Chapter 24
The soft lapping of the waves against the side of the small rowboat and the occasional slap of oars on the water were the only sound that could be heard. A rowboat, almost comically undersized compared to the two behemoth Dreadnaughts to either side of it, a thought not lost on Robin as he knelt against the helm of the little boat.
Usually wind would be whipping through his hair, the sun beating down on them from above, the spray of the ocean waves making him squint as they approached their target. He felt none of that. There were no waves, no wind and no sun, and the lack of these three things made him realize, all over again, just how close their own world had come to calamity.
Behind him in the rowboat Robin's team waited in near silence, the occasional grunt from Sully or Vaike as they worked the oars the only sound from the people. Gaius and Owain crouched behind him, both wearing spiked boots and holding climbing spikes in their fists, and would be the first ones onto the ship. Owain had a bundled rope ladder they would use to gain access to the monstrous ship cinched to his hip, Gaius a length of rope that they would use to secure the tiny rowboat. Ita and Arya flanked the shackled form of the Deadlord Simia, the grey-skinned Risen impassively studying the Dreadnaught as they got closer. Arya fidgeted nervously, clearly running through the relaxing and meditation techniques Robin had taught her, while Ita's head lolled as if she could fall asleep at any moment. The final member of their group had been a total surprise to Robin; this world's Say'ri sat, arms crossed and silently glaring at the back of Simia's head with her single good eye, at the back of the boat. She had insisted, declaring she "couldn't let that thing out of her sight" with a pointed glare at Simia. Robin wouldn't begrudge an extra set of hands, but he worried about her fitness. Say'ri had always been stubborn in his own world, and had shrugged off wounds that would have killed most lesser warriors before, but with a lack of supplies and the added strain of the apocalypse…
There was a bump, and Robin jerked his head back around to see they had reached the Dreadnaught. Owain wordlessly brushed past him, digging in the spikes on his boots and searching for footholds as Gaius grinned and clapped a hand on the tactician's shoulder.
"Look alive, Bubbles," he whispered with a wink.
Robin rolled his eyes as the thief scrambled up the side of the ship after Owain, leaving the rest of the group to wait their turn. He took the chance to study the ship up close, marveling at how different the ship looked from the Dreadnaught they had come from. Barnacles and algae had grown on the towering side of the ship, and above them, stenciled in letters as tall as he was, were the words Fata Obstant, the name of the Dreadnaught.
The rope ladder tumbled down towards them, Robin giving it a few quick yanks to test its integrity before nodding, satisfied. Ita came first, apparently wide awake now and effortlessly bounding up the ladder. Simia went next, slower than Ita due to her shackled wrists, but still made it up to the deck fast enough to make Robin consider doubling the weight of the shackles she wore. Arya came up, giving her teacher a small grin before she clambered up the side of the ship in a manner of seconds, Vaike scoffing as Sully gave a low, appreciative whistle. Robin rolled his eyes, ushering them forward. Vaike winked, clambering quickly and noisily up the ladder, clearly competing with Arya's time. He had barely cleared the railing when Sully started up after him, just as fast but far quieter, even in her armor.
"Fata Obstant," Say'ri read over his shoulder. "It means 'The Fates Oppose'. It seems… oddly fitting."
"Does our Dreadnaught have a name?" Robin asked, craning his neck to look back at the newer ship.
Say'ri shook her head. "The ship, 'twas in drydock half finished when we found it. We never christened it."
"That's such bad luck," Robin chuckled.
Say'ri smirked, too, the edges of her lips crinkling her cheeks as if the expression were alien to her face.
"We had more important things to worry about," she said softly, thin hands wrapping around the first of the rungs of the rope ladder.
In a few moments Robin was left standing alone on the rowboat, watching as Say'ri pulled herself up the ladder. He was glad she was talking to him again, to be honest. It felt now like he'd hurt her all over again, like he had in Valm all those years ago during the war. For the first week she had gone so far as to get up and leave a room whenever he entered, avoiding him utterly, but that had clearly been too much effort for the exhausted queen. She clearly didn't want to hate him but couldn't bring herself to fully trust him after binding the Deadlord to their side. In fact, it felt like a lot of people had lost trust in him for that, even some of the Shepherds. Sully watched him like a hawk now, and Vaike was far more subdued around him. Maribelle outright refused to meet his gaze, and Olivia was back to acting as timid around him as when they had first met. But still, the look in Say'ri's eye trumped them all.
"I'm am not looking forward to her finding out who Grima's Avatar is," Robin grumbled to himself as began to climb after her. "It was bad enough when Lucina found out, and we'd only just started seeing each other… Say'ri's going to flip. She might actually manage to kill me. And she looks scary in this timeline, too…"
"What are you mumbling about, Bubbles?" Gaius asked, reaching his hand down.
Robin glanced up, surprised to find he was already at the railing. The ginger thief looked down at him, one brow raised as he waited for his hand.
"Nothing," Robin muttered, reaching up and letting the smaller man help him.
His feet hit the deck and he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, straightening his coat and glancing around at the walkway as Gaius stepped back to give him space.
"Head in the game, man," Gaius reminded him. "You good?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Robin assured him. "I'm here now, all business."
"You've never been all business before, this'll be a treat," the thief scoffed.
"Yeah, yeah, make with the scouting," Robin groaned, rolling his eyes.
The smaller man just smirked, not even bothering with the stairs and simply reaching up, pulling himself up to the main deck and slithering bonelessly through the gaps in the railing. Robin watched with fascination; it wasn't often he actually got to see Gaius work. In fact, the only time in recent history had been the raid on the Rommel estate in Themis. Aside from that, Gaius had been playing at soldier and tracker more than acting like an actual thief.
Deciding he wasn't anywhere near limber enough to follow, Robin strode quickly up the nearest stairs onto the deserted deck. Sully and Vaike milled about as a pair, clearly aware they were only present as muscle and trying to stay out of the way near the railings. Say'ri, too, watched the others, although her single-eyed-gaze was harder to read than the Shepherds'. Ita was sniffing around the large grate that covered the cargo access, where the supplies would have been lowered down. Her ears occasionally twitched, but aside from that there was no further outward sign she was finding anything. Gaius had just joined Arya and Owain near the passageway that led bellow deck, the heavy door closed and apparently locked tight. Simia lingered near Arya's shoulder, glaring pointedly at Say'ri, but said and did nothing else.
"Find anything?" he asked Ita as he walked past the wolf-woman.
"Nothing living," she reported, spitting on the deck. "At least not that I can smell."
"Can't hear anything?" he persisted.
"I can't be sure," she shook her head, beaded hair clacking against itself. "I… have trouble filtering sounds on manspawn ships."
