- 'Leave us.'

The messenger shuffled backwards, not daring to lift his face from the floor till the the floor tiles underneath changed colour and even then he still remained bowed and walked backwards till he crossed the threshold, silver masked guards closing the doors behind him.
Validar sat in silence, seemingly unperturbed by the news he had received though had anyone paid close attention to his person they'd have noticed a slight tightening of his lips and how his fingers gripped the arms of his chair a bit tighter. Tilting his head he addressed the shadow in the rooms corner.

- 'What now Master? My dau... Reflet is dead, her armies shattered and the infidel escaped.'

The shadow did not move but the voice sounded clearly throughout the room, as if forcing itself directly into the mind.

- 'Regrettable but it has provided evidence for something that I have suspected.'

The voice fell silent at that and if Validar had hoped that the shade would expand its thought he was to be disappointed.

- 'We shall reconsider our alliances and you will be informed of what to do.'
- 'Yes, my master.'

Everything still hurt. As he sat at the end of the table, nursing watered down wine that tasted strongly of vinegar Robin could not help but wince occasionally as aches and pains made themselves known. His nose had been broken, not the first time if the doctor were to be believed, several of his ribs likewise and the injury to his leg that he had shrugged off during the fight was healing poorly and causing great discomfort, the man had been informed it might never heal. That being said there were many worse off and as a result Robin had not expected to be summoned for a war council and yet here he was sharing a table with several Feroxi and Ylissian nobles as they looked over maps, occasionally consulting tablets with strings of numbers and words dotted down.

- 'We've managed to squeeze the noose around the Plegians in Ylisse, they have to devote almost as many men to keeping their supply lines open as they do to the siege. We have even managed to sneak in reinforcements and supplies so, god willing, the garrison won't even consider surrender.'

Lord Nestor paused, took a sip from his cup before continuing.

- 'I see two options, we either continue our current campaign, leave Ferox to tear at Plegia's north while we move to eliminate their force in Ylisse or we leave them to rot and take the war to Plegia in full.'

Robin took a sip himself, mulling over the words as he looked at the map, the wooden tokens showing where known concentrations of the enemy as well as where the allies had their hosts. He knew he would not be called to offer his opinion, after all he would have been called first being the least important of the gathered.

- 'Robin, what do you say?'

The man nearly choked and looked up. All eyes were on him, waiting for him to speak. Setting the cup down Robin gathered his thought, cleared his throat and spoke.

- 'Not much more can be added to what has already been said so I will move on to my opinion. We should attack. Leave the siege to itself, if what we've been told is true than they will hold and with the lord Marshal nearby with a host he can easily make life as difficult as necessity for the Plegians. By striking into their country while most of their number are abroad we strike at their will to fight, men and officers will be less likely to tolerate sitting underneath our walls if their own families are in danger.'

There were nods from the more aggressive members of the gathered though Robin noted Chrom was showing no sign of his thought, merely staring into the maps.

- 'A good hard blow can end this quickly and I believe we have the manpower and supplies needed for such a campaign.'

Now theoretically it was time for Basilio, Chrom and Flavia to make their opinion known but instead Flavia spoke.

- 'Thank you my lords, we shall make our decision known shortly. You may leave now.'

The lords stood and made to leave, Robin with them when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

- 'A word, Robin.'
-'Your grace.'

Instead of speaking the prince moved away, followed by the amnesiac. The two walked in silence for a moment till they found themselves alone in one of the Feroxi castles many corridors, Chrom stopping near a narrow window. Looking outside he sighed heavily and spoke.

- 'I trusted you with the task of saving Emmeryn, you failed.'

Robin said nothing, glancing down to his feet. Chrom continued.

- 'While I, and most others, were grieving you took command without anyone's approval and forced everyone to acknowledge your command, casualties were horrific.'

Robins jaw clenched as did his hand on his sword hilt, Chrom did not look at the man as he continued.

- 'Had you not everyone might have died.'

Robin glanced up as the royal shifted his stance and turned to the man.

- 'I have decided to appoint you field marshal of the realm. You will be in charge of strategy and tactics of the force appointed to you subservient only to the lord marshal and myself.'

Robin shook his head.

- 'Your lords might not approve of having a vagrant in charge.'
- 'They might not, they haven't said anything yet and if they do have a problem.'

The Exalt shrugged his shoulders.

- 'Damn them.'

The table clattered on it's edge and all the maps, wooden blocks and goblets scattered over the area. The gathered lords took a step back, all trying to stay out of the way of their King, often referred to as "the mad king" Gangrel, who having kicked the table over was now stalking up and down the room.

- 'This was not how it was meant to be, not at all!'

He snarled as he paced before stopping and turning sharply to place his face an inch from another's.

- 'You promised victory! All I've been seeing is defeat! It was meant to be a victory!'

Aversa showed no reaction to the king snarling directly into her face, her voice calm as she spoke.

- 'Victory is still within reach, one must simply strive to claim it.'

Gangrel responded with a "bah" and turned away, indicating that the table be set back. Aversa walked to the righted furniture and delicately placed a block onto the map.

- 'Our spies agree that the infidels new exalt is in Ferox with a small force of Ylissians, the Feroxi themselves more suitable for raiding than open warfare and most of Northern Ylisse is in our hands, they are stuck there.'
- 'With all due respect that leaves us with little good. Yes, the Feroxi are not the best when it comes to open battle but were we to march into their land we'd find ourselves in a belt of land devoted to making life hell for invaders. There have been far too many cases were an invader entered Ferox only to be defeated without battle.'

The smile was still in place but Aversa's eyes were cold as she regarded the man who interrupted her.

- 'True, therefore we shall make them come to us.'

Gangrel snorted loudly as he took his place at the head of the table.

