Chapter 8: Crossroads and Disgust
Desaix's Fortress
Desaix was enjoying a lavish meal of meats and wine when Fernand walked in on his feast, scowling as usual. The two traded looks of disdain and both relished the thought of killing the other, but ultimately held their intent. Time would come to settle scores, but for now they worked on repelling the oncoming army, who was fast approaching.
"I've organized the troops as you commanded." The younger knight said, though his voice edged at the word "commanded." "Our supplies are bountiful and our walls strong, they'll have no choice but to fight a long, protracted battle."
"Good, good…" Desaix said in between bites of pork, grease slicking down his beard. "And with Rigellian Cantors at our side, we'll have Terrors to replenish our numbers. They'll never get to me."
"Is that all, Desaix? I have things to attend to." Fernand asked.
"Ah, there is one matter, a test of your loyalty to Rigel." Desaix said smoothly, his eyes flushed with glee as he prepared to deliver his ultimatum. "The hostage we have, Mathilda, is no longer useful to us. I want you to execute her immediately."
Shock washed across Fernand's face as he heard the words. How could he forget that she was held captive here? "W-what? Why ask this of me?" he responded hastily. "I'm not some lowly executioner, Desaix. That is beneath me."
"The order comes from Lord Berkut himself. Failure to comply means I get to string you up as well, Fernand, and you know I would love to." The portly man said, taking great pleasure at his frustration and despair.
Gritting his teeth, Fernand exited the room without saying another word. He wanted to rush the table and strangle his neck until his head turned purple, and maybe not stop even then. But he held himself back.
And went to do what he needed to do.
"Sir, there's someone here for you."A soldier said, saluting crisply to Alm as he entered the briefing room. "A mage from the nearby border village, sir."
"Ah, that village is known to have a powerful magical family. I've visited their village a few times, and their people have nothing but praise to say about that family's magical potential." Clive commented as they said. "Perhaps we should hear him out."
Alm nodded and soon a man wearing robes stepped in, carry a green tome. He had dull red hair and had been cleanly kept, but carried an aura of solitude as he studied the figures before him. He turned towards Alm and made a curt bow.
"I was told this was the head Deliverance, correct? I am Luthier, fully-fledged mage." He said politely, though accentuating the part about his role. "I have come here with a request."
"A…request?" Alm asked.
"Our village has been ransacked by Desaix and Rigellians, though my family has done all it can to drive them off, however…" He said desperately. "My sister was kidnapped by Rigellians and was taken to the floodgates. I beg your aid in rescuing her."
"I…uh…" Alm said, hesitant.
Clive cut him off. "As terrible as your plight is, we are in the middle of a war. We can't simply put it on hold to save your sister."
"I understand completely sir, which is why I'll offer to join your services." Luthier replied calmly. "I understand that your army has is rather…understaffed when it comes to magical talent. All I ask is that when you go to the floodgates, you'll search for my sister."
"….Alright." Alm said, moving towards him and extending a hand. "We welcome you to the Deliverance, Luthier."
Luthier clasped his arm tightly, and after some minor introductions, he left the council to continue deliberating. Alm looked at Clive, catching his gaze of uncertainty. "You disapprove of that?"
"Alm, your kindness does you credit, but it can also blind you." Clive said bluntly. "We can't stop every time someone asks us for aid."
"But he's lost his sister." Tobin objected. "Aren't we doing the same thing here, rescuing your lover? Or is it because she's nobility?"
Clive glared at the villager, not of anger, but of frustration. He started to speak before Alm raised his hand, silencing the room.
"Nobility or not, we need to save her." Alm said, frankly. "The Deliverance is supposed to set an example to the rest, an example that proves that we help our fellow Zofians, regardless of station or birth. Isn't that right, Clive?"
"Yes, but…"
"Besides, driving the Rigellians out means heading to the floodgates." Gray pointed out, hit finger directly on top of the border between Zofia and Rigel. "We're heading there after beating Desaix, right? We can easily look for her once we reach there."
"We can discuss this some other time." Alm said, a sense of finality in his voice. "What matters right now is how we'll take Desaix's fortress, and make him pay for his crimes."
Dawn of the Next Day
Desaix's Fortress, Dungeons.
