Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1172
The streets of Fhridiad had cleared away during the month. Wealthy and pious pilgrims heading south towards Garreg Mach for the Goddess's Rite of Rebirth. Those who couldn't afford the travel took refuge in local branches. Including the building where Jeralt's contact was. It was packed to capacity during every service which made the whole spycraft thing even more complicated.
Lambert not even occupying the city was the other.
He and his elite were gone to Duscur, and while they were away Jeralt wasn't permitted any visits to either Volkhard or Patricia. Even the Western Church's activities had faded into the background.
It meant he could finally take Byleth ice fishing like he wanted, but the tension ruined the sport each time they went. Why Rhea wanted them to stay another month he had no idea. Especially with the Rite of Rebirth coming up at the end of the month. But he'd make the best of it.
Nearing the end of Blue Sea Moon Lambert finally returned. It was subdued, and if Jeralt hadn't been on the look out he certainly would have missed it. But the patrols had a sharper spring in their step and the security around Volkhard's manor had sharpened again.
A trio of knights awaited in front of the inn, after Jeralt returned from an attempted meeting. The moment they saw each other, the knights delivered a summons from Lambert and departed. An invitation from Lambert; the last thing he expected after last month.
Taking Byleth with him - because he wasn't letting his kid out of his sight save an apocalyptic event - they headed back towards Fhirdiad Castle and its still busy main gate. The letter gave them another escort inside the grounds. This time they were led not to the castle itself, but the outbuildings within the walls. An entire convoy of horses, wagons and carriages in front of the stables. Packed to the brim with supplies: food, water, weapons, armor, tents and every other thing an army on the move needed. If it weren't for the lavishly decorated carriages he might think this was an actual invasion force.
Lambert was here and surrounded by numerous high officials from their state of dress. Gustave, whom he recognized, and a man who had to be Duke Fraldarius from the Crest of Fraldarius on his collar, the king pardoned himself from his entourage and walked up to Jeralt. With Gustave and the duke following.
"Lambert," said Jeralt, "how are things?"
"Well." He spared a glance at Byleth. "I believe the correspondence requested you come alone."
"Every time I let him out of my sight something happens, so I'm making sure he's always within arm's reach."
"So be it."
"I know you've heard what happened, so is this to clear the air or to banish me from your country forever?" Jeralt asked.
"Nothing so drastic as the latter, and I'm too busy preparing my next journey to worry about the former at the moment," said Lambert.
"Going to Garreg Mach, then?"
"Back to Duscur, actually."
Huh . "Good or bad?"
"Good news, in this case," said Lambert. "Negotiations went splendidly and they've extended a more formal invitation to return."
Looks like all my worrying was for nothing. "Is it a good idea to do this during the Blue Sea Moon?" Leaving the country during the most holy month of the year wasn't a good look.
"I do not believe the goddess to be so fickle as to care where I worship from."
"It's not the goddess I worry about."
"Oh? Perhaps she should be concerned with you missing the Goddess's Rite of Rebirth."
Just another problem on the pile. "Probably. So, why did you call me here?"
"Yes, why did you want me to summon him, Gustave?"
This trip was full of unbelievable things. "I wish for Sir Jeralt to accompany your staff to Duscur." And again.
"Have you so little faith in my bodyguards?"
"It is not just for your safety I worry, Your Majesty."
"What's that mean?" Jeralt asked.
"Prince Dimitri is to accompany His Majesty," said Duke Fraldarius. The man had a shade of a beard and some dark hair.
"I…" That was not something he could just blurt out as stupid. "Is that wise…?"
"Dimitri needs to see the world outside Faerghus. To see the peoples beyond Fódlan. "I've had this conversation with every advisor here. My decision stands. Besides." Lambert pointed at Byleth. "You've let your own son travel the line of trouble yourself."
"Can't deny that." No wonder Gustave wanted him going. "Why leave with so few guards, then?" Looked like a hundred maybe? And the same number in camp followers.
"Underestimating the Kingdom's best, are you? Every man is worth twenty others."
"And Gustave?" Jeralt guessed.
Lambert sent a glance at the knight, who responded. "My own daughter is ill at the moment. I should be at her side."
"I had to order him, would you believe it?"
"My wife is more than capable of taking care of Annette."
"And I am more than capable of taking care of myself."
"But to leave Areadbhar behind as well?" Gustave said a shocking thing.
"What good comes from a messenger of peace armed for war?" All of them shot flat looks at that. "Heroes' Relics have too bloody a history. Elicit violence with their mere existence. Even outside Fódlan they're well known as bringers of ruin. To ride into a foreign country with a weapon that can match a hundred men would invite disaster itself."
