascertain that all was well before diving back into his book. Every once in a while, a young girl gathering flowers would shower the boy with her handiwork, something he would always respond to with a wide grin on his face.

"Lou! Did ya like my new wreath?"

Lou laughed as he combed the little girl's brunette hair, "Of course I did, Alicia. Why don't you make one for Father Lucius as well?"

"Okay!"

As Alicia scampered off to find more flowers, Lou chuckled lightly before turning back to the book he left on the log. Well, to be politically correct, where he thought the book supposed to be…

Huh? I could've sworn I laid it right here! I put my favorite blue bookmark in there too… Realization struck the young man like a hammer. Grinning, Lou turned around and called out, "Chad! I know you're here somewhere! Now give me my book back!"

The bushes to the right of Lou rustled as a young man with dirty blond hair emerged. Twigs and leaves were sticking out of his unkempt hair as Chad triumphantly held Lou's long sought book. Lou snatched the book away with a mock scowl.

"Gotcha there!" Chad crowed, "Score: Chad 2, Lou 1!"

Lou grinned impishly, "If I tell Father Lucius that you returned to stealing…"

That wiped the smile off the thief's face, "You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Tattletale," Chad said.

"Maybe," Lou admitted as he flipped open his book, "but the score would be balanced."

"Touché," Chad amended. "The score is even, until I take the lead!"

"Somehow, I doubt that's going to happen."

Chad arched an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"Father Lucius is right behind you," Lou said while tracing the text with his finger.

"Pfft," Chad scoffed, "You didn't even look up from your book!"

"You do understand, of course," Lucius said mildly, "that Lou's shout alerted me to your presence immediately."

Lou tried to stifle his giggles as he watched Chad cringe at that voice. The thief swallowed guiltily before turning around to meet their caretaker, "Father Lucius, this isn't what you think it is…"

Lucius merely smiled gently as he watched Chad fiddle with his fingers. After twenty years, the monk still retained the gentle, forgiving aura that he exuded during the Campaign of Fire. The years have drawn quite a few lines across Lucius' handsome features, but his shoulder-length blond hair still gave him a youthful appearance. Declining to ascend the ranks of the Elimine Church, Lucius chose to serve God's will by providing for orphans as a simple monk. He and Raven remained close friends over the years, though the hard-eyed mercenary frequently traveled to visit his sister in Etruria. Ironically, Lucius' mild-mannered reprimands disciplined the children far better than any beating they would have received otherwise. If the situation could be avoided, Lucius often chose not to chastise his flock. However, that made the cause of these corrections all the more shameful in the children's eyes.

"I wasn't aware that I was thinking of something," Lucius said calmly. "What have you done that would cause me to believe you been up to mischief?"

"Err… nothing?" Chad answered as he mentally kicked himself. Good going with the lame comeback, Chad. The thief sweated profusely, trying to think of someway to change the subject. "Uh, Father Lucius, I brought back the herbs you requested."

Lucius' eyes brightened, much to Chad's relief. "You did? Excellent! According to my friend, those herbs are quite beneficial to the crops in our garden."

"Are you speaking of Mr. Raven?" Lou piped up, the book forgotten by his side.

"Yes," Lucius nodded absently as he poured over the contents within Chad's satchel. "He is also the one teaching Chad basic swordsmanship."

Chad colored, "I wasn't aware that you knew about that too."

"Lord Raven and I have been friends before the two of you were born," Lucius said. "There are no secrets between us."

"Speaking of secrets," Chad said, "where the devil is Ray?"

At Chad's question, Lou's shoulders sagged. "You mean he hasn't contacted you either?"

"Huh? He's supposed to be here with you and Father Lucius, wasn't he?" Chad asked.

"We were hoping you could tell us where he was," Lucius said as he closed the satchel. "Ray was gone a day after you left for the local village, Chad. He only left a small note saying he's gone to further his studies in dark magic."

"So you're telling me that your brother just decided to get up and leave without consulting me?" Chad asked incredulously.

I wasn't aware that he needed to consult you, Lou thought, "Uh, it seems that way?"

"That insufferable, arrogant, idiotic, son of a-" Chad stopped when he heard Lucius cough. "That's the last time I bake any sweet tarts for him!"

Lou's eyebrows went up, "You brought sweet tarts?"

Suddenly recalling the brothers' addiction to sweets, Chad quickly rummaged through his cloak and tossed a small bag to Lou. Mental note to self, Chad thought mournfully as he watched Lou demolish the tarts, bake and hoard food for myself next time.

"I was going to save some for Father Abram," Chad said.

"Oops," Lou looked sheepishly at the empty bag, "you should've said that earlier…"

A shrill cry of fear rang through the air, "Father Lucius!"

The three exchanged a glance. "Thomas," Lou murmured as they ran towards the disturbance.

Rounding the corner of the orphanage, Lucius led Lou and Chad towards the small garden that was planted behind the orphanage. While small in size, the plot of land provided enough food for the inhabitants of the orphanage. Everyday, Lucius and the orphans would spend several hours gardening and digging for worms. When time allowed, Lucius occasionally took his flock fishing in the river nearby. Using the worms as bait, Chad and the brothers often brought home several fat trout to supplement dinner. This orphanage verily depended on the garden to survive.

"Thomas, what's the matter?" Lucius asked the hysterical little boy.

Thomas' blue eyes darted back to Lucius as she pointed to the east, "Soldiers…!"

Lucius frowned at the incoming soldiers as he gathered Thomas into a hug. When Lucius had first encountered the boy six months ago, he had found Thomas crying over the dead bodies of his parents. Lucius found out from their neighbors that they were slain by marauding Bern soldiers who were foraging for food. Since then, Thomas developed a particular phobia when it came to armor-clad soldiers. Small wonder the sight of a group of mounted warriors would cause the five-year old to panic.

"Lou, Chad," Lucius said, "gather the children and bring them inside. Under no circumstances are you to let them out, do you hear me?"

"But Father Lucius," Lou asked as he took charge of Thomas, "why are you so worried? Surely they are just knights from the castle several miles away?"

"I fear not," Lucius replied, "they are flying the banner of Bern soldiers."

Chad and Lou sucked in a breath. "That's impossible!" Chad cried, "Castle Araphen is scarcely half a dozen miles from here! What are Bern cavaliers doing this close to a Lycian castle?"

"Come quickly, Chad," Lou said, "Father Lucius, be careful!"

The cavaliers arrived moments after Lou locked the door. Chad and Lou covertly watched from a window as the seven cavaliers made a semicircle around Lucius. One of them, a high-ranking knight based on the coat-of-arms upon his shield, lifted his visor and called out to Lucius.

"Hey, you!" The knight said, "Where have you hidden your valuables?"

Lucius spread his hands in a non-threatening gesture, "Peace be with you, my son. I am but a humble monk in charge of a run-down orphanage. What valuables could I possibly have?"

The knight grunted, "That's what the last villager told me too. He was singing another tune after I hacked off an arm, though. Jeb, Colren, search the house!"

Two knights urged their horses forward right through the garden that Lucius and the children painstakingly planted. Frowning, Lucius said, "Please, sir knights! The produce from that garden is all that we have to live on. Please desist from-"

"From what?" Jeb sneered, "Oh, you mean this?" The knight pulled on the reins, causing his horse to trample several plants under its hooves.

"Hey, Captain, look what I found!"

Lucius, Chad and Lou turned to see another knight appeared with a struggling girl tucked beneath an arm. Chad and Lou exchanged a look of horror, We forgot to retrieve Alicia from the flowerbeds!

"What the devil do you want with a child, Carlos?" The leader asked. "I know your tastes are rather peculiar, but you've never favored children!"

"I mean to sell her at Badon," Carlos replied as he leered at Alicia. "She's fresh and tender, perfect for their purposes. Of course, that doesn't prevent me from…"

"Put her down," Lucius said in a tone that brooked no dispute.

The knight named Carlos spat on the ground. "Who're you to give me orders, monk?"

Lucius' voice turned dangerous. "You will not harm one of my flock, sinner. I will repeat myself once. Put her down, or suffer the wrath of God."

Everyone save Alicia and Carlos was struck dumb at the rapid change in Lucius' demeanor. A moment ago, Lucius looked gentle enough to be knocked over by a feather. Now, the monk's eyes blazed with holy wrath as his hands clenched a weather-beaten prayer book. Lucius' peaceful aura evaporated like the morning mist, only to be replaced with a radiant air of power.

Carlos snorted as he threw his head back and laughed, "There is no God, foolish mo-"

The blasphemer never finished his sentence. Holy lightning materialized out of thin air to strike the knight dead on the spot. Miraculously, even though Alicia was in such a close proximity to the smoking corpse, not a single hair on her head was singed from the magical attack. The knights were shocked into silence.

