Author's note: Thank you for the reviews! Glad to see you guys around and hello to others. Not sticking to weekly releases, but I'll update when I write something, maybe get feedback so it doesn't collect dust unseen for months. Trying my hand at a new style for a bit, drawing tension from things besides battle. I have proper fight scenes lined up, just saving them for when the time is right. And man, I know I haven't played Awakening in forever when I can listen to Assault (Galvanized) for an extended period of time.
The fell dragon's fingers rapped the wooden table. His head rested on one fist, scarlet eyes utterly unamused by the sight in the tent with him. And for a change, it wasn't the irritating dragon brat that had taken it upon herself to be an incurable blight upon the fell dragon. Nah only jumped awake just now as the Shepherds returned.
"Chrom," said Grima flatly. "Four hours ago, I deployed you and eight others to the bandits' hideout. I ordered you to clear out the base and kill the bandits. You return to camp with nine."
"Why wouldn't I?" Chrom defended himself without hesitation. "This is Anna—another one besides the woman we helped by the village two days ago."
"Another one."
"Yes, there's a strong family resemblance," the woman herself piped up. "Oh, and we're all traveling merchants."
"With the same name?"
"Yes, actually. That's part of the secret! I can't just send you all on your way after helping two of us. So let me come along and aid you in return! I can be quite useful. You'll never make a loss with me in tow, guaranteed!"
"She's adept with blade and staff, skilled with lockpicks, and very swift," supplied Chrom. "You're always so excited to impale yourself on the first blade you see in your enemy's hands. Another healer can only do you good."
"Hah." Grima leaned back in his seat and sighed, "It's not as if I can stop you from recruiting someone every other time you set foot outside Ylisstol. Thank you for informing me so she doesn't run off and go missing on the next battlefield because nobody told me we inflated our ranks yet again."
"Apologies, Robin. Next time, I'll make sure to return with three new Shepherds, two legendary weapons, and a tall tale about defeating two undead warriors that lost their way to the nearest fairytale fantasy book."
"Get out of my sight," muttered Grima, half-amused and half-irritated. He didn't want to recruit those three in the first place. "How were the others?"
"No issues. Maribelle is comfortable with spellcasting under pressure. Olivia is on pace. Donnel is improving exceptionally fast, I don't think I've seen anything like it."
"I see." Grima got up. "I'll make the rounds and take stock of the loot you gathered, but it's your turn to write the after action report."
"Milking your situation for all its worth, as usual."
"Who wouldn't?" Grima stopped dead in front of the prince, faces just inches away. "Seeing as you had to disarm me of all my real weapons to win the duel that decided it."
"Oho?" Chrom's eyebrows went up. "Is that another challenge from the man that doesn't know when to quit?"
"Only to the man who wouldn't dare take me in a real fight."
Sparks were all but flying already, with fists or even steel ready to fly at any second… until the two of them broke away at once, the prince laughing openly while his tactician covered his subdued chuckle with one gloved hand.
Grima composed himself and said, "Fine work on the field today. Take a rest, prince. Sumia will be glad to see you."
"Yes, I've spent long enough seeing someone else already!" laughed Chrom.
"Just shut up and go."
"Well, aren't you just two peas in a pod," remarked Anna as their leader left.
"They really are," sighed Nah. "Half the time I'm not sure whether they're about to punch each other or do something else entirely."
The fell dragon gathered his composure and turned his attention to the newcomer, quickly scanning her up and down. "Anna."
She was dressed in the garb of an experienced trickster. High mobility, competent with a staff, and with lockpicking skills, she'd make for a useful ally with a wide range of utilities. He'd keep his reservations about her combat abilities for now.
He also had no idea who this woman was. Never in Robin's memories did a red-haired trickster merchant join the Shepherds. Grima would've much preferred to make do without yet another unknown showing up in his ranks… but if he could count on Chrom to do anything, it could only be chatting up new recruits while their lives were in mortal danger. Robin, the bond-making tactician, could never be opposed to that.
He could deal with it. If the fell dragon couldn't handle a single question mark floating around the Shepherds, he might as well jump on his sword neck-first anyway.
Less than a second since he last spoke, he continued, "I am Robin, tactician of Ylisse's Shepherds. Given the prince's glowing recommendation, I'm looking forward to great things from you. Welcome aboard."
"The pleasure's all mine," said Anna. "Do you mind if I take over inventory for you? I saw you had oodles of supplies in the convoy and I just love getting to go through some good fresh assets—oh, but that's right!" A thought occurred to her and she snapped her fingers. "This is the perfect time to prepare—do you have some paper I could borrow? Preferably one or two thousand sheets of it?"
"I only deploy with a few hundred," he said warily. "What are you doing with two thousand sheets of paper?"
"Sorry, if you'll excuse me, I have some wares to attend to. It won't take long at all! Talk to you soon!"
"Will you at least answer before—" Grima didn't even get to finish being indignant before their new trickster was gone, leaving only the rustling tent flaps where she once stood. She was fast… and he didn't know what she was up to. He rolled his eyes on his way to checking in with the returning Shepherds. They still had humanitarian aid to deliver to the villages destroyed by the Deadlords he encountered in the manor all that time ago.
"Robin!" Showing up in a hurry, Cordelia reached him before he could get anywhere. "I think I need your help."
"With?" he prompted.
"It's Chrom. I don't…" With a huge sigh, she admitted, "I've been petrified all the last two missions. I don't think I'm suited to pair up with him."
"I thought shock therapy would help," muttered Grima under his breath. Aloud, "Why is that?"
"I just can't do it! When he's right behind me in the saddle… muscular arms wrapped around my waist… shifting and rocking about as he fights…! There's no way I can focus!"
"Cordelia, listen to me. You're panting. Take deep breaths." He waited for her to calm down. "This is not an issue when you pair with literally anybody else."
"How do you talk to him?" asked Cordelia. "There must be something I can learn. I don't understand how you of all people became his best friend."
Grima stared at her flatly.
"No offense."
