Chapter 25

Day 8 of the Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1178

"We now know the size of the rebel forces, but nothing we've learned suggests we need to adjust our strategy. We'll hold our formation and let them come to us," Rodrigue said as he moved pieces on a table inside of his tent. "Only advance once their line breaks, and even then, do so cautiously. We have superior training and superior terrain on our side. We need to push them off of the field, but there's no reason to do anything rash."

Rodrigue, the Shield of Faerghus, was accompanied by his most trusted generals. Dimitri stood at his side. Felix was also present, though he lingered at the edge of the tent with his arms crossed. Excluding the Tragedy of Duscur, this would be Dimitri and Felix's first experience on an actual battlefield.

With Rufus's permission, Rodrigue had led an army to western Faerghus to quell an active insurrection. The rebel army had already been beaten away from Arianrhod and was preparing to instead assault a weaker fortress in Geraint territory before being intercepted by the royal army.

The lord who spearheaded the uprising claimed dissatisfaction with Rufus's chaotic regency and that a change of government was necessary to restart King Lambert's reforms. Reports from behind the scenes detailed very opposite motivations, however. This lord had complained about not receiving sufficient recompense for aiding the punishment of Duscur, and he saw Rufus's weakness as an opportunity to seize control of the government before Dimitri could come of age and advance his late father's plans. There were whispers questioning how invested Rufus was in stopping the rebellion if Dimitri was the true target, but no one dared make official accusations. Whatever the case, the rebel vassals on the frontlines likely had minimal personal stakes in the cause.

"That's all? Do we pursue if they flee?" one of the generals asked.

Rodrigue answered, "Reports suggest that morale is already low. They aren't expected to give us much more trouble if defeated here. There's no need to cause unnecessary bloodshed with a chase."

"You might want to reconsider such leniency, old man. We should take prisoners," Felix opposed. "If there aren't any consequences, it's just a matter of time before this happens again."

The elder Fraldarius looked at his son a little diffidently, but he tried to speak professionally. "Perhaps. But these knights are just following orders from their lord. We will ensure that the man truly responsible for this is duly punished."

Dimitri twitched some at that remark. Just following orders? So had those who slaughtered countless innocent civilians of Duscur, including children, out of misguided and senseless revenge. Some of them even seemed to enjoy it. Some circles criticized how the punishment was dispensed on Duscur, but no one had ever been held accountable for it.

Then again, the soldiers from this uprising had limited options. They had families that needed to be fed, and disobeying their lord's orders could have landed them in a dungeon. Like Rodrigue said, the lord himself was the one who deserved punishment, who was just looking for an excuse to extend his influence.

"Is that fine with you, Your Highness?" Rodrigue asked as the entire party stared at the prince.

Dimitri realized that he had missed part of the conversation while he was thinking. He began to sweat anxiously and muttered, "I… Sorry Rodrigue. I need you to repeat that."

"I asked if you would allow Felix to serve as your squire during the battle."

"Oh! My apologies. Of course, I would be honored to fight at Felix's side."

Dedue should have been there to fulfill that role, but they could not overcome the fervor from all sides against the notion. The rebelling lord had a role in Duscur's subjugation, and people did not like the image of a Duscur native enacting vengeance. When Rufus and even Rodrigue felt it was best to not create a scandal, Dimitri eventually conceded. It did at least open the opportunity to spend time with Felix, who Dimitri had rarely seen over the past two years.

Once the meeting was finished, Dimitri and Felix walked together to their position. This was their first moment of relative privacy during the entire journey.

"It's been some time, hasn't it, Felix?" Dimitri noted.

Felix grabbed the prince's arm to stop him. "Listen, Dimitri… Let me stop you before you go pretending that everything is fine. Because there's something I have to say."

Dimitri was not quite sure what to expect until Felix sighed and said, "I'm sorry that I haven't been around for you. It's just that my old man is even more unbearable than usual whenever we're in Fhirdiad. He'll starting thinking about Glenn and the late king, and he'll go off about sacrifice and duty and honorable deaths and such… I can't stand it. That's why I never come to visit. You've paid the price for it, even though you've done nothing wrong."

"I understand," Dimitri replied softly. "To be honest, seeing you now… I can't help but think of your brother, too. You're starting to look more and more like him. I will adjust with time, though. I wouldn't blame you if you feel the same when you see me."

"Maybe I do. But unlike my old man, it doesn't stir any sense of pride in his sacrifice."

"I believe your father is just desperate to find meaning in the loss. Rodrigue has been wonderful to me, and I understand his pain. But … I can't say I agree with him on this matter, either. There was no meaning in what happened at Duscur… only suffering. Suffering I would never allow any friend of mine to experience. The thought that anyone would ever endorse such a sacrifice is troubling."