- 'And just how will we make that happen?'
- 'We know that prince... or rather Exalt Chrom is hotblooded, he does not take well to inaction and as your grace as just recently had his sister executed I think he will not need much goading.'
- 'The boy is impulsive, yes but he has advisers, some of whom may be able to convince him of the prudence of less direct methods.'

Aversa tilted her head at the officer who offered his thought before responding.

- 'Perhaps but the Feroxi are savages, they will need little encouragement to come to a fight. As for the Ylissians, some might suggest caution under normal circumstances but with their former Exalts body in pieces and rotting away in our market squares I think they might be eager to fight us again.'

Gangrel had been tapping his fingers on the table the entire time but now stopped and looked down to the map, gingerly picking up a block and putting it down, muttering something to himself before looking up again.

- 'I trust you already have an idea on how to convince them?'

Aversa smiled.

She was beautiful, there was no other way to put it. Pale skin without any blemishes, well proportioned and a smile that lit up her entire face. That someone like that would smile at him, be with him was beyond any comprehension. Slowly, delicately he lifted a hand and placed it to her skin, drawing it across, the sensation of touching her skin enough to make his mind go blank. And than he noticed.
Every time he drew his hand across that pale skin a red line formed, grew before gliding down. With a jolt he looked up. The smile was gone. Rotting skin drawn tight over her skull, maggots writhing in the wounds leaking puss. Her hands shot up to his neck and the lips drew back to release a wheeze stinking of the grave and a barely audible sound.

- 'Why?'

He was on his feet, breath coming to him in shallow gasps, sweat making the shirt stick to his frame. Robin took a few steps to the tents pole and grabbing the gourd hanging from it, pouring the watered wine down his throat.

What was it that woke him? He tried to think but he could not remember. With a sigh he put the skin back and sat on the cot.
It had been a week since Chrom had promoted him, days spent on hammering out details for a campaign alongside the Feroxi khans and Ylissian nobles before marching south to link up with the small army that had been sent from Ylisse to add some weight to the Feroxi host while raiding parties scoured northern Plegia looking for prisoners to interrogate and destroying what little civilization had been left over and he himself was tallying numbers alongside others. Why was there so much math involved? If there was anything that could sour the joy he felt at his sudden and astronomical rise in power it was that. His internal complaint stopped as his eyes fell on a scrap of cloth, bloody, muddied and torn he had no reason for stripping the hooded robe off the body back in the valley where he thought he would die in a last stand. It was well made, true, and the black, purple and gold combination was striking but there were much better things to pick up as a trophy, so why did this speak to him so?

- 'Robin? Are you awake?'
-'Yes.'

The man answered, casting the robe aside. Stahl lifted the tent flap and peered in.

- 'Chrom wants you.'

Robin stood up and began throwing on clothes while asking.

- 'You know why?'

The knight shook his head.

- 'I wasn't told. But were I to guess it'd have something to do with the prisoners the latest patrol dragged in.'

Robin scowled as he strapped his sword belt on before rolling his shoulders.

- 'I see. Let's not keep his grace waiting than.'

- 'It was as if a blind had fallen off my eyes. At that moment I realized the folly of our actions, the folly of the hate. I regret it took your grace's sister's sacrifice to do so but it was not lost. There are many like us, many. We do not wish for further violence, further bloodshed but for that Gangrel must die. Were your grace to march on him his armies would melt away and with his death the country would sue for peace.'

The Plegian speaking was of the group most recently brought in by outriders, he and his companions had surrendered quickly and were now repeating their story to the Exalt, the khans and their most senior officers. As he finished he was led back to the others and the assembled lords gathered to talk.
Tharja looked on with mild interest, she had surrendered readily enough when her unit was set upon as she felt little need to sacrifice herself in the games of kings and said nothing, wondering for whose benefit the officer was weaving his tale for she had seen no such attitudes in the camp. Of course she said nothing for she saw no reason to involve herself just so long as she survived the war she would consider it a good end.
That soon changed when she felt something familiar, a faint pounding inside her skull as if something were trying to get out. She looked up for the first time since she had been forced to her knees in the tents corner and looked for the source. The tents flap was pulled aside and a man entered, she recognized him immediately.

Not by face, of course, as last she saw him he had been in full armour but rather by that sensation, the power, that darkness that seemed to be so heavy in him it was leaking out. Before she knew it a smile appeared on her face and her tongue licked her lips, just being near such dark was intoxicating.
The man approached the gathered officers and nodded his head as he listened, briefly looking towards the prisoners. It was at that moment Tharja heard her voice speaking.

- 'He lies, you know.'

All eyes turned to her. The prince, now exalt spoke up.

- 'What do you mean?

She should have turned her gaze to the prince but found herself fixated on the dark one.

- 'After the late exalts suicide morale is ever higher, most say we shall be tearing down the temple of Naga in Ylisse within a fortnight and that you shall all be dead or enslaved in little more.'

The other Plegian was looking at her, eyes open wide before he shoock his head as a dog trying to snap a rats neck before he interrupted.

- 'Your grace, the woman is a practitioner of the dark arts, she knows not what the common soldier say. Heed her not!'

Chroms lips tightened as he looked from one Plegian to the other, Tharja cared little for him and instead focused her gaze on the dark one who held her gaze before slowly speaking.

- 'I can imagine what they hope to gain by their words, what is it that you hope to achieve?'

She shrugged, as much as she could given her circumstances as she answered.

- 'Achieve? Survival. I have little reason to wish to suffer and die at the behest of anyone. In my current position the best way to avoid that is to be useful to you.'

She paused and shrugged.

- 'Besides, I have always been something of a rebel.'

She watched silently as the Ylissians and Feroxi exchanged a glance before one of their number turned and bellowed.

- 'Guard!'

A sentry entered and followed the officers hand as he pointed towards the other Plegian.

- 'Interrogate him.'

Amidst his protests the man was dragged out of the tent by two soldiers. Chrom stepped closer to Tharja, forcing her to look at him.

- So, rebel, would you fight for me?'

