Through the Valley

by Writer Awakened

FE8. The war has begun. Renais has fallen. Seth is dead. Now lost somewhere in the heart of Grado, Eirika and Forde struggle to fight out from under the shadow of death.

4. The Rod and the Staff

Chapter 4: The Rod and the Staff

- O -

(Thanks again to Gunlord500 for beta reading!)

- O -

When next Eirika of Renais woke, it was in a dimly-lit room, lying on bed of straw and down. A woolen blanket had been laid atop her. Her face was covered in a cold sweat.

"Ah! You're awake."

Without sitting up or craning her head, Eirika knew it was her brother who had come to see her. His footfalls approached with startling alacrity and he knelt beside her, staring intently into her eyes with the look he always had whenever he was worried.

"Sister, are you well?" Ephraim asked.

"Brother," Eirika said weakly. Still groggy, she turned her head and smiled. "It's been…seems like forever. You are a comforting sight, as always."

Ephraim touched the back of his hand to Eirika's cheeks and then to her forehead. "You are still feverish. Here, I want you to drink this. It will make you feel better."

Eirika's brother gently tilted her head up with one hand and held a small blue bottle up to her lips. Eirika recognized it as the same type of special elixir her father used to give her for her fevers as a little child. She drank all of the viscous, slightly bittersweet liquid and wiped her lips dry. Then the prince brought to her a small canteen of ice-cold water, placed it against her dry lips, and let her drink until her thirst was finally quenched. Ephraim laid her head back down on her bed of straw and pulled her blanket up over her bare chest, stroking her warm cheek as he had done long ago, when they both were young.

"Brother, brother dear," she cooed, suddenly sentimental, tears forming in her eyes. She held up her arms to embrace him, but he was still too far away.

"Shh. Sleep now, Eirika. It is still night. When you awaken in the morning, we will speak as to what to do next."

Ephraim left her again, alone in the small room. Eirika gazed up at the stone ceiling, thoughts darting to and fro in her mind, until her eyelids closed and she passed into sleep. The fever dreams were less now, and when next her brother came to awaken her, she found that they were too cloudy and insignificant to remember.

"Eirika? Eirika, wake up," said Eirika's brother, gently shaking her awake. He knelt by her side until she had blinked the sleep from her eyes. She turned to him and found him smiling in the usual, calming way she had come to expect from him in better times. As children he would also oft wake her with his proud voice and boyish, sometimes silly smile. Most times she hadn't enough time to push off her bedsheets before Ephraim would hoist her up and impatiently carry her from her feathery perch, nightgown and all, towards a new day of play.

"It is morning," said Ephraim when Eirika finally woke enough to smile back. "Are you feeling any better?"

Eirika sat up and stretched her arms out to her sides. "Ah…ahm? Oh. Yes…yes, of course. I feel much better now than I had before. And—of course, now that you are here with me." Indeed, she felt more rested than she had during her entire time in captivity.

"I have your clothes," said her brother, handing her vestments to her. Looking away, he held his hand up to his sister's cheek. "Your face feels much cooler today. Good. Here, dress yourself and come out into the hall. We've much to discuss."

Ephraim turned and left the room. Now alone again, Eirika peered around the room. Simply being there and looking around gave Eirika a weird feeling, as though some darkness had magicked the chamber. In spite of its smallness, or perhaps because of it, the room felt eerily empty in a way that only underground, cobwebbed catacombs could. The floor was riddled with bits of broken wood and shards of metal, and beside the bed on which she lay was a small table, near which rested three gnarled walking sticks. A chill took hold of Eirika and shook her.

I will be glad to take my leave of this place.

Eirika dressed herself and pushed aside the stone door of her room. Waiting in the narrow hallway, illuminated by the yellow-orange flicker of the torchlight, her brother and his men leaned against the walls.

"Princess Eirika," said Forde and Kyle in turn as she emerged, each bowing their heads.

"Well met, sirs," she said.

"It's good to see you are up and feeling better, Eirika," said her brother. "Once you have completely recovered, I would like to hear exactly how you came to be held captive here."

"It's all right," said Eirika, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "I should tell my story now, while we still have time to think."

Eirika flattened down her skirt and sat up against the wall, below a high-hanging torch. Ephraim sat across the floor from her, and Forde and Kyle beside him, and they each listened as Eirika told her story. As she did, the painful memories came charging back, but she neglected to mention nothing: She began with the death of General Seth and her witnessing of his end thereof; told of how she awoke in a dark cell, chained to the wall by hands, feet, and neck; told of her frightening, malnourished jailer and how he prodded and bruised her with his walking stick; told of how she had barely eaten or drank for days, how he had wounded her left eye and bent her finger backwards until it snapped; finally, she told them of how Valter had let her escape and how she came to reply his "favor" by making an unceremonious end to him with a sword thrust through his neck.

A stunned silence settled over the small hallway when Eirika had finished telling her tale.

"That must truly have been horrifying," Ephraim said at last. "And that is how your eye and your finger came to be injured?"

"Yes," Eirika replied. "I still cannot see well at all out of my left eye," she said, blinking. "And my finger still aches. Whenever I so much as brush another finger against it, it hurts so gravely. I wish it would stop…"

"You should see an apothecary or a sage as soon as possible," Kyle said. "Injuries to the eye can often become permanent if not treated with certain draughts or the effects of magic."

