Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.
The plains of Aurelis were… not as they once were.
Once upon a time, they had been prosperous fields of grass unlike anything any other nation could know or lay claim to. From the dirt of Aurelis sprouted grass that horses grazed on and insects innocently nestled under. The grass was where the people of Aurelis made their homes. Horsemen tended to their horses, farmers raised their crops, it was a simple, peaceful, life.
Herds of wild horses once galloped with pride and swiftness across these plains. Their manes tossed by the wind as they cut past the fast plains, seemingly untamable creatures.
From the time of the evening chill to the time of the morning dew, from the time of the morning dew to the time of the evening chill, this was life in Aurelis. An easy, simple life that the people were content with.
Just about every nation had had a trade deal with Aurelis. No nation seemed to be able to breed horses with the strength, loyalty, stubbornness, and speed that the Aurelian horses had, and the other nations wanted these proud stallions. Aurelis could make its ends meet with just the income from its deals with lands like Altea and Grust.
It was not to say that Aurelis had been a perfect nation. There had been bandits in the past, and more then once a noble had grown to abuse his powers, and there were those who were discontent with the lazy, uneventful life on the plains. Yet these blemishes alone couldn't deny the fact that Aurelis was a nation that had always seemed to enjoy peace and good fortune.
When the end came for the peaceful plains of Aurelis, it came quickly.
It had been shortly after the invasion began, Macedon had set fire to the oceans of grass, the pride of Aurelis. Both to flush Aurelians out of hiding, and for the sake of sowing terror.
They succeeded at both objectives when they set the plains on fire, and let all the beauty and serenity vanish under the violet, violent flame. Aurelians did indeed flee the plains as the fire spread, and the plainspeople could only shiver in fear as the Macedonians approached.
Yet… it ended up a pyrrhic success for Macedon. The terror of the Aurelians felt quickly transformed into hatred, and a burning desire for vengeance in the heart of every individual who called Aurelis their home. Unknowingly, Macedon might have awakened a beast…
Captain Bentheon and general Emereus, the ones who were handling both the invasion and the occupation of Aurelis would never publicly admit any concerns, indeed, they would deny any fear of an Aurelian vengeance. Yet secretly, they knew that they had to be relentless. If they stayed their hand for even a full hour, the Aurelians, despite their now low numbers, might mount an offense the likes of which Macedon had never experienced in the nation's history.
Through the shadow of the night, Macedonians cut through the plains of Aurelis.
They were running across the remains of the plains that the Aurelians once flourished on, cobble and dirt thrown up by the feet of those on foot, and by the hooves of the mounts. They trampled what grass still remained, and crushed the flowers that had stubbornly rose after the flames. Under the night's dark cloak, the Macedonians were heading for their destination. Their destination being well beyond the borders of the nation of Aurelis.
One of the soldiers on horseback was a messenger that Bentheon had personally ordered to be sent out. He was surrounded by an entire regiment of Macedonian soldiers, such was the value and importance of this letter, which the messenger wasn't even privy to the contents of.
They stopped at an old Aurelian fort under Macedon control. It was being used as a sort of check point for Macedonian units passing through the area. For tonight, it would be their bed. Discretely, they were let into the fort. Since it was a covert operation only the stationed head of command at the castle, and a few trusted aids, would be aware of their presence.
The commander let them in the inner keep of the castle, and told the other soldiers stationed to not disturb the inner keep even in the case of an emergency, no matter how dire.
The messenger and his escort relaxed after nearly a full day of nonstop movement across the nation of Aurelis. Captain Bentheon had woken them up early, and they had been moving across Aurelis from the crack of dawn to the dead of night. Wine and choice meat were greatly appreciated, and the soldiers enjoyed the luxury, which had been pilfered from Aurelis.
With any luck, they'd be out of the nation before the sun reached its peak tomorrow.
It was a mistake.
A grand miscalculation on captain Bentheon's part, to give the messenger this much security as he attempted to leave the nation and move to Dolhr. It was also a mistake to give no indication as to why a simple messenger was so well defended. It had served only to pique the interest of the Aurelian resistance.
…and the Aurelians had made their move.
Unbeknownst to Macedon, agents of Aurelis were already inside the fort.
There was no telling whether this was a vital information that could be used to their advantage, or simply a dead end, but regardless, Aurelis had targeted this message. The other messengers would flee before the net could fall, but the one in this fort was already ensnared.
Prince Hardin of Aurelis was placing much hope on this information being vital. So much, in fact, that gaining the contents of this message was being placed in the hands of his four most trusted and most reliable agents.
Wolf, Hardin's right hand man, and the most trustworthy and loyal person Hardin knew. One of the best soldiers a person could have in any army. The Macedonians didn't know his name, but they knew his face. He was an example to follow to the Aurelians, but the avatar of death itself to the Macedonians.
Sedgar, tactful, friendly, and utterly loyal to the cause. Trustworthy and valorous, one of the resistance's best fighters. He was considered approachable and understanding by the other resistance fighters, and he could inspire confidence in ways that few could. A simple talk with Sedgar could fill the bleakest Aurelian with confidence and hope. Sedgar was ready to fight to the bitter end for the cause.
Vyland, proud and loyal. Tales were spun of this man's ferocity in battle, and his unshakable faith that Hardin's cause was right and just. He was a passionate soldier… perhaps sometimes too passionate, but his skill, valor, and competence spoke for themselves.
Roshea, young, brave, idealistic, though perhaps somewhat naïve as well. Eagar, well-trained, and loyal, he was a shining example for the rest of the youths in the resistance. Hungry for victory, and resilient in the face of set-backs. His firm loyalty to prince Hardin, and his idolization of Wolf, Sedgar, and Vyland, was well known.
A single Macedonian soldier patrolled one of the castle's torch lit halls, oblivious to the four intruders in such close proximity to him. The soldier walked on by, not noticing Wolf peeking out from behind the pillar.
The torches illuminated Wolf's face, but the only Macedonian nearby was too unobservant to check behind him. With the soldier's back to him, Wolf reached an arm out into plain sight and made several small hand gestures. These distinct movements of the hand and fingers allowed Wolf to speak to his allies without making a sound.
At the gesture's command, Vyland and Roshea revealed themselves, and silently charged at the soldier. Despite the armor the two were wearing, the only sound was a single, small, almost inaudible click from Vyland when he was closing the distance.
The soldier didn't seem to notice this small click, and the two Aurelians were upon him. Roshea's left arm clamped over the man's mouth to prevent any unnecessary noise, and Vyland's fist rammed into his gut. The soldier, now only semi-conscious, was dragged to Sedgar, whose sword soundlessly killed the Macedonian.
The corpse was appropriately hidden. Wolf nodded his approval at the ambush, gesturing with his hands again to wordlessly give the message that no other Macedonian seemed to be present.
One Macedonian was dead… every Macedonian death was a cause for celebration to Aurelis, but Wolf and his companions had to be careful. Too many patrols and guards mysteriously disappearing would only ignite suspicion and awareness from Macedon. They wanted Macedon to be completely unaware of what had happened long after they had succeeded in their mission and left.
The four crept along, darting like shadows, seemingly undeterred by their armor. Vyland's boots occasionally made compromising clicking sounds. Unlike the others, he wasn't used to stealth, and was undeniably the weakest link in the chain in this operation.
Slowly, they were making progress to the inner keep, most scouts and patrols they dodged. Others they had no choice but to discretely dispose of, hiding the corpses in places that the other Macedonians wouldn't likely investigate until the stench of the deceased began to drift through the air.