Mathilda was in her lonely cell in the deepest pit of the dungeons. No sunlight peeked through here as she forced her tired body to push herself. Up and down, up and down, an exercise to keep her body sharp. She may never live to benefit from it, but it wasn't in her nature to give in to despair simply because she was a captive.
Even without access to the outside, she could tell that it was dawn by the smell of gruel being callously passed to her cellmates. Slop with only a hint of spice. She stopped her training to accept the bowl from her jailor, who simply looked at her with angry and lustful eyes. That she hadn't been attacked from any of her captors yet was a blessing she intended to thank Mila for if she got out.
"If" had been "when" a week ago. Or at least what she perceived to be a week. Was her faith really evaporating so quickly?
She looked around at her cellmates, and none were men she recognized. She knew what a few of them did to deserve this place, from thievery to simply saying no to Desaix's orders. Some were noble, most were commoners, but there is one thing all of them shared.
The same, glassy look on their faces: the feeling of giving up all hope of escape, of survival, of slowly losing their humanity in this accursed place. Mathilda had sympathy for them, but knew that no words would mend their wound, only escape would.
Finishing her bowl, she returned to her exercises, slowly building her already considerable strength. She wasn't scrawny, even as a child, and her physical prowess only grew as she joined the Knights, but here what was a respectable part of her became her only source of contentment as she pushed herself day after day.
"Clive is coming for me, I know it." She thought. "I won't fall to my inner demons. Mila will give me the strength to get through this."
Suddenly a clanking sound reached her ears, the sound of a hatch opening. But it wasn't noon yet, where their second portion was served. Mathilda got up and clenched her fists, preparing for anything.
What she wasn't prepared for, was a familiar face stepping down towards the dungeon. The silver-haired knight approached the cells; spear in hand, his eyes scanning each and every one of the cells until he looked at hers. He motioned to his two guards and the jailor. "Leave."
The three nodded hesitantly before exiting. As he approached her cell door, she was still in shock at what was happening. Fernand looked at her and stayed silent, his lips twisted in a scowl.
"F-Fernand? Is that you?" She asked, though she knew the answer. And what it meant.
He stood still there, silent. For a second Mathilda thought she was in some twisted dream, a product of her isolation. But Fernand finally stopped his silence, speaking in a cold and even tone. "Yes, Mathilda, it is me. I have been sent here to…execute you."
The golden-haired knight actually shuffled back, part of her mind refusing to believe that this is reality. That he would betray them both for Desaix. "W-why…?" She whispered out, sounding more pleading that she realized. "Why would you betray the Deliverance?"
"It is Clive who betrayed the Deliverance, who betrayed our ideals." He said softly, opening her cell. His spear was clutched tightly in his hands.
"I'm merely doing what needs to be done."
As the sun continued to rise, arrows flew from both sides as waves of Terrors rushed out of the fortress. Horrid, twisted bodies with shapes reminiscent of faces, the monstrosities charged down without regard for strategy, and were felled by waves of arrows or fire. But they were merely distraction for the more dangerous threats, as cavalry rushed out and struck at exposed sides of the Deliverance, and retreated just as quickly.
Desaix knew that he was in a defensible position, and he intended to exploit it for all it's worth. The only way for the Deliverance to ensure victory is to fight through hordes of Terrors and soldiers in order to gain ground. He hoped to drown them in a tide of corpses.
Thankfully, the recruitment of a certain mage makes things easier for them, as with two sources of power spells, and with Luthier far more experienced than Kliff, the army managed to gain ground more than either side expected.
Luthier shot out a storm of magic that sucked in several Terrors and even a few cavalry in, sweeping them up to fall to their deaths. Not wanting to be bested, Kliff let loose bolts of lighting that pierced the archers on the wall, severing one archer's arm and forcing the rest to hide. Already the men were using the opening the mages gave them to rush to the gates, where the next tide of Terrors awaited them.
"How long until they're ready?" Kliff muttered, casting another bolt towards a brave archer, trying to get a shot in. The bold hit him square in the chest and sent him falling over the wall, smoke pouring out of his body.
"We need to buy them time." Alm said as he sliced through three terrors at once, only for three more to appear to harass him. Looking to his side, Lukas was saving a downed soldier by pinning his attack to the ground with his spear. Others weren't as lucky as Terrors ripped limbs off mercilessly, while other fell to spear or sword.