Forde chuckled dryly. "Kyle knows more of medicine and healing than I do, 'tis true."

"I am glad, at least, to know that you are largely unharmed," Ephraim said, rising slowly to his feet. "If that mad dog had made to steal your virtue, I would have—"

"Brother! Please, brother, stop," Eirika said, blushing slightly. "That is done with, now. I would rather not…dredge up those memories."

I've already lost a father and a dear friend. Let us hope no more ill fortune befalls us.

"Forgive me, sister. I didn't mean to…well, regardless, we need to concern ourselves with getting out of Grado. A full-scale war has broken out. Renais has already been taken, and everywhere in Grado there are militias forming, soldiers sweeping here and there, arming whomever they can. I don't know how long Frelia will stay uninvolved, but I can tell you I don't expect Innes to sit on his haunches and fire arrows idly into the sky while world war breaks out."

Innes, please, Eirika thought. Don't be a fool. Don't do something reckless.

"The emperor has likely ordered the border of Grado and Renais to be closely guarded," Forde said. "If the rumor of Eirika's presence here was accurately disseminated to the smallfolk, then surely the emperor and his army know of it. They would want to ensure that she does not leave. And likely even the border of Grado and Jehanna is fortified by this point."

Ephraim nodded. "Likely so. Although, surely they couldn't cover every inch of both borders. Most probably they would sacrifice guarding the border of Jehanna. All that said, the best course of action would be to go by sea. If we were to go west to Taizel—and if my knowledge of the land does not fail me, it should be no more than two or three days' ride—and gain passage on a ship to Bethroen, we could travel north up the high-ways to Frelia and the safety of the castle there. Hopefully Innes could be intercepted before he does anything mad."

"If the Empire's not stationed soldiers to inspect all vessels at the ports, that seems the most prudent course of action," said Kyle.

Ephraim nodded. "From all accounts, Grado sent the vast majority of their standing forces on the attack north. That was why they overcame the border guard and pierced through to our castle so quickly. If they were lacking either the element of surprise or the strength in numbers, there would have been no chance in the depths of hell that they could have taken the castle as swiftly as they did. My father was a trusting and generous man, but he was no fool, and our walls are not easily breached."

"Let's hope that is the case, then," Forde said. "And, of course, that they're letting ships pass through. If they've already barred ships from leaving or entering port…"

"That's a chance we'll have to take, then." Ephraim approached Eirika and took her hands in his. "But, Eirika…I've been thinking." The prince turned to his knights and back to his sister. "All things considered—I think it would be best if we were to split into two groups."

"Two groups?" replied Eirika. "But why?"

"Ah, how do I say this…a traveling group of four would attract a lot of suspicion moving about, particularly during wartime. We haven't the look of a merchant caravan or a mercenary company; if the commonfolk give in to paranoia and wonder why a large group is traveling through the countryside, they might set soldiers on us. There is no way we could hope to fight our way out from here, so traveling discretely would probably be best. And besides…"

Ephraim stepped back and his eyes turned away from his sister's. "To risk the end of our bloodline…if one of us were to…no, no, it is nothing." Ephraim shook his head and looked at his sister. He gave her the look she knew so well, the look that Eirika knew meant he was concerned for her, the look that was never absent from his face whenever she was in the slightest bit of trouble.

Ephraim reached into a fold of his light doublet and produced Eirika's silver bracelet. The crescent moon engraved upon it glimmered singularly in the light of the torch above her.

"Take this," he said, pressing the bracelet into her palm and folding her hands over it. "This is very important. Make sure that nothing happens to it." He lifted his arm and showed the sun-engraved bracelet he wore around his wrist.

"I-If you insist," Eirika said. She slipped it onto her wrists, which still felt unnaturally light now that they were free from her shackles. "But, brother, do you mean to say that you are going to leave me again?"

Please, no…

"Kyle and I will go one way. Forde!" Ephraim motioned to Forde, and he stepped forward, brushing his bangs back from his eyes.

"Yes, my liege?"

"From this moment forth, Forde of Renais, I entreat you with the safekeeping of my sister, Princess Eirika."

"Brother," Eirika said, voice rising with urgency.

"As my sworn man, I now beseech you to lend your blade to her service, to accompany her and guard her for as long as needed or until the time of your death."

"Brother, please!" Eirika stepped forward and clasped her hands. "Please, I—I only just saw you again, and I don't want—"

"I ask you now to lay thy sword and thy life for her," Ephraim continued, ignoring his sister, "and to swear again the oath to aid and serve the crown of Renais. Dost thou swear?"

He is serious. Oh, Ephraim, why must you be so obstinate? Why won't you listen to me?

Forde knelt at Eirika's feet and laid down his sword, and she had to bite back her tears as her eyes flitted between Forde and the prince.

"Lady Eirika of Renais, I hereby swear my life and my blade to thee, as I have pledged my life to the crown. I pledge this oath in witness of the Goddess and her angels to protect and keep you until my dying breath. This said and done in the presence of Saint Latona, by my blood, by my body. Ah shan."