Larger, multi-manned patrols could not have been disposed of without someone noticing. These units of guards were carefully avoided. Undoubtedly, the four could handle them in a straight fight, but not without the entire fort hearing the sound of battle. This was a stealth operation, and the four were… valuable to the resistance, getting killed or caught in this operation was something that could not be allowed.
In time, they reached the door to the inner keep. The door… it wasn't being guarded at all. For a brief moment, Wolf raised an eyebrow at that fact.
Of course, Aurelis knew that the message they were trying to intercept was covert, but the complete lack of guards did seem somewhat odd. No matter, it just made it easier for him and his companions. It wouldn't be the first time Macedon had pulled a rather… surreal tactic that didn't seem to have any real intelligence to it. Most likely, Macedon thought that the patrols that had been so easily slipped around would be enough to prevent an intruder from reaching the inner keep.
Wolf crept around, taking several minutes to scan the surrounding area, affirming that there wasn't a patrol or stationary guard nearby. No one was near enough to spot them.
He paused and listened. The only sounds he heard came from behind the gilded doors. He turned to his companions and motioned for them to approach him. Soundlessly, Wolf's hand gripped the doorknob and turned…
A simple creak of the door could have compromised their stealth, but this door didn't make the slightest groan as it moved. Slowly, Wolf opened the door to a mere crack and peered into the room. There were, indeed, people in the room, and no one he could see was looking at the door. Good. With a cautious, but unafraid hand, Wolf opened the door enough to let all four of them inside.
The room was quite splendorous, though it was crafted from Aurelian hands, not Macedonian hands. Powerful carved sculptures of stone, and golden statues that heralded the heroes of Aurelian history, lined the room. Proud, thick stone columns held the roof up, and the room offered the most exotic soft animal skins to rest upon.
To Wolf, it was all unsightly. He had no taste for images and icons of wealth. He hadn't had any taste for it before the Macedonian invasion, even less so now.
At the same time, a part of him was annoyed that such wealth was being wasted on the Macedonians. Especially since the wealth, however wasteful and tacky, rightfully belong to Aurelis.
Wolf and his allies moved in, the Macedonians busied themselves with the splendor they so obviously loved, oblivious to the presence of the four Aurelians. The group broke apart, moving to different areas of the room, surrounding the Macedonians.
The Macedonians were strong in number, but apparently weak in perception, they hadn't noticed the Aurelians at all. The outcome of this encounter was obvious. Wolf raised his arm… then brought it down. He raised it up again, then down again. A third time, it rose…
When his hand came down for the third time, the Aurelians sprung. What happened next could only be described as a bloodbath. Among the Macedonians that were in the room, two-third of them were dead before they could even widen their eyes in shock.
Vyland, the passionate one, found it a challenge to bite back a war cry as he attacked. The others were more used to stealth, and were able to do this silently and efficiently. Vyland rarely took part in operations that weren't hit-and-run raids, and this was foreign territory to him. The only reason he was present here, was the simple fact that he was among Coyote's four best men.
The four darted like shadows. The Macedonians didn't even know what hit them, they never even saw the faces of their attackers. In mere moments, the Macedonians were dead.
"Good." The word came quietly as the ambush ended in success, it was the first word Wolf had spoken in the entire operation. He wiped the blood off of his sword without any clear emotion, then sheathed it. Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea made mirrored movements, removing blood off of their weapons before they began to move the bodies into the corners of the room. With any luck, it would be tomorrow morning before anyone realizes that something was wrong.
None of the enemy had managed to even grab their weapon before they died. Instead, they fell motionless still holding goblets and forks in their hands, not the honorable swords and lanced that a soldier should be holding as they died.
The commander of the fort was also killed in this sudden ambush. With any luck, that would disorient Macedonian forces in this area for a time. Perhaps the resistance could make a foot hold in this region, unless the message they were sent to intercept reveals something that required their immediate attention.
Wolf moved to a Macedonian that wore a much lighter, looser outfit. There was a small bag on the soldier's belt, Wolf quickly ripped the bag off and opened it. His hand fished out a letter, still sealed in an envelope, he recognized the seal of a high ranked Macedonian authority.
"That's what we came here for." Sedgar noted, putting his sword away, but holding his bow firmly in his hand. "Perhaps the information in there will finally let us turn this invasion around."
Roshea's eyes brightened at the sight of the envelope. Like Sedgar, Vyland, and even Wolf, he was putting a lot of hope in the contents of this letter. With five messengers being sent out, each with a sizable escort, and great lengths having been reached to keep the message a secret, it was clear that someone wanted something to be delivered without it becoming public knowledge.
Perhaps the letter would reveal some overlooked secret that would allow Macedon's army to finally be routed. Alternatively, perhaps the letter revealed where a high-ranking general of Macedon would be staying for the next few months, and Aurelis could strike a critical blow by killing this general.
Or maybe, as Sedgar somberly realized, the letter would reveal an occurrence that would doom the Aurelian resistance. That message could be the key to turning the situation around for Aurelis, or the message could be what would deliver the resistance to the maws of the underworld.
To Roshea's disappointment, Wolf put the letter away without even breaking the seal, and impassively turned to walk back to the door they entered from.
"We're leaving."
"…and this scout is trustworthy, I presume?" Emereus, the one who headed the occupation of Aurelis, arrogantly sat on the throne of what had once been the royal palace of Aurelis. Now, the palace was a Macedonian base of operations.
"My scouts are never wrong. I have already sent messengers out, general Emereus." Bentheon sat in a nearby chair in the room. Once, it had been the chair of one of the nobles that held court with the king.
No Macedonian commander could do much of anything in Aurelis without Emereus' consent. When Bentheon had released messengers to Dolhr, he had been swiftly called to answer to Emereus, and was forced to reveal the contents of the message he had written.
Emereus' fingers dug into the delicately crafted ivory arm rests of the royal throne. For a moment, he looked very uncomfortable and… scared. His face was growing wrinkled from the stress of living in a nation that wanted him dead.
He was not an inspiring general or leader. Quite the opposite. He was a coward, and even the most understanding and tactful eyes would see that. He kept himself in the most well-guarded area of the castle, the throne room, and coordinated the soldiers for the purpose of defending his life more then anything else. He wore armor so thick, it seemed that no weapon forged of iron, steel, or silver could get to him.
Emereus was paranoid, prone to fearing for his life, and easily overreacting. Some of the Macedonians snickered behind his back over his past… lapses in judgment. Who could forget the time that he had managed to interpret the sound of a rock a little Aurelian boy had thrown at the castle as an 'attack', and ordered everyone to take defensive positions? The only thing that kept him from being mocked more openly was his volatile temperament. It took little provocation for Emereus to sentence someone to execution.
In comparison, Bentheon was more competent and calm, through he was cruel and unforgiving to those under his command. Despite being a field commander of the Macedonian invasion, he was never at the front of any charge, rather, he stayed in the back. A competent commander he was, but he had an undeniably arrogant, petty, and cowardly personality. He would, and a number of times, had, allowed a hundred Macedonian soldiers to die before he would as much as risk getting a toe stubbed.
Bentheon had joined the military strictly for the sake of power and authority. It is for this reason that the inability to squash the Aurelian resistance once and for all was proving so irksome to him. The slowness of this final stage would reflect on his overall record.
"We have enough to deal with, with just the Aurelians, Bentheon." Emereus said, his face creasing with dread and worry. "They seem to be worming themselves into more advantageous positions everyday. If we allow the slightest break in our focus on them-"
"All due respect, general, I doubt dealing with Anri's shrimp will take more then a few hours." He spoke calmly, contrary to Emereus' discomforted tone. "He fancies himself commander of an army capable of taking us on. It should take little effort to break such foolish delusions, and crush him under our heels."