"Alright," Robin nodded, placing his finger and thumb in his mouth and giving a low whistle. "Vaike, take Ita and Say'ri and check the Captain's Quarters on the main deck. I'll take everyone else and check below."
"I am not letting that thing out of my sight," Say'ri snapped, pointing at Simia.
Robin opened his mouth to argue, but Owain surprised him by stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I'll do it," he nodded. "Keep an eye on her. She's likely been through a lot."
"Like you?" Robin asked lightly.
"Owain Dark is unbreakable," the blonde man said, his voice and weak grin lacking any of his usual energy.
"Alright Say'ri, fall in, but play nice," Robin relented. "Gaius, do we have an in?"
"Locked up tight from the inside," the thief shrugged. "I picked this outer lock, but there must be a bolt or something inside."
Sully scoffed, stepping forward. In one swift motion she brought her foot up and smashed through the door, shards of wood flying everywhere as the heavy door flew back into the entry. The smell that greeted them made them gag, so strong it even made Ita turn back and wrinkle her nose in disgust from across the deck. Owain and Vaike looked questioningly to the wolf woman, but she shook her head and they continued towards the Captain's Cabin.
Death. The scent of decomposition and death, like a physical force, rushed out to greet them. In the still air the scent of purification lingered near the open doorway, making them all gag.
Arya backed away, before promptly turning and throwing up all over the deck. Sully wrinkled her nose, but brought her sword up in a defensive stance all the same. Gaius shuffled backwards, breaths shallow coming from his mouth.
"Dammit Bubbles, not again," he groaned.
"Decay," Sully reported, a sour look on the knight's face. "At least a week old. Dammit, someone else cover the door for a second so I can put a mask on, too."
"Impossible, they were barely a few hours ahead of us," Robin shook his head. "Whatever happened would have had to have happened the moment they hit the water."
"Who's to say it didn't?" Gaius asked, tying a bandana around his face to cover his mouth and nose before stepping to take Sully's place while she did the same with a rag.
"D-do… you have any more of those?" Arya asked the thief quietly.
Say'ri stepped up next to Sully, ignoring the stink and peering around the taller woman into the darkened passage, before rounding on Simia.
"What did you do?" she hissed at the Deadlord.
"She's been confined in the hold under guard since we picked her up," Robin said. "And I know her skillset. Intimately. Something else did this."
Simia inclined her head, as if to agree with Robin's statement. Say'ri made an irritated sound, glaring at Robin before turning and taking a few steps away from the group.
"Keep an eye on her," Robin muttered to Sully, stepping past her to the entry.
The tactician knelt down, reaching out and letting his hand hover just before touching the air inside the passage, as if he were stroking an invisible bubble with his fingertips. He sighed through his nose, standing and shaking his head.
"I'm not getting any passive readings. Unless I cast some kind of divining spell I'm not going to find anything else out," he reported.
"No magic," Arya piped up instantly.
"Yeah, I guess we do this the old-fashioned way, then," Robin sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"I was afraid you'd say that," Gaius groaned.
"I will take point," Say'ri volunteered, already moving to the door.
Robin stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, surprised for a moment at how brittle she felt beneath her sleeve. The Chon'sinian queen spun back, levelling a glare at him from her single remaining eye.
"Sully will take point because she has the armor," Robin said, meeting her glare for glare.
"Ooh-rah," Sully grunted, totally lacking in enthusiasm.
"Then Arya and the Deadlord, because Arya can make a light and I want to be able to keep an eye on the Deadlord myself," Robin went on. "Then me and Gaius, because we don't have armor, then you."
"You do not trust me?" Say'ri hissed.
"I trust you to watch our backs," Robin said levelly. "That should say something."
They stared silently at each other for a moment before Say'ri sighed and looked away, nodding assent.
"Alright, in formation, move," Robin said, turning to the open doorway again. "Objectives are simple: find survivors and find out what happened. Survivors are the priority. We can send more boats from the Dreadnaught if we need to. Arya, a light please."
Gaius knelt down where Robin had as the rest of the group readied their weapons, a small magical flame dancing to life above Arya's palm. The thief ran his fingers over the shattered edges of the doorway and shook his head, inspecting the walls inside the door and unable to find a reason why he hadn't been able to subtly open it. No locks, no bolts, not even a bar across the door. Unbidden, a shudder ran down his spine.
"Not to be that guy, but I don't like our odds, Bubbles," the thief said quietly.
Galle let out a sigh, the gentle rocking of the Dreadnaught at open sea doing nothing for his nerves. His grip tightened on the railing of their nameless Dreadnaught, eyes narrowing as he watched the Fata Obstant in the distance. About halfway down the deck Femi and Tharja were doing the same as he was, watching the errant ship in their path like he was. Although they were probably using some form of divining spells that he had never bothered to learn how to use.
"Taking in the view? Hardly much else to do."
The young tactician glanced over his shoulder as Idallia approached, the former merchant brushing her lilac hair from her face as she joined him.
"Thinking," Galle replied, going back to watching the other ship.
"I hear that's what you tacticians do," the older woman drawled, leaning against the railing herself now and stretching her back.
"You're bored, aren't you?" Galle smirked without looking away from the Fata Obstant.
"No more so than anyone else," Idallia scoffed. "I almost volunteered to join their little 'mission', but self-preservation got the better of me, I'm afraid."
"I should be over there," Galle said, his voice soft.
"Why? Do you have some sort of special skill that could possibly help them? Help the refugees?" Idallia asked, disinterestedly resting her face on her hand.
"That's…" Galle mumbled, looking down.
"The right person for the right job, boy," Idallia said, her tone still bored. "Focus less on what you could be doing and more on what you should be doing."
"Oh? Lessons from the Ylissean Khan? I'm so lucky," Galle grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Weren't you trying to kill us a week ago?"
"No, I wanted to plunder the neighboring nation for all their untapped natural resources," Idallia said, her eyes flicking to glare sidelong at the Plegian. "Admittedly, I may have made some comments in anger, but I did not mean them. My… late brother was the one that wanted to kill you all."
"Oh yes, that makes all the difference," Galle muttered.
"You are a very sarcastic little twerp, has anyone ever told you that?" Idallia huffed.
"A lot of people, actually," Galle deadpanned.
"I never would have guessed," Idallia smirked.
They glared at each other for a moment before Galle cracked, snorting as a smirk of his own rose to his face and he turned back to the Fata Obstant.
"Alright, you win," he relented. "I'm a sarcastic twerp who's standing here dwelling on things he can't change. Now stop talking to me like I work for you."
"You could, you know," Idallia offered.
