Fire Emblem and its characters are owned by Intelligent Systems and Nintendo.
Goodbye, Reggie Fils-Aime. It saddens me that your time as President of Nintendo of America is coming to an end, but we were blessed to have you for 15 years, and I am happy that you are leaving in good health. So long, Reggie!
…shut up, I know how this sounds.
Mikhalus Greil:
A day away from the frontlines and my nerves were on end. It was ridiculous, really, that I should have been this nervous; this war was not mine, and its result should not have been my concern. And yet…
I found myself pacing the length of Salem's sleigh while Yael roused the king. Frankly, he should have been up hours ago—it was almost noon! But my preoccupation with Aversa's possible ruination of my army—the king's army—stole my thoughts away from productivity.
We still had a day of travel until we reached the front. That gave the witch two days to destroy my perfectly crafted plans. Who knew how far we'd already been pushed back? In truth, I suspected it was very little, if at all. The Feroxi could not have learned of my departure so soon, and the threat of my image was bound to keep them huddled away for at least one day.
Still…
"Gangrel!" I shouted, drawing Salem's gaze for a flicker of a moment. She turned her attention back to her wyvern's straps and made sure the sleigh and saddle were secure. "Get up and moving, we're wasting precious daylight!" I shared a look with Salem—her neutral expression failed to reflect my anger—and stormed toward the king's tent with a growl.
I ripped open the tent flaps and stormed in to see a bewildered Captain Yael and a groggy Gangrel. The latter saluted me on instinct. "Start packing his things," I ordered the wyvern captain, pointing to the king's scattered belongings. Gangrel watched Yael get to work with a slow consideration, but snapped to attention when I called his name again. "Get up," I snarled. "You're wasting precious time—time I can't afford to lose if you want to actually win this war." He nodded, slow and easy, then pushed himself to his unsteady feet. Gods, he's worthless. "Have a little hustle, get up!" I resisted the urge to grab him by the collar and yank him to his feet. As much as I wanted to, the Captains were more loyal to the king, and assaulting a royal would turn them against me.
The king's pace quickened slightly, but his abrupt awakening left him slow still. I bit back another particularly sour remark and settled for, "Grima, you're worse than your son," before storming out and getting into Salem's sleigh.
She regarded me with patient silence. How she got around in this scorching heat wearing that armor was beyond me—I was sweating in my robes. That may have had something to do with my seething temper, now that I thought about it. Nevertheless, I lay back in the sleigh and rested my head against the front. "I should have just warped to the frontlines," I said before closing my eyes. Just in time, too, as I heard Gangrel stumble out of his tent and bark at Yael to hurry up.
"It's going to be a long day, Captain Salem." A long day of nothing. If I'd brought my books and documents with me, I could at least have gotten some work done, but the abrupt leave from the frontline and soon after the Castle left me with little time to gather either, so I was left with nothing but the equipment I was wearing.
I opened my eyes as an idea occurred:
"Salem," I said, sitting up, "are there any stops scheduled between here and the frontlines?"
She thought for a moment, then reported, in her straight tone, "One, near the border. We're stopping to restock on water and food before—"
"Perfect!" I grinned. "When we arrive, I am going to warp back to the Table and return after an hour—I have some things I need to gather for the remainder of our trip."
"Yes, sir."
"Let's get a move on!" Gangrel's irritable voice rang out. I slumped back to the floor with a sigh.
"You heard the man." Salem grunted and mounted her wyvern. As it raised its wings and prepared to lift off, I was glad for the canvased walls of the sleigh. Sand beat up in a gust, and the ropes lashing the sleigh to the wyvern's saddle tensed before I began to move. The wyvern dragged the sleigh over the sand and, behind us, Gangrel and Yael were not far behind. The captain, even from this distance I could tell, bore a grim expression, and his posture was slouched.
Part of me felt for Yael, stuck with the worthless king, but I was only able to spare one of them, and I figured I'd keep the woman out of Gangrel's reach lest he harass her more than he would Yael.
As expected, the journey went on without interruption, or excitement. I passed what time I could polishing Kurokaze's blade, but that became boring and I soon found myself gazing at the passing landscape.
I was sick of the desert. The sand was an annoyance. Setting up my tent was a nightmare, and the night itself was chilling; of course, it switched back to scolding during the day but I couldn't decide which was worse. I much preferred the more marshy regions of Plegia to this decrepit nonsense. This was a place devoid of life—what life did survive here was a miracle in itself, a miracle I admired. That type of perseverance…
I was reminded of the Exalt. Her serene face as she chose to sacrifice herself… I would never forget that moment. And that she persevered. The woman was strong—did her brother and sister take after her in that way? Only time would tell.
I was in turn reminded of something else I had to do when I warped back to the Table. My project had been delayed by this war, but it warranted a checkup. It was rude of me to keep her waiting, as it was. Torturous, I imagined, and that left a bad taste in my mouth. Poor girl. I owed her something for the wait. I made a mental note to spare some time to check on her.
I stared at the dunes a bit longer before clambering to the front of the sleigh and looking up at Salem. The wind was vicious and loud, so I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, "Captain!"
She looked down and shouted back, "Sir?"
"How much further out are we?"
She turned ahead, considered for a moment, then replied, "I can see the bridge now, sir! It won't be long."
"Very good!" With that, I sat back down and pulled out my pouch of warp powder. The bag was less full than I'd have liked, but it was enough to get me to the Table and back. I must grab more when I am there, I noted, and wrapped the pouch's thread around my hand. That, I thought, and my journal.
Before long, the sleigh jolted, and the terrain it crossed was no longer smooth and sandy, but rugged and beginning to hold more life. We were past the dunes. The sleighs would not take us much further, and slid to a stop. Salem's wyvern landed in front of it and behind us, Yael's did the same, with the king's sleigh grumbling to a stop on the rougher ground. Salem dismounted and waited for me to exit the sleight before working on untying the ropes.
Pale faces stared at us from around the corners of buildings, from inside windows, or even stopped in the middle of the street with baskets of clothes, fruits, or other produce tucked under their arms or balanced on their heads. One of the faces peering out of a window wore a headband, I noticed, before he ducked back inside. I eyed them all for a moment, waited until they resumed what they were doing before reaching for my belt.
I took a pinch of warp powder said, "I will be back in an hour. If the king asks, tell him the same thing I told you."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh," I said, catching myself before I threw the powder on the ground. "One more thing: see if you can't keep some distance between yourself and his Highness. He's in a rather bad mood, you're very pretty, and I doubt Yael is providing the effeminate treatment he seeks, so do yourself a favor and stay scarce until I return, alright?" My statement was offset by a cheeky grin which, to my unsurprised chagrin, she did not return. Instead, I receiver an affirmative, albeit bland—Gods, why couldn't she be more emotive?—nod before I disappeared in a flash.
