Into the Fire
The Altean province presented itself in lush greens, and the familiar smell of Pherae had made way for a mixture of rain-splashed oak leaves and wild lavender. But other issues occupied Lucina's mind that gave her no time to appreciate Altea's pretty façade.
"Will you quit that sulking face for one second?"
Lucina weighed her sword in her hands. The canopy above reflected in the spotless steel, the finest work a Pheraen blacksmith could produce. But when she raised her eyes from the blade, Frederick still glared past her, hellbent on piercing Klein with the daggers of his thoughts.
The drills of his knighthood training sat too deep to allow for childish stomping, but Frederick looked tempted to ignore the mannerisms of court this once. "That man has no honor."
Lucina sheathed her sword; her training partner made no moves to accompany her anyway. "Roy saw enough potential in him to make him one of his Twelve. And I trust his judgement."
"You are taking a liking to him? To this fiend?!"
"I didn't say that. But if I have to put up with his… extraordinary character to receive further field missions after this one, I will. I would prefer not to make an enemy out of you in the process, though."
Frederick cast his eyes down to the tips of his armored boots. "I apologize."
"There's nothing to apologize for. Just try not to strangle Klein the next time he passes you."
Lucina tiptoed to place a hand on Frederick's shoulder. He straightened and nodded in the same fashion he did whenever he received new orders. Even a man half as pure as him blessed the ranks of knights on the rarest of occasions. He deserved a better title than the thankless position as Lucina's guard; she would relate the matter to Roy. If she threatened him with tears for long enough, he would have to promote Frederick.
After a final encouraging squeeze of his shoulder, Lucina quit Frederick's side and strolled to where Klein demonstrated his marksmanship. One, two, three arrows slit the air in quick succession and buried themselves in a birch tree some hundred odd yards ahead. Not a hair's width remained between the lodged arrow heads, which gave the tree the appearance of a misshaped hedgehog. Klein spun around, and under the cheers of the watching soldiers, another projectile found its mark.
When he noticed Lucina's coming, he bowed; either a formal greeting to her or, more likely, a means to repay the applause of his spectators.
"Have you trained with bow and arrow before?" he asked and checked the tautness of the string.
"Not during the past few years, I'm afraid." Lucina patted her scabbard. "I rather trust the steel in my hands in a duel."
"But not every enemy has the courage for a fight at close quarters. I prefer to take them out before they have a chance to swing their clubs at me. It's a much cleaner way to win a battle, don't you think?" Klein waved her forward. "Step up, you have the honor of a private lecture from the best marksman in all of Pherae."
Klein's smile was a little too devious for her liking, but Lucina swallowed her unease and took the bow he offered her. Every friend she made among the most revered knights was a potential voice in Roy's ear convincing him to put her talents to use. What had worked with Wolt might again work with Klein.
Ornate carvings decorated the ivory of Klein's bow. While beautiful to gawk at, the weapon also brought an unhandy amount of weight to the table, and Lucina struggled to hold her left hand steady. Klein stepped behind her and supported her arm with his own. His breath tickled in her ear. The tension in her shoulders heightened, but she didn't dare to reestablish distance. Klein plucked an arrow from his quiver and helped her fasten the string.
"Place your feet farther apart," he said. Lucina obeyed. "Steady stance, steady breath. As for a target, see if you can hit the twig scar in the willow this side of the road."
Lucina nodded and pulled the string closer to her ear. The shaft of the arrow quivered a little on her knuckle. For a moment, she closed her eyes, pushed Klein's presence aside until he disappeared, and the moment Roy had first handed her a bow rushed back to her. The slender twig had hugged her child's hands as Roy had guided her fingers. A smile had charmed his features when she hit the outer ring of the target on her first try. A smile like the sun. Untainted.
The arrow flew from Lucina's fingers, hissed through the air, and divided the willow's twig scar near the center.
Klein laughed. But instead of him, she imagined Roy to pat her back.
"Excellent work," Klein said. "With some more time, I will make an archer out of you. Shall we aim for a more challenging target this time?"