Duke Fraldarius said, "Then at the very least I should accompany you with the Aegis Shield." The Hero's Relic of House Fraldarius.
"I appreciate your concern, old friend. But you are needed here. Should this journey encounter peril, I will also need men I trust here, safeguarding the nation. Keeping my brother in check, and a man to lead my son down the righteous path, should I not."
Jeralt shook his head. "All that talk of it being fine and you're still preparing for if it isn't."
"'Tis a fool leader indeed who does not plan for failure."
"Suppose I have no choice but to make sure you do come back then." Forcing himself into more nonsense. Maybe this was what Rhea wanted.
"Don't I get a say in this?" Lambert said with a slight smile.
"I'm sure you could use spiritual guidance as well."
"And if I say 'no'?"
Jeralt shrugged. "It's your decision. I could use more time with my kid. But do you really want them fussing about your safety even more?"
Lambert rubbed his chin. "You make a fair point."
"We have only your safety in mind, Your Majesty," said Gustave.
"Then, Jeralt, I think I will accept your offer." Relief took over the faces of the other two men. "But what of your son?"
"I would be glad to look over the boy," Gustave offered.
"I as well," said Duke Fraldarius.
"Thanks for the offers." Much as Lambert trusted them, Jeralt couldn't. "But with your own child sick I don't want to impose with that. And… it's difficult for most kids to get along with him." It felt wrong to speak of Byleth like this when he was right there but he never made any move of discomfort. "Is Christophe Gaspard around? They're familiar with one another."
"He's with Cassandra Charon around here somewhere," said Lambert.
Glad those two always stick together. "Er, he's not coming with, right?"
"He is not."
"Good, good. I'll see if I can get him to safeguard my kid then."
"Then," said Lambert, "we'll continue with preparations."
"How long is this supposed to take?"
"Leave in two days time. A week to Duscur; a week back. Perhaps two in country. A month in total."
Back by Verdant Rain Moon then. It'd be the longest Byleth and he were ever separated. "Here's hoping then."
"Sir Jeralt," said Gustave, "when you've finished I would like a word myself."
That was sure to be simple. "All right."
Jeralt and Byleth excused themselves from the little circle and went about searching for Christophe and Cassandra.
"Why can't I go?" Byleth spoke up.
"It might be dangerous."
"The prince is going."
Jeralt sighed. "I know. Remember everything I taught you."
"I would never forget."
"Good lad."
Christophe and Cassandra were in some engagement near the tail end of the convoy. Her animated as ever, him near stoic against her exaggerations.
"Hey! Jeralt! Come to join us going to Duscur?"
"Yes, actually."
"Whoa." Surprise sprayed across both their faces. "All right, gonna make up for the missing month, eh?"
"I doubt that," said Christophe. "I'd say he's there as an attache from Central."
Close enough. "Yeah. Making sure everything here's nice and in-line with doctrine." Or Rhea's doctrines, anyway. "But it's gonna take time and…"
"You want one of us to babysit huh?" said Cassandra.
"Which means me," Christophe said with his common put-upon resignation. "I was only here to see her off, not get wrapped into bodyguard duty."
"I'll make sure you're paid for your time." Or the church would.
"I would never take payment from you, sir." Though his eyes flickered over at her. "Though, I'd say making sure she comes back would be payment enough."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm making sure everyone gets back safe and sound," he promised them. "So make sure my kid's safe and sound, OK."
"I'll do my utmost."
"You two make it sound like I can't protect myself." But she smirked, and from behind her back drew a sword. Not a simple blade of iron, or steel or even silver. With a yellowed metal so like stone, a blade half her height, prongs that jutted upwards as spikes. The rounded pommel in her hand still large enough that he could see the Crest Stone of Charon glowing. "Anyone who messes with me messes with Thunderbrand." The Hero's Relic of House Charon.
"You know Lam—the king's not bringing his Relic, right?"
"All the more reason to bring mine."
"She's been like this ever since her father gave it to her."
"What's so great about that sword?" Byleth suddenly spoke up.
Jeralt "It's a Hero's Relic, Son. Divine gift from the Goddess, breaker of armies."
"Oh?" He stared intently at the blade. "It doesn't look that powerful."
Christophe laughed and Cassandra hung her head. She said, "We'll see about that."
"Hopefully not," Jeralt corrected her. "Anyway, thank you, Christophe. I'll make sure he has a regimen to follow while I'm away. Hopefully he won't give you trouble."
"I'm used to trouble."
Cassandra slapped him on the back. "Darn straight you are." And she laughed.