Robin:
"We'll be lodging in here," I said, jerking my thumb back to an inn behind me. I had the roster and lodging registry in my hands and scanned over it with a guiding finger. "Stahl, Vaike, Gaius, Robert, and Virion: you boys are top floor, left of the stairs in that order. Gregor, you take Zach, Maribelle, Anna, and Dylan up with you to the top and take a right instead. Get comfortable, we'll be here for a few days." I scribbled a checkmark under their names as they walked past me. "Sumia, Cordelia, Sully, Nowi, and Ricken go to the second floor, also on the left, and Krystal, Lissa, Lon'qu, Calliope and Kellam are on the right. Donnel, Tharja, Libra, Miriel, Chrom, Frederick, and myself are on the bottom. If anyone needs anything, come to one of us. Alright?"
"Yes," most voices who hadn't already gone inside relayed.
"Good. Like I said, get comfortable. We'll be here a little while. After you're done, feel free to see the town." I folded up the registry and tucked it in my coat alongside the chunk of charcoal I'd been writing with. Having settled that, I dusted my hands off and entered the inn. Seeing the town was something I too was interested in, but I did not have the time. Two things occupied my minds at the moment—two things I would admit occupied my mind, anyway: attempting correspondence with Flavia and Basilio, and the girl Chrom was going to talk to today.
I smiled at the thought of him, blushing and stammering, trying to ask a girl on a date, or handing her flower's he'd half-crushed in his hands because he was so nervous. He and I made the deal that he'd speak to this mystery girl as soon as we got everything sorted, so upon seeing him inside, I shot him a grin.
Yet… just as the thought was silly and amiable, it hurt. Was it… jealousy? This pinprick in my heart every time I dreamed up one of his amateurish scenarios was foreign. I… I did not think it was jealousy. No, it wasn't. I was sure.
I pushed the thought away. I pushed all the thoughts away, in fact. Away and down. I couldn't focus on those now. I needed concentration on this letter.
With that in mind, I marched over to my room and shut the door behind me. Before I lost steam, I dug through my pack and grabbed my proper writing tools to splay them out on the desk. "Okay," I said, and grabbed my quill. Before I could start, however, I heard the door next to mine open, then shut. Chrom's door. "Ah," I groaned, slapping my cheeks. "Focus, Robin. Focus!"
Flavia,
I hope this reaches you in good health. This is Robin, tactician of the Shepherds. We are alive. All of us. My deepest apologies for falling off the map after the Exalt's death, but we had no way to reach you, and needed to ensure our safety. I hope you understand. I can explain the situation better when we next meet, but until then, for the purpose of security, we must remain concise and cautious. With Plegians everywhere, who knows what information will be stolen.
I ask that you respond with haste so we can coordinate a plan of action. The Shepherds are ready to fight and we are willing to help the war effort in any way we can, so please respond as soon as possible. Thank you,
Robin of the Shepherds
I put the quill down and studied the letter, checking it over for spellings or anything warranting a rewrite. "Wait. Flavia won't care. Hell, we'll be lucky if she gets this at all, let alone has time to complain about literacy."
While I waited for the ink to dry, I unpacked the rest of my things and sorted them along the desk and the bed. I took my cloak off and cracked my back, stretched my arms, and resisted the urge to collapse on the bed. It was noon. I had plenty to do. First, I had to meet with the merchant.
"Ugh." I had no reason to be this tired. It was noon, I got a good night's sleep, and all we'd done was march. This was ridiculous.
I frowned, and pushed up from my desk. My cloak, lying on the back of the chair, came with, and I swept out the door with the same unpleasant look on my face. In passing, I knocked on Frederick's door—whether he was there or not—and called that I needed him to leave a map of Ylisstol on my desk. He did not respond, nor did I wait. "Anna," I called, walking into the main hall. The redhead was already there, lounging in one of the chairs with her legs thrown over the arm. She sat up at my voice and grinned as I approached. "You ready?"
"For a shopping trip?" the merchant chimed. "Always." She stood up and brushed off her pants. "Where are we going first?"
"Stables," I said. The merchant pulled a small scroll out of somewhere and wrote on it as I spoke. "We need three wagons—one for healers, one for command, and another for supplies; carrying all our stuff by hand is really slowing us down."
"Then we'll need people to bring them back here"
I chewed my lip. "Maribelle and Stahl can take the medical wagon back," I decided. They'd be able to handle the horses well together, and Stahl knew enough about medicines to help Maribelle with that. "For the supply wagon…" I hummed.
"We can bring that with us," Anna suggested. "It'll be easier to load supplies if we do so immediately after purchasing them."
"Good idea," I said, and silently scolded myself for not thinking of it. "Then Sully can bring the command wagon back and I'll deal with that later."
"We should bring someone along who can help us with the heavier lifting, too," the merchant said.
I arched an eyebrow. "What do you intend to buy that we won't be able to lift?"
She shrugged. "I figured you'd want to restock on weapons, since what everyone currently has is a little worse for wear." Hmm. That was true. "At the very least, it's useful to have a spare in the back in case one breaks. That, and a stock of staves. You're going to need to do a lot of healing fighting against an army with a force this small. You have the healers for it already, but staves only last so long."
"Hmm, alright."
"And we'll want to bring the medical wagon with us instead of leaving it here," she continued. "No point in keeping staves with weapons. It's smarter to have them closer to the people who can use them."
"Then we may want to bring an additional healer, to help keep track. How much gold do we have to spend?"
"Enough," the redhead stated. At my questioning glance, she relented, "You don't have a lot stored up, but I'll sell some of my own wares if we fall short."
"Anna!" I balked. "You don't have to do that, I wouldn't ask you to get rid of your things for us."
"Relax." She held her hands up to placate me. "There are wares I was going to sell anyway. And besides," she grinned, a strange glint in her eye. "Sometimes to make a profit, you have to give a down payment."
I narrowed my eyes. "You know a lot about this."
She shrugged again. "War is profitable, and I make a habit of knowing how to make the most of a business opportunity. We'll just say this isn't my first time around this corner."
"I see." I had to admit, that statement didn't exactly strengthen my faith in the merchant's loyalty, but it was hard to deny her talents and… at the time, we were desperate for her kind of help. "I'm glad to have someone as experienced as you on our side."
She smiled—it was more innocent this time, but not completely so. "Go gather your people." She waved her hand in the air behind her and tapped her paper. "I'll get a rough estimate of how much this'll cost and see what I have to sell."
"Maribelle," I said after I'd gather everyone we'd need, "once we purchase the wagons, you will take Stahl and Calliope. I'm entrusting you three to stock us sufficiently on staves and other supplies we'll need in the healing tent."
"Your trust is well placed," the noble said, nodding.
