Chapter 7: Mobilization
By SodiumChlouride12, derived from Fire Emblem, owned by Nintendo.
Marshal Kent looks out towards the troops before him, their swords and armor shining under the Caelin sun. Dozens, no...hundreds of men stand in attention on the flat, expansive field. They wear blank expressions customary among men of discipline, even though their uniforms do not differ from the common man. Wind brushes through the formation as Kent addresses his lieutenant, a young knight named Cedarian.
"The militia appears armed and ready. Marchioness Caelin will be pleased."
Lieutenant Cederian is a native of Caelin, a person with half Lycian and Missourian decent. Through the few gaps in his armor, his tanned, olive skin is visible, a trait inherited from his desert-dwelling mother. Despite his differences, he is the product of an established, prestigious military family in Caelin, his father's lineage having produced knights for the regime for centuries. He's an ambitious, up-and-coming soldier with much to prove, just the type of soldier Kent likes to have in his employ.
Cedarian salutes, his hand resting just underneath the border between his forehead and his wavy, dark brown hair. His brown eyes reflect a cold obedience to his superior, much like a wolf. "I'm sure she would be, Marshal. The rulers of Tania and Santaruz will regret the day they've dared to challenge us."
Kent nods and draws his sword, the metal shining under the sunlight. He looks first towards the army he'd spent countless hours training, then back further north towards Castle Caelin. In the coming days, Tanian and Santaruzian troops will march towards that direction, one from the south, the other from the east. Terror will fall from the skies, cold steel will turn hot from man's crimson, and magic will turn this prestige land into a jostled wasteland. The damage towards Caelin and her people will be devastating, but their success is necessary if they are to maintain their self-determination.
Kent turns his head towards the other man at his side, Baron Thomas. As the landed noble in charge of the southern quarter of Caelin, his realm stands directly between the enemy and the heart of the canton. He and the handful of knights in his command stand to join Kent and his Lieutenant to fend off the Santaruzian army, while Angelica and Euphant will deal with the Tanian threat. Although their split numbers exacerbated the number advantage posed by their enemy, they couldn't give up the strategic positioning in their lands.
In Caelin, there were only four "choke points" where a defending army could realistically hold a geographical advantage over their foes. There was one in each direction, north, west, south, and the east. At each of these points, there existed either a river, mountain pass, or wetland that inhibited troop movement, and it was here where castles were built. Past these points were nothing but flat land, useful for farming, but pitifully horrible for defending. If anything were to push through these positions, that meant the crown's last stand would be at Castle Caelin itself.
Fortunately for Caelin's armed forces, they already knew where Tania and Santaruz would attack. Since Santaruz stood at the southern part of its border with Caelin, and Tania from the east, these would be the places that would see invasion. That made the issue of defense a little easier, a good thing since this ragtag group of mostly militiamen need everything they can get.
The militia. Unlike their foes, these were not the well trained, heavily armored soldiers and knights that usually saw the battlefield in Lycia. They were common farmers, smiths, and city folk who were, in essence, part-time soldiers. Their primary duties rested with their day jobs, only spending a couple hours a week to train with their respective chapters. Their uniforms bore the crests of House Caelin, but had very little armor to speak of. But despite this, they did have one advantage over their foes. Speed and lots of it.
The Caelin army had some training in conventional warfare, but their speciality is guerrilla warfare. Every man and woman knew how to harass their enemy from the safety of their forests, burn bridges and crops, and how to escape a nasty fight against a slower enemy. They took some inspiration from Lyn's Sacaen roots, the army composition comprising more archers (a good deal of on horseback) than other Lycian armies. They even adopted a technique called the "Lorcan shot", where a fleeing contingent of horse archers would shoot arrows over their shoulders at a pursuing enemy. The "pillars of victory" (a term coined by Kent) were to bog down the enemy at their strategic points and harass them with their speedy units. It served as a simple concept, but whether they would succeed at this was anyone's guess. In many ways, such an attempt at warfare had never been tried before.
Baron Thomas clears his throat. It's confidant, but Kent detects a hint of anxiety behind it. "So...how much longer until the enemy crosses our borders?"