"Then I'll go tell the king I'm on board."
They exchanged good-byes and Father and Son walked back to another father.
Where a mother and step-son were waiting. Patricia was out, in a thick blue coat that reached passed her knees and her hair tied up into a bun. Dimitri holding on to her hand while wearing a coat half as thick and long.
"I cannot recommend this," said Lambert, his face gone wide at whatever Patricia was saying. "You've only just recovered again."
"Being locked inside the castle is as bad for my health as this air," she said.
She couldn't be…
"And you would expose yourself to this air for a month? Maybe two? No. What would…" Lambert looked at his son. At Jeralt next. "Jeralt."
"L—Your Majesty. Your Majesty."
"I would appreciate it would you not intrude on our conversation, sir knight," said Patricia, icier than winter air.
He deserved that. "My apologies, Your Majesty. I simply wished to inform His Majesty that I am fully ready to accompany the trip to Duscur."
Patricia looked him over with a raised eye. Not what she expected either. This conversation would be best done with limited participants, would you not agree?"
Lambert nodded. "Gustave, if you would take Dimitri away, please."
"Yes, Your Majesty. Come, Your Highness." The knight offered his hand to the young prince, who hesitated, but after trepidation took it.
"And your boy, Jeralt?"
Jeralt fought back rolling his eyes. "Gustave, if you would?" The knight obliged with a nod and the two young boys were led away. Only King, Queen, Duke and Captain remained. "If my presence disturbs you, Your Majesty, I would rescind my offer of companionship."
"I question whether my king would prefer his old school teacher or his wife at his side," she said.
"I would take both," said Lambert. "But I want neither a wife lain more with sickness nor a man she wishes away on this trip."
"Sequestering myself within this castle with naught but crochet and tea to pass my time has eroded my health as much as the cold. We have exchanged vows, and yet we see so little of each other." For a flash her features relaxed. That girlish glee of Patty showing tight.
"I would be beside myself if this only worsened your condition."
"I am not solely my sickness."
"I know that yet…" Lambert looked at him. "If a man such as Jeralt wishes to accompany us for fear of our lives how could I ask you to risk yours?"
"Yet you would bring young Dimitri with you?"
"He will have the finest knights of Faerghus safeguarding him at all times."
"And I as well."
"Patricia…"
She puffed out her chest and put her hands on her hips. "I graduated from the Officers Academy myself. I'm not some frail maiden like in Loog's tales." She turned her attention to Jeralt. "Best student, I believe you called me."
Just like Cassandra. Or Casandra was like her. "I need to stop complimenting people." Not his place to point out how soft her hands had become.
"I will protect Dimitri. I will protect… you. And I… I wish to be free of Fódlan, if even for a day. And all its politics. Is that so wrong?"
Lambert gently placed his arms on her shoulders. "No, my dear. No. Rodrigue, if you would?"
"I will do my utmost," said Duke Fraldarius.
He hated to interrupt the moment. "Would you object to my presence, Your Majesty."
"No, Sir Jeralt," her voice losing all its softness, "your assistance would be most warranted."
"Here's to a pleasant trip, then."
Rodrigue headed for his own work, and Gustave and Dimitri and Byleth were called for the new orders. Ones the knight rejected, but ultimately accepted. The royal family left for its preparations and Gustave motioned for him. Jeralt walked over, close enough for the knight to whisper. An unbelievable request that he had no choice but to accept.
The journey west was pleasant as far as things went. Even though Jeralt hadn't sleapt in a tent in nearly half a century it was oddly relaxing in some ways. Reminding him of his time as a mercenary, way back when he first met Rhea. As much as his old life was lost, the time he nearly died protecting her still glowed like the sun.
Time awake was spent chatting with others on horseback. Lambert, Patricia, even little Dimitri when Lambert let him out of the carriage. Cassandra kept on her feet, and was constantly pestering him to spar. Which in light of everything he let happen. She came close a fair few times in their bouts but he still had her.
More than a few times Lambert invited him to dine privately with him and the family. Though he rejected at the start, the lousy army rations eventually wore him down. Living at Garreg Mach with its outstanding chefs meant he could no longer stomach even average food anymore.
Since Byleth always ate in silence it was refreshing to get some family atmosphere for a meal. Marigold had always been so good at it (and cooking). He tried to keep his memories, and hopes from burdening his perceptions. Lambert and Patricia speaking with each other, with him, and Dimitri. Gently chiding the boy when necessary and keeping him prim and proper as best they could in the circumstances.
