Moving on...
Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.
The light cast by the sun illuminated the Macedonian wilderness. Natural vegetation and plant life stretched across the plains and hills of the chilly nation. Tall, ancient trees which served as roosts to the birds and nests to the insects cast long shadows over the grass. It seemed as though, as far as nature was concerned, everything was right in the world, and was oblivious as to what was to come.
A few wild Pegasus and even fewer wild Wyverns were flying freely through the air. Neither creature was in short supply, but they were reclusive, and rare was it that they gathered in particularly large numbers. Their numbers today was a little greater then usual, something taken as a good omen by the Macedonians. A sign that prosperity was on the way.
On the ground, some more earthy animals grazed on the grass and berries. Prominently, some deer studied their surroundings cautiously before lowering their heads to eat the soft food that the ground provided for them.
Then there was a sound. The deer raised their heads and looked off in the distance. The sound grew louder. A life of avoiding the Macedonian hunters had given the deer a healthy level of awareness of their surroundings, and they knew the sound of approaching humans. Without a second thought, they were off.
Orridyon examined the wilderness of Macedon. The castle of Macedon was well situated, all enemies mostly formed around land-locked troops would be forced to follow this route to reach the castle. And… the Archanean League, despite a few aerial troops, was certainly a land-locked army.
Only an army that can fly, or an army that could teleport, could avoid this route. Macedon itself was the only nation that could supply enough Pegasus and Wyverns to create a flying army of any credible size. While Khadein was the only group that could have infiltrated by way of magic in large numbers. The Dark Pontifex wouldn't dare do something like that, of course, he wouldn't be so foolish as to incur the wrath of Dolhr like that. The Manaketes encouraged competition among the human nations, but did not condone such blatant attacks like that. The condemnation of such assaults was, everyone knew, based on the rationale that it thinned the pool of viable pawns too quickly.
Macedon's finest knight looked down at his left arm. It did not end in a hand as an arm usually did. The end was wrapped in red cloth, under that cloth was a useless stump. Thanks to the Aurelian… the traitor Whitewing referred to him as 'Wolf', he would spend the rest of his life with just one hand.
No matter, Michalis had taught him versatility, and he could fight just as well with just one hand. He had already practiced with a one-handed lance style well before he lost his left hand. It was fortunate that it was not his right hand that he lost, otherwise, his fighting ability would have been lethally crippled.
Orridyon looked around, finding that he was the only member of the army who was on the ground. The rest of the troops he led were either in the saddle of a Pegasus, or the saddle of a Wyvern. They had all gone through the training that Michalis set out for his soldiers. Despite being led by Orridyon, these troops weren't the true elites, the most skilled were back with Michalis. They remained at the castle to keep the order, and in case Orridyon should fall.
Little chance of that, Orridyon believed. Even with one arm, he was more then a match for the entirety of the League.
By the projections of the tacticians, the League would arrive today. Orridyon was ready. He could feel it in the air, the sense of war, the feeling was an old friend to him. Not for an instant did he think that the League would have ever reached the nation of Macedon, yet here they were.
Inexcusable. To think that Minerva was fool enough to come back to Macedon a traitor. The King had been very clear to Orridyon that Minerva would have to die for what she had done. He could sense Michalis' pain as he gave the order, but Orridyon was proud that Michalis was prioritizing the nation, and wouldn't let it fall to ruin in a desperate bid to try and keep his family together.
He looked down again at the cloth that covered where a hand used to be. He was sure that he'd meet that Aurelian today, and his brows drew together. As he thought about meeting him again, his remaining hand clenched. He had a score to settle…
Palla looked ahead, and felt a deep pain in her chest. Macedon was an emotionally difficult place to march to, let alone march against, after all that had happened. She looked around, and felt that the wilderness was inappropriately cheerful about this. Between the trees stretching up and the grass cheerfully swaying in the breeze, it looked like the perfect day, and it didn't care how heavy the heart of the Whitewing felt. It was wrong. The wrong weather for this. It should have been cloudy at least, ideally with a drizzling rain. But the elements were cold to her feelings.
"Your own nation." Wolf spoke from beside her. The eyes that missed nothing surveyed the Macedonian lands, and seemed to grow almost offended by how peaceful it looked. His thoughts drifted unheeded to Aurelis, and how the nation looked like an ashen wasteland when they left. Something that happened by Macedonian hands, and yet Macedon still remained so… pleasant to look at. He turned to Palla, keeping the irritation out of his voice and off of his face. "How does warring on your own nation feel to you?"
Palla looked at Wolf, but immediately turned away from his searching eyes. She focused her gaze on the dirt as they marched. She wished she could have continued to stare at the grass until the end of time rather then face Wolf again, but knew that there was no avoiding it.
Looking at Wolf was a dagger into her soul, but she didn't retreat from the question. "I… wish we didn't have to. Macedon is my home, and its prosperity and integrity have always meant so much to princess Minerva. Though we want the best for Macedon, what we'll do will seem contradictory to our motivations. And, the people we have to fight…"
"Do you still have fond feelings for anyone in the military?"
She shook her head as an answer. "The Whitewings weren't thought of fondly by much of anyone before this all happened. By now, they probably think of us as traitors who only deserve to die. They'll attack me without hesitation."
Palla let her head fall into one of her hands. Wolf could see plainly well that this was painful for her, but found it difficult to empathize. He regarded Macedon very differently. After a moment, she turned to him with a haunted expression. "How does invading Macedon make you feel, Wolf?"
Wolf closed his eyes. "Aurelis was bleeding to death from Macedon's invasion. When we finally left Aurelis after ousting General Emereus, it was a wasteland of death. I can have little love for the nation that all but destroyed the land that Coyote cared for so much."
Palla nodded, understanding completely, and wouldn't try to make Wolf sympathize with how she felt. Wolf's confidence, maybe even enthusiasm and readiness, did nothing to calm the churning sense of guilt in her gut on this day. The feeling, no, the knowing that the invasion of Macedon would not end in a way that anyone wanted it to. She turned away from Wolf and looked to the distance, quietly closing her eyes and offering a prayer, that somehow, in someway, things would turn out alright.