"I thought you might understand," Felix said gratefully.

Dimitri's heart warmed some as he reconnected with his old friend. So much about the Tragedy was wrapped in false narratives, and other than Dedue, no one else would better understand how he felt than Felix.

They would have to talk more later, though, as the enemy was soon upon them.

Dimitri expected his first kill to have a profound impact, but his immediate reaction was surprise at how quickly it happened. After a single parry and a thrust, he watched as his enemy died almost immediately. It played out the same for the next several that followed. The adversaries were even more unprepared than Dimitri realized. They just… died so easily. It was difficult to not take pity. These people were being sacrificed for a meaningless cause.

But these weren't civilians. They were knights. Soldiers. Many of whom helped lay waste to Duscur. And since their lord obviously took issue with some of Lambert's plans, it was not unreasonable to believe that they were involved in the Tragedy, too.

They deserved to die, but at least Dimitri could make their deaths quick. He nearly severed one knight at the waist. He crushed another's throat.

One poor soldier was bleeding out, and Dimitri paused for a moment as he watched the man writhe in agony. The scene was reminiscent of the dying at Duscur, but it still fell short of the suffering he remembered. Dimitri finally put the man to rest with a swing of his gauntlet.

Dimitri felt a smile reach his lips. After two years, he could finally bring justice!

He looked up as another soldier turned to flee. "You can't run from your sins!" the prince of Faerghus called out as he launched his lance.

The tip of his weapon drove clean through the man's chest. Dimitri walked to the fallen knight and put a foot on his back for leverage while extracting the lance. He made no effort to limit the force applied, resulting in more bones being crushed.

The prince's eyes widened when he heard something behind him.

"… Dimitri?" a quavering voice asked. It was Felix.

Dimitri made eye contact with his friend, but he was at a loss for words. "Felix… I… Like you said, there had to be consequences."

"Not like this," Felix said. He shook his head as a new expression overcame his face. A cold, hardened one. "… Go on. You're wasting time. Their commander is still ahead."

Felix ran forward without waiting as Dimitri stepped away from the mutilated body. He bumped into another soldier that had been killed far more humanely. Seeing that this man clutched a locket, Dimitri lifted it up and opened it. Inside was a lock of golden hair that stained red as blood dripped from Dimitri's chin. The owner of this locket had someone to return to, and just minutes earlier, Dimitri would have prevented that reunion with eagerness.

He dropped the locket and stumbled away. Just what had he become?

An angry voice interrupted his moment of crisis, however. "What are you doing, Dimitri? Get off the ground and finish this."

Felix? No... it was Glenn! Indeed, his old friend was there, pointing him forward. The fallen knight had shown himself to Dimitri before, but never had he spoken.

If Glenn felt so strongly about this, then Dimitri only had one choice. He grasped his lance and followed.

A Scheme at Sea - Day 10 of the Guardian Moon, Year 1186 (Fódlan Calendar)

A monster can adopt many faces. The one worn by Dimitri as he mercilessly slaughtered his enemies lacked any subtlety. It was not always so obvious, though.

Dimitri could not help but question if that was the case for Khalid when he revealed his plan to defeat the Meteoran fleet. Yes, it made strategic sense and would not result in undue casualties, but it ran contrary to honor. If they were to breach the rules of civility and combat so egregiously, what would prevent it from happening again? Did Khalid's plan destine the future for chaos?

Was Dimitri a monster for even complying with it?

Mirza Ghalib and his allies needed to be defeated, and insubordination from Dimitri would be detrimental to the war's vital outcome. Still, was he about to walk the same path as Felix? Felix had understood Dimitri's shortcomings and called him out for it. Despite that, he ultimately followed his prince into battle, and all of his deepest fears were realized.

Dimitri rubbed his forehead. The only way he was able to avoid complete despair was by deliberately choosing a relaxing setting to think. He stood at the rail of the Tariq's main deck taking in the scenery. They had anchored in the Channel of Eirene the night before. The temperate weather was a significant improvement over Fhirdiad at that time of year.

While Shomal had nice beaches, the ocean itself was comparatively muddy and unremarkable. Meteora, conversely, had few beaches but compensated for that with its pristine seas. The cool, azure water contrasted well with the rocky coastal outcrops that brightly radiated the sun's heat. It was easy to see why Saint Gregorios selected this land as his refuge so many centuries ago.

The Tariq and the rest of Shomal's frigates were organized in an oval that enveloped Brigid's fleet in the center. This had two advantages. For one, the Meteorans would likely assume that Shomal was trying to protect the weak transport vessels from cannon fire. Additionally, it would help keep enemy eyes from getting a good look at the ships involved in the ruse.