Kent closes his eyes as he thinks back on a briefing he received from Minister Swinn. "I believe it could be any day now. But, Ostia's intelligence tells us they predict them to attack in a week's time."
Lieutenant Cedarian asks, "But, will Count Reglay arrive with his troops in time? More importantly, does he actually intend to honor his agreement with our Marchioness?"
Kent looks away from his subordinate. "I sure do hope so. I assume he would. Lord Pent is an honorable man. He would not turn his back on Lady Lyndis."
Baron Thomas says, "Are you sure about that? Are we really going to hinge our survival on the honor of an Etrurian count?"
Kent sighs, shaking his head. He knows Thomas' concerns are founded. "I don't think we have much of a choice. All I can hope is that the count doesn't forget about our time in war...and that Saint Elimine's word rushes him into a speedy arrival..."
Castle Caelin...
Lyn kneels before the sleeping body of her husband, her eyes avoiding to make contact with the gray complexion of his skin. She whispers prayers her father had taught her in her youth, hoping to compel some movement.
"Dearest Father Sky and Mother Earth. Please give my beloved the strength to open his eyes. He is a good man..."
She's alone in her bedroom, the place having been converted into a makeshift hospital room for Samuel's recovery. The usual tidy area is littered with used bandages, used vulnerary pouches, and several healing staves. A single bucket containing cold water stands idle by Samuel's bedside, its liquid containing a rag Lyn had been using to douse his feverish forehead. Although Samuel had survived his escape from their enemy's clutches, the wound got infected, hence his present comatose state.
"...he may be one with some sins in his life, but that is common among man. He is the father of two children and the uncle of an adopted niece. I love him, they love him. Please...bring him back to me..."
Samuel had been unconscious for about three weeks. His cheeks are sunken in and his body appears lighter. He'd lost a considerable amount of weight because of the lack of food he'd been able to intake. He continues to breathe with the same, slow monotonous rhythm. He's a tough soul, there's no doubt about that.
"...please...I beg. It's my fault he's this way. If only I...stayed with him in Sacae. If only..."
Lyn stops her prayer, her hands feeling a stir emerge from Samuel's body. To her shock, Samuel's hand rises to brush off a tear from her wet cheek. He smiled weakly at her...an answered prayer.
He says, "Hehe...it's not becoming of you...to cry."
Lyn nearly jumps up in the air. Instead, she wraps her hands over those of her beloved. She plasters him with a barrage of kisses, hardly enabling the newly awakened chancellor to breathe.
"You! You're alive! I'm...so glad!"
"...Lyn...dear...I'm okay. Just...I can't..."
"Oh! Sorry!"
Lyn releases herself, allowing Samuel to lean up against the bed. He tightens his fingers around his palms, sensing the strength behind his limbs. Frowning, he says, "Hmm. I'm not as strong as I'd like to be. Pity...it would appear I won't have much utility as a fighter in the coming war."
Lyn reaches over and envelopes Samuel in a hug. The gesture causes him to pause before reciprocating. "I'm just glad you're alive! If anything were to happen to you...I..."
Samuel places his finger over Lyn's lips. He could not bear to hear her continue. "You'd be strong and be a wonderful mother to our children. Life goes on...Lyn."
Lyn lowers her head somberly. "It's just that...I thought you were going to die." She clasps her hands and stares at Samuel with her green, emerald-like orbs. "Please...don't put yourself in danger like that again. The anxiety I had...the tightening in my stomach. I felt like I couldn't breathe..."
Samuel sighs as he brushes his spouse's hair. He can sense Lyn's emotions through the shaking in her skin, a trait he'd picked up long ago. Truth be told, he can empathize with her words plenty. If something were to happen to her...Samuel would probably descend into despair.
He says, "I...think I know what I mean. I'll try to avoid danger like that again. But...that might be hard with this upcoming war..."
Lyn shakes her head, "No. You musn't fight." She shifts her hands over to Samuel's knees. "There's no telling how your body will react to combat. You haven't fought in some time. You will be much more useful to us as a tactician."
"I see...in that case..."