"Obviously," he droned. "We are not best friends. We disagree. We argue. We throw insults. We resort to physical altercations." Grima folded his arms. "Have you tried… talking to him? As if he were an ordinary person?"
"Gods know I've tried," she said morosely.
"…Perhaps you could catalogue him. Observe his mundane actions and record them and your conversations, as well as some of the other Shepherds."
"Which ones?"
"Anyone besides me. If nothing else, avoid stalking or fixating. Treat it as an occasional, incidental afterthought and not a task to dedicate yourself entirely to."
"I'm not sure I understand, but I'll try my best…?"
"What are you doing," asked Nah as Cordelia left.
"I'm helping," said Grima.
"Turning her into a Chrom stalker isn't helping."
Grima shrugged and was on his way. "We will see. I have inventory to attend to."
"Hey." Nah tugged on his coat. "Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey."
"What," seethed Grima.
"You're not telling a story right now."
"No. I am busy. Later."
"But I want to know more now."
"Am I a walking library that only exists to regurgitate information at your beck and call? I will not indulge you in every spare moment I can find. No."
"Ooh, those plants growing by the side of the road look delicious!"
He blew out a low breath that would've been violet flame in his true body. "Here is your story. Once upon a time, there was an evil dragon and it killed everyone very painfully and there were no survivors. The end. Every infant in Plegia adores this story."
"Excuse me? Are you implying I'm a baby?!"
"You are certainly behaving like one!" snapped Grima. He could fester amidst his sworn enemies for years on end, but his patience wasn't unlimited, and it definitely wasn't enough to deal with an unending deluge of this inanity. "You know what? I've changed my mind. Eat grass until your gut ruptures. I don't care."
"What?! You can't do that! I'll… uh, I'll…" Nah scrambled for something to leverage against him. "I'll say your real name!"
"By all means, do it because I won't tell you a story right this second. See what happens."
"Look, just tell me!"
She wouldn't shut up. A deep snarl reverberated in his chest as Grima went into autopilot and let his mind descend into the depths. At least Anna wasn't yet another damnable dimension-diving interloper with designs against both the fell dragon and his last remaining scraps of sanity. He'd gladly exchange all four of his stalkers for four more Annas.
The brutal mountains of Wyvern Valley lay near the heart of the continent, their tall spires and sheer faces forcing all on foot to follow its easily-patrolled roads. Detouring around the mountains meant navigating the open wilderness of the nation to their west and an even longer journey around the east. A vast river flowed endlessly from the north great lakes to the farthest reaches of Chon'sin in the south. Rushing in an endless torrent in all but the lowest tides, the rapids carved a deep trench across the land and threatened to sweep away any who fell in. Fort Steiger was built upon the only roads through this merciless terrain, surrounded by danger on all sides. Any organized group seeking to journey across Valm would have no choice but to pass through it eventually.
But that was Fort Steiger to an army. As a small group travelling by wyvern, pegasus, and the agility of a taguel, Lucina's team was indeed one capable of bypassing the ironclad defenses by simply never interacting with it. The fortress' defenses were impenetrable, but patrols of surrounding area were light when avoiding the trails. The Conqueror's men were concentrated on the vast southern frontline, a solid wave of imperials radiating from the Demon's Ingle and running over the nation in every direction.
The cool autumn wind whipped through Lucina's hair as she rode behind Cynthia. Cast under the light of the moon and the stars, Minerva carried Gerome and Say'ri while Yarne was tasked with acting as Severa's steed (with no shortage of complaints from both).
"Here again," murmured Gerome.
"These mountains are of the realm called Olteim," said Say'ri. "'Twas once the greatest power of this land before the Conqueror rose up."
As they ventured past the fort and into the forested wilderness to its west, Yarne collapsed face-first into the dirt and moaned, "Gods, I almost forgot what grass felt like! My poor bunny feet are going to have sores bigger than my hands after that much rock climbing…"
"Oh, you'll live." Severa tested the last of the tents to make sure it was stable, seeing as he couldn't be bothered to help with any of it. "That's what you have paw pads for."
"Except that's why I'm worried!" Yarne rolled over and looked at his blistered hands in anguish. "Rabbits don't have paw pads! I'm gonna get awful paw sores and they're gonna get infected and my paws are gonna fall off and hunters are gonna make a rug out of me and—"
"Swear to gods, you're like a big fuzzy helpless… come here and let me see." Just in case it was actually worth worrying about, Severa grabbed his hands and got a close look and it was absolutely not actually worth worrying about. "These are just how you get calluses, you big fuzzy helpless baby! I get calluses!"
"Really? Could've sworn you have the least callus-y hands out of all of us."
"Yeah, 'cuz unlike the rest of you, I actually take the time out of my day to deal with them. Gerome, does Minerva have my rucksack? I know I picked up some cream before we left Rosanne."
"But that's for humans! What if I'm allergic to it?!"
"Hey, Yarne, here's a challenge for you. Go five whole minutes without dooming over a stubbed toe or something!"
"I mean, my toenail could get something under it and start growing a mind-controlling fungus…"
"Is volume a concern?" Lucina asked Say'ri. Her two allies instantly quieted and looked up from their bickering at Minerva's side.
"'Twould be best to err on caution's side," said the swordmaster. "We are not far from Steiger, let alone near allied territory."
Lucina nodded as she joined Say'ri's side. Severa and Yarne resumed their conversation more quietly.
"We were too hurried to talk on the journey north," said Lucina. "I visited Olteim once before." That was when she found Gerome in Wyvern Valley. "What country did the land east of it belong to?"
"We knew it as Casalea," said Say'ri. "To call it a country may be amiss… 'twas a wilderness of nomads, racing across the open plains on horseback. Walhart was the first to unite them—bring them under the banner of his new Empire. Best that we do not linger in their territory."
Their gaze settled on the dark silhouette of the mountains on the horizon behind them.
"How could we take such a fortress?" asked Lucina.
