Chapter 4
AN/ I'm sorry this chapter took so long. Lately i've been hit with a one two punch of school work and depression. And teachers unfortuantly don't understand that Fanfiction Alebra. But anyway I really hope you enjoy this chapter.
"What're the chances we leave the border without a war?" Gaius asked leaning leisurely against a bolder enjoying a rather squashed looking pastry.
"Smaller than a grain of sand." Tharja said gloomily.
Henri's grin stretched across his face at the word blood.
"Should be fun! Well get to fight a whole army!" Henri said cheerfully.
Robin poked at the campfire. She and Henri were the only ones assigned to watch duty, but where she went Tharja followed, and Gaius was reluctant to stay near the camp in general.
"What do you think Feathers? You're the prodigious tactician, after all."
She watched a log fall into the embers and tried to force Vasto from her mind.
"I think that whatever becomes of the hostage will spur Ylisse into war. She's fortunate she was left at the border, but her reprieve will end when King Gangrel and Aversa arrive. If we're fortunate either the prince or the exalt will be slain at the border and this war will end within the year." She spoke softly, ordinarly she wouldn't have said it at all.
But they were alone several miles from the main camp, and she trusted Henri, Tharja, and Gaius as much as she could anyone in Plegia. As vicious, bloodthirsty, and kniving as they could be, they were loyal to her. To a point.
"D'you think they'll cut her up? Maybe they'll chop off her head or feed her to the wyverns. Ohh, or they could cut her heart out, like the Grimleal used to do! I hope they let me watch." Henri said tracing patterns into the sand.
"She was brave at least, the hostage, I mean. Faced down brigands with six men and a parasol, I heard." Gaius said.
"And got those men slayed, and herself as well, most like. Sometimes...it's best for bravery to yield to caution." Robin responded.
The corpses of the valiant littered the sands in the last war, the cowards ran and lived to see this one.
"I know my way around Themis, pretty well." Gaius said casually. "That's who she is, the duchess of Themis. I snuck into her father's treasury once and got myself arrested. Caught sight of her at my trial. Pretty lass, but she had that look on her face, all nobles have it. The one that says you're lower than dirt."
Robin nodded, she had caught sight of the prison tattoo on his arm once, in an incident involving a mistaken bath tent, that still made her blush. "I'm surprised you escaped the noose, from what I've heard Ylissean nobles guard their treasury like a lioness guards her cubs."
"Perhaps they couldn't bear to remove such a handsome visage from the world. Or perhaps it was just luck. I used to have a fair bit, until I crossed you, I suppose." He grinned wryly.
Robin smiled for a second. She remembered meeting Gaius years ago. She'd been with Mustfasa then, and a band of mercenaries had been hired to show them the area.
Most of them had been Feroxi, and Gaius had successfully kept his origin hidden, until he came to Mustafa with his leader's plans to turn on them, and with that little confession came the slip of an accent.
What had motivated his turn had been a mystery, until after the battle when Robin had found that the leader had caught Gaius stealing from the company.
Likely he would have slipped back into sugar coated obscurity but a box of sugared persimmons and a few death threats persuaded him to join her motley band. With the assistance of looted papers claiming he was a Valmese mercenary they'd faced little trouble. Robin hoped it remained that way, if it was found that Gaius was Ylissean and Robin had harbored him they would both meet the noose. Or worse. But his knowledge of Ylisse was invaluable and he had no small talent for ferreting out information in other fields as well.
Robin wasn't fool enough to believe that it was loyalty and fondness for her that kept him silent and relatively obedient. His name and the brand on his arm was known in Ylisse. His little mishap with the mercenary band in Feroxi had endeared him to few, and to start over in Cho'sin or Valm, was no mean task. Thus far half of Robin's wages had been enough for him.
"Perhaps my luck simply overwhelmed yours." Robin said lightly. Despite their banter, the war that would come in morning hung over their camp like a pallor.
They all sat in silence for a moment.
"I hope the battle is real bloody. The crows are hungry." Henri said.
Not to worry Henri. The crows will be fed all across the continents soon. Robin thought dolefully.