Emereus paused, not wanting to take any risks when the Aurelians could come knocking at every hour of every day. Nor did he want this new army to reach him. He nodded at Bentheon, slowly. "Then get it done. Immediately. I don't want him getting anywhere close to the palace. With Aurelian attacks capable of coming at any time…"
"Of course, general." Bentheon arrogantly rose before his superior had dismissed him, "The only organized foes he's ever fought before were the soldiers of Gra, who were too spread out in their little invasion to properly clamp him down. My soldiers, and my tactics, will do what Gra failed to do."
"I'm expecting a report of success, captain." Emereus said. His threatening glare at Bentheon was answered with an arrogant smirk from the captain as he left the throne room.
The soldiers of Macedon were normally spread thinly over Aurelis in an attempt to combat the Aurelian resistance, which seemed capable of appearing anywhere in the nation. It was a… rather futile strategy. The idea of being able to spread the soldiers out in a way to watch every corner of Aurelis was good on paper, but failed miserably in practice. All it did was open up the spread out Macedonian soldiers to Aurelian ambushes.
Despite the amount of Macedonian soldiers who seemed to disappear during their patrols, the present leaders of Macedon were too stubborn to see that this strategy was so poorly thought out. Emereus insisted that it was necessary to keep hold over all of Aurelis, and he'd rather see hundreds of Macedonian soldiers die then admit that there was something wrong with his tactics.
Yet today, one section of Aurelis was oddly devoid of Macedonian soldiers.
A small piece of Aurelis was now not under the stranglehold of Macedon. It was a fact that the people of that area clearly noticed. For a brief span of time, they could leave their homes without fear. Yet few dared to do so.
It was strange, and the puzzling move was something that Merric had caught wind of. He stepped out of the house he was dwelling in and pulled his cone-shaped mage hood up over his head. It was a telling, instantly recognizable piece of headgear, but with no Macedonian soldiers in sight, he could do it fearlessly for this moment.
It was like the entire occupation had forgotten about this particular region. This would give the Aurelian resistance time to build themselves up in this region if Macedon did not return quickly. The resistance always seemed ready to utilize any possible hole Macedon offered, Merric couldn't understand what the Macedonians thought was worth the risk.
The apparently recalled soldiers were now up at the gates of a fort that Merric could see in the far distance. Their superior seemed to be briefing them about something.
But what? Did they manage to receive word of a large scale Aurelian raid?
A large scale raid would be completely unprecedented. At the very least, Merric had never heard of an exceptionally large Aurelian raid occurring since the Aurelian army went underground. With so many alert and ready Macedonians clustered in one place, Merric wondered if Aurelis would even look at it as a feasible target. A heavily fortified base such as that would likely just be passed up.
Merric's nose seemed to catch the metaphysical whiff of approaching danger. Reaching into his robes, his fingers grasped his tome. Wind magic. He had the sneaking suspicion that he would be needing it. Very. Soon.
"This is Aurelis." Marth took a breath in at the sight before him. He remembered a time long ago, back in Altea, Elice, with bright, enthused eyes, had read him stories about the life on the grassy plains, green fields of life that stretched across the nation.
Those stories were then, before Dolhr's return as an acting force. The things his eyes saw, was now.
The plains of Aurelis, the fields that once held so much life, had been reduced to fields of lifeless dirt and ash. Only a few plants and flowers defiantly rose from the burnt landscape. Dead, burnt trees that didn't support a single healthy leaf were sparsely spread around the fields.
Jagen and Malledus stood near him. The two men seemed far less shaken by the sight, but it would be a lie to say that they were completely unmoved. Jagen, for one, had seen plenty of horror and atrocity and mass murder in his life. He had seen the aftermath of bandit raids, assassinations, and riots. Yet this, the barbarism committed by authorities who lacked a conscious… such an action would have never been allowed in Altea.
Marth sighed. Knowing that what he was seeing right now was only the cusp of what Medeus' return had done to the world.
"Marth?" Caeda came up to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. She looked at the ash in front of them, and shook her head. The lifeless sight disheartened her.
"I wasn't expecting anything like this." He whispered, sullenly glaring across the landscape that reeked of death and cruelty. He knew that Aurelis likely wasn't in good conditions, but he wasn't expecting a tortured, burnt wasteland that had to have once been filled with the life Elice had described to him. "The people who would do this without even blinking is what we're trying to fight against. We're about to face a trained army for the first time."
Caeda nodded, she wondered what had become of other nations who had rejected a life under Dolhr's thumb. Her thoughts drifted to what might have happened to Talys had her island nation been significant enough to draw attention to it. Talys certainly didn't have any real power, they were backed into a corner by a mere pirate attack. Talys was a crafty nation, but it could do little when directly assaulted by an enemy.
"We should get moving. A Macedonian force is here, somewhere."
"Marth, wait." Caeda's gentle hand on his shoulder became a steel grip. "Maybe… we should try to avoid Macedon for now. Get in touch with the Aurelians first, and-"
"No." Marth cut her off and shook her hand off of his shoulder. "We can't be slinking around in the shadows. We may have few numbers, but we'll show the world that we're unafraid to have our presence known. Why would the Aurelians want to join hands with us if we try to go around our enemy and avoid confrontation?"
Caeda's eyes went downcast. She was… suddenly frightened of combat. Not because of any danger she might be in, but rather…
Marth had trained and trained and trained with his knights, but Caeda was still worried. Who knew what subtle differences there were between an Altean knight's style of fighting and a Macedonian knight's style of fighting? He might have been… too used to a style that the enemy wouldn't use.
The 'what ifs' and 'buts' were starting, and they hadn't even encountered a single Macedonian soldier yet.
"Malledus." Marth called as he walked away from Caeda. Malledus, who seemed to have been talking to Jagen, turned to Marth in acknowledgment. "Notify everyone else. We're moving."
"Sir." A Macedonian soldier came up to Bentheon. "An army has been spotted coming from the Ghoul's Teeth. They are crossing the Ash Fields as we speak, they do not appear to be Aurelians."
"Good." Bentheon said, mounting on his horse and taking his lance out. It was a unique lance he wielded, called a 'Ridersbane'. Many lances were built for the purpose of striking and killing the enemy. This one was different. The unique build and weight of the lance, made it more suitable for striking the enemy's mount then actual enemy soldiers.
Aurelis was home to more horseback mounted troops then any other nation, Bentheon always carried the Ridersbane with him, though he had, truthfully, rarely used it. He knew that the approaching army had more then its fair share of cavaliers. Surely it would be a bloodbath of steeds and their masters falling together.
Bentheon entered into the formation. Not in the front of the unit, but in the back. The elite soldiers were also in the back. He kept the incompetent ones out in front, ones such as Matthis.
This was a first for Matthis, actually preparing for battle. In the past, his duties were centered almost entirely on carrying low-importance messages around and trying to look intimidating… and failing miserably at the latter.
Just like every other soldier that had irked captain Bentheon, he had been pushed to the front-lines, in the hope that he would die. A lot of Bentheon's annoyances would probably disappear today, the one day that he knew an attack was coming.
'An army, not an Aurelian army, will charge our positions soon' was literally all that Bentheon had told them. For the first time in a long time, the Macedonians were preparing for a battle that they knew was going to happen ahead of time.