Lou and Chad exchanged a look of complete bewilderment. That's no prayer book! That's a light magic tome! Father Lucius can use magic?

"Twenty years it has been since I last smote down heretics who dared to profane the Creator," Lucius glared at the other knights. "Leave my flock in peace and I will show you mercy."

The leader of the knights flushed in rage. Closing his visor with an audible clank, he roared to his followers, "Kill them! Kill them all!"

Before the knights could get their act together, Lucius already fried one of them with holy magic. The remaining five knights put spurs to their mounts and charged Lucius like a rolling tide of metal and flesh. Before the spears could strike, Lucius blasted another man from his horse and cooked another in his armor. However, it was impossible for him to dodge the incoming blows.

With a sickening crunch, the leader's spear punched a hole through Lucius, pinning the monk to the wall. Stopping to admire their handiwork as Lucius struggled for breath, the three surviving knights dismounted. The leader and his two fellow knights stopped a few yards before the dying monk.

"Any last words, monk?" The leader jeered as he lifted his visor.

Lucius mumbled something unintelligible as blood dripped from his lips.

"Eh, what's that? You two, go see what he was saying."

At that moment, Chad and Lou finally managed to unbar the door and leapt out. The three knights stopped to see two children staring defiantly at them.

"How fitting," one of the knights said, "the monk kills four of our mates, so let's kill four of his. Shall we?"

Taking their eyes off Lucius was a mistake they'd never be able to make again.

Calling on his last reserves, Lucius reached out and grabbed the two knights' helms. Pure holy power sprang from Lucius' fingertips into the hapless skulls of the knights. Waving his hand before the leader could respond, Lucius directed one last furious attack on the leader's unprotected face.

The knights dropped simultaneously to the floor, their carcasses still smoking from Lucius' attack.

Desperation propelling them into action, Lou and Chad sprang to Lucius' side.

"Father Lucius!" Chad cried.

"Father Lucius!" Lou said, "Hang in there, I'll bind your wound!"

"Q-Quiet," Lucius gasped, "you do not have much time. S-Soon, other soldiers from B-Bern will come. You must escape… Escape with A-Abram…"

"Father Lucius, you can't die!" Lou cried.

"God calls me to his side, my son," Lucius said, "and I must obey… Ah, L-Lord Raven will be… Be most cross with… me…"

"Father Lucius!"

Lou's cry never made it in time for Lucius to hear. The soul of Lucius, servant of the light, lingered briefly in the realms of men before ascending the stairs of heaven.

---

To say that Miledy was hysterical over the disappearance of Princess Guinevere would be a gross understatement. The wyvern knight stormed through the halls of Castle Bern with a permanent scowl etched onto her face.

Three days ago, Miledy had personally accompanied Zeiss to General Narshen's war camp. At the time, Brenya and Narshen were discussing strategy in the war room, so Zeiss simply reported to his unit. Thankful that she was able to avoid a confrontation with the Dragon Lord she held in contempt, Miledy promptly took off for Castle Bern. As the one who caused Gale's demotion, Narshen was probably the only Bern soldier that Miledy seriously contemplated throttling to death. Well, that was before she caught wind of Guinevere's disappearance, of course.

Somehow, Princess Guinevere, the most peaceful, docile and harmless princess on the face of Elibe, had drugged Xavier, removed the most priceless artifact in Bern, and slipped out of Castle Bern without anyone noticing. All in one candle mark. The report submitted by the guards stated that there was no sign of struggle in the room, denoting that the princess either left of her own volition or engineered the entire departure herself. Given that the residue from a sleeping potion was left in the cup Xavier drank from, Miledy was willing to put her money on the latter suggestion.

Nevertheless, the incompetence of the guards was staggering, Miledy thought. Granted, the princess never attempted something similar in the past, but that is no excuse! Master Xavier is forgiven, since I can't expect a blind man to notice someone pouring a sleeping draught into his tea. But isn't every other son of a woman in this Elimine-forsaken castle blessed with two eyes?

The king had been alerted immediately to the princess' disappearance. Within a day, Miledy received orders from King Zephiel to immediately search for Guinevere's whereabouts. The artifact Guinevere removed from the throne room was a closely guarded state secret and was never released to the public. It was depressing enough that a princess of blood was missing; the king didn't wish to compound the difficulty by informing the populace that the national treasure was gone as well. The inhabitants of Castle Bern were frantic enough already.

Though Master Xavier is a notable exception, Miledy thought as she collected a few items from her room. I suppose iron nerves and a will of steel comes from being seventy years old. Then again, old age is usually accompanied by frothing by the mouth and lunacy.

As befitting the king's closest confidant, Xavier did not lose his head for an instant. He was the first to suggest informing the king of Guinevere's disappearance and organizing search parties. With all that done, Xavier closeted himself in his study and buried himself in paperwork. The old teacher had a war to win and a country to run in the king's absence, so the princess' retrieval was delegated to someone else.

At least the wyvern knights weren't stupid, Miledy thought as she approached the loft. When Xavier had asked for volunteers to retrieve Princess Guinevere, not a single wyvern knight twitched. Instead, they all looked towards Miledy en mass. It was a well-known fact that Miledy was second to no one in service to Princess Guinevere, and no foolish knight wished to risk a hiding for taking her task.

The loft was actually a gigantic wyvern nest. Wyverns, after all, were not the tamed horses or pegasi that cavaliers or pegasus knights rode into battle. To preserve the beast's natural ferocity, wyvern knights rode untamed wyverns into battle. In a sense, this presented a greater danger to the human knight, since the wyvern may attack the rider in its bloodlust. To rectify this, wyvern knights are required to undergo a Trial of Initiation, where they form a life-bond with their mount. The Trial of Initiation varies from wyvern to wyvern, so the actual trial can differ between trials by fire to arduous flights. If the knight passes the Trial of Initiation, the wyvern officially recognizes the human as a peer, but never a master. A bond of comradeship connects the wyvern and its knight, and the relationship is never one of servitude.

Naturally, an untamed wyvern directed by a veteran wyvern knight exhibited far more fury in battle than a cavalier mounted on a tame warhorse. Only on the plains of Sacae, where the peerless nomads mounted upon wild stallions thrive, are there warriors capable of matching the wyvern lords in battle. However, the nomads of Sacae are separated and unorganized, with riders scattered amongst multiple clans. The wyvern lords avoided this difficulty by swearing allegiance to the kings of Bern. United under one leadership, the wyvern lords of Bern became the most feared fighting force in all of Elibe.

For the mightiest fighting force in Elibe, we sure don't set great store in hygiene. Miledy never failed to wrinkle her nose at the smell of dry wyvern dung. The job description for guard duty evidently left out the words, "Clean the stalls."

Several wyverns that belonged to her squadron identified her scent and cawed in greeting. Hearing the disturbance, the guards stopped their game of cards and snapped to attention at the sight of Miledy walking into the loft.

One of the guards happened to be part of Miledy's squadron as well, "Captain! What brings you to the loft?"

Miledy acknowledged their salute with a nod, "Lanster, is the 21st Independent Squadron prepared to leave?"

"We're still tracking down Thomas, Captain!" Lanster replied. "I sent Mak and Devan to bring him back from the tavern. We can be airborne in half a candle mark."

"Do so," Miledy ordered, "I'll see you in the skies."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Miledy left before she could see her second-in-command salute again. Bitterness welled in her heart as Miledy walked towards Trifinne's stall. Her wyvern, sensing her partner's unease, nuzzled Miledy's face lightly. Brushing Trifinne's head, Miledy leaned her head against her wyvern as she glared at the bridle hanging on the wall.

Why? Why did she leave without leaving me a single letter? Miledy's thoughts raced through her mind. Have I not proved myself trustworthy after fifteen years of service? Have I not watched over the princess as thoroughly as if she were my own daughter? Would I ever betray her secrets? Hot tears of rage and frustration slid down Miledy's cheeks despite Trifinne's best efforts to soothe her.

Her vision blurred by tears, Miledy was startled with blue glove reached from behind her to gently wipe away her tears. The intimate gesture was repeated once more before someone spoke behind her.

"This is most unlike you, Mil," a steady and calm voice said. "You certainly were not like this when we parted two months ago."

Blue gloves, it can't be… He's in Ilia with General Murdock, Miledy thought numbly. "G, Ga-"

"And memory loss too," the voice chided with amusement. "Dear me, you forgot my name in less than two months? Shame, shame on you, Mil."

"Gale," Miledy relaxed as she felt a strong pair of arms encircle her waist with a hug. "By the gods, I missed you. But you were assigned to Ilia under General Murdock! How is it that…?" Miledy turned slowly in place to appraise the knight.