"We'll be at the border by tomorrow. King Gangrel didn't drag a small army to the border for peaceful parly." Tharja paused then smiled. "It'll be a good opportunity to try my curses, there are a few I've been just yearning to try. I found a rather delightful one that sets blood to boiling." Her eyes glittered darkly by the fire's light.
"Bet I can kill more than you!" Henri exclaimed excitedly.
Tharja glared at him balefully. "I doubt that very much. For all of your...enthusiasm my skill is far more vast.
"We'll see. Hopefully I'll get a head start or a leg up!" Henri laughed uproariously.
"I'd prefer you two focus on keeping your selves alive." Robin rebuked. They can't help it. The first war warped them, and the dark magic has only twisted them further. They are what they've been made.
Tharja smiled. "Your concern touches my heart. Should I bring you one of their's?" She asked.
"Take their lives, leave their hearts. That does include other limbs as well." She addressed to Henri.
His face settled into a pout. "But what if I want a keepsake?" He asked.
"Keep the memories." Robin commanded.
Gaius had finished his pastry and was cleaning his sword with a placid look on his face. She would have to talk to him about how he felt about a war with his countrymen. Gaius was no patriot, but to slaughter your own kind couldn't be easy for anyone.
"It's about time we get some rest. Orton's men are due to take over. It's best we're on our toes no matter what comes." Robin said standing up. "Gaius, will you walk me to the tents?" She asked.
"I could never refuse a lady, not even you Feathers." Gaius said, pushing himself up.
Robin huffed in mock offense. "Well, you're hardly a knight. They'd never pull you away from the castle's kitchens and you'd sooner rob a dragon then slay it."
Gaius shrugged. "Fair enough."
"Good night Robin! Don't let the nightmares bite." Henri chirped.
"Indeed. Sleep well Robin, I know I shall." Tharja and Henri headed off to their own tents.
Gaius and she walked through a patchy forest of poplars. The closer to the border they'd ridden the more vegetation they found. Albeit sparsely gathered and yellowed.
A slim crescent moon shone above doing little to light their way.
"My mother used to call that a sickle moon, she always said the night is darkest at it's rise. Under a sickle moon deception comes more easily than truth, and blood is spilled." Robin said unbidden. She didn't quite know why, usually she was loath to speak of her mother.
"I knew a thief once who put all his stock in the stars and moon. Wouldn't rob unless the moon was waning and the serpent was in season. One night when all the stars had aligned to his liking and he thought the moon smiled on him he stole into the manor of one Duke Southerland. He lost his head that very same night." Gaius said.
"A sad tale, I know of many others sadder that took place under a sickle moon. But it's not just the moon I wish to speak of tonight. We'll be fighting on the morrow, you know that as well as I."
Gaius nodded. "Aye, I'd bet a blueberry tart on it." He said lightly.
"That's a fool's bet. And we're many things, but not fools. It'll be your countrymen you're killing. Unless you plan to turn your cloak." She gripped his shoulder and searched his face. "Can you fight against your homeland?" She asked him.
His sharp brown eyes met hers unflinching. "Ylisse is nothing to me, it's neither my home nor my master. I may not be one of your Plegians fighting for the privilege of spilling some poor Ylissean bastard's guts onto the sand. But I'll fight for gold. And you've given me that, so far."
Robin nodded, and slowly took her hand from his shoulder. "I needed to be sure. Few things can slay quicker than loyalty misplaced. As long as blood flows, the gold does too." She said. They walked to Orton's tents in silence.
They soon reached the tent of the men next on watch duty. Three figures lay fast asleep in their bedrolls.
The first of them was a stocky man with tousled brown hair and tanned skin snoring loudly. Next to him was a lean boy with a sharp bird like face and braided dark hair, he was silent in his sleep, a few steps from him was a girl with tangled sandy tresses and a bow clutched to her like a doll.
She poked at the snoring man with her boot. "Up! It's your watch till dawn." He didn't stir.
Gaius smirked next to her. "Leave him to me Feathers." Silently he crouched next to him and gingerly placed his hand over his mouth, quickly he pressed his other hand over his nose.
His eyes jolted open and he struggled under Gaius' hold. His smirk widened and he removed his hand.
"You sure these guys ought to be on watch Feathers?" He asked as the man gasped for breath. He had switched back to his Valmese accent.