In one swift motion, Samuel throws off the blanket from his body. He silently motions Lyn to step back, which she does. Then, Samuel takes a step onto the ground, slightly wincing as he feels his feet contact the stone floor. His body feels heavy from his earlier incapacitated state, but thankfully, he doesn't appear to be disabled. He stretches out the inner most muscles of his toes, a tingling sensation following. "I'll be damned." He says. "Minus some soreness...I feel rather serviceable."
Lyn says, "That pleases me. Regardless, you've missed much. Its been three weeks."
Samuel nearly chokes on his own saliva out of shock. "Wha—what? Three weeks? Oh..." He lays his hand over his stomach, his mind having just realized his extreme hunger and thirst. "My...I haven't eaten in so long. I think I'm going to faint..." His head is immediately struck with an episode of dizziness and fatigue. "Actually...I think I will..."
Lyn grabs onto Samuel's hand, keeping it tight and secure. She acts to make sure he wouldn't pass into unconsciousness so quickly. She says, "No, you won't! Let's go eat something! I'll catch you up during lunch!"
East...
Baroness Angelica barks out orders at her contingent of soldiers. They respond by obeying her every command, enacting each with the will of a million men.
"Men! At arms! Attention!"
The soldiers, lined up in a long formation resembling a rectangle, ready their pikes. They tilt them at a 45-degree angle with respect to the ground, allowing the long weapons to form a thick pincushion in the air above. This was what Angelica liked to call the "arrow-buster" formation, so called for its ability to break up incoming projectiles in air. Of course, it holds little use towards magical fire, thunder, or ice, but they don't expect to run into many mages.
She and Baron Euphant are conducting drill to prepare for the Tanian army. They do so on an open field some distance away from the eastern wetlands, a thick, nearly impassable bog separating the two nations. In the wetlands stands a single stone bridge that allows for ease of travel, on which the Caelin army hopes to make their stand.
After several hours of making her men do all sorts of things, the Baroness allows them to retire for the evening. They retreat to their tents in the relatively comfy plains outside of the dreaded marshlands. The camp is large and expansive, possessing more resemblance to a small town than a military installation. Though it should be noted that unlike the camps heralded by the old allied army, significantly less effort went towards its construction. There are no cafeterias, no armory, nor stables. The old camps had the benefit of having much preparation beforehand with its buildings' mobile design, but Angelica's force had no such luxury. This camp will only exist as long as the threat exists, and mobility is something that is unnecessary.
As for the Baroness, instead of resting, she instead hikes up a nearby hill. She climbs up the earthen mound of nature in no time, eventually sitting down at its top to look at the sight below. She sees the after mentioned camp with smoke rising from the few fires scattered about, the wetlands several miles away, some forestation further north, and a small village nestled within some trees. All of it is covered in a light aura of orange, a symptom of the setting sun sinking into the horizon. The sight causes Angelica to smile in reminiscence of kinder, more pleasant memories of her youth.
Father...I hope my actions are to your liking. I will always be your little girl...but in this case...you won't be here to fight for our realm. Give me the strength to fulfill thisduty...as the inheritor of your legacy...
Angelica opens her eye just as she feels a presence approach behind her. She turns around and sure enough, it's who she expected. It's Baron Euphant, the elder noble, and long-time friend of her father. He looks at her with eyes reflecting a mixture of reminiscence and longing, the graying hair on his head waving lightly with the wind.
The Baron speaks with a voice that sounds wise, reflecting his age. "My dear Angelica. I've seen that look many times before. Are you thinking about your father?"
Angelica nods, taking effort to scrub away memories of her father lifting her high in the air when she was a toddler. "Yes...I am. You know me well, Euphant. You were always there with my father when I was growing up. Your presence has remained consistent, although my father is no longer with us."
Euphant replies, "Of course. I promised him I'd be around to guide you. It's the least I can do for my dearest friend."
Several years ago, Angelica's father, the late Baron Cassus, died when a pandemic of influenza swept through the realm. This devastated the new Baroness since he was a magnificent and loving father to his only child. Angelica struggled initially with the administration of her barony, but with major aid from Euphant, she picked up the role nicely. Now, she's a respected noble among her peers, even taking on command of the eastern army.