"Ah shan," Eirika murmured absentmindedly. Her prayers seemed to be falling further and further away from her; it seemed to her that the whims of the Goddess were taking away from her everything she held dear, one by one. Her prayers had not saved her father, had not saved Seth, had not saved her motherland, and it seemed now her brother, too, was being drawn away from her.

"Eirika. You and Forde should try to escape to Frelia. If you leave for Taizel now you should make good time. Two people should have little trouble finding passage on a ship, even if it is only a space on a cargo hold in a merchant vessel. Kyle. I wish you to accompany me east, towards the capital. I need to find out why. Why Emperor Vigarde attacked our country. Why Lyon would abide by such a decision. Why they have killed my father."

"Brother, is there nothing I could do to dissuade you from this? If we could run away together, brother…why would we not at least try?"

Ephraim shook his head. "This is something I must do, Eirika. I could not live with myself if I did not take it upon myself to solve this mystery." He took his sister's shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes, then embraced her. "We will meet again. We split up now with the knowledge that we will reunite, someday. This I promise."

"Ephraim," said Eirika solemnly, nestling her head against Ephraim's shoulder. "I will live for you. Let us meet again, when all this is over. When peace one day returns to its rightful place in Magvel…then…then we will be together again. All of us…just like old times. Isn't that true?"

"Yes, sister," said Ephraim, stroking her hair. "Yes. Soon."

Ephraim pulled away and took Eirika's rapier from its place on his belt. "Here is your sword. Remember what I taught you about fencing. If a time ever comes that you must defend yourself, do not hesitate."

I did not hesitate when I killed Valter…I had never killed before and yet I killed him without a second thought. Does that make me a monster as well?

"Sir Forde, take this." Ephraim handed Forde a large brown sack and several phials of elixir. "There should be about two thousand gold in that bag. That should be enough to purchase the services of a healer and some new clothing. You must needs find a tailor and buy some nondescript clothes; it would attract too much suspicion going as you are, even with your cloaks."

"Aye, Prince Ephraim."

"I think that should be all," said the prince. "We shouldn't tarry here any longer. The emperor's forces surely have heard the rumor and come to investigate this old castle. I'll be glad to leave these hallways behind regardless. This place has all the feeling of a crypt."

Together, they climbed up the long, winding staircase, with Forde and Kyle taking the lead and Eirika following behind them, her arm locked with her brother's. Soon they had found their way through the unlit halls and to the entryway, where the gate still rested on the hillside. A rush of cold air greeted them as they stepped into the outside. The sun shone brightly through a light cloud cover, but a cold wind blew through on the hill and swirled around.

They traveled down the winding pathway to the bottom of the hill. A small dirt path stretched out to the west and to the east, at the base of the large tree where the knights' horses were tethered. At that otherwise empty crossroads, the prince and princess stood with their sworn men.

"I will see you soon," said Ephraim.

"Promise me," said his sister. "Promise me again that you will return."

"I promise you. Forde, keep her well."

"Aye, I have sworn my life to her, Prince Ephraim. I'm not usually one for such formality, but I don't mean to go back on my oath. I won't fail at this. Promise."

"Keep yourself well, princess," Kyle said, bowing. "And stay alert at all times, Forde, hm? Farewell."

"Farewell, Forde. And Eirika, my dear sister." Ephraim kissed her on the forehead. "Until we meet again."

Eirika and her retainer Forde stood silently and watched as Kyle and the prince set off east on Kyle's charger, and soon enough disappeared into the horizon.

"Princess Eirika," Forde said at last, turning to the princess. He untied his horse and sifted through his pack. He withdrew a dull brown cloak and brushed it off. "You have my word. As long as I draw breath, I will ensure that no harm comes to you. You need someone to lean on, and I'll stand beside you. You can count on me."

"Thank you, Sir Forde," Eirika said, still staring off into empty space. Her teal skirt and teal hair billowed in the cold wind. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him, and was almost surprised to see that he too was looking somewhere far off in the distance.

"If I may, milady?" Forde said, draping the cloak over her shoulders.

"Thank you, sir."

Forde took another cloak from his pack and slung it around his shoulders, then removed a second saddle and placed it behind his on his courser's back.

"Milady, shall we depart?" he said, when he had finished, extending his hand to her.

Eirika turned and looked back at the gloomy gray rampart that stood, crumbling on the hill but still stubbornly standing, just as the jailer had even to his last. For reasons Eirika could not explain, she felt a soul-piercing sadness watching the castle that should well have been a mere fortress, abandoned and in disrepair, a worthless structure that nonetheless lived. It was a grave for at least one, and, Eirika reckoned, a fitting grave for more. She felt a chill wrack her body, beyond that brought on the cold west winds.

What a waste. Why must castles and people fall into disrepair? What is it that makes stories such as these have such bitter endings? Is this the way of the world? Will the rest of Grado and Renais look like this once we've finished killing one another? Does the world actively aspire to pit brother against sister forevermore?

"Milady?" Forde repeated gently.

"Ah—yes," said Eirika finally, and took Forde's hand to help her up into the saddle. "Thank you, Sir Forde," said she, and they began to ride.