Several eyes turned to the Exlat, many an eyebrow raised but none actually spoke out. She could not help herself as she answered.

- 'You think to trust me? What if this is a ploy?'

It was the dark one who answered.

- 'Your friend will soon tell us everything we wish to know and probably a fair bit which we don't. If it turns you are lying his fate will seem pleasant compared to what would await you.'

- 'It would seem the enemy wants a battle, to crush us in one blow.'

Robin summarized the information Chroms newest "Shepherd" had divulged, confirmed by the agonized screams of the Plegians interrogated. Eye turned to the map and Robin lifted a blackened wooden block and placed it down.

- 'Apparently this is their main camp with smaller camps scattered around.'
- 'All very good.'

Basilio spoke,

- 'But what do we do about it?'

They went through the motions, the junior most speaking first, the more senior following till eyes turned to the field marshal. Robin had spent the entire time glaring at the map, occasionally sipping from his cup, and now set it aside as he extended a hand.

- 'This looks like good ground for a battle. River offering an anchor for one flank while the woods, if they are still there, should anchor the other. This would nullify any numerical advantage the enemy might have.'
- 'Assuming they'd even come at us.'
- 'Our information points to them wanting battle, might as well fight on ground that suits us.'

Flavia shook her head.

- 'Battles are always risky and if they want battle that means the are confident in victory.'

Robin stood straight and looked directly to the Khan.

- 'I see no reason for us to be any less confident and if we choose the ground...'

Increasing numbers of eyes fell to Chrom, having realized this he looked over the gathered nobles before looking to the map before speaking.

Several lamps had been lit making it possible for the gathered officers to see the maps on the table, they had been discussing the course of action long enough for the sun to disappear behind the horizon.

- 'It's confirmed. The infidel march on us via this road. From captives taken we are certain that they aim to bring us to battle.'
- 'Confident aren't they? Any updates as to their numbers?'
- Hard to say, estimates range from ten to sixteen thousand, roughly half of them Ylissian.'
- So either way we have numbers on our side... makes one wonder why their so eager to march on us...'
- 'During the last war we frequently outnumbered the infidel, and still they would triumph. Do not underestimate the worth of their heavy armour and drill.'
-'That was than, this is now. The infidel have grown soft, their whore exalt saw to that.'

-'Where is the boy?'

All other discussion ended as all eyes turned to Gangrel, hunched over the maps like some bird of prey. One of the officers cleared his throat.

- 'We have yet to confirm it but it would seem their exalt marches with the army.'
-'That is what matters. Get the men ready. We march at dawn!'
-'Your grace we should...'

The officer got no further before the king slammed his fist into the table, sending several goblets over.

- 'We march at dawn! Get to your men and ensure that is so!'

Robin could not think of a word that would properly convey what he was feeling. In the distance the sound of thousands of feet marching to the beat of war drums could be heard, faint orders carrying on the wind. Closer to him, in the semicircle of officers, he listened to the words of the priest as he intoned the blessings and beseeching Naga to look favorably on her faithful. No doubt he had taken part in dozens of religious ceremonies in his time with only the amnesia stopping him from properly remembering it, and yet he felt strange. It was as if something inside him was twisting in annoyance so he greeted the end of the ceremony with relief, strode away placing his bascinet back on his head and mounting his horse that a page was holding for him and looked out towards the plain.

Dark columns of hundreds making a mass of thousands of men were marching into position, dispatch riders galloping to and fro ensuring orders were followed and delivering new instructions. The battle line was still incomplete but the outline could already be seen, one flank anchored on the river while the other bending inward as it went further into the plain, soon there would be separate columns of his reserves taking their positions.
Nodding to himself he looked away towards the other end of the plain where the Plegians were coming from. A uniform dark mass, no doubt doing the same as their enemies, deploying into their battle line which looked ready to stretch from the woods to the river in a single mass.
Soon two opposing battle plans would clash and one of them was his. The thought made his mouth go dry and his hands sweaty, his breakfast churning in his gut threatening to force its way out. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and released the breath, that helped. He had no way of knowing whether history would remember this engagement but he knew that for him and for thousands who would take part it would be the most important day of their lives to date.

Jumping into the saddle Chrom looked around, before him infantry were either marching into position or had already taken their positions and were now standing waiting for further events. Behind him stood several hundred men at arms, the flower of Ylissian nobility, waiting for their part in the battle to come. Frederick rode up and handed Chrom his helm, the royal reached to take it and paused. It was the same helm as he had been using for years now but something was odd about it and it took little time to figure it out, the simple gold band around it had been replaced by a more elaborate one, one fit for a king. Noticing his hesitation the knight spoke.

- 'I'm sorry, your grace, but they were insistent on the change.'

Chrom did not answer, he reached out and took the helm, brushing his armoured fingers across the addition, change. He always thought change was good but how much better would things be if none of the recent changes occurred? With a shake of his head he dismissed such thoughts and looked towards the dark mass of the enemy, somewhere in their midst was the man responsible for his misfortunes.

- 'Perhaps your grace would reconsider his position?'

Frederick ventured, repeating what he and many others have said numerous times since the battles planning. Chrom turned to the knight.

- 'No.'

He stated simply before his lips tilted slightly upward.

- 'But do not worry, I will follow the plan to the letter, I did promise to do so after all.'

He had, there had been much opposition to his requesting to lead a unit that would see action, most would rather he stay at the rear as moral support, a visible symbol for the combatants. He had insisted and finally he got what he wanted along with demands he not charge out searching for Gangrel. He would keep his word, though he offered a silent prayer for a chance to meet the bastard on the field.

Something drew his attention, one of the infantry stumbled out of the ranks, dropping his halberd and vomited. Looking around he picked up other details, pale faces, nervous looks mouths moving in prayer and several others who broke ranks out of the sudden need to vomit or void their bowels.
Before he knew it he kicked back his heels, spurring his horse to move, Frederick and several others following close behind as he wheeled around the infantry to face them, all eyes resting on him. A quick look through the ranks picked out a familiar face.