"I'm sorry about my compatriot. He's a believer that constant vigilance is an important stricture in serving Plegia." Robin said, her words coated in false amicability. Gaius and I will have a discussion about his awakening methods on the morrow.
He gasped for a minute before smiling. "Aye, I'll have to be more wary, around you lot." He chuckled. "I'm Fieron." He stuck out his hand.
Robin grasped it tentatively. "Captain Robin, it seems we'll be fighting together for a time."
"I'll pray to Grima that you aren't assigned wake up duty again." He laughed genially.
His two comrades had awoke, the lean one was swaying groggily but the girl was staring at them alertly. Her eyes were a grimly narrowed in suspicion. Robin saw on her face, a combination of wariness and mistrust that she and so many more had worn as children. That they wore still.
An orphan. Perhaps as a child during the war. Or older when the sand fever swept through.
"Nisa, Wryn, we can't let the dawn creep past us. Hopefully one of you has something to roast." They trailed after him into the dark forest.
Gaius turned her way his face shrouded by the darkness of the tent. "Can you sleep now that you're properly assured I'm content with killing my fellows?"
"I'll sleep like a babe now that your loyalty has been confirmed. Sleep well Gaius." Robin said.
Unlike many of her fellows she didn't look forward to sleep. Since she was a girl she'd been plagued by nightmares, and she doubted this night would be an exception.
"Sweet dreams, Feathers. We'll be needing all the sweetness we can get soon." He stalked off his own way. He didn't sleep with the others. Perhaps he nests in some tree, bickering with woodland critters for fruit and bees for their honey.
Stumbling in the dark she came at last to the tent shared with Tharja. Tharja was fast asleep with a small smile on her resting face. Robin didn't want to know what her dreams entailed. Going to her own bedroll she layed down and prayed that for once sleep would come easily and dreamlessly.
"Please! I'm no traitor! Robin help me please! Save me! I'm no traitor. Please!" Vasto cried from his place on the violet carpet.
"Help, Mother help me! Mother!" He sobbed. A faceless soldier with only a patch of swirling darkness beneath his iron helm slit his throat from ear to ear.
"No! No!" He cried even as the blood gushed out. Robin stood to before him, she was a little girl and she couldn't move. She couldn't scream. Aversa's eyes were limpid raven pools, and shadows whirled and danced around her as she ignited him. "YOU DID THIS! You! You! YOU!" He repeated as fire dark as night consumed him.
He stared at Robin and lifted a flaming arm towards Robin. "You! You! You!" He condemned her. As the flames took his armor, his hair, his face, he changed suddenly.
The face that replaced his was softer, feminine and warm, with long pale hair and sage brown eyes, she wore a black hierophant's robe. Still aflame she walked before Robin.
Mother? She thought, still paralysed.
She lifted a blazing hand and stopped an inch from Robin's cheek. She could feel the heat.
"Why so sorrowful, child?" She asked kindly. Robin wished more than anything to run and bury her face in her mother's flaming cloak, to weep on her shoulder, and apologize a hundred times at least for what she'd done.
"Is it because you killed me? Is it because you burned me? Because they slit my throat from ear to ear? Because you're a craven? If not for you I'd have lived!" Her mother accused her face twisted into hatred, her words searing like acid.
Robin wished she could go to her knees and beg for forgiveness.
Suddenly her mother's face returned to a sympathetic smile and her voice was gentle. "You deserve this child, it was your cowardice that slew me. This is your penance." Her mother placed her burning hand tenderly to Robin's cheek. The pain was overwhelming but Robin couldn't scream. She stood mute and terrified and in agony.
The fire consumed her face, then her hair, it spread to her dress, down her legs, and her ragged sandals. Her mother smiled kindly while she burned, her brown eyes completely devoid of pity.
Robin awoke with blood in her mouth. Tangled in her bedroll she took a couple desperate breath. Tasting the copper she put her hand to mouth. Bit my cheek again.
Remnants of her dream crept back in her mind, she remembered fire and pleading and a pair of gentle and merciless brown eyes but little else. Perhaps it was for the best she didn't remember.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up drawing the tent flap back and recoiled at the burst of cool morning air. The first remnants of dawn were creeping into the sky but it was still dark.