- O -

The wind was harsh enough standing still, but riding on into the furious face of a cold afternoon breeze was worse still. Forde had to keep a hand near his face to avoid having his breath sucked away by the gales; behind him, Eirika clung tightly to his clothing, with her face pressed up against his back to shield her.

The princess must still be devastated. Forde thought. Meeting her brother again and having to watch him go his own way.

They rode westward for about an hour, across the dirt road, and the wind and clouds began to gave way to bright sunshine.

"I want to thank you, Sir Forde," the princess said out of nowhere.

"What for, my lady?"

"For protecting my brother."

Forde chuckled. He stroked his horse's mane. "Ah, that? It was nothing, milady. To be quite honest, he was the one who saved my hide most of the time. I may be a knight, but when it comes to spearwork, I'm not even in the same league as Prince Ephraim. And his swordsmanship is far more refined than mine."

"I…don't mean in that way," Eirika said softly. The talk of fighting and the art of war had made her discouraged again. "I mean, surely you kept his recklessness in check. My brother can be…ah…rather stubborn at times. He needs someone to be the voice of reason."

Forde grinned, though Eirika could not see. "Most of the time, that duty fell to Kyle or Orson."

"Orson," Eirika said. "That's—that's right, Sir Orson. He…was not with us earlier. Did…is he…"

"I'm afraid he is no longer with us," Forde said after a moment's awkward silence. "When we were fleeing through the Great Forest, he fell behind, and—well, he never caught up to us after that. I didn't think I should concern you with that, milady. Forgive me."

Let's hope this is the end of all this suffering. A young lady shouldn't have to see everyone she cared for taken away, Forde thought.

"I am sorry," said Princess Eirika. "But that there were something I could do…"

She tried to say more, but all she could utter was a weak sigh.

"Do not blame yourself, milady. None of this should be your charge to worry about. If any of us had known, after all—well, we'd have done a few things differently, I'll say that much. It's because we were taken unawares that Renais was taken so swiftly. I don't think anyone wanted to believe that Grado would take arms against us."

"Oh, Father…"

Under different circumstances, Forde might have broached the subject of Sir Seth and went on about his virtues, how the general had mentored him and tested his mettle thoroughly whenever they crossed swords. But he thought better of it, and instead kept his silence. He didn't wish to remind his charge the princess of those awful dredges she was most likely trying to keep buried in her memory. Neither did he wish to think about it. Sorrow always made Forde sleepy, and he was slumberous enough as it was.

The Gradan landscape was quite flat along the roadway, though both south and north, the green hills seemed to roll a bit more, and it was clear by the way the path wound and curled that it followed the flattest part of the land. At times the path turned due south to curl around the base of a large hill, on which rested the remains of an old hill fort, once manned by the Old Gradans as they fruitlessly tried to stem the tide of Southland invaders from beyond the seas, long, long ago. Soon the path corrected itself and again turned due west towards the slowly setting sun, but the scars of war still marred their way: Broken wooden barricades and makeshift battlements overgrown by long grass, stone walls systematically torn asunder by the elements and time, and even rusted-over sickles and scythes, half-buried in the ground and swallowed by the undergrowth, remained where once the agrarian Gradans took arms against the invaders. At one rather isolated point along the path Forde saw the broken shaft of an axe beside a crude flail, and scattered beside them, greyed chips of bone in different sizes and shapes; perhaps two brothers on opposing sides had sat there together to die in unity, Forde mused.

I'm walking through hundreds of years of history, Forde thought dryly, yawning as they rode on. And all of it is war.

Forde knew more about history and the sciences than he liked to let on, and in fact more than most of the sirs and dames serving in armies across Magvel did. His father had been not only a great champion for Renais but a scholar in his spare moments, and Forde, like his little brother Franz, had found his father's modest library a place of wonderment. At first the history books were just a means of finding inkings of exotic landscapes—the foreign sands of Jehanna, the sparkling seascapes of Frelia and the cold northern reaches of Rausten. He'd sit with his valuable sheet of sketching paper and a crude pencil and duplicate what he saw. As he grew older, he switched to paints, and soon the colors which he'd only imagined sprung to life on his canvasses. But his dear mother had taught him to read, and after she'd died and he'd taught his little brother Franz to read in turn, Forde returned to the history tomes and the biographies of the great heroes of Magvel and looked at the words, and found himself learning of the people and the purposes and all the things that happened in the landscapes he'd painted.

History had always been alive to him, breathing and speaking and reaching out to him, and the more he learned, the more Forde learned how simple he really was. But still it was all alive to him, and as he rode, princess in tow, through the war-torn lands of Grado, he saw the other side of history. Even without seeing any torn limbs or skeletons lying in shallow graves, Forde could feel the deadness, from the distant shadow-forests to the north and the screaming marshlands to the south, from the ground below and even from the grey-blue skies above. It was the kind of deadness he'd once wanted to believe never existed on their fair Magvel. He knew better than that now.

Forde only shook his head and smiled without saying anything more.

When twilight fell, the knight and the princess found a small grove to camp under, and at the first break of dawn they woke and set off again. The path went southwest, and so they followed it along as the land seemed to fall off, and Forde was certain that they were quite nearing their destination, even as the smoky horizon obscured their view of the far bay.