"Sully." I turned to the red-knight. "You'll be on your own after we split, but all you have to do is bring the wagon we give you back here. After that, you're free to roam."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Alright," I said with a content sigh. "I believe that's everything. Anything else, Anna?" She considered, then shook her head and opened the front doors. I made sure everyone followed her out before doing the same myself and closing the doors behind me. After that, I made my way to the front of our little group. "What'd you find out about the cost?" I asked Anna.
"It'll be spendy," the merchant admitted. "Restocking provisions and vulneraries is cheap enough." She showed me her paper and traced her finger down a lines of scribble, with a total price at the bottom. She was right; it was fairly cheap. "But, once you add in the weapons, and the staves, and especially the tomes…" Further she slid her finger, and I was almost taken aback by the price.
"Gods," I muttered.
"But," Anna raised a finger, "we can resell what weapons we have. Even chipped steel can be melted down to be reused, you know." She winked at me and grinned. "And I'm in pretty good with a lot of the vendors around town—or at least my sisters are, but no one here can tell the difference, so I can score us a deal."
I nodded. "Good." I tried to hide my relief; without Anna, the cost would have been astronomical. Not everyone would have received a new weapon. If theirs broke in combat, they'd have to scavenge from the dead, if they even survived whatever altercation they were in the middle of.
I placed my hand on Anna's shoulder and smiled. "I'm grateful for your help, Anna. We couldn't do this without you."
"It's what I do," she said simply. "Besides, you're not the only one making a profit from this."
My lips parted, prepared to ask what she meant, when I stopped myself. I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. At least, not initially. My curiosity, and skepticism, and, though I was loathe to admit it, my distrustful instinct to cover all my bases, grew too great, and I asked, "How exactly are you profiting from this?"
"Tax."
I blinked. "What?"
"These prices aren't straight from the market, sweetie," she said in perhaps the most patronizing tone I'd ever been addressed in. "You think all these items are this expensive?" she gave me an incredulous look, and I felt sheepish and shameful. And rather foolish. "Sweetheart, when was the last time you restocked?"
I averted my gaze. I couldn't face her. Anna—a merchant!—was making me feel like a subpar leader. "We've never needed to. Our equipment has lasted us this long."
"Then you're lucky to have a skilled merchant on your side for your first time," she said, rolling her list up and tucking it in her sleeve. "All those prices I showed you were inflated with interest—in order to pay for my services, I am purchasing the goods and weapons at a flat price, the taxing it myself and keeping that money." As we got closer to the market, it became harder to hear her. I focused on her lips; her slight, sly smile did not escape me. "In other words, I'm buying the weapons with your money, then reselling them to you at a reduced price so I make money."
"That… sounds like a scam." I met her eyes again, glowering.
"Not if you think of me like a mercenary with extra benefits," she chimed, and stopped. "You're just paying me my fees." At the mouth of the market, I decided that I did not like Anna anymore. In one day—a few hours, in fact—she had earned my trust, then threw it out and would have made an enemy had I been more hotheaded.
But I was the tactician. It was my job to keep a level head, so I was not going to let her ruffle me.
Krystal:
As always, I had little with me on our travels. Aside from my tome, the cloak Robin lent me, and the pouch on my belt containing my gold and the bottle of hair dye I'd bought, I had nothing. It made packing easy—I didn't have to do anything aside from set my tome down on the desk beside the bed in my room. However, it left me with a problem: in this downtime, while we weren't marching or fighting or "enjoying" the hot spring, I had nothing to do.
For a minute or two after sitting down on the bed, I stared at my closed tome with a mixture of curiosity that had been present since I woke up with it and fear that Tharja had instilled in me. I could read it, I mused. I hadn't made any leeway into deciphering its strange lettering. Whatever it said was still a mystery.
Now, thanks to Tharja's warning, I was not sure I wanted to know what it said.
I was, admittedly, afraid of what the tome was capable of. A small part of me felt ridiculous for fearing the book. Nothing had happened yet. I was casting spells capably. I huddled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them. That's what's scary, though.
Tharja had said I was lucky, so far, to have not hurt anyone. What that tome, or the magic in general, contained was beyond my ability to comprehend. Old magic. "Sometime soon it's going to be sick of being toyed with," she said, like it was conscious. I wanted to doubt her, to refute that statement with her being melodramatic or trying to scare me. But…
frail
I jumped as the low, hissing voice rumbled through my head. I did not recognize the voice, nor where it came from. My head whipped in circles as I tried in vain to locate the source. "Hello?" I called, my voice feeble and quiet and, as the voice said, frail. "Is somewhere there?"
…false dra…devou…
I spun around, certain the voice was behind me. No one and nothing was behind me, except the desk, my bed, and… my tome. My eyes widened and my lips parted in suspicion. I took a cautious step closer, eyeing the dark-bound book. The shadows in the room were darker, longer. The walls were stained with the blackness as the light from the door-side lantern was muffled. "Are you…?"
you
"Who are you?" I muttered. My bare feet were planted firm on the wooden floor, not out of choice, but due to my fear coming to a head. I was struck. Cement. "What do you want?" I could not stop staring at the tome on my table.
shadowssss
"Meddling in things you don't understand." Had I not been stock-still already, the ricocheting of Tharja's voice in my head would have frozen me in place. On a normal occasion. Instead, my feet came unglued, my limbs and joints were freed of their bindings.
I took a lurching step forward, stumbling as I was cut loose. I caught myself on the edge of the table and found my face inches from the Flux tome's silver-circled cover. Shadows, I thought to myself. My hands hovered over the leather as I steadied myself. "What is 'false?'" I whispered to the tome. It hummed under my touch. I slid my finger along the silver ring that adorned its front. It reacted. Angrily. The pages shook, the cover rattled, and it threatened to blow itself open without my command. Without my consent. "Wait," I begged, placing my other hand on the cover to hold it shut. "Wait, please, I'm sorry! Don't—"
Hard knuckle rapped against my door. In an instant, the shadows retreated to their corners, the tome stopped quaking, and light filled the room once more. I did not move. I waited in the awkward silence after the knock, suddenly sobered after… whatever had just happened. I wasn't sure if I'd hallucinated the creeping shadows and the books' rage or if I'd dreamed up the knock to break me out of it.
I receiver my answer when whoever it was knocked again. "Krystal?"
"Uh, um," I scrambled to my feet, brushed myself off, and sat down on my bed, hands in my lap and folded tight together until they were pale. "C-Come in." The doorknob twisted. I adjusted myself one more time before a man with side-swept brown hair came in. "Robert?"
"Good afternoon," the merc said with a grin. "How're you doing?"
"U-um, pretty good?" I didn't mean it as a question. I was simply too caught off-guard to form a sure response. "D-did you need something?"
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it. "I just wanted to talk." He shrugged, his arms crossed. "Figured it's been too long since any of us did and… I'd never really taken the chance to sit and have a straight conversation with just you."