It was not the fiery love he'd seen in her eyes for Ionius. But there was a warmth there. One that reminded him of Rhea, in some ways. Lambert reciprocated in kind. Always a genuine smile on his face whenever she was nearby. Good humor flowing free whenever she was around. No matter the stance, his seemed genuine. And Dimitri kept doing so much for her attention and always did she respond with smiles and compliments.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was right. But intruding on this happiness, feigned or not, felt sour.
Saint Cethleann Day passed during the journey. A small congregation gathered to pray. Jeralt not among them, but Lambert and his family were.
After the celebration, on the edge of camp, night sky starry and air crips, Jeralt looked out. Bright enough to see the plains. The guards on patrol. He'd checked and rechecked all the gear he'd brought with him. Made sure no one else was maintaining it. Couldn't afford anything happening to the weapons. A few knights made passing conversation but walked off after a bit. Leaving him nigh alone at night.
"Hello, Jeralt." Solitude broken.
He turned to face Patricia. "Ah, hello, Your Majesty." She was without guards. Clad in a thick cloak.
"A cold night, isn't it?"
"You get used to it." He was, in his ancient youth. "I'm surprised you're willing to speak with me privately after the debacle."
"I've not forgotten. My fury smolders. I do not think I can ever forgive your words."
"I'm not the kind of man to say 'sorry'."
She walked up closer. "Nor would I expect you to."
"What is it you wish to discuss?" No chance she was here for a friendly chat.
"Ionius has eleven children, did you know?"
Where was she going with this? "Yours with him is the third youngest, I believe?"
"Nine others ahead of her in succession. Yet despite all that, the other consorts accused me of currying favor to raise her status."
"I always knew whatever got you exiled was slander."
"When Volkhard was appointed reagent it only worsened. A simple baronet now had power on par with the prime minister. They wasted no time conspiring with Duke Aegir to exile me."
"Never heard a good thing about that man."
"If these were academy days I might think, perhaps, that Ionius attempted to consolidate power for my sake."
"But Patty's no longer here."
"No." She looked back, at Lambert's tent. Her tent. "I will carve out what happiness I can. With Lambert, with Dimitri."
Don't mention Edelgard. Don't mention Edelgard. "And Edelgard?"
She stiffened like the dead. "I hope one day she is happy, too." A curious choice of words. "Good night, Jeralt."
"Good night, Patricia."
Only later did he realize how much that sounded like a good-bye.
The travel over the mountains separating Faerghus and Duscur was less trial than Jeralt expected. The people on both sides had carved out a wide and clear path and there was no border checkpoint in Duscur proper. Simply a welcoming party of twenty or so men and women. Dark-skinned like Almyrans and Brigidans he'd met in the past. But a number with fairer hair among them.
Only perhaps half were actually equipped for combat. High quality from a glance, the Duscur blacksmiths knew their craft at least. Still, the knights of Faerghus could have overrun their little gathering with no effort. If anything did happen, it didn't seem Duscur could defend itself. From an early impression, at least.
A man stepped forward from the Duscur ranks. Broad-shouldered, tall as Lambert maybe. Bald, but with a large beard, white in color, and sharply maintained.
Lambert stepped forward without guards and the two men exchanged handshakes and words. With great smiles and greater cheer Lambert waved them forward across the grassy plains. Jeralt among fifty others to accompany them.
The city was unlike anything he'd ever seen in Fódlan. There were no walls entirely. In Fódlan, even villages as small as Remire had walls. But here the city just sort of started. The buildings were stone, almost solid in appearance. Unlike the brick and morter of the bigger Fódlan cities. The buildings were squared but seemed built into each other, lacking in allies common in the greater Fódlan cities.
And every step he was just bombarded with the smell of food. Fish, crab, shrimp, beef, pork. Strong fruits and vegetables and seasonings. It was an army of smells so alluring he was practically drooling and he was not the only one. Stoic knights of Faerghus raised their visors to sniff at the air. Camp cooks gazed in awe at the food on display in stores and stalls as they walked. This was about the best first impression anyone could make.
The group was led into a large, three story building in the center of town. Preparations were made for an exchange of feasts. All the quality meats and bread that was saved for the royal family and guests would be put on display to compete with the Duscur chefs.
The two sides worked for hours as the diplomats spent time discussing culture and trade and the future. The warriors exchanged tales of battle and a few exchanged more romantic words.
The food was prepared and served on time. The feast was lavish. Which was an understatement. There were cuts of meat, vegetables and fruits familiar and not, enormous bowls of stew, fish platters and so many types of bread Jeralt couldn't name half of them. And the spices. Each one was a new punch of flavor. Some were overpowering, while others were so subtle he wasn't sure they were there until he tried something without a pinch. The Duscur sure knew how to cook.