By the time Matthis had been drafted into the army and sent to Aurelis, the Aurelians had already retreated and begun their guerilla resistance. He had not yet tasted actual combat, and the war-hating man hoped he could be recalled before he'd have to. His hope was that someday a person could ask him 'You were in the war?' and he could respond with 'Yeah, but I didn't see any action'.
He thought back to when he was still living in Macedon with his sister. A well meaning girl, his sister, though one prone to nagging and lecturing. Those traits only got more pronounced when she became a Sister in the Macedonian clergy. Once, he would roll his eyes and tell her to pipe down, because it was a truly exasperating habit of hers, but now, her constant carping was a part of his old, safe life that he missed.
She had left the nation just shortly before he was drafted. In hindsight, it had almost seemed to be some sort of prelude to how almost everything he knew about his life would be torn from him. He could only wonder why his sister left the nation, he knew she had had some kind of unpleasant experience with the upper crust of Macedonian society, but…
He closed his eyes and shuddered as he heard Bentheon's voice.
"All troops, move out." Bentheon shouted, urging those in front, Matthis included, to start moving forward. "Gut all of the approaching invaders save their leader. Bring their commander to me. If the enemy commander is killed with the rest, it's executions for you all."
Matthis let out a shaky breath as his horse began to carry him onward. He was literally in the front of the Macedonian formation. In just about any other formation, the present commander should be in Matthis' position, but Bentheon stayed behind everyone else.
He had been marginally trained as a knight of Macedon, but he still had no feel for the lance. The weapon felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar in his grip, and his grip was shaking. Fear and terror were together in him as the eve of true battle was approaching.
His horse was galloping, taking him straight to war. The horse was proud and stern, but he was quivering. Today would be his death.
The march was… quiet. This would be the first day they fought against an enemy that was trained and coordinated, everyone seemed to be mentally preparing for today's battle.
Navarre was somewhat isolated from the rest of the army, behind everyone else. Ogma kept making nervous glances back at the myrmidon, perhaps fearful of a sudden breach of contract. Someone like Navarre right behind him had to be on Ogma's list of worst nightmares.
Yet Navarre paid the discomforted man no mind. He concentrated his senses to examine the area around him. He heard… galloping. Horses.
Off in the distance, there were figures moving across the dust and ash. Cavaliers were approaching, and the hooves were kicking up clouds of dust. There was no doubt what they were heading toward.
Navarre's eyes narrowed as he soundlessly unsheathed the Killing Edge. Cain was the next to notice them, well after Navarre. The knight's eyes flared in realization, and he pointed to the distance.
"Macedonians!"
Once the words were uttered, the battle began.
Matthis knew that this was his end. He was at the head of a pack going straight for what had to have been an elite army that despised Macedon unconditionally. He'd be dead in seconds. For one last time, he thought of his sister.
Lena. What I would give to hear your voice just once more…
In what would be his final moments, he grieved for the days of peace and safety he once had. Lost forever the day he had been drafted into the army.
A red knight came at Matthis. The Macedonian pathetically jabbed his weapon, and the red knight effortlessly knocked the lance out of Matthis' hand. The red knight's sword caught Matthis on his chest and tore him off of his horse.
Matthis landed on the dirt ground with a massive crack on his chest armor, but was otherwise uninjured. He lifted his head up to see the fight beginning, and reflexively pulled himself back, trembling as he saw Macedonian cavaliers being fatally ripped off their saddles.
He had a new reason to tremble as one of the enemy soldiers came up to him. He tried to pull himself away, shaking in fear as Ogma approached. Rather then kill him on the spot, Ogma pinned Matthis on the ground with his foot, then swung his sword to kill a charging Macedonian. Both the soldier and the horse died from just a single sword swing from Ogma.
With that Macedonian dead no one else was coming at them, and Ogma turned to Matthis, who was struggling under the mercenary's foot. He pointed his sword threateningly at Matthis. Matthis cowered, squirming in a desperate attempt to free himself.
A war was brewing inside Ogma's head, to kill or not to kill. The Macedonian he had under his foot was helpless, there would be no honor in the deed. Yet let him live, and he may try to strike from behind. The latter possibility was far too much of a risk, he decided to kill the soldier.
Ogma raised his sword above his head as Matthis' closed his eyes tightly and began to make a whimpering sound, Ogma began his swing-
"Wait!" Ogma's sword stopped just short of Matthis' face at the command of a female voice. He turned to see Lena running up to him, her face revealed bitter disappointment in the mercenary. "Shame on you, Ogma. He's helpless, and we don't know if he's even had a real part of this attack on Aurelis."
"Sister Lena, he's part of the Macedonian army. We have to-"
"No, Ogma." She started to argue with the mercenary, as if there wasn't a battle going on all around her. She knelt down beside the Macedonian knight, "Just because he's part of the enemy army doesn't mean-"
She paused, her eyes widened and her mouth suddenly hung open as she looked at the soldier's face. Without even thinking, she reached a hand out and put it on the knight's cheek. "Matthis? Is that you?"
Matthis had his eyes shut tightly, still expecting the death blow, and did not respond to his name being called.
"It's me Matthis. Your sister. It's Lena."
He flinched with his eyes still closed, then cautiously opened them, at first they fearfully focused on Ogma, but then moved to Lena, and his eyes widened in shock. For a moment, he believed he had gone insane, and that there was no way he could be privileged to be with family again. Then he looked at Lena's eyes, and knew it was her. For a moment, he just stares at her with his mouth hanging open at the unbelievable coincidence that his sister had, by some miracle, been associated with this very army.
"L-Lena… what are you-"
"What are you doing here, Matthis?" Lena asked as Matthis began to sit up, eyeing the mercenary fearfully before returning to Lena. "You were always so against violence, Matthis, so why-"
"I was drafted, Lena." Matthis said frankly, starting to calm down. "I didn't want to go, but when they came to me to have me join, they made it quite clear that the penalty for refusing would be death."
"Oh…" Lena seemed somber for a moment, then suddenly took on that expression she always had when nagging Matthis in the past. "If you're going to fight, fight for something you believe in, and with people who actually care about you, Matthis. Not a nation that gleefully torments, tortures, and kills, even if the nation is the one we call home."
Matthis sighed as he began to stand back up on wobbling legs, still shaking from how close he had come to getting killed. "You could always be relied on to know what to do in a situation like this."
"I can tell you haven't been treated well in the Macedonian army…" she looked over Matthis' face, which had clear signs of weeks, maybe months, of extreme stress. It couldn't have been the Aurelians that did something like this to him. Someone like Matthis couldn't have been treated sanely in the Macedonian army, which had been growing increasingly crueler as the months went by, if rumors were true. "The Altean army will accept you, Matthis. They're good people, they'd understand any problems you have."
He sighed again. "All right, I guess." He turned to Ogma, who shrugged. "If I really have to… to fight, I might as well fight for the heroes."
"Yes." Lena smiled, "And you'll be safe as long as you're fighting for the right cause."
"Alright." Ogma interjected, breaking up the moment between siblings. "Lena, you have duties with your staff. And… Matthis," he crossed his arms as he turned to the recent defector, who gulped at Ogma's expression. "Just pick up your lance and follow me for now. You two can talk later."
The battle was ongoing.
Navarre darted forward. His sword gleamed with sunlight as he began his work. The cuts and slashes of his swordplay were almost dance-like, but what they resulted in was far from graceful. The Killing Edge unsympathetically sank into its target, sending disembodied arms flying and felling the proud Macedonian horses.