Michalis. Minerva looked toward the distance, her eyes slowly closing, her eyelids strained as she began to sweat. She had told herself that this day would come time after time, but it didn't make the reality any more despairing when it finally did. Her brother was up ahead, in the castle, which seemed insignificantly small at this distance.
Correcting her brother and, in turn, Macedon, seemed like a simple enough thing. The reality, however, was more heart tearing then she could have possibly expected.
Her mind flashed back to the simpler times when the two were children. Some memories from before Maria's birth, some after. Michalis had always been calm, while she had been rash, and it seemed like he always knew the solution, had the answer, and knew exactly how to approach any situation.
That's what made this so difficult for her. Why did Michalis have to make such a horrible decision, and be so set about continuing with that decision? One that tore Macedon to pieces… and she shouldered some of the responsibility for allowing Macedon to reach its current pathetic state. If only she had acted sooner…
"Minerva?" Minerva jolted back to the present at the sound of Marth calling her name. Looking at her friend, she immediately swooped down to get level with the League commander.
"Yes, Marth?" She asked, trying her best to hide her worries. Marth didn't need to know what coming here was doing to her.
"Are you sure you want to fight this battle?"
She flinched. She herself would have liked nothing better then to wait in the back, to not have to face her brother like this. Yet doing that would invalidate the entire reason she had returned to Macedon. "Yes. Yes I do want to fight. If I wanted to avoid this fight, I would have never sought to join my forces with you. This is something that I need to do."
"In that castle is your own brother. Do you really want to-"
"I don't want to fight him, Marth, but I have to." Her hands clenched into fists as she shook her head, cursing the way things had gone. "My brother, he used to be… my, my hero. I wanted to be like him in any way I possibly could. I… still care for him, he is family, but… he needs to be corrected and shown the error of his ways. At the very least, his sister can be the one to do it." she looked down at the dirt, but her attention was beyond the dirt and on the nation itself. A nation that, however pleasant to look at from a distance, had become filthy at its core. "Macedon has gone astray. History needs to know that when the King and his vassals ignored what was happening, it was a Macedonian who saw the madness and pulled the nation back on its proper path."
Her hands unclenched. She was angry, not at a specific person, but at how things had reached this stage. She and Michalis, they should have campaigned against Dolhr from the very beginning, they would have had the power and cunning to do it. Her brother could have matched Anri, surpass him, even. Such a feat would have been well within his capabilities.
Marth looked at Minerva, and wondered if Minerva really thought she was capable of setting Macedon straight by her own hands. She was commencing war on Macedon while stating that she had the nation's best interests at heart. Marth doubted that the people of Macedon would find that logic believable. He could only see them thinking of Minerva as a destructor who believed herself a savior.
"The enemy is up ahead, Marth." Minerva said, motioning to the distance. Marth squinted his eyes and believed he saw them. Figures that were only dots at this distance, but Marth knew that it was Macedon's elite.
"Orridyon will be among them." Catria said at Marth's side. She turned to Marth as her hands tightened on the reins of her steed. "King Michalis' most trusted knight, the one who appeared in Castle Altea. Knowing him, losing his hand hadn't affected his abilities."
Marth nodded, this Orridyon couldn't possibly be as formidable as Camus had been, but he would take the man very seriously should he encounter him.
With a sigh, he walked forward, then turned to look over his shoulder. "Tell the soldiers to ready themselves. We'll be meeting the enemy in about an hour, unless the Macedon army starts moving faster."
Abel marched on his horse with no particular feelings. Just the usual anxious-yet-determined sense he normally had before a battle. Mercurius, securely wrapped in his hand, likely helped him remain unafraid as they marched to Macedon. He looked over his shoulder, seeing that all the soldiers also seemed ready for this and was pleased at the sight, then he noticed his 'student' hanging back.
Slowing his horse down, he got beside Est and touched her on the shoulder. "What's wrong?"
Est shook her head of whatever thought she was having and turned to Abel. "This will be a battle against some people I actually know, who are fighting for my nation." Her lips curled in, and she sighed. "It won't be easy…"
"You feel guilty about going to fight them?"
"No." Her lips quirked into a half smile at the implication, but it quickly fell back into a frown. "They didn't like the Whitewings, and we didn't like them. I'm just more worried, because I used to be one of the worst of Macedon's military. I know their level of skill, and how… bad I was, compared to them."
Abel shrugged. "You've only been with the League a few weeks, but you've improved tremendously. I haven't seen anyone improve at that kind of speed."
"Don't give me that-"
"I'm dead serious." Abel interrupted. "You have a lot of raw potential, if your rate of progression is any indication. If you survive this war, you could…" He paused, looking away for a moment and trying to find a wording that was complimentary, but wouldn't potentially make Est become arrogant about herself. "You could… be an elite warrior, and one that developed very quickly."
To Est, the words seemed to have been delivered very awkwardly. Slowly, she turned away, then she felt Abel's gauntlet fall onto the back of her head.
"Try to smile some more." Abel whispered, "You're a lot prettier when you do."
Her face flushed and her head immediately bent down. Her grip on the reins of her Pegasus loosened, then immediately tightened. She didn't dare look at Abel's face right now. If she did, any semblance of composure she had would vanish. Abel suddenly strode past her, Est looked up and glared at the back of his head indignantly for the tease.
Just for that, your student is going to completely outperform you in today's battle. She grinded her teeth, then her eyes suddenly widened at a nervous thought. Wait, does he… really think I'm pretty? She blinked, looking at Abel again, and lost the composure of her face at the thought as one of the army's elites started to put more distance between the two of them.
"They're here." Orridyon said, holding his lance firmly in his hand. The League was plainly visible in the distance. And even at so great a distance, he could easily make out the red-scaled gecko that was Minerva's Wyvern. "And the traitor flies so proudly in the front of the League. The King may not like it, but the head of her and her Wyvern will be prepared by the time the sun begins to go down. Along with that prince…"
He crossed his arms, feeling the Macedonian wind tossing his grey hair. Tilting his head up, he saw the army of Macedon above him, each and every soldier awaiting his orders. With a simple motion, Orridyon would see them rain savage death upon the League.
Without a moment's hesitation, firmly believing that victory would be his, Orridyon thrust his arm forward, and the Macedonian army moved wordlessly on his command.