"At great cost, I wager. Food and water may be harvested within the safety of its walls. Attempts to encircle it are deterred by the mountains—of the many paths to the fortress, few meet before it. You saw the volume of men passing through it as we slipped by, yes? To control Steiger is to control the flow of war." Say'ri adjusted the sheathed katana at her hip. "Well-manned and supplied, 'tis an impenetrable bastion, yet not invincible. Were we to strike from two sides at once, sealing every route to the fort, the defenders would be imprisoned within their own walls."
"Gerome. If I could have your thoughts on the matter?"
He paused in the middle of what he was doing… but it didn't stop him from untying the last bag of their supplies still attached to Minerva's harnesses. Gerome departed them, undoubtedly sweeping the area with his usual vigilance.
It was starting to grate on Lucina's nerves.
"For what it's worth." Severa raised her voice slightly. "I think wyvern riders sure are a big problem. With the fort, I mean."
"Is that so?" The princess of Ylisse considered it. "…Indeed. They could provide a means of resupply while under siege. We would also need aerial dominance to earn their surrender. But if the bulk of the imperials were to return in that time, we would be trapped in Fort Steiger just after taking it…"
"You have a keen mind," said Say'ri. "But let us ponder the matter further as the hour approaches. We have allies to gather."
"Of course." And the gemstones to gather. Lucina found her eye wandering to the mountains again, this time imagining what lay behind them. They drew further and further from the Mila Tree, returning to the nation they had only recently left. Couldn't she have done better? Somehow, she should have foreseen this and avoided wasting time.
In the world she came from, Lucina recalled the war against Plegia lasting at least a year longer than it did here. After it ended, Valm launched its first warships against Ylisse some four or five years after. Lucina and her allies were born around the end of the first war.
Grima ended the war against Plegia in one year. Lucina didn't know how much time she could squander.
"Psst. Lucina!" Cynthia prodded her.
"Did you need something, Cynthia?"
"I saw you doing your 'staring off into the distance, lost in thoughts all alone' thing again. What's up?"
"Nothing. Only duelling with unpleasant thoughts." Lucina looked quizzically at her sister. "I'm still not sure I'm used to your new attire."
"Everyone else got new armour off that raid," shrugged Cynthia, "why not me too? And dark matches my new pegasus!" She turned to the winged horse in question and threw her arms round its neck. "That's right, we're totally matching, aren't we? C'mere!"
Lucina reached out to run her hand through its mane. "Soft," she noted. "And the sheen of the feathers is very noticeable."
"Right? I never really… took care of Mom's pegasus that much…" Cynthia's smile saddened, but not for long. She perked up and declared, "So that's why I'm gonna fight extra hard, and I'm gonna take extra good care of this one! We're all making it out in one piece for sure this time!"
A weary smile crossed Lucina's face as she watched her sister strike a pose. Lucina was their de facto leader, but it had always been Cynthia that excelled in raising their spirits. She had always been too focused to consider it before, but Lucina noticed that she truly missed her sister in the time she was gone.
"I don't know about you guys—besides you, Lucy, you already figured yours out—but I'm putting in extra super-duper work to figure out a magic skill! Could you imagine?!" Cynthia hopped on the spot and spread her arms slowly, replacing the surrounding scenery in her mind's eye. "The great Cynthia takes to the field, cutting through one bad guy after another like spears on a living wind!"
"Please do," grumbled Severa. "The faster you get farther on the field, the less you're abusing my eardrums."
"See, even Severa's on board with it! I'm two hundred percent set for success!"
"Severa, wait—" whimpered Yarne. "Ow! Ow! That stings, that really stings!"
With the bandits' leaders disposed of in their battles against the Shepherds, the local bandits splintered and dissolved from the area. The delivery of supplies went smoothly. As the process of rebuilding neared its end in the coming weeks, Regna Ferox's soldiers could return to proper efficiency; though Risen would continue to pose a threat, the region would see much fewer bandit attacks for the foreseeable future.
The Shepherds returned the way they came, chatting and bantering along the march across the snowscape. As the sun fell below the horizon, they made camp not far from the village they found the first Anna defending. Morgan and Donnel took the time to hunt down the prized luxury of tacticians everywhere—wild bear.
"Early winters, short harvest seasons, and limited trade routes often at the mercy of the weather," mused Grima that night after supper. Warm orange torches lit up the camp around him alongside the quiet chatter of Shepherds getting ready to sleep. "These humans are hardy to call this land home."
"But there's no better place for mining than this," piped up Anna. "And you know whose job it is to keep goods moving and commerce alive between here and a fertile land like Ylisse?"
"Yes, yes, merchants," he muttered irritably. The woman kept coming back. He was used to initiating with unfamiliar Shepherds, not being initiated upon. "Feroxi iron and coal, Plegian gold, Ylissean crops, merchants and money make the world go 'round. Yes. So I have heard. Is there something you need from me?"
"Oh, I apologize! I'm just eager to explore the brilliance of Ylisse's master tactician."
Ah. So this woman was one of those people. Grima turned his brain off. "Right. Again, is there something you need from me?"
"Can I get your autograph as a token of our new friendship?"
"…Autograph?"
Anna nodded excitedly. "Yeah, it's easy! All you have to do is write down your own name."
"I suppose I might grant such a request."
"Really? Yay! Here, this should be enough to get you started!"
SLAM!
A titanic block of paper rested before Grima, the table creaking under its weight. "What on earth…?" he said. "You didn't mention needing more than a single… autograph."
"Yeah, but I never said I didn't, either!" Anna clasped her hands together and did her best puppy eyes impression. "Come on, be a sport! Pleeease?"
Grima took a sheet off the pile to assess it. So this was what she wanted all that paper for. As far as he could tell, it was nothing but ordinary paper. There was no poison. There was no hex. There was no magically binding contract written in faded ink that would only reveal itself when the paper was lit aflame. What was going on here?
…Damn it all. The woman was a Shepherd, so that meant making relationships. At least a sycophant wasn't intentionally harmful, even if it was getting too late to be getting harassed for these 'autographs.' "Very well," he said. The fell dragon dipped his quill in ink and began signing Robin's name.