Two months of hard campaigning in Ilia's frozen winters might have worn down an ordinary wyvern knight, but there was nothing ordinary about Gale. Long, azure hair held back by a blue headband coupled with gray, hawkish eyes adorned his lanky, pale face. Clad in a standard wyvern knight's armor tinted in navy, Gale had made a name for himself during the Ilian Campaign as one of the greatest battlefield leaders under Murdock's command. Together with his wyvern, Ecthel, Gale was instrumental in the Battle of Edessa, where Bern smashed the last unified Ilian resistance.

"The 13th Specials Squadron was reassigned back to Bern," Gale said with a small smile. "Dragon Lord Murdock pulled a few strings so I could return for the retrieval of Princess Guinevere. I believe General Murdock and I were quite correct in assuming you'd volunteer for the task?"

Miledy could not resist the twinkling laughter in his eyes. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Miledy drew a shocked Gale into a fierce kiss, which he returned after a moment's hesitation. Ecthel and Trifinne exchanged a look of amusement at their partners' antics.

"I missed you," Miledy murmured after they broke off for want of air.

"And I you," Gale replied, "Though next time, can we choose a more, ah, private location to do that?"

Miledy blushed, "I apologize. It's just that I haven't seen you for so long."

"No harm done," Gale said, "though if I'm rewarded like that every time I leave for two months, methinks I will be applying for transfer more often."

If at all possible, Miledy's blush deepened, "Gale!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Gale laughed, "Anyways, regarding the disappearance of Princess Guinevere, a few villagers claimed to see an elegantly dressed lady and her attendant cleric heading west. Their descriptions match Princess Guinevere and Ellen perfectly."

"West?" Miledy asked, "Why would they be heading west? His Majesty is about to launch a full-scale attack on Lycia! The princess is walking straight into a war zone!"

"Her purpose is unknown," Gale admitted, "but we should be able to retrieve her before Castle Araphen is captured."

Miledy nodded, "Of course we will. We still have ten days before the siege begins. That is more than enough time to bring the princess back to the cast… What's with the look, Gale?"

Gale was chewing on his lip, a signature response that Miledy recognized as extreme nervousness. "Miledy, you weren't briefed on the Lycian situation, were you?"

"No, why?"

Gale leaned closer and whispered something into her ear.

Less than a candle mark later, two squadrons of wyverns tore through the skies of Bern in quest for the Lycian border.

Scores of miles away from Castle Bern, the Castle Brient stood guarding the mountains that bordered Lycia. Bern and Lycia, though sharing a considerable border length, were only accessible through two paths due to the Bern Mountains. The first and more popular route was Castle Araphen, while the second and lesser-known method is the winding path through the Bern Mountains underneath the watchful eyes of Castle Brient.

At the foot of the mountain range, the village Rosiar sits on the Bern side of the border. A peaceful little village, Rosiar thrives on trading and blacksmithing, as both are extremely valuable skills for a border town. Rosiar's forge is constantly in demand for anything from farm tools to weapons of war. Given its position as a border town, Rosiar frequently passed on mail or packages between Lycia and Bern before the war. Situated in a challenging environment, Rosiar's surrounding terrain was deemed too inaccessible for an army to pass by. Though Castle Brient stood imperiously over the mountain pass to Bern, its soldiers were known for visiting Rosiar's tavern for a well-earned mug of ale. All in all, Rosiar was spared from the terrors of war that threatened to engulf the rest of Elibe.

The mayor of Rosiar was a cheerful, content married man who often rented out rooms in his tavern to travelers. A few days ago, a highborn lady and her attendant passed by Rosiar during their journey to Lycia. Since they arrived at Rosiar near sunset, the mayor had graciously invited them to stay the night and continue their journey tomorrow.

Such occurrences were actually quite common during the opening days of the war. Before King Zephiel had begun his bid for conquest, Bern and Lycia had maintained close ties over the years. Many wealthy Bern or Lycian citizens had moved across the border to visit friends or family during that time. However, once war erupted between the nations of Elibe, these highborn citizens made haste to return to their native country.

"Wilfred? Wilfred, where are you?"

"I'm in the backyard," the mayor looked up from where he was whittling a wooden bowl. "Mia, my love, what is it?"

Where the mayor was cheerful and easy going, his wife was known for being a money-grubbing miser. How these two completely opposite people were married is still a hotly debated topic in Rosiar.

"Wilfred," Mia said in a hushed voice, "did you hear what the soldiers were saying?"

Wilfred raised an eyebrow, "Saying about what?"

"That Princess Guinevere is missing!" Mia exclaimed, "And doesn't their description of the princess match perfectly with our guest upstairs?"

"Don't be daft," Wilfred laughed, "why would Princess Guinevere come to Rosiar incognito?"

"Who cares?" Mia said, "Think of the golden reward we could receive by turning her in!"

Wilfred snorted, "Don't be ridiculous! What are the chances of a princess choosing a shoddy tavern like ours?"

"That's because we're the only inn around for miles?"

"True, but still highly unlikely," the mayor returned to his whittling. "She's just another wealthy lady that is returning home to Lycia. Sir Rude from Castle Brient would have our heads if we were wrong."

"But…" Mia was anxious to raise objections.

"We will speak no more on this," Wilfred said, "I must return to the bar now. See you later, my dear."

Mia glared at her husband's retreating figure. After he had entered the tavern, Mia sneered, "Spineless coward! Go and tend to your worthless drinks! I have bigger fish to fry!" She scuttled off towards Castle Brient.

A mile away from Rosiar, Ellen was praying for the success of Princess Guinevere's proposal of peace. Preferring solitude and tranquility over the hustle and bustle of Rosiar, Ellen had removed herself to a more secluded location. The devout cleric had concealed herself in a thicket, hoping that she wouldn't be disturbed while worshiping God. Kneeling on the soft grass, Ellen closed her eyes and composed herself.

"Dear God," Ellen began, "I beg thee to hear my plea. Innocent families are being drawn into a war that will bathe Elibe in blood. Please direct our path and guide our thoughts, so that the princess and I can stop this terrible…"

A dry twig behind her snapped as it was crushed underfoot.

Ellen's eyes snapped open in surprise. Turning around, Ellen found herself engaged in a staring contest with a score of ax men and swordsmen. It was hard to say who was more surprised. From the bemused look on their faces, the fighters obviously didn't expect to run into anyone in these forests.

"What the hell?" One of the ax men groaned, "Lott, didn't Thany say this area was clear?"

"It's possible that she made a mistake, Ward," one of the fighters, presumably the man named Lott, answered. "I know Thany has the eyes of a hawk, but even she can't see everything concealed in the trees."

"Damn it!" Ward cursed as he gestured at Ellen, "You there! Are you from the local village?"

Bandits, Ellen thought as her mouth dried in fear. If they are going to ransack Rosiar, the princess will be in danger! But I'm powerless to stop them! They'll kill me rather than risk allowing me to raise the alarm!

"Ward, Lott," a swordsman covered in scars elbowed his way into the clearing. "What's the matter?"

Truly a sinister looking bandit leader, Ellen shuddered at the sight of the newcomer. The man was crisscrossed with scars all over his muscled torso and shoulders. Over his left eye, another thinly traced line was readily apparent.

"She's the matter," Ward pointed at Ellen.

St. Elimine, please deliver your faithful servant from this band of marauders, Ellen prayed silently. If it is God's will that I die here, please protect Princess Guinevere from all harm.

"Dieck," Lott said, "our rendezvous will be impossible if they're ready for us at the border. If she raises the alarm, all will be for naught."

The scarred mercenary named Dieck grimaced, "That won't do. We'll have to make sure she doesn't spoil our plans."

That's it, I'm dead, Ellen thought as she shut her eyes tightly.

Dieck turned to Ellen, "What's your name, miss?"

"Wha-?" Ellen's eyes popped open in surprise. Since when do bandits ask for names before killing their victims?

"Unless you want us to call you 'Miss Cleric" during the entire journey," Dieck looked apologetic, "I'd advise you to identify yourself."

"E, Ellen," Ellen replied, flabbergasted at the question.

"Well, Miss Ellen," Dieck said, "As you might've guessed, we're in quite a hurry at the moment. I'm sorry for your predicament, but I'm going to have to ask you to come with us to Pherae."

---

When Roland was crowned King of Lycia after the Scouring, all of Lycia was united under one banner. Rather than governed by a council of peers, absolute authority was vested in the Valorous Knight. Though Roland brought many revolutionary changes to the smattering of provinces called Lycia, few of his implemented changes lasted through the ages. Originally, Roland had separated Lycia into interconnected provinces and districts, each headed by a governor that was not from his family. Roland had wisely reasoned that after his death, Lycia's democracy would largely collapse due to an internal power struggle. Unfortunately, despite Roland's precautions, Lycia did just that after the death of their beloved leader.