- 'Vaike! Remember when we rescued the lady Maribelle Themis and you hacked down five of the enemy by yourself? Do you think you could repeat that today?'

He spoke in a tone that carried far. Vaike grinned at being addressed and bellowed his response, slamming his fist into his chest, the call picked up by those around him. Chrom smiled as he rode on down the line.

- 'I believe any one of you could do so this day. This day we stand here, sons of Ylisse to end a tyrant! One who believes it his right to take ours for himself! Many have suffered at their actions, I myself have lost a sister to his madness and I believe many amongst you have suffered as much or more!'

An angry roar sounded from the ranks, fists raised. Chrom rode briefly in front of the formation, the roar growing louder wherever he was, a massive din heard across the field, he could not know whether his words could be heard but he shouted them anyway.

- 'So we shall end it this day, here on this field. We shall claim a victory that guarantee the safety of your loved ones for decades to come!'

The following roar drowned out his voice so effectively that even he himself could not hear it.

-'Go forth and do gods work! Let none of the infidel live!'

The ranks of Plegians roared in response to the officers speech, elsewhere along the lines others were still speaking, others had finished. Behind the formations Gangrel looked towards the dark lines of the enemy, fingers drumming at his saddle before with a snarl he turned to his aides.

- 'Are we not finished yet?'
- 'No master. Some units are still moving into position.'

Gangrel turned back to look at the Ylissian-Ferox host, muttering to himself as he did for a few moments before turning back.

- 'Signal the advance! All units to advance!'

Lips tightened, one of the officers opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it instead signals were given, horns blared, drums were pounded and banners dipped forward. Light cavalry rode forward, nocking arrows as they rode. Behind rank after rank of infantry marched forward followed be smaller blocks of heavy cavalry, lances swaying above their heads. The dust kicked up by the thousands of hooves and feet quickly obscured the view but Gangrel still grinned widely as he envisioned what was going to happen.

- 'Prepare to repel cavalry!'

The front rank knelt, pavises held before them presenting a makeshift wall as archers nocked arrows and readied themselves for the order to shoot and behind them others knelt, those with shields lifting them high seeking some protection from the missiles they knew would come. A hundred yards, eighty the dark mass of enemy horsemen grew larger, better visible with every yard covered. At fifty yards the order came,

- 'Archers! Draw! Loose!'

No sooner had the first arrow left the string and the archers were already readying the next missile to shoot. In the distance men fell to the ground or slumped in the saddle as the arrows found their mark. The horsemen did not let the challenge go unanswered and replied in kind, the first among the feroxi falling.

- 'Steady lads! Steady!'

The Plegian horse wheeled away, letting the next rank ride up to loose their volley and so on in constant motion making themselves more difficult targets and ensuring that no archer grew too tired from the constant pulling of the bow too quickly. Though infantry could fight in a similar method the clans of Ferox had few archers in their ranks, the nobles preferring to fight with axe or sword while the common born fought with spear and javelin, proper archers were in short supply. Fortunately for them, than, that they were allied with the Ylissians amongst whom many of their militia were crossbowmen and were loaned to the Feroxi to form a solid line of archers all along the allied battle line and shooting on foot they could aim with greater precision, gradually making the Plegian horse lose confidence, loosing their arrows from and increasingly greater distance in the hopes of avoiding the incoming missiles.
And all the while men died.

Stefan had been a surgeon for nigh five decades and had took part in more battles than was polite to mention so when he heard the distant rumble he stood up, spat over his shoulder and called out in a booming voice that was more than a rival for any man half his age.

- 'They've started. That means the casualties will start flowing in.'

Around him other surgeons, apothecaries, clergy and "volunteers" listened, most noticeably paler than normal, so they should he thought. Most had practical experience in dealing with wounds, otherwise they would not be here but even than, he knew, there was no preparing for the sheer scale of the work during a pitched battle. Without thought his eyes rested on the form of the Ylissian princess. She had experience, she knew what men looked like when cut up but would she manage? There was really only one way to know.

- 'Remember, strict triage applies. I'll personally rip the head off of anyone who dumps a corpse on my operating table.'

He paused to make sure the words sunk in before nodding.

- 'To your positions.'

- 'Soldiers! I draw your attention to a simple fact, we are the flank!'

Lord Nestor's voice carried easily, reaching most of his command as he paced along the line. They were more than half a mile behind the right flank, the resulting curvature of the allied army was planned, hopefully making the more fragile, left flank, more secure as they had to operate without the ability to anchor it on terrain.

- The battle depends on whether we hold. Anyone want to guess why we got the task?'

He did not wait for an answer as he bellowed.

- 'Because we are the best! And his grace fully believes we will do our task well as befits the best!'

In truth the plan had been drawn up by the stranger, this Robin character, but that would not have the same effect to it as an implication that the exalt himself was expecting great things from the men. The Ylissians roared in response and Nestor was near screaming the next to be heard.

- 'Will you disappoint his grace?'

The roar drowned out all other noise including that of the first enemy cavalry closing in on them.

Basilio spat in a vain attempt to clear his mouth of the dust that hung heavy in the air. How long had they stood under Plegian missiles? It could not have been too long but it was difficult to asses, time went slowly when under attack by archers, he found, especially with the dust kicked up by thousands of men and horses all but obscured the sky. Even the enemy now seemed little more than dark shapes in the dust and a constant drumming of hooves hitting the hard earth. And yet there was a difference, making the veteran lean out from behind the raised shields, ignoring the calls of his men as he strained his senses to work out what had caught his attention.

- 'Prepare for close quarters!'