They were gaining ground, but it required a heavy toll.
Suddenly, a flap of wings emerged as Faye and Clair leaped into action, for once not acting as harassers but as support for the army, only fighting when needed.
And one other important gambit, the centerpiece of their assault.
They just needed to buy a little more time.
Fernand, spear raised high, looked at her friend, eyes wide open.
He had to do this, he had to.
But why couldn't he move?
Once more, memories began to flood into his mind. Memories of friendship, of comfort, intertwined with memories of pain. He remembered a rainy day, where she placed a reassuring hand on her soldier, to help him grieve, to help him forget about the pain.
He couldn't kill her, she meant too much to him.
Slowly lowering the spear, he tossed it to the ground in front of her and turned away, suddenly too ashamed to even be in her sight. He stood there ominously, eyes closed to deny himself that he had almost murdered her in cold blood.
"Fernand?" Her voice whispered out. He looked back to see that she had grasped his spear tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping her standing.
"Go." He said tersely. It was all he could manage to say.
"Not without you, Fernand. I don't know what happened, but I know you can still make this right." She pleaded, her hand clasping his. He stayed silent, but nodded.
He wasn't sure why. In his heart, he still believed in his ideals. That the nobility deserves to rule over common folk, that they required guidance to be better than what they were. Without that, they become no better than the savages that murdered his parents.
So what has changed?
"Nothing." He concluded. Nothing has changed about him or what he believed, but he wasn't about to throw away the life of his love for the sake of that, even if her heart can never be his, even if it means going back on Prince Berkut.
"We'll need help." She said, grabbing his cell keys and unlocking the other cells. The prisoners barely moved, only managing to glance up and look at her with the same glassy, emotionless eyes.
Except there was something else hidden within those eyes, something minuscule, like a spark. It was hope, the hope of escape, vengeance. They slowly stood up and looked at one another: murderers, commoners, thieves and farmers, different men with different stories.
It didn't matter now. Down in the dungeons, such distinction was lost on these people. Some of them grabbed spears, swords, or even poles. Anything to defend themselves with, to prevent their freedom from being snatched from them.
"Listen." Mathilda began speaking as Fernand came up beside her, feeling nostalgic at what was happening. "I don't know who you men are, and frankly, I don't care at the moment. Right now all that matters is that you all help each other out of this dungeon. Fernand, what's the situation outside?"
Feeling shocked for a moment, Fernand stood more crisply, as if a recruit on his first day of training. She always had that effect on her. "Security was tight, but Desaix is most likely preoccupied with the battle outside. We'll still have to fight our way out."
"Seems like now is a prime opportunity." Mathilda pointed out. "Once we escape, you can all go your separate ways, but until we've escape, you all listen to me. Do I make myself understood?"
Some of them slowly nodded, which soon spread amongst the group of prisoners. Some of them, presumably soldiers who've heard of her reputation, saluted proudly.
Nodding back, she quickly marched up the dungeon stairs, her ragtag squadron forming up disorderly behind her. Slamming the door open, she was met with two confused guards, but didn't give them the chance as she stabbed a spear through one of their necks while the other was taken by two others, a third stabbing his chest.
Standing at the edge of the dungeon, Fernand stood there. His mind was still torn between two worlds. He could still stop this, he could…
"Come on." A voice called out to him. A voice he didn't want to silence.
Reluctantly, he followed.
Miles high above the sky, Gray nervously had his hand on his hilt, gripping it tightly as Clair spotted the wall.
"There, an opening." The lady pointed out, to a clearing on the wall where there were no living archers, just charred or bolted corpses. "Are you ready, Gray?"
"As ready as I'll ever be." He muttered back as they descended, Faye following soon after with Tobin on his back. Already he felt his queasiness rise along with the speed, and he felt as if he'll never get used to flight.
"Gray?" Clair whispered out, so softly that he could barely hear it.
"Yeah?"
"Please stay safe." She said, her tone almost seeming vulnerable.
Those three words suddenly made his feeling of sickness disappear, as the two flew down onto the wall below, the young man quickly hopped off, feet hitting solid stone and drawing his sword. He looked back and gave her a reassuring smile, and she flew again without saying another word.