Nothing of sorts presented itself. The road heading across the former Altean hillside stretched from left to right in front of them, fenced by a handful of birches. In half a mile's distance, the straw-roofed huts of Gran nestled in the heat of the afternoon sun. With the exception of the road running through the village, palisades of chest-height fenced the cluster of farm houses. A lean tower spiraled above the other buildings, a symbol of the inhabitants' devotion to Naga. Lucina's party had reached the outskirts of the village two hours ago, and once the wooden top of the tower – a wealthier village would have used marble instead – came into view, Klein had sent two of his men out to scout the area. They had yet to report back, but Klein didn't seem bothered by the delay. After all, the longer he could stretch this mission, the later he would have to dread a prolonged banishment to the Black Wall to continue his duty.
Lucina settled on the arrow-spiked birch as her next target when Klein pushed the bow northward.
"Would you look at that," he said. "Perfect timing."
Lucina followed the line extending from the arrow tip with her eyes. A young man marched along the road, towards Gran. And thanks to Klein's nudges, the arrow tracked each of his steps. The battered coat the man had wrapped around himself failed to mask his broad shoulders. The large bag he carried likewise couldn't do the trick in hiding the military precision of his strides. No matter how dully he looked onward, no one with half a keen eye could mistake him for a peasant.
And Klein had to have drawn the same conclusion. "Remember what I said about taking the enemy out before they have a chance to strike?"
The arrow remained pointed at the wanderer's torso. Lucina only needed to relax the fingers of her right hand, and his blood would stain the dirt. In all likelihood, he belonged to the rebel scum plaguing the land. She would do herself and Pherae a service if she ended his life now. A quick execution. He wouldn't even know what became of him before his conscious slipped through his fingers.
The man's blue eyes stared at Gran, unaware of the single string from which his life dangled above the abyss. A gust tousled his short, spiky hair, and his headband danced with the wind.
Klein's breath rang in Lucina's ear.
A heartbeat before she let the arrow fly, she pushed against Klein's grip on the bow. The projectile shot forward and missed the man's head by a few inches. He startled but didn't waste time in looking for the archer. With ten paces, he reached the village's entrance and disappeared from view.
Klein freed his bow from Lucina's loosened grip. "A shame. But a near-miss happens to the best of us. Better luck next time."
"Yes, next time he won't get away so easily," Lucina said.
But inside, she shuddered at the thought of standing face to face in battle with this man.
Fantastic. Truly, he had reached a new low. And so had Altea when a harmless traveler couldn't cross the street without fear of collecting a few hostile arrows along the way. The shrill whistle of the projectile still rang in his ear.
To be fair, Ike was not a harmless traveler. And if any Pheraen soldiers stopped him and rummaged through the contents of his bag, he would have to put up with a lot more trouble than a single stray arrow.
Ike rounded the crooked well stationed at the center of Gran's marketplace. Although marketplace was a generous term to describe the patch of well-trodden dirt smoldering in the sun. A handful of women had gathered around the well to wash clothes and a mountain of linen sheets. Across from them, a single merchant had set up shop and tried in vain to sell his overpriced fish. His products reeked of the stench of one day's journey too many. And in all likelihood, he didn't have a license for his business either, otherwise he would have displayed the Pheraen eagle somewhere on his stall.
Two of the women set their work aside and giggled when Ike passed them, but he ignored their gazes in favor of the merchant. The aftertaste of his last ration of bread still lingered on his tongue, and up close, the smoked salmons and raw brasses looked even less appealing. But he nevertheless bought a spit with three rolled marcels, just to laugh in the face of the almighty Empire and its abhorrent trade rules.
When the merchant let his new coins slide in his pockets, Ike leaned above the counter.
"I doubt you'll find more business here today," he said. "How about you try your luck in the next village? Just a hint."
The merchant narrowed his eyes. Whether he understood the message no longer lay in Ike's hand. He had wasted too much time already.
Ike gulped down his tasteless acquisition and marched towards the wooden tower that cast its shadow across the marketplace. The building consisted of five segments stacked atop of each other like building blocks in a child's toy collection. The base span about fifty feet in diameter, with each subsequent layer measuring less than the last. Some old tale about the goddess Naga had inspired this architectural design, a consistency across all temples built in her name, and a select group of worshippers would certainly awe had they stood in his place. To Ike, these towers represented little more than a waste of effort and resources. The village could have hired a decent blacksmith and ordered one hundred swords with the money they had poured into this wooden monstrosity. Then again, even a monstrosity had its uses.