That was true. The two of us had not had a personal conversation. My brow furrowed; now that I thought about it, even when all four of us were together, we never… talked. "All any of us ever talk about is home," I murmured. "All we know about each other is our names."
He nodded. His eyes were closed. "You're right, but not necessarily." Then he opened his eyes, and his grin returned. In two steps, he crossed the distance between the door and my desk, pulled the chair out, spun it around, and sat down in it with his arms crossed over its back. He rested his head on his arms, saying, "The way I see it, we don't need to talk all the time to get a feel for each other. Sure," he shrugged, "we don't know much about each other's pasts, but the same could be said for any of the rest of the Shepherds. We may have come from our backgrounds, but it doesn't define us." He drummed his fingers against his large forearms as he spoke. "I don't know where you grew up, what you like to do, but I can tell you what I do know: you're a shy girl with a penchant for keeping to herself." I blushed as he was spot on, though in retrospect it wasn't a secret. Perhaps it was just the abrupt accuracy of it that embarrassed me. "My guess is that you like to read, though I've never seen you with a book aside from this dark tome here." He jerked his thumb behind him.
I said nothing. This was all very sudden. Within two minutes, he'd come in here with the premise to talk and spilled his entire surface view of me. How was I supposed to react other than a stunned, wide-eyed gape?
He blinked, then chuckled nervously. He scratched the back of his head as his eyes went elsewhere. "U-um, sorry, that… that probably came off a little strong." He laughed again, and cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh, what I was getting at was that, well, basically I have a pretty good idea of how you normally act. So," he returned his arms to the back of the chair, "when you do something unorthodox, it makes me think something is up. Like, I don't know, dying your hair," he twisted a short lock of his own hair, "to match a certain prince's?"
I went rigid, back straight as a pole. No doubt my face was blazing red. I whipped my head to the side to hide my burning cheeks. In the process, I flipped forward the waterfall of midnight blue curls that he was talking about, and I felt the need to explain myself. "I-It wasn't my idea! C-Cordelia told me to do it!" As soon as the shift of blame passed my lips, guilt assaulted me, and forced me to keep talking. "She said it would look good on me, so I listened to her because I thought she had good taste in looks, and she does, but I didn't really think of the consequences, especially after Chrom—"
He leaned forward and I clamped my mouth shut. His interest was piqued if his raised eyebrows were any indication, and my lungs were starved for air. All the blood in my body was in my face, I was blushing so brightly. Stupid! I cursed myself before Robert said, "After he what?"
"N-nothing!" I protested, shaking my head vehemently.
Robert laughed. "No, no, you can't tease me like that!" He tapped a rhythm on the back of the chair as he grinned. "What'd blueblood do? It had to be quite something if you dyed your hair like his—"
"I didn't!" Except I did dye my hair. I groaned. A ran through the topic of my frustration, grabbing a handful of the sea-colored tresses. "That's not why I dyed my hair!" If he was surprised by my tone, he did not show it. That would change. "I wouldn't have done it at all if I thought about what it meant! Especially after he kicked me out of his room." That did it. My blood boiled, grew too hot and set a light behind me. I blew up. The force of my emotions bursting free forced me to my feet.
"All I was trying to do was help. If I'd have been smart, I would have left him to work it out on his own, but my reckless, stupid self barged in and watched as he threw things and freaked out and I decided to hug him? Why did I think that would work? Because he started crying? Then in the morning, while I'm practically on top of him, he just tells me to get out." Did I say more than I meant to? Absolutely. Did I care? Not in the slightest. All my embarrassment and shame at what happened that night transitioned into anger and frustration. And I needed to vent for once.
"Sounds like a dick move to me," Robert goaded. At least, I would realize he was goading me on later, and for my own good at that. I needed to get this out. I'd bottled it up for too long.
"It was!" I said. "I mean, the least he could have done was ask me to leave politely. Instead, he tells me that it's 'better for the both of us if I go.'" I rolled my eyes and ran a hand through my hair. I spun around to face the man suffering through my rant. "How stupid is that?"
Robert looked like he wanted to say something, chewing on his bottom lip, but bit it down and instead said, "Pretty stupid. This has got you really riled up, huh?" I gave him a look saying, You think? which he understood. In response, he stood and shoved the chair back into its spot with force and energy to match my rampant frustration. "Then let's go do something about it! Let's go blow some shit up!" He reached behind him, grabbed Flux and tossed it to me.
"Just point me in a direction." I already had the tome open.
"Whoa, whoa," he said, putting out his hands to slow me. He had a somewhat fearful look in his eyes. Either fear, or… something else that lit them up in a strange way. "Hold your horses, girl. I'm glad you're eager, but we should take this outside." I lowered my hands, ashamed, and closed my tome. He raised a finger and grinned, however. "Lucky for you, I've got just the place. Spotted it on the way into town."
"Wasn't aware Southtown had a training area," Robert said as he lead me past the town's front gate. "But I spotted a set of dummies out here when we walked in. Figured they must have installed them after Chrom and co. stopped the first big bandit raid." He pat the sword at his waist. "Was planning to use it myself later, maybe see if Cordy wanted to train with me, but I think you need this a little more than either of us do."
We walked to an opening in the trees outside the furthest building. The spot was clear, a worn circle of dirt where the grass had been trodden away. Leaves or red and orange were piled around it in a circle, and spread through the small area was a grouping of four or five training dummies stood up, each with numerous cuts and arrows in them. Beside the set, lying along the leaves, were several more. Good.
Despite the time taken to get here, I was still burning. I wanted to destroy something.
I opened Flux and let the pages turn on their own. It was coursing with power, shuddering, urging. It felt like it wanted to be used. But as soon as I turned my outstretched hand toward the emotionless, lifeless dummies, the energy died.
The pages stopped fluttering, the circles around me faded, and the book stopped shuddering. My hand fell back to my side, limp without the magic driving it. I shivered inwardly, and lost the feeling of the leather in my hand. Almost… empty. Something in my core felt like it vanished for the shortest time, and the dummy seemed colorless. Everything was grey, in that split second before I gasped, blinked, and took a step back, Flux falling out of my hand.
"Krystal?" Robert asked, his arms uncrossing—they were crossed?—and walking toward me. He put a hand on my shoulder when I gasped. "Are you alright?" I blinked twice, a third time, then shut my mouth and looked at him. "Are you okay?"
"I…" My eyes fell to where Flux lay. I wasn't angry anymore. I could have considered it a miracle, had it not been for that brief time where I felt devoid of not just anger, but sensation. No spell came; instead, the book stole my emotions to fuel a fire that was muffled. I later learned that what happened was sheer luck, but at the time I was relieved.
"Krystal?"
"Yes," I blurted. I swallowed hard, and said, "Yes, I'm alright." I tore my eyes away from the book and our eyes met. I saw his doubt, a lingering concern. He took a step toward me, one of his hands outstretched my way like he thought I'd fall.