"I could what? Fly over there? Got wings?"
"Work for me, twerp," she scoffed. "I'm Khan now. I could use a decent tactician or two."
"Tempting," Galle shrugged. "Once all of this bull wraps up and we're home the thought of a nice desk job does seem appealing."
"Think about it," Idallia shrugged.
They both leaned in silence for a moment before Galle scoffed, grinning.
"Does this mean we're friends now?"
"No."
"Good, you hoity-toity Ylissean noble-types irritate me," Galle scoffed.
"As you Plegian urchins annoy me," Idallia smirked.
They both laughed, going back to watching the Fata Obstant in silence, as Galle contemplated what the future would hold for him. If there was a future for him at all.
"Something's bugging me," Galle spoke up suddenly.
Idallia made a noncommittal sound, glancing over at the younger man out of the corner of her eye.
"That guy in the hood," he explained, rolling his eyes. "In the crowd. Didn't that robe look… familiar?"
"Get to the point, please," Idallia deadpanned.
"Wow you are unpleasant," Galle scoffed. "Clarus. I think it was Clarus."
Idallia seemed to consider this for a moment before shaking her head.
"I doubt it," Idallia said at length. "He was a coward, there is no way he would have thought of such an audacious plan."
"Maybe you're right…" Galle muttered.
"I usually am," Idallia smirked.
"Recent evidence in Regna Ferox to the contrary," Galle smirked back.
Idallia's face fell, the merchant turning an icy glare on the tactician. He shrugged, grinning smugly as he bounced off the railing and began to head towards the stairs back up to the main deck.
"What, too soon? Your crazy brother cut off my girlfriend's arm, I think I have a right to be a little sore."
"Oh, you finally get a good shot in and decide to leave?" Idallia called after him.
"I'm going to go do something constructive and start searching the ship for our errant psychotic mage," Galle answered. "If I'm right then he's either here or on the Fata Obstant. And if he's here, I want to be the first to know."
"And if our 'errant psychotic mage' is on the other ship?" Idallia asked, moving to follow him.
Galle stopped for a moment halfway up the stairs, looking over his shoulder at the Fata Obstant in the distance.
"We just watched Robin single handedly tear apart an entire army the other day," the younger man said, looking away and climbing the stairs. "Let him deal with the psycho."
On the Fata Obstant's deck the larger of the two masts had fallen back against the quarter deck, crushing most of the building-sized deck and the cabins beneath it. Owain looked up at the wreck of the quarter deck, silently glad that they didn't have to try to climb up there. The captain's cabin was beneath the quarter deck, and while the main door had been crushed there wasn't a wall alive that could stop Owain. His mother had always joked that he'd inherited that familial trait from his uncle.
Owain hesitated a moment, a small sad smile rising to his face at thoughts of his family.
"Yo, kid? Ya alright down there?"
He glanced up at Vaike's question, the older Shepherd holding his hand out to help him up despite the fact that a good ten feet of distance still separated them. With a smirk Owain darted up the rest of the mast so he could grasp the other blonde man's hand and allow himself to be pulled up.
"Thanks," he said with a nod.
Vaike gave him a grin, slapping him on the back as Owain stepped past him. He then stumbled aside, Ita giving an irritated huff as she shoved the larger human.
"Move, manspawn," the shape shifter added with a scowl.
Vaike grumbled, crossing his arms and frowning. "Y'know, for someone who followed Robin around a bunch you're not very nice."
Ita just sneered, pushing between the two humans towards where the mast had crushed the deck. Vaike heaved an angry sigh, rubbing the back of his head in frustration as he glanced sidelong at Owain, as if asking 'what're we going to do about her?' Owain shrugged, grinning and moving towards the wall himself. He hadn't missed the way the shape shifter had flinched when the other group had kicked in the door across the deck. Whatever they had uncovered had unnerved the fiery shifter. He could see it in her posture, in the way the fur on her tail bristled. Ita was nervous.
"Do you smell anything?" he asked, coming up behind her.
"Wood and two unwashed manspawn," Ita huffed irritably.
Owain rolled his eyes. "No, I mean-"
"Nothing," Ita answered over him. "I cannot smell anything alive in the cabins around us. I can smell…"
She paused to sniff, wrinkling her brow in disgust before spitting on the deck.
"The stink from below deck is distracting me," she practically snarled.
Ita growled again, driving her fist into the nearby wall. The old boards cracked and gave, her fist making a decent sized dent. With another growl Ita crouched down next to the wall, her head lingering a few inches from the surface. Almost like she was sulking. Or hiding, like a hound in a thunderstorm. Owain sucked in a breath, moving to crouch down next to her as Vaike cautiously approached behind them.
"What did the others find, Ita?" he asked softly.
"I don't know," she snapped, refusing to look up at him. "And… I do not want to know."
Finally now her emotions slipped through her usual belligerent mask, her ears flattening against her head as her tail drooped low between her legs.
"We should not have come here," she practically whispered.
Vaike laughed, a fake laugh full of hollow bravado that Owain was very familiar with. It was the sound of his own laugh, back in his own time. The other man stepped forward, brandishing his axe and flexing his huge bicep.
"You ain't got nothing to worry 'bout with Teach here guarding ya!" Vaike declared.
"You're right," Ita said, rising to her feet and glaring at Vaike. "I know, at least, I can out-run you. That should be sufficient."
She turned away then, a snickering Owain following after her and leaving a perplexed Vaike to follow as he tried to figure out what running had to do with anything. Ita ran the pads of her fingers along the wall as she walked, occasionally stopping to sniff before moving on to another section of wall. The two Shepherds followed her, letting the wolf woman work at finding a weak entry point for them. She paused, several dozen feet from where the entrance to the cabin had once been, and gave a nod.
"There is a void behind this wall," she declared, rapping it with the back of her knuckles.
"Alrighty then, let ol' Teach work his magic," Vaike declared, stepping up and hefting his axe.
Owain shrugged as he and Ita stepped back, allowing the older man space to work. Vaike's chiseled muscles heaved as he brought his axe around in a blindingly fast arc, the steel head of the weapon easily piercing the old timber. With a victorious laugh Vaike yanked the weapon back and struck three more times before simply kicking the hole he had made bigger. Beyond the wall was what appeared to be a bedroom, a cabin that once would have been occupied by whatever officers or dignitaries the Fata Obstant was ferrying around the world. Vaike pushed through into the dim room first, glancing around with a sniff. Owain followed, igniting a small magical flame above his hand the way the mages usually did.
"Whoa, when'd ya learn to do that?" Vaike asked him, awed.
"Ha-hah! You underestimate Owain Dark's great talents!" he declared.