"I try to look cool and she ignores me. Seems about right." He thought dryly as he quickly slashed at the archer closest to him, splitting his throat open. The rest along the wall turned towards him and drew their bows, some even pulling out knives.
A few arrows struck the archers on the back as Tobin immediately formed up behind Gray, firing relentlessly while his friend was charging the knife wielders. The archers formed up and tried to form protective lines, but their weapons proved to be poor defensive weapons and Gray effortlessly smashed through them.
As more and more people got ferried by the pegasi riders onto the walls, which included Forsyth and Kliff, the Deliverance forces started to gain ground on the walls. The archers tried to stop by shooting at the soldiers as they descended, but it was too late. The southern part of the battlefield was squarely on the Deliverance's side as they pushed through the open gates.
Still, taking the gate brought up another challenge as the tide of Terrors continued to choke the entrance, preventing them from proceeding. Gray glanced down between slashes and saw Alm effortlessly cleave through men and Terrors alike, but making no more progress than he did a few minutes ago.
"We have to help them." Gray said to the strike force. His strike force, as he mentally corrected himself. He still wasn't sure why Alm entrusted command to him, especially when half the composed force included officers with much more experience and decorum than he did.
"Kliff, stay on the wall and rain hell on them." Gray said, surprised at how easily he got into the swing of things. To say the boy was stupid or dull would be an almost insulting misunderstanding. He had some acumen of tactics, especially when exposed to real combat during his tenure as a Deliverance soldier. But he never had to take up a leadership position till now.
"Forsyth, pick two of your best man and guard him. The rest of you are coming with me, we need to secure the interior of this fort here otherwise we'll be walking in between two armies and a ton of Terrors."
Forsyth saluted and picked out two men, and Gray immediately headed for the tower, Tobin and the others at his back. It felt…good, to be leading men. He always thought of leadership as something fearful, or something nobles preached to prove their superiority over others.
But now he finally understood it, at least a little bit, the consideration and the fear of making a bad move, and the consequences that followed, but also the exhilaration, the thrill and craving of success.
In the tower, they found more soldiers stationed. They made quick work of the confused soldiers as they cut through, descending down some stairs and into the fortress beyond.
As they made their way down the hall, they found another group at the other end, finishing off two guards. All of them wore rags of some kind, save for one.
Fernand, the traitor.
As the two groups intersected, both uncertain of the other, a Deliverance soldier marched stepped forward.
"TRAITOR!" He bellowed at Fernand, sword drawn. Suddenly the prisoners drew their swords defensively. A tense silence followed.
"Enough." A voice shouted. A woman holding a spear came forward. "I don't recognize any of you, but I presume you're Deliverance men?"
"Y-yeah? Why would you...?" The same soldier stated, before his jaw grew wide and his expression changed to one of complete shock. "L-lady Mathilda, is that you?"
"Yes, it is." The woman said proudly, leading the others to share their looks of shock, Gray and Tobin included. Their mission was to break out Lady Mathilda and make sure Desaix had no hostage to bargain with in the event of a victory, but it seemed that she managed to break out herself.
The soldiers immediately saluted to her, recognizing her rank regardless of being a newly freed prisoner. Gray and Tobin, still in shock, awkwardly did so as well after the others.
"What was your mission, soldier?" He said to them, spear held up confidently. Even in rags, she had an aura of command around her, a soldier regardless of what she was wearing.
"Uh…to rescue you." Gray pointed out, a light blush forming on his cheeks. "But it seems you've, uh, done that yourself, sir."
"Yes." Mathilda dryly pointed out. "And now?"
"To secure the walls so that the Deliverance doesn't get surrounded, sir."
"Good thinking." Mathilda said, turning to her prisoners. Most of them were still alive, and in better morale since their imprisonment. They all looked to her, waiting for orders. "Well, we'll assist you. We've already taken down some of the guards here, the faster we secure it, the sooner we can pressure Desaix's forces."
"Beg your pardon, sir. But what's he doing here?" Tobin said to Fernand, bow still in his hand. He kept his eyes on him throughout the entire encounter, ready to stick and arrow in him. "He turned traitor against us to join with the Rigellians. As far as we're concerned, he's one of them."
