Winds of Change
Her father.
Why should these rebels know her father? And even stranger, hold him in high regards as though he had been one of them? No, the words the old rebel hurled at Lucina with the force of a war hammer reeked of lies. After their defeat at her hands, he and his partner resorted to the filthiest of tactics to at least find victory in Lucina's distraught state of mind.
Her father had been one of Pherae's smallest lords, with a land and a crest too irrelevant to earn a mention in the history books. When the war against Altea had entered its final days, he had given Lucina into the care and protection of the royal crown. Out of fear from the bloodlust of the Altean army, he left her within the red sandstone walls of Lycia, the safest place he knew. A week later, a fire razed his estate, killing both the noble family and their attendants. Although no perpetrator was convicted, officials attribute the crime to bitter Alteans in a wretched attempt at revenge after losing the war.
Roy himself had told Lucina this story.
Then why should these rebels know her father?
"Answer me, what do you know about my father?" Lucina repeated. Her voice sounded too desperate, even in her own head. A weakness her opponents were no doubt eager to exploit.
The bull man was unmoved by the sword in Lucina's hand. All his focus rested on a time long ago, a world shattered into uncounted glass shards. "He had your kindness. A man unlike anyone else. If one person deserved to walk away from the war, it would have been him."
The spear wielder snorted. "Stop living in the past, Gregor. The golden days won't return unless we fight to reclaim them. You are talking to a child who has learned the Pheraen lies from the cradle. The last thing she will do is follow in a dead man's footsteps."
"You shouldn't speak so poorly of either of them," Gregor said. Once again, he bestowed Lucina with a look reserved for the angelic, the divine. If not for the opposing knights a few feet outside Lucina's shadow, he might have bowed to her. Not even among her own people, Lucina drew forth the same amount of respect as from this rebel.
The spear wielder crossed her arms "I believe you are forgetting that she tried to kill us a few minutes ago. We are her enemy, traitors to the crown, the realm, and all the other titles Roy has branded us with. No one will jump to our aid and solve all our problems, least of all her."
"You should have more faith in Naga, Cordelia. His daughter, here of all places – that's no coincidence."
Cordelia shook her head to make her currant-colored locks dance. "I have faith in Naga. It's her who I don't have faith in."
"Enough of these riddles, at once!" Lucina needed all her strength to maintain the steel in her voice. Too many thoughts waged war in her head, too many fires sparked by the rebels' foul words. If they sought to deceive her, and no doubt they did, their discussion had worked wonders to confuse her. Almost to the point where she would listen. Almost to the point where she would consider the possibility of a truth within their lies.
The enemy lurks all around us.
Roy had warned her of the dangers, had shown her time and time again that the rebels were not to be trusted. They would gladly place Lucina's head on a pike and march on to do the same to Roy. All the lectures Roy had given her, all the afternoons she had spent on the ornate carpet in his study room screamed at her to close her ears to their lies or, better yet, relieve them of their heads before their sick belief could bear fruit.
And yet, Lucina did neither. Caught in a stranglehold by this one question, she opened the gates for their lies to parade inside her head with thunderous trumpets and the drums of doubt. The rebels had known her father…
"Now tell me, where did you meet my father?" Lucina asked, despite her better judgement. "Was it before the war? He fought against Altea and died loyal to the crown. Then why is it you speak so highly of him? And choose your words carefully – another lie might convince me to revoke the offer of freedom I made you before."
Cordelia laughed without humor. "Fought against Altea and died loyal to the crown – is that what they told you? You truly are Roy's greatest triumph. I suppose to expect anything more from you was foolish after all…"
"I don't understand. What is it you're hiding from me?"
Gregor, whose shoulders had slacked to rob him of his impressive statue, shook his head. "Too much to explain in a single conversation, my lady." The surprising term of honor made Lucina scowl. "And if what we've heard about Roy is true, you wouldn't believe us either."
"And we would prefer to keep our heads now that you've so generously offered them to us."