Angelica says, "I am truly grateful. I just...can't help but think my father would have wanted something different for me."
Euphant's face wrinkles with thought. "Perhaps. Personally, I think he would have wanted you to live a pleasant life as a nobleman's wife. But, he never produced a son to inherit his titles. Sometimes, I can't help but think he did that on purpose. A little of a hypocrite, he was."
Angelica chuckles as she remembers more details about her father. "A hypocrite he was. He claimed to love my mother, but refused to share a bed with her after their wedding night. He threw himself onto his work, only sparing time to be with be with his daughter. He...thought highly of me..."
"He loved you very much."
Angelica pauses at Euphant's words. More memories rush through her mind, producing images of old that conjure emotion within her soul. She remembers her father telling her he loved her. That he would give up the world for her. That he would do everything in his power to ensure she lived a fruitful and happy life. Although she has yet to feel satisfaction she feels was promised to her, she knows her father did her best to raise her to become a competent, capable human being.
A single tear appears on Angelica's face, compelling her to turn away to save face. She never enjoyed showing vulnerability in front of others. Not even to Euphant, of whom she saw like an uncle.
Euphant says, "Ah, would you like me to step away?"
Angelica shakes her head as she wipes her face dry. "No, I'm okay. Really, I am."
Although that might be true, Euphant recalls the long days of mourning Angelica spend alone in her room. She was a recluse, antisocial, and completely stricken with grief. She hardly came out of her room for anything, not even to eat. It took three long months until Euphant convinced her to leave. She had healed considerably since then, but the hurt is still there to a lesser degree.
The two afford themselves some repose. Angelica looks out towards the marshlands further east, eyeing the bridge that connected Tania with Caelin. There is some unease in her heart for the coming battle.
She says, "Euphant, do you think we're going to be okay?"
"...What do you mean?"
"It's just...the enemy's forces are great and ours so small. Do you think we stand a chance?"
"...Honestly, I don't know."
Angelica flinches. She did not expect such a blunt response from him. Although Euphant was famous for speaking his mind, she expected him to at least sugar coat the truth...just a bit. Coincidentally, they don't just share a relationship with her late father. They share the same sense of dread for the coming conflict.
Euphant strokes his graying beard, which at one point, shined a magnificent auburn. The Baron had fought in many battles before, though none ever eclipsed the scale of a simple skirmish. He brought with his experiences much knowledge others stricken by the images of cold steel can only understand. "We have a geographical advantage, but our numbers are much too small. The militia helps, but the crown's cuts toward the knightly class hurt us greatly. Progress is nice, but what is the point if you open yourself up to pillaging marauders?"
Angelica replies, "I can respect the Marchioness and her Chancellor for their ambition. But, I can acknowledge they've made many mistakes." She shakes her head slowly. "Even so, we have the luxury to criticize them openly. We do so in court and in private. They're open to hearing our input, which is something I know not every monarch allows."
Euphant chuckles. Despite her rather sheltered upbringing, Angelica knew of the customs of other nations. In many places around Elibe and even Lycia, a single word of dissent from a court member would result in immediate exile, and at worst the offender's tongue being ripped out. In Lycia in particular, the culture established the concept of "possessing an tarred tongue", where a royal's subjects refrained from criticizing their liege because of their tongues being drenched in tar. This varies from court to court, with some friendlier monarchs allowing some criticism without the threat of punishment, but no royal shook this away more than Lyn. She actually encourages it due to her desire to hear every perspective on a matter.
Euphant says, "I suppose I can say the same thing. Most royals punish criticism because they feel others will challenge their rule. But...the Marchioness either does not have this concern, or she's so confident in her position that she feels she can afford such a policy. Regardless, I am quite impressed with her. She is young, but she has the composure to rule with a combination of compassion and forcefulness."
"Like an iron fist caressing a delicate flower."
"...Heh, funny."
The two share a laugh, a somber juxtaposition to the clouds gathering overhead. They spare one another a side to themselves unbecoming of cold generals. But deep down, both nobles knew one thing to be true. Despite their circumstances, despite all the adversity coming their way, they wouldn't be anywhere else.