"Woo!" cheered Anna. "You're the best, Robin! I have nothing but the deepest admiration for you! Pleasure doing business with ya!"
"Frederick should return from patrol in five minutes," he said. "If I am to be stuck slowly spraining my wrist, send out Owain and Lon'qu to make the rounds for me."
"The darkness calls to us," Owain dramatically declared as he set out with his father. "The heroes in the night shall watch over thee from their moonlight vantage!"
"We're on patrol." Lon'qu carried the torch. Orange light flickered and danced on the trees around them. "Hush."
Owain piped down. He could only go a few minutes before piping up again. Back and forth they went, Owain willing his inner overflowing blood rage to calm a little longer each time. Eventually, he settled on talking like a normal person for a change. "I've been meaning to ask. I think I saw you training on the frozen lake earlier today?"
"To ensure I will not falter no matter the terrain."
"Isn't that amazing? I bet most of us couldn't get one good swing out before falling over."
"I'm used to snow and ice," said Lon'qu. "A lot of practice."
Owain waited and waited. Snow crunched quietly under their feet. "…Could you tell me a bit more? Maybe about where you, I don't know, came from?"
Silence fell over them. The minutes ticked by. The moon continued on its sluggish trajectory across the sky. Just as Owain was about to speak up again, Lon'qu spoke first.
"My family moved to Regna Ferox when I was an infant," he said. "Many of us left Chon'sin at the time. We were not rich. I grew up in the western slums, not from the port, and…" A pained expression crossed his face. He quickly continued, "I left after that. Wandering. Training. Plegia and Ylisse weren't good places to go. The borders didn't open for the first time until well into Exalt Emmeryn's rule. Travelling with the Shepherds is my first time exploring outside the world I grew up in."
Owain slowly digested it. He never really did get to know his dad that much before coming back. He was too young for most of that time, and when he did start growing up, they always had more pressing concerns…
"…Your attire," said Lon'qu. "You chose to become a swordmaster."
"That's right," said Owain, striking a pose as they walked. "The masters of the blade famed to possess the secret art of the Shooting Star Sword! But more important than that was how my father was one of the best swordsmen in the world."
"Owain…" Lon'qu still found it hard to wrap his head around having a time-hopping son so close to his age. Even so… "Thank you. And I'm proud to call you an equal… even if I'm not so proud about the shouting fits."
"What's wrong with that? I'm the chosen scion of warrior heroes across tide and time!"
"And you're not ashamed to say these things out loud…?"
"Ashamed? Ha! Far from it! Though I suppose I can't blame you for not understanding my bleeding-edge aesthetic. After all, you are the product of an earlier, simpler time…"
"Hmph. Well, a future where everyone talks like you sounds—GET DOWN!"
"Oof!"
The high ring of a sword flying from its scabbard, several sharp thuds, and Owain found himself shoved to the ground. He scrambled to his feet. "What—Father, you're hit!"
The torch fell abandoned, Killing Edge drawn in its place. One arrow lay cut clean in half, two lay embedded in the cold dirt, and three more jutted out of Lon'qu's front.
"Cover!" said Lon'qu. The two swordmasters swiftly backed away from the source of the arrows and behind the nearest trees. "Archers in the trees… We're outnumbered… We have to get out of here!"
Rustling in the branches—their attackers were moving.
"Gods," whispered Owain. "Not again…"
"GO!"
What was he doing? Owain didn't have time to be standing around in shock! "R-right!" He ran to his father's side, helping him through the forest and back towards the campsite.
Nah blinked herself awake to the stench of raw killing intent.
That was normal. That happened every morning. But it wasn't morning, and the killing intent wasn't coming from Grima.
She caught a glimpse of the fell dragon's hands flying instantly for the neck of the man that just stabbed him. Grima was on his feet in the blink of an eye, both him and his attacker an indistinguishable mass of shadow as they wrestled back and forth in the dark tent. Morgan's confused yelp broke the air. One vague silhouette fled the tent as the other whirled around and launched itself at another figure over the cot, dragging them into a violent struggle on the floor.
Nah's ears picked up the sound of shuffling cloth, right behind her own bed—
The tent burst as the red dragon emerged from inside it, throwing her assilant to the ground. Nah twisted her serpentine neck and unleashed a powerful jet of mystic flame before they could get up. She didn't stop until she was certain they were a charred husk in the dirt.
"AMBUSH!" bellowed the red dragon to the rest of the camp.
"I knew we should've gotten the stuffed bear—Elfire!" Morgan's fireball rushed down the campsite, lighting one torch after another.
A terrible gurgling, choking sound filled the air. Leaving the assassin to die of the hole in his neck, Grima got up and spat something to the side.
The ground shook with one huge step. Nah loomed over Grima, tongues of turquoise fire burning at the corners of her jaw already. Torchlight reflected on dark red liquid covering his chest, but Nah got the feeling that the stains he just wiped off his chin weren't his own blood.
"Give me one good reason not to eat you right now," said Nah.
Morgan rushed out an incantation. Nah howled and reared up as the spell circles formed around the little tactician, but the next fireball flew right under her wing. The red dragon couldn't resist turning her head to the sound of a small explosion, and another assassin crumpled barely three steps away from Nah's back.
"Does that count?" said Morgan, suddenly in a hurry to pick things up off the ground. "Father, catch!"
As he received the coat and sword thrown his way, Grima's wide eyes at Nah and motioning to the numerous knife wounds in his chest said everything for him. Father and daughter swept on their iconic coats, Silver and Levin Sword flew from their sheaths, Mjölnir shook loose from its pocket into its wielder's hand, and they were running across the dark camp amidst the sounds of battle.
"Nah, fly and aid whoever you see!" barked Grima. "Damn it all, why didn't I bring Panne—SHEPHERDS, TO ARMS!"
"Healer!" yelled Morgan. Her father sort of had a few conspicuously knife-shaped holes in him. "Any healers on call?!"