Gregor threw Cordelia an irritated look but then continued to address Lucina. "It's too early to give up all hope. In all these years, you must have noticed the holes in the stories they tell you. You must have seen the looks the people of Altea throw you when you ride by. It's not because you fight for Roy. If you want answers, search for a man named Abel."
"Do you really think we should be dragging him into this?" Cordelia hissed and tore at Gregor's muddy sleeve. "He abandoned our cause for a reason."
Gregor shook her hand off. "Abel has your answers. He's been your father's most loyal supporter till the end. He will help you too."
Lucina glared at the two rebels, in search for answers. How easy it would be for them to lay a trap where this supposed Abel waited for her. The perfect scheme to take revenge after Lucina had crushed their plans in Gran. A careless move and Lucina might lead herself and her men into the rebel's clutches. And there awaited them an execution that would validate the rebels as a serious threat to the Empire. Or worse. Did Naga approve torture when it served the cause of her loyalists? Lucina couldn't tell.
The faces of Gregor and Cordelia concealed all signs of them plotting against her. Annoyance knitted Cordelia's eyebrows and distant sorrow deepened the wrinkles around Gregor's mouth. Beneath both of their façades, however, they still carried with them an inexplicable awe. The same awe Cordelia had displayed when Lucina had spared her life. What if they were genuine? What to do with them then?
Lucina was still contemplating when Klein stepped in to command her thoughts with his excessive personality. Even though he possessed the quiet walk of a hunter in pursuit of a nervous doe, if he wanted, he could make the heads of an entire room turn towards him without a word.
"I see the Altean gutter rats rather want to chat than to keep their heads." In the utmost casual manner, he flicked a loose arrow between his fingers. "We are happy to help out with that, in case you want to join your traitorous king in his endless sleep below the Glass Fortress."
Cordelia jutted her chin, and if looks could kill, Klein would lie in the dust this instance, scrambling for the relief of a final breath. But the silent death threats left Klein unimpressed, so Cordelia had no choice but to take to her heels.
Gregor allowed her to drag him along but not without a last shout in Lucina's direction. "Remember, Abel will tell you the truth. Last I've heard, he settled down in Terra. Follow the road south. Find Abel! Our prayers are with you!"
And with these words, the rebels vanished out of sight. Lucina was left with a mountain of questions that threatened to cave in above her.
Unfortunately, Klein left her no room to dig through the chaos. "Is that Abel one of their rebel friends?" he asked.
Lucina gnawed at the inside of her cheek. "Unlikely. They wouldn't have given his location so willingly if he played an active role in their rebellion."
"Still, they might be plotting an ambush. If the rebels have an information network that spans all across Altea up to the coast, I take this as all the more reason not to go easy on them. On horseback we could catch up to the rats long before they reach the next hole to crawl into."
Lucina raised a hand before Klein thought to give his men orders. "Don't. I promised them freedom, and I will stand by my words."
"Of course, young lady. But keep in mind that Alteans don't share your moral code. Nor will it shield you if they aim for your head."
Lucina was aware of how vulnerable she made herself. With lies about her father, the rebels had lured her into their net. This Abel merely served as their final fish-hook. And oh, what a tempting fish-hook he was.
What a strange coincidence that Abel supposedly resided in Terra. The same harbor town in which Lucina was supposed to meet Roy after completing her mission. The detour would only cost her a few hours. If the rebels had lied and Abel turned out to be an old geezer with no information of value to share, Lucina could return to Roy's side and black out the voices of doubt. And if more hid behind the fetch quest Gregor had sent her on… well, Lucina wouldn't forgive herself for letting such an opportunity slip through her hands. At last, she might know who her father was as a man and who she might have been if he hadn't died.
"Klein," Lucina said, "how does an extended vacation from service on the Black Wall sound to you?"
Klein grinned. "Like music created by the prettiest of songbirds."