The younger man smirked as he spoke, striking a pose automatically and throwing his hand before his face the way he always did. Without thinking that his hand was still on fire. After a second the acrid stink of burning hair wafted to Owain's nose and he let out a yelp, patting his fringe with his other hand as he held the flaming one out again. Vaike burst out laughing, and even Ita snorted a terse chuckle as Owain cleared his throat and brushed the burned locks out of his face.
"Clearly, I'm still getting used to it," he admitted sheepishly.
"Does make life easier, though," Vaike chuckled, slapping Owain on the shoulder. "Thought we'd be walking around in the dark."
Ita pushed past the two, stepping deeper into the cabin and looking around. Owain turned, holding his hand up high to inspect the space. It was neat enough, if clearly lived in. A few articles of clothing had been discarded over the back of a chair in the corner, the sheets on the bed rumpled as if having recently been slept in. Owain bent down, placing his non-flaming hand on the bed. It was cold. Vaike gave a cursory glance around before moving to the door and practically throwing it open, glancing up and down the hall before stepping out of the room. Owain cringed, thankful that they technically weren't attempting to be subtle.
He and Ita followed, doubling back the direction they had come from and following the hall to where the captain's cabin must once have been. The corridor was like the cabin, cold and abandoned. Even on a skeleton crew this was where the ship's officers and Captain would have been; this was the nerve-center of the whole ship. There should have been someone, cabin crew or navigators, officers or something around. Instead, there was a thin layer of dust on the floor, with no evidence it had been disturbed recently.
"So where d'ya think everyone is?" Vaike asked, his voice unusually soft.
"Maybe below deck?" Owain suggested.
Ita gave another small sniff before scrunching up her face. "I truly hope not."
"Hey, I had a thought," Vaike said, stopping suddenly. "Captain of this ship'd be Valmese, right?"
"Yeah, probably," Owain agreed hesitantly.
"So he'd have written any logs in Valmese, right?" he went on.
"Your point, manspawn?" Ita snapped.
"I don't read Valmese," Vaike shrugged, turning. "Do you?"
"I do not read your manspawn letters," Ita said flatly.
Owain let out a low groan, and Vaike couldn't help but smirk.
"I don't read Valmese either."
Below the main deck the standard Valmese Dreadnaught could be separated into two distinct areas: The barracks decks and the hold decks. Robin's small group had quickly and methodically swept all four of the barracks decks, finding the space that should have held hundreds of people utterly devoid of life. Evidence of occupancy was everywhere in the flickering twilight that Arya's spell provided, yet they saw no people. Here, a spilled rucksack with what had obviously been grabbed from a home last minute. Here, a stack of neatly folded clothes. Mismatched segments of armor, carefully laid out on a cot as if they were being cleaned. Children's toys lying abandoned in the aisle between bunks, yet left as if they were expecting to come back and start playing again immediately. Sully had made a small sound at the back of her throat when she'd seen this, so faint Robin had barely caught it. All around them, in the neatly ordered rooms, were bunks with hammocks hanging over them, some of the small cots still neatly made up, as if waiting for their occupants to return and use them again. Against one wall was a small writing desk, sheets of paper still weighed down by the sticks of charcoal that would have been used for writing. A small pool of dried wax at the back of the table was evidence of where a candle must once have been, long since burned to nothingness. He had checked the rough paper. It was blank.
They proceeded in almost total silence, broken only when Robin muttered directions or told Arya where to shine her small light.
They eventually came to the hatch leading down to the first of the ship's cavernous hold spaces. The small group assembled around the darkened opening, Arya shining her light down only to find stairs and more emptiness. With a nod they went down, Robin letting a small sigh out his nose at what they found. There was, obviously, no way that the amount of people that he had seen boarding this vessel would have all fit on the barrack decks. This was clearly where the overflow had wound up. Piles of old blankets and rough rugs were mixed in with random daily bric-a-brac, no rhyme or reason to their placement down here. Obviously, the people had been forced to make do wherever they could fit. Even above the ever-present stink of decay Robin could still pick out the rank stench of unwashed bodies forced into close confines, and human waste. It was bad enough bellow deck on their own ship, but here it was magnified, as if the people aboard hadn't been allowed to move around the decks like he had organized on the other nameless dreadnaught.
"Hello?" Robin called out.
His voice echoed back at him in the empty hold, Gaius and Arya both jumping at his sudden shout.
"Sorry," Robin muttered sheepishly.
"There's, uh, clearly no one here," Gaius said slowly. "Maybe we go now?"
"Say'ri, how many more floors are there?" Robin asked.
"There are two more," the Queen answered. "I believe that there was only to be supplies on the lowest level of this vessel."
"Two more floors, then we're gone," Robin said, clapping a hand on Gaius' shoulder reassuringly. "If this one is like ours there'll be a second hatch on the opposite end of the deck. We'll do a quick sweep to make sure no one's hiding and then go down. Understood?"
The others all nodded, Arya and Gaius somewhat reluctantly. Simia, however, simply stood at the ready, as if there was no question.
They carefully picked their way across the hold, the humans respectfully avoiding treading on any discarded possessions. Simia, however, seemed under no such inclination, and walked over anything and everything left in her path. Robin tried hard not to pick out any of the sad details illuminated by Arya's small light, and soon enough they had reached the other aide of the hold. The next floor down revealed much of the same. No people, no bodies, only the remains of their lives, the last few pieces they had been able to hold onto as they had fled.
"It's… kinda sad, isn't it?" Arya finally said as they picked their way through the second hold.
"I'm trying not to think about it," Gaius muttered from Robin's side.
"I am gonna make sure Grima dies again for this," Sully growled, panning her sword around wherever she looked.
Simia snorted, smirking at the knight's red armored back. Sully actually froze, slowly turning in place with a withering glare on her face.
"Got something to say, ya ash faced freak?" she ground out between clenched teeth.
"No, she doesn't," Robin interrupted. "And she's sorry."
"No, I'm not," Simia scoffed.
Robin rolled his eyes, reaching up and forcing the Risen's head down in a shallow bow.
"See? Very sorry, now let's keep moving," Robin said, a fake smile plastered on his face.
Sully growled and spat on the deck before stomping a few steps away, a ruffled Arya hurrying to follow with the light. Gaius slipped around them, shaking his head as he followed the two women. Once they had moved away Robin shifted his grip, grabbing a handful of the Risen's hair and hauling her close.
"Behave, or I leave you here when we leave. In pieces," he growled in a low voice, before shoving her head away. "Now march. Silently."
Simia nodded, her brow furrowing slightly as she followed the others.