"He's the one who got me out in the first place." She said, gently but firm. She wanted to understand their suspicion, mostly because it was all too well founded, but he also didn't want to condemn his friend either. "I know what happened, and while he will face punishment for his crimes, now's neither the time nor the place. I'll keep an eye on him. After this battle is done, we'll take him to Clive to sort things out. Am I understood?"
She uttered the last statement a little forcefully than she intended, but if anyone objected to her words, none were brave enough to speak it. Instead, the men simply saluted, Gray and Tobin included. However, they still maintained a wary eye over Fernand, who was also looking back with hostility.
"One thing at a time." She thought. She knew this wasn't going to be solved in a single day, or perhaps even until the war has ended. Sighing to herself, she turned to the two boys. "Alright, what's the plan?"
Luthier hadn't expected that his first day as a member of the Deliverance would be quite so…taxing. He thought that as he blew away three more Risen, their bodies turning quickly into dust. His robe was left unscratched, save for a few splotches of blood from some unlucky soldier nearby. He made a mental note to wash those spots very thoroughly.
Slowly but surely, the Deliverance was making progress. They were already in the fortress, the courtyard firmly under their control. However they found themselves swarmed by more Terrors on all sides, and found them halted yet again as the enemies near infinite reserve started to strain them.
If only they could find that damnable Cantor…
And then he saw it, an unholy shadow with glowing purple eyes, and hidden deep amongst the tide. His purplish skin revealed hideous scars and gashes, yet his entire body thrummed with magical power, the source of this malignant horde, a Cantor, servant of Duma.
The same kind of wretched people who abducted his sister, his family's future.
He called out to Alm, a rare sense of anger rising within him. He had fought foes before, bandits threatening his villager, the occasional Terror, but this was a personal saw killing as something necessary, but ambivalent, but this was someone who he not only felt like he needed to take down, but would feel pride and pleasure doing it.
Alm looked to the Cantor and said. "Do you think you can take him?"
He nodded confidently. If there was nothing else that Luthier was good at, he would still be supremely confident in matters of magical nature.
"I and the others will keep the Terrors away." He said, gesturing to his men. Immediately they turned formation and began to drive the monsters back with a hard push. Luthier took the opportunity, and dashed through a hole in their ranks.
The cantor immediately noticed him, and cackled in a voice that wasn't entirely his. His raised arm was filled with a purplish aura, which seemed to suck the shadows around him. Pointing at Luthier, the Cantor shot out a bolt of miasmic energy.
The mage caught it in his hand, and pain immediately shot up his entire body, down to the very marrow of his bones. He felt it churning his stomach, trying to let him drop his defenses, let down his guard so that the spell can consume him entirely.
However, he was more than used to power. He deflected the shot with more effort than he'd ever admit, and the Cantor's face turned to one of annoyance. Another spell flared in his hand, but he was too slow. Luthier shot a bolt of lightning at him, crackling as it arc through the sky. The Cantor simply took it in his hand as it dimmed and faded, its power gone.
Again and again, spells lashed out between them as spell met with spell as men and Terrors died around them. Luthier shot out more and more spells, which the Cantor was forced to defend. Keeping up the pressure, he shot out more and more spells, feeling his energy sap with each cast.
He couldn't win, but he wasn't planning to. He merely wanted to buy his time and effort.
The tide of terrors started to cease as the Cantor focused on the duel, and soon were thinned to just a few manageable strays. Several soldiers quickly charged at the Cantor, which responded with a wave of miasma that shot throughout him, making several soldiers kneel in pain as blood flowed down their faces.
NOW!
Using the last of his power, Luthier poured all of his might towards his next spell, which surged towards the Cantor. His opponent tried to shield himself, but it was too late. He felt himself being caught in a tempest of energy. He felt his limbs tear apart, and tried to scream, but felt his breath being taken away as his lung instantly gave out.
Despite that, his corpse continued to be tore apart piece by piece, and eventually, with Luthier kneeling down and exhausted, with no trace of the Cantor to be seen. He felt a hand clasp on his shoulder and saw Alm, smiling at him proudly.
"Good work, Luthier. Their Terrors are gone." He said in a comforting tone. "Go and get some rest, we'll handle the rest of Desaix's men."
He stood up, feeling an odd sense of pride at hearing him. He nodded silently and headed to the healers, his hand on his head. He was tired, and he needed some rest. Slowing walking back out the gate, he could only hope the rest of the army didn't need him any time soon.