There was still the threat of wyvern scouts uncovering the truth, but they could only get so close without coming within range of the archers. The scouts would likely report that the ships at the center flew under the standards of the Mirgissan Free Company and that the transports were lightly armed, but it was unlikely that they could conclude anything more than that.

Hopefully the scouts would never come within smelling distance of the liquid being stored on Brigid's ships. Khalid had encouraged the barrels containing this unfamiliar formulation to be loaded aboard back in Astane. The barrels were initially brought only for good measure and were not expected to see much use, but they became a key strategic element when the battlefield moved to the channel.

The Tariq was certainly near enough to contend with the odor. Though the crew often grumbled about the stench, they understood the aid the liquid would provide in the upcoming battle.

At least they were finally off of the open sea. The unexpected extension of the journey had amplified everyone's frustration with the nuisances of ocean travel. There was also discontentment that the fleet sailed at a reduced speed to allow the Meteoran navy to catch up and to support the lie that they were burdened with slow transport ships.

Moderate southward winds. Khalid said that morning that the Meteorans could very well arrive that day.

With few tasks remaining before the battle, the crew unwound during this well-earned free time. This included a group of sailors huddled around a nardshir board behind Dimitri. At the center of it all, Caspar faced off against Almyra's chosen representative- Farjad.

Farjad had already earned the crew's respect as the best player aboard before they had even reached Brigid. The other sailors had grown tired of losing, but getting the chance to watch a native from Fódlan suffer the same humiliation piqued interest.

Caspar hated to lose, but he seemed to feed off of the attention. Declining the challenge was not an option. After his first defeat, that stubbornness drove him to continue playing under he could finally finish a winner. It was only a matter of time before luck carried him to victory, but Caspar seemed to be doing everything he could to counteract it.

As Dimitri continued to wrestle with the morality of the upcoming battle, the group behind him laughed at some new error Caspar had made. Farjad ordered, "Don't be so hard on him. He's probably never seen a game like this before. It takes time to learn the intricacies."

Caspar shook his head. "Nah, we have a game like this. I think the rules are a bit different, though."

"What kind of differences?" Farjad inquired. "Maybe they took out all of the strategic elements, rendering it only a game of chance. That would explain your current gameplay."

Caspar crossed his arms and asked, "Has anyone ever told you that you're a very smug person?"

Farjad smirked. "I'm usually better at hiding it. But… I guess you remind me of someone, and that's caused it to resurface." He paused for a moment as his smile evaporated. "… What motivates you, Caspar?"

"Like… to fight? I can't stand seeing injustice, and it never seems to go away without a fight."

"That's fair, but do you have an answer that applies to any area of life? I can't imagine you're out there serving up justice daily."

"Motivates every area of life, huh? I guess I never really thought about it. Maybe adventure, if I had to pick a word? Yeah, that works! I'm always looking to experience something new. How could I ever get bored of life that way?"

One of the sailors scoffed, "Adventure? Aren't you getting married? That's not the path of an adventurer."

"Why can't it be? Brigid is just returning to the world stage. There's going to be lots to do- hosting parties, visiting foreign lands, making new alliances, and so on. And I'm sure I'll have plenty of reasons to return home on occasion."

Someone else pointed out, "Most of that excitement will end once you have a family. Even now, this might be the last time they let you on the battlefield. You'll probably never see the frontlines again."

Caspar shrugged. "I've already had my war. It's not the only form of adventure. Now that I've got two homes, there's something new to learn every day. But the greatest adventure, really, has been getting to know and share my heart with Petra."

This statement was met with groans, but Caspar explained, "I'm serious! I'm not talking about some sappy romance. When Fódlan and Brigid went to war eleven years ago, my father led the counterattack and personally killed Petra's father in battle. That obviously made it difficult to form a genuine connection with her. It was a bumpy road, and in some ways may always be… but it's well worth the effort."

"No matter how hard she tries, she'll never truly forget what happened to her father. That will reap consequences one day," someone said.

Caspar contested, "Of course she won't forget, but should we really tally every wrong without ever choosing to do something greater? My own father died in battle recently, fighting against an army that included soldiers from Brigid. Does that change the fact that I love Petra? Of course not! We fell in love, and we weren't going to let that any of that baggage scare us off. Heck, it provided a drive to keep moving forward. To make a happier future than that of our fathers… if that makes any sense."

Dimitri turned around and observed, "You wanted to make something beautiful out of an ugly history. Aren't so many of the great stories like that?"

"Exactly! There's no reason why Fódlan and Brigid shouldn't have a future together if we try. Or anyone, for that matter."