He bellowed, the order picked up by officers up and down the line. Soldiers moving to the new formation even as the shapes in the dust took a different shape, a solid mass moving forward. The thud of thousands of feet all but drowning out the boom of kettledrums spurring the Plegians forward. The Feroxi closed in, those with missiles throwing them at their enemy, here and there one would find its mark, men collapsing, clutching to the wound javelins or axes caused before colliding. Sword, axe, mace and hammer rose and fell, shields were thrust out to ward off attacks, spears thrust in at every opening. Grunts, screams, roars all echoed mixing with the cacophony of steel, wood and leather clashing, of bones breaking and flesh being rendered, horns calling, drums beating and officers bellowing as two masses of humanity pushed and shoved at each other, dead and injured falling under feet to be trampled.
Basilio found himself at the forefront, smashing a fist into a Plegians face, freeing enough room to bring his axe around in an over head blow that hacked deep into flesh and bone and sending his enemy to his knees, eyes wide open in shock. With a curse the khan kicked the Plegian off the axes blade and it was only then that the mortally injured began to scream, Basilio barely noticed.

A spear came at him, seemingly from nowhere and he barely shifted his body in time for the steel point to glance off of his cuirass. The man grabbed the shaft before its owner could pull it back and yanked it towards him. The Plegian stumbled forward, released his grip on the spear and collided with Basilio with a snarl, hands yanking a dagger free for a downward thrust. The khan gripped the hand, shifted his weight and slammed his helmeted head into the Plegian face, blood spraying from the broken nose. Dazed the Plegian did not react in time for the punch that sent him to his knees, his hand still in the khans grip stopping him from falling completely. The axe rose and fell, shattering the skull and sending blood, brain and shards of bone over the area and the Plegian finally fell to the ground.
Momentarily free of combat Basilio stood back, trying to asses the situation, not made easy by the vast amounts of dust thrown up by the thousands of feet kicking the dry earth but all around him he saw a swirling melee, hundreds of men pushing, kicking, stabbing, hacking, punching and biting one another as hundreds more pushed in from behind.
The urge to throw himself into the fray was strong but the khan forced himself to hold back, he was a commander and that meant he had to wait and ensure they followed the plan. Drawing in a lungful of air he bellowed.

- 'Hold position! Hold your position!'

-'Send them in! Send them all in!'
- 'Master, should the frontal assault prove too successful the attack on the flank might fail to push the infidel into the river, letting them escape.'

Gangrel turned on the officer, eyes wide, mouth thin and the officer blanched, remembering that the king was oft called "mad" for a reason. The moment passed and the kings face grew calm. He turned to look back on the fields before him. He stared into the dust and dark masses that was the battle for a moment before turning back, a look of complete clarity on his face, his tone rational the manner that made the powerful of the kingdom tolerate his outbursts.

- 'The right is to attack as planned, divert five banners to reinforce them, a further five to move round them, ready to reinforce them further or cut off the infidels retreat.'
-'Your will shall be done master.'

The taste of copper was thick in her mouth and the air stank of ozone. The uncomfortable sensation of something trickling down her face made Miriel want to wipe a hand across her face but she did not, she could not. Silent words were forming on her lips and had to maintained perfectly and in tempo lest the power be torn away by the enemy. The arcane could be devastating in any circumstance and when thousands of men were grouped together in dense formations the result of a spell could be catastrophic meaning a mages task became different, more subtle. They took to a battle of wills with their opposing numbers, a contest of the mind and arcane knowledge as both sides attempted to render the enemies magical abilities mute, thus enabling them to assist their force with their art, providing they had enough strength to do so.

A mage collapsed near her, twitching in spasms, clutching his head and blood flowing from his nose, mouth, ears and eyes. This meant one of the Plegians was free and needed to be contained. Forcing herself to focus she pushed more power into her contest and felt her opponent crumble under the blow. With a sigh she immediately took to looking for any point of power that was balancing in the Plegians favour and found none.
Surprised she wiped a sleeve across her face, smearing the blood flowing from her nose and glanced around her.

The Plegain girl, Tharja was it? Was nearby, fingers going white as she clenched a tome to her chest, eyes closed and her mouth in constant motion as she formed silent words of power. Prince, or rather Exalt Chrom, had drawn many raised eyebrows and more than a little anger at his decision to recruit the girl, an anger only slightly placated when Robin took the most vocal aside and informed them the girl was showing every intention to co-operate and that she would be observed, the task had fallen to Miriel. She had felt little about the task, it did make sense after all, but now she had to admit she was pleased that as of yet the girl showed no signs of wanting to turn sides again. Miriel suddenly felt a pull, the magical balance had shifted and she closed her eyes, looking for the source.

- 'Hold formation! Hold your formation!'
-'Keep pushing forward!'

Officers bellowed over the din, trumpets and horns and drums repeating the orders and men chanted battle hymns as they pushed the front ranks forward while those at the front hacked,stabbed, punched, kicked and bit their enemy in the all concealing dust rising from the melee.
The Plegains kept pushing forward along the entire line, and nowhere with greater strength than the allied left where they had the enemy outnumbered. The Ylissians gave ground under the onslaught, the formation seemingly folding on itself as those at the most extreme end of the line sought safety amongst their allies as more of their enemy threatened their flank. The rapid thudding of many feet hitting the ground heralded the arrival of more combatants and as the bugle sounded the Ylissian knights and men at arms lowered their lances and drove into the throng of Plegians before them, two or even three men impaled on a lance as the tempered steel points punched through armour, bone and flesh with equal ease. Those not struck by lance fell, knocked aside by the chests of warhorses, bred for strength speed and stamina, raised to be unafraid of charging into a press of bodies. Those on the ground lifted their arms over their heads in a desperate attempt to ward off the iron shod hooves that would easily shatter bone.
The Plegians recoiled from the assault, the pressure on the Ylissian foot waning, giving officers time to strode through the ranks, cracking skulls and bellowing orders. Lord Nestor strode among them though one would be hard pressed to recognize him as his surcoat was all but covered in gore and red mud, the result of blood mixing with the heavy dust. The lord grabbed a serjeant by the neck and threw him back into the ranks.

