A Distant Dawn

by Blazing Firefox

The story of an everyday mercenary who becomes a hero awakens ugly appetite and ambition in many, and at it's center is a conflict a millennium in the making. A Hero rises while another returns, but can peace finally be found?

7. Raising the Standard

Moving on, it is now time to novelize Raise the Standard. Unlike the game I will not be breaking this chapter into two parts, so the odds of this chapter being very long are definitely up there. Hopefully it won't be agonizingly long, but we'll see.

And I'm pleasantly surprised that my ability to write battles in the last chapter went over better than they did to myself during revision. I suppose what got me was everything Dr. Mancusio pointed out: the not expanding upon anything but the simplecy of going from one foe to the next, and narrowing it to just that. In the little conflict there is in this chapter (I am trying to narrow it a little bit so that this novelization doesn't become a repetitive case of Preparation-Miscellaneous Events-Fighting-Repeat. The prospect of going into every chapter expecting a whole lot of blood and gore (as fitting as it is for Fire Emblem) just bothers me. Perhaps that's just me, though.

In regards to Ike, however, I understand the confusion of that. This is because of the difficulty of defining what it is I want to do with Ike. See, after much deliberation, I decided Ike fits the profile of your classic adventurous hero (a prime example would be Link from any Legend of Zelda game). As such, it becomes a statement that any conclusion with him would involve the necessity for more adventure (which inadvertently brought on an understanding of him leaving Tellius at the end of Radiant Dawn), and that brings on the necessity in defining an inability to adapt to a laid back surrounding. This is what I was trying to get at last chapter, where he was contested by the responsibilities of the Daeins' hatred, all the while understanding just where he stands.

And no, that didn't sound any better to me than it surely does to any of you; it made no sense to me either. But I'm confident I'll eventually be able to word it in such a manner that will allow it to make sense. Here's hoping.

This also ties into (in part) the vague nature of the Crimean raid on Amel. While I will not attribute all of it to the purposefully vague nature (as I have already said I was quite displeased with the fight scenes in the last chapter), I was trying to pass across the message that their job wasn't simply to get Ike. Rather, it was, but they carried the same at-all-costs attitude that Ludveck himself carries, hence the sheer chaos represented. But yes, I will concede to the point that taking that fight down to a more direct level rather than leaving the soldiers as little more than inanimate characters (which I have to do often, for obvious reasons) would have been a good idea. I'll keep an eye out for that.

Also, there will be talks of military strategy and battle tactics in this chapter. I'll note now that, no, they are not made up on my part. Being the history buff that I am, I take pride in the fact that I have educated myself at least somewhat in such things. They won't be constant elements as I am sure my practical knowledge isn't as useful as theoretical knowledge that would be more realistic, but they will show up from time to time. Primarily because chalking the Dawn Brigade's success down to simply Micaiah's predictions doesn't sit well with me. That worked fine in past chapters because they were really just skirmishes, but in an actual war you would never win by simply knowing the outcome and waiting for it to come along.

But that's enough of that. So anyway, as I said, long chapter abound, which is frightening even to me when you consider that my last chapter came in at 24 pages in length, according to Open Office. Also, the constant bouncing around may get annoying, but now that the weighty tension of impending doom (for the Dawn Brigade, that is) has been lifted somewhat, there will be more overall character development rather than focusing just on the immediate protagonists as I have been for the most part.

Further, I have recently come to notice (and yes, this is being added mid-chapter), with some regret, that my characterization of Ike and Shinon's relationship is a little out of character (it took a bit of revision through the land of Path of Radiance to realize this). Now, normally this would bother me to no end, but rather than try to fix it I will redeem the situation before anyone can call me on it. And really, I have every right to make it a little out of character, since from what I recall there was hardly anything resembling grudging tension between Shinon and Ike in Radiant Dawn. And I absolutely loved the antagonistic undertone of their relationship in Path of Radiance, hence why it is getting some merit here. So that's that, if anyone cares.

---

Knowing the peril that lies upon her new path, Micaiah takes upon the role of Vice-General of Prince Pelleas' Liberation Army.

With the power placed before her, Daein's new Vice-General finally has the strength to reclaim Daein. Aided not by her foresight, the Silver Haired Maiden dives into her future. Driven only by the distant hope of a brighter tomorrow and her own resolve. Despite lacking her foresight, the Dawn Brigade is in higher spirits than ever. It is their hope that their newfound strength will allow them to make a firm stand against their oppressors. The uncertainty of their future gives them a heightened sense of reality, driven as they had been only by the certainty their maiden provided.

It is Prince Pelleas himself that is driven the farthest by hope. Daein's new prince is a stark contrast to their Mad King, lacking the firm hand and cruelty of his father. He instead possesses a sincerity and a kind heart that makes him a strong counterpoint to his father. Ill-suited though he is for both the times to come and the crown that awaits him, his presence grants the weary Dawn Brigade with a sense of ease that puts their minds at rest. His name becomes a bright star that contrasts his otherwise ill-suited abilities, leaving him a rallying cry to strengthen the resolve of Daein's true hope: the Silver Haired Maiden.

These cries are heard not in neighboring Crimea, where a new war is well afoot. Crimea's armies gather in hordes before Melior where, under the command of Duke Felirae himself, they prepare to march on Daein. Their target is the Greil Mercenaries, the scapegoat in Duke Felirae's duplicity and evil machinations. It is his desire that they be exterminated, cast aside as the scapegoats they've been made to be to further his ends. Realizing this, the Greil Mercenaries move toward their fate, with the hope that they may redeem themselves and return to their home...

---

The first thing Micaiah heard that morning was a scream.

She was out of her cot and dressing in a flash, throwing her freshly washed robe over the white linens she had worn to sleep the night before, dashing through the small fold of her tent and glancing around in frantic search of the source of that scream. Their most recent recruits hadn't yet been drilled by Nolan, so perhaps it was possible that a brief case of lust had led to a compromising situation. She quickly threw that thought away, realizing with a jolt that the scream she had heard was masculine in nature. And deeper than what any normal girl would be capable of. It was definitely a man, if only for the fact that very few of their soldiers were women. And certainly they were all feminine, if disciplined.

Thus, her first guess was that it had been Edward. Not entirely impossible, she reasoned. But Edward was Nolan's Vice-Lieutenant – Micaiah had received permission from Pelleas to promote Nolan to Lieutenant after he single-handedly brought all of their most recent recruits to safety during their most recent labor camp raid – and would already be awake, drilling soldiers. At a loss, Micaiah began checking the tents that hadn't been folded up one by one, looking for any irregularities – such as, for example, a man cowering in a corner, for whatever reason. When she came to Sothe's tent, she found herself chuckling before she could help herself.

Sothe was still in his cot, staring in horror at his chest where, curled up atop him and sleeping soundly, was Ilyana. In one hand she clutched tightly to the blanket drawn over Sothe's body, and in the other she held a half-eaten loaf of bread. And nearby, suspiciously enough, was Sothe's pack. Open. The dots could be connected rather simply after that, but it didn't alleviate the amusement of seeing Sothe, inexperienced as he was with any female but Micaiah in situations that weren't strictly platonic, staring in wide-eyed horror at the soundly sleeping glutton atop him. Even in her sleep, she mumbled softly to herself and brought her hand to her lips, biting into the loaf.

Micaiah's soft chuckles gave way unrelenting laughter almost immediately.

"Not funny, Micaiah!" Sothe reprimanded desperately.

"Uhn?" Ilyana's eyes fluttered open slowly, her arms stretching outward, coming within inches of Sothe's face. A delicate sigh escaped through her slightly parted lips, and then she started to become aware of her surroundings. She munched again into the loaf of bread in her hand, seemingly unsurprised that she had awoken with it in her hand. Her eyes left the bread and settled upon Sothe's face, and a tentative smile crossed her face at once, "Good morning, Sothe. Why are you in my tent?"

Sothe smiled in return, clearly forced, if the vein in his forehead threatening to burst forth was any indication. "Actually, Ilyana, this is my tent. And that," he pointed where her chin was now resting, "is my chest. Not your pillow."

Ilyana nodded, "Ah. And this bread?"

"Mine as well," Sothe's face scrunched up, and Micaiah could see he was barely keeping himself contained.

Ilyana, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice. "You didn't give it to me, did you?"

"I was asleep."

Again, Ilyana nodded. "Thank you."

Sothe nodded in response and allowed a silence to follow, broken only by the occasional chuckle rudely emitted from Micaiah, still standing just beyond the slightly open flap."I take it," Sothe finally said, frowning, "that you don't know why you're here?"