In the moments that he wasn't attacking, he stood almost perfectly still, waiting for his enemies to attack first. Though at times, he would dart to a new target if the Macedonians seemed to be staying away from him.
Everyone was killing their fair share, though it seemed that everyone's performance fell short compared to Navarre's. It was humorless work, but they were winning. If the present Macedonian commander didn't change his tactics, the battle would be lost.
Marth was starting to feel drained, the lances of the Macedonians were proving quite hard to get past the reach of. They fought with their lances quite differently then Cain, Abel, and Jagen had when training with him. Which was to say, the Macedonians were less skilled, but the cruder lance jabs were very different then what he was used to, and it was throwing him off.
He… might have been skewered by now, had it not been for Jagen, his bodyguard, who had trained enough cavaliers to be used to such undeveloped lance jabs. If these were Altean squires, Jagen would have had the most critical diatribes ready for them, but seeing as they were his enemies, he simply exposed the flaws in their tactics by killing them.
"I should have expected as much from such worthless forerunners." Bentheon mumbled as the first wave of Macedonians, those he wanted to die anyway, were dying en masse against Marth's army. Those were soldiers with either unimpressive combat skills, or those who managed to fail on the most simple of tasks. In some cases, the soldiers dying had committed both. By far the worst offender was Matthis.
"Elites." Bentheon addressed the soldiers who formed the protective circle around him. "We're retreating back to the fort, we'll meet them at the gates. Leave the others behind, they'd never be good for anything else then filling body bags."
The elite soldiers nodded, and followed Bentheon as he pulled back and retreated. The front waves, oblivious to the abandonment, continued their attack.
Half-baked though they were, their numbers were something else, Jagen had to admit that fact as he killed another Macedonian knight with his lance. Though he strongly doubted that the prince would be defeated, there was a clear risk that someone might die on these untrained lance thrusts.
The elderly knight took a deep breath in as another regiment of Macedonians came up. The first to approach the prince would die on his lance…
Marth killed another Cavalier and prepared himself against whoever his next attackers would be. He found these lances to be far more exhausting to defend against then he expected, and he was breathing hard.
He felt his hair being tossed by the wind… he ignored the cool sensation on the back of his neck as he prepared for the next fight, but the tug of wind persisted, and was growing stronger.
The Macedonians weren't oblivious to the sudden wind, and they halted several paces from the Altean army. The wind's strength continued to grow until it reached the point that it would make a person lose their balance when just walking around. Then one soldier's eyes widened as he noticed a vague distortion in the air. Multiple distortions.
At first, it looked like the air itself was blurring, but the distortion quickly took a clearer shape. Strange, ethereal blades formed of non-physical energy, they hung in the air for a moment, then suddenly started moving… right for the Macedonian soldiers. The blades slashed through them, several were corpses before anyone could realize the lethal danger these blades of air represented.
More and more blades were spawning in the air, descending on the Macedonians. The knights desperately tried to call out to Bentheon for either instructions or aid, unaware that he had departed several minutes ago.
In mere seconds, the Macedonian waves had been decimated, and the blades of air dissipated into nothingness. Corpses were everywhere. Though the leader and his most well-trained soldiers had retreated early, the battle had still been won.
Though, it was a rather peculiar victory. Before anyone might have attempted to celebrate, the question of where those blades had come had become pressing to the fledging army.
"I hadn't expected you to be what the Macedonians were running around about." A voice spoke up, a number of curious eyes snapped in the direction the voice had come from, weapons ready. A man in a blue robes was approaching, but stopped at the sight of weapons being bared, he raised his hands in a surrendering motion. Then with one motion of his left hand, he swiped his cone shaped hood off of his head and revealed his face.
"Merric!" Marth gasped in recognition, an old friend from Altea. "Then all that was… you're a Wind Mage. What just happened was you, wasn't it?"
"Of course." Merric said in a light-hearted tone as Marth's soldiers began to relax their weapons, Merric revealed a magic tome in his robe. "This spell isn't just any old wind tome, though. This lovely little number is called Excalibur, given to me straight from my teacher. I've been declared 'successor' to the spell."
"I see." Marth said, his eyes drawn to the spell in Merric's hand. Truly, the spell was much stronger then anything Merric, occasional show-off that he was, had demonstrated to Marth back in Altea. "What were you doing in Aurelis?"
Merric shrugged. "Oh, I don't know, maybe I was looking for you?" Merric's expression changed to one of irritated exasperation. "There's a rumor that the Aurelian resistance is hiding a member of the royal family from another nation. I thought it could have been you."
"I heard about that rumor. Back in Galder." Marth said, "I… think it might be Elice."
The mage's eyes brightened at the mention of Marth's sister, but then shook his head. "Well, let's give the resistance good reason to think that we'd be good allies before we worry too much about that."
"You… will fight with us?"
"Naturally." Merric said with that streak of smugness he occasionally had. "Would be a shame if you didn't get to see just what a Wind Mage is capable of."
More then half of Bentheon's soldiers were likely dead by now, he knew. The soldiers whose battle prowess and competence had impressed the captain were still here, but the others who the captain had no patience for were gone. He held no sympathy for them, in fact, he felt truly liberated to know that they were gone and that he was rid of those who couldn't even handle the simplest of orders. He had no need for such snares, and with any luck, they managed to take one or two of the enemy soldiers out.
Bentheon had gotten a good look at the prince's soldiers. He surmised that the most dangerous enemy soldiers was the aged knight, and the long haired swordsman. He had confidence that his elites, who excelled in training, and had each gutted a few Aurelian resistance fighters, would be an able match for the two.
He, with his Ridersbane in hand, would ride in the back, watching as the prince's hope to join up with the Aurelians was cut short. The prince would be brought to him, and prestige beyond his wildest dreams would be his when the boy was delivered to his superiors.
They were at the gates of the fort that Bentheon was using as a base, each soldier ready to strike down the prince's allies. Bentheon turned to the distance, he could already see them approaching. They looked mildly strained, but it seemed that none of them had been killed. It would seem that the front waves truly were useless.
A quick scan through their numbers confirmed beyond any doubt that not one had fallen in the first phase of the battle, and-
He blinked. There was a man in a robe among the enemy that was not among them earlier. He gritted his teeth as he recognized the form of a mage. The same mage that had been reported in the past, it would seem that he had come out of whatever hole he was hiding in and joined the prince's army. Bentheon shook his head, a mage might be cause for concern, but it would take only one respectable blow to silence him. He didn't know much about mages, he had to admit, but he did know that someone who was only wearing simple cloth robes could be killed with one efficient lance jab.
His eyes drifted to a soldier among the enemy who seemed to be wearing a Macedonian uniform. A defect? Pathetic. Surely it would have been better to die as one of Bentheon's men, then to receive death at the captain's hands. Bentheon examined the features of the defect, the hair, the fearful face, the shaking grip on the soldier's lance-
"Matthis." He breathed. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Matthis off on the side of the enemy formation. He couldn't even succeed in following the simple order of getting himself killed, could he? No matter. This merely meant that Bentheon could be there to see the soldier die.
He and his horse backed up as his elites moved forward. No sense risking himself until the battle had nearly ended.
The enemy was closing the distance, he began to issue orders. Let the enemy come to them, eliminate the most dangerous enemies first, do not let the enemy reach the captain, incapacitate the prince and bring him to Bentheon alive.
Bentheon took in a breath as the enemy continued to close the distance, then let it out as one of his enemies reaffirmed his grip on his weapon and charged.
The battle began once more. Bentheon's soldiers followed his orders to the letter, holding a tight formation and not letting the enemy through. The enemy tried, but could not break through Bentheon's defensive formation. At first.