The crowd was silent. Their shame was so palpable that even Dimitri could practically taste it emanating into the salty air.

Farjad mused, "Now you really are sounding like him." He then smiled as he moved a piece on the board to finish the game. "You play like him, too. Maybe next time, Caspar. I need a break for now."

"Gah!" Caspar grunted as he slammed his hand against the deck, causing the game pieces to leap into the air. "Smile all you like, but if you're ever up for a real fight, I'd be happy to settle this rivalry once and for all!"

Farjad raised his hands defensively as he walked away. "I know my limits. I'll go ahead and concede that without the need of a demonstration."

Caspar cleaned up the mess, handed the board back to its owner, and then joined Dimitri as the group dispersed.

"The Almyrans sure love to watch me fail, don't they?" he complained. "I got a friendlier welcome in Brigid, and they had twice the reason to hate me."

"On the contrary, I think the crew is rather fond of you," Dimitri said.

"Were you watching any of that? It's like they get together every night to come up with new ways of making a mockery of me!"

Dimitri chuckled softly at Caspar's exaggerations. Caspar could be a sore loser in the moment, but he was also quick to move on. In the meantime, Dimitri told him, "They're only joking, Caspar. I wasn't teased often in Almyra because they were too repulsed to interact with me at all. I suppose there was Khalid's other brother before I scared him off, but his jokes were more akin to spiteful insults. This teasing is much more affectionate."

It was true. Caspar had built a reputation as someone both friendly and spirited during their long voyage. And while the Almyrans were more than a little displeased when they first saw Brigid's fleet, most had by now grown partial to their new allies.

Caspar conceded, "If you say so. But still, I'd like to win for once and wipe tha-."

With little warning, there came a number of shouts from the quarterdeck. A sailor ran up to the railing and called out, "Protector Senusret! General Ealga!"

The commanders quickly gathered with the rest of the crew closely circled behind them. Sailors on nearby ships could be seen clustered facing the same direction.

Dimitri was stuck near the back of the crowd, but he was tall enough to witness what was happening. In the far distance to the west, vessels bearing Meteoran colors approached in a steady stream.

As everyone gaped at the sight of the Meteoran navy, Dimitri turned around to survey the situation to the east. Just as predicted, more ships had begun to approach from this direction.

"Khalid..." he called out.

Everyone spun around to witness this additional threat and began to discuss the number of ships in hushed voices.

As the two Meteoran fleets neared, they formed consecutive lines of battle that stretched from one shore of the channel to the other. It was impressive coordination on their part to get timing right. They were out of firing range, but their cannons could be seen glistening in the sunlight.

"We're being blockaded," one of the sailors observed.

"Yes. Just as we expected," Senusret confirmed. "Don't worry. Everything is still proceeding as planned."

Khalid glanced towards the sun. "Let's wait half an hour and then raise a flag indicating that we want to parley. That's about how long it would take for us to scramble about for alternatives before yielding. They'll also need time to set multiple anchors if they hope to stay moored in that positioning, so there's no rush."

There were some concerned rumblings amongst the crew about what would be discussed, but overall, Senusret kept everyone in line. Dimitri and Khalid left for the wardroom for a quick lunch while they waited.

As they ate, Khalid must have sensed something amiss. He asked, "How are you feeling?"

Dimitri shook his head. "We're about to manipulate an army to its doom by twisting their leader's empathy against himself. How do you suppose I might feel?"

Khalid sighed. He looked at his bowl of kashk as if hoping it would help him find an answer. Giving up on it, he instead said, "You and I… we're like the pheasant and noa fruit from that cheese gratin served at Garreg Mach. Those were a great combination, right?"

"I… suppose," Dimitri muttered, rather confused.

"They brought out the best flavors in each other, but… they weren't the same thing. Neither are you and I. I know you take issue with some of my methods, but I'm doing what I feel is necessary to end this war."

"I know, but… Disingenuous diplomacy? False flags? Deadly fire?"

Khalid shook his head. "Dimitri, I appreciate your input. I really do. I even made modifications to the plan with your concerns in mind, at the cost of this ship, but this battle is going to happen. You're free to leave my service at any time, so if you can't reconcile your conscience with this, then you should consider leaving. I say that as a friend, even if I'd obviously prefer if you stay."

Dimitri frowned. What could he say? Was the world really so savage that there were no better options than this?

"Just make sure we win," he finally muttered.

They ate in silence until James entered the room and told them, "The Meteorans have agreed to parley. Their flagship has just anchored off of Pyli Kyma."

Dimitri recognized Pyli Kyma as the island that defined the southern boundary of the channel. It would be a relatively short trip over.