Ilyana smiled weakly, "I was hungry."

Sothe raised an eyebrow, "I can see that. My food, though?"

"I didn't have any. And nobody else would let me eat their's."

"I fail to recall," and here Sothe raised a finger into the air, swivelling it matter-of-factly, "having given you permission."

"Unless you did so in your sleep," Micaiah supplied in a carefully calculated tone of voice that signaled her reversion into complete composure, before turning and leaving.

"So?" Sothe's voice drew Ilyana's eyes back to his face, and a smile infectiously crossed his face before he could stop it. "Mind getting off of me? You've freeloaded enough, I think."

Ilyana glanced down at her hand where there only remained the remnant crumbs of the bread loaf before looking up at Sothe, saying sheepishly, "I'm hungry."

Twenty minutes and three loafs of bread later – only one of which Sothe had the honor of consuming – Sothe was leaving his tent with Ilyana in tow, ignoring the glances, either questioning or knowingly jealous, from anyone who saw them leave. It was still early morning and the sun had barely left the horizon, but the entire camp was active. Not a single person was still resting, and only Sothe's tent and a large tent across the camp's clearing were left standing. Metal clanging filled the air as Nolan's early morning spar sessions were still in full swing, and from the corner of his eye Sothe could see Edward and Meg locked in a fierce deadlock. The two broke apart and circled eachother for a moment before closing in again, matching eachother swing for swing. Meg's movements in particular surprised Sothe, unhindered by the bulky armor on her arms.

Sothe and Ilyana parted ways shortly after, leaving Sothe alone in his journey toward the large tent. Micaiah was waiting outside for him, leaning against it with her arms crossed over her chest, hands grasping her arms and rubbing them up and down for warmth. The early morning air began to buffet Sothe only then, leaving him painfully aware of the fact that his choice of clothing left him wanting for warmth.

"Is Izuka waiting for us?" Sothe asked, all business.

"Put up with him, Sothe. Keep your personal feelings out of this," Micaiah sighed, pivoting in place and entering the tent as Sothe held it open for her. A square table was in the center of the otherwise undecorated tent, and at the head stood Pelleas and Izuka. On one side of the table stood Tauroneo, observing a map splayed out across it, while Zihark and Jill stood on the other side, waiting. Almedha stood slightly off to the side, watching Pelleas with one eye and the tent's opening with the other. Her expression was one of instant distrust, though that seemed to come only from her nearly obsessive desire to protect her son. Micaiah was touched by her motherly care, despite the icy eye staring at her as she approached the table.

"Ah, you're finally here," Izuka said bitterly, clearly put out by having had to wait so long. "Now that everyone is here, can we begin?"

"Go ahead, Izuka," Pelleas responded evenly, his voice delicate and oddly surprising to Micaiah, no matter how many times she had heard it.

"Of course." Izuka leaned over the table and, with a victorious smirk plastered firmly on his face, began to explain, "Thanks to some of my... operatives, word has spread like wildfire of our efforts. Our exploits in eastern Daein has reached all corners of the country! Even now, rebel groups are renewing their efforts! All we have to do is continue to amass our strength, snag the hearts of the people, and fight! Begnion shall fall! Conquered in the blaze sparked by my genius!"

"Even if we drew strength from every labor camp in Daein – a mighty task alone, no less – our forces would be pitiful in comparison to the kind of strength Begnion has here in Daein alone." Sothe scowled at Izuka with enough fury to burn away the ice in Izuka's glare. "How, pray tell, would we gather enough strength to put up a stand?"

"Leave that to me," Izuka said simply, leaving Sothe more than a little suspicious as to his devices.

"We need to prioritize targeting labor camps for now," Micaiah said suddenly, looking at the map. The map showed Daein in great detail, with red markings drawn over certain areas, as well as a blue arrow showing where they were camped, many miles northeast of Talrega. "We need to bolster our strength however possible. Even if it isn't as much as could be hoped, the added strength is necessary."

"Exactly," Izuka grunted. "These marks are the most ideal points for attack, planned out painstakingly after much deliberation."

"Not all of them are labor camps," Micaiah noted.

"I included areas where Begnion's strength is at it's weakest. If we attack any of these places, we are guaranteed victory!" Izuka then pointed toward a rather large mark over a drawing of a hill, atop which rested a castle. "We must target Talrega next. The defenses there are weak, and it's fall will trigger the collapse of the entire eastern front. Most of all, resentment of the occupation runs high there."

Micaiah shook her head quickly, "Talrega is no good."

Pelleas raised an eyebrow and urged her to continue with a glance, though any hope of sensible explanation was cut off by Izuka pointing a finger at Micaiah and crying out angrily, "How dare my plans – my ingenious, painstakingly made plans – be contested by this child! Explain yourself!"

"The time of year is all wrong," Micaiah explained. She pointed to the hill of Talrega on the map as she continued, "The rain. If we attacked now the mud would slow us, and inevitably hinder us. That, coupled with the disadvantage of lower ground, would be our undoing."

"It's true." All eyes fell on Jill as she sent a nod and a smile toward Micaiah, both of which were returned sheepishly. "I'm from Talrega. The rainfall during the warmer seasons has been known to create floods and landslides. If we marched along the mountain road toward the labor camp there, we would be marching into watery graves. And going by air – and that applies only to me – is impossible. Talrega was home to many of Daein's air forces, and the fortress there was outfitted with many anti-air weapons in preparation for the Liberation Army three years ago."

Izuka glared balefully at Jill, his teeth chattering against one another as he fought to keep his very volatile emotions under control. "Impossible! My plan had been thought through thoroughly! Surely I'd have not overlooked something so trivial... hmph."

Sothe shot a warning glance toward Izuka before he turned to Micaiah and asked, "Where do you think we should attack?"

Micaiah's eyes fleeted across the map for several seconds before she pointed toward the north and said, "Marado. The prison camp in Marado should be our target."

"Marado?" Sothe repeated. "We would have to pass through Terin, would we not?"

"We would," Tauroneo inserted suddenly. "And like Talrega, Terin – and Marado as well – are mountainous. But the climate further north is arid, and the weather is more predictable. The only elements working against us would be the strong hold they have in the north. A far less daunting foe than weather can be, I assure you."

"Would we be able to succeed?" Pelleas asked carefully.

"It would not be easy," Tauroneo replied, "but it would not be impossible. So long as we took care to keep the enemy from securing the high ground and make use of our strengths and weaknesses properly, we have a shot."

"We would have to act fast though," Micaiah went on. She pointed toward Marado and then, leaving her finger on the map, began dragging it toward Terin. "Marado and Terin are close by, and if we don't hit Begnion hard immediately we could find ourselves fighting some of Daein's finest as well as Begnion. That would be more disastrous than attacking Talrega."

"Simply amazing," Pelleas breathed, relief evident in both his voice and stance. "We shall cross through Terin and attack Marado then. I will leave the battle plan to Tauroneo and Micaiah, and Izuka and I will work on our next course of action. Dismissed."

---

The small northern state of Marado was one of the poorest locales in Daein, even during Daein's richest days as a continental power as it had been but three years ago. The miles upon miles of the state were nearly uninhabitable due to the mountainous nature of the region, and the sole village was hardly inhabited. It was a large village built upon some of the only flatland the region yielded, and it held nearly the entirety of the region's meager population. Even so, the people dwelling in Marado were of the most honorable sort. It had been partly of their volition that Marado had come to be as it was – that is, a region despairing in pitiful independence in the center of Begnion's occupation.

It had been in a twist of fate similar to that of the small settlements like Amel in southern Daein that Marado had been allowed to remain following Begnion's occupation. Between the honor of their acting Steward and of the people's will, it had been decided that Marado would not answer Daein's call to battle during the Mad King's War. When Begnion swept in during the aftermath of the Liberation Army's occupation of both Daein and Crimea and declared ownership of the now-annexed country, Marado had been granted many thanks for their efforts in refusing the battle call. Unfortunately, those thanks had not spared them from the inevitable oppression that was to follow.

And despite it all, Marado's populace had found it in themselves to be thankful of the Liberation Army and their General, Sir Ike. Like their Steward, Marado's people were of the most honorable sort Daein had to offer. They had known, surely, that their future in denying their King would be a harsh one. Yes, they had known. Yet they cared not. For they knew as well as any other what their Mad King Ashnard had done in his reign, knew what had been suspected of him, and knew the highest points of his cruelty. They knew which side was in the right, despite the fact that it was their land being trampled upon, and their homes that would surely be in peril eventually.