"Then I can count on you to accompany me to Terra? If my prediction is correct, we should be able to gather some valuable intel on the rebel movements in the south; their numbers, their equipment, perhaps even the location of a few of their old hideouts. If otherwise the lead turns out cold, this gives me the opportunity to report our victory here to Roy all the sooner. Perhaps I can convince him to grant you an audience. After your excellent performance in battle, he might be more willing to admit that your talents are better utilized in the war against the rebels than on the Black Wall."
Klein's grin widened. "You are full of surprises. Perhaps we will get the chance to work together more closely in the future. I look forward to that day. After you have abandoned your courtroom morals and see the rebels as what they truly are, of course."
Lucina gave an absent nod. Inside she pondered. About what the rebels truly were – and what reason her father had had to affiliate with them.
If Gran had shown its devotion to Naga with a tower, Terra reveled in its religion to the point where the symbolism had infected every bit of architecture, down to the crumbliest thresholds. The sharp features of the goddess stared down its supporters from above every doorframe in the city. Not to mention the slew of statues carved out of marble, bronze, and glass. And although Ike cared little about the inns and outs of Nagaism and failed to recite a single of the five major credos, even he noticed the faith the people of Terra had embedded into their city.
Situated at the mouth of the Silver Stream, Terra derived most of its wealth from its two harbors; one facing the river, the other, bigger one overlooking the sea. Above the crisscrossing chaos of jetties and warehouses stacked with spices, minerals, and unaffordable carpets, four additional marble terraces climbed the steep chalk cliffs. The uppermost terrace was reserved for the local lord's residence, a splendid behemoth of pillars and archways, and a garrison. And unless one sought for a brutal exorcise, the common folk avoided a trip up the four wide stairways towards the highest terrace.
What a nice way to show the Altean people their place when the lord could spit on them from up high with such ease.
Ike had fittingly trudged through the lowest terrace for the better part of the morning. The stench of fish clung to his cloak, a blanket of smell the salt-laden breeze from the sea could never hope to drive out. He garnered a few curious looks from the passers-by, especially the female crowd, but the overabundance of ships and trading skiffs in line for loading and unloading kept them busy. Soon enough they would forget Ike's face. Unless of course, he continued to walk past them again and again in confused circles.
Next time, he would remind Soren twice to give more specific directions than 'the jetty down Terra's port'.
A solid two hundred jetties stretched into the ocean like greedy fingers eager to draw in more riches for the Pheraen crown. Uncounted sails adorned with the eagle on red clattered in the wind, and many more flags covered the warehouses and stalls in Ike's path. Finding one boat amidst the daily trade business might prove impossible. All the days Ike had spent in the wilderness of Tellius to master his tracking talent wouldn't get him far here.
He glared at the residence crowning the city. These days, a Pheraen baron called the building his own, a small lord who had received Terra, the surrounding acres, and all of their riches as a reward for his loyalty in the war against Altea. With the city, the baron happened to also gain absolute power over the civilians who had called this place home long before he had.
The victors of the war had traded the lives of these people with the same ease as they traded silk. And they continued to do so.
At least silk trade was taxed.
But all these grim thoughts wouldn't shake the tiredness in Ike's legs from half a day's worth of aimless wandering, so he shoved them aside. He would have plenty of time to fuel his resentment towards everything involved with the eagle crest once he found Soren.
Out of a lack of better ideas, Ike zeroed in on the landing stage closest to him. Both the slippery planks and the line of workers struggling under the load of too many sacks of corn tested his balance to the fullest. Twice he almost made the acquaintance of the Silver Stream's currents but saved himself a bath at the last second. The impressive three-masters to his sides made room for smaller vessels, half of which looked like the next wave would capsize them. Hopefully Soren had worked his magic to give them a better boat than one of these rotten cockleshells.
But rather than letting his eyes judge the boats around him, Ike should have paid more attention to his feet. At the instance he thought to have caught sight of Soren's black robe a handful of yards to his left, Ike bumped into a figure coming from the opposite direction.
The man reeled, his rear foot missed the wooden planks, and the water sloshed around the wooden stakes to welcome him.