"Positions." Hardin ordered, the League soldiers, already bracing for the certainty of this battle, quickly fell into formation. Michalis may have had family in the League, but it was clear that his army was going to give no quarter, and would ask none in return. With Gradivus in hand, Hardin watched the first wave of the enemy swoop in with overwhelming numbers. Memories of Macedon's invasion of Aurelis came unbidden to his mind, and he became ever so slightly… angry.
The first enemy Wyvern Rider, with a squadron behind him, tried to strike at Hardin, most likely hoping to attain honor for himself by striking down an enemy commander down immediately. The Aurelian prince dodged to the left, and sank the Gradivus into the first enemy's breastplate. The lance pierced easily through the armor and out the knight's back. Caught on the holy lance, the man was torn from the saddle, the Wyvern obliviously continued on without its rider. The creature was almost instantly felled by a bevy of arrows before it could try to as much as snap at anyone.
The first kill was a simple thing, but the brunt of Macedon was descending. Hardin backed up as he and Marth both began to issue orders. The formation the enemy came at them was coordinated well enough to tell Hardin that his experience at fighting the Macedonians in Aurelis would be of little help. This was a different class of soldier. He turned to Marth, and hoped that the experience with the Sable Order left the League ready for this.
Minerva came forward, her red Wyvern flapping its wings as she met her enemies in the sky. Recognition might have glinted on their faces, and it would be one of the last things to cross their features as Hauteclere suddenly ripped through them. The woman, fueled by a righteous anger, hacked her way through her own brother's soldiers, leaving the pieces to plummet from the sky.
Marth became unsettled as a Pegasus, no longer with an attached head, landed only meters from him, its rider still fastened to the saddle, seemingly killed by the sudden stop, her neck bent to an unnatural degree. The gory sight made him stop and look up. For a moment, Minerva looked more like a demon, and Marth, in that instant, doubted that Minerva really knew what was best for Macedon.
The Macedonians continued to come, and nearly two-thirds of their number were met by Ymir. If Minerva looked like a demon from a distance, then Ymir was the devil himself. The ogre claimed that an army would break against him, and as he swung his cursed axe around with no refinement and grace, claiming life after life, there was no reason to doubt that claim.
The cursed Devil Axe drank deep of the blood of the fallen, and swung with a blade that made an eerie cry as it rent the air itself. Ymir swung with arms that didn't know how to grow tired, armor seemed to be nothing against the monster, the Macedonian armor barely any more durable then the Grustian armor. Ymir found this fight to be easy, even as he was taking it very seriously.
Blood was pouring, the proud winged mounts of Macedon were slowly being spread out on the ground. Palla looked at the sights with mixed emotions. On one hand, she was happy that the League was winning, but it was soul-wrenching that people she could honestly recognize were the ones falling. Every cold, unmoving eye seemed to look at her with the same accusing expression that pierced through her. It would all be uninteresting to Wolf, maybe even an emotional flaw in his eyes, but she almost felt like she was slaughtering people who had done nothing wrong. Just like… back in Aurelis. Her stomach was going numb at these sights, and didn't have the heart to try and strike anyone. She had yet to thrust her lance in this battle, despite her many opportunities.
She looked at Wolf, who fought with no hint of any emotion, his arrows clipped Pegasus and Wyvern wings alike, and his sword killed those who succeeded in getting close to him. She could bring herself to smile, her partner didn't need her help. Perhaps, he would never need it. As she looked at him, she remembered Wolf saving her from Orridyon in Castle Altea. Remembering that Orridyon was here in the nation, she knew he would bear a grudge against her Aurelian partner.
What would happen if the two met again? She had great confidence in Wolf's fighting ability, but Orridyon wouldn't be by himself, and Minerva and Michalis were the only Macedonians that were greater warriors then him. Palla took in a gulp of air to calm her nerves, and-
Something suddenly swished just behind her head. If she hadn't been hunched forward, her neck would have likely been torn open by what she instinctively realized was a blade of some sort.
"You're a fool among fools to show your face here, traitor." Cold words sounded, Palla turned around and saw a Macedonian soldier atop a Wyvern. She didn't know the name, but could vaguely recognize the face, she believed it to be someone who had only been a squire when Michalis rose to the throne. He had become an elite of the army, just under the Royal Guard. The face was a stony expression of disgust and hatred, feelings for the Whitewings that had likely sunk through all of Macedon's military by now.
She raised her lance in defense, then heard more leathery flapping from all around her. Turning her head, she saw that she had been surrounded. In all directions there were Wyvern Riders, she seemed to be trapped in a giant ball. The lizards leered at her in intimidating silence punctuated with the occasional low growl, their riders stood with sinister, stony faces. At the sight, she gulped, she might have been capable of handling several of them by herself, but she had little chance of facing this many.
"Traitor, your defiance to the throne will receive its just punishment today. There will be no mercy, your remains will serve as an example to all who try to defy King Michalis." The man raised his hand, preparing to signal an attack. Palla braced herself, ready to try and take down as many as she possibly could before she fell to the axes and lances, if she could stomach fighting at all. She readied herself as the hand of the man opposite of her began to move, and-
An arrow swished right past Palla's head, right through her blowing hair, and went straight into the throat of the man. It was so sudden that it took several seconds for Palla to realize what had happened. It all only registered after the Wyvern Rider had landed, dead, upon the ground.
"An Aurelian… in Macedon…" one Wyvern Rider turned and growled at the man on the ground. Palla turned to where the arrow had come from.
"Wolf." She could only whisper, so quietly that she herself was skeptical that any sound had come from her mouth.
"Do those mewling horsemen think that they can truly stand against us?" One Macedonian said, the contempt dripping and obvious. Macedon's military felt great animosity toward the Aurelians, built from the shame of their invasion ending in failure.
The speaker, who seemed to have taken command after the previous commander died, looked at Wolf with murderous intent. "Forget the traitor Whitewing, she's a joke. Slay the Aurelian before he fires another arrow." He raised his chin and spoke with a loud voice. "Aurelian! You made a mistake, attacking us for the traitor's sake. You have only your own lack of judgment to blame for your death, because you will die today."
Wolf didn't blink. "Not likely. I've seen you fight. You're not at all superior to what besieged Aurelis."
The squadron of Macedonian Wyvern Riders postured at what appeared to have been the gravest of insults. One of the more impetuous knights suddenly spoke. "How dare you compare us to Emereus' army… we're going to make this as painful as possible!"