They knew, but they also knew that it had been the many homes of Crimea that had been burned when the Mad King had trampled through their land in a bloody swath. They knew their suffering was justified retribution.

Truly, their sense of honor was something that ought to have been admired by friends and foes alike. But instead they were labeled cowards to their nation, oppressed by the ones whom with they had wordlessly sided, and now – this part Fiona would think privately, for she would surely be flogged if it were spoken – they were being forced onto the wrong side of a second war where justice was an important factor, if not the most prominent one. Really, Marado's Stewardess would have liked nothing more than to cast her lot with the liberators, to fight on the side with which justice rested and free her country from the injustices of Begnion's iron rule.

But even she, hardly more than a child forced into the shoes of adulthood, knew she could not blame Crimea for her plight. Her fist clenched at her side as she thought of the one with which blame truly rested – none other than her own King, three years deceased. Even now his memory corrupted her, tainted her, almost made her ashamed to have served him. Indeed she was proud of her country. Pride, she dare say, she had more of than most Daeins. But the internal corruption it suffered during the reign of the esteemed Mad King Ashnard, the tyrannical superpower that had become of their great country, was a slight on the honor of anyone of Daein origin. A slight that, for Fiona, was hard to forget.

Her highly negative thoughts were interrupted by the sudden cry, presumably of surprise, from the city below. From her vantage point atop the cliffside overlooking Marado's lone settlement, with only the wind through her hair and the gentle whistle of what little grass grew around her. Below the village was abuzz with activity as it always was, children playing in the streets and families going about their chores. What few jobs the settlement yielded had been closed down, given the pressing need for care in preparation for the mobilization of the newly formed Daein Liberation Army. Begnion soldiers stood in small clusters, eyes peering from beneath their helmets at the citizens around, looking for the slightest sign of something that was not within their limit of acceptance. That meaning, anything that wasn't the monotony of daily life and talking in the comfort of one's own family.

Her eyes widened when they caught sight of the reason for that surprised cry, the one that had immediately granted her a sense of absolute horror. By the well responsible for offering water to the entire village, surrounded by a handful of horrified villagers, was a man. He was slowly backing away from a soldier who looked all too pleased to invoke such a reaction from the man. Fiona did not recognize the man, as she did a great number of Marado's citizens, but that did not help to aleviate the disgust welling within her as the man was forced against the well, his legs buckling and threatening to throw him into the depths of it's cavernous interior. The soldier was right in his face then, so close his breath could surely be felt upon the man's face. The disgust Fiona felt as she watched grew stronger.

"You do recall," the soldier drawled, and Fiona could feel the smirk he surely would have been wearing in his triumph, "that assembling is forbidden, do you not? That meetings such as this could be treasonous?"

The man let out a shaky breath, and Fiona felt a pang of pity for him, for showing his emotions so easily and granting Begnion the satisfaction they hardly deserved. "A-assembling? W-we... we were just talking around the well..." He tried to move forward then. An action which, Fiona knew without even watching him be shoved back again, was infinitely foolish. "We have done nothing wrong!"

The soldier's eyes, barely visible with the red helmet covering the rest of his face and even harder to see from such a distance, flashed at once with unrelenting anger. He had a lot of pent up stress – probably from a lack of resistance in Marado's populace, Fiona thought with satisfaction – and it seemed he was about to make an outlet of the offending man.

"You will be quiet!" he barked, giving the man a rough shove. The man teetered on the edge of despair as his legs threatened to give way to the pressure the shove had presented, but he held steady by grabbing one of the nearby support beams. Unbothered by the man's plight the soldier went on, stressing every word with a threatening edge that made even Fiona's hair stand on end, "There. Are. No. Excuses. Do you hear me?"

"W-what?" the man stuttered in pitiful response, shaking his head slightly.

"I said no excuses!" And then in a single motion he decapitated the man with a effortless swipe of his lance, rising it in an arc from his right hip to over his left shoulder with one hand. Blood gushed forth from the gaping hole in the now-corpse's neck, drenching the soldier's armor in the sticky fluid. Rather than being disgusted by it the soldier laughed harshly, sending shivers down the spines of the rest of the gathered villagers with but a glance. "Now scram. I believe I have made a fine example of your friend here."

"B-but..." a stout woman with a hunched back stuttered, backing away slowly. The woman's gray hair and frail limbs told of her elderly age, but the soldier seemed to not care as he thrust his lance through her chest, allowing her blood to join her friend's in staining his armor. The rest screamed aloud and ran, eager to escape a similar fate.

Fiona's stomach threatened to send it's contents back the way they had came as she watched the woman's body go limp on the soldier's lance, and she had to shake her head violently to keep herself from vomiting in sheer disgust. Every nerve in her body urged her to grab the lance strung to the side of her horse not far away, to rush down the cliffside and avenge her peoples' deaths. But she heeded them not, telling herself over and over again that she could not, that doing so would risk even more lives ultimately. She was right, of course. But knowing that didn't make ignoring her people's plight any easier.

"I didn't just see that... did I?" she mumbled, hopefully. She prayed, with every fibre of her being, that she could have been imagining it. That those with whom she had – albeit unwillingly – cast her lot had not just heartlessly murdered two of her people in cold blood. But she knew better. Her hope, desperate though it may have been, was simply a potential outlet to escape the burning anger within her. She needed to calm herself somehow. Perhaps a brief ride through the surrounding forest? Not the most calming of pastimes, but she needed to get away. She had to get away from that gruesome scene.

Her plans for a smooth escape were run into the ground when, while in the midst of packing a few necessities into her steed's saddle bag, shuffling footsteps and the sound of clanking armor alerted her to the approach of someone. Moments later, that 'someone' turned out to be two as they appeared in the corner of her eye. Particularly, it was General Jarod and his right hand, a man she recalled vaguely to be Alster... Alider... or something of the sort. She hadn't met the man beyond necessary greetings when she had met the General long ago, but her impression of him was hardly any better than her impression of Jarod. Perhaps remotely more compassionate, but that was it.

"The Lady Fiona," Jarod greeted, his harsh tone making the name come out as though it were an insult rather than a familiar greeting. And it probably was, for all the mocking undertone lacing it. "It is a pleasure."

Fiona stuffed her pride away as she bowed respectively, mumbling as politely as she could manage, "The pleasure is mine, General." Goddesses, she felt like a dog with it's tail tucked between it's legs. She might as well have been, she thought bitterly. "What can I do for you?"

"That witch and her self-proclaimed Liberation Army has escaped the clutches of the desert," Jarod said, by way of explanation.

"She is still far to the east, and her forces are small. Why does this concern Marado?" Fiona asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Because someone – a source, shall I say – has alerted me that their plans will be to bolster their forces before targeting any of our actual military bases." He paused as he held out an arm behind him, and the bulky man who's name escaped Fiona handed him a sheet of paper. "According to our predictions, she will probably be targeting the smallest of our labor camps. Already three labor camps near the desert's edge have been raided, and her forces number grow stronger by the day. It is likely that, since there is a large camp just north of here, she will pass through Marado and target it."

Fiona frowned and she crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head to the side, "How can you be so certain? There are labor camps all across the southern border of the country as well. And to have survived so long, the maiden must have some wit to her. That being said, she would be at least somewhat aware that Marado is yet beyond the capabilities of her army to overcome."

Jarod sneered and raised a hand to strike Fiona, only to be halted by a single glance from stout-what's-his-name. "Lady Fiona," the man said, and in a miraculous revelation she finally remembered him to be Alder, "the Silver Haired Maiden has overcome far greater trials with meager forces. As such, Marado shall be marching to aid Lieutenant Laverton in Terin. If they intend to come for any of the northern lands they shall start there."

"Also," Jarod stressed, shooing Alder back several steps with a wave of his hand, "Lieutenant Laverton has sent much of his forces to encamp at the Terin By-Pass, leaving his own defenses meager. You will be filling that hole, understood?"

That troublesome pride of her's urged her to impale Jarod upon that lance waiting not ten feet away, but she fought it off. Jarod could be replaced, she noted sourly, but the consequences of her actions would leave Marado not only without their Stewardess but also ultimately doomed for her mistake. Instead she allowed a forced smile to curve her lips upward, and with a salute that was unable to hide all of it's mocking qualities she said, "Understood, General. I shall prepare at once."

"I am glad to hear it," Jarod replied insincerely. "I trust we won't have a repeat of Marado's absence this time around, will we?"

Fiona shook her head, "I will not bother lying, as I am sure you are aware regardless. My people are proud Daeins through and through, and some of them dare to hope for this Liberation Army."

Jarod crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, "And what of you?"

