Author's Note:Hey, it's me again after yet another lovely interval of time. Apologies for the delay, and expect another for a brief while, but here's yet another chapter with what I hope will be enough substance for you all. This one was vastly fun to write. Special regards go out to C. R. Martin, everyone's favourite FE resident Gunlord500, and Mystics Apprentice for keeping me in the writing loop. Until next time, faithful readers and newcomers alike, and happy reading and writing!
Boomerang Chapter 7: Clash under a Burning Sun
The past few days were travelled in the strong rays of the desert sun and the harsh samiels of the Jehannan wasteland, and Cormag felt the waves of fatigue and dehydration in Genarog's once-fluid motions. The rushing air could not cool his reptilian skin no matter the speed, and the water supply was running spare for the entire camp, forcing rations to be distributed on a daily basis.
Feeling sorrowful for his mount, Cormag descended and poured some of his waterskin's contents into his handkerchief, wetting the length of the wyvern's blue-scaled back with a thin lamina of water. Genarog snorted heavily as a horse would as a gesture of thanks, evoking a smile from the commander.
"No need for thanks, my friend," Cormag spoke, voice crackling from his parched throat as he slowed them both to offer the head of the primitive container to his mount. "You need your strength up more than your rider."
Genarog looked worriedly at him for a moment but understood the nature of his kindness, taking the waterskin within his teeth and lobbing his head upward in mimicry of what his rider had done often. Only a little water managed to escape into the wyvern's mouth before the bladder was reclaimed by gravity, and several attempts merely angered him rather than slake his thirst. Instead, he just snared it in his teeth and clamped down upon it.
"Hey! What are you doing to my waterskin?! I need that!" shouted Cormag.
His response was a satisfied gulp as water slicked Gen's throat and coursed further downward, leaving the commander grumbling and slapping a hand over his face.
"Of course you did. Patience is hardly your tendency."
The wyvern rumbled his own version of a chuckle and flew on. Cormag sighed and wondered, maybe even hoped, that nobody saw that turn of events, yet was out of luck. The sable-haired princess caught his eye as he looked to his right, laughing so freely that she almost fell off her pegasus. He looked away in grim embarrassment.
"I swear, you winged python, you are going to get me into a world of trouble. That was my favourite and, might I say, only waterskin away from Grado. To make matters worse, you did that in front of the princess."
No reply came, but he knew that his mount was more than pleased by possibly turning its rider's sunburned face a shade more flushed, though Gen's motions remained unchanged in tempo and difficulty. Cormag's dissatisfaction turned to concern as time went on.
"Let's descend and get you another ration of water, ol' boy. Let's just hope that the grouchy prince will allow it."
The swooping passing over of a shadow quickly shifted the ex-commander's attention as Vanessa, the olivine knight of the skies, descended on her pegasus from a massive height. Her overly serious expression and searching eyes replaced his abashment with gravity.
"Jehanna Hall lies just beyond the large sand dune at 11 o'clock, but its towers are rimmed with smoke and its grounds littered with troops in red and black. Know you anything of an assault from Grado, Cormag? Were you luring us into a trap all along?"
Cormag grimaced, angered at the thought but fully knowledgeable of Vanessa's not trusting him any more than Prince Innes did. Looking over with sternness in his eye, he decided to not lash out.
"I knew nothing of Grado's plans. Whatever war council they had was taken in my absence while I was searching for you, but for them to have travelled this far even on the day that I left—they must have been marched at a full pace instead of the regular step, if straight from the capital. What size is their force?"
Vanessa softened her gaze slightly and answered, "Forty or so on foot, horseback, and wyverns outside, and an unknown number inside the castle walls. My main suspicion is that the army split, however. The town outside the village at two o'clock is freshly ablaze from the looks of that."
The ex-commander turned and saw the billowing smoke cloud just barely over the tops of the white dunes. Even though she had elevation on her side, he hated to admit that she had an eagle eye stronger than his, but fear, anger, and broiling blood rose to his face as he observed onward. Grado's standards have fallen low to attack an undefended village, or maybe it was Jehanna's for hiding amongst its citizens.
"Don't think about it," the pegasus knight warned.
It took Cormag a moment before he recognised that he was standing in his stirrups, his hands were in a death grip on the reins, and his spurs were geared to kick Gen's sides. He relaxed back onto his saddle, ashamed.