Ike jumped forward, and before the man could go under, his hand found a collar to crab onto. The man's weight tore at Ike's arm, threatened to send both of them into the sea. Ike's cloak went loose, his muscles screamed, but he refused to let go.
Under a final labored breath, Ike heaved the victim of his inattentiveness back onto the relative safety of the jetty. Both men gasped for air, a noise only drowned by the shouts of approaching witnesses.
Ike allowed his pulse to calm a notch before he took in the man he had saved. Grey strands discolored the former lush green of his short hair, but the eyes in his furrowed face had lost nothing of their intelligent spark. Without a doubt, not even the shabbiest of tunics and no amount of chalk dust could hide the knight underneath the exterior of a dull civilian.
Ike slammed his palm onto the planks. "Abel, what in the name of the Black Knight are you doing here?"
"Ike, what an unexpected pleasure!" A wave of coughs shook Abel's body. "Although I would appreciate a normal greeting next time instead of these stunts. You see, I don't have the reflexes I used to."
"All the more reason to stay away from crowded areas. Haven't you heard that Terra has a royal visitor?"
Abel opened his mouth for a reply, but a shout from one of the bystanders interrupted the conversation. "A golden sword! He has a golden sword!"
The gods be dammed.
Ike growled and did his best to cover Ragnell with the nearest corner of his tousled cloak, but the damage was already done. Multiple pairs of eyes had caught a glimpse of the golden blade. The beacon might have alarmed guards from all across the harbor. Few people forgot Ragnell's unique color and shape after they saw it once. And judging from the greedy looks of the people up and down the jetty, talk about a traveler with a golden sword would make the rounds long before the workers streamed into the next shady tavern.
So much for the stealth part of his mission.
Ike wrapped Ragnell into his cloak and dragged Abel by the arm past the spectators. Thanks to his unforgiving glares, no one dared to block his way, and despite the slimness of the wooden planks, they rushed out of view.
"At least now His Highness doesn't have to feel like he came to Terra for nothing," Abel said between breaths and coughs. "This story should interest him, you see."
For Abel's sake, Ike slowed his steps, but his eyes darted across the assortment of boats. Every billowing sail and every wooden post might hide a Pheraen soldier intent on hacking them to pieces. Or worse yet, drag them before Roy's feet alive.
Ike would rather toss Ragnell into the sea and cut his throat with his pocket knife than to see himself kneel before Roy.
As for Abel… he knew too much. Better to grant him a quick slash of a knife than the endless hours in the hands of Terra's torturers.
"I'll be long gone before reports about the incident reaches Roy's ears," Ike said. And if he managed to find Soren soon, his optimistic claim would even be justified.
Abel shook off Ike's grip and placed his hands on his knees for three slow breaths. "And how long until your escapes will be too close? One of these days you will become too bold, and they will triumph and catch you. They always triumph."
"I am not Cain."
"Then let his mistake be a lesson to you, Ike."
Ike had nothing to say in return and instead used the downtime Abel took to catch his breath for a more detailed observation of his surroundings. In a miraculous turn of events, they still didn't have a hundred swords at their throats. The rows upon rows of load carriers went about their duty unchanged. The bellowed orders from ship captains instead of the precise orders from knights filled the air. And from a hundred yards ahead, Soren strove towards them, as calm and controlled as the waters of a lake.
"And here I thought we would manage this one step of our mission without further complications," Soren said. Befitting his education in the magic arts, he wore a long black cloak with golden hem decorations, and an expression so neutral he might recite the weather reports from a decade ago. The ever-present gust of wind caressed his long strands.
Ike threw him a glare. "Next time, do me a favor and be more specific with your directions for our meeting points."
Soren stood above such peasant behavior as raising a brow, but the dissecting needles of his gaze somehow increased in sharpness. "Since I had no way of knowing beforehand which mode of transportation I would get access to, I thought such specifics to be rather unhelpful. And even though you failed to locate me, I managed to track you down in record time. All I had to do was follow the screams for a golden sword."
"You can thank my company for that." Ike gestured towards Abel. "He's one of the old team. Before Persis."