"Sumia's tent is this way! Morgan, at my side!"
"More enemies behind us!" The Levin Sword flashed, dropping the thunder as they rounded a corner. "Should we be on the battlefield together?!"
"I can't choose that when the battlefield comes to me! SUMIA!"
Chrom and Sumia yelled in surprise as their bloodstained tactician nearly tore off the tent entrance and whirled, dropping the hammer of the gods on his pursuers in a huge thunderbolt.
"Robin, you're bleeding everywhere!" said Sumia over the ringing in her ears.
"Consider that you can get out your Heal staff and do something about it!" he said back.
"Risen?!" said Chrom. Even without time to armour up, he had sword and shield at the ready to defend his wife on one side while Robin and Morgan guarded the other.
"Assassins!" said Grima.
"I hate it when your paranoia is justified!"
"This time, I agree!"
This was exactly why Kjelle slept with her armour on.
Barely a second after Nah's shout blasted her from her sleep, Kjelle felt a dagger clang off the metal plates. The sheets flew into the air and her lance shot up from right beside her, spearing the assassin's skull through and then pinning it to the earth as Kjelle landed with a yell.
Her allies! Owain's cot was empty—
Emerald blades of wind filled her vision. The other attacker in the tent fled badly wounded, but didn't make it far before Kjelle lunged and finished what Laurent started. The mage himself was crumpled against the side of his cot, his normally calm expression now contorted in exertion as he nursed the wounds under his robes.
"Laurent!" Kjelle made for his side before a certain farm's boy yelling stopped her in her tracks.
"My predicament is… survivable," muttered Laurent. Tearing the corner of his sheets, he rose with one hand keeping his injuries pressured under a bundle of cloth. "We must ascertain the condition of our allies posthaste!"
They emerged into the chaos of a camp already well under attack. Draconic shrieks split the air, Minerva briefly rising over the peaks of the tents with Cherche aboard before descending on her enemy. A jet of brilliant cyan flame lanced through the night—Nah was there.
Kjelle and Laurent found Donnel hastily backing across camp, his iron lance barely keeping the lone assassin at bay. Kjelle imposed herself between their fight, her own silver lance drawing deep blood from the enemy. When they turned tail and fled, Laurent's Elwind made sure they weren't going anywhere.
"Sorry ya gotta go savin' my bacon," said Donnel, limping after the knight.
"It's nothing," said Kjelle. "The strong defending the weak is only natural!" Her only issue was that this weakling was running around on the battlefield getting himself in danger in the first place!
"Olivia! By my side!" Grima's voice rang out over the din of combat. "Frederick, Lissa! Retrieve Lon'qu and Owain immediately! SHEPHERDS, TO THE CONVOY!" The night sky illuminated for an instant as divine lightning crashed down, its calamitous din ringing out from the head of the convoy as Kjelle's party raced across camp.
"Laurent!" Kjelle turned back. The mage had stopped, wheezing for breath. "What's wrong?"
"I had believed my physical constitution to be more adequate than this…" Sweat ran down his face as he forced himself back into motion. "We must continue onwards."
"What is all the ruckus about…?" Maribelle stumbled out of her tent, rubbing the sleep out of one eye. "I thought our study into the arts of stewardship ended by—"
Ricken's flurry of Elwind grazed just a few paces by her, steering an arrow away to strike the post beside its intended target. "Maribelle, wake up!" he said. "We're under attack!"
"Under attack…? We're under attack?!" Maribelle's mind catapulted into the present and she dived back into her tent rummaging for her things. The valkyrie burst back out, tome in one hand and staff in the other as she yelled, "Which absolute barbarian chose to attack our camp in the dead of night?! I will RUIN you!"
Ricken raised his arm to loose another spell, but sighed and lowered it the next moment. "He got away…"
"Laurent needs help!" called Kjelle. By this point, Laurent looked like he was having difficulty standing.
Ricken swiftly retrieved Maribelle's mount. Kjelle helped Laurent into the saddle with Maribelle as they hurried to the convoy—smoke was rising from its head. When they gathered as ordered, several of the nearest tents had been torn down. Morgan and Grima dragged the last tarp across the cold dirt and then shot it ablaze, the resultant column of smoke joining its comrades surrounding one side of the convoy's head. Within this ring of fire, line of sight to the surrounding open fields was minimized.
"Robin!" called Maribelle as she neared. "Something is amiss with Laurent!"
"Robin!" Frederick leapt through the wall of smoke, followed shortly by Owain and Lissa going around. Lon'qu was slung over the back of the horse and motionless. "I have them!"
"Robin!" said Lissa. "We have a problem!"
"Robin!" Anna arrived in a panic with Olivia, Nah, and Cherche in tow. "Where are those two thousand autographs? They're in the wagons, aren't they?!"
"Robin!" Kjelle levelled her lance at him. Chrom and Sumia were nowhere to be seen! "Where is our captain?!"
"SILENCE!" bellowed the tactician. Finally, just two seconds to work his mind! Grima slammed a hand against the side of the carriage for support. His head was spinning. Even after healing, his closed wounds felt as if they were burning from within. He pointed a shaking finger at Lissa and then Maribelle. "Go on…!"
"Lon'qu's injuries aren't healing properly," said Lissa. "Something's off!"
"Laurent hasn't recovered either," said Maribelle.
"Set them in the carriage." Grima slowly walked to the nearest body and wrested the dagger from its grip. Cutting free a section of the dead assassin's cloak, the fell dragon's eyes grew wider and wider as he watched the dark stain left by a blade that cut nobody. His head snapped up and he barked, "Restore staff!"
"We don't have that!" said Lissa.
If only he had a Goddess Staff that wasn't squandered back at the oasis! "Give me a clean knife NOW!"
"I-I got one here!" Donnel nearly fumbled the blade he typically used for cleaning game. He narrowly caught it and handed it off.
"Anna, attend to Lon'qu in the carriage! Lissa, Mend staff on me!"