"I will not foolishly chase after rumors that hold no ground. I have cast my lot with Begnion, and I shall fight tooth and nail for my allies." A lie, of course. But Jarod didn't need to know that, Fiona thought privately.

"I shall hold you to that," Jarod replied, albeit through gritted teeth. He could see some of the fabrication in her words, Fiona realized with satisfaction. "Now go."

Without a word Fiona climbed onto her horse, sending a curt nod to Alder – he had the heart to speak without making it seem as though he would lop her head off on a moment's notice – she tore off up the hill, eager to escape into the waiting forest that covered the cliffside higher up.

Jarod chuckled as he watched Fiona fade into the distance, drumming his fingers on the buckler on his left arm. "She can't be trusted farther than I can throw her, Alder."

"Her people are strong, though. They make a good sword, if nothing else." Alder laughed at the sour expression upon Jarod's face and asked seriously, "Shall I find someone to keep an eye on her?"

"We may find ourselves shorthanded if you do not."

---

"Crimea is coming to hunt us down."

It wasn't said with any niceties attached. It wasn't said politely. Shinon was straight and to the point, if brutally so. The weight of his words hit the tired mercenaries hard. Their silence was preferable to any actual words, though, as far as Ike was concerned. The quiet murmurs of birds in the high treetops and the distant sounds easily heard from Nevassa were the only reprieves in that silence, but they were hardly noticeable to Ike. Next to him, Soren was considering those words critically, although he didn't look considerably concerned.

In reality, this was a worst case scenario for the mercenaries. The escape from Amel had been difficult but, for the most part, without incident. With the exception of a painfully sore arm on Ike's part and a severely drained body on Soren's, neither had been harmed in any way. Their flight had taken them north through the Daein countryside, travelling by day and sleeping by night so as to evade the pending threat of Begnion scouting parties that had surely been drawn by the fighting in Amel. It wasn't until the fifth day of flight that they found anyone, and luckily Shinon and Titania had managed to regroup everyone. It was a miracle in and of itself that none of their own had been lost, but Ike was hardly ready to count his blessings.

Later, perhaps, he would look back upon this particular segment of his violent life and sigh nostalgically. Perhaps he would back upon this moment and think to himself, "Those were the days." He would sound like an old man in saying so, but he could hardly help it. The thrill of a situation that all but promised death? The knowledge that you and your meager mercenaries are isolated in a country of enemies and hunted by your homeland? Despite his better wishes, Ike was ecstatic. The death of the Black Knight had been the death of his one true rival, his goal in fighting. Ever since, there had been a part of him that longed for the sort of brutal fighting that his father's murderer brought out in him.

But this was not later. And though Ike was ecstatic, he was realistic. Blunt and sometimes rash, perhaps, but realistic. And he knew the responsibilities that rested upon his shoulders, the duty to lead his comrades to safety. If there would be time to be nostalgic of the sort of times they were faced with now, so be it. But that would be later. Much later, long after he'd lost all reason to fight – supposing he ever did. The thought of putting down his sword and living a normal life, after all, had Ike feeling at odds. Could he? Would he be able to? A warrior's life was the only one he had known. The only peaceful times he could recall were ones he had been told of – he remembered not the peaceful days of his youth in Gallia, of the times when his father wasn't a mercenary leader. The days spent with the Greil Mercenaries were the only ones he remembered, and though he'd not been fighting until many years later, growing up in such an environment made it as though he had.

"So," Titania started, an involuntary frown forcing her lips into a downward curve, surely as a byproduct of the almost unnaturally tense atmosphere, "what do you think, Ike?"

"We'd been getting hints of this for a while now," Ike responded neutrally. His face, much to Titania's surprise, lacked the sense of worry one would expect to see from a man in a position such as his. "What are the odds, Shinon?"

"Crimea's entire army. Only the Royal Guard and the Royal Knights are hanging back."

It was then that Ike frowned, "A force like that could force Begnion from Daein, if it really wanted to."

"If they cross the border," Soren sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Daein will be torn apart. If we are going to fight – and it goes without saying that putting up a stand is foolish – it would have to be before they cross the border."

"Running isn't an option either," Ike protested, albeit evenly, remaining indifferent and strictly professional despite his obvious feelings on the matter. "If for no other reason than that we are under a contract."

Ike was pleased to find that his words did not bother his mercenaries in the slightest. Even Rofl, remotely more timid than the rest as he was, showed a readiness for battle and a trust for Ike's decision making skills. A trust Ike himself found that he was lacking, though he'd never show any signs of it.

"Who is in charge?" Soren asked neutrally, though he did send an exasperated look to Ike secretly. Clearly, Ike thought sourly, he would have to pay Soren a hefty bonus if they survived long enough to see payday.

"The letter addressed to our prisoner didn't say," Shinon replied casually.

"An army of that size won't be commanded by a low ranking Commander," Titania put in quickly.

"That means we are up against Ludveck himself," Soren mused quietly. "He is smart, but he is also a quissential noble – and very arrogant. He will not allow our fate to be controlled by any other."

"He is an imposing man," Titania explained, scowling. "From what I remember, Duke Felirae has always run things in a way that suited only himself. He is a firm believer in the ends justifying the means, and it wouldn't surprise me if he were willing to sacrifice his men pointlessly if it gave him an advantage."

Ike idly ran his index finger along the length of his sword's blade, frowning. "A more sane Ashnard, then," he quipped sourly.

Titania chuckled, despite the grim nature of their situation, and the scowl remained firmly in place all the while, "I am inclined to wonder which is more sane, but that is a good way to put it."

"I fear for Crimea's safety," Shinon then muttered, sardonically. "Why not just cut them off at Oribes? We hardly need an overwhelming force to keep them in place on a bridge."

"And their numbers will make advancing in great numbers difficult," Soren added, nodding. "It's our only hope."

Ike hefted his sword high into the air before letting it crash down lightly upon his shoulder plating. As though it were some secret signal everyone followed suit, gathering their belongings. Oscar and Titania set to packing their saddle bags, storing away everything either unnecessary or too heavy to be carried on hand. While everyone else worked on packing away the supplies that could be carried on hand, Shinon and Rolf scoured for any prey they could hunt for extra food. Any stray animals, from the odd deer or rabbit – although the latter was wishful thinking on the parts of the hunters, given it's rarity in Daein's inherently colder climate – to the many birds that were just in the midst of making their families in the treetops were fair game, and in a matter of minutes the two had secured at least another week's worth of food for the entire group.

When at long last all the packs had been filled, horses fed and their game skinned of fur and feathers, the sun had reached the center of the sky. It's rays had finally begun to warm the mercenaries despite the cold air that remained strong all throughout the day, making the first leg of their journey much easier than it could have been. The sun had reached the horizon once again by the time the group reached the main road, all but promising them a safer journey from then on. Ike had some reservations over walking along the main road in broad daylight – though the odds that Begnion would be sending patrols as far as the main road when Crimea was the only thing that lay waiting beyond it, there wasn't a brain cell in his head unaware of the fact that moving along the main road in the middle of the afternoon when you're wanted by two countries was suicidal.

"We'll keep going until sunrise," Ike said as soon as they'd come to a stop at the forest's edge. Oscar had taken a pot out and, laying it atop a pile of burning logs – courtesy of Soren – was in the midst of carefully cooking dinner without alerting anyone to their presence, which proved to be quite a difficult task. On several occasions Oscar had to request that Soren scatter the rising smoke with a blast of wind magic. No comments were made upon Ike's decision until they were well into a rather delicious dinner, even by Oscar's standards, consisting of intricately spiced meat and vegetables of relatively unknown origin. If anyone had any reservations about being on the move for another twelve hours, the miraculous effects of Oscar's cooking on their weary bodies and minds was enough to blow all reservations to the wind.

Despite the mood-lifting the mercenaries' camp received with the best food they'd had in days, nobody spoke throughout it. It seemed as though, for reasons unknown, the dinner had secured a place as a holy device that dared not be tainted with things as fickle and meaningless as words. It appalled Ike that food could be shown such reverence every time he considered it, but that incredulity faded the moment he took another bite of the wonderful meat – was it deer? - placed before him, every single time. When at last he finished he found himself in unusually high spirits, going so far as to offer an enthusiastic, "Thanks," to Oscar as he rose to his feet, stretching out the muscles in his legs. He could feel Oscar's pride soar even with his back turned.