Vague dreams of fire and pleading. Always a fair omen.
Nevertheless she put on a clean garb careful not wake Tharja. One thing that had been made apparently clear during their friendship was the incompatibility of Tharja and mornings.
It took her longer than usual. She was careful, equipping herself with leather armour in preparation for the border pass, it wasn't heavy enough to hinder her mobility but hopefully it'd be enough to keep an arrow from her flesh.
When she was finished she wrapped her cloak around her to ward off the chill and left the tent. She would head to mess tent, and beat the rush.
Today I'll be first to receive my allotment of watery oatmeal and stale bread. A fair morning indeed.
She thought passing the rows of tents with slumbering occupants. She envied them, but knew many dreamed the same as her. No one was really untouched by horror in Plegia. It inevitably came and afterwards you were changed in ways you were irreversibly changed.
Many grew to love it, to embrace horror and death, to create it themselves where they could. They laughed as they hacked and stabbed, as they cursed, to love the feeling of hot blood on their face and hands.
Some turned to stone, pain and death passing by their eyes without a twinge or comment. They killed on command and what they did seemed to trouble them no more than sweeping a floor.
Then there were those who couldn't cope at all. Who cried during the night, and screamed in their sleep, the horror would linger in their minds, behind their eyes. They grew as quiet and timid as mice or as angry as rabid hounds. Either way they eventually broke.
She'd seen it happen at the orphanage. Children staring blankly at the wall for hours on end, children lashing out without discretion at their minders and their fellows both, they wept under their blankets wishing dearly for their dead to return for them, or screamed at the ones who had killed them. They'd been turned out when it was clear that there was no use for them.
She shook the thoughts from her head. I'll have time for melancholic musings later. She came to the large tent. Several wooden tables had been set up inside and the watchmen from the night before sat at one.
"Captain Robin!" Shouted Fieron. "Will you break your fast with us?" He asked.
"Very well." Company will stave off my more mournful recollections. At least for a while.
A stringy haired, wrinkle faced crone ladled her a bowl of oats and a slice of bread.
"Thank you." She said sitting beside the girl. Nisa, that's what he called her last night. The other was Wyrd.
"Anything stir during watch?" She asked poking at her breakfast disinterestedly. Her stomach was uneasy but she'd need her strength.
"A few squirrels. But I doubt they're Ylissean spies." Fieron said brightly. She examined him more closely in the light. He was tan with a broad friendly face and a wide smile, he had an ax strapped to his back. Certainly a new enlistee.
"Rats not squirrels." Said Nisa, her sandy hair obscuring most of her face.
"Sorry?" Fieron asked.
"Ylisseans are rats not squirrels." She said.
Fieron laughed. "Aye, and we'll have them skittering back to their burrows soon enough. This war will be over quickly, I bet we'll be home by a year's time."
We might be the same age but he's a child still. He speaks of war like a game. A couple slashes with wooden swords and you're home for supper.
Robin nodded hiding her doubt. "Where do you come from? I don't recognize you from training."
"My parents own a fig orchard near the Midmire. My brothers took off for soldiers during the first war, only one made it back and lacking a leg at that, so I figure it's for me to finish what they can't." He explained cheerfully.
As I thought. Well perhaps a touch of battle will open his eyes. Or else close them forever.
"Your brother rests in Grima's arms, I'm sure you'll make him proud." Wyrd said softly. In the early dawn his eyes were a kind if sorrowful blue and she could see a healing staff at his side.
"I'd be proud too, to see my brother kill Ylisseans. I only had a sister, and the Ylisseans killed her and my mum as well."
Robin nodded solemnly. There was seldom a soldier in Plegia who hadn't been touched by loss. Between Ylisse's crusade, famines, King Gangrel's usurpation, and the sand fever, it often seemed as though her's was a country of corpses and mourners. And we'll make more of both soon.
Nisa turned angrily to Wyrd. "And don't start with my mum and sister being with Grima! What good was Grima when the soldiers gutted my mum with a spear? Whe...when they took my sister? What good does an embrace do with a spear through your belly?"