"I'm right beside you," said Anna, "Why are we switching—eek!"
The tip of the knife entered Grima's flesh. A strangled snarl escaped as he placed a hand on his skin to keep it from moving and carefully carved down, retracing the first of the injuries he took. The knife retreated and pierced again, completing the other side of the original wound so Grima could twist the blade around and finish pulling out the chunk of meat.
"Morgan…!" Grima forced her name out through gritted teeth. "Explain…!"
She looked just as lost as everyone else. Watching him begin carving out the next piece, something clicked into place and she gasped.
"It's venom!" she said quickly, gathering the Shepherds' attention while her father turned his back on them and continued the agonizing process. "Looks like our friends brought envenomed blades to the party—tipped arrows too, judging by Lon'qu. Everyone else who got hurt, raise your hands? We're not gutting you, promise! Uh, Father, we're not gutting them, right?" Only Donnel sheepishly raised his hand. "Right, to the carriage with you!"
Grima shot a look over his shoulder. "Will they live?"
Maribelle pursed her lips. Lon'qu was unconscious. Though Laurent had presence of mind, a thin sheen of sweat covered his pale face as he panted for breath. The small magic circles faded as she let go of the mage's hand. "With treatment," she said firmly. "Though they can't fight."
"Then it's not necessary." His voice was still strained as he returned to cutting away. Lissa handed him a waterskin to wash the blade between sessions.
"Nah, come here." Kjelle climbed into the carriage with her. They joined Owain at Laurent and Lon'qu's side. While Maribelle bustled over Lon'qu with Anna on standby, Kjelle told her allies in a low voice, "I'm going to kill him."
"If he's trying to lower our guard," said Nah quietly, "he's going really far."
"Later," said Owain. "When we're not in danger. When my father isn't in danger! Damn it, I was right there…!"
"Inconclusive data," panted Laurent, face contorted in pain. "Investigate cautiously…"
"Hey, you three!" Morgan's call broke up their hushed little circle. "We're in the woods at night surrounded by assassins? It'd be a big help if you came out here! Survive now, conspiracy after!"
"I know he's our tactician," said Olivia, watching Robin's back shudder. "But why is he, um…?"
"The venom was delivered by blade," said Morgan. "After the blade's out, whatever stayed in the cuts has to spread from there. Getting rid of the surrounding area gets rid of what hasn't gone around yet."
"Because I can't afford to sit out yet." The knife returned to its sheath and found a new home at Grima's belt as he struggled to his feet, breathing ragged. "Donnel, I'm borrowing this. I'll return it later. Thank you, Lissa."
"Sure, but now we're back at zero days without a mutilation incident," she said. "And we had such a good streak going!"
"The enemy stopped attacking," noted Morgan. "Let's horsie up and get out?"
"We've mustered our forces," said Grima. He was still pale, resting his weight on the carriage for support. "They mean to slither away and strike again at the next opportunity. I won't let them." His coat flared as he turned to address them at large. "We are on the same battlefield as when we met the first Anna. This piece of land is isolated by rivers. The lakefront is at our north and bridges on the other three cardinals. Cordelia, Morgan—hold the east bridge. Nah, Kjelle—hold the west bridge. Cherche, take me to the south bridge."
"Wait a minute," said Nah. "You're going off with Cherche? Morgan and Cordelia?" She'd slipped up in the chaos earlier, but the last thing she wanted to do was let them run away unattended.
Grima growled quietly. He was in the middle of strategizing! He had two new Shepherds to bond with in battle! He had other things to care about besides enabling his stalkers! "Fine, switch. Cherche and Kjelle to the west, you and I to the south. We have line of sight to Morgan's bridge from there. Anna, Owain, Maribelle, Frederick—scour the landmass and flush out the enemy. Start in the north and destroy any boats you see in the water. Nobody should be on the lake at this time."
"I stay," said Owain.
The fell dragon's eye twitched. "You what?"
"I'm staying with the convoy. I'm not leaving my father."
Grima's expression darkened. He was hard-pressed enough stretching out their meagre number to cover every escape route without exposing them to being picked off. He absolutely could not send out Sumia and Chrom needed to be at her side. If the future children became an even heavier millstone than they already were, he might as well just kill and replace them so he could have some soldiers that weren't insufferable!
"So be it," he said. "Watch the convoy with the rest of the guards. Ricken, you're taking his place. Move as one group. Frederick, watch over them."
"And if our enemy were to fight back?" asked Frederick as they prepared to move out.
"Then we'd best hurry and end this battle before the effects take hold," said Grima. A trace of a smile formed. "Without the element of surprise, they will prioritize escaping at all costs. We've already seen that. Let them run without being cornered."
"Answer me!" shouted Kjelle. "Where is—?"
"Have you no PATIENCE?!" Grima shouted back, followed by a groan as a wave of nausea swept over him. He looked at the carriages behind him. The convoy, he noted, lay untouched and its non-Shepherd guard largely unscathed. If these attackers were ordinary bandits, they would've attacked it first.
"Chrom and Sumia are in the lead wagon!" he declared loudly. He saw the confusion on Nah's face as she picked up the lie. Surrounded by smoke, only the Shepherds could see him motion at a cart further down—the most important targets were actually there, already moved amidst the smokescreen and blinding thunder. If something caught him by surprise, at least letting the enemy overhear this might give him a small buffer to save the day. "Move the injured there," he said more quietly. Sumia could still help treat them. Then, with the commanding voice of the tactician, "All remaining forces, defend it with your lives! To your positions!"
They burst into action. Grima never got tired of hearing that synchronized yell.
"Let's cut some trees when we get there," chirped Morgan as she saddled up with Cordelia. "Time to go beaver mode!"
"Well?" Grima looked at Nah as the rest of his Shepherds moved out. "Transform."
"And let you hitch a ride on my back?" she pointed out.
"This is your fault to begin with." Grima pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep growl. He felt another migraine coming on. "Just to set you at ease. 'I did not hire these assassins. I will not and have no intention of harming you during this battle.'"