"Are you sure?"
"I am," I said. I was only half-convinced, myself, but I didn't want to worry him. I'd already embarrassed myself once in front of him, blowing up like I had. Besides, I wasn't angry anymore. I offered a small smile in the hopes to appease him. "I just… I don't know," I shrugged a little and turned away. Think of an excuse, come on! I bit my lip—praying he didn't notice—before murmuring, "Wasting my tome like this won't help me at all. There's no point in using resources to vent."
"Well you need to get it out somehow," he said. He was almost encouraging, eager, like he wanted me to destroy something. Part of me wanted to indulge him. Even if I could, though… I didn't want to. My heart was still beating a mile a minute. I was waiting for my breathing to even so I could convince him.
"Talking about it was enough," I promised. I forced myself to stop fiddling with the hem of my cloak. I clasped them in front of me and did what I could to remedy my shifting feet. "I appreciate your concern, however."
He measured me with a scrutinizing, narrow-eyed gaze, his lips pressed into a firm line. The air was too warm for this. I looked away again. Seconds like hours passed before he shrugged, his features going lax and his hands shoving into his pockets. "If you say so. Kinda wanted to see something explode, but I'll have to see to that on my own." He drew his sword. It took all of my effort not to jump at the sudden flash of steel.
"U-um—"
"Well, I won't keep you," he said. He turned away and approached the relatively unused dummies. I watched as he levelled his sword at the targets. His stance steadied, as did his breathing. His feet slid apart, and in a jerking motion, he lurched forward and slashed at the dummy. His blade cut deep. He wrenched it free, then repeated the motion. His final swing was performed with two hands. Afterward, he took a step back and a deep breath. When he realized I was still standing there, he glanced toward me with a chuckle and said, "You can head back, if you want. You don't have to stand and watch me."
"U-uh, um," I swallowed. "Right. Well, thank you, I guess? For, um, for bringing me out here."
"No problem," he said, levelling his sword again. "Let me know if you ever need to vent again."
I made a small noise in my throat—an attempt at responding. Maybe it was agreement. I didn't know. It never came out. My feet spun me around. Three steps away, I heard a whisper.
Human
I stopped in my tracks and took a half turn, just enough so I could glimpse Flux from the corner of my eye. I'd forgotten it, but the book did not move. I could have imagined it. My nerves, as always, mixing up my thoughts. But I swore I heard…
…always darkness…
That I heard. No mistake. I faced the book entirely now. Robert was still swinging at the dummy—he didn't hear it. I was not imagining this. I was not crazy, and I was most certainly not that tired. So… "What are you?" I whispered.
I waited for the tome to shake or flip open like it had in my room. A minute passed, then another. Nothing happened. I frowned. It did not move, it did not speak to me further. I took a tentative step toward the grounded book. Still nothing. I groaned. Robert's constant beating against the training dummy and the rattle as his sword rebounded with a miss were the only unnatural sounds.
"Why are you silent now?" I asked. "Why do you not speak to me when Robert can hear?" Nothing. I groaned and took another step. "Why do you speak to me at all?" This was ridiculous. I hoped Robert did not turn around right now and see me speaking to a book. If only it would speak again so it would hear! I knelt down over it, nudged it. "What are you?"
As you could guess, I received no response. I rolled my eyes and snatched the book from the cold dirt. If it would not speak to me again, I would take it as a blessing. This was strange, and I did not want to worry about it.
Yet I could not brush it off as my imagination, not after it happening twice. Nor could I diagnose what was happening, however. I had no knowledge of what this magic was, or if this was usual.
But Tharja did. She warned me about this. I prayed to the skies that she would be willing to help me, or at least open up the door to hear me out. She did tell me to find a teacher before something bad happened. She did not specify to whom that bad thing would occur. This was my sign. Coming out here with Robert was straddling the fence, though he of course did not know the extent of his influence. As a dark mage, Tharja knew the consequences. She all but told me she would teach me. Right? She would teach me because… She would teach me, she would help me because she did not want me going awry. Probably. I winced. Hopefully.
I crept back into town. My eyes flicked left and right past the gate and I clutched my book over my chest. Without a spirit of frustration possessing me and driving along the street, I found it harder to keep my head up. I felt eyes on me, heard murmurs of passersby—who is that girl, why is she dressed like that, or isn't that a Plegian outfit, the lattermost of which dripped with disdain. Doubtless some of them knew I rode in with the Shepherds, but their gawking was no better. If anything they stared, and I did what I could to weather it. By the time I reached the inn, however, I was mentally and spiritually exhausted.
I cast a last look at someone walking by. Our eyes met, they gave the usual polite, pressed line of a smile and I raised my hand in the faintest hint of a wave before what felt like a wall slammed into my turning head.
I rebounded, stumbled back with my hand on my head. "Ah!" I hissed. "Owowowow…"
"Gods, are you okay?" I opened my blurry, teared-up eyes to see a man standing in front of me, inside the open door to the in. He glanced behind him, ran a hand through his blue hair, and said, "I'm so sorry, I—I, um…" His hands hovered close to me, unsure of what to do. "Are you alright?"
"Chrom?" I winced, taking a moment to think past my throbbing headache. "I... yes, I think I'm okay."
He sighed. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I should have been more careful. I didn't realize you were on the other side of the door!" He shifted on his feet, looked about nervously. "Look, um, why don't you come inside. We can sit you down and—well, I was looking for you, but you didn't answer when I knocked, and Anna said you'd gone out this way with Robert, so I figured I'd come look for you out here, too, and—Gods, look, I'm sorry."
"It's alright," I said, lowering my hand. "It was an accident." He opened the door preemptively and held it open for me to go through. I kept my eyes low, but I caught the Anna at the front desk peek over her book and glasses to watch me ease my way into the lobby.
Chrom followed close behind, saying, "Let me help you back to your room." I didn't need the help, but found it hard to argue when his hand settled between my shoulders, gentle yet firm. This was a far cry from how he'd acted when we spoke last. Not an unwanted change, certainly. I did not decline his help, and we crossed the lobby into the side hall. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again as we mounted the stairs.
I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh or roll my eyes. He was so fussy, it was both laughable and irritating. "Yes," I told him, putting my hand to the wall as we rounded the corner. "I'm perfectly fine. Just a headache, is all."
"Well, if you're sure…" I couldn't see him from behind me, but his tone was enough to finally break the tension and pull a giggle from me.
"I am." I turned to face him once we reached the top. "It was just a door, Captain, not a sword." He walked with me in silence back to my room. We stopped at the door and I paused. He, too, stayed, awkward and unsure against the wall opposite me. Where I should have thanked him and said goodbye for now, I instead felt the need to talk, to keep this going. He was open, now. I wanted—no, needed to keep him going before he closed off again, like he had that morning. I cleared my throat and leaned back against the closed wooden door. "You, um, you said you were looking for me," I said, drudging it back up. "Did you need something?"