"Why? Why not just kill the creature?"
Robin glanced over his shoulder to see Say'ri watching him, the fading light reflected off her remaining eye.
"It's useful," he shrugged. "It has insight we don't. Plus, my earlier argument of 'Risen meat shield' stands."
Say'ri shook her head slowly, her frown deepening. "There is no insight to be gained from such a foul creature. Do you not see? It merely waits for its moment to strike."
Robin rolled his eyes. "I'm sure we can argue more about this later. Something's wrong here, and I want to know what. We need to focus. Come on, let's catch up with the others."
The older version of his friend and one-time lover smirked a little, the expression looking odd on her usually severe face.
"You never did listen," she said softly.
"Hey, your Robin may not have listened, but I take advice," the tactician said lightly.
"Occasionally. When it suits him, and he's not utterly convinced he's right."
Robin jumped a foot into the air, Say'ri's hands dropping for the swords at her hips.
"Dammit Gaius, I almost fireballed you!" Robin growled.
The thief in question just shrugged, almost invisible in the darkness.
"We found the hatch going down," he said, his voice oddly strained. "You, uh… yeah, I can't describe this one, Bubbles."
Robin and Say'ri exchanged a glance before breaking into a jog to catch up with the others. They found Sully, Arya and Simia clustered around their destination, but the two human women looked unwell. As they got closer Arya turned away and threw up again, dry retching as she kept her hand aloft, valiantly trying to keep their only light from going out. Sully was pale, her knuckles white on the hilt of her sword. Simia just looked on in idle fascination, clearly bored. A small, simple pully system above the hatch caught his attention, a single bucket hanging forlorn above the dark opening, marking this as the bilge deck, not more storage. With a cold feeling in his stomach Robin realized that the refugees had cast off with next to no supplies, even less than the pittance their own nameless ship had. Robin hesitated before he could see through the hatch, stopping just short of seeing through the hatch.
"Hatch to the bilge deck," Sully reported, her tone oddly clipped.
"I'm not gonna like this, am I?" he asked.
"No," Sully answered shortly.
"I don't want to look," Robin groaned.
Say'ri pushed past him, ignoring his spluttering and dropping into the hatch without a moment's hesitation. Robin gave a weak groan and shook his head, pulling one of the small torches they had made from the precious salvage of the Mages' Tower when they had arrived and lighting it over Arya's hand.
"I'll follow her, I guess," Robin said reluctantly. "The rest of you stay here but be ready to respond if you hear… well, anything really."
"Sure thing, Bubbles, you go on into the dark hole, we'll be just fine up here," Gaius said, readjusting the bandana over his face.
Robin stepped to the hatch, casting his light down and struggling not to vomit himself. Say'ri looked up at him, thigh deep in dark, blood red water. The stench of decay was almost unbearable. With a groan Robin reached back, snatching the bandana off an indignant Gaius' face before dropping down next to Say'ri in a splash of lukewarm red and offering her the bandana.
"No thank you," she said, turning away.
"Suit yourself," Robin shrugged.
With one hand Robin deftly tied the bandana around his face, absently noting that it smelled faintly of sugarcane. He glanced around, wading through the red water after Say'ri. A few small crates bobbed in the water, drifting idly around the space. But no bodies.
"This is wrong," Robin muttered. "This much blood in the bilge water, there should be bodies."
"It's not water," Say'ri said softly, not looking back.
Robin froze, looking down at the red liquid sloshing against his thighs.
"Please tell me it's just lamp oil or something."
"I checked it before you dropped down," Say'ri said, shaking her head.
"How?"
The Chon'sinian woman finally looked back over her shoulder now, quirking the brow above her eyepatch. It was the same 'are you that dense?' look that Robin had seen Severa give Owain countless times, and he shuddered at the implications.
"Okay, so we're standing thigh deep in blood, great," he sighed. "No bodies, no clues, no…"
Robin trailed off as a small insect swam through the water between them, a shiny black beetle similar to the scarabs he had seen depicted in Plegia. The jet-black insect stopped for a moment, as if studying them, before swimming on into the darkness.
"Oh that is so gross what the hell was that?" Robin asked, his voice a strangled whisper.
"Whatever it is, it's the third one I've seen," Say'ri said, turning back to the inky darkness. "They don't seem to be interested in us."
Robin was just about to suggest they go back to the hatch and get off the ship as fast as they could, but a cold voice in the dark stopped him.
"That would be because the Thanatophages only consume dead flesh. They have no use for living bodies."
Robin spun, flashing his torch around in the darkness.
"Clarus!? Is that you!?" he snarled. "I knew it was too much to hope you died coming over here."
Say'ri looked questioningly at the tactician but had already drawn her swords. Robin twitched his head back, signaling that they retreat. Say'ri nodded, and they slowly started backing towards the hatch.
"What did you do to the people on this ship?" Robin asked, his voice cold now.
Clarus gave a cold chuckle in the darkness, the sound echoing all around them.
"Have you ever wondered how Risen are made? Where they came from?"
"I can honestly say I don't really care," Robin seethed.
"It's the Thanatophages," Clarus practically whispered, his voice still startlingly loud in the confined darkness. "They create the Risen! The blood gets in the way, hence this mess, but aside from that it's a near-perfect system. Can you believe that? The worst danger to Ylisse in centuries is a magical insect that raises the dead! Ancient, self-propagating magic from before the time of the Halidom! It's incredible. I found it almost amusing. All that death, all those lives lost, in the face of such a little thing… Don't you agree?"
"Hilarious," Robin ground out. "Doesn't answer my question, though."
"Must I spell it out for you?" Clarus said, actually sounding disappointed.
"Nah, I was just stalling until we made it to the hatch," Robin scoffed.
He spun, splashing through the thigh-deep viscera and trusting Say'ri to follow his lead as he dashed for the comparative safety that the next deck up would provide. He barely made it a few steps, though, before Say'ri cried out. Turning back, Robin was just in time to watch the older woman fly through the air, the faint tingle of powerful lightning magic in the close air even as she landed in a fountain of blood.
"Say'ri!" Robin screamed, wading over to where he'd seen her fall.
She came up in a splash of red, coughing and spluttering as she tried to wipe the blood from her eye. Robin's relief was short-lived, though. Clarus stepped out of the shadows behind him, roughly grabbing his wrist and yanking his free hand up. Robin tried to pull away, but the shorter mage grabbed at his fingers with his other hand. Tendons strained, and he gave a pained shout, falling to a knee in the sloshing blood. Say'ri tried to rise, and behind them came splashes as the others descended to the bilge deck, no doubt drawn by Robin's shouting, but the tactician barely noticed all of this.