This journey to their seemingly inevitable demise would be just a little bit lighter now. It wouldn't necessarily be any easier, and what awaited them at the end of this journey was not the desired outcome they had envisioned in fleeing from the watchful eye of Crimea. But there was hope yet to remedy their situation – if not clear their name, at least keep their heads intact – without involving Daein further. Ike knew that, if nothing else, Daein had to be kept out of it. Win or lose, Crimea would turn home at Oribes. The Dawn Brigade would continue the fight and the damage Ike dealt to Daein would slowly heal. That, to him, held priority over all else.

---

The amount of activity about the camp, even at night, never ceased to amaze Sothe. Just in front of him there were soldiers sparring with one another, striking and blocking mechanically, as though performing a coordinated movement previously planned. Further off to the side were the few mages their army yielded, participating either in rigorous mental challenges to highten their senses – Ilyana had, in a bout of unexpected wisdom, explained that complete awareness was important to avoid being made victim of by a stray swordsman, particularly when you were cut off from your allies – or duels, small streams of fire or sudden bolts of lightning singeing the grass lightly layering the ground.

Further to the right side of their small clearing were an array of targets, placed either on wood planted in the ground or hung from the branches of trees. Small holes were common on all of the targets from where arrows had lodged themselves, centering mainly around the center of the targets. The lack of light had only the best of the army's archers still practicing. Sothe heard another round of applause as Leonardo expertly placed an arrow in the center of a target hidden amongst several trees, covered so well that Sothe couldn't see it from his place, seated against the side of his tent. Leonardo acted as though his feat had been nothing special, ignoring the praise and walking over to the target, prying his arrow from the center and inspecting it idly as he returned to where he'd started, taking aim at a target high amongst a few branches, obscured by leaves and bits of other branches. Again, he hit it in the center with ease.

Sothe watched all these happenings with a detached amusement from his seat off to the side. The collision of swords or of lances against shields constantly brought his attention back to the sparring field, only to lose his attention when one of their fire mages would cry out in surprise as a bolt of lightning would strike the ground nearby, or a thunder mage to cry out in alarm as he came within inches of being scorched by a stream of fire or a projectile fireball. Only the archers seemed capable of training in complete silence, Sothe noted.

Not taking his eyes from the amusing sight of Edward and two swordsman locked in a rather intricate position, with Edward's leg placed between the two of them for leverage and his sword held horizontally and keeping both opposing blades still against the sharp edge of his, Sothe idly grabbed at the still open book resting beside him. A rather boring treatise on military strategy, Sothe knew, but he suffered through it regardless. The insightful knowledge on military tactics beyond his observation of Soren's genius in the art long ago would help tremendously when their commander had no experience of her own, and there had been no disputing that Sothe would have the most patience for studying such things. And, he recalled Micaiah saying, Sothe just seemed to have a natural affinity for things like military strategy and battle tactics.

That sentiment, however, hardly comforted Sothe, and within five minutes he had tossed the book aside again. Necessity be damned, he most certainly lacked this affinity Micaiah spoke of. How was he supposed to figure out how to use military formations, read enemy formations and coordinate attacks he didn't even understand? "I can't even tell the difference between attacking head on and from the side!" he exclaimed frustratedly.

"Attacking from the side," Tauroneo explained, coming up beside Sothe and looking down at him, eyes all but screaming out the amusement dancing in them, "is no different from attacking from the front. They would see it coming. But if you attack from the front and side at once, you force them to turn to face you, and there will always be one side with an advantage, fighting with the enemy's back to them."

Sothe lifted the book and scanned it for a moment. Sure enough, the book explained exactly what Tauroneo had just said, if in significantly harder to understand terminology. "And attacking the enemy from behind can be done independently of a frontal attack, but can be hard to pull off and is often dependant upon terrain?" he asked as he read into the next section, where a small map detailed two armies, one of which had a blue arrow that extended to the right, curving around what seemed to be a mountain and pointing toward the backside of the opposing army.

"Attacking from behind is most effective in ambushes," Tauroneo corrected. "Say, for example, you were trying to eliminate an enemy camped just beyond a ravine. The simplest way of delivering heavy damage would be to lure them into the ravine and then cut off the road through which they had come." As Tauroneo said this he pointed toward the map detailed on the page, using his finger to show his point. "It is rather basic and any good military commander would be aware of such an issue in a ravine, but few of Begnion's commanders are anything but arrogant fools who expect to crush us through overwhelming force. Even basic tactics will turn the tide in our favor."

"And simple terrain facts – elevation and proximity to water," here Sothe looked down at the book for guidance as he went on, "can determine the fate of a battle if you know how to use them to your advantage or how to neutralize the disadvantage they provide." He looked up at Tauroneo and frowned, cocking an eyebrow, "Which means what, exactly?"

"If you are fighting an enemy who has their backs to water, Sothe, what would be the logical thing to do?" Tauroneo asked with a laugh.

"Well," Sothe tapped a finger to his chin for a moment before nodding to himself, appearing satisfied with his deduction, "it would be logical to hit them head on, right? If they have the water to their back, all they can do is fight back or take the plunge."

"Partly," Tauroneo conceded. "But it's essential that you hit them brutally. If you simply attack, they could drive you back. You've got to pressure them, try to force them into a watery grave." Sothe nodded in understanding, and Tauroneo then asked, "I trust you understand what it means by elevation?"

"The use of high ground, like with hills or mountainsides, right?"

"Exactly. So, what would be reasonable in the case of having the high ground?"

"You have momentum," Sothe said immediately. "All you really have to do is maul them. They can't fight well from lower ground, and so long as you hit them hard, it would be easy to stave them off." Appearing not entirely satisfied with his answer, Sothe frowned, "Right?"

"More or less," Tauroneo shrugged, "The difference isn't as monumental as you may think. In actuality the only great advantage is with ranged weaponry, as it is far easier to fire downward than having to fire upward."

"Which means having lower ground can be disastrous if you haven't prepared against projectiles," Sothe decided with a frown. "That bodes ill for us."

"Not necessarily," Tauroneo countered.

"Why not?" Sothe scowled, pondering, but he came up with the same blank result regardless. "There really isn't anything you can do about the advantages of high ground, is there?"

"Sure there is." Tauroneo dropped to a knee by Sothe, reading over his shoulder for a moment before explaining, "If there is cover to be taken, you can use that. No matter how high up they are, it is never easy to aim through treetops or into bushes. Consider that."

"And if there isn't?"

"Then you revert to the simple principles of warfare," Tauroneo explained matter-of-factly. "It is very hard to provide provisions to an army camped upon a hill or mountain, due to the fact that supply routes would need an open pathway up the mountainside. Cut that off, and it would be easy to flush them out. No army can function without provisions, right?"

"What if they have a lot of supplies on hand?" Sothe asked, considering that question to himself all the while. "If the enemy is prepared for a long battle, they'd have a lot of food ready, right?"

"Indeed they would," Tauroneo nodded, smiling in satisfaction of Sothe's reasoning. "But water is just as much a necessity as food. And most water would come from streams or lakes, none of which can be found on mountaintops. Water demands constant resupplying, no matter how prepared an army is." As an afterthought he added, "And trust me, dry throats will lead a man to do some very desperate things."

"But cutting supply routes off to a foe with high ground would involve surrounding their position. Which, in our present case, might as well be impossible," Sothe noted duely, scratching at the back of his neck. "Which means flushing them out would be impossible," he mused as an afterthought, hanging his head as he considered alternatives. Alternatives he was still trying to acquaint himself with, no less.

"Then if you have to fight your way to them, what would you want to target?" Tauroneo pressed, egging Sothe along.

"Their ranged weaponry, obviously," Sothe waved a hand dismissively. "Without ranged weaponry, all we'd need to do is secure some sort of ground to even the odds and then overpower them."

"And how would you target them?"

"By air would make the most sense," Sothe mused, "but that could be fatal if they have archers deployed. Even if it did work, we'd risk too many casualties."

Despite the fact that Sothe had yet to come up with a solution, Tauroneo grinned and patted him on the shoulder. "You're thinking like a tactician now," he praised. "So as a tactician, what do you think the best solution would be? Remember it isn't your job to protect everyone, but to achieve success while protecting as many as possible. If you are afraid of losing a single man, you will only find yourself in the rut you are in now."

"Well," Sothe thought for a moment, "in this instance the enemy's position won't be the only high ground. If we can find high ground of our own to secure, we can post our own archers there to keep their's at bay, right?"

"The archers would ultimately be wiped out without support though, right?"

Sothe frowned, "Yeah, they would. Begnion outnumbers us too vastly."

"Don't give up." Tauroneo stood up, banging a fist against his breastplate supportively. "Remember what I told you, and figure it out. I'm sure you'll do just fine, Sothe."

And despite his own worries, Sothe found that he agreed with Tauroneo. He could do this.