Khalid nodded and waved for Dimitri to follow him up to the quarterdeck. Once they finally finished weighing anchor, the Tariq separated from the rest of the fleet.

"Make sure we're close enough for them to get a good look at our ship," Khalid reminded the helmsman. "And for our crew to get a good look at theirs. We don't want any confusion."

The helmsman nodded. He guided the ship as near to the shore as he could without risking grounding before ordering the anchor to be dropped. They were close enough to the larger Meteoran flagship that they could wave to the opposing crew. Some actually did in jest, though the courtesy was not reciprocated.

The alliance's commanders convened as their skiff was prepared. Khalid instructed, "James, Protector Senusret, and I will handle this. It's best if they don't see you, General Ealga. It's not worth the risk. You too, Caspar."

Ealga nodded in agreement. Caspar looked disappointed to miss out, but he did not argue.

Dimitri and Amin once again served as the attendants for the landing party. There was only one nearby beach, and the area was devoid of tall plant growth, so it was not difficult to find the designated meeting place. They were greeted by two familiar faces on the beach- Lord Philemon and Master Xanthippe, along with two guards of their own. Khalid's group came to a stop across from them just out of weapon's reach.

After official greetings, Senusret opened more casually, "It's a fine day, wouldn't you both say?"

Philemon nodded. "Indeed. And I hope you've come to give us more reason for satisfaction."

"Maybe so." Senusret waved over to the youngest prince and said, "Though I am serving as admiral for this fleet, I have designated Prince Khalid to lead the negotiations."

Philemon's eyebrows rose. "That's a pity. After such a long wait, I was hoping to speak with someone with earned credentials."

Khalid contested with a grin, "I'm as qualified as they come, Lord Philemon. Don't forget that I was trained at Fódlan's Officers Academy, where only the most elite of the land were welcome. We once had an entire lesson on negotiation tactics. I didn't attend it, I admit, but I had a classmate write up some notes for me. I passed the exam with ease."

"You just led a botched war in Fódlan, so I'm not so certain that this 'elite' education deserves such a high reputation," Philemon pointed out. He observed the skies to the north and told the others, "Justinian will be joining us shortly. I shall represent our forces, but I will not begin until my nephew arrives."

"Ah!" Khalid exclaimed. "He must be coming from the capital. I'm surprised you aren't with him. What if we were to attack your fleet? There's no reason to put yourself at risk like that. That's what soldiers are for. Surely you plan to keep your ship far away from our cannons, at least?"

Philemon frowned. "I won't put myself at undue peril, but you're equally mistaken if you think I'd cede my responsibilities on account of my safety."

Not one to wait in silence, Khalid then turned to their other adversary.

"You've been awfully quiet, Xanthippe. You look lovely today, but surely Lord Philemon didn't ask you to come just to grace us with your presence."

Xanthippe did not flinch as she answered, "I stand in representation of the Sentinels of the Empyrean. We have agreed to fight under the command of Lord Philemon, but my order owes allegiance to only Nabataea. I am here to ensure that our goals and the leadership of the Meteoran government continue to align."

"Yeah, that's kind of what I thought. But since you were the representative at Sous River, too, I was beginning to wonder if there was something special about you. If it's not your beauty, did you get a promotion or something? Would you like to be called a grand master?"

"There is no such hierarchy. We all stand equal before the goddess."

Khalid bobbed his head nonchalantly. "Sure, sure. Maybe you should see if anyone else wants the job next time, though? I guess it's none of my business, but if you're the one constantly running the show, it might give the wrong impression. You're young, intelligent, strong… people might even think you're challenging Philemon's authority."

Philemon shot a side-eye at his companion. Xanthippe stayed silent, but she could not hide her annoyance with Khalid this time. Her fiery gaze could have cut through the stoutest armor.

To Khalid's disappointment, he soon ran out of time to prod the opposition as everyone's attention turned to the arrival of a wyvern unit from across the channel.

"To get here so quickly, he must have been on his way before we even asked for parley," James deduced. "You must have been pretty confident it would come to this, Lord Philemon."

For the first time that day, Philemon smiled ever so slightly as he nodded.

If nothing else, Justinian certainly looked the part of a king. He carried himself gracefully, and he wore an imperial diadem that paired strikingly with his blue eyes. He was also dressed for battle, though he did not fool anyone into thinking he would actually participate in any combat.

Justinian was accompanied by two sycophants. Dimitri recognized one as Artabasdos, who had represented Meteora during the archery tournament. The other was a woman about the same age. They had clearly been selected to attend to the king based on friendship rather than qualifications.

"The sardar of Meteora himself!" Khalid greeted with his arms raised high. "I wasn't sure if you would come after the no-show at Sous River. I suppose this is a bit closer to home. We wouldn't want to inconvenience you, after all. Would you like it if we keep the negotiations quick? You might still be able to make it back to Metanoiapolis in time for supper."