Sometime in the early afternoon, when the wind had died down and the cloud cover gave way to a bright sky, Forde called his princess to attention.

"Are you feeling well, princess?"

"Mmm? As well as could be," she answered, and Forde could hear the distance in her voice.

"We should come upon Taizel soon enough," he said. "Perhaps two days further and we should have made arrive there, milady. From there, we'd best find a tailor to fit us with clothes more suiting simple travelers as us."

"If you feel that is best, then very well."

"Also, maybe I'm just being a bit too cautious, but maybe we should adopt some aliases while we travel through. Doubtful we would find many little common girls named Eirika running around, and while I'm almost positive that no one in Grado has heard of my not-quite-legendary exploits, it's probably best for me to adopt a fake name as well."

"I trust your good judgment, Sir Forde."

"Well, let's see then. Who could we believably be? I suppose we could be…two mercenaries? Erina and Gilder? No, no, no one would believe that we were mercenaries…us, mercenaries? Who would think of that as an explanation? Hmm…I suppose we could be merchants, but we don't exactly have wares to peddle, nor do we have a wagon to carry them in. Ah…heh. It figures I would run out of ideas. Do you have any suggestions, milady?"

Eirika paused a moment and looked at the southern horizon where the overgrown fields seemed to stretch forever.

"Milady?"

"Perhaps….just, travelers," she said, sighing. "Travelers displaced by war, forced to move on. It isn't entirely untrue…"

It most certainly isn't…with Renais fallen, we've no home, do we? I wonder if Franz got to Frelia safely?

"That sounds like a plan to me, Princess Eirika," said Forde, nodding. "And what about our assumed names?"

"Ah…Mila," Eirika said. She coughed several times and pressed against Forde's back. "She was one of my handmaidens."

"I see."

She probably couldn't escape the castle, Forde thought with an involuntary shudder. Terrible visions of what might have happened to the young woman flashed unbidden through his mind's eye.

"Ah, well then," he said, turning back briefly to smile at the princess. "As for my name…hm, let's see…er…all right, what do you think of 'Scholteheim Reinbach III?'"

"Um…" replied Eirika gently, in a way that made it unmistakable what she thought about it.

"Touche," Forde said, laughing. From someone as polite as Princess Eirika, a pregnant pause was as good as a scoff; Kyle would have called him a fool, and Ephraim would have in no uncertain terms told him that he was full of shite. "That sounds too much like a noble's name, doesn't it? I couldn't pass for a blue blood if you gave me a cravat and a teacup. Let me think…well, what about Ulysses? I've heard that's a common name among Gradans."

"Yes, all right. I am Mila and you are Ulysses."

"Since that's the best I can think of, those will have to serve." Forde yawned. "When we get back to Frelia, we can bother with thinking up better false names. I've heard they are quite useful in, er, numerous different occasions."

"I see."

After a while of riding, they stopped in the middle of a small field to share some rations, which they ate in silence. Then they were off again, riding until the afternoon had passed and the evening came into full blossom. Forde was beginning to wonder where next they should camp when he noticed a plume of smoke rising into the distant western sky.

"Milady," he said, and tapped the princess, who had apparently fallen into silent slumber, on the shoulder. "There is a village ahead in the distance. We should be able to make it in no more than an hour's time."

It indeed took slightly less than sixty minutes to arrive at the outskirts of the village. The smoke far off in the distance, they found, had come from a great bonfire just outside the village gates. However, unlike at a festival, where Forde might have expected to find people roasting meat and sitting around the flame warming their hands, there was no one in the area, and not a single lantern shone from any of the small houses. In fact the great bonfire felt strangely cold to him, and as he tethered his horse and he walked with the princess towards the village proper, Forde felt a chill come over him walking in the wake of the blaze.

In times of war, every fire seems a funeral pyre…

With nothing but a small torch to light their way, Forde and Eirika walked down the dirt path, past several small hills and valleys, past pens of livestock and small thatch huts and disheveled cottages in miniature. At a point the path diverged to the north and south, and before them on the far west hill stood the largest house in the hamlet. Like the rest, its facade was cold and stony and its windows were unlit, but it was the only standing structure around that bore a second story and a door sturdy enough to withstand the force of one's breath.

With Eirika standing at his back, Forde rapped on the door and waited for an answer. When he received none, he knocked again, and the wind had begun to pick up again when finally a dim light shone from a window and Forde heard the sound of footfalls.

The door opened halfway and a man who looked about forty, perhaps nearing fifty appeared there, stepping cautiously and slowly towards the outdoors. He held a great metal axe tightly in both hands, and behind him, a woman held up a swaying oil lantern that cast a strange orange-yellow light over his face.

"Who are you?" he said. The look in his eyes and the grave way he spoke gave Forde the impression that he hadn't grabbed the axe to cut lumber.

"We mean you no harm, sir," Forde said quickly, and put his hands up in the air briefly. Eirika did the same. "We are unarmed travelers. Our—our village was put to ruin and we are in need of a place to rest. A-Are you the mayor of this town?"

The man looked the princess and the knight over carefully and presently answered, "That I am. Whence've you come?"