On cue, they all charged en mass, Wolf calmly placed an arrow on his bowstring. He took a precious second to glance at Palla. "Go elsewhere, Palla. Leave these ones to me."
"I…" the words came out cracked and weak. No matter how much this troubled her, she didn't want to just leave Wolf to his potential death. "Wolf-"
"Hurry up." He felled one of the Wyvern Riders with an arrow into the neck of the mount. Before the arrow had even come close to the Wyvern, Wolf's hand was already going to his quiver. "For your own sake, leave. You can fight again, when the enemies aren't Macedonians."
Palla's face flushed with shame, and she felt herself crushed by the belief that Wolf was disappointed in her. Without another word, Palla moved to leave, ashamed of her lack of resolve. She couldn't even strike at the Macedonian army, and was sure that Catria and Est didn't feel reservations like this. She felt completely worthless… and was sure that Wolf was disgusted by her lack of resolve.
Hardin removed Gradivus from the underbelly of a Wyvern, and immediately turned to his next enemy without pause. As his lance stabbed through the chest of another Macedonian, he took a second to survey the battle.
Most of the enemies that Hardin could see were down. The skill of Michalis' army seemed a little reminiscent of the Sable Order, but still far from matching Grust's finest. These Macedonian Dragoons started fighting the League on fairly even footing, but then were at a disadvantage, and the disadvantage just grew more pronounced as the battle continued. They weren't being slowly beaten back, they were being efficiently dismantled.
Far beneath the Sable Order, but leaps and bounds above what Hardin remembered in Aurelis. For a moment, his mind returned to the hopeless resistance of those days, when only he and his four men were really capable of fighting, despite the enthusiasm of the other resistance fighters. Now they were part of a large army, nearing the end of the war, one that would doubtlessly end in their favor. He continued to attack without thinking, fighting on reflex. The Macedonians were thinning. In time things would end, and they'd return to marching toward the Macedonian Castle.
"Palla?" Roshea blinked in confusion at the sight of the Whitewing returning without Wolf. She swooped down to Roshea as she recognized him. The first thing Roshea noted, the thing that worried him the most, was just how troubled she looked.
"Where's Wolf? Wasn't he with you?" He asked, with Palla's Pegasus landed, he grabbed her by the shoulder, not hard enough to discomfort her, but enough to illustrate his concern. His eldest brother's partner came back without him…
"He… told me to go." Palla said weakly, "He saw how troubling fighting the Macedonians was for me. He told me to leave, let him fight."
Roshea's hand fell from Palla's shoulder. His eyes suddenly narrowed, he did not, in the slightest, approve of Palla leaving his brother behind on the battlefield, but did not lash out, Wolf himself was the one to tell Palla to leave. Still…
"Do you think he's okay?"
Palla perked up a little at the question. "You know him better then I do, Roshea. He's safe. He'll tear his enemies apart by himself."
Roshea turned his head away. Only Coyote knew Wolf's skill better then he did, and Palla was right that Wolf was likely safe, but… but unlike any other time Wolf had fought by himself, Roshea felt sick. Some part of him sensed, something was going to happen. Something that maybe even Wolf couldn't single-handedly overcome.
"Where is the enemy commander?" Marth asked, scanning around the battlefield. Most of the Macedonian enemies were either dead or about to die. Most of the kills going to either Ymir or Minerva. He looked around, seeing no sign of who was leading the enemy. Yet there had to have been someone nearby, coordinating the enemy. Even if it was a non-combatant tactician, Marth was certain that an officer had to be close.
"Sire." Jagen pointed to the distance, ignoring the blood, some of it his own, dripping from his gauntlet. Marth followed the finger and saw a mass of Wyvern Riders gathering. "That appears to be the last large gathering of enemy troops, it seems logical to assume that the commander would be there.
"That place…" Palla looked at the place Jagen had pointed out. She took notice of it, realizing that it was were she had just…
Wolf. It was the place she had left Wolf at only a few minutes prior. Suddenly, a lump formed in her throat, and animal panic overcame her. She knew, without knowing how she know, that that was where Orridyon would be.
"Wolf!" She was off before anyone could even respond to the sudden cry, her Pegasus carrying her to the air, gliding with max speed to her destination. With a sudden realization crashing down, Roshea immediately began to follow her, but his horse couldn't keep up with Palla's Pegasus.
Feeling that she had made a grave error in leaving, and had inadvertently put Wolf into a far too dangerous situation, too dangerous for even him, Palla pushed her Pegasus to go faster then ever before. She could never forgive herself if Orridyon should succeed in hurting Wolf.
An arrow pierced a Wyvern's wing, right in the joint where the wing connected to the back. The creature fell, shrieking, carrying its rider to the ground, ending both of their lives on the pleasant Macedonian grass.
With that, the Wyvern Riders that Wolf had been fighting were now gone. His eyes traced the scene, every enemy laid out on the field, and no signs of life. With a shake of his head, he turned around.
"Impressive skills, my friend." came a voice from behind. Wolf's movements froze, then his eyes caught the speaker. A knight of advanced age, though not quite as old as Jagen, trotted forward on a decorated horse. The armor he wore clearly denoted him to be a Macedonian knight. The shiny, decorated armor seemed to imply that he held very high rank. Wolf looked at the man's face, the pleasant voice he heard contrasting with the harsh, seemingly angry expression.
"You." Wolf said, recognizing the man from the Altean Castle.
Orridyon's face didn't change, he took more interest in the deceased Macedonians then he did in the Aurelian before him. After only a few seconds of surveying, he turned back to Wolf. "'The True Spirit of Aurelis', the will to fight, and win, no matter how overwhelming the odds. I would have regarded it as nothing more then some inane moral booster, but it seems there is something to the story."
His face hardened, and his eyes began to bore into Wolf's skull. "Nevertheless, you may have defeated that unit with only your own hands, but I don't see it allowing you to prevail against the King of Macedon. It won't even allow you to overcome me. You Aurelians are, in the end, horsemen, not soldiers. Some of you may lay claim to admittedly considerable levels of skill, but you are not warriors on the level that Macedonians are. You hunt, you don't truly war."
Wolf didn't blink at the words. "You Macedonians love the sound of your own voices. You won't accomplish anything by talking."