Regional governors were either swiftly displaced by Roland's heirs, or voluntarily gave up their positions. In less than a fortnight, all of Roland's efforts were undone as chaos and bitter civil war raged through Lycia. Ostia, Pherae, Laus, Araphen, Kathelet, Santaruz, Thria, Ciaran, Tania, Caelin, Tuscany, Ryerde and Worde all declared for different lords, breaking the already fragile kingdom into a series of small holdings. Thirteen family members of Roland raised their banners and summoned their vassals for battle. What ensued would be known as the War of Heirs, the bloodiest conflict in the history of Elibe fought between men.

Arguably, not every lord was fighting the battle for Roland's crown. Some provinces, such as Santaruz, Caelin, and Pherae, were content do defend their lands and titles from encroaching neighbors. Before alliances were forged between the various heirs, no single province was conquered, though every bidder for the crown knew that if he or she controlled two provinces, Lycia would fall to their might.

After five vicious years of internal strife, the end came with surprising suddenness. It was then that Pherae and Ostia first allied together, a mutual friendship that would last one thousand years. With Santaruz and Caelin neutral in the war, Pherae was the only duchy that was willing to withdraw its bid and declare for another. The combined might of Pherae and Ostia proved to be unstoppable, as none of the other lords unbent enough to withdraw their claim and form alliances. Selfishly guarding their 'right' to the throne, the lords that opposed Ostia crumbled before the Pherae-Ostia allied armies. Before long, Araphen, Kathelet, Santaruz, Tania, Caelin, and Tuscany surrendered their claim and bowed out of the race. The lords of Thria, Ciaran, Ryerde and Worde fought to the last man, but were crushed in battle, stripped of their titles and exiled from Lycia. Thria was placed as under Ostian rule, while the three others were declared to be free cities, ruled by a council of city elders. Laus, seeing the dreadful fate of its neighbors, submitted grudgingly without a fight.

After the bitter War of Heirs came to an end, the various lords were summoned by a victorious Ostia to convene at Santaruz. With the war of swords over, the war of tongues began. Though defeated, the rebellious lords refused to allow the Ostian Lord to be crowned the new king. Over the five years of strife, the lords had grown accustomed to their independence and self-rule. Due to this, they vehemently opposed vesting the same authority in Ostia as they once gave to Roland. Roland commanded undisputable respect and loyalty from his countrymen; Ostia did not.

After a series of drastic compromises, the lords agreed upon the Lycian Covenant. The Lycian League was created, establishing a council of peers with Ostia at its head. The articles of the Lycian Covenant loosely established a coalition of territories that would collectively be known as the Lycian Alliance. As members of the alliance, they swore to defend mutual interests, respect Ostian supremacy, attend a council held in Ostia every few months, and never attack another Lycian state.

Roland would have turned over in his grave if he saw how many times the last statute was violated by Laus.

A sizeable convoy was traveling along the road to Ciaran. Located near Santaruz, Ciaran is an important checkpoint for travelers traveling through Lycia. Once the seat of the fallen House Cornwell, Ciaran is now governed by a council of city elders, much like Badon, Ryerde and Worde. The shipment of foodstuffs and supplies was dispatched from Ostia for Araphen, though it wouldn't hurt for them to pick up any supplies on the way. With Lycia at war and bandits afoot, General Leygance of Ostia had dispatched a dozen armored knights and another score of swordsmen to guard the convoy.

Ananias Milrun, the knight leading the escort, had raised an eyebrow at the small amount of guards sent on this crucial mission. Granted, Lord Hector took the majority of Ostia's finest knights with him to Araphen, so the lack of manpower wasn't that surprising. Although the convoy had made decent time traveling across Lycia, they were still a good day or two's march away from Castle Araphen. Yesterday, a herald from Araphen arrived asking Ananias and his men to quicken their pace. Evidently, the supplies for the Alliance Army in Castle Araphen were stretched thin as it was. Then again, the depletion of supplies was a foreseeable event as well.

Due to the Lycian Covenant, few lords of Lycia commanded an army exceeding one hundred and fifty men. From a political point of view, controlling a large army may tempt the marquess into doing something drastic, such as attacking his neighbors. From a practical point of view, maintaining a professional army is expensive. Soldiers had to be trained, paid, equipped and fed by the resources drawn from the marquess' holdings. To cut costs, a local marquess may choose to call on the militia instead. The militia was not as efficient as soldiers, but the peasants-turned-soldiers were self-sufficient in their villages. Castle Araphen typically hosted around sixty soldiers at the maximum, yet there were nearly seven times that amount defending its walls now!

It was imperative for Lycia's survival that these supplies were delivered to Araphen, but these provisions never saw the castle gate.

Erik, Marquess of Laus, stood concealed in a forest with two score Laus cavaliers at his back. Under the pretext of aiding Araphen's defense, Erik led sixty men unchallenged along the road to Araphen. Twenty he sent ahead in order to keep the impression that Laus forces were bound for Araphen. The remainder Erik kept with him to spring his little ambush. His spies managed to obtain the precise route that the caravan was taking, and Erik would ensure that not a single wagon entered Araphen territory. Without supplies and reinforcements, the Alliance Army would stand no chance against Bern's attack. However, one potentially dangerous element may throw all of his planning into disarray: Roy, son of Eliwood, was leading a troop of knights back to Pherae.

The Pheraen knights, known collectively as the Order of the Talon, are widely accepted as the greatest mounted division in Elibe. If Ostia was famous for armor knights, Ilia for Pegasus knights, Bern for wyvern riders, then Pherae was famous for its cavalry. Since the War of Heirs one thousand years ago, Pheraen knights remained peerless in horsemanship, fighting skills, and knighthood. Emphasizing quality over quantity, the valiant knights of Pherae rarely deployed more than four dozen men into battle. They rarely required any more. It was said that the thundering charge of Pheraen knights could sow dismay into the hearts of even the most stalwart soldiers.

Erik well remembered the last time Pherae and Laus clashed twenty years ago. Though he had spent considerable time and resources in rebuilding the Laus cavalry, Erik held no delusions that Laus cavaliers could match their Pheraen counterparts man-to-man. However, there were other ways to deal with Pherae rather than risking open combat. The alternative rested in the short, obese man named Paltier to Erik's left.

How Paltier, a man who weighed at least twenty stone, became the top spy in Laus would be a secret that Erik would never know. Though awkward and rather conspicuous in crowds, Paltier had a knack of obtaining information that other spies considered too risky to attempt. An excellent fabricator and copier of documents, Paltier had come into Laus' service during the reign of Erik's father, Marquess Darin. Paltier had started his career as a gimpy little clerk, but owing to his insatiable appetite for delicacies and women, he transformed himself into something far from the word 'little.' Nevertheless, Paltier was efficient, if somewhat lacking in loyalty, so Darin and Erik both kept him.

Efficient did not guarantee complete accuracy, Erik thought. If he fails me this time, I swear I will gut him no matter how many times he's proven successful in the past.

"Are you absolutely certain," said Erik, "that the Pheraen cavalry is still on the road to Ciaran?"

"Reasonably so, milord," Paltier replied silkily. "Several of my informants sighted Roy of Pherae last night at the border of Santaruz. No doubt the young noble was more than willing to receive the gracious hospitality of Marquess Rhesus' young wife."

"Reasonably? Cease your slobbering, fool!" Erik backhanded Paltier with a mailed gauntlet. "That impudent pup is the son of Eliwood! Eliwood, the so-called greatest knight in Lycia! If the son anywhere resembles the father, Roy of Pherae will not waste a single moment dallying on the road! This plan will collapse if Pherae marches up the road with Ostia!"

"M-milord, I beg your pardon!" Paltier scrambled to his feet, rubbing his jaw from Erik's blow. "I may have failed to pinpoint Pherae's position, but I can tell you that the Ostian group is marching directly into your trap. I have men ready to signal you if anything out of ordinary happens!"

"Where are they now?" Erik barked.

"Coming up the road," Paltier said, "Ostia will be in sight any moment now."

"In that case," Erik pondered for a moment, "are you all ready?"

Behind him, two score Laus cavaliers were buckling on their armor. Unlike the normal brown plate mail that Laus soldiers typically wore, the knights were struggling into a colored chain mail. Setting aside the traditional shield with the Laus Bull painted on it, the knights mounted with only their swords and lances.

Paltier tapped Erik's shoulder, "Marquess Erik, the lookout just brought word. Ostia has arrived. The necessary measures have been taken to ensure that no one will witness this meeting…"

"What are their numbers?"

"As Leygance promised," Paltier said, "some three dozen escorts, but only a third of them are armored knights. Their squad leader was assigned to his position less than a week ago."