"From—ahh…" Forde paused and frantically tried to remember the name of the village he'd passed through with Ephraim. "Glenshire, sir. We were just able to flee before Renais soldiers set upon the commons. Please, we are cold and tired. Please, I beg of you," he added quickly, before the mayor had time to consider the story or sniff out any lies. Forde's voice was ringed with desperation; he didn't need to feign it.

The mayor looked quickly back at the woman behind him, who nodded silently in the wake of the lantern's glow.

"Fine," he said. "Latona'd send me to the hellfires and ne'er bless me if'fn I turned away a countryman'n need. E'en if 'tis ten a' the bloody clock. Well, come in, man, come in."

"Thank you," Eirika said weakly, and Forde concurred.

The inside of the mayor's home was dark and the fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, but the comfort of its walls was like the warmth of paradise to them.

"We can repay your kindness, sir. We've a few coins left to give if—"

"Don't worry 'bout that now," the mayor replied. "Jeanne, lead the guests in'na barn. They c'n sleep in'na hay."

"A'course, dear," replied the mayor's wife quietly, and with a polite nod to Forde and Eirika, she turned and walked across the room. Princess and knight followed. The woman named Jeanne led the two through a small hallway and subsequently into a large barn. The place was empty and its great doors shut. Only the faint smell of animals lingered; what else remained amounted to little more than a few rusted tools and a large steel pitchfork hooked onto the wall, and many large bales of hay piled against the far walls.

"Y'may sleep here," said she.

"I thank you for your kindness," Forde said, turning to her. In the dim light of the lantern, Forde could make out nothing but her troubled, wrinkled countenance and the sorrowful glimmers of light playing in her hazel eyes.

"And I as well," Eirika said.

As quickly as she had come, the woman named Jeanne left, and Forde and Eirika found themselves alone. The princess stumbled, near-delirious, towards the nearest pile of hay and collapsed there, and Forde, himself too tired even to think, found a comfortable bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

That night, Forde dreamt of conquests, conquests past and conquests present. He dreamt he was there many hundreds of years before, watching the Old Gradans fight their losing war against the berserkers of the Southlands. He dreamt he was at the side of the fallen King of Renais, fighting an angry tide of invaders cascading in and laying him low. He dreamt he was once again at Ephraim and Kyle's side, but this time they met up with the princess, a knight and warlord in her own right, and together they cut a bloody swath through the heart of Grado's forces, laying siege to the great imperial capital, and slaying the mad emperor Vigarde themselves. Perhaps it was the absurdity of charging into an enemy capital with such a small force and emerging victorious, or perhaps merely the passage of time, but Forde awoke, and when he sat up, he found himself able only to sigh and shake his head. He clenched his empty hands together, then he clenched his eyes shut and could almost still hear the obstreperous sounds of war surrounding him, boring insistently into his ears, riling up his spirit.

Another day closer to leaving Grado.

He climbed to his feet and brushed the hay from his clothing. Quietly, he looked around the barn, finding nothing, and rubbed his chin where the hair was beginning to grow stronger and thicker. He was walking around, looking for the place where Eirika had fallen asleep, when he heard her call to him weakly.

"Milady?" he said, and presently found where Eirika was lying, and fell to one knee beside her.

"I-I'm feeling quite ill," she said, and hearing her speak and cough, Forde knew at once it was true. Looking at her face made it all the more plain. He brushed her turquoise bangs away from her eyes. Eirika's face was startlingly pale and her eyes wavered between open and closed. She reached her hand up to touch Forde's and her fingers were cold and clammy. "I…my body…aches…"

Oh no, Forde said, and when he thought, this isn't good, he knew that he was understating things.

"Stay there," he said gently. "I will go see if there is a physician or a sage here."

"For…give me."

Wasting little time, Forde went to the side of the barn and went out the small doorway he'd entered the night before. Through a small covered walkway, he then found himself in the dining-room of the mayor's house, and he noticed that already the family had gathered around the wooden table to break their fasts. The mayor and his wife sat there, and beside them sat a young girl of no more than six and ten holding something in a bundle of blankets in her arms. When she saw Forde, she turned away and rapped her fingers rapidly against the table.

"G'morning," said the mayor, his cold violet eyes barely meeting Forde's. "I trust yer'll be leavin' soon?"

Now in the early morning's light, Forde could see more clearly his benefactors. The mayor was a rather average-sized man with a ring of graying black hair around his bald pate. His nose was strong and stubby and his chin was rounded and lashed with stubble. He wore little more than rags—a tattered tunic dirtied with dust and tar and battered coal-black breeches—and neither his wife nor his daughter seemed to fare much better with their apparel. Both the women wore modest white dresses grayed by the passing of time, worn and tearing at the shoulders. Mother and daughter shared the same long, pumpkin-orange hair and concerned expression; the young girl, still clutching possessively onto the bundle in her arms, turned away shyly from the newcomer whenever he looked her way.

"I'm sorry," replied Forde. He bit his lip. "But it seems that milad—er, m'companion…er, 'Mila', has fallen quite ill. Please, is there a doctor here in this village? Even a leech?"

The mayor's wife looked down at the table, and to Forde's surprise, the mayor regarded him with a scowl.

"Bloody well there inn't, not a'more. An' if yer lass friend is ill, she innit the only one. We've no help f'r you. And you can't stay here."