Gray cleaved another soldier in the side. His body and sword was coated with blood, but he wasn't nearly as soaked as Mathilda, who seem to bathe in it. Watching her was distracting; not because of her beauty, but because of how she fought.
It could only be described as beautiful. She darted around them room, dodging a spear thrust by just an inch while swinging her spear, sweeping another foe off her feet as she spun around and swatted away another thrust, and ended one of her attacker's life with a quick thrust. Never a movement wasted, never a seconded unmoved. He was having trouble believing she was able to be captured in the first place.
They were quickly making their way in the fortress, slaughtering men as they passed. The place was in disarray, and that made it easy for them to progress, and soon they found themselves standing at the doorway to the main hall.
"I think it's best if I stay guard outside." Fernand said, looking disgusted. He stayed silent throughout their assault, barely participating in battle at all and simply looking sullen. Not that anyone in the Deliverance cared, as they continued to look him with suspicion.
"Keep watch over him." Gray whispered to Tobin as Mathilda assigned people to guard the entrance while the rest entered the halls. She respected her position as leader, but that didn't mean he trusted that arrogant traitor in the slightest. Tobin quickly nodded as he put a hand over an arrow, his eyes glinting with anticipation.
Mathilda knocked open the door, which revealed a lavished looking ballroom. It wasn't quite as big as the one in Zofia castle, but what it lost in size it made up in avaricious splendor. The walls were painted gold, and the pillars were adorned with red strips of shiny cloth. The floor was polished to a glossy sheen, and all around were paintings, statues and other such embellishments, all depicting power, luxury, and pleasure.
On the other side of the hall stood Desaix and a company of men, shields locked and spears out. Some of them were Zofian, the rest Rigellians. Behind them stood the man himself, clad in purple armor inlaid with gold. He carried a gigantean javelin with him, and despite the situation, looked as arrogant as he ever did.
"Haha, so you managed to escape." He said haughtily. "I knew that coward Fernand would never have the heart to kill you himself. Once I deal with all of you here, his head will be next."
"You talk big for someone who's cornered." Gray spat out, angrier than he thought he was. He knew that he was never under Desaix's radar, even after their little clash at Zofia, but he still riled him up. Not just for what he represented to both him and Zofia, but for nearly killing Clair, and him as well.
He was going to settle the score today.
"Ha! Do you take me for a fool?" He said, laughing out loud. "Haven't it ever occurred to you that you entered here far too easily, that the guard was far too lax?"
With a gesture of his hand, several more troops poured out into the side doors, brandishing swords. Many of them wore heavy armor, and soon the group found themselves outnumbered and surrounded. Even so, none of them floundered, their hateful eyes still dug into Desaix.
Not a second soon passed before the two sides charged, with not a sense of fear in their eyes.
Lukas shoved his spear into an enemy's throat as he emerged from a doorway. Ordinarily, it would have been a surprise, but repeated attempts have made him wary enough to expect it by now. They were no less frustrating to him and his men though, for each ambushed whittled away at their time.
Desaix's Fortress was a labyrinth of hallways, rooms and towers. Deciding to divide and conquer, Alm had split the army into five divisions, with the objecting of finding and killing Desaix or liberating lady Mathilda as swiftly as possible.
Despite that, they were constantly hampered by lone ambushes from corridors, secret entrances and other such measures. They managed to kill off several unwary soldiers, but the losses sustained were insignificant, as heartless though it may be to see lives lost as "insignificant", that was what went on in Lukas's highly pragmatic mind.
Still, they were obviously ordered to stall for time, as most simply fled to presumably coordinate another ambush with another group to stall for time yet again, delay and placate, a dishonorable yet effective tactic, one which Lukas assumed the other divisions were under as well.
Still, it was one that they were forced to endure; for ignoring those ambushes meant the possibility that they could inflict truly significant damage upon their numbers. And so they went on sluggishly, searching room after room and wiping out any ambushers there.
As they continued to march down the hallway, they were met with a barricade of soldiers, spears at the ready. Sighing, Lukas charged towards them with fervor.