Justinian's kingly bearing quickly lost its luster when he rolled his eyes. "You are free to make all the jokes you desire, Prince Khalid, though you should know that the rest of us find them trite. However, you shall address me as King Justinian, the basileus of Meteora, else you should find yourself short of a tongue."

Khalid gasped and dramatically placed a hand on his heart. "Forgive my rudeness, King Justinian, humble servant of King Ghalib."

Justinian's fist clenched. "You'l-."

Philemon raised a hand firmly. "I'll handle the negotiations, nephew, if you don't mind… as we've already agreed."

The sardar's eyes widened, but his body relaxed as he said nothing. Regardless of who was "king," everyone present understood who was in command.

Philemon said, "Lobbing insults doesn't make you cleverer than anyone else, Prince Khalid the Failed Conqueror, sixth child of Elam and first of Fódlan. We're all capable of doing it. Your reputation would be best served by answering how you arrived in this situation. I admit, we were fooled into believing you would return home, not immediately launch an amphibious invasion. We left our city vulnerable while waiting to intercept you. Your plan was interesting." He then glanced around their surroundings. "It's a shame you've completely squandered your advantages, though. Why go through all this effort just to box yourself into the channel?"

Khalid sighed. "It was an unfortunate sequence of events. We were delayed when the landing site we originally selected fell short of expectations. These coasts are rocky, and the limited shoreline would have made a timely withdraw very difficult if it became necessary. We saw signs of bad weather approaching from the ocean while we were charting out a new path, so we moved into the channel for protection. That ended up being a false alarm, but by the time we realized that and were preparing to head back out, your fleet showed up."

"Before you blame fate, I doubt it would have mattered," Philemon decided. "Your army would never have taken the capital, even with your additions and the element of surprise. The only difference in the outcome is that we can now blockade you rather than having to directly engage in combat. In that way, fortune was kind to all of us."

"Surely your scouts have reported the number of transports we have. The Mirgissan Free Company provided us with a formidable army, and I think you underestimate what we were capable of." Khalid then crossed his arms. "But as it currently stands, we can't win a naval battle. So at no fault of my own, we must sue for peace."

"As expected. What are your terms?"

"I'll keep it simple. You allow our royals and generals to leave freely with our ships. You also leave us enough sailors to keep the ships operating… preferably the Mirgissans so our reputation with them won't be damaged too badly. The rest of the crews, though, are your free prisoners. We'll leave you no stipulation on how to handle them."

"None? So you wouldn't object if we slit their throats and dumped them into the channel?" Justinian blurted out. Dimitri could not tell if Justinian was seriously considering the option or if he was only testing Khalid. Xanthippe and Philemon's concerned expressions suggested that they were wrestling with the same question.

Khalid grimaced. "That's an unpleasant thought, but I trust you wouldn't do something so drastic. Given that, why add conditions that weaken my bargaining power? Especially conditions that won't have any affect on our war effort?"

Philemon shook his head. "Housing and feeding your prisoners would be minor inconveniences compared to your other conditions. I'm frankly insulted that you think we would even consider them. I expected you to plead for your own freedom, but do you really think I'd allow you to keep your ships? You're negotiating as if we're the ones cornered in the channel."

"You never struck me as a patient man, Lord Philemon. Every day we waste here is another day that victory eludes you and your people. We'll continue to raze the Tabarzin countryside, and your army outside Astane will never see a day of peace. We have enough food to last us an entire journey around the continent and then some more. If a blockade sounds appealing, I hope you're prepared to camp out here for the long haul. Maybe we can find a village to use for target practice to keep our skills fresh."

Philemon asked accusingly, "And what of your people? You have an army deep in enemy territory, in danger of being snuffed out after a single error. Likewise, it's true that you've given our soldiers in Shomal trouble, but the people living there have languished far more from the war. And what happens when your fleet begins to starve? Your people will undoubtedly suffer more from our game of waiting, so how does delaying the inevitable help you at all?"

Khalid shrugged. "Our people understand how important it is that James and I leave this place as free men. They've been making sacrifices for our kind their entire lives. It's nothing new. I had gotten the impression, though, that you truly felt for the common folk. It's something of an image you've cultivated. The way you're talking, though, I'm starting to worry I've misjudged you and all of that was just theatre."

"If I want this over now, what is stopping me from sailing into the channel and crushing your fleet beneath my heel?"

"Absolutely nothing. But why take an unnecessary risk to both your ships and your own life? Yes, your fleet is larger, and our transports can't do much damage. But if you chose to engage, we'll throw everything we've got at you. You have an easy path to claim a victory here. Take it."