Clarus smiled down at him, the Ylissean archmage's skin a pale, ashen grey, his eyes as dark as the void, black as only Robin's had been when he had channeled Grima's foul mana himself. Most disturbing, though, was the large scarab beetle embedded on the side of Clarus' neck, pulsating as if in time with his pulse. The demented mage leaned down, twisting Robin's hand further. He felt the tendons in his wrist stretch to breaking point, his fingers begin to separate from their sockets.
"I don't think you'll need this anymore," Clarus whispered.
With a savage twist, a feat of strength that should have been beyond the physically weak mage, Clarus snapped Robin's wrist. The tactician let out another pained scream, rising in pitch as Clarus wrenched at his fingers. Two dislocated outright as the mage yanked on another, and with a sickening tearing sensation Robin's left index finger was torn clear from his hand. Robin gave one final scream as Clarus released him, clutching his ruined hand protectively to his chest and dropping the torch in the pool of blood. In the fitful light from Arya's spell Clarus help up his prize, using his teeth to pull the finger, Robin's finger, out of Excellus' old teleporting ring, before spitting the ragged flesh aside with a happy smile on his pallid face as he inspected the magic ring.
His victory was short lived, though, as a long, black blade erupted from is shoulder. Clarus spun with a pained shout, shooting off a backhanded fire spell as the weapon was wrenched out him. Simia rolled beneath the spell, heedless of the blood, and slashed again, driving the mage back. Clarus laughed as he began to cast more spells at the enraged Deadlord, backpedaling to make space between them.
Arya rushed to Robin's side as Simia and Clarus fought, grabbing him by the arm and hauling the injured man towards the hatch.
"I'm fine, get Say'ri!" Robin told her, getting his feet under him.
Arya nodded, letting him go and running towards where Say'ri was still struggling to rise, a nasty burn visible now on her side. As Robin watched, Simia gave a vicious snarl, spinning with a deadly grace to avoid a flurry of spells as she lashed out at Clarus.
"Who gave her a sword!?" Robin shouted above the battle.
"She just pulled it out of thin air!" Gaius called from the hatch.
"Are you coming or not!?" Sully added.
Robin lingered just long enough to make sure Arya and Say'ri were right behind him before making for the hatch. He leapt up, grabbing Sully's hand and allowing himself to be pulled clear.
"What the hell happened to your hand!?" Sully practically snarled as Robin moved away from the hatch.
"Later, get Say'ri and Arya out of there!" Robin snapped back.
Sully turned back, reaching down and hauling the wounded woman up with one hand, Say'ri giving a hiss of pain as her injuries were stretched. Before Sully even reached down for Arya Robin felt the telltale gathering of mana and spun, drawing his sword one handed, ready for Clarus to reappear behind them and continue to press his attack. Nothing appeared, only the last echoes of Clarus' demented laughter floating in the still, putrid air.
"He's gone!" Simia bellowed from below.
Robin cursed under his breath, lowering his sword and inspecting his ruined hand.
"He got what he wanted. We need to get back to our ship. Now."
"What about the people?" Say'ri asked, letting Sully pull her up.
"I really hope they're not where I think they are," Robin groaned.
He glanced back to the hatch to see Gaius pulling a visibly pale Arya up, the thief and the knight exchanging a glance as they looked at the only one of their number still below. Clearly, they were silently trying to decide if they should pull the Deadlord up, but the decision was taken out of their hands when Simia leapt up, grabbing the edge of the hole with one hand and pulling herself up in one fluid motion.
"You!" Robin growled. "Can you tell if there are other Risen nearby!?"
"Yes," Simia answered obediently, lowering her head.
"Are there!?"
The Deadlord glanced up slightly, a look of confusion flashing in her red eyes.
"Can you not feel them, master?"
Robin's eyes widened for a moment before he reached out and grabbed Simia by the collar, hauling the Risen close.
"No I can't bloody feel them!" he practically shrieked in his panic. "If you feel a bunch of Risen for Naga's sake tell me! Back to the ship! Now!"
On the nameless Valmese dreadnought Galle gave a sigh, rolling out his shoulders beneath his black coat as he came back up onto the main deck from below. Nobody had seen head nor hide of a man fitting Clarus' description, none of the guards, the Shepherds or the refugees. The young tactician felt a strange disappointment at this, the source of which he couldn't quite place. He was relieved, yes, but he had wanted to be right, too. Perhaps Isaac had been right about him, that he was needlessly competitive sometimes. Or perhaps he had just wanted to appear better in Idalia's eyes. He shook that thought from his head; he needed to get back home first, before he could think about the future.
He had combed the entire ship, top to bottom, as discretely as he could. Aside from getting the Shepherds in on the manhunt, which would probably be a wild goose chase anyway, there wasn't much else he could do. It still didn't sit right, though, he reflected as he wandered aimlessly across the deck. He had seen something in the crowd before that little girl had dropped dead. Something or someone. Maybe some new Risen strain? Possible, he reasoned, given the level of power Grima was supposed to hold in this world.
"Find anything?" Idalia asked, still lazing against the railing where Galle had left her.
"No," he admitted. "And I don't know weather to be happy or disturbed by that."
"Be happy that psychopath is far away," Idalia scoffed.
Galle nodded, absently rubbing at the back of his head. There was a strange pressure in the air making him uncomfortable. He glanced over at Tharja and Femi further down the deck. To his surprise both women were backing away from the edge.
"Uh, Khan Idalia? I think we should move," Galle said, eyes not leaving the two Dark Mages.
The older woman glanced over her shoulder at him, quirking a questioning brow. Something was wrong, and Galle hadn't survived so long in such a hostile world without listening to his instincts. And now those very same instincts screamed 'danger'.
Still Tharja and Femi backed away, withdrawing spellbooks now. They looked…
Terrified.
"Move!" Galle snarled, grabbing the slight Ylissean woman and practically throwing her away from the railing.
Just as a very upset-looking Idalia flew away from the railing a grey, ruined hand slapped down on the deck, claws of bone extending from receding fingertips scraping on the timber before finding purchase. Galle backpedaled as Idalia pulled herself back up, looking up and down the deck. The same scene was being repeated all along the length of the dreadnaught, refugees screaming now as those closest to the railing were pulled over and into the water. More screams from behind told Galle the same scene was repeating on the opposite side of the ship, too. The things now climbing up onto the deck moved slowly, as if waiting for something. They looked like the refugees, but the pallid grey tint to their skin and the telltale glowing red eyes both screamed Risen. And there were already dozens of them on the deck, with more following.
"Oh, what fresh hell is this!?" Idalia snapped, drawing her thin sword.