The battle in the hallway raged on into a frenzy of a dozen little battles between Deliverance and Rigellian forces. A prisoner managed to catch an enemy soldier off guard, only for his neck to be sliced open by an axe from another soldier. The battle ebbed and flowed as both sides pushed forward and back in a deliberate dance of duels.
During a lull however, arrows began to pour from above. On the balcony above archers began to rain down death upon the Deliverance, thinning their numbers.
Gray grunted as he was forced to dodge two arrows in the middle of a battle with another enemy, who took advantage of the opportunity and thrust his spear, which hit his soldier. Gray gritted at the pain and simply backed off, and found his back against Mathilda.
"These archers are going to be a pain." He whined, a bit more frustrated than he intended. Mathilda, however, nodded.
"Think you can get up on that balcony?" Mathilda said as he dodged another arrow, simultaneously slamming her spear down on an enemy's chest. It seems even under pressure from fire, she was unrelenting.
Gray surveyed the balcony in between. There were no stairs to speak off, and the pillars were made from tough marble. Still, he had an idea. A crazy, suicidal idea, but it was either that or a surefire defeat.
"Yeah, just buy me some time." He responded, steeling himself for what he was about to do. The older knight nodded and began moving to more open ground to draw fire. Gray made a quick prayer to Mila…
…and dashed straight towards the enemy knights.
The guys in armored stood still, sentinels within their iron walls. If Gray could discern what their feelings were, it was probably surprise mixed with a bit of amusement. After all, charging an armored line along is suicide.
They locked their shields in place and stood firm, which was what the villager was counting on. In a moment he put all of his energy towards his legs and jumped, his feet immediately landed on one of their shields, just thick enough for him to carry some semblance of balance, enough for him to take another leap.
The knights tried to slash at his legs, but were too slow and Gray too agile. In a single bound, he leapt up, letting momentum guide him. Time stopped for an instant and he felt like this was a foolish idea, that it would never work, that he would die performing a stupid attempt at being a hero.
Thankfully, his feet landed on the balcony railing, the faces of shocked archers lining his sight. He lashed out before they could react, slashing through two of their throats and the shoulder of a third. The rest of them hastily pulled out knives, still stunned by the apparent breach of their safety, but close quarters was where Gray shined best.
Slash after slash after slash, he moved like a whirlwind, killing archers with every swing. He didn't even bothering parrying any of the knives that were coming for him, instead simply dodging and twisting until he could kill again. His skill was still far beneath Mathilda or even Alm, but he would not let it be said that he couldn't fight well.
The last few archers managed to put some resistance, but it was ultimately of no use. Fresh blood has soaked him once more, and Gray put out a slow sigh. He felt exhilarated, but tired. He was getting tired of fighting, as much as he was good at it.
He surveyed down from the balcony a bit, and saw the horrors of war.
Bodies being trampled over to get an advantage, the floor now stained with pools of blood. The intermingling of bodies as men did not care what they had to do; all they needed to do was survival. Gray felt sick to his stomach.
It was horrific, it was wrong, but it was war.
"Well, I always wanted a reason to fight." Gray thought grimly, standing on the balcony railing once again, feeling as though he were on top of a mountain, looming over the darkness. "Stopping this is as good as any."
He jumped down without a second thought.
Desaix watched over the battle in relative safety behind his wall of men, and yet he found himself massively displeased.
For as outnumbered and outmatched as they were, prisoners and Deliverance soldiers were still fighting on. They died in droves, true, but so did his men. His gambit relied upon the swift destruction of any who marched in hear, while his men delayed the others so that he could crush them while divided, instead of facing a unified force.
The crippling of his archers posed another delay, thanks to some foolhardy commoner. His displeasure turned into seething rage as time wore on. The Deliverance was thinning, but not nearly far enough for him to ensure swift victory, not far enough for reinforcements to arrived to a slaughtered army.
In the centre of the room, Mathilda was fighting like a beast, intimidating the men in front of her as she spun in a bloody arc that tore through soldiers. Behind her, men were cheering even as they fought against difficult odds. It now became clear who must fall in order for him to succeed.
Gripping his javelin tightly he charged into the fray. He had let lesser men handle his affairs for too long, now it was time for all to know why Desaix shall be the new and only ruler of Zofia.