---

"Agh," Gatrie groaned, hiding amongst the rubble of the bridge, torn up during previous marches across it, "why must it be so hot?"

"Because," Boyd interjected with a sigh, crouched low beside Gatrie, "this wouldn't work so well otherwise."

"I can't believe the commander is considering a plan like this," Gatrie groused, his shield clanging loudly as he ran a hand through his matted hair. "Relying on the heat to distract them long enough to be onslaughted as they come? Even if it did work, and I'm not saying it will," he frowned and kicked at a small rock at his feet, making it skip several times before plunging off the side of the bridge and into the waiting tides below, "I'm sure they'll catch on and cut us down quickly enough anyway."

"Shut it," Shinon seethed, from his position high up in a tree not fifty feet away. "Just remember to hold up your shield and aim for the throats. The faster they die, the better."

The entire afternoon had been rather tense that day. By dawn the mercenaries had reached the Great Bridge, and a quick trip to the other side by Titania and Oscar had confirmed that the Crimean army could be seen on the horizon. That, to the bemusement of most, had been ten hours ago. Ten hours of hiding, revealing themselves only long enough for a quick meal – Ike had decided that Oscar's cooking was a better rallying call than any speech and thusly stated that the risk of Ludveck arriving during lunch was worth it – had left everyone tense, watching the horizon constantly for signs of the enemy's approach. The only signs thus far had been the occasional scout, probably as a safety insurance on Ludveck's part to ensure they weren't intruding upon a Begnion operation of some sort. Even Soren, who's responses to their detriment all day had been snappy remarks, had given up on quelling the anxiety they all felt.

"Shinon, Shinon!" Rolf insistently tapped at his shoulder with one hand, pointing toward the opposite end of the bridge with the other. "Isn't that too many people for a scouting party?"

Shinon looked, wordlessly, and then nodded. "It is." He looked down toward Gatrie and Boyd and called, "Get ready, you two. They're sending an advance party. The main army must be right behind."

Ike, having taken cover far away along the left side of the bridge, seemed to have noticed the same thing. Looking back, he waved Oscar and Titania – both of which had been hiding near further away from the bridge – closer to him with one hand while yelling, "Get your weapons ready. They're coming!"

The first wave of Crimea's army looked imposing, to say the least. The entirety of the first three lines were knights in heavy armor, and trailing behind them were lighter armored soldiers with anything ranging from a lance to a longsword. Circling overhead was a small squad – only ten or so in number, thankfully – of Pegasus-riding soldiers, with lances in hand and what seemed to be javelins strapped to the side of their mounts. The only saving grace was that their army seemed to be lacking in archers. The mass of soldiers marched with a theatric drama, moving in perfect time with the one next to them. Which meant, Ike decided, that they weren't worried about the possibility of falling under attack, since they were still marching in formation with one another. They looked more like they were putting on a display than preparing to hunt down Crimea's Most Wanted.

Crumbling pieces of the bridge seemed to break free of their positions and fall to the ocean simply through the sheer strength of the amount of footsteps pressing in unison into the smooth surface of the bridge. The wind seemed dulled, blocked by the wall of suits of armor. The mercenaries tensed, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Which, despite how slow the enemy marched, didn't take long. As per plan, Shinon and Rolf initiated the fight, unloading arrows into the knights closest to the front, their arrows lodging between crooks in their armor. Before the Crimeans could even comprehend what had just happened, blood spilled onto the ground as two knights fell, causing several around them to trip over the unexpected obstacles. The knights circling overhead seemed to be on full alert then, searching the horizon for the source of the sudden attack. One dove toward a soldier who seemed to be a Lieutenant or of some similar rank, and when she returned to the skies the enemy broke all formation and charged, clearly aware of their presence.

"Form up!" Ike bellowed loudly, leaping up as Boyd and Gatrie took their places between two large piles of sandbags, bottlenecking the bridge. Ike took a ready stance beside Boyd, covering the opening left by his side. Oscar and Titania took up residence behind the piles of sandbags to prevent ambitious soldiers from climbing over them, already unloading javelins and hand axes into the knights closest to the front. Rolf and Shinon took a far more strategic approach, making short work of the Pegasus overhead. The dying masses plummeted to the ground below, crushing several soldiers each in their wake. While Soren and Rhys took place behind the three human walls to provide medical and magical support, Mia and Mist – the only two without a strict task already – hid behind a pile of sandbags further back, watching carefully for a hole to show that they would inevitably be needed to fill.

They didn't have to wait long for an all out onslaught to ensue. The soldiers came in streams, knocked back by powerful swings of either Ike's sword or Boyd's axe, with assistance from powerful horizontal slices from Gatrie's lance, left dying in a pool of their own blood. The corpses quickly began to pile up, forcing soldiers to take several seconds to kick aside their fallen comrades before advancing. This was a huge, inescapable mistake, as any who dallied for more than a second – and even those who didn't – fell victim either to a well aimed arrow or an agonizing burst of wind or light magic. The blood built into puddles quickly, forced to part when a soldier stepped into it, dripping off the side of the bridge.

For Ike, it was almost unbearable, the amount of death there was. His awareness heightened immediately; he could feel every stroke of the forceful gusts of wind against his face, every bone that crunched under the powerful swings of his sword, every scream the soldiers made as he ended their lives. One blood churning scream became five, and then ten, and before long thirty. Within minutes he'd lost count of how many he'd killed. There was no way he could keep up, no way he could focus on those screams, every bit as agonizing to him as they surely were to his foes. He wanted to cry out in agony with them, beg them to stop making noise as they died. Beg them to leave the world of the living peacefully, to give his sanity that tiny bit of reprieve. But he was not heeded. No, he was tormented.

No amount of killing could have prepared him for the kind of killing that was being done now.

Ike involuntarily winced every time he heard the sound of an arrow lodging into a soldier's skin – usually their throat – or the sound of magic, wind or light, rending through the armor like paper and ending any soldier's life with ease. When Boyd grunted and dug his axe into a soldier's chest, only to pull it back and groan in annoyance as blood subsequently sprayed out of the wound and onto him, Ike felt similarly disgusted. He could feel what everyone else felt as they slew, and that, heightened by his own senses as his sword rended through armor and flesh time after time, left him feeling as though he might bid farewell to Oscar's wonderful cooking at any moment.

So engulfed by it all was he that he didn't even notice when a spear got by his defenses and dug into his thigh. He didn't feel the pain as he idly tore it from his leg and tossed it aside, ending the life of the now-terrified soldier a moment later. He felt the relief of Rhys waving a heal stave over the wound a moment later and he felt the sticky feeling of his own blood against his leg cease to bother him. He muttered a thanks as he swept his sword in a diagonal motion, taking out three soldiers with a single swing. How many was that, now? He considered that silently as he took a step forward, swinging his sword horizontally back and forth repeatedly, digging into armor and flesh several times with each swing.

Within five minutes, he'd heard so many screams that surely they must have been exhausting the sheer numbers of Crimea's army. He was sure of it! There had to be thousands of corpses littering the bridge by that point, though in reality it was only a couple hundred. Oscar and Titania had already exhausted their supply of ranged weapons, retreated to restock and then return, unloading more javelins or hand axes into their foes. Up above, Shinon and Rolf had to have fired well over a hundred arrows each. And yet, looking upon the waves of soldiers charging at them, seemingly undaunted by the amount of corpses they had to climb over as they went, it felt as though they hadn't so much as scratched the enemy. Looking at the torrent of soldiers charging, they seemed no less numerous than when the battle had begun.

"There are only a handful of them!" that Lieutenant-esque soldier cried from amidst the swarms of Crimean soldiers. "Slaughter them!"

The soldiers redoubled their efforts, but even that failed to amount to much. There was an instance or two where the constant demand to keep swinging had forced Ike to take a step back, using the time it would take his immediate foes to climb over their comrades as a window to catch his breath. But even with that all three held strong, aided as they were by the many projectiles being fired from various places behind them. Ike could feel his muscles straining under the constant stress of swinging and the additional stress of the extra effort he would then put into breaching armor and bone, but he ignored them. Every now and then Soren or Rhys would pause in their efforts to wave their staves over their three shields, and that would grant Ike a second wind all over again.

When the soldiers began to realize just how hopeless their efforts were, it stopped being a matter of overrunning the mercenaries. To them, Ike realized bemusedly, it became a matter of being the one to finally kill one of the mercenaries. Anything resembling a formation was lost as the soldiers all scrambled to be at the front of the line, and several unfortunate knights – bulkier and infinitely more immobile than their more lightly armored allies – were shoved off the side of the bridge. Were Ike not so engrossed in the battle then, in trying to keep the desperate white armored soldiers from pushing past him, he would have ogled that occurrence. Before long, seeing a soldier or two tossed aside became a regular occurrence, making the mercenaries' job all that much easier.