"I believe we haven't met before," Soren said and stepped forward to shake Abel's hand. "It is an honor, Sir."
Abel waved the excess of politeness away. "I'm afraid the 'Sir' title hasn't fit me for quite some time. Nor should an acquaintance with this old geezer be a source of honor. I was just on my way to talk the ship captains into parting from a handful of their rations, you see, when I ran into Ike. He saved me from a watery grave. A good man, even if he can't spell the word caution for his life."
The ghost of a smile played around Soren's lips. "I suppose Ike is bound to the belief that caution will not win a rebellion. And yet he hesitates to call for open war against the Pherean Empire."
Ike busied himself with reequipping Ragnell and his cloak to stop himself from grinding his teeth – and perhaps letting out a curse that would make a storm-hardened sailor blush. "Open war requires a leader, a figurehead for people to rally behind. Without one, we would just set ourselves on fire and burn out before we've accomplished anything of use."
"A well-founded assessment," Soren said, "and yet I stand face to face with one who would fill out the role of a leader with ease and still exceed our other candidates by a comfortable wyvern mile."
With a decisive pull, Ike rearranged his cloak to hide Ragnell's traitorous shimmer. "I'm not up to the pressure."
"Tell that to yourself if it lets you sleep." Soren averted his dagger-eyes from Ike to include their company with a far less razer-sharp look. "Although, Sir Abel, we would also be more than pleased to receive you back in our midst. Your experience and strategic expertise will certainly prove useful."
"No."
The strength of this single word hit both Soren and Ike with the force of a metal gate slammed shut in their faces. Where Abel had carried himself with little to no seriousness before, born from years spent in the skin of a harmless old man no one looked at twice, in this matter he allowed no discussion. No wonder Abel had obtained such a high rank among Altea's military.
Before said military was crushed, sliced, and scattered.
"I'm sorry, but I don't intend to return to the life as a rebel," Abel continued. "And nothing you say can convince me otherwise. The memory of Altea needs to be preserved. But if everyone who still values the world we once had dies for this passing glory, no one will be left to remember. No matter how noble the intention behind your martyrdom, keep this in mind: the dead don't serve the living."
Soren found his words faster than Ike did. "You might no longer have a choice in this. As soon as rumors about a golden sword start to spread, the crown will triple their patrols. If the king himself is here, he won't rest until all sympathizers of old Altea are silenced."
"I have avoided discovery thus far. I don't intend to let my guard down now." Abel smiled; the belittling smile of a father who watched his children run headfirst into a silly predicament. "As long as you don't share information about your plan with me, I'm just another old man with empty pockets and too many complaints."
"In that case, we won't bother you further," Ike said. "Keep your head out of trouble."
"And you."
Abel waved them one last time before he shuffled down the jetty without a look back.
What had he lost to convince him to give up the fight? How long until Ike suffered the same fate? Would there come a day where the hurdles seem insurmountable, where the blood of one person too many clings to his fingers, and he would bury Ragnell, never to bear the reminder of what he had lost again?
Ike forced himself to roll the tension out of his shoulders. The wind had turned, and the waves splashed against the ship hulls with more vigor until pained groans escaped the wooden bellies.
From the residence up on the fifth terrace, Roy overlooked the marble pearl of his conquest, Terra with all its riches. Perhaps he nipped at a presumptuously overpriced wine from the southern hills of Talys in this very moment.
And he still breathed.
A crime in dire need of retribution.
"No sacrifice cripples the determined man," Ike mumbled.
Soren threw Ike a sideway glance in an attempt to read the other's expression. "I do agree with your sentiment. However, such claims are easy to make when one has nothing left to lose. I cannot say whether the same holds true for our allies in Gran."
Ike perked up, eager to hear more yet at the same time afraid to receive confirmation of his fears. "Did you gather any news?"
"Nothing but rumors. But if the stories are to be believed, a fire ravaged the village."
An ashen taste climbed Ike's throat that he could not swallow. "Do we have any other divisions nearby who could check in on them?"