Nah frowned. She walked up to him and really focused. No matter how close she got, she couldn't pick out any hint of an full-on lie amidst the scent of boiling anger. She sensed some sort of deception, but he always had that air. Someone else really sent these men after them? Grudgingly, Nah accepted his words and lifted her glowing dragonstone.
The bridge groups broke off towards their respective chokepoints. Hardly any sooner than Grima and Nah had touched down did an arrow whiz by them.
"Mjölnir!" Divine judgement fell, striking the assassin responsible from the tree they hid in. Restocking his spell in a slurred mutter, Grima raised an eyebrow as more enemies burst from the foliage. They rushed to close the distance if the tome would destroy them at range. Still, he expected them to disengage and avoid him at all costs, not come straight to him.
But his assessment of their combat abilities was correct—these were dedicated assassins, not soldiers suited for an open battle. Elfire briefly found its place in his hand, casting a barrier of fire to delay the approach of two as his silver sword engaged another. Nah swooped down, her claws rending one of them and scattering the other. The venomous blade clanged off of the manakete's hardened scales.
Grima rarely found a use for Pavise. He was careful to know exactly how much damage he was getting himself into when he took a hit for a winning position, but that was a much less desirable outcome now. Retreating down the bridge while Nah dived off the side to avoid more incoming arrows, that skill found its use so Grima could swiftly end his swordfight. Drawing the silver blade across the enemy's neck while the poisoned blade deflected off his own, the fell dragon switched back to Mjölnir to dissuade the remaining bow users.
His vision wavered as the lightning crashed down. Frederick's party was that light flickering in between the trees in the distance… judging by their speed and the other lights appearing ahead of them, they were mounting an offensive rather than fleeing. That was good.
"Another archer!" warned Nah.
Grima twisted and the next arrow deflected against the coat's enchanted fabric, tearing a cut across his arm. Damn it—he would've dodged it entirely on any other day. While Nah's flamethrower dispatched the archer before they could nock their next shot, Grima wasted no time drawing the knife and swiftly prying as much flesh from the new injury as he reasoned he needed. Donnel had been injured but had yet to show unusual symptoms. Did not every enemy carry envenomed weapons? Or were they different toxins? It didn't matter in that moment.
He typically kept an elixir in his coat, which was in turn always at his side, but that precious potion did little for poison. It'd be a waste to use it, and it was currently in Sumia's hands anyway. Grima had to keep more disposable potions on hand in the future.
One more assassin coming his way. Grima let him come and then arrested the dagger mid-swing with a vice grip on the offending arm. His own sword pierced up through the jaw and mouth in return. It was a simple maneuver—effortless against an enemy of this calibre normally, but felt far too taxing on the fell dragon with his head spinning and a perpetual suggestion from his stomach to hurl its contents. He declined his body's offer.
The good news was that if he could dispatch them in this state, Frederick would run them over. Kjelle was an impenetrable wall. Morgan was laughing, blades of Elwind flying amidst the petals of Ignis to barricade her bridge with a makeshift dam of several downed trees. They were sure to fulfill their roles. No more fires burned near the campsite either—no smoke signals from a convoy under attack.
"Robin!" Cherche's voice caught his attention. The wyvern rider called out long before approaching, "They're crossing the river by the west bridge! Too spread out to catch them all!"
"We'll help." Nah spread her wings—
"No need," said Grima. She landed heavily on the bridge, keeping watch as the fell dragon slowly walked to its edge with a growing smile.
Of course they would try the river when every bridge was closed and a party hunting them down. Unfortunately, they just fled into a body of water that ran all the way to him.
Grima brandished the legendary tome and uttered its name.
His stomach finally got the better of him and he was on his knees dry heaving against the backdrop of the gods' hammer.
The only downside of bloodshed and destruction was the paperwork. This time, he foisted the after action report onto Morgan. He was busy with other matters.
It was the morning after the attack. The fell dragon sat at Lon'qu's side in one of the larger wagon. Nominally meant for storage, it was now their impromptu infirmary. Resting in the other cot, Laurent got off lightly—light-headed, with constant pain, a rare difficulty finding his words, and prone to painting the floor with the contents of his stomach if he got out of his cot too fast again. Meanwhile, Grima's own stomach had learned how to do backflips in his abdomen and refused to stop demonstrating now that the thrill of battle was behind him. That damn dagger, a sleepless night, rendering aid to his casualties, and trying not to keel over with the filth coursing through his veins left him with a migraine better described as being kicked in the head repeatedly. Pain throbbed without end in the dagger wounds that no longer existed.
He'd survive. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that someone used a blade slathered in poison on him, and even more importantly his Shepherds. Grima didn't even realize how much he dreaded the idea until he encountered it.
"Morgan," he muttered groggily. "Note on the report: I want Restore staves, bezoars, and mithridate acquired as soon as possible. We're preparing a proper stock of portable antitoxin."
"Got it, Father." Morgan shuffled her pages around in the corner. There was the slight issue of Restore staves being largely extinct, but whatever he said, went.
"I thought you were obsessed with being assassinated," said Nah sleepily from her seat just outside the carriage, bundled up in a thick red cloak. A sleepless Grima meant a sleepless Nah to keep him company. Kjelle stood guard with her, silver lance clutched in a death grip.
"I prepared for poisoning by food," he said. Thanks in no small part to his experience evading a certain dark mage's love potions. Grima dipped his towel in the bucket of icy water by his feet and swapped it for the one on Lon'qu's head. The swordmaster had the worst of it. "How do you feel?"
"Like garbage," rasped Lon'qu.
"Here." Worry was written all over Lissa's face as she joined them with a foul-smelling bowl of dark liquid in her hands. "Can't do anything about the taste. This should help, poor thing…"
"He'll be okay, right?" asked Owain. He hadn't left his father's side all night.
"The toxin seems to act quickly," said Lissa. "I think the window for it to get worse is already over."