His second lunch devoured, Ike stepped onto the threshold and hammered against the door embedded into the tower. Inside, the sounds of rustling clothes, metal clatter, and hushed voices erupted. Ike repeated the knocking sequence – one slam, pause, and five more aggressive knocks – and recited the phrase he had muttered against a great number of doorframes in all corners of the Empire.
"The sun shines upon Altea's rooftops today."
No second later, the door flung open, and a disembodied arm pulled him into the murkiness inside the tower. Ike blinked to help his eyes adjust to the lack of sunlight. A few beams seeped through the panels nailed across the window frames. Other than that, the thirty people positioned all across the room relied on candles to avoid bumping into each other. The disembodied arm let go of Ike's sleeve, and its owner stepped back with a wide grin to welcome him.
"What did we do to earn the honor of a visit from you?" Cordelia asked and pushed a lock of her long, currant-colored hair out of her face.
Ike dropped the bundle from his shoulders. The content met the floor with a loud clang. "I'm not staying for long."
A middle-aged man rose from the circular bench in the middle of the room and pushed past the other spectators to pat Ike on the back. With enough force to dent his spine.
"I'd say I'm inconsolable, but the sweet sound of your gifts is almost more welcome than your face." And with the joy of a child on its birthday, he rummaged through the bundle. An assortment of crude but serviceable swords, daggers, and arrows glistered in the dim light.
Cordelia shook her head. "Ignore Gregor, we would rather have your sword on our side in the next skirmish than twenty of these."
Ike shot a glance towards the door. "I'm afraid you'll have that skirmish a lot sooner than you think. There're troops stationed outside of Gran. Almost shot me down on my way here."
"Pheraen soldiers?"
"You're expecting someone else?"
"They moved out faster than I anticipated." Cordelia knitted her brows into a frown. "We found one of their scouts sneaking through the back yards, but someone couldn't wait to relieve him of his head before he would reveal more about the strength of his battalion."
Gregor jerked up and abandoned his task of aligning the new weapons in perfect rows. "Nonsense, he asked for it. He wanted to take me into custody in the name of His blood-lusting Highness. Would have lost both ears if I had listened to his blabbering for longer."
"Nevertheless, you cost us valuable intel." Cordelia turned back to Ike. "You wouldn't happen to know more about their numbers? Or when they plan to strike?"
"Sorry to disappoint you. But I doubt they will tarry for longer than a day. Which is why I better bring some road between me and this place."
Cordelia shot forward, and her iron grip squeezed all the blood out of Ike's arm. She fixated his eyes with the steel in her glare. "Stay. Everything we've built so far will crumble if we can't operate as a unit. The resistance will be over before it can land the first hit. Altea needs you."
"You know I have my own responsibilities."
"And what happens here doesn't matter? Gran might just be a small village, but we have to start somewhere. And I for one don't want these people to face another day of oppression through the usurper."
Ike pried Cordelia's fingers open. "I will be the first one to celebrate when I see Roy drop from his throne. But Altea is your home. Not mine."
"How can you be so devoid of empathy?"
"Leave it, Cordelia, words won't get through that sturdy skull of his," Gregor said. He ran his thumb across the blade of one of the new swords to test the sharpness. When the steel drew blood, he placed the weapon back on its position amidst the meticulous order. "Whether you stay to fight or not, we appreciate the generosity. These will come in handy for sure. But don't forget to show your face every once in a while, in between your other jobs."
Ike nodded. Gregor had his oddities, but he never failed to ease the atmosphere, an ability worth so much more than Ike gave him credit for on other days.
"I would return faster if you had a horse to lend me," Ike said and looked down at Cordelia. "How about you summon me a Pegasus, and I'll make sure the next round at the tavern's on me?"
Gregor pointed an arrow at him. "Careful, this is thin ice you're walking on."
Cordelia crossed her arms, but the grin had returned to her lips. "Ike, your pockets are as holey as your memory. You already owe me a drink from the tip with the shipwright I gave you, and you couldn't pay that one either. Besides, you're about the last person I would trust with a Pegasus, you have the sensibility of a brick wall."