Wyrd bowed his head grimly. "The ways of Grima are not known to the living. But death is her domain, and after death comes peace...they suffer no more."
Nisa spat to the side. "At least there's still Ylisseans around to suffer for them. I'll believe they're at peace when Ylisstol burns around the Exalt's bleeding corpse."
"I'll drink to that! To the health of King Gangrel as well!" Fieron lifted his tankard as did Nisa, Wyrd did somewhat reluctantly. Robin smiled tightly and drank as well.
The morning passed relatively quickly. More and more soldiers filtering into the tent receiving their portions and making the tent cramped and noisy. She heard boasting about the upcoming battle, talk of home and the ones they had waiting for them, and prayers. I wonder which provides the most comfort.
For Robin's part she skimmed through a strategy tome she had picked up in Grimora and though she stared intently at the page the words seemed to flee from her mind the minute after she read them and she realized she had been reading the same sentence three times. Only nerves. I suppose it's only proper that the start of a war be nerve racking.
When breakfast had ended the army marched out. Dark mages and archers in the back and myrmidons and axemen in the front. Wyvern riders flew ahead scouting, no doubt Aversa was among them.
Robin was fortunate to be a captain, as she was one of the few on horseback. However it also put her in the company with the other riders, who always made Robin deeply regretful she couldn't march with the rest.
Her horse was a sprightly tawny mare Robin had decided to call Sage. Fortunately for Robin she was sweet tempered.
She heard hoofbeats behind her and she turned as Orton rode beside her. He was a lean man with sparse brown hair and a slim mustache shading his upper lip. He had the smile of a man who knew something you didn't, and was soon going to make you regret not knowing it. Robin fidgeted uncomfortably as his gaze crept up and down her.
"Ah, Captain Robin, sleep well?" He asked eyeing her.
She nodded. "Yes commander, very well." Robin lied.
"A shame, I was going to offer my services if you needed a more peaceful slumber." He smirked. "I assure you, I'm more than strong enough to ward off any nightmares. I'm sure you have room in your tent." He smiled lavisciously.
"I'm afraid not Commander, my bedroll is snug enough as it is." Her face stayed placid. Like it or not, he was her superior for the time being.
"That's no trouble, I have a far more accommodating quarters, or perhaps we could forgo bedding entirely, allow the sands to be our sheets and the skies to be our witness."
He certainly thinks himself charming doesn't he. She thought ruefully. If given a choice between a sand viper and Orton she would sooner grow an affection for scales.
Robin smiled tightly. "I'm afraid if I took up your proposition, it would be take my mind from the war. I'm sorry Commander, but my duty to Plegia comes first." She said. Now please ride ahead. Please.
"Your loyalty is admirable Robin, I've always found loyalty to be quite a...becoming trait." His eyes gleamed.
Robin said nothing and stared ahead at King Gangrel on his black courser and his routine behind him.
"I do hope you'll retain that loyalty," he rode even nearer to her, and his gauntled hand brushed her cheek. "I would hate to see that pretty neck of your's meet the headsman's ax." His hand crept lower, landing on the nape of her neck.
Robin sat rigid on her horse. She yearned to yank his hand off her, to ride away, she yearned to stick a sword through his neck. She did nothing.
Eventually he drew his hand away. "I'll see you after the battle Robin, to ensure your...loyalty." Finally he rode ahead leaving Robin's hands clenched into fists on the reigns.
Another patriot more than fit for Ylissean arrows. She took a deep breath. Can I do what he asks of me? She thought to herself, she'd always done what it took to survive. I'd sooner bed with a wyvern than Orton, but then it's not as though he's given me a choice. He'll see me and my unit killed if I refuse. She knew that for a certainty.
She would have prayed he fell in battle. But prayers had never done her any good. If she wanted a miracle she'd have to create her own. Her mind set to work.
A few more hours past ever more verdant landscapes though Robin was more than glad when they finally reached the border. She was many things, but an adapt rider was not one of them and her legs ached and cramped as she dismounted.
The border was mountainous and dusty, the stone cliffs over looked abandoned forts that hadn't seen use since the last war. It was strange for her to be returning so soon, she'd gone from the border, to Grimora, and back again. Ahead of her King Gangrel dismounted and his routine with him. He had satisfied himself with a shelf of rock overlooking the path that led towards Ylisse. There's a clear message, if ever there was one.