"The hollowest victory of the past century," Philemon scoffed. "I'm here to win a war, not earn a parade."

"Understandable. But your choices are either taking my deal or starving us out. Should we get ready to settle in? The weather is good, but my cot isn't the most comfortable, to be honest. If you've got a nice pillow available, would you be willing to part with it for a fair price? That will salvage this talk from being a total waste."

Philemon was silent. Xanthippe asked on his behalf, "Protector Senusret, Prince James… this prince from Fódlan is making a fool out of all of you. Do you agree with his nonsense?"

"My brother speaks for all of us," James answered. Senusret nodded in agreement.

Philemon gazed at his feet for a prolonged period. That prompted Khalid to provoke, "It looks like you're finally accepting the reality of the situation. So, how about it? What do you say to my terms?"

The Hammer of Meteora ground his teeth. He then looked up and answered, "To hell with you and your terms, Khalid. We'll meet again soon."

Philemon ordered his retinue to withdraw to his flagship. As Xanthippe and the former regent followed behind them, Khalid called out, "You're making a grave mistake, Lord Philemon."

"I don't care."

Justinian and his friends lingered another minute before parting to convey that he was leaving under his own will instead of at his uncle's command. As he departed, the sardar said, "Your tongue is sharp, Prince Khalid, but we both know a blade is no match against a line of cannons."

Khalid only smiled in return. His party waited until the Meteorans had all cleared the area before moving. As he boarded the skiff, Khalid concluded, "I'd say that went well."

Though too far away to hear what was spoken during the conference, the rowers watched the reactions of those involved. One of them muttered under his breath, "Yeah, if your goal was to piss them off."

Of course, that was the goal. Khalid did not seem to hear the comment, and Dimitri decided it best to not expose the man's disquietude. He would let Khalid address the plan on his own time.

That would not take long. The entire crew of the Tariq was huddled above the skiff as the landing party boarded. Khalid and his companions forced their way through the crowd and up the quarterdeck, where they were joined by Caspar and Ealga. Khalid stepped forward to the railing to address the host below.

Khalid began, "You all have a right to know what was said, so listen closely. Lord Philemon has requested our surrender, citing the fact that he has us entrapped. That much is undeniably true."

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Many were angry or frustrated. A few were relieved.

He raised a steadying hand and continued, "However, we have rejected his proposal and made a counteroffer of our own. Should they choose to engage us in battle, I explained that we'll greet their fleet with fury that hasn't been seen in Meteora since the days of King Harun. And from the sound of it, the crusty old bastard plans to take us up on that offer."

More murmurs followed, though this time at an elevated pitch. Some seemed eager to fight, while others expressed their misgivings.

"That's not quite the response I was hoping for," Khalid complained as he surveyed the crowd. "Should I go back and tell him that we changed our minds?"

This question finally brought consensus as everyone cried out in unison, "No!"

"That's better," Khalid said with a grin. "Night is near, and the winds are growing weak, so they will likely wait until morning before reassessing. Even so, be prepared for battle at a moment's notice. I know you've all been waiting for this opportunity since Sous River, and it's finally almost time to avenge our fallen. Let's go show them a battle to be proud of!"

Hands shot into the air with a unified cheer. Khalid stepped back and turned away, seemingly looking for affirmation from the other commanders. Senusret gave him a quick reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaving, while James nodded slowly in pleasant surprise at the receptivity of the crowd.

As the noise settled, Khalid approached Caspar and Ealga. He asked, "Your swimmers are still good to go, right? If you're worried they might second-guess themselves, I won't hesitate to find replacements."

"Oh, they're ready!" Caspar promised. "They were practicing all day yesterday."

Khalid rubbed his chin. "Make sure mine gets the facial hair just right. We don't want to miss any detail. He'll probably thank me later when he realizes how good it looks."

Ealga's eyebrows rose as she muttered doubtfully, "If that is what you are thinking."

Khalid looked slightly offended as Caspar and Ealga walked away. He faced Dimitri and asked, "… It does look good, right?"

Dimitri did not have an opinion, but he assured Khalid, "Of course. I've never been able to grow much facial hair myself, so I'm afraid cannot emulate it."

Khalid put a hand over his friend's shoulder. "That's fine; your current style works without it. I'm not sure how you keep that hair out of your field of vision, though."

"I'd share the secret if I understood it myself," Dimitri said.

Dimitri couldn't help but smile some. Despite his misgivings with the plan, it was difficult to stay angry with Khalid for long. At the very least, the Almyran prince trusted Dimitri enough to share all of its details. If Khalid could open up his heart to his closest companions, even the darker parts, he had the potential to be a better leader than Dimitri, Edelgard, or the others vying for authority in Almyra. Dimitri would trust Khalid for now because he wanted to trust him. If Dimitri was making the same mistake as Felix, he would just have to face the consequences.