"Days of being leaderless would have left you forgetting orders. Do not forget that you have pledged allegiance towards Eirika and require her say-so to do anything. Besides, what are you against an army?"
"You're right," Cormag said begrudgingly, looking back towards her. "Then we ask Eirika what the plan is."
For the first time he saw Vanessa smile. "Attaboy" was all she said before she spiraled downwards. Cormag and Genarog followed suit.
Valter smiled at the devastation before him, his blue eyes observing the Jehannan town's being despoiled and razed by fire. Few of the villagers were still alive, fleeing into the desert where they had little to no chance of survival or hiding in buildings untouched by man or flame, and more than that number died to Valter's lance, from his calculations.
"Ah, the sheer beauty of destruction, eh, Caellach? It is a glorious thing to witness."
Caellach looked up from polishing his axe and smiled at a slant. Aptly was he named the Tiger Eye by the Emperor. He was a broad-shouldered man with sun-bleached auburn hair, heavily tanned skin, and a dark gaze, but whatever beauty could be compared between them was contrasted by the malice within him.
"You've quite the jabbering jaw when you want to be, Valter. Getting lonely with that pile of corpses you're feeding the vultures?"
"Yes," Valter agreed with a chuckle, "they are not nearly as fun as when they were alive and screaming in agony after being stuck through. And you? Find any crown amongst the dead, future king?"
Caellach rose from the ground and perched his hands upon his colossal silver axe. His grim smile was unsettling to Valter, causing the unctuous individual to lick his lips.
"I have, or I will amongst the future dead. I once served as a mercenary, as you may recall, for a unit founded here in Jehanna, and under the burning Jehannan sun will I have my crown in time, be it a city state or a full kingdom. From humble beginnings to a king—not a bad way to live, right?"
"Ah, but have you secured your throne? I've heard that you convinced a loyalist to the queen by tempting him with the queen itself. What's stopping him from making off with her along with her crown?"
Caellach's grin did not waver as he propped the axe onto his shoulder and started back toward the town.
"Lovely day for a stroll, isn't it? I wonder if there are any eligible future queens left in this town."
Valter squinted towards the man suspiciously before a glimmer of light flashed behind his eyes and he rubbed his chin. A mad laugh tore from his throat as Caellach stepped further and further out of earshot.
"Oho, I see, I see," he said, smiling. "So you killed the queen, is that it? Not that it matters anymore. You will taste your own lifeblood soon enough, my friend, and it will be sweet to your tongue, so sweet."
The plan was one balanced by strategy and simplicity. Eirika's party was to storm the besieged castle with a spearhead formation while some defended the exit from the patrolling Grado garrison. It was a risky maneuver because there was no telling how many were in the army—Cormag knew of Grado's love for numbers—but with the quality of Eirika's forces and Innes' unequated brilliance the ex-commander was sure that it could work no matter the numbers.
Innes was the first to act after a long period of silence, striking the second guard at the door before he could react to the first having an arrow lodged in his chest. That was the signal for the Knights of Renais, Seth and his young protégé Franz, to fall upon the patrol of cavaliers and lancers that trotted unaware around the corner until it was too late. The Grado soldiers made a racket before they died and no doubt alerted those that occupied Jehanna Hall, and in turn the strike force moved into the shadows of the palace.
Cormag sprinted into the main gate at the wing of the spearhead assault team, leaving Genarog to fly overhead or roost on one of the higher towers. The decision was Eirika's, a testament of her trust in him while Innes roiled in torment at the idea, and the ex-commander had an inner smile at both of these thoughts.
A swordsman in red livery dashed out toward him from a lesser room along the way, bringing down his steel blade with a fierce diagonal twirl. If Cormag was still wearing his old armor, there would have been no way that he could have seen it coming or even defended, but he was wearing a Declan. He swiftly parried the blade towards the floor and swung his spear upwards to meet the swordsman's face, but like the former attack it missed its mark.
Others on both sides joined in on the fight, the trap sprung but sprung far too late. Eirika's forces were prepared and struck many a fatal or debilitating blow, and in the end the ex-commander too delivered a thrust in the swordsman's abdomen, the spear meeting bone and viscera before being extracted.