As Orton worked getting the troops in formation for the "parley" Robin sought out Henri. She found him, watching the circling hawks above the cliffs.
She kept their conversation short but she was certain Henri understood what she wanted.
By the time she got back to the cliff the archers were perched on the cliff bows at the ready and the mages stood just behind them. Several fighters had been hidden below in the abandoned forts. She took her place behind Orton and found herself once again chewing at her lip.
Aversa and King Gangrel had not yet arrived having decided to visit their captive. No one had heard any screams yet, but Robin wouldn't be putting gold on the captives health. Poor girl. She was in wrong place, under the wrong banner.
After about an hour of waiting atop the pass, with Robin uncomfortably aware of Orton's stare, King Gangrel and Aversa returned two burly axemen half carrying the captive by her arms. The captive had a black sack over her face and a pretty pink gown spattered with blood.
Robin didn't know whether it was her's or her men's. However looking at the smirk that had stretched itself across King Gangrel's face she could certainly make a guess.
Everything about him seemed imbued with anticipation. His eyes were as bright as a lit brazier in the dark of Grima's temples, though darkness and malice both flickered within them. His cruel curved blade was at his side and he looked even more escatic then he had burning Orton. Aversa was much the same, a sharp smile and hungry eyes fully on display.
Neither King Gangrel nor Aversa said anything to break the uneasy silence that had settled on the pass.
When the sun was high in the sky the sound of marching could be heard from the other side of the pass. The armour of the mounted Ylisseans glittered and shone under the sun and their green banners flapped grandly in the wind. The exalt and the prince led the routine.
Mostly infantry, a few mages and arches for support. I suppose King Gangrel gave them little enough warning, but horses will be little good in this terrain. King Gangrel chose our place well. Our mages and archers will rain attacks upon them, that they'll be unable to return. If they try to work their way up, our myrmidons and wyvern riders will set upon them from above. An early retreat would be best for them.
Soon the Exalt came to a halt below King Gangrel. His smile was feral, as he called down to her.
"Ho, there your Radiance! I nearly mistook you for the sun!"
The exalt bowed her head. From afar she could see only honey blonde hair and an austere green robe, next to her was certainly the azure haired prince, unlike his sister he was well armoured. "King Gangrel," Her voice was calm though it carried far. "I've come to retrieve the Duchess of Themis. I'm certain this matter can be settled without the need for captives."
"Ah yes, the poor little Ylissean lamb that strayed from your flock! You needn't worry Your Grace, she's been well cared for." King Gangrel turned to the axemen. "Bring her forth."
The axemen drug her forward, Robin felt something sink in her stomach. She didn't look away this time, they were all meant to learn.
She glanced at Aversa, who had seemed to ooze anticipation from every pore. King Gangrel cruelly yanked the hood from her head.
Her blonde curls were in disarray, and her face was bruised, blue and purple marring her face. But Robin's eyes were instantly draw to the blood pooled around her lips. Her eyes are were dull and she stared listlessly below her.
"I'm afraid your poor lamb has fell astray of wolves, your Excellency."
Even from her perch Robin could see the anger burning in the face of the prince and the grief on the Exalt's. "Lady Maribelle! What harm has been done to you?"
The captive was silent.
"It seems the wolves have snatched away her tongue." Aversa said teasingly. "Perhaps her sharp tongue wounded one of the poor wolves, it's only traditional for captives to be unarmed, isn't it, your Grace?"
Robin tore at her lip. Even if by some miracle she makes it out with her life, they've silenced her forever. Poor, poor, thing.
The exalt was silent and her eyes were closed tight. King Gangrel on the other hand was as satisfied as a bitch with a bone.
"No pretty words to speak now, your Excellence? I'm sure your captive appreciates the solidarity."
The prince drew his sword his eyes blazing with rage. "You sick bastard! I swear I'll-" The Exalt put a hand on his arm and he choked down the end of his vow.
"Lady Maribelle did you no harm! Wh...What reason did you have to hurt her?" The exalt called up, the anguish plain in her voice.