"They look like Risen," Galle commented. "But… they also look like…"
"The refugees from the other ship," the Khan spat. "Damnation, I knew this would be a pointless endeavor and now we're going to die for Robin's damned bleeding heart!"
Galle wasn't sure if he would have agreed or argued against her words, both of them becoming distracted as one of Nirath's wolves gave a great howl. The call was taken up by all the other wolves, and soon soldiers began to spill from the bowels of the ship as even more of the Risen-refugees climbed onto the deck. Tharja and Femi were already blasting away with small, contained spells as they retreated, no doubt trying not to damage the dreadnaught with a misplaced blast. A small grouping of warriors and wolves was beginning to form near Galle and Idalia, and it looked like that would be the best point to defend from.
With a shudder Galle realized that none of these Risen wore the masks that the creatures usually did. Each one had a face. Men, women and children, glaring with glowing, hate filled eyes, black miasma and bile dripping from distended, slack jaws as they encroached on the living. There was no longer any doubt in Galle's mind; the Risen weren't magical constructs or summoned creatures, they were truly undead.
"To arms!" Liung snarled, the old ruler limping quickly among the press. "To arms! Form a line! Nirath! Tell your wolves to maintain formation this time, dammit!"
"Men of Valm stand firm!" Lady Helia roared, her blonde hair practically shining above her red armor in the dim light as she rallied her soldiers from Liung's side.
There was a rumbling laugh, and Galle turned to see that the old wolf herself had transformed and stood not far from him. She was at least twice the size of the rest of the wolves, and despite her ragged appearance still managed a sort of feral grace.
"Guard the entrances!" Liung roared above the clamor. "Don't let them inside the ship! Prepare for-"
Whatever warning Liung was about to give was lost as the Risen let out a collective gurgling roar, bloated corpses and waterlogged bodies rushing forward now as even more climbed from the depths beneath the dreadnaught. Tharja and Femi just barely managed to make it back to the knot of defenders, disappearing from Galle's sight for a moment before reappearing, already casting spells against the encroaching horde again. Nirath let out another howl before barreling forward, her wolves moving with the great white wolf in her charge. The Risen fell before her fury as if they were training dummies, and Galle couldn't help but be impressed by her ferocity. He was jolted from his observations when Idalia slapped him upside the head, her frowning countenance filling his vision.
"Are you going to stand there or are you going to help!?" she asked. "Make some magic happen!"
"And you wonder why people want to kill you…" Galle grumbled, stepping back from the older woman and reaching for his spellbook, too.
A few quick incantations and green winds began to whip at the Risen, throwing them into the air and from the deck of the ship back into the sea. More and more of the Shepherds began to surge from below, Chrom himself leading Cordelia, Cherche and Basilio against the thickest concentration of Risen. Ricken and Maribelle arrived not long after, the young mage going to work as the healer strode boldly to where she was needed, heedless of the danger. All the while Galle continued to strike with his magic.
"Is there no end to these things!?" Idalia growled.
As she spoke the Khan stabbed a Risen through the chest, the creature having slipped through the line and approached Galle's blind spot. He glanced over at her, giving muttered words of gratitude before going back to systematically tossing the Risen from the ship with his magic.
Tharja was suddenly at their sides, practically shoving Femi towards Galle with a familiar glower on her face.
"Watch her," she snapped, before turning away and shouting as she disappeared back into the crowd "Ricken! Assist me!"
"I don't need a babysitter," Femi seethed, stepping up next to Galle.
"I don't care, I wasn't going to hold your hand anyway," he told her.
"Less talking and more saving our lives, please!" Idalia urged.
They began to work in earnest, more and more magic pummeling the Risen away from the ship and the warriors on it. Femi did her best to compliment Galle's sweeping strikes along the Risen front, lashing out at those that were staggered by the periphery of his own magic. Idalia continued to stand before them, killing any of the creatures that got too close, but one look at her told Galle that the second she needed to, the Khan would be behind the two Plegians rather than risking her own skin. More powerful magic began to shape overhead, Ricken and Tharja conjuring a localized storm that began to send dark purple lightning bolts crashing into the Risen.
Then the tide of bodies shifted, and to Galle's dismay it was the human line that broke. A loud, canine-like shout of pain preceded this, the Plegian tactician looking up in time with a sinking feeling to see Nirath go down under a press of Risen, the creatures tearing with claws of bone at the exhausted wolf shifter in a cloud of blood mist and torn fur. Her own people leapt to her aid, almost feral in their wrath as the remaining wolves tried desperately to save their queen, but as they moved to her relief they left the rest of the refugee warriors alone, abandoning their places in line to swarm their fallen queen's attackers.
"Dammit, get back in line you mangy beasts!" Liung howled.
The old king limped forward to fill one of the gaps himself, a heavy long-bladed spear in his armored hands. Chrom glanced over his shoulder, the Shepherds performing a textbook fighting retreat at a few barked orders, the quartet covering each other and moving like a well-oiled machine as they pulled back towards safety. The rest weren't so lucky, many of the warriors falling to the Risen. Galle saw the local soldier Victor hauling a wounded man away from the fighting with Maribelle, and Tharja and Ricken appeared at their backs again as the safe area was made even smaller.
"Liung!"
Galle looked up as Helia screamed, cursing as the older man went down, too, howling in rage as he continued to lunge with his spear, even as the Risen began tearing through his armor. Helia pushed through the retreating warriors with a clear air of desperation, poised to rescue the older man. Acting on instinct more than anything else he surged forward, grabbing Helia by the arm and pulling her back.
"Let me go!" she snarled.
Helia actually brought her sword around at Galle in a tired half-swing, and he batted the blade away easily.
"He's gone and you'll die too! Get back!" Galle growled.
"We need him!" Helia pleaded. "The refugees need him! I need him!"
"Tough!" the Plegian spat, pulling back on her again.
The Valmese woman all but crumpled at his side, tears streaming down her filthy face as the survivors began to edge back towards the hatchway they were guarding. It took a moment for Galle to figure out why they hadn't been overrun yet, until he realized that the majority of the Risen assaulting them had stopped to feed. The Risen hunched over the corpses of the defenders they had slain, crowding around them like wild animals. Galle couldn't bring himself to watch.
"Mages!" Chrom roared above the panic. "Let loose! Collateral damage to the ship authorized!"
The words had barely left his mouth when Ricken gave a roar of his own, a massive fireball practically incinerating a section of deck and all the Risen atop it. Tharja began to shoot her own heavier spells, Nosferatu and Waste spells tearing gouges from the deck even as they tore the Risen apart. Galle began to cast one handed, keeping his other on Helia's arm as the woman wept, just in case she tried anything again.