Jeralt was one of many who engaged with the Duscur cuisine. Lambert, Patricia, Cassandra and Dimitri also partaking. A significant number of knights and servants retained themselves to the Faerghus-directed buffet. Tensions didn't ebb easily, even in peace.
The feast lasted until dusk. The food taken away hours ago but the atmosphere so intoxicating anyway. Some knights eventually crossed off their trepidation and took a sample of Duscur food, but most still retained their caution.
Eventually the merriment was cut. The prince having no little friends of his own to sit with and completely stumped by all the big words going about. Late as it was getting Lambert excused themselves. The Faerghus delegation headed far south where the encampment had been erected. The Duscur city nothing but torchlight on the horizon.
Lambert reassured his people of the fine intentions of the Duscur. Patricia and Dimitri aiding him when necessary. While it didn't mollify everyone the mood on a whole seemed to glow with approval. The royal family retired for the knight, their tent ringed by some of the only guards still wearing armor. Plenty of soldiers were moving without armor this late. Maybe only one in three was on active duty. For this small a group they couldn't be lax. That was just inviting disaster. Especially with so many civilians in camp too.
Jeralt spent his time patrolling to make up for it. Inspecting his equipment. Talking with Cassandra, or testing the occasional knight acting a bit buffoonish. There was talk of how odd the food tasted, coming from those who limited themselves to the Faerghus food of all things, but on a whole the chatter of the camp as a whole seemed positive. Maybe he was just being too paranoid. The Duscur had been nothing but hospitable. His short trips around had seen not a thing to be wary of. The village population probably less than their camp, really.
"Hey, you all right?" the knight put an arm around his retching companion. He wasn't the only knight on his knees either. A good few around were suddenly puking their guts out. Guess the Duscur food didn't agree with them.
Everyone that was losing their dinner had someone helping them through it. Real nice camaraderie from these Kingdom knights. The closest knight emptying his stomach stopped and put his arm up around his buddy.
Who suddenly fell over?
"What's the matter?" Jeralt said and hustled closer. Was he ill? No—the fallen knight's throat was red and eyes wide. The killing knife clenched in the hand of the other knight. "What did you do?" Jeralt drew his lance! The knight didn't even offer a reply, his words were slurred—drunk maybe?—and lunged right at him!
Champion of bar fights that he was Jeralt was able to stop the attack with a single shift of his wrists. The knife went flying—but the man continued to rush him. Jeralt slammed him with the butt of his lance and pinned him to the ground.
The commotion should have drawn attention but he remained alone. Where the hell was anyone else? He looked up from the violently struggling man—the whole camp was facing the same. Knight against brother knight. Mindless, savage violence without thought or skill. But the lucid knights were caught so off guard by their comrades sudden turn that few managed to defend themselves. And those that did were quickly being punished. The mad struck only at the sane. This wasn't random, this was intentional.
The Duscur? No - whoever was responsible could wait. "Sorry about this." Jeralt snapped the neck of the victim beneath him. There was no luxury of mercy for this. "Go with the goddess." He stood back up to the camp in chaos.
He jolted into action and with a great shout split apart another mindless knight. "Find Lambert!" he shouted at the knight he did save, before returning to combat. He slew as many as he could. Whatever had overtaken their minds had robbed them of their knightly technique but they held a bestial fury. Those he rescued regained their footing, pushed back. With the initiative gone, the feral knights couldn't win.
Tents went aflame. Shouts of "fire!" now joining the chorus of combat. The clash of knight and flame and smoke busying the battlefield. Jeralt cleaved his way through the chaos to where Lambert and his royal guard restrained a knight more beast than man. Patricia nearby, Dimitri in her arms, the boy burying himself in her side to shield his eyes from the violence.
"Strike camp and head south! We return to Faerghus without rest!" The knights and servants leapt to their new orders while Lambert approached him. "You've any idea why this occurred?"
"They weren't in their right mind, either they were traitors or…"
"Impossible, I handpicked these knights myself. Their conduct is beyond reproach."
"Or they were afflicted by something mind-altering." Food from Duscur? Magic? "We can worry about that later."
"Agreed."
"How are the queen and prince?"
"Alive, uninjured. Thank the goddess."
"Good, good." He'd outlived enough students and children. "I'm going to make sure my horse got through this alright."
"It was good having you here, Jeralt."
"We're not out of this yet."