He'd make us…leave? Like that?

"Thomas," said his wife, almost as if pleading. The mayor said nothing. Then, for the first time, Forde heard their young daughter speak.

"Please, father. If these people're truly in need, then…"

"After what happened…do y'even remember, Melissa?" Thomas said. He poked absently at his gruel with a splintered wooden spoon. "What we had't go through? We couldn't e'en help ourselves, and y'want us to help s'm people we don't e'en know?"

"Are you goin' to just turn 'em away, then? If they came here look'n f'r help, then…"

"Damn it, 'lissa!" Thomas said, and pounded the table with his fist. He looked past Forde to the far wall and stared at it as though he'd been petrified. "We—we can't. Roderick couldn't do anythin' t'stop…t'stop…you know…an'…an' now he's dead. No, no one else'll die in Cymrus, not while I'm still around." He finally looked up at Forde. "Sorry, y'll have t'leave here. Y'll find naught in the way of help here, lad. Ill or not, you n' yer lass friend have to leave."

"I-It's all right…Ulysses."

Everyone in the room turned around and Forde was shocked to see Eirika enter the room, her head hung, clutching her forehead.

"I-I'm sorry to…to inconvenience you, sir," she said to the mayor, who looked on her pallid countenance with widened eyes. "I…I don't want to start a quarrel here. We—my friend…and I…we can leave now."

"Father," said the mayor's daughter Melissa, this time with more urgency. The mayor himself had a pained look on his face and his jaw was clenched so tightly that Forde was afraid his entire visage might crack and shatter there and then.

"How d'you feel, girl?" Thomas said, looking directly at the young princess, who looked back.

"I…I'm…" Eirika paused and an unusual silence fell over the room. Through the thin glass windows, the morning sun was steadily rising, and a warm orange glow filtered into the room. Suddenly it seemed as though the whole room was illuminated and all its grim, shadowed secrets had been cast out. Eirika's legs tittered and she fell to her knees, hair tumbling askew, and rested her head in her hands. She took a deep, long breath, her chest rising and falling. "I feel…cold."

Forde turned from Thomas to Eirika, and back to Thomas again. The mayor let out a deep, long, sigh, and when he was done, he rose to his feet with alarming speed.

"Jeanne. Go to Vale's house and see if he's anything in store to treat the winter sickness. Melissa, the girl'll sleep in your bed 'till she's better. Oi, you, lad!" Thomas nodded his head at Forde. "Carry the lass up to the loft. Oi, oi, and don't tarry any!"

"Then…you'll let us stay?" asked Forde.

"Stop askin' bloody questions and bring her up." Still shaking his head, Thomas picked up an axe. His jaw was clenched tight and his free hand was curled into a fist. "I'm goin' out to cut some wood. When you've tended t'yer friend, yer going't help me. I'll not have you stayin' in Cymrus wi'out liftin' your share a' the load."

With nothing else to say, the mayor left his house after his wife.

"Thank you," Forde muttered, nearly dumbstruck, after Thomas had already gone away.

"I-I'll show you t'yer—er, my room, serr," the girl named Melissa said. Forde lifted the princess up and had her drape her arms around his shoulders, and, with the princess clinging tightly to his back, he followed the young mayor's daughter around a corner to a ladder that led to a higher floor above.

"That up there's m'dwellins'. Lay her on th' bed a' down up there. I've—I've a little trainin' in physic but not enough. I'll do what I can."

"Thank you," Forde said, before he ascended. "That means a lot to us. Thank you."

Forde carried Princess Eirika up to the loft and laid her on the bed of down where once Melissa apparently had slept. When he had laid her down, he pulled the blanket up over her and looked sadly upon her.

"Is there anything I can do for you, mil—Mila?" he asked, as Melissa stood beside him.

Eirika looked up at him with glassy eyes. "I'm sorry, Ulysses."

"Don't apologize. If we could control our sicknesses, we'd all be a lot better off. Just stay here and rest until you get better." Forde turned to the young girl standing beside him, who still held a bundle in her arms against her chest. "Please take good care of her."

The girl called Melissa had to stifle a giggle. "Don't worry, serr, I'll try'n to make your ladyfriend as comf't'rble as poss'ble."

Ladyfriend? Forde thought, and he cracked a little smile.

"Thank you," said he, and descended down the ladder. When next he stepped forth into the sunlight, holding his sandy cloak to his body as a chill breeze swept through, Forde was overcome by a sudden sense of dread. The village of Cymrus was largely unremarkable for a country hamlet. It seemed to be neither a center of trade nor even a stopping point for travelers passing from the capital to the western port. There were no shops or wagons filled with goods, no stone storefronts along cobbled roads, and barely a structure sitting taller than ground floor. The only thing remarkable Forde could see was in fact the lack of anything to be marked. The air was utterly silent and as he looked around, Forde could see not a single other person anywhere in any direction down the roads. Only the birds and the swift phantasmal wind made any sound at all. Even as townships went, Cymrus was sleepier than most, and for as far down the road as the traveling knight could see, there wasn't a single house with a light on or a door left ajar. North and south, east and west, the town seemed nothing but dead, and though he knew he should give thanks that there were few around to question their true identities, Forde couldn't help but feel melancholy walking amongst nothing at all.