- 'Back into the ranks! Hold your position!'

The cavalry had expanded their momentum and were now pulling back, calling encouragement to the footmen as they rode by. Nestor looked around him, expecting the Plegians to be already regrouping for a new assault but saw little in the dust.

- 'My lord!'

He turned to his attendant who pointed a hand further down the line, closer to where his host met with that of the Feroxi that made the allied center and saw what, the line was breaking, the Plegians threatening to push through and separate the flank from the rest of the army.

-'Runner! To the cavalry, have them reinforce the center!'
-'Yes my lord!'

The rider he had pointed at nodded and turned round, galloping into the gloom to deliver his orders.

-'My lord!'

Nestor waved his hand to show he saw. The Plegians the cavalry had just thrown back was back, pushing into the flank, pushing them back again. The lord looked around before spitting and calling.

- 'Rider! To Sir Robin with the message, "Possible the enemy is throwing their reinforcements on the flank, we are in danger of breaking". Repeat.'

The rider did and Nestor sent the youth on his way before pulling his mace free and turning to his retinue.

- 'With me!'

He called, kicking his heels back, spurring his mount forward, his men drawing their own weapons and following into the fray.

The press of bodies was so great that when a spear came at him, seemingly from nowhere, he could only twist his head, the razor sharp blade catching his cheek before bouncing off mail, the sensation of blood trickling from the new wound making him snarl. Vaike pushed forward, kicking the shield in front of him, the Plegian behind it staggering back, exposing the sides of his comrade to the left, Vaike capitalized on this immediately, his axe swinging in, crushing the ribs of the Plegian's right side, dropping him to his knees as he screamed. A serjeant lashed out, his halberd shattering the injured Plegians skull and silencing his cry. The opening was used as Ylissians poured into the gap, the Plegians recoiling from the sudden setback, more men falling, their blood soaking into the sand before a new line was formed, An Ylissain nearby staggered back, a spear appearing in his throat, the man coughing, eyes going wide and hands rising in a desperate attempt to get air into his lungs before falling to his knees. Vaike tried to push forward, before the Plegian had time to retrieve his spear but another lashed out, punching him in the gut, the gambeson held though the force of the blow was more than enough to stagger him, leaving him open for another to strike and immediately a Plegian noticed, stepping from the ranks, axe raised ready to deliver an overhand blow. Seemingly from nowhere a bill fell on the arm, bones shattering under the impact even as the armour held and the man staggered back with a cry, having regained his balance Vaike now moved forward again, pushing aside the injured Plegian to strike at another. The Plegian warded off the blow with his shield and moved back to put some distance between himself and the axeman, causing his neighbors to pull back followed by a collective surge by the Ylissians as they pushed forward, Vaike not letting his target get away, grasping the spear shaft in one hand he pulled, stopping the Plegians retreat long enough to hook the axe underneath the shield catch the leg and pull the man off balance.

On the ground the Plegian had enough time to lift an arm utter a word in his language before the axe fell, shattering his chest with a sickening crunch. Nearby a Plegian was on his knees, desperately trying to pull the bill from his neck, falling on his face once the weapon was removed. Kellam came into view, spattered in gore. The man at arms noticed Vaike looking and grinned making the axeman laugh as the battle lust pumped through his veins. The laugh was contagious and soon most in the area were grinning like madmen as their blades sang the bloody song.

- 'Corpse, get him out of here.'

The stretcher bearers took the body and dumped it a short distance further as the medic went to the next wounded waiting, on the tables men screamed as surgeons did their bloody work.

- 'Stop the blood here.'

Stefan barked, Lissa nodding as she closed her eyes, mouth forming the appropriate incantation, the blood slowing, giving the man more time to extract the arrow head from the man flesh, successful he cleaned, sewed and bound the wound before calling the orderlies over to move the man elsewhere. There was no time to stop, a cloth soaked in a mixture of vinegar and spirit getting the worst of the blood and mud of the table and another body was dumped on it, this time a younger man, probably no more than seventeen, his teeth clenched tight on a rag. Lissa hissed when she saw the injury, up till recently the injuries had been caused by arrows and as such relatively small, if dangerous but the youth had a long gash in his leg, bone visible past the torn flesh, flies already thick on the wound. Stefan looked it over and swore.

- 'Calm him down, the legs going to have to come off.'

Before Lissa could do anything the youth sat up.

-'No! Leave the leg on! Don't take my leg.'

Both Stafan and Lissa gripped the soldier, trying to get him down to no avail, only when two orderlies forced him down did he stop fighting allowing Lissa to cast the necessary spell though all the while he sobbed as he pleaded.

- 'Leave the leg. I can't be a cripple, I can't. Just let me die! For all that's holy let me die!'

He only stopped when the leg came off, letting the surgeon toss the limb to a waiting basket, put away the saw and sew up the wound in peace. Still sobbing he was carried away, weighing heavily on Lissa's mind, though only for a moment as immediately after another casualty was set on the table and she had to cast another spell till it all became one nightmarish image.

Robin swore and looked around before singling out a rider.

- 'You. Get to the Farcia banner and have them reinforce Lord Nestor. Go!'

The man spurred away with a "Yes sir", Robin was already turning back to Nestors messenger.

- 'Tell lord Nestor he is to hold, at all costs!'
-'Yes sir!'

The words were barely out of the mans mouth and he was already away, leaving Robin to turn his attention to the battle. Was that it? The enemies main thrust? Or was there more? After all only a fool wouldn't think of turning the enemies flank, pushing them into the river. But what if they were not planning to? Scowling he slipped his feet out of the stirrups and stood on the saddle, trying to see as much as possible before sliding back down. Turning he regarded the small number of riders assigned to him as his staff, one carrying a simple black and silver banner that had been given to him to help others find him, before spying the two he wanted.