Orridyon's eyebrows quirked, and he smiled. "There is power in being able to disarm your enemies and make them submit with words alone. Though Aurelians would not know of such a thing. If strength of arm and martial might are more understood by you, then allow me to speak your language." He raised his hand, and with that visual cue, reinforcements appeared.
Almost seeming to spawn from the ground, Macedonian soldiers appeared from hiding, marching on foot with lances and swords. Wolf had caught no wind of these soldiers at all, but stood unimpressed.
"Dead bodies to throw at me. Is this supposed to impress?" Wolf's mouth was the only thing on him that moved as the Macedonian swarm began to circle around him. Twenty, or thirty, enemy troops. He examined them, able to see flaws in their gait, the way they held their weapons, and saw no signs that it was a farce to disguise a deeper level of skill.
"How long can you keep up the bravado?" Orridyon asked. He pointed at Wolf with two fingers, and the surrounding soldiers threw themselves at Wolf without any fear or concern for their own well being. Each likely imagining their weapons piercing Wolf's flesh and ending his life instantly.
What happened next seemed to defy logic. The Macedonians moved in coordination and fell upon Wolf. The Aurelian bared his sword and met the attack. With a swing of his sword, he sliced through the chest of one enemy, then immediately turned to block the sword swing of another. Rather then immediately kill this foe, Wolf thrust his sword to the side and slew another attacker that was posturing to attack
The orgy of violence continued as the soldiers seemed incapable of killing, harming or even touching Wolf. From the distance, Orridyon, for the briefest of moments, marveled at his Aurelian prey, and wondered if he had underestimated his adversary. He shook his head, his enemy would be dead soon anyway. Anything he noticed about the Aurelian's fighting style would just make him doubt his own skill.
Chuckling slightly to himself, he took his lance in hand and charged.
Wolf's sword easily sliced off a Macedonian's arm. Rather then kill the man right then and there, he instead kicked him away, leaving him to writhe on the ground. He turned to his next enemy, who was trying to perform a lethal blow, and then he saw Orridyon out of the corner of his eye.
Where the Macedonian general's lance was heading was obvious, and Wolf was forced to make a decision with only half a second to think.
If Orridyon completed his attack, the lance would go straight through Wolf's hip. The attack would be easy enough to avoid, even counter to a lethal effect. Yet the attack from one of the last surviving soldiers was still coming. He was already swinging his sword to meet his enemy, if he disengaged from the attack, the lesser Macedonian's attack would stab straight into his head.
Neither option was pleasant, and he didn't have the time to try and avoid both attacks. His only choice was to commit to what he was already doing. His sword ripped through the abdomen of the lesser soldier, ending the man's life instantly. He turned to Orridyon.
To the best of his ability, he tried to dodge, but succeeded only in making the potentially lethal blow through his gut end up being a crippling blow to his leg.
"Only a beast." Orridyon commented, immediately backing away to avoid Wolf's retaliatory swing. It would have done no good to wound his enemy and be killed immediately afterwards. He got a safe distance away as Wolf began to examine his wound.
"Is this the 'True Spirit of Aurelis?'" Orridyon asked with a hint of mixed humor and sarcasm. "Humph. Too little, too late, savage. Now you die, so far away from the King." He raised his lance, wondering if Wolf might be able to dodge, but dissuaded the thought, he couldn't see him evading the attack, this was the end.
He hadn't forgotten losing his hand to this Aurelian, and now he would repay Wolf with his head. With righteous anger and vindication, he threw the lance. Wolf narrowed his eyes as it approached…
A horrid spurting sound was heard as the lance sank in…
Wolf blinked, it wasn't him that the lance had struck. He looked on.
"Wo…lf…" a weak voice spoke up, Wolf looked at what had managed to get between him and his enemy.
"Palla…?" Wolf asked, seeing his partner, now… now with a lance stabbed into her back, the tip protruding out of her gut.
"Whitewing traitor." Orridyon clenched his single hand, "Your interference changes nothing! You and the Aurelian will both die. If you want to die with him, I'm happy to oblige."
Palla fell off of her steed, Wolf ignored the pain that moving his leg put him through, caught her as she was falling.
"Why… did you take that attack for me?" Was the first thing he said, looking at the woman who was barely conscious. "I would have been fine."
"You're my… partner." Palla said, struggling to raise her head and meet Wolf's face. "And… I failed you, today, not fighting… like I should…"
Wolf gritted his teeth at her justifications. Foolish and flawed reasoning, and she could have very well been on the verge of death now, at an attack that might not have even been lethal to Wolf. Wolf now found himself at an impasse, not being able to tend to Palla and fight Orridyon at the same time. She needed immediate aid, which he couldn't offer if he was engaged in battle. There wasn't any chance that the Macedonian General would let them leave… Palla's presence had brought nothing but complications. Yet she would be the one to pay any prices.
He heard galloping from behind him, turning in the expectation of Macedonian reinforcements, Wolf instead saw Roshea.
"Roshea. Here, now." Wolf commanded, Roshea immediately came up.
"Wolf, are you… ah!" He stopped at the sight of Palla, at how bloody she now was. "What hap-"
"Roshea." Wolf said forcefully, commanding silence. "Take her away. Take her to Wrys, Lena, Maria, any of them. I have a final matter to attend to here." For a moment, Roshea continued to stare, and then Wolf gave him his harshest reprimanding glance.
"Y-yes. I'll take her." He took Palla from Wolf and sat the girl behind him in the saddle. Palla's Pegasus put its nose on its master's shoulder gently, looking like it would rather be the one carrying her, but seemed to understand that this was not the time to protest. Instead, as Roshea left, it simply followed him…
Wolf watched them go, then spoke to Orridyon without turning to him.
"Macedonian. That was my assigned partner. There are many things about her that I don't like, but I won't tolerate an action like that. Especially after Roshea has formed a bond of friendship with her…" Slowly, he turned around, the wound to his leg seemed to not bother him anymore.
"I will not forgive you."
Orridyon closed his eyes in annoyance. "You won't forgive me? Is that meaningful? Your 'True Spirit of Aurelis' won't get you victory. I already bested-"
"You attacked me when I was preoccupied with another enemy. That doesn't say much for your skill. Rather… it showed that you didn't think you could fight me by yourself."