His brow furrowed, and his lips went down in a frown. "Well, I had wanted to talk to you about something." His eyes were shifty, his feet unsteady as his weight alternated between them. My first thought was my hair—in an instant, my mind began to scrape together an excuse for why I dyed it to match his. In addition, I prepared an apology in advance to Cordy for pitting the blame on her, before I discarded the excuse altogether.
Either way, my distress was undue, as Chrom's next words were, "I…I wanted to apologize." I blinked. My thoughts fell away and I… was relieved, in more ways than one.
He did not meet my eyes. As he continued, one of his hands drifted up to smooth through his hair and scratch at his cheek. "That morning in the Outrealm, I was rude to you. Terrible to you, really," he admitted. "You were trying to help and—well, you did help." His eyes flick up to me, then dart down to the floor and sweep back and forth. "Quite a bit, actually. Thanks to you, I was able to get my head on straight and… figure things out, so," he nodded, as if accepting it himself, "I am gravely sorry. You deserve a proper thanks. Which is why…" He paused. His shoulders went slack, his eyes closed, and I almost spoke up, but he took a deep, long breath before looking meeting my eyes. His shoulders were squared, his posture straight. When he spoke, his voice was firm and even. "I would like to treat you to dinner."
I blinked. "Dinner?" With Chrom?
He nodded. "Yes, figured you'd like something of the sort, so—" Catching himself, he backtracked. "I-I mean, if you don't want to, that is fine as well. I wouldn't force you into anything, and could find some other way to repay y—"
"No!" I blurted. My cheeks burned at his surprised silence, lips half-parted as I cut him off. With the spotlight on me, I averted my gaze. "No, it's just that, well, it does me good to know that you're doing better and that I was able to help." I smiled weakly. "That's reward enough."
He smiled, too. It was soft and warm, and brightened my own smile until we were both reduced to two people staring and smiling at each other in a hallway. To my thanks, he broke the stasis by clearing his throat. My blush did not fade, but I could at least meet his eyes as he said, "Well, I think I'd like to take you out to dinner regardless. I've never stayed in Southtown long enough to dine here, and I'd hate to have to be alone, so if you're fine by it…?"
"It would be my pleasure," I struggled to say without stuttering. It was almost a good moment, but as soon as I finished speaking, I thought of what Cordelia said again and the air was suddenly much too hot.
"Will tonight work?" he asked.
"Y-yeah," I choked out, my throat clamping shut. "I'll—I'll see…ya…" I reached behind me and opened the door. I gave a little wave as I slipped inside and out of view. When I shut the door behind me, I leaned against it until it clicked shut. I slid to the floor and sighed. I was going to dinner with Chrom. A real life prince. Even though it wasn't a date, I was nervous.
What am I going to wear? I stared down at my mage's attire. Will this hurt his public image? He wouldn't care at all, but he was going to be exalt. I sighed. This was going to reflect on him either way. I would have to at the very least cover up. I curled a strand of hair around one finger. Perhaps Cordelia can help me with that. I blanched as a scarier thought surfaced:
Is Frederick going to be there?
Mikhalus Greil:
The air was still atop the Dragon's Table. Down below its spired heights, everything seemed a speck. The trodden roads leading from the wastes to the rocky deserts and beyond appeared as thin, weaving lines.
My boots clopped over the flat, carved stone of the monument's rubblel-littered surface and toward the massive, cathedral-like shrine built on the northernmost edge. Two Grimleal priests strode out of it to meet me at the edge of the summoning circle in the middle of which I'd warped into. I waited for them to close the distance with my hands in the pockets of my robes.
"Master Greil," one said, giving a slight bow. The other did the same. "We were not expecting your return to the table so soon."
"Nor was I," I said, looking over them. Peeking out from inside the dark, arched doorway, was a head of reddish hair. It disappeared immediately, shutting the door behind it. I stopped a frown from showing. What is he doing here? "But I was pulled temporarily from the frontline, and found the opportunity to pay a brief visit." I pushed between them and started past. They trailed behind me. "How is my precious project doing?" I asked.
"She's well, sir." His head bent low so the skull-headdress he wore covered his face. "We've been providing food and water to her daily—"
"Daily?" I asked. I sent a scrupulous glare back at him
"Y-yes, sir," he spluttered, clasping his hands in front of him. "The documents we pulled from overseas state that a subject is more susceptible to offering when in a state of desperation, so—"
"I see." He stood up straighter at my acceptance. "And has she shown any signs of possession?"
He deflated again. "No, sir, she has not." The silent priest hurried in front of me to open the door. As we passed into the shadowy, torchlit interior of the shrine, the first one continued with, "She's remained rather unresponsive in all regards. Any attempts at speech are met with silence and stubbornness."
"Then she's retained her posture, at least." I smiled at the thought. What a specimen. I turned down a corridor parallel to the main hall, with marble pillars lining its dark length and torches dotted between every other pair. At the end was a flight of stairs leading up. "I should like to see her and attempt to elicit a response on my own. Leave me."
"Very well, sir."
The two of them bowed and broke away, turning back down the way we'd come. I followed the corridor to the end and climbed the steps. At the top, I opened my door and swept inside. I studied the interior—the same sandstone material made up this room, my desk being carved out of the room and thus a part of it, though the chair and my bed were stolen from the king's own castle for my leisure.
In the interest of saving time, I grabbed few things: a fresh bag of warp powder, a quill and inkwell, a sheaf of papers, and a Bolganone tome. I lashed the first and last to my belt, then tucked the others into the pockets of my robes.
After checking over a last few things—namely that my books had not been disturbed—I left the room and locked it, but not before setting a ward on my lock. Normally I wouldn't lock it, much less ward it, but with that boy running around, I was not going to take chances on him breaking in a making away with something of import. With that matter solved, I returned down the stairs and made my way toward my second point of interest during my short visit.
Upon reaching the bottom, I caught a figure in red slinking out of sight. I shook my head with an exasperated sigh, but otherwise let him get away. I didn't have the time to pursue him.
I made my way into the main hall. For the most part a dimmer room than any other in the shrine—sans, perhaps, my basement work area—it was lit by sparse torches and, jutting out from the middle of the back wall, was an enormous altar set in front of a statue carved in the likeness of the Wings of Despair itself. The statue's six eyes glows a deep purple, almost as if it were the real thing, and offered a little more light into the dismal resting place of many people.
The altar itself consisted of a square table led up to by stairs emblazoned with the Brand of Defile and surrounded by a round carpet in alternating red and green of varying shades. Hanging directly over the table was the statue's head, maw parted, ready to consume whatever was placed upon its plate.