"Kill before we can react," noted Grima. "If that fails, retreat. Wait for the target to weaken and then return. Those were their methods."
Nah and Kjelle poked their heads around the door. Laurent stirred from his rest. Owain looked up. The expression on every single future child's face was identical as they glared at the fell dragon.
"…Morgan," growled Grima. "Which Shepherds were targeted in the initial attack?"
She flipped through her after action report and cleared her throat. "You, me, Nah, Laurent, Kjelle, Donnel, Cherche, Maribelle," she recited. "Owain and Lon'qu are a grey zone, but it sounds like they were mostly after Owain. So in other words, the ones not targeted were, let's see… Chrom, Sumia, Ricken, Frederick, Anna, Lissa, Olivia. Wait, what?"
"Not targeted," repeated Grima. "Chrom. Sumia." He reached out and took Lon'qu's empty bowl from him without backing down from the gaze of his enemies.
"I'll be fine," said Lon'qu. The tension in the carriage loosened as all eyes turned to him instead. "Wasn't much of a wound to begin with."
"But why?!" Owain burst out. "Why did you take that arrow for me?! You could have died! This is how it happens, you know! This is exactly how you…" He trailed off, noticing the sudden attention on him. "Er…"
"This is how what happens?"
Owain took a breath—and didn't answer. The closer Lon'qu looked, the more watery Owain's eyes became.
"Please pardon my intrusion." It was Frederick's voice outside. "Is Robin here?"
"What is it?" called Grima.
"The man you captured from the stream at the end of the battle. He woke up."
Grima's eyes went to Lissa.
She nodded—go on, I'll take care of everyone here. "Don't push yourself too."
That scarlet gaze lingered on Owain for one second longer before the fell dragon rose and followed Frederick. Nah trailed after him.
"…Owain?" asked Lon'qu as Robin walked away. "Are you crying? What's wrong?"
"I'm not!" Owain's voice cracked even as he said it. "I… I don't know what I'd do if… if I got you killed again."
Morgan's quill froze. Slowly, carefully, she slid the report aside and drew up a blank page.
Grima didn't care what family drama went down in the carriage. If it was anything relevant, Morgan would inform him. This was far more important.
"Robin!" A smile crossed Chrom's face as his tactician approached. It vanished as he got a closer look at his tactician. "Good gods, did you not rest at all? What are you doing up?"
"No energy to bicker right now." Grima was tired. "Where's the prisoner?"
Chrom frowned slightly. He shifted his demeanour—less ribbing friend and more reigning exalt. "In this carriage. I was just about to talk to him."
"I need to interrogate him. Frederick, prepare me a board, hammer and nail, a towel, a cauldron of water—" Grima frowned as the prince stepped in his way.
"You do not sound like a man about to begin interrogation," said Chrom. "What are you going to do to him?"
"That depends on our prisoner."
"You're going to torture him."
"He left five helpings of venom in me. That I had to scrape out myself." Grima made to step around Chrom and once again found him in the way, this time looking much more irate. "…Chrom," he began. "Venom is not an easy weapon to use. To poison food and drink is common, but not an envenomed blade. Acquiring the right toxin with the desired effects involves extensive research and expensive ingredients. It is hard to prepare, hard to preserve, hard to transport, and a strong toxin is often more dangerous to its user than its target. There are tales of legendary assassins who met their ends by handling a venomous knife with a sore on their finger. Whoever is behind this has resources and wanted us—" he wanted so badly to say himself in particular "—dead beyond any doubt. I will have their name."
"I understand your anger," said Chrom, "but I cannot allow that. Not by those methods." Burning scarlet and intense blue clashed as violently as if they had already swung their swords. "Take his life if you must, but do it swiftly."
"I need information, not his life." Grima stared into the prince's eyes a moment longer. Chrom was completely and utterly immovable. Reluctantly, Grima was the first to look away. "Twenty four hours. I will leave no scars."
"For the gods' sake, we are sworn knights of Ylisse!"
"I adhere to your commands but I never swore any oaths! So you can waltz into the royal court and sign off on a jury's decision to execute criminals in all sorts of gruesome manners but you can't let me interrogate one single assassin?"
"They were processed through the court of law! On the battlefield, we are soldiers! We do not appoint ourselves judge, jury, and torturer!"
"If I may, milord." Frederick stepped in. "Robin, would I be amiss in assuming you fear Chrom lacks the means to coerce information from our prisoner?"
Grima backed off with a grimace. His head was pounding. He said to Chrom, "Leave the dirty work to me. You're not the kind to break a man."
"Nor will a slow, painful disembowelment bring you answers," pointed out Chrom. "As you have done before."
"You think I'm demanding this for fun?!" That was a factor in it, but Grima couldn't admit that for obvious reasons. "I need information and this is the only way! To protect you! I will not wait for the Shepherds—for you—to lay dead and dying before I begin chasing answers with the vigour they deserved long before!"
"Ahem." Frederick firmly reasserted himself and relocated the prince and tactician's butting heads away from each other. "Milord, I am versed in the basics of extracting information from an enemy. Please allow me to aid you in interrogating the subject first. Should it be insufficient, I will assist Robin in… encouragement." Catching Chrom's look, he added, "And I will ensure that our techniques are conducted at an appropriate level."
Grima sat down on the nearest crate nursing his head. "Call on me when you will."
As the prince and his great knight entered the carriage, Nah cautiously took a seat on the crate with the fell dragon. "Why are you interrogating the enemy?" she asked. "That seems like it'd be worse for you."
"Consider," he groaned, "for just five seconds, the possibility that I would not want to be perforated with a knife smeared in exotic dung."
Hushed whisperings came from inside the carriage—no doubt Frederick giving the prince a crash course on how to interrogate someone. Then—
"Hello, friend," Chrom's voice wafted from within. "I see you're awake. Yes, we tended to your wounds. Shall I offer you anything to drink?"
It was so genuine, it physically hurt the fell dragon. Grima groaned again and slid several inches down the crate. This was going to take all day.