The details of the conference spread throughout the fleet once the Tariq had returned to original position. The rest of the navy reacted to the news similarly to the flagship's crew.

Once in place, the crew of the Tariq initiated the move to their new ship nearby. They paused their efforts several times whenever enemy wyvern scouts approached, but the procedure otherwise went smoothly. A few kind words were said in honor of the Tariq's service as the sun set.

Dimitri knew rest was important, but he found little that night. He spent most of it in semiconscious state. He knew he was in dark room, but he imagined the sound of crackling wood and dying screams. Sometimes it seemed to emit from the enemy fleet nearby. At other times, though, the voices of father, stepmother, or Glenn could be heard.

Finally, the door to their room swung open abruptly.

"Wake up," Senusret said. "They're coming."

Dimitri and his roommates inadvertently bumped and kicked each other as they grabbed their weapons and stumbled out of the dark space. It was just shortly after dawn, and there was still a chill in the air. The wind certainly did not help.

The blockade to the east remained unchanged. However, the enemy's arrangement on the western end of the channel was now more complex. Some of the ships were still positioned for a blockade in the distance, but the majority of western contingent had broken off and approached closer. These ships were arranged into five parallel columns along the northern shore.

"Strong winds to the southeast," Khalid verified while Senusret handed him an object that Dimitri had heard referred to as a spyglass. "I can't see their flagship, but knowing Philemon, it's in one of those columns."

Senusret and Khalid ran up to the quarterdeck, which was already congested by James, Ealga, Amin, the helmsman, and several other officers. They would have a better view from there, as some details to the west were blocked by the line of Shomal frigates between them and the Meteorans. Dimitri stayed behind, soon accompanied by Caspar and Farjad. They would guard the stairs up for the time being.

"Southeast? Is that a good thing?" Caspar asked, having overheard that much of the conversation.

The Meteorans would presumably advance individual columns that would hug the northern coast to avoid raking fire, loop towards the south, fire broadside against the alliance's frontline, and then safely retire downwind, now clinging the other coast to keep out of the range of most cannons. The alliance's fleet could not chase without permanently breaking formation. The Meteorans could perform this maneuver as many times as necessary, which would devastate an unprepared enemy.

Dimitri explained, "It's ideal for their attack. Little do they know, it's also ideal for our counterattack."

"I knew it!" Caspar cheered. "Petra had my back marked with a prayer to the wind spirits before we left. You wouldn't believe what they put me through to qualify for it! It's supposed to be pretty fine looking, assuming they weren't lying to me when they described it."

"Do you really believe a tattoo is doing anything?" Farjad asked skeptically.

Caspar shrugged. "I don't know, but it's off to a good start, right?" As he started to count the sails in the distance, he noted a little uneasily, "But still… that's a lot of ships."

To alleviate his concerns, Farjad pointed out, "They won't be able to deploy all of them at once. The channel isn't wide enough."

"Then why even bring this many in here?" Caspar questioned. "All that does is weaken their western blockade."

Farjad answered, "Thanks to the eastward winds, they're assuming we can't advance in their direction without an overreliance on tacking. That would slow us down so much that a thinner blockade wouldn't be that detrimental for them. They'd just pummel our bows with raking fire. And with this arrangement, they can mobilize reinforcements faster if they don't like how the battle is progressing."

Farjad's explanation covered the logical motivations well enough, but he did not consider emotional factors.

Dimitri added, "Not just that. I suspect Philemon wants us to get a closer look at the size of their fleet so we'll feel threatened by the superiority of their forces. He's still hoping that we'll surrender unconditionally now that he thinks he's called our bluff."

Caspar leaned closer to Dimitri as if fearing consequences for being overheard. "Is that a possibility? I mean… for real this time? Claude ran at Gronder."

Dimitri shook his head. "Khalid had the option of returning home then. Now, though, he's staked his entire reputation on this battle. He'll refuse to leave here in defeat. I can promise you that."

"Edelgard was resolute, too. She still died," Caspar mused.

Dimitri and Caspar both flinched when Khalid began to speak from the above railing. Had he been listening?

Thankfully, Khalid only instructed, "Stay sharp, gentlemen. We won't see the initial action, but I can promise you that we'll get close and personal with it before it's all said and done."

He then looked at something in the distance. Dimitri turned to see that one of the Meteoran columns had begun to advance.

Khalid challenged, "Your move first, Philemon. Let's see if the fox is shrewd enough to escape the snare."