-'Cordelia! Sumia! To me!'

When they rode up he continued.

-'Sumia to the left, Cordelia to the right. I want you to asses what going on across the battle line and what sort of dispositions the enemy have waiting and report back to me, understood?'

They confirmed and he sent them away, his attention shifting back the battle before they had even left.

He was much too close for using the blade forcing Lonqu to use a different method, he brought the swords pommel down on the Plegians head, hard. The man blinked but seemed to suffer no other harm so Lonqu hit him again, and again. He had stopped how many times he had hit the Plegian before he finally hit the ground, the Chonsin gripping his blade two handed and stabbing downwards, impaling his enemy, drawing a cry of agony. Twisting the blade he stood and looked around him. A Feroxi staggered past, blood flowing from between tightly clenched fingers and everywhere men fought and killed and died.

A Plegian appeared, Lonqu barely in time to ward off the blow of the mace before the Plegians shield smashed into the mans helmeted head, sending him staggering back, sword thrown up in an instinctive move to catch his balance and guard from a follow up attack, it never came. When Lonqu blinked away the pain he saw the Plegian fighting off two Feroxi who had moved in, another Plegian jumped in with a spear lunge, taking one of the Feroxi in the leg, sending him to his knees with a cry. Snarling Lonqu moved back into the fight.

Flavia couldn't help the grin as she gripped the Plegian in front of her and stabbed him in the neck, bright blood covering the area as he collapsed. Planting a foot on the corpse she pulled her blade free and looked around her, her household troops held their ground around her, having carved a path through the enemy but the rest of her forces were pushing onward, the Plegians in the front no longer pushing forward with much zeal and increasing numbers edging away from the Feroxi pushing at them. Flavia couldn't help a laugh as she lifted her sword high and bellowed.

- 'At them! At them!'

Around her men roared as they advanced, pausing only to finish off the wounded.

It was as if a sudden flash of clarity hit him and he knew the moment had come. Turning in his saddle Robin pointed at a point in the battle and barked.

- 'Sumia! Get to Chrom and order him to charge at the point between the Ferox and Ylissian lines!'

Even as she confirmed the man turned to Cordelia.

- 'Get to the officers there, get them ready to move out of the way and to follow the cavalry!'

She confirmed and was off, leaving the man to stand in his stirrups as he looked to the field where everything would be decided.

Chrom slid the helm over his head and secured it before taking the lance from a squire. Armed and armoured he turned to the men lifting his lance as he bellowed.

- 'Brothers!'
- 'Exalt!'

Several hundred knights, men at arms and retainers bellowed their response, a sea of lances rising and falling. Pulling at the reins Chrom forced the mount to turn in the right direction and pointing with his lance he cried.

- 'With me! With me!'

A trumpet sounded signaling the advance and the column moved, forming up around their exalt, the great blue and silver banner of Ylisse fluttering immediately behind him. Ahead the infantry were making way, a gap appearing in the battle line. Already faltering under the casualties suffered the Plegians were slow to react and if someone amongst their officers had thought to use the sudden opening it faded as the column of heavy horse sped up their lances dropping ready for battle.
Orders were barked, attempts to form ranks to present a solid mass of men against the cavalry but those closest to the incoming mass simply ran, trying to get out of the way or to escape behind another so horsemen drove into a disorganized mob, lances punching clean through men, others knocked to the ground by the horses chests, some crushed under hoof and suddenly they were free. To their sides Plegian formations, the men in them slowly realizing that the cavalry in their rear were Ylissian.
Following orders Chrom circled left, towards the enemies center followed by the Ylisian heavy horse. The last banner veered to the right, encircling the Plegians there and pushing them towards the river while the rest rode after their Exalt causing a wave of panic to spread amongst their enemy as they realized the enemy was behind them.

Virion could not help the grin as the column of heavy horse rode by, the panicked shouts amongst the Plegians raising a cheer amongst the Ylissian foot. Appointed an officer of the banner he could not join in as he looked for the trumpeter to sound the attack and carry out the battle plan. Having endured a battering it was now time for the Ylissians to launch their attack.
At a run they moved through the heavy dust, over the dead and dying scything through the scattered Plegians unfortunate enough to be caught in the rush before, out of the dust, the dark mass of a formation. The Plegians were still pushing into the Feroxi driving into their front and it took a while before any among them realized the incoming formation was not their own, when they did it was too late.
Even as an officer bellowed orders in the harsh Plegian tongue the Ylissians drove into the reforming line, men screaming as they were impaled on polearms or knocked off their feet to be trampled underfoot.

-'The infidel have shattered the line! Our left is in danger of encirclement!'
- 'Pull those men back! Reform the line on the road!'
-'The left is gone! The center is crumbling!'
-'Where is the cavalry? We have to counter attack!'
-'Pull back the reserves and have them double-time here!'

Gangrel clenched his jaw as reports and orders were barked but himself said nothing.

-'Master! You must pull back before the infidel get here!'
-'Must!?'

He turned with a snarl to the officer who had spoken who paled but continued speaking.

- 'The line is cracking but our right is still winning, if we pull back we can regroup, weather the assault and counterattack once they tire.'
- 'If the men see their king running whats to stop them from running? We have to crush this attack before the whole army breaks!'

Other voices were raised but Gangrel cut them off with snarl.

-'Get what men you can and sound the attack! Attack!'

-Hold the line! Steady!'

It was impossible to tell how far the order reached. Horses loved running, they loved to race and even after years of training with adrenaline pumping through their veins the horses oft lost themselves in the race and it fell to the riders to check their mounts, force them to conserve their strength but if they lost themselves to the battle lust it had to fall to the officers to remind them.
And their blood was singing. Hundreds of horsemen thundered across the plain with nothing to stand in their way bar the occasional Plegian, all but swept aside in the strom of flesh and steel. Somewhere kettle drums were beating, ordering the Plegian to turn and face the threat, trumpets sounded ordering the Ylissian-Feroxi host to advance.