"Very well," Erik said, closing his visor. "Remember your orders and leave the talking to me!"

On the beaten path, Ananias signaled the caravan to halt as several dozen cavaliers broke cover. Their level of organization clearly identified them as knights belonging to some Lycian state, but none of them carried a shield with a recognizable emblem. When the cavaliers were roughly thirty yards away, the escorts relaxed after identifying the unique blue armor that only Pheraen knights wore.

The caravan drivers heaved a sigh of relief. "Whew, and I was worried that some band of Bern cavaliers had arrived!"

"Yeah, with Pherae coming with us," one of Ananias' fellow knights said, "even those bastards from Bern will think twice!"

Ananias inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Since Lord Hector had largely depleted the standing company of armored knights, Ostia was forced to look elsewhere for troops. That was why a junior knight such as Ananias was promoted so quickly to the rank of squad leader. Ambitious, proud, and vain, Ananias daydreamed about a glorious career where he would be recognized as a noble peer. Initially, he had been proud to protect the life-giving supplies bound for Araphen, but that joy was significantly dampened when he was joined by a score of mercenaries.

Mercenaries, Ananias sneered, mercenaries have no place in Ostia! If it weren't for Moydran and his band, I'd have all the glory to myself! With the knights of Pherae here, I now have a reasonable excuse to dismiss these curs. If the leader of these knights recognizes my potential and ability, he may put in a good word for me with Lord Hector!

Moydran was a lean, serious man with a mess of red hair that numbered in his forties. One of the leaders of this mercenary group, Moydran outclassed everyone, including Ananias, in terms of skill and experience. To add insult to injury, even the knights under Ananias' command praised the quiet, brooding man's abilities. It irked Ananias to no end that Ostian knights were mingling with those of an inferior rank.

"Hey, Moydran," Ananias said haughtily, "gather your boys and assemble them here!"

Moydran shrugged at that before whistling to the other mercenaries. Ananias raised his visor as he called out, "Form up! Prepare to meet the knights of Pherae!"

The cavaliers drew to a halt a few yards before the Ostian escort. The lead cavalier approached without dismounting.

"Are you guarding the convoy bound for Araphen?" The knight asked.

"Yes," Ananias answered, "and you are?"

"I am Marcus of Pherae," the knight answered, "we have ridden from Araphen to assist you in your duties."

Moydran raised an eyebrow while Ananias gaped at the name.

"Marcus?" Ananias said, "Not the famous knight of Pherae who has no equal in knighthood?"

"Now, now, enough of that," the knight replied mildly. "I receive enough fawning over at home, and you would do well to know that flattery will get you nowhere."

Stunned at the reprimand, Ananias reddened in embarrassment. "I apologize. I was out of line, Sir Marcus."

"I'll overlook that," the knight said. "Now tell me, is this the entire escort?"

"Yes it is, but why does that matter?" Ananias was confused by the question.

"Nothing particularly important, but it will facilitate my task of delivering Lord Hector's new orders. As per Lord Hector's commands, you and your squad are now relieved of their duties."

Shocked at the casual dismissal, Ananias could only babble. "Dismissed? But, but, what do I do then? What happens to me?"

"Well, that is quite simple as well. Your new mission, whether you to choose to accept it or not, is to die in a messy spray of blood. At them, lads!"

Caught completely by surprise, pandemonium raged as the cavaliers suddenly attacked the convoy, intent on slaying every member of the escort. Outnumbered and outclassed, the mercenaries, merchants and knights had no way of countering the riders. Screams of death filled the air as the victims were butchered by the merciless horsemen. The merchants that tried to flee were run down and speared through like pigs. Within half a candle mark, only a handful of the mercenaries and Ananias were still alive, the rest were underfoot. Ananias, admittedly, was only alive because he was blubbering like a child behind his men as they were cut down. When the cavaliers encircled them in a ring of swords and lances, half a dozen mercenaries drew themselves together for one last stand. As the pitiless ambushers moved in for the kill, Ananias keeled over in a dead faint.

"Miserable coward," one of the mercenaries spat at Ananias' prone form, "acting all high and mighty as if he were a noble of some sort. Must've been the first time he's seen blood since he was born!"

"Moydran," another mercenary whispered, "we'll unhorse that son of a bastard over there. You take his horse and get the hell outta here!"

Moydran glanced sharply at the man, "What?"

The mercenary grinned, "Captain, we don't stand an icicle's chance in hell for avenging our mates, but you do. That's what you're gonna do after you make it outta here, 'kay?"

Before the cavaliers could mount their attack, the remaining mercenaries save Moydran threw themselves at the enemy leader. Unprepared for the suicidal rush, the cavaliers were slow to respond. By the time they slew three of the determined quintet, the other two had knocked Marcus off his horse. Quick as a flash, Moydran darted through the crowd of horseflesh and steel, mounting the stallion in one fluid motion.

It was then the leader's lackeys spoke for the first time. "Marquess Erik!"

Moydran's eyes widened as he half turned in the saddle. Sure enough, his eyes caught the face of the Lord of Laus rather than Marcus of Pherae's white beard.

Erik had lost his war helm in his fall from the horse. Raising his head, Erik's mind froze when he realized one of the mercenaries had procured his horse.

"Stop that man!" Erik screamed as he pointed at Moydran.

Moydran's last comrade slashed furiously at the cavaliers around him. "Get outta here, Captain!" He screamed seconds before the charging tide rode him down.

Gritting his teeth, Moydran dug heels into the flanks of his horse. With a neigh, the stallion sprang away from the melee.

Erik screamed in rage, "Damn it all! Hophni, take half the men and hunt down that mercenary! Ichabod, take a torch and burn all the supplies, leave nothing behind!"

"Marquess Erik," Ichabod bowed, "what is to be done with the Ostian knight?" He pointed at the unconscious Ananias.

Erik sneered, "Leave him alive. After all, someone has to bring word that the precious supplies bound for Araphen were burned by the treacherous Pheraen knights, right?"

Laughing maniacally, the Marquess of Laus took a horse that belonged to the convoy and departed. Moments later, his retainers followed him, leaving a smoldering blaze that could be seen for miles.

Half a candle mark later, Ananias roused from his rest by extreme discomfort. Regaining consciousness, Ananias found to his everlasting mortification that he had urinated on himself in fear during the struggle. Near him, the conflagration was still burning merrily. Some of the flying sparks even set the corpses alight, spreading the smell of burning flesh around the area.

I'm ruined, Ananias thought hazily, my dreams, my ambitions, my future… All gone, gone because those Elimine-forsaken Pheraen bastards. I can't return like this! How can I explain to General Leygance that the invincible knights of Ostia were squished like pancakes by Pheraen knights? I would be condemned forever as the one who proclaimed Ostia's inferiority to Pherae!

"Stupid, stupid mercenaries!" Ananias screamed as he kicked one of the burning corpses in anger, "If only you were competent enough! Why couldn't you protect the convoy and safeguard my promotion in the process?"

Wait a minute, something in Ananias' tormented mind clicked, these mercenaries are perfect! Grubby, immoral, and greedy sell swords betrayed Ostia by siding with Pherae! I, the great Ananias, led my men in a furious defense of the convoy, but was defeated on account of Moydran's treachery! They switched sides upon seeing Ostia's numerical disadvantage and aided in the destruction of the caravan! I'll say that I was knocked unconscious in the melee, and the treacherous hounds never noticed that I was still alive!

Ananias, armor knight-extraordinaire, trudged on foot in the direction of Ostia. Every step of the way, he was concocting a web of lies that he hoped would not only protect his reputation, but earn him a promotion as well.

Foolish knights, you made a grievous mistake in letting me live. I, Ananias, will return one day to hunt you down like the dogs you are!

---

Pherae lay situated between the rolling hills of Santaruz and the towering mountains of Bern. Though widely respected for its competent military arm, Pherae was largely ridiculed for its sparse and 'worthless' landscape. In comparison to the rest of Elibe, Pherae remained largely uncultivated and wild except for the farmlands that belonged to the plentiful villages. While the majority of the Lycian states thrived off of trading and animal husbandry, Pherae's remote location made heavy trading impossible. Nor did Pherae possess natural resources of other backwater cities, such as the gold mines of Thria, the silver mines of Santaruz, and ore deposits near Tania. Instead, Pherae was forced to rely upon bountiful harvests to feed its citizens. Due to this, many lords in Lycia snidely referred to Pherae as the "Peasant State," though these unkind words were never voiced within hearing of Pheraen knights.