I hope the princess's ill humors don't last long. By now the imperial forces…no, we simply must need to wait. That's all. As long as we don't do anything too foolish to reveal ourselves, we should be all right. And if they're also looking for the prince…

Forde shrugged and set off to the north, in the direction of the grove where he'd assumed Thomas the mayor had left for.

Can't worry about that now. If the bridge isn't already burnt, we'll cross it when we get there. We just have to keep going. That's it.

- O -

Princess Eirika had, like many, many others, been beset by common colds and other illnesses often through her childhood. Oftentimes, to her chagrin, she caught an illness during one of her trips to visit Tana and Innes in Frelia, or Lyon in Grado, and was bedridden. She had always felt that she was more susceptible to illness than was her brother, but when she thought about it, Ephraim generally found ways to be out and about even when ill, to the point that on several frightening occasions, King Fado needed to drag his son in after he'd finally succumbed to fatigue. His rashness had diminished somewhat, but the memories of Ephraim coming in, near-delirious with fever, lance in hand, having shouted down a bitterly cold rainstorm, were not easily banished from her mind.

She had suffered illnesses like those in the past, but none so serious as the one that saw her confined to the featherbed of a complete stranger, the ail called the winter sickness. Her entire body ached, but her face and her head most of all, to the point that the throbbing in her head clouded her vision. Chills ran through her body, she felt flushed and weak, and she almost couldn't breathe with all the congestion in her nose, in her face—she felt as though a storm cloud had settled over her face and taken root, angry and merciless like a swarm of brambles or vines.

"I'll do anythin' I can f'r you."

Eirika opened her eyes to see the mayor's daughter kneeling at her side. She held a small bundle of pink blankets in her arms near her bosom, and at her side she had a small leather pouch, which jingled and tickled whenever she shifted.

"M'name is Melissa," she said jovially.

"Melissa?" Eirika said and she could feel her throat rage against her when she spoke. "I am…ah, M-Mila."

"Mila? Please'n t'make your acquain'ce," Melissa said, with a small curtsy and a giggle. "Wish'n we could've met under a better star."

"Yes, as—as I."

"You'll have't excuse my father. He's'n been a'edge lately. Things ha'n't been great around here lately, but believe'n you me, it innit my father's way't leave anyone out'n'na cold. My father mayn't talk'n so kind, aye, but he's a nice heart, so forgive 'im 'is trespasses—as Latona says—if'n it pleas'n you, a'course."

Eirika looked up. The mayor's daughter had soft, soothing hazel eyes and soft, rounded cheeks lashed with pink. She had freckles here and there about her face and several strands of her pumpkin-colored hair fell about her eyes and nose. Even her smile was gentle and mollifying.

"I-I understand," said Eirika, groaning as another wave of pain surged through her face, from her head to her sinuses. It was as if her face was about to collapse under its own weight. She rubbed her temples. "Would that I needn't inconvenience you further…"

"Oh, Mila, please'n don't think that way. It inn't your fault you came about the winter sickness. Well, it shouldn't be your fault, at any rate. You needn't worry a'more about'n bein' a bother. We dn't cast out a sick girl b'cause'n she happened t'stumble a'our doorstep. S'please don't you worry a'more."

"Yes."

"I've some herbal remedies what f'r makin' y'feel better some," Melissa said. She set down her bundle of blankets gently on the floor of the loft and rustled around in her leather satchel, eventually finding a small phial of milky-grey liquid. "I'ven't an awful lot left, but whate'er I've f'r the takenin' you can have. F'r the winter sickness, this should do swell. "

Melissa lifted up Eirika's head and pressed a small phial up to her lips. The draught was bitter and tasted of medicinal roots and unfamiliar herbs; when she finished drinking, an odd sensation of cold remained on her tongue and in the sides of her mouth.

"That sh'd do y'right," said Melissa. "Th' rest'f our villagefolk all know well the best way t'treat the stubborn sickness—ahm, beggin' y'r pardons, that's what m'father calls the winter sickness, as it oft comes fr'm stubbornly stayin' out'n the cold a'long. I'm sure ye've not done anythin' to deservin' it, I dinn't mean't say that." She made a little curtsy.

"It's all right," said Eirika. Her hostess took the bundle from before in her arms and held it close. "If you don't mind the inquiry, what…is it that you're holding?"

"A'this?" Melissa said. She laughed and her hair swooshed back and forth. She held the swath of blankets and turned it for Eirika to see, though through her clouded eyes she could barely see at all. "This is m'li'l joy. M'beau'ful l'il baby boy."

"Your…boy?" Eirika said, coughing. "Your…child?"

"Yes'm. M'own child." The girl bit her lip and looked down at the child in her arms. "M'own blood n' sweat n' tears. M'beau'ful boy."

"So young, and yet a mother…" Eirika mumbled. She felt her eyes drooping. "That must be…oh, so hard."

"Oh, don't'n you worry y'r mind naught a bit a'that. Just rest now, n' be well."

Eirika set her head back on the pillow and listened to Melissa's footsteps grow quieter and quieter until the sound faded into nothing and she was alone in the darkened loft. She closed her eyes and quickly fell asleep.