Samuel wipes his face with his hands, eager to rid himself of the sweat that had drenched his previously dry skin. He takes in a slow, methodical breath as he ponders over the information his wife had relayed to him. Underneath his chin sitting idle on a table is a plate of one of Lycia's famous dinners, of which lays untouched save for a single bite-sized hole missing from a piece of pasta. He, Lyn, and the Minister Swinn are deliberating in the castle's lunch hall.
Samuel says, "How long until Lord Pent returns with his army? It can't be long until the enemy begins their march."
Swinn adjusts his glasses as his eyes scan over some notes in his possession. "Count Reglay had informed us he would return as quickly as possible. Thing is, he hadn't expected to be called to arms so soon. Many of his knights and soldiers have retired for the week due to a religious festival. It will take some time for him to gather his forces."
The festival mentioned is named the Celebration of the Ascension. In the Eliminite Church, it was taught Saint Elimine did not die, but rather was brought up into heaven by the Creator in the flesh. As the most devout followers of the faith, the whole of Etruria spends the week prior to the anniversary of the day feasting, going to service, and overall having a good time. The climax of the festivities occur on June 16th, the supposed day of her Ascension.
Lyn says, "Lady Louise has reassured me they will honor their commitment. In addition, I've received a message from Lord Hector that they've allowed their forces through their borders yesterday. Assuming they continue at their pace, they should be at Castle Caelin in three days."
Samuel nods his head with understanding. That piece of news came at an immense relief for him. If the enemy attacked them now, they'd be at a tremendous disadvantage. House Reglay has many soldiers in their ranks, which would do well to even up the scales.
He says, "And what about the exhibition troops? Did Eliwood and Hector respond promptly?"
Swinn replies flips his notes over to the following page. "They did. Their soldiers arrived two days ago, and their currently en route to deployment to our two fronts. Baron Dimitri and Sir Sain are working on that, and they should be done by this afternoon."
"...Thank goodness."
Lyn adds, "Of course, as you know, Lycian law does not allow them to lead their troops themselves. So, we'll just absorb them into our own ranks and leadership. It's not ideal, but I appreciate the help."
Lycia is ruled by a strict and comprehensive code laws between nation states. Among these is the concept of friendships and outright alliances. For two friendly countries, they can allot one another military assistance through exhibition forces. They may not participate fully in wars, however, otherwise the continent would quickly descend into civil war because of the generated web of alliances. Alliances, on the other hand, can only be created through marriage, and are much more exclusive.
Swinn says, "Ryerde has suggested that they will give our enemy exhibition troops through their treaty with Tania. They can't provide many men, but they present a problem due to their good mage corps. We must consider that when we adjust our defensive plan."
Samuel replies, "I agree. I suggest we ask Priscilla about a large procurement of holy water. I hope it's not too much of an ask."
Lyn nods, but her eyes avert to the uneaten plate of food on Samuel's side of the table. She and Swinn had finished their meals long ago. Frowning, she recognizes this as one symptom her husband often expressed from an anxious state. She looks over towards Swinn and motions for him to leave. Samuel watches silently as the man vanishes through the door, his steps dissipating into nothing.
Samuel asks, "What was that about?"
Lyn says frankly, "You're not eating. You need to eat something or else you'll faint. It's not healthy."
"What? Nah, I'm fine. I'm just..."
"...Samuel, you don't have to lie to me. I know you feel anxious about this. The war."
Samuel feels his throat constrict as those last two words echo around his head. The war. Truth be told, he doesn't know what's more surprising. That Lyn could read his mind so well, or that he still felt unease from the conflict that struck both of their lives all those years ago. Then again, perhaps her observation of his shaking hands makes the task easy, of which he attempts to hide by placing the offending limbs underneath his table.
Samuel speaks with a quiver in his voice. "I...yeah...you got me. I just...you know. I shouldn't be feeling this way. You were there in the conflict as well...I have no excuse to be so shaken up about it."
"...You think so highly about me. I'm not some cold soul without emotion. I've had my moments of sorrow...you aided me during those times, Samuel."