Mathilda saw the men before her shatter and retreat, and smiled confidently. It was clear their morale was sinking for failing to defeat what they thought was a weakened foe. All they need to do is hold out a little-
A whirling lance sent her scrambling back, spear nearly hitting her head as she barely dodged it. The man who threw it pulled on the chain attached to it with considerable force, and it yanked itself out of the floor into the hands of its owner.
Desaix walked out, pushing aside his soldiers as a look of pure rage lined his face, veins showing at the corner. He didn't say anything, not any proclamations of arrogance or intimidation. It made him all the more menacing as he thrust his spear towards Mathilda again, who slapped it aside with her spear.
Desaix didn't relent as he swiped and stabbed with his heavy javelin, far quicker than his build would have him indicate. Mathilda was having a hard time keeping up as she parried and dodge, no opportunity to counter attack presented itself, and everyone else was too busy fighting Desaix's men.
That is, until Gray stepped in, aiming his sword thrust towards his head. He swiftly twisted it aside and countered, but was forced to stop and step backwards when Mathilda aimed for his feet. The tide has turned and now he found himself against two foes.
"You're going to pay for what you've done." Gray spat out, eyeing him for any sudden moves.
This only drew a dark laugh, without mirth. "Oh? Am I supposed to know you boy, or what I've done to you? You'll have to be more specific."
Gray's answer was a slash, which was deftly blocked as Mathilda charged after. Steel clashed as Desaix continued to be forced on the defensive, block after block after block. He finally saw his opportunity and retaliated with a powerful slashed, with enough force that Mathilda was knocked backwards.
Gray, however, managed to dodge in time and kept on building pressure, fighting harder, more dangerously. He felt his body on the edge of exhaustion, which any further pushes would result in his collapse, and yet he continued assaulting his foe, slash after slash.
Desaix grunted as a blow connected onto his shoulder, denting his armor and sending a jolt of pain. He tried to retaliate, but was met to a blow on his side, which caused him further pain. Gray stepped back as he tried to crush him, giving himself a split second to catch his breath before landing another blow to his arm.
He tried to aim for his other arm, but felt himself getting sluggish. His body was finally catching up to the fatigue.
"No…not now." Gray pleaded, but it was no use. Desaix noticed his weakness and thrust his spear, point aimed at his chest. He was too slow, he would die.
He felt his body being pushed away as the thrust nearly hit him, and saw two arrows land directly onto Desaix's neck. His look of utter shock as his clutched his neck, blood pouring out.
"Damn…you all…maggots." He said out, even as he knelt. His death would soon follow. "Zofia…was meant to be mine to…claim…you…"
He collapsed before he could finish, blood pooling around his body. The rest of the enemy forces, disheartened, either retreated or surrendered when the more Deliverance reinforcements poured in. Victory at last.
Gray looked up, that simple action felt impossible with his condition, but at last saw his savior. Mathilda looked down at Desaix's corpse, a satisfied scowl on her face.
"You did well, soldier." She commented without looking away. "I was honored to have fought alongside you."
Gray blushed despite himself, and turned away to make sure no one was looking at him. Sadly, the one person who he didn't want to see right now just so happened to be walking towards him, waving.
"Well, looks like you took a beating." Tobin said, bow still in his hand. "Thought you were a goner for a second, so I put some arrows into Desaix."
"Thanks, I appreciate it." He said, groaning. He truly did appreciate his help, but he got the feeling he was never going to hear the end of it for a while. Such is the price of coming short.
"Anyways…" Tobin continued, drawing back his bow and lifting Gray up with his shoulder. "Alm's busy dealing with the remaining men still in the castle, and we're relieved of duty."
"Thank Mila for that." Gray said appreciatively.
The two friends headed out of the room, but not before Gray took one look at the carnage that passed. Blood pooled on the floor, bodies mutilated. He couldn't help but feel a bit defeated despite the victory.
He detached from Tobin and stumbled a bit to a corpse. It was one of the foray groups, dead eyes still opened as his body was filled with holes. He shut off his eyelids and gave a quick prayer. It wasn't much, but it was something.
He can only hope that his prayer was answered, if it was even heard.
And that's it for this chapter, where we have finally headed into true AU territory. Next chapter will be dealing with the consequences of having defected twice over, as well as a little bonding between Gray and Clair. Till then –ArcanaHermit.