Merric's Excalibur summoned blades of arcane wind to rend the Macedonian soldiers. Several of Bentheon's men fell before his eyes, he gritted his teeth as the wind blades of Merric's spell dissipated.
"Kill the mage, immediately!" He ordered, several soldiers moved to obey his command. His soldiers hastened to the mage, but they were intercepted. Some were killed by the axe-men in Marth's army, others by Abel and Draug. No one managed to even get close to the mage.
Bentheon hissed, but decided against squandering further man-power with the mage until some of the more orthodox enemies had been dealt with. Draug had placed himself directly in front of Merric, it would take too many resources to eliminate the heavily-armored knight, resources that had to be used to hold the line.
Navarre leapt in the air and cut his sword just once as he came back down. The single sword cut beheaded two soldiers. Another one of Bentheon's elites attempted to run Navarre through on his lance, but Navarre easily evaded the charge, and his next slash killed the Macedonian's horse right out from under the soldier.
Elsewhere, Caeda, being covered by Castor, plunged down into the horde of enemies. Her lance slashed through several soldiers, and Castor's arrows silenced those who tried to attack her from her unguarded sides before she ascended back into the air.
She made several more swooping runs. Every time she returned to the air, she turned her head to Marth, just to make sure he was safe.
The Macedonian elites were dying, the situation was falling apart for Bentheon. Nearly half of the soldiers who he declared to be exceptionally skilled were dead, and the pile was growing. He focused all of his attention on the prince, who was fending off several Macedonians all at once. His last orders to his men still standing, he began to slink off, circling around to reach behind the enemy.
His men had seemed to be capable of holding them off for a time, but the difference in skill soon became apparent, completely eradicating the enemy was no longer feasible. Yet if Bentheon could simply seize the prince, then success would be his. Reinforcements from a nearby Macedonian base should be able to handle the prince's army from that point.
The prince was fighting off four Macedonians all at once, and Jagen was preoccupied on the side with another three. Neither saw Bentheon's approach from behind, and if Jagen tried to interfere, Bentheon still had his Ridersbane.
Caeda was readying herself for another swoop, when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bentheon. As Marth was fighting off several Macedonians, Bentheon was charging at the prince on horseback, Ridersbane in hand. Almost reflexively, Caeda thought back to the nightmare she had when they were going to Galder, the image of Marth skewered on a lance.
"B-behind!" She suddenly screamed. "Someone! Behind! Kill him!"
Her voice sounded almost hysterical, and for a moment, no one seemed to understand what she was trying to tell them. Gordin was the first to turn around and see Bentheon approaching. Immediately understanding what Caeda was trying to say, he stepped away from the battle with an arrow on his bowstring.
Bentheon was just about to reach the prince, who still seemed oblivious to Bentheon's approach as he killed the last Macedonian knight. The captain was about to strike a non-fatal, but disabling blow to the prince that would allow easy capture, but stopped short, and bellowed in pain as Gordin's arrow sank into his shoulder.
Marth and Jagen both turned around as the sound of Bentheon's pained yell. Marth, without even pausing to notice how close he had come to getting ambushed, immediately took a step forward and inflicted a gash on Bentheon's chest. Unable to go through with his attack, Bentheon backed away as blood began to flow freely from his wounded chest.
He reached his free arm up and grimaced as he ripped Gordin's arrow out of his shoulder. It was time to retreat, he knew, as Navarre and Darros finished off the last of his soldiers.
He bade his horse to retreat, beginning to move around his enemies. His horse galloped away, putting distance between its master and the enemy. Bentheon was already putting his next plan together. He would petition Emereus for aid in the form of soldiers and supplies and wait for them in a far more reinforced position. Next time, he would succeed-
An arrow suddenly flew right in front of him, missing his head by a few narrow inches. Impulsively, Bentheon turned and swung his lance at Gordin, who was nary a meter away from him. Gordin jumped back, and he landed with his back to the trunk of a burnt tree.
"Gordin!" None yelled in panic at the sight of Gordin backed into a corner. Within a second, she had shot an arrow in Bentheon's direction as several soldiers began to move to kill Bentheon.
Bentheon simply blocked Norne's arrow with his lance. He should have simply continued his retreat, but he pressed his attack, perhaps hungry for revenge over the wound to his shoulder and the unraveling of his secondary plan to capture Marth. He thrust the Ridersbane in Gordin's direction, he missed the archer's head and the lance sunk into the wood.
Though the attack missed, several soldiers of the Altean army stopped in their tracks, unsettled with how close Gordin had just come to getting killed.
"One of you… will die today." Bentheon seethed through gritted teeth as he ripped his lance out of the burnt wood. The unraveling of his tactics seemed to have wounded his pride, and that pride demanded blood of the enemy as its compensation.
"That…" Gordin tried to back away, but he couldn't get anywhere with his back to a tree. He might not have even been able to move if the tree wasn't there, with the distance dependent archer having an enemy right in his face, he felt a truly paralyzing fear. Bentheon was specifically wanting to see to it that Gordin was the one who died today, and he could do it if he managed to strike Gordin just once. "That… won't discourage us, we… we'll still fight to defy you."
"Defy us to your hearts content, you will never defeat us." Bentheon readied himself for another thrust, but then had to turn to block a second arrow from Norne. Norne was already placing a third arrow on her bowstring as Cain and Abel also moved forward to reach Bentheon. Bentheon tried to move back and ready himself to sink the Ridersbane into their mounts, but to no avail. Abel deftly slashed at Bentheon with his sword, and sliced into the shoulder of the arm that was holding the rein of the horse. Cain's sword sliced into the arm that was holding the Ridersbane… it sliced the arm clean off.
Bentheon roared in pain, and then an arrow from Norne sank into his chest. With a pained grunt, he fell from the harness of his horse' saddle and onto the ground.
Norne immediately moved to put herself between Gordin and Bentheon, ready to fire another arrow. The protective gesture was far from necessary, with Bentheon missing one of his arms on top of multiple wounds applied to him, there was little he could do at this point.
The battle was over. Malledus was able to safely approach Bentheon as the Macedonian captain staggered and struggled to his feet.
"You've lost, Macedonian." It was neither arrogance or hubris, but a simple recognition of the fact, though Malledus did eye the defeated man dismissively.
"This is Altea's first true victory." Marth passed Malledus and stood several paces away from Bentheon. "More will follow."
"Alt…Altea…" Bentheon grunted as he clutched at the arm that had been sliced off just below the elbow. Despite the pain he was in, he managed to make a weak chuckle. "Oh, Altea… guh… when was the last time I… I…" he breathed hard as his chuckling died away. Talking was painful, merely taking in breath seemed to bring him agony. He could only wonder what organs of his had been damaged. He took his last chance to laugh and spit in his enemy's face.
"We… ungh… we don't call it, Altea, anymore…" he managed a smile as Marth's eyes widened. Bentheon made what would be his final laugh at the prince's ignorance of… recent events. The hand that held Marth's Rapier began to shake, but Bentheon continued to talk.
"My… message has already… been sent out. Macedon, Dolhr… everyone you call enemy… will know of… your… re…turn…" he laughed without humor, then fell to his knees. The blood loss was getting to him, he was getting dizzy and disoriented.
With his life about to end in mere seconds, Bentheon turned to Matthis, who had survived the battle, and hissed at the most useless soldier he had ever known. The knowledge that Marth's army would have to put up with him… Bentheon would take that amusing piece of knowledge with him to the underworld as a souvenir. After another moment, he slumped to the ground as the blood loss claimed him.