The cultivated lands of Pherae largely consist of the precious farmland that every citizen in Pherae depends upon for survival. Tilled diligently by the peasants and farmers from the various villages throughout Pherae, the soil produced enough crops to satisfy the annual food necessities. However, the seasons could vary from year to year, so citizens of Pherae look to other ways of supplementing their diet. To survive, both men and women practiced swordsmanship or archery, both proving to be important skills when hunting the plentiful wild game in Pherae. It was wholly common to send a few hunters every couple weeks or so to bring back a side of venison for the village feast. Rather than jealously hoarding the noble's right to hunt royal game, the ruling marquess of Pherae frequently relaxed the archaic traditions and encouraged his people to hone their skills on the hunt.

Not counting the marquess' castle guards, Pherae's military numbered roughly one hundred mounted knights, though only half of them were on duty at any moment. Pherae's mounted force was split into two rotations of men; while one half was serving as soldiers, the other half were working the fields. Rotating every six months, this system allowed Pherae access to a fresh contingent of military men instead of an exhausted corps that serves year round. With a citizenry proficient in weapons work, the lords of Pherae unintentionally created a trained militia that could be summoned at a moment's notice. This also made the outlying villages less susceptible anything less than organized raids from large bandit groups.

A man in his mid-thirties walked towards the gates leading to the Pheraen village of Tobiah. Two villagers were directing a horse-drawn wagon of hay out of Tobiah. Upon recognizing the man, they greeted him with a wave.

"You certainly took your time on your way to the castle, Wil! Rebecca was about to send out Wolt to look for you if you didn't show up today!"

Wil laughed as he hefted the knapsack over his shoulder, "Pfft! I was only away from Tobiah for less than one day! I'd like to see you go to Castle Pherae and return in one morning!"

"Is that with a horse or without one?" The villagers and Wil shared a laugh.

Twenty steps later, Wil stopped in front of his house to find a pegasus staring him in the eye. Wil sighed, shaking his head as he brushed the pegasus' mane.

"St. Elimine spare me! Murphy, do you really hate your stall that much?"

The pegasus looked at Wil as if to say, If you were to be shackled inside a stall with no room to spread your wings, how'd you feel?

"So long as you didn't tear another hole through the barn's roof," Wil mock scowled. "Last time you did that, it took Wolt and I three days to patch it up. I swear that if I find one more hole in the roof, you won't get any carrots for a week!"

Chuckling inwardly at the horrified look in Murphy's eyes, Wil walked towards the house. Opening the door and dropping the knapsack to the ground, Wil called out. "I'm home!"

Wolt quickly popped out of the kitchen, "Hello, Pa!"

The tall, lanky archer was the spitting image of his father except for Wolt's pale blond hair. What caught Wil's attention, however, was the panicky expression on his son's face.

"Alright, spit it out, young man," Wil scolded with mock severity, "what did you do now?"

"I didn't do anything!" Wolt said as he chanced a glance over his shoulder, "It's just that Ma and Auntie Farina are still debating over Auntie's cooking. Truth be told, that wasn't much of a problem until Auntie decided to settle matter by having me taste it!"

Father and son shuddered at the thought of Farina's cooking.

After the defeat of Nergal, Farina and Dart had parted ways with Rebecca and Wil at Badon. Promising the engaged couple to visit them in Tobiah, Dart and Farina had departed to find the lost treasure of the Pirate King. Early in their search, Dart took a grievous wound while protecting Fargus and was forced to abandon the quest. Opting to recuperate at Tobiah, Dart and Farina made good their promise to see the newly-wedded Wil and Rebecca. However, Dart's roving ways came to an end when he held baby Wolt in his hands. Declaring that the "wee little babe would be heartbroken to see his Uncle Dart leave him," Dart settled down and took up farming, much to the joy of his family. Farina stayed as well, claiming that she was only staying until Dart coughed up the treasure map. The glances she directed at the oblivious Dart, however, told Rebecca there was more than meets the eye.

"Ha," Rebecca had told Wil when he mentioned Farina's possible departure. "I'll bet my bow that she'll be here long after receiving that treasure map."

Wil was more than happy to see the two adventurers settle down, so long as Farina never went within ten feet of the kitchen.

The first time Farina allowed them the luxury of tasting her specialty, Wil and Wolt were nearly suffocated by the horrific smell and literally turned green when they saw Farina's definition of 'specialty.' Needless to say, both of them fled before subjecting themselves to cruel and unusual punishment.

While father and son were remembering their last encounter with death, Farina and Rebecca came out of the kitchen. Rebecca remained largely unchanged over the years, though childbirth had added a few inches to her waistline. Allowing her hair to fall unbraided to her waist, Rebecca stifled the chuckles at the expressions of her husband and son. Farina no longer dressed in the armor of a mercenary, choosing to garb herself like any other female villager. The women's eyes danced with mischief as they approached Wil and Wolt.

"Wil, glad to see you home so quickly," said Rebecca.

Wil smiled, "I'm glad to be back." His fearful gaze did not leave the kitchen.

Farina huffed, putting her hands on her waist, "I'm offended! Is my cooking that disagreeable with you two?"

"Err…" Do we really have to answer that? Wolt was edging towards the door, but was stopped when someone else came into the house.

"Did someone say cooking?" Dart's voice boomed in the doorway.

Saved by the bell, Wil and Wolt let out a sigh of relief. Farina brightened at the sight of the pirate-turned-farmer while Rebecca smiled. "Why are you back so soon from the fields, Dan?"

"Ole Duncan told me that Wil returned while I was out," Dart said, no longer trying to stop Rebecca from using his original name. "So I'm here to see the whippersnapper doesn't shirk from his 'duties.'"

"Hey, you're supposed to be on our side here!" Wolt shouted.

"I ate your portion last time too, remember?" Dart said, "So the least you can do is at least clean your plate. Though I don't know why you didn't believe me when I said the grub was just fine."

"Ha, at least someone acknowledges my genius!" Farina said triumphantly.

"Come on, you young scamp," Dart had Wolt in a headlock, "to the dining room with me!"

"Can I beg for mercy?"

With Farina, Wolt and Dart headed for the kitchen, Rebecca stopped Wil with a questioning look in her eyes. The cheer seemed to evaporate from the room as Wil's shoulders sagged for an instant. Rebecca drew her husband into a hug before asking Wil how the trip went.

"How fares Lord Eliwood?"

"Terrible," Wil admitted, "I managed to meet him yesterday evening before supper. He met me in his study, Rebecca! Since when does Lord Eliwood see anyone outside the throne room?"

"Well," Rebecca said, "we are his long-time vassals. Perhaps Lord Eliwood relaxed the rules for your sake?"

"You wouldn't think that way if you saw Lord Eliwood's face," Wil shook his head. "His face was completely pale, eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, and even his hands trembled slightly. I think he was simply too tired to move my audience back to the throne room. The illness has been far worse than we assumed."

"Did you see anyone else at Castle Pherae?"

"Yes, I talked briefly with Sir Harken and Lady Isadora, who still serve as Lord Eliwood's chief guards. Sir Marcus and Master Roy have not returned from Ostia yet."

"Roy," Rebecca had a faraway look in her eyes, "I still remember the day Lord Eliwood asked me to be his nurse. He and Wolt were great friends; two playmates that terrorized the castle like no children had ever done before."

"You'll see Master Roy soon," Wil said as he gathered his wife into a hug, "I hear that he is due back any day… Wait, what's that?"

Wil and Rebecca both focused on the clamor of the village bell.

Rebecca frowned, "What could Father be thinking, ringing the bell like that? There's no festival today, so the only reason could be…" She sucked in a breath in realization.

"Bandits," Wil finished grimly for his wife, "call Dan and Wolt! Tell them I'll meet them at the village gates!"

Yanking open the drawstring of his knapsack, Wil drew out his trusty longbow and a quiver of arrows. Slinging the quiver over a shoulder, Wil kissed Rebecca on the cheek before leaving the house.

"Be careful!" Rebecca called out before turning to rouse Wolt and Dart from the kitchen.

Arriving at Tobiah's gates, Wil was relieved to find nearly a dozen villagers armed with bows and hatchets. The other villagers appeared to be extremely nervous, though Wil could easily understand why. Since returning to his hometown with Rebecca twenty years ago, Wil had never encountered a single bandit raid in Pherae. The Order of the Talon regularly patrolled the countryside, eradicating bandit nests before any problems could arise. Despite the fact that a large number of Pheraen knights had departed to retrieve Master Roy, a bandit attack in broad daylight typically meant one of two things: the bandits were either incredibly stupid or assured of their success. From Wil's experience dealing with brigands, he'd lay his money on the former but not discount the possibility of the latter.

"Wil!"

"Mayor?" Wil was surprised to find Rebecca's father at the gate, "What are you doing here?"

"I was helping parents locate their children," the mayor replied as Dart and Wolt arrived, "Wil, what do you think the bandits are doing over there?"