Four priests were knelt at its base. They did not stir as I passed them. With their heads bowed and hands clasped in front of them, I doubted they even recognized my presence.
I went down the nearest set of stairs in the massive hall—too big, I would say; every devout follower of the Fell Dragon could file into this room and only fill half of it. But, I supposed, it needed to be this big to house all of the fodder that would be fed to Grima upon its resurrection.
My footsteps echoed down the stone steps and the enclosing walls. The thin stairwell offered little wiggle room, and sound bounced all the way down. As a result, I could hear damn near everything from the floors connected to this flight, all the way from the hushed chatter of priests to the heavy breathing of Risen to the pained, fearful whimpers and sobs of gathered dragonkin. The second and latter sounds grew ever louder as I descended further, until I passed both. I paused once the whimpering was above me, tempted to backtrack and pay a visit to those divine morsels, but thought better of it so as to save time. I was already bound to get an earful from Gangrel when I returned.
I continued on, reaching my destination at the bottom. I took a peek inside to see that, yes, it was still dark and, yes, still damp. Still a prison cell. I suppressed a smile and opened the barred door.
Once inside, I shut the door again and took out my Bolganone tome. I filtered just enough magic into the book to make its pages glow with a fiery light, and a faint spell ring manifested around me, filling the miserable space with enough light for me to see. I stepped to the center of the room, going farther until the light from my tome glinted off a ring of gold. I took two steps closer, knelt down, and smiled. In a soothing voice, I said, "Hello, my darling."
A head of blonde hair, matted to her head with sweat and falling in thin strands over her dispirited face. Once steady, calming golden eyes—the same color as her hair—now held little of that regal presence. She looked decrepit—her face was beginning to hollow, her lips were dry and cracked, and dark bags had formed under her eyes. It was a shameful state to see her in, and it saddened me. My smile disappeared, replaced with a frown. I sighed and placed a hand on her slumped shoulder. "I'm sorry it has to be this way," I murmured to her. I had to admit, what little strength remained in her eyes was enough to glare me down. That her resolve had lasted this long was relieving and gave me the energy to keep talking to her. We would see how long that would last. "It hurts me to see you like this, but I have my reasons. I trust you know that."
She did not respond.
We stared at one another for quite some time. "They tell me they've been giving you less food. Is this true? It certainly looks it." I lifted her arm, tilted her head, gave her a more thorough inspection. "Their reasoning is to cause stress, to induce you into accepting the sacrifice. I think it's just spite. You were a big pain in their asses for a long time. Now that they've got you, they think to take their time with you. I would help, but there is precious little I can do about it." I stood up, brushed my knees and robes off. "My only advice is to stay thankful that their punishment isn't worse and… pray that your goddess's light can pierce these walls before that changes."
I turned and walked away. I was halfway across the room when her barely audible voice said, "What do you want from me?"
I stopped. I took a moment to measure and word my answer properly. "To the rest of the world, you're dead. Another casualty of the war." I clasped my hands behind my back. If she wanted, or had the strength, she could sneak up behind me, take my tome and use it against me. But violence was not in her nature. "To me, you're just being born. You're a project, I would say. I would compare you to my Dawn, but you have the capability to be so much more when we're through."
"I won't be a weapon," she said with resolve disproportionate to her position.
"I'll show you how vile the world is, and then we'll measure how surely you can answer that. If you're anywhere near as benevolent as I hope, then you'll join me in my quest to purify this world of its disease."
"I won't kill anyone for you."
"We'll have to wait and see." I strode away and left her glowering at my back. She did not move from her corner. I shut the door behind me, didn't bother to lock it, and made my way back up the stairs, past the sounds of pain and undeath. At the top, I walked straight for the exit, not bothering with the side path and passing by the five priests still praying at—
I paused mid step. A small grin played at my lips, but I quashed it. I spun on my heel and strode in a straight line toward the huddled priests. My footsteps sounded large and powerful, reverberating in the open area and drowning out their mumbled pledges to the Breath of Ruin.
One of the priests, a fair bit smaller than the others, was unmoving, his head still bowed but otherwise unengaged in the prayer. I reached down and snagged him by the collar. He gasped, and his stolen headdress fell off as I pulled him to his feet, revealing a head of dark red hair.
"Hello, Hannibal."
"U-um, hello, Greil."
"What are you doing at here?" I kept my tone neutral. It was easy to keep my frustration down, in part because I was impressed he managed to slip away from the castle and because I wanted to know how exactly he traveled halfway across the width of Plegia to get here.
"Well, um…" he gulped, and I spun him around. Aside from the robes he wore, which were much too large for his thirteen year old body, his pockets bulged with other filched odds and ends. He saw where my eyes were directed and let out a nervous chuckle.
I raised my eyebrows. "You've been busy."
"I, um, well—"
"Come with me." I let go of his collar and walked toward the main exit. The noise of his shorter, quicker footsteps filled the spaces between mine. Once outside, I shut the door behind both of us and leaned against them, crossing my arms. The wind had picked up, blowing dust across the platform and ruffling both my robes and Hannibal's stolen set. I waved a hand for him to dump his pockets. "Show me what you've got. And be quick about it."
He sulked, but reached into his pockets and pulled out a variety of things, not the least of which was interesting, until I noticed a glint on his belt when he lifted his arm. "Hold." I put a hand out to stop him, and he did without hesitation, halfway through pulling a string of beads free. "What's that on your belt?"
He looked unsure, which was all the evidence I needed. "Bring it here."
He trudged up to me, untied the object from his belt, and handed it to me. I was unable to hide my surprise at the sight of a bejeweled dagger, glimmering in the afternoon sun. The blue sheathe was lined with gold and embedded with gems down the center. Similarly, the pommel had a large red gem and a matching jewel rested in the center of the guard. "Now where did you find this?" I pulled the blade free and inspected it. A perfect silver blade, free of blemishes, though an inscription was carved down the length of it. "In its wings we are lifted, its breath we are pure, and in its maw we are free," I read off.
In front of me, Hannibal shrugged. "I-I don't know," he said, "I just took from one of the prayer rooms."
"It was just lying there?" I asked, returning my gaze to him. He nodded. This belongs to a high-ranking priest. Losing it would be sacrilege. I narrowed my eyes. "You aren't lying to me, are you?" He shook his head, and I frowned. "No, you never do, do you? You're already a step above your father." The last part came out hushed as I slipped the dagger back into its sheathe. I sighed, and in a louder, clearer voice, said, "Well, if we don't know who lost it, we can't return it." His eyes went wide, hips lips parted in a ghost of a smile at my words.
"Are you saying—you're saying I can keep it?"
It was my turn to shrug. "I'm not going to go searching through the Grimleal asking if someone lost his knife." He laughed. "Besides, whoever lost that committed a grave mistake. He should be lucky my cousin didn't find out, else his punishment would be much more severe than losing his knife to some princeling."