"Good riddance." Norne narrowed her eyes at the corpse. She was normally uncomfortable with killing, but that discomfort apparently disappeared when Gordin was in danger. She turned around to Gordin, immediately her hands clamped down on his shoulders. "Gordin… are, are you okay? Are you-"
"Y-yes, Norne. Just…" he took in a deep breath as he tried to calm down. "Just… a little rattled. That's all."
Norne's hands tightened on his shoulders, hard enough to make him grimace. "You… you…" her voice began to break, and for a moment she almost looked to be on the verge of tears. "Could have been… killed, just like, back in Talys." She recalled the pirate that had managed to knock Gordin down, and would have killed him without Norne's intervention.
Suddenly, the idea of continuing the war without Gordin seemed unbearable to her. She came in closer to him, but stopped the second before it looked like she would try to embrace him. Gordin, unsure of how to respond, and flustered at the fact that their faces were practically touching, brought his hands up and gently placed them onto her shoulders.
"I'm… I'm fine Norne, really. He didn't hurt me at all." He was feeling increasingly awkward, and oddly, he felt as though his body was heating up. He… might have wanted to do this in a more private setting, but to his fortune, everyone else was busy with other, post-battle matters.
Merric was speaking with Malledus. It was clear that the tactician recognized the mage, and they were telling each other all they knew about recent events. Though neither truly knew all that much. Merely what had been heard back in Galder from Malledus, and local hearsay from Merric.
Matthis was already talking to his sister. Being informed of all that she had been through lately. In particular, her close call with the Soothsires, and Julian's rescue of her. He turned to talk with Julian, but despite the fact that the former Soothsire had saved his sister, he seemed to have an inherent dislike for him, judging by Matthis' body language.
Marth looked at Bentheon's corpse. His Rapier had returned to its sheath, he seemed calm, but there was an anger growing in him. "We don't call it Altea anymore." He repeated. He was tempted to kick the enemy's corpse in the ribs, but ultimately turned away.
Jagen was… unnerved at Marth's obvious anger. The last time he had seemed so angry was when the knowledge of Gra's betrayal had really sunk in, those two years ago. The prince passed Jagen, heading for the gates of the nearby fort.
When the battle ended, the army moved to the fort that Bentheon had died at the gates of. Marth took a temporary residence in the castle's keep. He sat down, silently fuming over Bentheon's last words.
Caeda was sitting beside him. She was absolutely certain that Marth had been only an inch away from death today. Though it had ended well, she felt certain that the close call could have been avoided if the battle hadn't been fought. She could have, should have been more forceful when urging Marth to try and find the Aurelians before they fought any of the Macedonians.
Her dream on the ship… it had made her fearful of contact with enemy troops, but…
What she saw in that dream didn't perfectly match what had actually occurred today, but it had been close enough that she wondered if her dream had been less a representation of her worry for Marth's safety, and more of a vague sort of future vision.
Marth was oblivious to the thoughts going through Caeda's head. He didn't even notice that the girl was much more somber then usual, he was sullen about what Bentheon had said. Though he had to admit that he didn't precisely know what was going in with Altea, he still…
"An excellent first foray against a Dolhr Alliance unit, sire." Jagen said as he walked into the room. He leaned his lance against a pillar and moved to one of the nearby chairs. "With more victories like that, the Aurelians will surely seek an alliance with us."
"Yes." Marth said quietly, his expression unchanging. "I suppose they'll want an alliance with… Altea."
"Is something wrong, sire?" Jagen asked, noting Marth's expression and tone, it seemed as if something had disappointed the prince when today had been an all around success. A reunion with an old Altean friend, the complete decimation of the Macedonian force in this small area…
"He said that it's not called 'Altea' anymore." Marth said, tapping his fingers on the table he was sitting at. His face tightened with a concealed rage at the thought of Dolhr defiling his country with a false name. In a moment, his tapping fingers balled into a fist.
"I fear too much has happened in the two years we have been absent." Jagen noted. Bowing his head, contemplating what had happened to Altea in the time that the prince and his knights were gone. It was the nation founded by the man who defeated Dolhr's emperor eons ago, any nation that opposed Dolhr would likely be treated mercifully compared to how Altea would be treated.
Jagen, in a way, had it easy. He had no precious person in Altea to worry about. He had no wife, no children, no siblings, not even a personal squire. Still, for the sake of king Cornelius, and prince Marth, he was worried for his homeland.
"We have too little information to go off of right now, sire." Jagen said after a moment of silence. "Perhaps the Aurelians will be able to tell us more, but first we have to find them."
Marth sighed and looked up at the elderly knight. "How would we find them, Jagen?"
Jagen paused for a moment, thinking of the best possible answer. "I had some words with Merric on this subject. The Aurelians have an underground resistance that seems to be nearly impossible to contact directly. Our best chance is, most likely, to destroy as much of the Macedonian presence across the land as possible. The more we rout, the greater the chance that the leaders of the Aurelian resistance will notice us, and seek us out."
Marth nodded. "Then it seems that our next move has been decided."
"Cutting a swath through the Macedonian force in Aurelis?" Jagen pondered. He weighed the risks of being Macedon's most foremost threat against the possibility of getting into contact with Aurelis that much sooner. As a small army, it would be better for them to be darting around as fast as possible. They certainly didn't have the manpower or strength to hold out if they ever fell under siege. There was little that they could afford to have go wrong. Yet, was there any alternative? They were here in Aurelis, and Macedon would likely know exactly who had killed those Macedonian soldiers. There was little choice but to keep fighting. "Yes, prince Marth, it had already been decided."
"You've gone through more then enough under this… Bentheon." Lena said as she, her brother Matthis, and Julian sat at a table in one of the castle's side rooms. Matthis had just finished telling the two about his… term of service. One death threat after death threat from his superiors for his incompetence. Lena, who knew that her brother was far from a confident man, was remorseful that she couldn't have helped him out of his situation sooner.
"I can't even count how many times they threatened to throw me in the Court of Miracles." He folded his hands on the table and sighed.
"Court of…" Julian raised an eyebrow. He recalled all the slang terms and rumors he had heard in his life, and could honestly say that he had never once heard of something like that before. "What's the Court of Miracles?"
"It's… Dolhr's court. It's where your failings are presented to the Manaketes of Dolhr, and they will pass sentence on you." Matthis shuddered at the thought of his failings being presented to the Manaketes. Even the cruelest human ruler was lax when compared to Dolhr, if the stories he heard about the Court of Miracles was true.
"Why's it called the Court of Miracles, then?" Julian asked.
Matthis took in a deep breath and shut his eyes. "Because it's a miracle if you get out alive."
Julian swallowed at the words, "Guess the Manaketes don't kid around. Gotta scare the message of obedience into the troops one way or another."
"I've never heard of anyone being judged innocent in the court. It's more like just handing you over to the Manaketes to let them kill you." A shiver went down Matthis' spine. How many times had he been threatened to be sent there in the last month alone? He didn't know exactly how the Manaketes killed 'useless' humans, and he suspected that the most horrific idea his mind could create was more tame then the real deal.
Julian nodded, and Lena herself seemed a little shaken by Matthis' light description of the Court of Miracles.
Their conversation shifted to other subjects of discussion. Things more pleasant and personal, such as their lives, and their preferences on certain matters.
Julian spoke to Lena a bit too casually for Matthis' taste. More then once, he made a comment or question that resulted in the cleric having to turn her head to hide a sudden blush.