Jeralt burst into a run with Lambert shouting more orders behind him. Water was thrown on burning tents, others were struck, and all the knights hoping for a peaceful sleep were hastily throwing on their armor. The makeshift stables had been spared any damage and already the knights and squires on duty were saddling the war beasts.
A thousand spikes wracked up Jeralt's calves and he nearly stumbled face first into the mud. He could feel blood pooling into his feet. But there wasn't a thing on the ground or in sight that could have caused it. And he wasn't the only one affected. The other people had collapsed as well, the horses had reared back and had they not been the most highly trained animals in the Kingdom would have surely broken free. This was damn powerful magic, more powerful than he'd ever experienced.
He buried the butt of his lance in the ground and forced himself up. "Get my horse ready!" he shouted at the one knight still standing. He leapt to it with such alacrity that Jeralt's horse was saddled and ready by the time he arrived. "I'll send for physicians at once," he lied as he swung into his saddle.
His feet ached as he kicked his horse into returning to camp.
A massive fireball, larger than the tents smashed into one and exploded. Bodies flew in the night.
"No…" There was only one creature that could produce something like that.
Another ball and another and the fires spread and the whole camp was ablaze. Striding in through the flames was a creature of horror. Four-long limbs that ended in claws that could crush a horse's body. An almost too-thin body that went from tail to head. Its giant maw drooling, the crest stone on its head glowing red. With no eyes it still saw. Focused on its nearest prey. It lunged at a knight, the man's spear unable to penetrate the barrier that flickered into being, and would be unable to penetrate that ropy skin beneath.
What the hell were Demonic Beasts doing here?!
Three of the horrors stalked the camp. Killing with terrible ease. In a prepared case the Kingdom's elite could have stood their ground and won. But the circumstances were weighed so heavily against them there was no chance.
He had to even the odds.
He kicked his horse into a gallop and unveiled the lance loaned to him by Gustave. A single strike at its head tore out a huge gout of snout and sticky black blood. Areadbhar cutting through its barrier like it was but wet paper.
Jeralt brought his horse around as a demonic blast just narrowly missed him. With speed he charged and full might he swung—boosted even further by his Crest of Seiros flaring! Areandbhar cleaved its remaining head in twain. It screeched a horrific noise and struggled, fell, and melted. Blackened body oozing over its victims.
"To the king!" Jeralt shouted! Rallying what he could back towards Lambert.
Ten or so knights followed, none but one equipped fully but they were knights of Faerghus. They would fight to the death regardless. Though death surrounded them, and calls for mercy and aid assailed them, they had their duty.
Lambert and his guards engaged another of the Demonic Beasts. The thin had thing cuts bleeding out but rampaged still. A blast from its maw barely incinerating another knight while the remaindered assailed it. The lances in tandem shattering its protection but unable to mar its skin beyond scratches.
"Lambert!" Jeralt shouted. The king turned, recognition burning in his eyes. With a toss Jeralt transferred Areadbhar in the hands of its true owner it glowed red. The Hero's Relic brought about with a more monstrous force than even the monster it struck. In one blow the inhuman creature was slain.
Too easy, too easy. These were the weakest Demonic Beasts he'd ever seen and he'd seen more than near anyone else.
Mystery could wait. "Get the third!"
"Ha, too slow!" Cassandra shouted! And dragged herself into view from smoke and flame. Thunderbrand red from glow and blood. The sword used as a walking stick as she dragged herself forward. Her face a bloody mess, left arm limp at her side, right foot shuffling. "Think I need a rest though." She fell to the ground and a camp follower hurried to her side.
"Get her mounted, now!" Lambert ordered.
"On me!" Jeralt brought up his horse and helped load his troublesome student.
A stampede erupted behind as the stabled horses came free, led by the reins by a pair of knights bleeding from their feet. Maybe two dozen mounts, with only a third with proper saddles attached.
"Griswold, guard my son with your life." A knight in thick armor took the young prince atop a horse. "Jeralt, break us south!"
"Where's Patricia?"
"She was to meet her carriage, the horses had yet to be unhitched." Lambert pulled himself into one of the few horses with saddles.
"For Duscur!" Figures in black exploded from the shadows with that shout! Already the depleted Kingdom forces were cut down once more. But a clear foe rallied their spirits like little else and once recovered they met the foe with gusto. At any other time this may have been enough to turn the tide or at least hold it, but battered and dispirited the knights could not overcome their newest assailants. While they clashed Jeralt did his best to help, but covering Cassandra made it more difficult than it should be.
He lured one of the armored enemies nearby a brazier. The man was quick despite being covered hair to toe, but Jeralt stabbed through the flames and struck a huge gash in the helm. Even in fire light Jeralt could see how pale the man was. Deathly pale beyond even the most sun-starved nobles. This was not an act of Duscur alone. It couldn't be.