He beamed. "Thank you so much, Greil!" He snagged the dagger from my open palm and hurried to fasten it to his belt.
"Just keep it hidden. I don't need some Bishop catching you running around the castle with one of his fellow's daggers and reporting it to my cousin. Are we clear?" He nodded. I grinned at him and ruffled his hair—a shame that it was this color, but at least it was one of the only things he inherited from his dear old pa. That, and the penchant for stealing. "Good. Now pick all that back up," I said, pointing at his pile of discarded loot. "I don't have a lot of time and would like to get you back to the castle as soon as possible, else your father will yell at me more than he's already going to." I reached for the pouches of warp powder. Getting us both to the castle would use up the rest of the first.
He went still. "A-actually, I have my own way back."
"Oh?" I paused, hand an inch above the pouch.
He shifted on his feet. "Yeah, I… I can get myself home. You don't need to worry."
I eyed him down. He wasn't lying—however he'd gotten here, he could also get back. I was tempted to ask what this method was, but as I'd already said, I was pressed for time. Salem and Yael had no doubt restocked by now and were ready to be on the move. I squeezed my eyes shut at the thought of the King's impatient squealing. When I opened them again, I said, "Very well. But take this." I handed him the nearly empty warp powder pouch. "Just in case things don't work out." He took it, and I patted his hand before grabbing my own teleportation dust. "Take care of yourself, Hannibal. I'll see you in a few weeks."
He waved goodbye, and I threw a pinch of dust at my feet.
As soon as I did, realization struck me: not only did I never ask what exactly his transportation was, I failed to find out what Hannibal had been doing at the Table. I did not get much time to ponder this revelation, however, as upon reappearing beside Salem's sleigh, I was met with the sounds of combat.
Clashing metal, shouting voices, the roar of wyverns, and flashes of lightning painted a swift picture in my head as I stumbled out of the stupor of warping.
"Sir!" Behind me, Yael was hooking the blade of a swordsman with his axe and dragging it to the ground. His fist shot forward into the enemy's nose. With a broken nose, his guard dropped. Yael took the man sword and ran it through his own chest. Seizing his axe from the ground, he approached. "Sir, a group Feroxi were lying wait in the hou—"
"Debriefing can wait," I said. "Where are Salem and Gangrel?"
A bolt of lightning accompanied by an angry growl answered one of those questions. I followed Yael around the sleigh and behind a house. Gangrel was surrounded by three armored knights, but four were lying on the ground with scorch marks and holes through their armor. One stabbed at the king, but he sidestepped with surprising grace. He cut the lance apart with his Levin sword then hopped back, closer to Yael and I. "About time you show up, Greil!" the king snarled. His yellow outfit was splattered with blood. As was his face, but the glimmer of delighted madness in his eyes overshadowed it. "Not much of a guard, are you?"
Yael launched his Silver Axe into the chest piece of one armor knight. The plate crumpled like paper. In a flash, the Captain was on top of the second armor knight and tearing his lance away. Gangrel dashed toward the last and levied a bolt of lightning from the sky with a flamboyant arc of his sword. Both knights died simultaneously, one with his spear jammed under his helmet and the other fried in his armor.
Behind us, a wyvern snarled as it battered a fighter that came too close.
"Where the hell were you?" Gangrel shouted now that the enemy was away. I hushed him with a finger; Salem was not yet with us, and I could still hear fighting.
Yael was quicker than I, pulling his axe from its victim and sprinting toward the noise. I followed, and with an exaggerative sigh, the king did as well.
Yael rounded a corner and shouted, "Salem!" I turned the same corner in time to see the female Captain throw a mage toward her cohort and him cleave the unarmored fool in two. Salem spun around and rolled under a swinging axe. She came up on the wielder's flank and kicked behind his knee. Her hands flew forward, wrapped around the man's arm. With a snap, it was broken and his weapon was in her hand. She decapitated him with a single stroke.
That left only a single swordsman, who the Wyvern Captains approached in tandem. The small shield attached to his shoulder would do little to protect him from the combined might of two of Plegia's finest.
Salem put up a hand for Yael to stand by. He stopped, lowered his axe. His posture was deceptively relaxed. Salem stepped closer. The mercenary lashed out without hesitation. A fatal mistake. Salem reached forward, seized his wrist mid-swing, and redirected it into the man's gut. As he gasped in pain, she pulled a dagger from her belt and slit his throat. He slid to the ground to bleed.
Salem cleaned her blade and sheathed it. Yael put away his own weapon, and I asked, "What happened here?"
"You disappeared is what happened!" Gangrel spat. "You're supposed to be here when things like this happen, not—"
I hushed him with a finger. "What happened?"
Yael looked about to speak, but Gangrel would not stop blabbing. "Do not shush me!" the king said, outraged. "I am your king! I am getting sick and tired of your insubordination, Greil." He closed the distance between us, pushing my hand out of the way and jabbing a finger into my chest. With his face mere inches away from mine, I could see the hate roiling in his spiteful red eyes. "You are in the wrong, here! You disappeared without warning and we were attacked! Your job, as of right now, is to ensure my safety in passing to the frontline, and you are most certainly not doing that!"
"You handled yourself just fine," I responded.
"That is not the point!" he said. "You failed your job. You weren't here."
"Alright!" I conceded. "You're right, I wasn't here. I messed up. Alright. Now, please," I breathed, turning to Yael and Salem, "explain to me what happened."
The two captains shared a look, and Yael spoke up. "Sir, once we'd finished resupplying, a number of Feroxi fighters emerged from the houses and attacked. They were acting as citizens. One of them was the shopkeeper from whom we bought our wares."
"Were the citizens harboring them?" I wondered aloud.
"Of course they were," Gangrel decided. "I'll have a platoon of guards deployed to here and deal with the rabble accordingly. Show them what the price of treason is. As for us, well, we can get right on out of here."
For the first time, I found myself wholeheartedly agreeing with the king. "You know what? You're right. Let's get this shit show on the road. Salem, Yael. Saddle up and let's get a move on."
I figured this is as good a place to cut it as any. A 12,000 word chapter, and this is a little more than half the length of the full thing, which will be coming out soon, since I'm almost done with it. But, you guys don't need another 20,000 block of words to sift through, and it makes it easier for me to go through when it's shorter. It's a win-win this way, and you guys don't have to wait as long. Plus, this section is already proofread by our dear Stormrider, so thank you sir for your efforts.
Also, it's mad scuffed that Reggie officially left Nintendo on my birthday. Not the birthday present I wanted on my 18th birthday, but here we are! Anyway, now I'm an actual real-life adult, so you guys can harass me as much as you want.
That said, please review and give me feedback. There is a discord for this story, too, if you'd like to do it directly, so if anyone is interested in that, PM your ID or whatever and I'll hook you up.
All of the Oats have been harvested.