Matthis' eyes narrowed. Lena saw the movement in her brother's face, and immediately knew that Matthis didn't approve of Julian spending time around her. It was rare for an honestly stern expression to ever be worn by Matthis. Yet she was certain Matthis would come to appreciate Julian's personality. She had only known Julian for a few days now, but had already grown comfortable with the former Soothsire. Surely Matthis would as well, eventually.
Gordin gulped hard in another side room. Norne was proving to be a little… clingy, tonight. She had made it quite clear how scared she had been to have almost seen Gordin die today when that Macedonian captain had pressed him against that tree, and wasn't leaving Gordin alone for any reason.
She had actually asked Lena and Wrys to come and check him for injuries, of which there were none. None of Bentheon's attacks had actually managed to strike him, it took her a while to realize that he was actually unscathed.
After that, he had spent the hours after the battle with Norne in one of the insignificant side rooms. The two were sitting side by side with their backs to the wall, with Norne leaning onto Gordin, her head resting on his shoulder, and with one of her arms wrapped around his.
The girl had succeeded in flustering him and leaving him at a loss for words in the past with her exuberant personality, but it had reached the point that he was used to her personality. Eventually, as he became accustomed to her, he could talk to her casually, and was actually more comfortable and content with her then he was with any of the others. Her actions and words stopped getting to him like they used to. Yet what Norne was doing tonight… it was foreign territory to him, and he… didn't like it. She wanted to stay with him tonight, and he didn't have the heart to even try to talk her out of it.
He was thankful that she was content to not say anything. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to process even the simplest of words. So they just continued to sit together, completely wordless.
Eventually her head started to nod down as exhaustion and fatigue set it. She yawned, but rather then move to a proper bed, she rested her head on Gordin's lap, and sleep momentarily conquered her.
As she dozed, Gordin was left to look at her face in his lap. He had known the girl for two years now, but it was only now that he noticed… she was really quite pretty.
He blushed even as he acknowledged the simple fact. Norne was a… pretty girl. His head turned up, tearing his eyes from her face as his heart seemed to almost begin bouncing. He felt embarrassed from the sudden moment of attraction.
Norne couldn't possibly want to return any feelings. If she had any feelings, she would have conveyed them by now. He knew her boldness, she'd say it if she felt the slightest attraction.
This was hardly the time to approach anyone with such an inclination, anyway. Yes, he quickly convinced himself to toss the sudden feeling aside. She wouldn't return it, after all. There would be no point.
And yet… he found himself succumbing to the temptation to look down at her face again. Norne was… she was… he felt embarrassed just using a word as tame as 'pretty'.
Aurelis was covered in dirt these days. What was left of the grassy plains was a sight that could dishearten even the most firm of hearts. Many of the nation's boons were linked to those fields, and now that they were gone…
The nation had seen little rain lately. Under the baking sun, the dirt had turned into what seemed almost like powdery dust that the wind could easily turn into a cloud that could choke a man. Perhaps if some rain came, the plains would, eventually, return to life.
For now, Wolf and his companions forced thoughts about what had become of their nation out of their heads. After successfully escaping the Macedonian held fort without being detected, they had been traveling for a full day. It was night again as they reached their destination. Several minutes were expended to be sure that they weren't being followed, and that no Macedonian scout was observing them. Wolf had particularly reliable eyesight, even in the darkness of the night, and he confirmed that no one was either watching or following them.
They discretely entered into a small, dilapidated fort that was only a mile away from the royal palace of Aurelis. It was a gloomy, decayed structure that seemed abandoned, it looked to be unstable, and perhaps unsafe to enter.
Yet it's foundation was far more credible then any would have presumed by appearance alone. Vyland wondered, not for the first time, how much of the fort was actually unsafe, and how much was completely stable. The resistance had worked hard to make safe, sturdy pillars and walls and ceilings merely look to be in a state of extreme disrepair.
One might suppose that a good rain would completely flood the building, but in reality, very little rain could seep in. Had Macedon thought this place was worth investigating, they would have been quite surprised with that they found.
The four moved to the fort's inner keep. It contained none of the frivolous icons and wasteful riches that irked Wolf. Only one torch was lit, the room was rather dark and under lit, but there was enough light to make sure that you wouldn't trip over anything.
There were only three other people in the room. One of them, a man with a turban, was sitting down, studying a map. The man was known for his resolve, strength, and valor. He was the leader of the resistance. Prince Hardin of Aurelis, more frequently referred to as 'Coyote'.
The two other individuals were standing up beside Hardin. One of them, an elderly man dressed in royal fineries, was the king of Aurelis. He was prince Hardin's older brother. A virtuous, caring leader, but he knew nothing of warfare, when Macedon brought war and battle to Aurelis, the king had had little choice but to let his younger brother take the reins.
Comparing the two directly, it was hard to believe that this was Hardin's sibling. He looked to be decades older then Hardin, but brothers they were.
The third and last member in the room was a woman. She, like the king, was dressed in an outfit fit for a member of a ruling house. Her blonde hair might have been stunning in full daylight, but here, her locks seemed almost somber.
This woman was the royal person that the Aurelians were rumored to be harboring. Though not Aurelian, her nation called Aurelis 'friend'.
Everything about her was closely guarded. Though a rumor of her existence had seeped out, the only thing the public, and Macedon, knew was that the resistance was hiding a member of another nation's royal family. Those who had an ear for rumors had yet to even determine her gender.
Only Hardin, his brother, and the four Aurelians who just entered the room, were privy to her name. Resistance fighters knew her only as 'The Goddess'. Members of the resistance were told purposely misleading and contradicting things about this princess of another land. This was done so that if they should be captured, Macedon couldn't be able to comfortably say any information they receive is reliable.
"Coyote." Wolf said aloud as he and his three companions fell into a kneeling posture. Hardin looked up from his map. "We intercepted the message as you requested."
Wolf, without rising, took the letter out and held it in his hand. Hardin rose, approached Wolf, and took the letter. Hardin walked back to his brother and the princess, and swiftly broke the letter's seal. His hand took out a piece of paper written by a Macedonian, and he began to read.
A silence set in as his eyes darted across the letter. His expression was neutral, offering no clue to the letter's contents, even the perceptive Wolf couldn't read Hardin's expression when the prince of Aurelis was guarding it. None of the four Aurelian soldiers would have been able to see his expression anyway, they had their heads bowed. After reading, Hardin offered the letter to the princess, her expression was similarly unreadable, as was the Aurelian king's after her.
"Wolf, Sedgar, Vyland, Roshea." Hardin addressed his most reliable and trustworthy soldiers, "Sharpen your weapons and your reflexes. We have… much work ahead of us."
"Coyote?" Sedgar raised his head from its bowed position, one of his eyebrows raised. "Forgive my boldness but… what was that letter's contents? What does it offer us?"
Hardin paused for a moment, then raised his head, looking through one of the windows of the inner keep. He looked into the night sky, to the stars, each star, in a way, represented a bleak day of fighting Macedon. One could picture a cloud coming to cover those stars with the sweet promise of this war turning around.
"Hope." Hardin answered.
I think it's probably been obvious for a while now, but I'm pushing for Gordin/Norne with this story. Yeah.
I was quite excited when writing the beginning and ending of this chapter, which were also the parts of this chapter that were the easiest to write. I get the feeling that I'm going to enjoy using the four Aurelians in this story.
Note: I don't believe the four become 'Wolfguard' until after the events of Shadow Dragon, so they'll never be referred to with that title in this story. Rather, expect them to instead be referred to as "The Aurelians" or "Hardin's men".
Please review.