"Will they ever stop?" Gatrie cried in exasperation, effortlessly sweeping his lance across. Soldiers cried out in alarm and then agony as his lance both knocked them over and either severely wounded or outright killed them. Those that weren't killed were dead moments later, crushed by their stampeding comrades.

Boyd yelled out something incoherent as he drove his axe through two still-distant soldiers, pulling back just in time to avoid Oscar's lance thrusting over the top of the sandbags and digging into a soldier's chest. As he turned toward his next foe he threw a cocky grin on his face and, glancing at Gatrie out of the corner of one eye, taunted, "Getting tired?"

"Not..." Gatrie paused as he drove his lance through a soldier's face, wincing at the expected sound of bones breaking apart. "At..." he brought his lance into and upward positon and thrust his shield forward, catching two soldiers unaware, who were then pushed back – and their lances broken – by the large shield. "... All!"

"It is getting tiresome," Ike noted sourly, throwing his head back just in time to avoid a sword to the face, countering by digging his sword into the offending soldier's face. "Soren, is there any way we can get them to retreat?"

"Keep swinging," was Soren's helpfully monotone response.

"Great," Ike sighed, though he did as instructed. His sword hooked under the arm of an approaching soldier, and with a flick of the wrist he sent the soldier flying backwards, knocking over several others in landing. "Rhys, fall back and rest up – you need it. Tell Mist to replace you."

"Thanks, Ike," Rhys sighed, suddenly sounding far more tired than his carefully even breathing would have suggested.

Mist seemed to be in far higher spirits than anyone else when she took Rhys' place, waving her heal stave immediately over a slightly oozing would on Boyd's right arm. She winced subconsciously however when she caught sight of Ike violently driving his sword through two soldiers in a single movement, sending blood spraying all over him, some flying past him and hitting Mist and Soren. This didn't seem to bother her, however. But when Boyd ducked low under a lance thrust, crashing his lance down on the soldier's head before lifting himself again – Mist was fixed on the sight of the soldier's head splitting in two under the sheer force of the strike – she cried out in alarm before she could help herself.

"Focus on healing, Mist," Ike growled, not bothering to glance back before taking two swift steps forward, swinging furiously at an approaching group of soldiers. When the numbers taking their places grew too many he fell back again, wincing from time to time as he stepped upon a soldier's arm or leg, feeling the weakened bones crunch beneath him. Stepping over a pile of three – or was it four? - bodies, Ike became suddenly aware of how sore his legs were. They had taken numerous hits, had threatened to buckle when a corpse slammed into them more than once, and had been forced to endure what had seemed like an endless amount of time holding ground against enemy attacks.

"Ike," Soren called over the din of battle, unsuccessfully. He waved his arm, turning the wind around him into sharp blades of magical energy that circled around Ike and into a nearby soldier, cutting into one side of his body and arriving on the other side moments later, repeating several times in rapid succession, and by the time they'd faded away and merged with the ever blowing wind around them the soldier had been disfigured beyond recognition, falling into several pieces as he collapsed to the ground. "Ike!" Soren called again, louder, and this time he saw Ike look back slightly while in mid-swing.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently, and Soren could tell he didn't feel comfortable distracting himself as he was.

Soren pointed to a crowding group of soldiers that otherwise seemed to be isolated from the rest, "Their commander is probably in there. Take him out and the rest will probably retreat."

"Easier said than done," Ike grunted, bringing his sword up swiftly enough to block a vertical slash from a rather large looking axe, making his knees cry out in protest under the hefty weight. "Have you seen how many there are?"

"Gatrie can cover more ground," Soren responded indifferently, pausing briefly to go through the repeat process of turning the wind around him into projectile weapons and launching them toward a rather large soldier resting just out of range of Titania's ever swinging axe. "And Rhys can come back out here."

Ike didn't respond at first, busying himself with clearing the soldiers starting to gather around Titania's sandbag pile, threatening to overtake her position. "And where in this battleplan is my health insurance?"

"You're holding it."

"I see." Ike seriously considered it for a moment before he looked over his shoulder, keeping his blade held across his chest, it's broad width acting as a rather effective shield, "Send him up here. I'll fight my way through." He then turned toward Oscar, talking while returning to the offensive against two swordsmen at once, "Tell Shinon and Rolf to give me cover fire."

A moment of silence passed, filled only by the sounds of soldiers crying out as they died and metal against metal, or bone against metal – none of which Ike still recognized as anything other than sounds as common as a bird's tweats or the whistling of wind. Then, Oscar said, "They're ready and waiting. We'll hold this position as long as we can."

Nodding, Ike broke into a dash. As a lance reached out at him he ducked under it, swinging his sword in an upward arc to the left, taking out any soldiers within reach, only momentarily slowed as his sword tried to cut through the thick metal of the soldiers' armor. To his right, any attempts to catch him off guard were put to rest – forcefully, by way of arrows lodging either in a random crook in their armor or directly into their throat. Ike gave them no more than a quick glance as he twisted around a sword swiftly, holding his sword out and crashing it into the swordsman's chest, as though her were trying to bowl him over with his arm. The desired result was much the same, albeit far more bloody in the end.

The waves of soldiers surrounding him brought Ike to a grim reality. As brutal as this battle had been, it was preliminary at most. This was nothing more than an advance force, maybe one fifth the size of Crimea's full army. And with this battle, they had lost the element of surprise – however meager that had turned out to be in the end. In the back of his mind, though Ike would never openly acknowledge it, Ike wondered if they truly were doomed. As he cut through soldier after soldier, feeling nothing but the bones both beneath his feet and at the tip of his sword or the rubble carelessly kicked aside as he went, though, Ike discarded such thoughts. Whatever their future held, they would pave it themselves. If that future was their untimely – or overdue, he thought darkly – demise, so be it. At least he would go down fighting.

Ike leaped over a small barrier constructed out of stone, meticulously placed in the middle of absolutely nowhere simply for his annoyance, and immediately drove his shoulder into the face of a waiting soldier. As the soldier staggered Ike finished him off by way of decapitation, grabbing his shield and forcing it from his hand as he fell. He immediately turned and ducked, raising the shield just in time to block an axe. As expected, the offender immediately got struck in the side of the head by an arrow, and Ike turned once again, taking great care to aim as he plotted out his every movement. Block, strike at chest, block with shield, strike at throat... Every move was calculated, making sure that he had enough room to block the next incoming attack. It wasn't long before he became blind to everything else, seeing only the movements of the soldiers around him, watching every shield raise, every lance thrust and every sword swing. It all seemed to move in slow motion, countless things coming at him at once, and no matter how much time he had Ike knew he would be unable to escape it all.

At a far faster rate, arrows suddenly began to unload themselves into the soldiers surrounding him, one by one. Ike raised his head slowly, raising an eyebrow when he saw Shinon standing atop the small barrier, looking all too smug with himself. "Idiot," he smirked, looking down at Ike. "You can't just go and die. I still have to kick your ass, remember?"

"And you're allowed to die here?" Ike smirked, realizing with a rush that he was still in great danger. He threw up his sword just in time to catch a sword on it, throwing aside the shield in his left hand in favor of a stronger offense.

With a skill only Shinon could possibly possess, he leaped from his vantage point to the ground below, taking advantage of the fact that the soldiers to his back had their backs to him – distracted as they were with the duty of breaching the inhuman wall of Gatrie and Boyd – to focus on the offensive to his front, firing arrows in rapid succession wherever Ike wasn't aimed. All the while both kept smirks on their faces, matching eachother kill for kill, suddenly relishing in the sounds of death their successful attacks resulted in. Neither particularly cared that their bodies ached so terribly that their every movement was a cry to let themselves finally die, taking the exhaustion as a sign of their own achievement.

"Take out the head, leave the body to rot?" Shinon offered with a smirk, with his back now pressed against Ike's, both working – half unintentionally – to defend the other.

"This knife will need a bit of cover," Ike retorted, cutting at another foolishly brave soldier. "This body is huge."

Nothing more needed to be said. They both lunged away from eachother, Ike swinging at anything within proximity of him as he worked his way to the opening where the commander would surely be and Shinon firing at anything that moved within ten feet of Ike's back. On several occasions Shinon paled when his first attempt to reach for a new arrow came up dry, only to find one still in his quiver on the second try, and he began to improvise by digging any usable arrows out of the mess of bodies strewn about. By the time he'd refilled his quiver he'd lost sight of Ike, forcing him to close one eye and use his perfect marksman's vision to locate a mop of blue hair flowing wildly amidst a crowd of soldiers. And thus the carnage found itself starting anew.