"Chrom, take command!" Tharja called.
"Form up on me!" the Exalt called, stepping forward. "Shepherds! Forward! We will be their shield!"
Galle rolled his eyes, swiping at more of the Risen with an Elwind spell powerful enough to rip a nearby railing from the deck, too.
"I'm okay now," Helia told him without looking up.
"Don't do anything stupid," Galle told her, sparing the woman a brief glance. "Your people still need you."
She nodded, retreating into the crowd to where her own soldiers were. Galle watched her for a moment, a rare pang of sympathy blooming in his chest before he turned back to the battle. With Chrom in command now they were reforming their lines around the Shepherds, preparing to push the ever-expanding Risen horde from the deck and back into the sea. They had bought themselves a brief respite, but the day was far from over.
With another gurgling roar the waterlogged Risen pushed forward again, and Galle lost himself to the desperate melee.
By the time Robin's little group returned to the Dreadnaught he could tell that the battle was already over. Corpses, both Valmese and Risen, peppered the ship's deck as Robin pulled himself up onto it, smoldering craters creating a haze of smoke on the deck from where the mages had clearly gotten desperate. The Risen corpses were the most disturbing thing, though. As long as they had been dealing with Risen the creatures had simply turned to ash as they died. Seeing them now, lying strewn about the deck in their hundreds, was hard. It was harder because, aside from the ashen skin, they looked just like the refugees.
"No!" Say'ri cried, climbing up behind him.
He watched, barely aware as the others clambered up behind him.
No one had been there to meet them, but fortunately the ladder had been left hanging on the ship's hull for them to use. Now, though, weary defenders and those Shepherds who had remained behind began to slowly emerge from the smoky haze.
Say'ri knelt by the nearest body, her shoulders trembling slightly. Next to the body of the man lying on the deck the Queen looked startlingly small. It was hard to remember sometimes that she was a small woman; such was the force of her will and presence that fact was usually forgotten. Checking quickly to make sure the others would be okay climbing up, Robin moved to her side. Say'ri glanced up as he neared, her face stricken.
"We were supposed to be safe now," she said, her voice thick. "We were supposed to be free. How… why did this follow us? What did we do to deserve this? Haven't these people suffered enough!? Haven't we!?"
Say'ri looked back down at the body, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Haven't I?"
Robin reached down, resting his uninjured hand on her shoulder. He wasn't sure what to say, or even if he could say anything.
Fortunately for the tactician Chrom chose that moment to come out of the haze, the Exalt sporting a new gash on his forehead but looking otherwise unharmed.
"Thank Naga you're okay," he said, quickly walking over to Robin.
He hesitated when he spotted Say'ri, though, adding in a low tone "You are all okay, right?"
"Mostly," Robin said, holding up his injured hand and taking a few steps away from Say'ri. "I'd say we got the better end of the deal, honestly. I can guess, but I'll ask anyway; what happened?"
"We're not sure," Chrom shook his head. "They just started climbing up the sides of the ship. They… look like Risen, but…"
"They are incomplete, Naga-slave," Simia said, the Deadlord appearing at Robin's shoulder. "They would eventually have become Risen, mindless masked ones."
Chrom jumped a little at the Risen's sudden appearance, Arya following in it's wake with a harried expression on her young face. The Exalt glanced down, making sure that Simia was still shackled and bound before turning back to Robin with a questioning glance.
"She had nothing- it. It had nothing to do with this," Robin said, stopping to correct himself. "It was Clarus. He's been corrupted, another living Risen like Maris."
Chrom muttered a curse, running a hand through his hair and wincing as he brushed the wound on his brow.
"What happened there?" Robin asked, pointing to the injury.
"One of the Risen snuck past my guard," Chrom sighed. "It's the fatigue. It's slowing me down."
"You could just be getting old," Robin shrugged with a grin.
"Shut up," Chrom laughed tiredly, slugging the other man in the shoulder. "What happened to you?"
Robin shrugged again, holding up his hand and wiggling his remaining four fingers. "Clarus wanted my teleporting ring. The finger got in the way."
"That's not a good thing. Any more injuries?" Chrom asked, wincing sympathetically.
"Say'ri got thrown around a little bit. Minor burns. Might want to get Maribelle to take a look at her," Robin sighed. "How many?"
"Too many," Chrom sighed, the bigger man deflating. "At least fifty refugees. We're still counting. Liung. Nirath. This… cost us."
Robin closed his eyes, sucking in a breath at the familiar pang of loss in his chest. Say'ri's gaze snapped up, a horrified expression on her face as she rose back to her feet.
"And Lady Helia?" the Chon'sinian Queen asked hesitantly.
"She fought beside us, but is unharmed," Chrom said, flashing Robin another tired grin. "She seems to have taken quite the liking to your former student, though."
"Who, Galle? Has she not met him before?" Robin scoffed.
"That's mean," Arya muttered behind him.
Robin smirked for a moment before sobering, watching Ita pick her way through the smoky haze to where the remaining members of her people were gathered, no doubt around their fallen Queen.
"Okay, so obviously we'll need to organize some memorial services," the tactician sighed. "I'll talk to the wolves. Is there anyone that can help us with a Chengshi service?"
"There were some local priests among the refugees," Say'ri said softly. "I will find them."
"Good," Robin nodded, turning to his apprentice. "Arya, get that thing secured in the hold."
"Right," the girl nodded.
The tactician turned a withering glare on the Deadlord. "Don't make any fuss."
"Of course, Lord," Simia said, bowing her head obediently.
Robin rolled his eyes, turning back to Arya. "Take Owain and Vaike with you. The people may look for someone to blame for all this, and we don't need this thing becoming a target."
As the group broke up to carry out their tasks Chrom fell into step with Robin, speaking with a low, even tone.
"Robin, you said that Clarus has your ring."
"He does."
"How bad is that?"
"It's pretty bad, Chrom. He could be anywhere now," Robin said, his own voice dropping. "I spoke to Ricken about him. Chrom, Clarus was the head of the Magical Engineering Department in the Mages' Tower. If he manages to reverse-engineer the spell in the ring he'll be able to create an honest-to-Naga teleportation spell, and then we'll never catch him. This is the worst possible outcome. I'm sorry."
Chrom sighed, his face growing stony. "That's what I was afraid you'd say."
AN: More revelations! First, I name drop Tellius, now I make direct reference to Shadows of Valentia's hidden boss! Gasp! Next stop, Ylisse! Eventually. Updates may be few and far between for a while. I'm not posting the big long spiel here, it's on my bio page. Just remember, lots of reviews are a good way to make me want to work on this again.
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