Wil peered out the village gates to see twenty odd bandits gathering two hundred yards away from the village. The brigands were carrying a variety of axes and hammers, though they made no visible effort to attack. Instead, they appear to be waiting for something.

"I have no idea," Wil said, scratching his head, "but let's close the village gates first. No sense in leaving the door wide open for bandits to waltz in."

The villagers chorused their agreement to Wil's idea. Willing hands quickly pulled the stout, oaken doors to a close. Pheraen village gates were built much like castle gates, albeit made of wood rather than steel. To prevent a battering ram from easily forcing an entryway, the village gates were made to swing outward rather than inward. Once the gates were closed, archers could climb up several stairways to rain arrows upon any besiegers.

Wolt, Wil, and Dart were climbing up the stairs when they heard a series of heavy pounding noises outside the village gate. Fearing the worst, they scrambled atop the wooden palisades only to find half a dozen hammer-wielding bandits scramble away from Tobiah to join their brethren.

Wil was confused, "Where did those bandits come from?"

"They were probably hiding along the palisades," Wolt answered, "probably to ambush us if we left the village to give battle?"

"Since when do villagers leave their homes behind to fight bandits?" Wil asked.

Dart, however, was a seasoned brawler who has participated in all sorts of battles in the past. Frowning slightly, he called out to the villagers below. "Hey, mayor, try to open the gates!"

"Open the gates?" The mayor asked, "What for? Wouldn't that let the bandits inside?"

"Don't open them all the way!" Dart shouted back, "I said just try to open the gate!"

Bemused, the villagers strained and heaved against the wooden gates, but it refused to budge. "It won't move!"

"Are the hinges rusty?" One of the villagers asked.

"Impossible," another declared, "we closed this thing with remarkable ease a few minutes ago!"

"Not counting that I oiled the hinges not two days ago," the mayor said.

"What's going on?" Wolt asked Dart as the pirate clenched his teeth.

"They've locked us in," Dart said tensely, "the hammer bros locked our gates for us by sliding a wedge underneath and hammering them in place."

Wolt still didn't get it, "Why would they want to do that? They can't starve us out! Look over there," the archer pointed to the departing bandits leaving a trail of dust in their wake. "They're leaving already!"

Wil was suddenly struck by a horrible thought, "By St.Elimine, they can't possibly be going for…"

"Pa," Wolt said, "what are you talking about?"

"Which village is closest to the castle?" Wil asked.

Wolt frowned, "Pa, you know as well as I do that the closest one is Tobiah. Wait a minute…"

"The bandits were not going to attack Tobiah at all," Wil guessed, "they were only here to make sure we didn't budge from our position! The real prize is Castle Pherae! With Sir Marcus and the majority of the knights away with Master Roy, the castle will only be held by a token force!"

Dart grimaced, "Don't just stand there! Let's get this bloody gate unbarred, you lazy landlubbers! We don't have a second to waste!"

In their haste, the residents of Tobiah never noticed the second dust cloud that was rapidly moving through the forests.

---

Castle Pherae was erected on a plateau that spanned over the rolling hills of Pherae's countryside. The castle was designed in the customary Pheraen fashion, strong and durable but without any luxury or extravagance. Though not quite as well known as the castles in Ostia or Bern, Pherae nevertheless endured through the ages. Throughout the generations, the castle provided the lords of Pherae with a defensible throne where they could hear the wants of their people.

However, today the castle was eerily quiet. Instead of the normal, rambunctious crowds that came to pay respects to the marquess, the halls were void of people. The usually vibrant guards seemed to slouch at their posts, though a stern look from Harken or Isadora quickly fixed that problem. The Falcon Pendant of Pherae slumping at half mast summed up the atmosphere quite nicely.

Everyone in Pherae was aware that Marquess Eliwood was ill several weeks ago. Then some nameless gossipmonger claimed Marquess Eliwood was dying. In less than a fortnight, that rumor spread like wildfire among Pherae's citizens. Ever since their lord was confined to bed three days ago, Pheraens have become increasingly edgy and nervous. Eliwood, one of the most benevolent lords in the history of Pherae, was only in his mid-forties and was expected to last another ten years at least. All of Pherae prayed to the gods that their kind marquess would grace them with his presence as long as possible.

Isadora and Harken stood guard outside Eliwood's bedchamber. Happily married after the Campaign of Fire, both Isadora and Harken remained in the service of House Pherae. Age barely seemed to touch Isadora compared to Harken. Whereas Isadora still retained her grace and beauty, Harken's hair was rapidly graying with care lines crisscrossing his face. His joints suffering from too many old wounds, even walking proved to be painful for Harken. Despite Isadora's protests, Harken held stubbornly to his post, believing that every stab of pain he felt washed away a small portion of his failure to Lord Elbert, the previous Marquess Pherae.

The sound of shoes clapping against the cold marble floor reached Isadora and Harken's ears. Turning slightly, Isadora saw a young girl with streaming blue hair round the corner with a glass vial in hand. A red hair band threaded through her hair and clad in crimson clothes, Lilina's walking speed was bordering on running.

Recalling her lessons from Lady Eleanora, Isadora smiled before speaking. "Lady Lilina, a lady should not be seen running about the castle hallways."

Lilina flushed with embarrassment, "I… I apologize. It's just that I lost track of the time and forgot to bring Lord Eliwood's medication…"

"No harm done. Though he must take it, I'm sure Lord Eliwood detests the vile taste," Harken said with a grin.

"'Losing track of time?'" Isadora teased, "You were always a responsible girl, Lady Lilina. What could possibly capture your attention so fully?"

Lilina clutched the vial tightly, "I was, uh, engrossed in reading Lords and Ladies: Famous Romances of Elibe…"

"Uh, Lady Lilina," Harken raised an eyebrow, "you do recall that Castle Pherae only has one copy of that book located in Master Roy's room, right? If I remember correctly, you were the one that gave it to him for a present."

Lilina's face was pale for one second before turning into an even darker hue of red than before. "I… I, uh, must be going now! I'm already late to see Lord Eliwood!" Lilina stammered, quickly entering the room before Isadora or Harken could say anything further.

When the door slammed, Harken chuckled lightly as Isadora chided her husband. "Harken! Lady Lilina is the daughter of Lord Hector! You're not supposed to embarrass her like that!"

"Embarrass?" Harken composed himself, "It's a fact that during her stay here, with the exception of meals or meetings with Lord Eliwood, Lady Lilina spends the majority of her time within a ten feet radius of Master Roy's room. I know they were childhood friends, but this is…" Harken chuckled again.

"She's absolutely infatuated with him," Isadora agreed, "but mark my words, when Master Roy returns, poor Lilina will be too shy to confess her feelings. And unfortunately for the poor girl, she will only receive an answer to her unrequited feelings by being blunt!"

"Unrequited? What makes you say that?" Harken asked.

Isadora frowned, "Please, Harken, just look at the past events. Remember the proposal of uniting Ostia and Etruria with a marriage several years ago by matching Lady Lilina with some arrogant young noble? When Master Roy caught word of it, he didn't even react to the situation! If Lord Hector did balk at the marriage, I believe Master Roy would be content to let the marriage slide?"

"Let the marriage slide, maybe. Be content while doing so, never."

Isadora turned a startled glance at Harken, "What makes you say that?"

"You weren't responsible for Master Roy's swordsmanship training, Isadora," Harken said as he looked at his wife. "Whenever Lady Lilina was around, Master Roy would try ten times harder, even to the point of self-injury. No, I believe the attraction is mutual, but something is holding Master Roy back."

"Holding him back? Master Roy has always been a tenacious and obstinate boy that tends to act first rather than thinking it through. What could possibly make him hold back?"

"I don't know, Isadora, I don't know."

Shutting the door behind her, Lilina tried to slow her racing pulse and conjure the color from her cheeks. Roy's absence in Castle Pherae did nothing but compound her heartache. Nothing fueled the flames of love more than separation, and having the object of your attraction just out of your reach was simply unbearable. Though Roy's clean scent lingered in the confines of his room, they were paltry substitutes for the young lord himself.

"L-Lilina… Have I become so frightening that you longer wish to see me? Come here child…" Eliwood's voice was laced with amusement.

Shaking her head rapidly to clear her thoughts of Roy, Lilina hurried over to Eliwood's bedside. Uncorking the vial, Lilina quickly poured a glass of the pale red liquid and offered the chalice to the sick marquess.

Raising himself slowly, Eliwood made a face before downing the contents of the glass in one gulp. Grimacing slightly from the sour aftertaste, Eliwood handed the cup back to Lilina before falling back against the headrest.

"I do believe…" Eliwood said slowly, "those doctors derive sadistic pleasure from concocting such unpleasant remedies."