"Charming. Then I suppose I can take this back with me." Ike produced a second elongated parcel from the depths of his coat. The thing had tormented his shoulder blade for the past days, and he couldn't wait to get rid of it.
Cordelia straightened. Her eyes lit up when she unwrapped the linen coverage to reveal a beautiful, slender spear of Talys craftsmanship. With reverent care, her fingers stroked the silver shaft, probing for imperfections but finding none.
"Where did you get it?" she whispered.
"I was scouting some town in the east, and the door to the military armory happened to stand open." In truth, Ike had had to break more than a couple locks to find this spear for Cordelia, but the fewer details she knew, the better. "This one should work a lot better than the old one," he added.
Cordelia lifted the spear out of his arms and caressed it like a newborn child. From her old weapon leaning by the doorframe she took her talisman, a white feather, and attached it to the socket below the blade.
"Forget what I said about the drinks." Cordelia tore her eyes from the spear to Ike. "This covers your debt and then some. I owe you once again."
"Just make sure to fell a couple Pheraen knights for me, and we're good."
Cordelia smiled and indicated a salute. "Will do."
Gregor began to hand out weapons to his fellow resistance members. Ike only recognized a handful of faces; most of the people gathered here were new recruits. And their inexperience showed. A young girl aimed her new sword at everyone and everything except the enemy, and the man she almost stabbed had the sort of puffy face of an overweight bookworm whose eyes were always on the brink of tears. His plump fingers fiddled with the straps of his scabbard in vain. He would need a miracle to survive his first skirmish.
Ike had seen enough and made his way back to the door. Before his hand touched the bronze handle, forged in the form of a dragon head, he hesitated. A part of him was tempted to stay and make sure these people would still be hanging on by the time of his next visit. They deserved more aid than a bag full of rusty scraps stolen from a regime-loyal blacksmith when he had looked the other way. Ike's hand wandered to the hilt of Ragnell hidden by the creases of his coat. The great sword weighed heavily on his shoulders, like always.
And if its golden blade tasted the flesh of a few Pheraen traitors before the end of the day? What did he have to lose? One glorious massacre, and when the last sunrays of dusk goldened Gran's roofs, Ragnell buried and forgotten in a mass grave.
Ike shook off the temptation, and Ragnell disappeared under his coat. No matter how little he fancied the idea, other people relied on him. They needed him alive for a little longer. He pushed the doors open and abandoned the gloom of the tower.
"Don't die," Ike said for a farewell. "When the Pheraens see fire on the eastern horizon instead of the sun, you'll now the rebellion has begun."
Without another look back, Ike strode ahead, and each and every step widened the cleft between Gran, Cordelia, Gregor, and himself. None of them might see another sunrise.
The single scout returned late in the afternoon. What had happened to his companion, he could not tell. Klein shrugged his disappearance off and listened to the report while reordering the feathers on his arrows, chewing a mint leaf. Neither the scout's appraisal of the terrain nor the mention of an unknown man who had left the supposed rebel hideout a short while ago produced a reaction from Klein that went beyond a shift in body weight to account for the rough surface of the tree trunk he had chosen as his throne. His battle plan consisted of little more than a blunt frontal attack to mow down anyone daring enough to stand in their way. And if the rebels scattered, well, he would be granted an excuse to enjoy the sights of the southern hillocks for a little longer.
Lucina clicked her tongue. "We have to assume that the man who left their hideout will send for reinforcements."
"My dear lady, these are simple-minded rebels." Klein plucked an ivy leaf from his tree trunk and crumbled it between two fingers. "They have no reinforcements."
"If these rebels were as simple-minded as you suggest, this operation would not require your involvement. We shouldn't underestimate their willingness to act. Roy assigned me with this task for a reason. Allow me to propose a different strategy."
Klein looked up from his assortment of weapons; short swords, knives, every tool useful for a good hunt. "Alright. I'm all ears."
"Wait until after sundown and then set up a fire on the southern entrance of Gran. For one, this will discourage any potential backup to engage. And as a bonus, you can ensure none of the rebels stationed in the tower will escape. We knot them a sling and tighten the rope until they have no choice but to face us."