Horses charged unto the scene, the cavalry hastily put together but still strong enough to trample the well-equipped infantry. If they could rally around this they might yet avoid utter disaster.
An orb of blackness flew through the knight and flung a knight far aside his mount. Two more soon followed—one at Jeralt which he narrowly avoided.
Everyone did their best to maintain formation as the few horses were mounted up but the defensive perimeter was being pushed in. With Lambert and a handpicked few now out and heading towards a carriage seemingly untouched by the carnage. That handpicked few whittled away by swords, arrows and spell. Lambert and one other made it to the carriage, the king prying open the door—and nothing.
He sat there frozen. Was Patricia dead? A girl came, a camp follower, so many were running around in fear and panic. Going towards the one person rife with confidence and stability.
But no, even at the distance Jeralt could see something was off. "Lambert!" The king reacted to his name and swung around but the girl and her knife were faster. From thigh to heel she cut flesh and ran off with utter mirth on her face. Then struck an orb of darkness and Lambert slumped. Areadbhar dropping from his grip.
"To your king - knights of Faerghus!"
With a rallying cry that shattered the night every single living warrior of Faerghus charged forth. The last protector of the king had fallen by a mob of blades but seconds before relief swarmed them all. A footmen threw himself into Lambert's saddle while another recovered the Relic and handed it up.
There, with them, Jeralt saw the inside of the carriage. Empty. Utterly empty. No body, no blood, no sign of a struggle. If this was Patricia's carriage she was never inside it.
That mystery could wait. "South!" He led them. Those with enough measure of mind to retreat. Every horse now laden with additional passengers. Those that tried to carry more, or stayed behind to fight, died. Civilians died and there was nothing he could do to help. Curses by enemy and ally alike chased after them. Their mad rush to escape still stalled by the soldiers in the dark. Spells exchanged in the black night. Death the master on this field.
Against all odds a dozen and half broke free. Screams of agony chasing them. Curses and accusations right after. Then the enemy, on horses their own.
"We'll hold them off!" Three paladins turned to face their pursuers. The first exchange a brilliant victory. But three men could not defeat twenty in this situation.
Jeralt and his charges carried themselves south. No enemies in the moonlight save one. The man and his horse were huge. His armor covered every facet of his body and even more so his horse and a shield nearly as big as he was covered his left while a two-pronged bolt ax was wielded in his left. "Come, beasts of the Kingdom! Your doom approaches!"
Who talks like that? "I'll take care of this one," Jeralt shouted to the rider next to him. "The rest of you keep going!"
The other riders slowed their pace to let Jeralt overtake. But his opponent wasn't gonna let it go so simply. With a swing a bolt of lightning flew out and blasted the rider to his left. On another the rider now far to his right. But he had no choice.
Jeralt charged forward with all the power he could and his lance deflected off that giant shield. "Do better, savage beast!" The man's next bolt came for him and Jeralt had no choice but to block it to protect Cassandra. The lightning melted his shield, burned his arm. But he passed. Jeralt hurled a throwing ax back at his enemy, which did nothing, and kept on.
All that armor meant he'd never pursue successfully. Lightning bolt after bolt followed but Jeralt dodged them all. Regrouping with the knights, now well out of range.
"Savage beasts! Duscur will never bow to the Kingdom!" His taunt chasing them better than the magic weapon could.
Jeralt's feet were shredded, his left arm burning. He'd been cut on his head at one point. But through it all he was alive. Another battle survived. For now.
Only ten other horses were with him. All doubled up with passengers. Lambert, Dimitri and Cassandra bleeding themselves to death in the chaos. The riders barely any better. One slumped off his horse, never to rise. The trained animal keeping its pace, even with its lone passenger now. Too many left behind, cursing the knights for cowardice. Maybe even Patricia mong them.
Pinpricks of orange alighted in front of them. No chance to outrun. No chance they survive another attack. Still, Jeralt prepared his lance for the impossible.
"Your Majesty!"
The solemn-turned-urgent voice of Gustave! "The king's been badly wounded!" Jeralt shouted before anyone else ever could.
"South, south to Dominic territory!" The man rode ahead of nearly fifty men, his face desperate even in the low light. "We'll cover your retreat!"
Riders for king and country passed in the night. Rear of Gustave's band took lead back south.
Combat loud and dangerous behind. Nothing else as they rode back. Nothing save pain.