Lilina giggled, "But Uncle Eliwood, it's these distasteful herbal drinks that will cure you of your malady!"

"That doesn't stop those miserable physicians from trying to flavor these blasted drinks so they don't gag their patients," Eliwood growled.

Lilina giggled again, "Uncle Eliwood, you sound exactly like Roy when he had to take his medicine!"

"That would be like him," Eliwood said with a smile, "I remember trying to force a spoonful of cold medicine down his throat. After nearly a candle mark of fierce struggling, Roy finally accepted one mouthful of the fluid before spraying the contents all over the table."

Lilina laughed again, though her heart panged at the mention of Roy's name. Great work, Lilina, she berated herself; you were the one that first started speaking about Roy. The princess of Ostia quickly looked around for something to change the subject. Lilina's eyes fell upon a large painting covered in a black canvas that hung near the foot of Eliwood's bed.

Following her line of sight, Eliwood sighed, "Lilina, you always stare at that painting every time you visit me. If it will satiate your curiosity, remove the black veil and gaze upon it."

Mortified, Lilina hastily apologized, "I'm sorry, Uncle Eliwood, I didn't mean to offend…"

"Nonsense," Eliwood said with a smile, "I typically do not allow anyone to view the painting, but since you're the daughter of my good friend Hector, I'm willing to make an exception. Go ahead, child."

Soliciting one last look of approval from Eliwood, Lilina hesitantly approached the painting. After a few hard jerks, Lilina successfully pulled the dark canvas from obscuring the painting's contents. It turned out that it was a painting of the most exotically beautiful woman Lilina had ever seen.

"This is…" Lilina's eyes widened at the portrait. From the loving red eyes to the unique teal-colored hair, from the graceful dancer's figure to the poise of a queen, the woman in the portrait seemed to be perfect in every manner. "Is… is she real?"

Eliwood laughed, "I will take that as a serious compliment. Yes, Lilina, she was a real person. There never was, and never will be, a more beautiful, compassionate, loving woman in the entire world. She is Roy's mother, Ninian."

Roy's mother, Lilina thought, I heard she passed away ten years ago, when Roy was only five. "I'm sorry, Uncle Eliwood. I must have brought up quite a few memories."

"What are memories good for if not for sharing once in a while?" Eliwood asked, "Her health was always a little frail, I'm afraid, she simply could not adapt the fluctuations in this world."

What is he talking about? Lilina wondered, "Uncle Eliwood…?"

Further conversation was impossible since a hard knock sounded on the door. "Lord Eliwood?" Isadora's muffled voice drifted through the thick oaken door.

"Come in, Isadora," Eliwood said. After the knight entered, he asked, "Well, what is the matter?"

"We're under attack, Lord Eliwood," Isadora said with finality, "they appear to be a large bandit group from the Bern Mountains."

"Hmph," Eliwood frowned, "do they believe this castle is easy pickings without Marcus and his knights? What's the situation?"

"We've already barred the gates with several archers shooting at the besiegers," Isadora reported. "As of the moment, we can fend them off despite their battering ram. However, if the gate is breeched, we will be hard pressed to defend ourselves."

"Aren't Sir Bors and his knights available too?" Lilina asked.

"They are currently shoring up the gate, Lady Lilina," Isadora replied. "However, even with their numbers, the brigands still outnumber us nearly four to one."

"Four to one means they have roughly one hundred and fifty men," Eliwood said, "I'm assuming several bands we failed to root out joined them as well?"

"That is correct, Lord Eliwood," Isadora frowned, "apparently, they believe that Pherae falls, the surrounding lands would be subject to their raiding as well. That is why the bandits from Bern and Pherae are working together."

"Very well," Eliwood said, "Lilina, return to your room until this is over."

"Uncle Eliwood, I can help too!" Lilina protested.

"You will not subject yourself to unnecessary danger," Eliwood said sternly. "If you were injured by some ill-timed projectile, I'd never be able to face Hector. He sent you here precisely for your safety! Isadora, please take Lilina to her room."

Giving Lilina a kind smile, Isadora offered a hand to the young girl, "Come, Lady Lilina, there is no need for you to fight as well." Reluctantly, Lilina accepted and the two departed Eliwood's chambers.

On the wall, Harken ducked as poorly-aimed hand ax went flying by. Though the Pheraen archers gave as good as they got, nothing seemed to deter the bandits working with the battering ram. The bandits hated Pherae's periodical knight forays and did their utmost to destroy the symbol of Pherae's power. Time and time again, the tree trunk struck the unyielding steel gates. No gate, no matter how well built, would last forever against a determined foe.

Harken let fly the hand ax that was aimed at him and was rewarded with a cry of pain below. Glancing at the archer beside him, Harken pulled the man down. Half a second longer and Dave would've decapitated by another ax.

"Whew, thanks Sir Harken!"

"No problem," Harken replied, and then grimaced at his protesting joints.

"How long do you think we can hold them off?" Dave asked.

Harken shook his head, "Since we can't sortie, they have all day to knock down the gates. Once the gate is breeched, then the situation will be grim indeed."

"Won't the local villages be able to help us out?"

"The bandits are ruthless fighters while villagers specialize in farming," Harken said. "As soldiers of Pherae, it is our duty to defend the countryside from their raids. Where is our honor if we call upon those we defend to aid us? Even if a band of militia arrives from Tobiah, they cannot stand against such large numbers of bandits in open battle!"

Overhead, a distinctive whistling noise sounded over the battlefield.

"What the…?" Harken looked skywards to see an arrow shoot off into the sky. "That's a whistling arrow, the signal that Tobiah hunters are in the vicinity!"

Dave chanced a look over the battlements, "Sir Harken, a band of archers just exited the forest?"

"What?" Harken said in dismay, "Wil, you fool! You've caused the death of your friends!"

Standing well out of range from the castle walls, Damas and two score of his bandits turned to face the new threat. A seasoned brigand from the Bern Mountains, Damas had long plotted for a daring siege on Castle Pherae. Buoyed with weapons from Bern, Damas allied with the surviving bands in Pherae for this attack. While half of his men were attacking the castle, Damas and kept the other half in reserve to deal with any foolhardy militia that came to 'lift' the siege. He grinned wolfishly at the dozen or so bow-bearing villagers that were now hurriedly fleeing for the woods.

"Those idiots, thinking they can break us with a dozen archers?" Damas guffawed, "Merrid, take your two dozen boys and drag those buckos back here!"

Merrid was the leader of one of the bandit gangs hiding in Pherae. Two years ago, his hideout was razed to the ground by Pheraen knights on the patrol. Swearing vengeance for the slight, Merrid was all too happy to join in the sacking of Castle Pherae.

"Will do, boss!" Merrid swung his ax overhead as he stormed after the fleeing villagers with twenty men behind him. "Wait up, my beauties! Let my ax kiss you to sleep."

Merrid and his band stopped at the edge of the woods where they saw the archers climb into the trees. Leering at the villagers, Merrid and his cronies began jeering at them.

"Got yourselves into quite a pickle, eh? Come down and save us the trouble of chopping the trees down."

"Any sweat hearts you got at home? Tell me her name and I'll leave your head on her doorstep."

Merrid was getting impatient, "Aw, hurry up and bring them down. I don't care… Ah!" One of the archers had fired an arrow that grazed Merrid's arm. "Get them down, dead or alive!"

"Uh, boss?" One of the bandits tugged on Merrid's sleeve while the rest approached the trees.

"What is it now?" Merrid asked irritably.

"Are you hearing what I'm hearing?" The brigand asked, "I'm hearing this rumbling noise that's coming from the forest."

"Are you stupid?" Merrid backhanded the bandit, "Why the devil would the forest be making noises?"

"I don't know!" The bandit whined, "I just know that it's getting louder, as if something's coming this way!"

"You idio…" Merrid stopped as a disturbing thought chilled his heart. His underling's description came awfully close to something that every Pheraen bandit dreaded. "Oh, shit! Get those boys away from the trees!"

Merrid's warning came just half a second too late.

Before the eyes of the astounded bandits, the bushes and shrubbery exploded outwards. Out of the trees came wave after wave of mounted horsemen with swords raised to kill. The sun's rays broke through the clouds and reflected off the pure blue plate mail that the cavaliers were wearing. In the lead, astride a black stallion of great spirit, rode a young man with hair that seemed to glow like fire. His left hand was clasped tightly around the reins of his steed while the right hand held a jeweled long sword. The blade arched forward, catching the sunlight in its warlike slash. Out of his throat and all of his command echoed the time-honored war cry of Pherae.

"Forward, Talons of Pherae!"

---

Throughout this fiction, I will be bending the class rules a bit. Thank you for reading and review if you have the time!