"Don't shove words in my mouth, Aurelian." Orridyon hissed. "I seek every advantage I can get on the battlefield, there is nothing cowardly about that."
"So you cannot fight without the odds stacked in your favor." Wolf clenched his fist. "I see the true meaning of your words under all those empty justifications. You don't have any skill, and against me, you have no hope."
Orridyon growled beneath his breath. Frustration was building and overflowing at the sight of an animal Aurelian speaking to him in such an arrogant fashion. Taking a spare lance out, he glared with clear murderous intent at his enemy. "Let's see you say that when I carve your heart out and wear it as a badge. Macedon is far beyond anything Aurelis will ever produce. Let me show you…" he charged at Wolf.
Wolf dodged the running charge with a roll to the side, Orridyon stopped his mount and turned to the Aurelian. He charged again, Wolf pivoted his body to dodge Orridyon's attack, and when Orridyon attempted a second attack in the exchange, Wolf caught the lance in his hand. Orridyon attempted to wrest the lance free, but Wolf's grip was absolute.
"At best, you're a child." Wolf said, "You're lost without your tricks… and your toys." With one motion of his wrist, he snapped the top of Orridyon's lance off. Orridyon immediately backed away. "In the end, you're nothing. King Michalis' greatest General, is nothing."
Orridyon stared at his weapon, the blade on the end snapped off, and now it was just a useless piece of wood. "I find it hard to believe that a filthy animal of an Aurelian would speak so arrogantly to me." He was too prideful to admit that the animal had outright bested him. The wounded animal bested him when he was rested and healthy.
"Reality doesn't care if you believe it."
Orridyon's teeth grit in offense. "I am only a pebble in Macedon's unshakable foundation. You may have bested me today, but you won't fell Macedon tomorrow. King Michalis… nothing can defeat him or best him. Certainly not you Aurelian animals."
"Is that your idea of final words?" Wolf asked, taking his sword out, he dashed forward, Orridyon's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to… either utter a final threat or simply to gasp, but no sound came out as the sword pierced into his chest. Wolf pulled him off his horse and into the ground, he pulled the sword out and stabbed again into Orridyon's chest, with a groaning sound, Orridyon stared at Wolf, then breathed a final slow breath.
Turning around, Wolf looked at Orridyon's steed, apparently waiting for a signal to do something. With a sigh, Wolf turned to the now masterless horse and struck it once on the back with his open palm, the horse immediately trotted off, now a creature that would have to make do in the wild.
This battle was over. Macedon's forward commander was dead. The first enemy in this war who had managed to wound Wolf in such a way, even if the wound was relatively minor. Without as much as a second glance at any of his fallen enemies, Wolf turned around and walked away.
"The battle is over." Marth recognized. He looked at the remains of Orridyon. To his left, Minerva seemed ever so slightly bothered by the corpse. He wasn't someone she had a high opinion of, but he was someone she had known. His death felt unbelievable, and yet, she didn't really care at the same time.
"The castle is next, Marth." Minerva said without emotion. She turned to Marth for a moment, seemingly stoic on the surface, but she had shoved knives into her heart with her own words. Quickly turning away from the Altean prince before any emotion was visible, she walked away without another word. She suddenly had a sense that there was something deep and personal she wanted to say to Marth right now, but she pushed the feeling away. Her emotions were focused on her meeting with her brother.
"…Marth." Minerva suddenly said, "I… I want all three of the Whitewings with me in tomorrow's battle. I want them alongside me when I go to fight my brother."
"Why-"
"Just as the liberation of Altea and the defeat of that Manakete was Altea's business, this is Macedon's business. I will handle my brother, and my soldiers will fight alongside me."
Marth stood silent, Minerva turned to him. At first her expression was hostile and forceful, but then it become imploring. "Please, Marth. I need them, with me."
"Okay." Marth conceded with a wave of his hand. "They'll join you for tomorrow's battle. I just hope you know what you're doing."
"As well as I possibly could." Allies or no, defeating Michalis would not be easy. It would have been better to have more come with them, but it truly was just Macedon's business, just like defeating Morzas had been Altea's business. That was all. "Marth, if I can make one more request, for now…" she walked up to Marth and suddenly seized his hand, and didn't do anything more then that. She stayed right there, holding the confused prince's hand. At the moment, she seemed content to feel his hand in hers, as if it was some great source of comfort. Both of her hands were on top of his, and she took in a deep breath.
"Minerva…?"
"Just a little longer… Marth."
Merric looked over his friend. Roshea had absolutely no wounds to speak of, despite rushing toward the last strong gathering of Macedonian troops with no form of backup following him. He was among many who tried to follow Palla and Roshea, but had fallen behind. He had felt mad concern for his unusual friend, but that panic had been, in the end, unnecessary.
"You know, Roshea, you're really kind of an idiot." Merric said with an impish grin that hid the fact that he was still in a moment of relief that Roshea was safe. "You could have easily been killed without any backup."
Roshea crossed his arms, bridling slightly at being called an idiot. Taking in a meditative breath, he spoke. "It was Wolf and Palla who might have been in danger, I couldn't leave them. You'd rush off to save me if you thought I was in some kind of mortal danger."
Merric gave a peculiar expression that made it look like he had been called out and he was amused at the same time. He shrugged. "I suppose, maybe…"
"Of course we would." The two men turned to Linde. "We go the distance for each other. We had friendships like that since only a few days after we met."
Roshea's head rattled a nod. "We… didn't really meet that long ago."
She shrugged. "Half a year ago, so what? I for one feel like I've known you two forever." Merric looked slightly embarrassed as Linde looked at both of her friends with a prideful expression.
"I…" Roshea looked at his two friends, he hated to break a moment he had with the two, but turned away. "I'd like to check on Wolf and Palla. By now, Father Wrys should be done with Palla. If… you'll excuse me." Roshea looked at both of them, they both seemed okay with him walking off. Bowing his head apologetically, he departed.
"Gone now." Merric turned around and scratched at his chin. "You know, Linde. I've been thinking, we should see how well you've progressed with Aura. You're very good with it, we might as well see how much control you have over it. After all, with Excalibur I…" he slowly turned around, and saw absolutely no sign of Linde. "…am now talking to myself. Lovely." He scratched at his scalp, figuring that she had followed Roshea out of concern for him. Whether that was an attempt of hers to watch over Roshea, or just an attempt to see how the boy interacted with his family… he shrugged and paced off.