"You dare talk to me of hurt? Why, how many tongues were forever silence by your father's righteous crusade? I only took her tongue, her life I left. Let her be grateful, I could take that as well." King Gangrel's smile remained but his teeth were bared.
"Come down here and I'll show you our gratitude!" The prince called his voice dripping with fury. His sword was still drawn and the sun glinted off the razor sharp edge.
King Gangrel laughed. "Come up here boy, and I'll gladly accept it. That pretty sword of your's will make a lovely keepsake...along with your sisters head. Mayhaps I'll mount them above my throne."
"You want my sword? I'll give it to you straight through your neck!" The prince yelled.
"King Gangrel, please-!" The exalt cried once more.
The King didn't allow her to finish.
"It seems the boy sees fit to threaten my life." He turned to Orton. "Bring me the Exalt's glittering head, and the princeling's sword. Oh, and toss the little lamb back to the Ylisseans."
He turned and remounted his coarser and Aversa followed as he rode from the battlefield.
Robin felt oddly faint, the sun seemed to bright, and she couldn't tear her eye's from the captive. She was still staring down at the Ylisseans. Does she wish she were with them, does she dream of rescue? Or does she yearn to jump? It almost seemed she'd been forgotten.
She tried to help her people. She remembered Gaius saying. She only tried to help her people. The last time I was here there were clefts in the rocks. Places hidden from the eye.
She searched keenly among the cliffs and found one to her back.
Orton was speaking and he'd mounted his Wyvern "Fire at will! Aim for the prince and Exalt!" The troops in the forts and forests down below had mobilized toward the Ylisseans, and the Ylisseans rushed to meet them swords and lances outstretched. She could no longer see the exalt or the prince. Perhaps they'd been taken to the back.
Orton had ordered her to command the mages. She'd have to rush to them soon. But for now all attention was focused below.
She walked to the axemen who held the girl over the cliff nearly letting go before pulling her back at the last minute. He guffawed cruelly. He's teasing her, making a game out of it. The other axemen must've gone down to win his glory.
He was young, well muscled with a great forehead that seemed to loom over his face. He's young and he's cruelI'll wager he's the glory lusting sort.
"I'm captain Robin, there's been a mistake, Commander Orton wants you to join with the troops on the ground! You'll have to hurry to catch up." She said infusing her voice with urgency.
"But I-" He started.
Robin ploughed ahead. "It dosen't matter who sends her to her fate, I'll handle the captive. Believe me you do not want to disobey an order from Commander Orton." She demanded.
Skepticism flashed across his face for a brief second before he shoved the girl to her and rushed to get down below.
The girl was dead weight in her arms, and Robin struggled under her weight. Robin would need to rid herself of her quickly before anyone figured out her intentions. Oh, Grima what am I doing, I could be burned for this, hanged, beheaded.
The cliff was right there, one quick shove and no one would ever need know what happened. She was just another Ylissean, an enemy, even if she saved her, she would die later like as not. She wasn't even a soldier, she had neither sword nor spells and she had a family like as not. A father and mother, sisters, and brothers. She had brown eyes. A flash of memory hit her like bolt of lightening.
Brown eyes wide and fearful and white hair starkly bright against the night sky and blowing in the wind. Robin clutched the capitve tighter.
The captive said nothing, unsurprisingly, her eyes were open but Robin couldn't tell whether or not she was conscience, in her state unconsciousness might well be a mercy. She was feverish as well. If Plegia dosen't kill her blood loss or fever might do it for us.
The cleft was only fifteen feet from her but the captive was heavy. Hurriedly Robin managed to stagger to it, the girl's arm wrapped around her shoulder.
She stored the her in the cleft. She didn't know whether she'd be heard or not but she spoke anyway.
"Listen. Like as not the Ylisseans won't make it up here to rescue you, if you want rescue wait until the battle is underway and go to the first Ylissean soldier you find, go back to your manor, write what you can't speak, you don't deserve to die." The sentiment surprised Robin. They could kill me for this, is her life worth mine? "Grima grant you luck." She said solemnly before running to join the war.
AN/ I will sell my soul for reviews any prospective offers will be considered. In all seriousness construtive critiscims and compliments keep me writing.
So thank you so much to anyone who has or will review.