"You're full of surprises." Klein grinned. "How about we take your plan one step further and set the tower itself in flames? Burn their little hideout down and all their fanatic thoughts with them."
Frederick, who had listened to the briefing with a stone-carved expression, tore at the reins of his horse. The charger snorted, but neither the noise nor Lucina's silent pleas for caution convinced Frederick to step down.
"Only a coward would rely on such methods. Civilians might pray among the rebels."
Klein seemed unimpressed by Frederick's height advantage and delegated his focus back to the arrows in his hand. "Every civilian hiding among the rebels might just as well be a rebel themself. Have you ever harbored an interest in gardening, big guy?"
"Of course not. What purpose should that serve?"
"A better understanding of efficiency, for one. Weed is every garden's bane, it steals fertile earth, strangles the flowers, and if you blink once, the useless green tendrils will multiply and sprout in every crevice they can find. But how to keep your primroses and violets safe from such an infestation? You smoke the weed out before it spreads. Down to the roots."
"Still, if you burn down the tower, you would affront the goddess Naga," Lucina said.
"And what should I care about their goddess? It's this obsession with mystical deities and sacred rituals that sparks in them the wish to rebel against worldly regiments. Better to relieve them of these hopes and illusions."
Lucina stepped forward. "We can't blame a religion for the deeds of its supporters. I have found enough evidence in Lycia's library that suggest Naga existed at some point and furthermore created this very ground we stand on. Countless people in the Empire follow the guidance of Naga, not just former Alteans. Roy won't sustain his kingship for long if we start to target Naga's temples and symbols. And the peace you are ordered to maintain will fall apart. Consider all the heads that will roll if such a thing were to happen."
Klein showed a humorless smile, but he did abandon his seat. "Perhaps you should waste less time surrounded by ancient texts written by dead believers. But, after careful consideration, I am inclined to agree to your strategy. Get two of my men up to speed and set up that fire of yours."
Lucina nodded, and with a small smile, she carried out her orders. Klein had his shortcomings and an ego larger than Lycia's forty feet tall throne room, but he wasn't stupid. If someone cranked at the right gear, he could warm up to any strategy more complex than his own. But did he still yearn for a fight, the honor of battle, and the blood on his daggers? For the moment, he seemed contend with Lucina's plan, but once the second phase rolled around, his arrows would be poised for the killing blow. And would that really be so bad?
Lucina was still contemplating on the answer to this question when Frederick walked over and joined her in readjusting the straps of her charger's harness. A timely bow under the belly of her horse towards the other side of her saddle allowed Lucina to avoid his eyes, but when he plucked the girth out of her hand to fasten the buckle himself, she had no choice but to look at him.
"This trick might have worked when I was seven," she said, "but I've learned to equip my horse without your help since then. So, what is it you want?"
Frederick budged the saddle to make sure it was properly attached before he addressed Lucina. "How far do you want to take this?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know Klein won't leave it at a fire to set the villagers back to place. None of them will see the next dawn if he gets his way. He's overstepping the line. This can't be what His Highness had in mind."
Lucina shuffled her feet and avoided Frederick's eyes. "He did phrase this mission as a pre-emptive strike."
"No." Frederick grabbed her shoulders and searched for a lie or a hint of mockery in her face. Yet he found none. "You must be mistaken."
"I am not. You heard what Klein said about weed in a garden. Maybe he has a point this time. Maybe this one attack against the rebels will end their thirst for revolution for good. As long as we make sure to spare the civilians, we can turn this mission into a success."
"So, you plan to kill these people for their trust in Naga?"
"I plan to trust Roy's judgement."
"Maybe this time you shouldn't." Frederick sighed and slacked his shoulders. Not even his armor could conceal the vulnerability in his devotion, and for a moment he was not a dutiful knight but the adoptive brother who would shy away from the catacombs underneath Lycia castle whenever Lucina convinced him to play a round of hide and seek.