"Even if we did, their help would come too late. And worrying over suspicions will hardly serve them. Have you considered a prayer? I heard it calms the nerves."
"Don't make me laugh."
Soren shook his head. "You should open yourself more to forces working beyond the naked eye. Countless mysteries still shroud this world, mysteries neither science nor alchemy have come close to solving. All we can do is study the unknown from all possible angles."
"What we should do is to make sure our mission succeeds. Your mysteries can wait."
"Of course. Although a prayer to win Naga's favors has never hurt."
"Then I hope you prayed for a fast and sturdy boat to pick up the rest of our party before Roy sets fire to Terra."
The boat Soren had moored to a rather rickety excuse for a jetty and which he presented to Ike soon after certainly had… unique qualities to it. Sturdy was not one of them. The wooden construct looked like it begged to be scuttled, and the next squall would tear through the sail faster than Ike could blink. Some poor bastard had attempted to inject a little life into the swimming death trap by applying a fresh coat of paint, but the azure color peeled off in many a place.
All in all, the result could have been worse. Although Soren would have had to try really hard to find that worse result.
"It would be a miracle if this thing gets us up the Silver Stream," Ike said and tapped the railing with his boot.
Soren loosened a few knots and pulled at a couple of ropes. For Ike's untrained eye, he feigned the role of a sailor with remarkable excellency. "For your information, boats tend to be both expensive and highly guarded. Since our resources in gold leave a lot to be desired, and I didn't have the manpower to launch a coup that involved the mysterious disappearance of a few two-masters, my choices were rather limited."
Ike used one of the spare paddles to push their wreck of a boat from the moor post and into the current. The planks under his feet whipped up and down in a sickness-inducing rhythm, but to his surprise, the boat stayed afloat.
"Couldn't you have conjured a storm to free a pretty yard from the clutches of its undeserving owner?" Ike asked.
Soren shook his head. "Your image of wind magic is painfully naïve. Perhaps you would gain a new appreciation of magic if you learned to live in harmony with the world around you."
"The second credo, wasn't it?"
"Indeed, it is. I'm surprised you remembered as much, considering your outspokenness against Naga's teachings – and magic."
"Naga's teachings haven't done a lot to keep Altea alive, have they?" Ike scratched a splinter out of the railing and tossed it into the water. "If people continue to put too much faith into prayers and deities, they open the door to men like Roy who do have the willingness to act. I'm fine with magic so long as it serves its purpose and doesn't become a distraction."
"Then I suppose I better make use of my magic before your patience runs thin."
Following these words, Soren stretched out his hand and closed his eyes. His lips moved frantically, both the specifics to an incantation and a request to tap into the unending coat of magic Naga or some other divine creature had wrapped around the world. As he continued his murmurs, Soren's outstretched hand weaved complex patterns into the air, and green hues followed the lines of his fingers.
The wind picked up speed, distorted Soren's hair and tore at the linen sail. A man on the skiff next to them lost his hat to the force of the torrents. And before long, Ike and Soren glided away from the harbor, battling the current of the Silver Stream by the might of Soren's wind magic alone.
They had managed the easy part of the mission. What came next would require far more than the two of them had to offer. If Ike had been given a choice, he would make the next step alone. Too much could go wrong, and not just Soren depended on the success of Ike's plan. The people of Altea and the bastards of Pherae would watch, and this time they would be unable to look away. Fire in the east instead of the dawning sun.
And perhaps, if they still breathed, Cordelia, Gregor, and the other allies of Gran would watch as well.
Notes: Damn, my headaches are killing me. But, against the odds, this chapter should reach you on time. I even found one or two places to add flavor to a description while reading through it a final time. That always puts me in a good mood.
In case it wasn't obvious before, this fic has a lot of characters. And we're not even close to being done with the character introductions - I have some more fun ones planned. I hope you enjoyed Soren and this chapter at large. Next time, Lucina's story will meet a crucial turning point, so please look forward to that.