From the dust a line of Plegians emerged, mounted, bellowing war cries as the distance closed and the two formations clashed amidst the ring of steel, the dull thud and sharp cracks of wood the cries of pain human and bestial and the sickening crunch of rendered flesh and shattered bone.
Chrom cursed, even though the lance slid off the emblem it still felt like a hammer had struck him, making his arm numb. Instead he concentrated on the next rider to come out of the dust, he only realized the exalt aiming for him in the last second, far to late to bring his weapon around to block the blow that struck his helmet, sending him pitching forward in the saddle. Another blow sent him to the ground, his mount kicking away as it sought to escape the press of bodies.
Another Plegian reared over him, lifting his shield to ward off the blow Chrom struck low, striking the enemy with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs but with too little to punch through. There was no need to correct as the rider pitched out of the saddle after Frederick, his surcoat barely recognizable under the bloody mud, struck the Plegian across the back sending him to the ground.
Chrom did not see all this as he had to turn, another Plegian rearing over bringing his weapon down with enough force that the Exalt's arm felt numb from the block. Before he could counter the Plegian had already shifted his grip and brought his mace around, connecting with Chrom's helm with a mighty crack sending the man down, only the high saddle kept him from being thrown from his seat at the strength of the blow.
As it was he was dazed, his vision blurry and he could taste blood in his mouth, in no shape to do anything as the Plegian brought his arm up for another blow. The arm vanished, replaced by a fountain of blood as the man slumped in the saddle, clutching the stump that his arm now ended in, the hand holding the mace falling to the ground a yard away. A moment later and the rider followed, his head caving in under an axe blow. Chrom did not recognize the knight, his sigil concealed under the layer of muck born from blood and dust, but he obviously recognized Chrom for he reined in long enough to bark.

- 'Pay attention boy! What would your father think if you got yourself killed like this!?'

Strong hands gripped him, pulling him upright in the saddle. Still dazed Chrom looked around, amidst the dust he saw a line of knights shielding him from the press of combatants while further on the shape of further knights and men at arms battling the Plegian horse surrounding them.

- 'Why have you halted!? Keep pushing forward! Forward!'

The bugler put the trumpet to his lips and sounded the charge, somewhere in the distance the call was repeated, showing other Ylissians were pushing forward. What followed was a visage of snarling faces, flashing blades, sprays of blood and screaming, so much screaming as the mounted force pushed on through the press till the Exalt saw something that stood out.
A knot of riders under a large banner, it flew open long enough for Chrom to recognize the device, the royal banner of Plegia. All of a sudden the battle did not exist and the world shrunk to a narrow path.

- 'There! Push on! With me!'

He snarled as he kicked back his heels, spurring his mount on. Those around him moved to keep up. He could not tell whether the enemy had moved to them as well but soon enough he found himself fighting the first of the Plegians, who thrust at him with his spear, catching the Exalt on the helm, blurring his vision even as the steel point slid off the surface. Chrom lashed out but could not say whether he had hit before he was past and facing another who lifted his axe high. Chrom did not pause, merely stabbed hard and fast, the Plegian caught the blow on his shield and was knocked back in his saddle by the force of it. Not stopping Chrom rode on, lashing out at another rider, this one crying out as blood followed Falchion's wake. He was soon past him and saw him, sat on his mount under the royal banner, a crown glinting atop his helmet.

- 'Gangrel!'

Chrom roared. It was foolish to think that his voice would be heard over the din of the surrounding battle and yet the mad king turned his head to him, a grin appearing on his face as he recognized the blood spattered individual as the Exalt and spread his arms, as if inviting the youth to come at him, there was no need. Snarling Chrom kicked back his heels, spurring his mount into the attack, the men surrounding Gangrel replying in kind riding to meet the Exalt. The first blow was thrown off by the Fire Emblem, now little more than a shield for the Exalt, the counter blow denting the helmet and sending the Plegian back with a curse. The second attack came less than a second later and sent waves of pain through Chrom's sword arm. The Plegian roared as he drew back his arm for another attack but stopped, instead twisting in his saddle and bringing up his shield barely in time to catch the sword meant for him. Stahl drew his blade back and struck again, further pushing the Plegian back as all around more Ylissians poured into the fray.

Free of the press Chrom looked to Gangrel again, the mad king had closed the distance between the two and was bringing his sword around aiming for the Exalt's head. Chrom pulled up the emblem in time to deflect the blow, a spark of light following the contact as the Plegian blade seemed to shimmer with barely restrained magical energy. Without pause Gangrel brought the blade back and delivered another blow. This time Chrom lifted the emblem high, warding off the attack before attacking himself, Gangrel was barely in time to avoid the thrust, sparks flying from where the ancient blade struck mail, the grin turning to a snarl as the mad king pulled on the reins, putting some distance between himself and the Exalt. Chrom gave him no respite, following closely and delivering a flurry of blows which the mad king found, to his growing concern, that he was having trouble blocking till it happened. Gangrel responded too late and Falchion sank deep in his neck releasing a spray of blood. Gasping Gangrel lifted his hands, gripping the blade as if hoping to remove it.
With a snarl Chrom pulled the weapon free, and the Plegian king seemed to follow the blade, falling out of the saddle. For a moment nothing happened and than two sounds were heard, a cheer from the throats of the Ylissians as they realized the enemy king had fallen and a wail of despair from the Plegians before they threw themselves forward to reclaim their lords body, the Ylissians moving in to deny them that.
Chrom meanwhile sat in the saddle as if in a daze, looking down at the body even as a man-at-arms dismounted and hacked off the Plegian kings head and mounting it on a spear, the trophy waved around for all to see. With a sigh the Exalt looked upwards.

- 'Can you see Emm? You've been avenged. It's over.'

It was over, so why did he feel so empty?