"You know my mother and I used to be Alteans as well," he said, and each word needed a while to find its way out of his mouth, as though they carried a shameful sin with them. "I cannot say I remember much of the town or the faces of our neighbors or the prayers they recited in Naga's honor. And although neither of us would have ever thought to betray Pherae with a word or thought, my mother never stopped telling me about the good Naga has done and the good I could do as long as I stayed faithful. How often did you sit on her lap while she told us the old stories? Do you remember none of that?"
But Lucina did remember. The old woman, who had filled the role as Lucina's nurse ever since her first wobbly steps from her bedpost into Roy's open arms, would close the curtains and light a candle. While rocking Lucina on her knees, she would put on the robes of a bard and fill the dim chamber with pictures of battles and festivities, of gods and kings, and of a world just starting to take shape. And every time before she tugged Lucina under her blankets, she would remind her to trust in Naga.
Roy thought nothing of stories about an invisible deity to watch his steps. Neither did most of his knights. But when Lucina had ventured too deep into the catacombs, when the walls had leaned inwards with the intend to bury her, she had found comfort in her whispered pleas to Naga. Imagination had summoned a hand to shield her from the cold stones until Roy found her and carried her back into daylight.
Perhaps Naga had come to her in the murkiness underneath the palace.
Perhaps she would show herself again if Lucina whispered her name.
But in the upcoming battle, there was no room for doubt.
"I can't control what happens next," Lucina said and mounted her horse. "You should get ready. The sun is nearing the horizon."
Frederick's mouth hardened, but he spared both of them from further discussion. Soon after, the light in the west disappeared and cleared the stage for a fire at the southern edge of Gran.
Sparks scattered into the sky, a swarm of deadly lightning bugs, hungry for the rotten wood of farm houses. Heat weighed down the air, and although a quarter of a wyvern mile separated them from the cauldron of flames, Lucina's horse threw its head back and pushed against the bridle.
Then, the screams erupted. Shadows circled by orange fire lines stormed onto the central square to look for the cause behind the stench of smoke. The doors to the tower flung open. And as soon as polished steel glistered against the fire wall, Klein spurred his horse.
He reached the arched village entrance two heartbeats before Lucina did, and his first arrow found a rebel's chest. The man dropped backwards.
People fled all around Lucina, too many feet hammering on the dry ground. One of the shadows broke away from the crowd, and targeted her with a spear. Her sword split the shaft before he had the time to apply one decent hit.
Swords clashed, bowstrings whirred, and those who couldn't run fast enough were run over by the mounted soldiers. Frederick drove three armed rebels back towards the tower, his face a grim mask pained by flames. Another one of Klein's arrows hit its target, but Lucina galloped into the fray in pursuit of a mace wielder before the second shot ended the wounded rebel's fighting spirits for good.
A cough rocked Lucina's body, ash stung in her eyes; the battlefield wavered behind the smoke screens. The mace wielder had disappeared – or had she run him over without noticing? She directed her horse this way and that, disoriented, unable to tell left from right and friend from foe.
And then, steal glinted in her periphery. Her horse reeled, and the reins slipped out of Lucina's sweaty palm. Loss of balance was the fasted way to lose a fencing duel and walk away with shame. Or not walk away at all.
Lucina abandoned stirrups and saddle and her horse altogether. Her leap to safety costed her a nasty blow to the shoulder, but a roll brought her back to her feet. Nothing broken, sword still in hand; the odds could have been bleaker.
Her attacker spun her spear with the elegance of a dancer, ready to let her silver partner taste Lucina's blood. Amidst the twirling embers, this rebel stood out from her companions like a diamond in a pile of coals. Dust might cover her armor, but the fine craftsmanship of her breastplate shone through. Her silver spear knew no equal on this battlefield, sharp, sturdy, and more valuable than the earnings of all of Gran in five years.
Lucina took a calming breath. She had fought lancers before. This was no different to her lessons back home.
At the moment her opponent took a probing step forward, Lucina charged. A series of precise thrusts forced the rebel to retreat. But not for long. Lucina parried the counterattack, and every time the spearhead crashed against her blade, the impact rippled through her muscles. A grin disrupted the rebel's porcelain features, lightened by the thrill of battle or by the opening she thought to have gained. The spear struck for Lucina's boots, but she pirouetted out of the way, always one step ahead.