"Ah, Wolf." Wrys bowed his head as the Aurelian came to him right near where he was tending to Palla. "Worried about your friend, are you?"
Wolf's face remained jaded. "I am here to determine that my partner will be fit for tomorrow's inevitable battle, Father Wrys. I would like to see her to be sure."
Wrys quirked a smile as if he was terribly knowing, Wolf ignored it. The Curate sighed at the indifferent expression and stepped back, allowing Wolf to go to Palla.
Looking at what he saw, Wolf found it hard to believe that Palla had been mortally wounded just earlier today. She was just sitting on the soft grass, and though she looked as though her abdomen still pained her, she seemed to be otherwise healthy.
"Wolf." She turned, seemingly slightly surprised that Wolf had come. She turned away almost immediately, feeling embarrassment pricking at her.
"Palla." Wolf sat down cross-legged in front of her, "Look at me." His tone was cold, offering no clue as to what he had come to her for. Palla immediately obliged, Wolf stared unblinking at her nervous face. "You could very well be the most stupid person I've ever known."
For just one small moment, Palla forgot how to breath. Wolf continued speaking. "For that, I might owe you my life." A long silence set in as the words took their sweet time registering on Palla. "I… do not know what would have happened if you had not interfered when that man threw his lance. I might have been able to handle it just fine, I might not have. Either way, your interference, both selfless, and beyond idiotic, allowed me to defeat him easily, despite my injury."
Palla gulped, taking in the fact that Wolf was, in his own awkward way, showing her gratitude.
Wolf sat in silence for a few seconds, studying her face. After several long moments, with Palla seeming to grow more nervous, he finally spoke again.
"…in Khadein, you asked me what the word 'slave' meant to me."
Her eyes widened, and she wondered why Wolf would suddenly bring something like that up.
"After potentially saving my life, you have the right to know, if you still wish to know."
Palla was frozen with shock, but slowly nodded. "If… if you think I'm worthy of hearing the story."
"Wolf?" Wolf had just been about to start speaking when he heard Roshea's voice. Wolf turned to his youngest brother, "What are you two doing?"
"After the blow she took for me today, I have decided that she has the right to know how we came to know Coyote."
Roshea looked at Palla with a surprised expression. As Palla returned the look, she was nervous at Rosheas presence, like she was trying to learn some very personal secret that didn't concern her.
"Know what?" Roshea's shoulders broadened at a familiar female voice. He looked over his shoulder to see Linde walking up with an innocently curious expression.
Wolf's eyes closed as he sighed. "There are more present then I-"
"She's fine, Wolf." Roshea said, though he gave Linde a disapproving glare that the mage slightly recoiled from. "I would trust her with the story."
Wolf looked at the Archanean, and eventually sighed. "Very well." He looked at Palla again, then back at Linde. "You are sworn to silence about this story. The reason why I and my three brothers in spirit are so loyal to Coyote."
Palla and Linde both nodded, Roshea and Linde both sat down as they waited to hear.
With an inhale of breath, Wolf began. "This story isn't something that would be known outside of Aurelis. First off, the Aurelian nobility… once kept slaves."
The two women sat aghast at that fact, and shared a confused glance with each other. The nation of Aurelis, one of the pillars of the League that had produced some of the army's best troops, was open to slave ownership and slave trade?
"Not anymore." Wolf continued. "Coyote saw to the elimination of the slave market in Aurelis, but…"
"You… were slaves." Linde surmised, looking at Roshea, suddenly realizing that Roshea had gone through the same thing that she had.
Wolf nodded. "I, Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea. We were all slaves. We had been slaves since infancy. We don't know our families, we don't know if any of us had any real siblings. My earliest memories are of men I'll never know the names of, whips in hand, ordering us to do whatever they wanted us to do. Heavy lifting, crafting, mining, garden tending, animal herding, all of that. The animals we shepherded as slaves were more precious to our masters then us. Unconditional obedience to the masters was all you needed to live. Disobedience was not tolerated, in any form."
Palla stroked her chin in thought, unable to see Wolf obliging any of a slaver's orders. After a moment, she asked a question. "How… did you and Roshea and the other two meet each other?"
"On a day I was to be punished." Roshea spoke up, his face seemingly pained. "My legs buckled during some heavy lifting, and I dropped and broke some crates. They were going to lash me, a lot, as a reminder to stay on me feet…" Linde looked at her friend, gaping, wearing an apologetic face despite no wrong doing being committed by her, wordlessly conveying the message of if only I had been there.
"At the time, we didn't know each other." Wolf said, closing his eyes and trying to picture the moment as well as he could. Roshea, barely at the age of eight, pushed into a wall, a slave master behind him, whip in hand, ready to begin the discipline. Even after so much time had passed, he could still feel the anger as that soulless man raised his arm. He could still remember what he did to stop that man. "I, and Sedgar and Vyland, all independently interceded on Roshea's behalf. We stopped his punishment, by pummeling the slave master to the point he fell unconscious."
Palla blinked, then smiled. It seemed like something she would have done in the same situation. Especially if Est or Catria were the ones pushed to the wall.
"Enforcers came en mass in the fear that a riot was about to start. They passed over Roshea, took I, Sedgar, and Vyland, and…" his hands clenched as his words trailed off.
"I'll never forget that." Roshea muttered, his head bowed forward. "I'll never forget… the way they were so… mistreated, just because they tried to help me."
His eyes were clenched as shut as they could be, and yet the memory seemed to make tears form. Linde placed a hand on his shoulder. She hadn't been a slave for as long as he had been, but could faintly understand what it was like. She felt miserable, and wanted to help him, somehow, shoulder some of the pain for him. Yet being physically close to him seemed to be all she could do at the extent of the moment.
Ignoring the expressions and gestures around him, Wolf continued. "After that, they did their best to see that the four of us never got into contact with each other."
"Why would they do that?" Linde asked, trying to see the logic, even though she never wanted to know how a slave holders mind worked.
"If we consistently encountered each other, it might mean some manner of organization. If we were organized, it could mean a rebellion."