The man in red fell to the floor, the horrible look of being near-death awash over his face as he breathed in ragged breaths. Cormag took no pleasure in executing him, grief of killing his own countryman draining his cheeks of colour. He pressed on, as did the rest of the spearhead.
Battles ensued like this but easier and easier until they reached the throne room, the entry to which was locked and guarded by half a dozen soldiers in elitist apparel and armour. Innes recognised this as well, and both he and Cormag hesitated. The Grado soldiers knowingly took advantage of that and struck first with blades, axes, and spears swung in unison.
This was a bad situation. Much like the mounted patrol outside of Jehanna Hall, the turn was taken with too little preparation and no tempo was gained upon but rather lost to the enemy. Unlike the norm of soldiers, the elites hunted in pairs and focused their efforts on putting Eirika's forces down in piecemeal, taking special heed to Innes' use of the bow and one of them dodging his first arrow.
A redhead on Cormag's side wearing a black coat and tattered tricorne was the first to score a kill among the elites, his deadly shamshir striking the front of an axe-wielder from stomach to chin and saving a comrade. Others dove in to help fight back the enemy as well, including Cormag who, being assisted by an arrow shot by Innes, managed to bring down another swordsman.
The situation looked better until a talented shaman on Grado's part joined the battle, darkness draining colour and illumination from the torch-lit hall. Cormag managed to avoid the fluxing tide of the ancient magic, an inky orb exploding from the floor and near his face. He knew the incredible dangers of this kind of magic. The orb would grow and drag whatever gets caught inside its sphere of influence into a smothering absence of life, killing within seconds. He was very fortunate to not have touched it with his person or even his spear upon escape, and fled backward.
Innes showed his knowledge of tactics once again by targeting the new threat, nocking an arrow, and firing, and the ex-commander charged in the trail following the feathered end. The shaman dodged in slippery fashion, but not in a movement. It was like he shifted in location without requiring the movement of muscle, but being of Grado himself and picking the knowledge from an wine-addled druid Cormag knew the secret of this action.
The remaining elites of Grado's forces tried to attack Cormag but were pinned by Eirika's men. The shaman, transposing himself back to his original location, rallied forth another spell and another, aiming for two locations in front of the wyvern rider. Cormag thought he avoided both, but one onyx orb engulfed the back end of his spear, threatening to pull it and him into its lifeless embrace.
Groaning, he dared not let go of his weapon and lose it. The wood warped, cracked, and ruptured before the back end was pulled into the void, leaving only part of the spear in Cormag's hands. However, that was enough. With a yell, he plunged the tip toward the shaman towards his heart.
Once again, the attack on the shaman was thwarted by the instantaneous shift of the dark mage's position. Cormag looked up to see that the shaman was four paces away, drew back his weapon, and charged before spinning counterclockwise. As he expected, the mage teleported back to the original location, but Cormag found that the remnant of his spear was too short for anything but a light, scathing cut to the lower back.
The capabilities of a dark mage lay within two things, according to the drunk druid: strength of will and the capacity to hold it in place for a period of time. For spells, the limitations were easy and absolute, and for teleportation the limitations were considerably more difficult, the duration depending on distance and time. However, Cormag recalled one more fact that serviced him greater than that knowledge. Where dark mages of great strength can focus between two points of their own choosing, only those of the rank of druid can focus among three or more, and this shaman was no druid.
Blood spilled out from the shaman's thick dark robe, and he held the gash with his free hand, incredulity on his alabaster face as he turned to face the ex-commander. He did not make it farther than a quarter of a rotation before Innes fired an arrow into his neckline, and he dropped to the ground, mortally wounded and soon to be dead.
Cormag and Innes shared a look of "I could have handled it alone" before grinning at each other. While they still hated each other, they finally found a commonality between them beyond shedding blood.
The last elite fell lifeless onto the stone floor, and everyone gathered at the foot of the door. Colm, one of the fighters in the group, proficiently unlocked the door and held fast on one handle, and Innes took hold of the other.
"The battle ends here! Kill the commander, no holds barred, and protect the queen at all costs. Jehanna Hall will be ours thereafter, so make me proud, men!"
A rallying cry of cheer arose before the door was propped open, and all rushed swiftly into the audience chamber of the castle, little expecting a lone man in Jehannan livery to await them inside with his blade drawn.