Steel met steel, a symphony to drown out all other sounds, jangling, clattering, rattling. Lucina placed every step with a confidence that defied the bumps and pebbles at her feet, and her sword cut through the air in deadly patterns, drilled into her muscles by the best fencing masters of the Empire.
But her opponent demanded nothing less. Her spear doubled the rebel's range, and she directed the weapon like a conductor his baton, in absolute control of her surroundings. Her red mane danced with the same energy as the flames behind her.
The next stroke aimed high.
Lucina sidestepped, and only the disarrayed air cut into her neck. Now she had found an opening.
Every desirable target presented itself, the gap between the bracers, the unprotected side, the throat. And the rebel knew she wouldn't walk away from this. Her wide scarlet eyes stared into the face of her undoing, and perhaps her open mouth prepared to send one last prayer to Naga.
But Lucina tilted her sword as she jumped, one degree or two, enough to make a difference. Instead of the neck, the blunt side of her blade collided with the rebel's right shoulder plate. She stumbled. The prolonged duration of her life caught the rebel off guard, and she failed to rebuild her stance in time. Lucina applied a kick to her opponent's knee, the spear clattered on the ground, and the battle was won.
The rebel stared up at Lucina, but her eyes lacked the expected hatred. Not even the gleam of fanatic insanity poisoned the scarlet. Instead, the rebel awed. If Naga herself had descended onto the battlefield to spread fire and death among her enemies, her eyes could not have gleamed more strongly. The rebel stretched out a hand, but her words were drowned out by the buzzing of an arrow.
Lucina reacted more on instinct then out of a tangible motivation and blocked the projectile meant for the rebel's head with her sword. The arrow dropped into the dust.
Klein, who unlike Lucina still profited from the higher vantage point of his horse, raised a brow and made a show to lodge a second arrow, pointed at the rebel and by extension Lucina. If he were to let the arrow fly, no one would know he had initiated the killing blow. Lucina would collapse, expose the rebel to the precision of Klein's bloodlust, and no one would prevent him from setting fire to this and every other village in Altea with rebel ties. Roy would never know into whose eyes Lucina had looked when the arrow pierced her chest plate.
But Klein scrupled to draw. Even if he thought Lucina a nuisance, he wouldn't risk shooting her for a rebel, or so she hoped.
He lowered his bow, loosened his grasp around the string. Enough time for Lucina to wrestle back control.
"Corner the rebels by the tower. I want them alive!" Lucina's voice rose above the rattling of swords and the shuffling of boots, and for a moment, only the cackles of the fire answered her command.
Then Klein cursed and turned his horse towards his nearest subordinate, who was about to slice into the stunned rebel in front of him. "You've heard the lady. Get a move on!"
Within a minute, the skirmish came to a close. Klein's men carried out Lucina's order without further delay, and the rebels threw down their arms all too willingly. As soon as the cluster of dusty faces saw the unarmed spear wielder in Lucina's custody, all the energy in their fighting posture left them. A few of them, in particular an aging bull of a man, wore the same awestruck expression as the spear wielder when Lucina had disarmed her. As though they could neither believe to have lost nor to still feel the heaviness of life and smoke-laden air in their lungs.
Lucina walked down the line of two dozen rebels, each of them illuminated by the orange hues of the dying fire from the southern village entrance. Few if any of them matched the picture Roy's words had painted. How were these people supposed to destabilize the Pheraen reign when they had cast away their weapons at a point where the vast majority of them were still in fighting condition? They could have orchestrated a desperate advance to the town's outskirts in the north. Neither Klein nor Lucina had thought to station a soldier there to cork up the trap for the rebels. Some of them might have succumbed to a blade in the process, but the spark of their rebellious belief would have lived to fight another day.
And yet here they huddled in the lee of Naga's tower.
Lucina raised her sword to point at the group. "All of you are guilty of treason against the Empire of Pherae and by extension His Highness, King Roy. The words you spread have poisoned the ears of the people, and the attacks you led against patrols and trade tracks have threatened their livelihoods. Look around. Look at the villagers you have endangered, the honest men, women, and children who have never asked for your war. To call for war is treason. To conspire against any figurehead of the Pheraen Empire is treason. But most of all, the rebellious acts you have carried out are treason against the citizens of the Altean province. The citizens of the very same fallen nation all of you still cling to."