The fancy halls of the Dominic Estate were tortured by the busy. Those bleeding and those trying to stop it. Physicians, priests, bishops, surgeons and barbers. All that could be assembled from the territory worked ceaselessly on their patients.
Half did not survive even then.
Jeralt had been lucky. Some burn scars on his left arm, a new scar on his face. Whatever spell had struck their feet had caused a hundred tiny cuts, which the physicians could handle with relative ease.
Every other survivor could not boast that.
Even the best off were seeing the goddess. Knights had to be peeled from their sticking armor, sometimes they never even got that. The few camp followers who survived were shuttering messes. One just giggling as their legs were amputated.
Cassandra had been touch and go for hours. Beyond her savaged left arm and clawed face were plenty of injuries he couldn't see at the time. Both by blood and night. Goddess-granted miracle she hadn't passed already.
Dimitri was the only other one close to minor injuries, only taking a blow upside the head and an arrow to the bicep. But anything like that was too much for a child as young as him to bear. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Crying all the while.
It would only get worse once he learned about his father.
Lambert had taken few injuries. That nasty stab wound the worst of the lot but even that would be survivable by someone as healthy as the man was. Yet everyone who applied their arts to him couldn't mend it. Everything he'd been stricken with refused to close. The thread and needle unable to counter all the lost blood. The King of Faerghus was on his deathbed.
A wave of misery even fiercer washed over all those that lived. And Jeralt could do naught but watch tears and fears fall where they may.
For his last moments Lambert had to prepare. Gustave had gone inside shortly after the head physician made the announcement. Whatever message the king gave him resulted in an even more grim visage when he left.
And then Lambert called for him.
Jeralt wasn't gonna turn down a dead man.
Lambert was paler than his sheets, soaked with sweat and his eyes drifted lazily. His caretakers had given him as much dignity back as they could but every breath sent a shudder down his body. Half of those resulted in a cough that wracked his body.
"Thank you, for being there, Jeralt."
"Any time."
"I need you to—" he ruined himself with a dozen coughs. "I need you to bring to the archbishop the Duscur weren't responsible."
"I will."
"You must. Gustave will—" another cough. "Do the same for my brother."
"I'll do what I must." And he must ask. "What of Patricia?"
"Gone. Taken? Maybe?"
Or of her own volition. Back to the Empire.
"There must not be a war."
"I'll do all I can." But it won't be enough.
"And there must be justice!" A flash of fury sent the man into a spasm. "B-be good to my son…"
"I will." No retiring anytime soon. "May the Goddess return you to her side, King Lambert."
Maybe he imagined the smile on Lambert's lips when he left. But it didn't matter.
Dimitri was led inside after, and Gustave came up. "I offer my eternal gratitude for your assistance, Sir Jeralt."
"I should be thanking you for coming. Things would have been worse if you hadn't convinced me to take Areadbhar like that." He wasn't gonna ask why he'd trusted him since in light of everything. "Why were you nearby anyway? Weren't you supposed to be taking care of your kid?"
"Christophe had a message for you, wished it delivered in all due haste. And I..."
Disobeyed orders to serve your king. "What trouble did Byleth get into now?"
"It is best you hear it from Christophe."
It was real bad then.
The door to Lambert's room opened, letting the grieving prince out. Gustave walked to the boy. The prince's eyes weeping… but also burning with anger. The rage-fueled sorrow reflecting an intensity that Jeralt had rarely seen.
Dammit Lambert.
And then broke the news of the king's passing. Agony splaying over all tenfold in strength.
He had his own son to take care of, and excused himself from Gustave's company. He moved towards Cassandra's room, Christophe at her bedside shaken with grief all his own. Almost worse off in some ways than she was.
"How is she?"
"The physician's…" He turned in his chair. "Why? Why Cassandra?"
"It was… her choice." It was never easy to accept someone doing something that endangered their life.
"She wanted to be called 'Thunderstrike' you know? Ridiculous. How's she gonna do that with one arm?"
Dammit. "She's strong. If anyone could come back from this, it's her." Jeralt put a comforting hand on the man's shaking shoulder. "But Christophe, I need you to tell me, what happened? What happened with Byleth?"
Half-dead eyes returned to the living. "Ah, Captain! It's your son! He—"
"What happened to my son?!" Jeralt barged into the infirmary of Fhirdiad Castle.
The frightened physician pointed to him immediately. Byleth was lying in bed, shirt gone, a blood-spotted bandaged layered over his left shoulder. Big bruises were purpling his cheeks and eye. Eyes that didn't open.
It's your son! He was attacked and nearly killed!
Jeralt dropped to the side of his son and held his hand. "How…" How...