Samuel recalls images of him embracing his wife's sorrowful form on many solitary nights. He remembers consoling her through the memories of watching the deaths of those close to her, not just the genocide of her people, but of those who fought alongside her in the conflict against Nergal. She was hardly the anchor of positivity and confidence Samuel had grown accustomed to then, but this was a vulnerable side she only showed to him.
Samuel says, "We...both have our demons, don't we?"
Just as Lyn has her burdens, so does Samuel. Although both fought in war before, Samuel's share in the practice dwarfed her substantially. Not only had he battled the likes of Nergal and Lundgren, but he also dabbled in the conflict in Carazan, lurked through the waters of Swampmarsh, and on top of all that lived as a slave for a short time. The experience in Carazan in particular affected him greatly, the memories of which still torment him from time to time. He still wakes up in the middle of night seeing the bloodied face of a child he'd seen in the ruins of the city that held Laniakea's mother's body.
Lyn replies, "Indeed. But...know you can tell me anything. I may be the Marchioness, but I am also your wife."
Lyn shifts her hand over to Samuel's hand, the action creating some flush in the homunculi's face. She stares into his frosty, if unnatural eyes, her soul melting the glacier of fear in his heart. Her smile does the rest of the work for her and she leans forward to press her lips onto his. They share a long and passionate kiss.
"...You sure know how to get to me..."
"Of course I do. I know you more than anyone else."
The couple releases from their expression of love, content to be in the presence of one another. Samuel looks down at his hands, sensing a warm heat tingle through the fingers on his left hand. The anxiety in his blood had effectively been granted respite, and his stomach grumbles with hunger.
Samuel says, "Heh...I suppose your little act worked. I think I can eat now."
Lyn waves her finger at him, a mischievous smile visible on her face. The gesture reminds him of happier times when they were just getting to know each other in the plains of her birth. "I wouldn't call it an act. The love I feel for you is real."
Samuel looks at Lyn. There are so many things he could tell her right now. Like how grateful he was that she was his wife and the mother of their children. Or how glad he was always attentive to all of his needs. How his life had only improved with her in his life. But only one thing appears in his mind...
"...Yeah...same here."
Perhaps some things can only be said in a few words. If only the rulers of Tania and Santaruz could be swayed by the same.
Several miles away...near on the eastern side of the Tania/Caelin border...
Bartre and Karla look out towards the marshland in front of them, their brows wicked with sweat. The two are on a mound of earth jutting out from the wet ground, otherwise known as a hill. The sky is clear, and the sun rests just above the horizon. Yet, despite the lack of light, Karla spots some black figures some distance away. Something unusual...and perhaps dangerous, given their business through the area. She fears that they are bandits, and she looks towards her husband to make sure he has a secure hold of the trinket entrusted to them by the red-headed merchant, Anna.
Karla says, "Bartre, I think I see some bandits in the marshland below. We might be in for some trouble."
Bartre raises his head from his axe, of which he'd spent several minutes cleaning with a rag. "What? Do I need to crack some skulls?"
Karla says nothing as she retrieves a pair of binoculars and focuses on the figures marching over the marsh. They're plentiful and have disdainful looks about their faces. She immediately realizes by their uniforms and orderly marching that these were not simple bandits. They are professional soldiers, likely sent by Marquess Tania himself.
She says, "...It's an army, thankfully not coming towards our direction. But...why are they marching towards Caelin?"
"Caelin? Ain't that the land ruled by Lady Lyndis and Samuel?"
Karla pauses, the gearing inside her mind churning as she pieced two and two together. Then, without another moment's notice, she hurriedly gathered her things. Bartre, unable to read his wife's intention, watches in confusion.
"Eh? What is the meaning of this?"
"Get ready, Bartre. We're heading to Castle Caelin as soon as possible."
"Huh? What for? What about Fir?"
The toddler Fir, their child, sleeps soundly on a blanket nearby. Regardless, Karla explodes into a dash, which Bartre responds to by grabbing the child and following suit. Karla leaves him with one last sentence as they jump and prance across the dry parts of the marsh en route to their journey past the border.
"Because our friends are in trouble."