Lucina scrutinized the rebels, held the eyes of the tall bull for as long as she dared before coming to rest on the spear wielder. "Ask yourself this: Is the goal you seek worth the lives you endanger? Are you willing to throw everything away for the glory of a martyr death while your brethren are put to the blade of the executioner? Remember this day. Remember what it cost and what else it almost costed. You may go now."
Her words took time to sink in. And even when realization dawned on them, the rebels didn't make a sound. Klein on the other hand growled and stepped forward, a short sword in hand. Lucina halted his advance with a clipped gesture and a stern look, the look Roy wore when an order passed his lips, and the gathering in the throne room dropped to their knees like a single man. With her free hand, Lucina sheathed her sword, and the sharp chink when the blade slit into the scabbard reverberated across the lines of people, rebels and soldiers alike.
One by one, the rebels abandoned their station and snuck off into the night. A pile of rusty weapons remained where they stood.
As he watched the bulk of his prey escape unharmed, Klein overstepped the boundary between himself and Lucina and brought his face so close to hers that she could smell the spearmint in his breath. "This wasn't part of the plan. We had orders to carry out here."
"I received orders from Roy to abolish the rebel cell in Gran. And I did just that."
"The scum you spared won't back down because of some pretty words out of a pretty mouth. All they want is to sow chaos and destruction."
"They do not. No one wants chaos and destruction for the sake of it. Everyone has a belief they are fighting for, no matter how misguided this belief might be. These people fight for a vision of Altea that doesn't exist. All I did was open their eyes to the flaw in their logic. That is a defeat that will stick with them for far longer than a lost battle over a remote village."
Klein narrowed his eyes but failed to cough up counterarguments. He backed down and bowed half an inch. "Your orders, young lady. I'm just here to carry them out."
"I hope you remember that the next time you point an arrow at me," Lucina said.
Klein showed his teeth when he smiled. "You didn't think I was going to shoot you, did you? I too have a belief that I'm fighting for, that the only good rebel is one with its head on a spike. But I also like my own skin, and I'm not in the mood to face Roy's wrath when I present him the news of your unfortunate passing. Next I know he sends me to the Black Wall for another eternity. So, do me a favor and don't get your pretty head cut off by one of the gutter people you spared."
With these words and a mocking wave, Klein walked over to his men.
Lucina sighed. Her plan to win favors with a member of the Twelve was showing about as much promise as the rebels' megalomaniacal idea of laying siege to Lycia castle. Despite what Klein claimed, he could turn into a problem. The expression on his face when he had taken aim at Lucina still spooked in the back of her mind. He might not hold back next time.
To Lucina's surprise, neither the bull man nor the spear wielder had followed their rebel friends into the anonymity of the night. Instead, they strove towards her, and the bull man stretched out his paw as if to shake hands.
Lucina fought the urge to back away but kept her hands near the hilt of her sword. "I told you, you are free to go."
"But that isn't standard procedure, is it?" the spear wielder asked. She raised a delicate red eyebrow. "We've heard of the executions at Lycia and elsewhere in Altea. We accepted to share their fate should we lose this battle."
Lucina frowned. "A rather shortsighted mindset."
"Oh, there are others who will follow in our example. No matter how many troops he sends, Roy won't snuff out the fire. He failed eighteen years ago, and he will fail again."
"If empty threats are all you have to bring forth, I suggest you leave. A few of my men aren't quite as unwilling to spill your blood as I am."
The spear wielder huffed and turned to leave, but her partner stayed put. With utter lack of decency, he absorbed every inch of Lucina's face.
"It's not just the looks," he said. "You resemble your father in so much more."
Lucina jumped back and drew her sword halfway. The blade quivered. "What do you know about my father?"
Notes: A longer chapter this time and the first appearance of Ike! Gotta say, I loved writing him, even if I may have given him a little more dry sarcasm than he usually shows. Then again, Awakening Lucina also acts with far more royal stiffness, a trait I mostly left to Frederick for this fic. I hope these changes aren't too bothersome for you.