Linde grew disgusted, but, admittedly, understood the logic. "The slaves outnumbered the master by a hundred to one, didn't they?"
"We could have destroyed them in a revolt… if they hadn't used fear to keep us in line." Wolf shook his head. The ease of which a rebellion could have thrown off the yoke of rebellion was something that only occurred to him, to any of them, in hindsight. "We continued to interact with each other despite their attempts to stop us. We lived like that, trying to keep everyone's spirits up, despite the hopelessness of the situation, until Coyote came."
He looked up in the air. "He and his brother, the heir to the throne, had been oblivious to what the nobility of Aurelis had been doing. Despite once being friends with many of the nobles, the two immediately severed all ties, Coyote himself came and led a revolt. He led us, the slaves, against our masters. It was easy, Coyote led us, Aurelis' military sided with us, the nobles had barely a few dozen soldiers. We destroyed them, sent them scurrying out of the nation and gained our freedom."
Palla took it all in, and a question suddenly nagged at her. "How did you four in particular, among all the slaves, come to serve prince Hardin?"
Roshea began to speak again. "After the revolt, most of the slaves left to try and make a life for themselves. The four of us… wanted to stay with Coyote. He impressed us in his actions, he was the exact opposite of the nobles we completely hated. We wanted to learn more about the man who saved us from that life. He quickly accepted us, since we had no place else to go, and trained us in the ways of battle, personally overseeing all four of us. Though after a certain point, it was more Wolf and Sedgar who were training Vyland and me. We became knights of Aurelis, serving Coyote directly, we're also the knights he trusts the most. He likes the honest perspectives of all four of us. He only trusts his own brother more then us."
"That is… the story." Wolf concluded, "And you are sworn to silence. You will not tell anyone about it. Not princess Minerva, not princess Nyna, no one."
Palla nodded in understanding. She felt… sorry beyond words, for what they had to go through, and had gained a new respect for prince Hardin. To set out to break the slave rings without the slightest hesitation, even fighting former friends… She didn't have such a story to explain her loyalty to Minerva. Minerva had just taken pity on Palla and Catria when they desperately tried to join Macedon's military, and decided to take the two under her wing, Est joining later.
She turned to Roshea, and looked at him sorrowfully. "It's… difficult to think about, isn't it?"
Roshea turned away. "I've… tried so hard, to forget. Yet the sound… the cracking sound of those whips, comes back to me so often…"
Palla grabbed Roshea by the shoulders and pulled him in, letting Roshea's head rest on her breastplate in what was intended to be a comforting gesture. "I can't claim to understand what it was like for you, but… you don't need to let those memories haunt you. You… know that you have people who will never let you be put in that situation again."
Roshea tilted his head up slightly, knowing this quite well, but was confused. "Palla, why are you so insistent on-"
She smiled, knowing what he was trying to say. "Roshea, I'm pretty much the loving sister you never had."
Linde looked at Palla with a slightly offended looking. She placed a hand on Roshea's shoulder, one that seemed ever so slightly possessive, as if she felt she was the only one who could offer that kind of nearly-family comfort for Roshea. Palla met Linde's glare, and the air suddenly turned hostile.
"We have the battle at the Macedon Castle, tomorrow." Wolf said, speaking when he realized that something might have been about to start. "You should be ready to fight tomorrow."
Palla understood completely, and was ready for it. "Tomorrow, I won't hesitate to attack, no matter who my enemies are." she took in a breath to remind herself what this fight was for. "I will serve well. I won't fail you or anyone else again."
Wolf nodded, then left. Palla sighed, releasing Roshea and following Wolf. Linde turned to Roshea. They sat in silence for a moment, long enough that Roshea began to grow edgy and wanting to move. Finally, Linde reached a hand out and let it hang in the air. Hesitating for a moment and feeling slightly confused, Roshea grabbed her hand.
"Merric and I are here for you, Roshea. Just like your brothers." She spoke slowly, "You're safe with your brothers, and you're safe with us. If those memories try to haunt you, just… think of us."
Roshea silently looked at the hand he was holding, then nodded in thanks.
Marth stood silently, looking at the castle in the distance. A good chunk of Macedon's military should be gone now, but he doubted that Michalis had sent his best. He only saw the man for a moment in the Grust Castle, but he had seen enough to believe that Michalis wouldn't be fool enough to throw his best agents to his enemies this early.
This would be it for today. Tomorrow would be the war's conclusion.
Marth. An ethereal voice resounded, only in his mind. Marth knew in an instant who it was, and was ridiculously relieved to hear it.
"White Sage Gotoh." Marth said, his voice soft, but he knew that Gotoh heard it clearly. "Where are you? You never told me-"
Patience, Marth. You will meet me soon. Gotoh soothed. Do not let eagerness be the end of your life, a life that far too much depends on. You will meet me, face to face, tomorrow.
"Where?"
You are near me already. Since I departed Khadein, I have made my home in Macedon, in an old house not far from the castle. Should the Starsphere and Lightsphere be in your possession, hold them in your hands when you come to me. Only with them will there be any hope against the Dark Pontifex.
A silence began to settle in as Marth thought of triumphing over Gharnef, the most wicked of his enemies aside from Medeus himself.
Ah. Gotoh said, as if he had a sudden epiphany. I have news for you, Marth. The wick of your sister's soul is not extinguished. Elice's life remains strong.
"Y-" Marth's words stumbled, and he was at a lose of words. A sense of hope and determination coursed through every vein and pore of his body. "You are… sure?"
Yes, she is with Gharnef, in the Temple of Thabes. A place more valued to him then Khadein. He has your sister, his purpose for her-
"Is she safe?"
…yes. Her soul is strong and her body healthy. However, she is only his prisoner.
"I'll save her."
I trust you will, but first, you must bring me the spheres. Without them, without Starlight, your life will be but another of the things Gharnef will have stolen from you. Bring them.
Marth nodded. "I understand, White Sage. Tomorrow, I'll be there."
Tomorrow. Gotoh repeated. May the sown seeds of Gharnef's defeat be finally reaped of their fruit.
Just to clarify, I am not trying to present Wolf and Palla as a couple. I am, however, presenting Palla as developing a crush on Wolf. One-sided, Wolf's feelings for Palla aren't growing beyond camaraderie.
Please review.