Contrary to Shinon's suspicion, however, Ike was far from being in any peril. The soldiers crowded around him watched as he locked blades with their commander, a man of blue hair much the same as Ike's, albeit longer and better cared for. "You again, huh?" Ike growled, swiftly overpowering Yeardley with a rough push against his sword, knocking the heavily armored commander off balance.

"You really are a cockroach, Sir Ike. When will you finally die?" Yeardley snarled, but Ike could see the fear dancing in his eyes simply from being in Ike's threatening presence.

"After you," Ike replied with mock courtesy, right before driving his sword roughly into Yeardley's rib cage. The thick armor around him cushioned the blow, but it ultimately struck home, forcing him to cry out in agony.

"Bastard!" Yeardley barked as he held his side, all pretense of composure completely lost.

Ike smirked, "I take it these men will simply kill me the moment I kill you." He ran a hand casually through his hair and, when Yeardley offered no reply, stomped down on the man's foot roughly. "So you will run away with your life. Take your army with you, and tell your worthless dog of a Duke that Sir Ike and the Greil Mercenaries are waiting for him."

"You will die! We will overwhelm you, cut you to pieces, and go home heroes."

"We?" Ike raised an eyebrow, "I could make sure you never return home if I wanted."

"And sacrifice your own life?"

"You seem so sure I will die here anyway," Ike laughed, but his face was contorted in a baleful scowl.

"And so you shall," Yeardley pretended to act composed as he backed away, tentatively at first before regaining some of his haughty attitude. "This shall not be our last battle, Sir Ike."

"I will not run," Ike promised. "I have no tail to put between my legs. Now run with your's, before I decide to take it too."

---

"A small mercenary group," Ludveck spat, the words acid on his tongue, capable of burning a hole through anything unlucky enough to be struck by them. Which, Yeardley thought as he resisted the urge to whimper in Ludveck's presence, wouldn't have been a bad proposition at that moment. Perhaps being burnt away to nothing would be refreshing. If nothing else, he could get away.

Then again, if Ludveck's acidic tongue failed him, the heat around them would do a fine job itself. Ludveck's tent, decorated with the finest luxuries one could reasonably afford, luxuries that he most certainly could afford, was even more dangerous in temperature than the relative heat the Goddesses had seen fit to grace them with that day. Yeardley could feel sweat pooling just about everywhere on his body simply from standing in the tent. That sweat only intensified with the nervous spell that fell over him as his eyes regarded the many weapons adorning the tent: racks of polearms of all sorts on either side of the throne-like seat Ludveck was seated in, and two axes crossed over one another against a plaque behind him, hanging mysteriously from the delicate material of the temp.

"Yes, a small mercenary group," Yeardley repeated shakily.

"A small mercenary group." Ludveck said again, louder, though he remained as calm and nonchalant as ever. "You lost – with our entire advance force, no less – to a small mercenary group. Morale has been shaken! The troops sleep in fear of the small mercenary group camped across the river. They are only men!"

"They are not to be taken so lightly, Sir. They made effective use of the terrain and held our forces back through sheer force of will."

"You outnumbered them five hundred to one," Ludveck hissed.

"That battle was not one that could have been decided in numbers," Yeardley retorted, still cringing at the only half-day old memory.

It was a good thing Ludveck had a natural affinity for keeping himself composed at all times, else Yeardley certainly surmised the eyes he was looking into at that moment would be absolutely murderous. "Anyway," Yeardley went on, pointedly ignoring the fact that he was theoretically hanging on the tip of Ludveck's thus merciful patience, "they survived because they used the terrain to their advantage. So long as we neutralize their terrain advantage, we can slaughter them."

"I would still like to make one final try to win them over," Ludveck sighed, dejected. "Power like their's is much better used than wasted."

"What shall we do, then?" Yeardley asked.

"Remoralize the troops and try again. I will take them out myself."

The air grew stale as Yeardley fought for an intake of breath, his throat thoroughly dry and sore from the humid air. When he'd managed to gather enough air to safely speak without risk of it sounding as though he'd had his vocal cords severed, he said, "Yourself? Sir, is that a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Yeardley cleared his throat once, then twice for good measure, before speaking, "I have fought Sir Ike twice, Sir. He is not to be taken lightly. None of them are."

"They are human," Ludveck retorted dismissively. "Strong they may be, but not invincible. Hit them enough times and they will dull. And a dull weapon is worthless."

"But the casualties ---"

"--- Are necessary. I've taught you that much, haven't I?" When Yeardley failed to respond, Ludveck smirked. "It is human nature for the weak to be used by the strong. They are disposable. They can be replaced. It is the ones that are unique, that stand above the weak, that we need to protect. In this case, we are the strong and those beneath us are the weak. I will not remind you of that again."

"Of course, Sir. When will you attack?"

"Tonight," Ludveck responded, almost too quickly. "They will only gain a greater advantage with time."

"I will prepare the knights to watch your back, then?" Yeardley asked, disgusting even himself with the way he sounded like a child asking his parents if they needed help with some monotonous task.

"I don't think it will be necessary," Ludveck said, "but the extra insurance couldn't hurt."

"Remember not to take them lightly, Sir. Watching every angle will be necessary if we want to avoid disaster."

Ludveck's inherently calm nature broke ever so slightly then and, although his expression remained neutral, he stood in a huff, tearing one of the axes from the plaque behind him and swinging it, bringing it to a halt at Yeardley's throat. "I am aware," he growled, "of the enemy's strength. Do not think me a fool, Yeardley."

All Yeardley could do in the face of such imposing strength was nod.

---

"Begnion camped in the mountain pass?!" Izuka all but screamed, frustration dripping from every word. "I told you not to trust her too highly, Prince! We're doomed now! Attacking Terin will be the end of us all!"

"Not necessarily," Pelleas protested hopefully. "What do we do now, Micaiah?"

Micaiah frowned, clearly at a loss herself. "Their position is strong. There is the forest to our west and the mountains to the north, and the gate at the mountain pass is heavily fortified. They know what they are doing."

"You're a seer!" Izuka screeched. "Surely you can see some miraculous plan forming – by me, of course – and guiding us to victory!"

"My visions are of impending danger, not of promising victory," Micaiah protested calmly. "But even so, we can do this. We just need to think this through, Prince Pelleas."

"... You're right," Pelleas said softly, willing his nerves to a calm. "What are our surroundings like?"

"Mountainous," Tauroneo explained. He pulled a map out from beneath his breastplate, spreading it out over the table in front of them. It detailed every square inch from several miles behind their location to the mountain pass in the northwest. "We won't be able to climb them on foot, for sure. That gives us no advantage."

"Is there any way to get our forces up there?" Micaiah asked, clearly perplexed.

"Only my wyvern knights," Jill responded with a frown. "But even Begnion understands the necessity for archers. If we tried to camp on mountains anywhere near the mountain pass, we'd be downed in seconds." As an afterthought she added, "I suppose it would be possible to drop a unit off and then get out of there, but lingering would be disastrous."

"Perfect," Sothe said suddenly, revealing to all his presence at the opening to the command tent. He watched the bemused group around the table warily before he went on, "Prince Pelleas, may I?"

"You may," Pelleas nodded, urging him on.

Sothe walked over to the map, grabbing the quill and ink from Pelleas' side and pulling it within reach. Dabbing the quill in the ink he began drawing on the map the general location of both their position and the enemy's. "Their position is strong. Attacking from the front will invite more casualties than we can afford, of course."

"What are you getting at?" Izuka sneered.

"This." With the quill he began to draw an arrow directing their army toward the center of the forest, and then another directing their army toward a small mountain overlooking the pass. "Our main army passes through the forest, hitting the enemy head on and drawing their attention. Then," he stressed this by pointing toward the second arrow, "Jill and her riders will carry Leonardo and a group of our best archers to this mountain, where they will begin targeting the enemy's archers. Jill's group will use the mountains as cover and make their way around to attack the pass from behind, while Micaiah and the main army should have reached the front side of the pass. With assistance from Leonardo and a two-pronged attack, casualties should be minimal and the pass will fall today."

"That's..." Even Izuka, the voice of everything self-worshiping and loathing of everything else, was at a loss for words.

"It will work," Jill said, surprising everyone with her ability to take Sothe's inexplicable genius in stride. "Begnion won't be expecting the use of such tact."

"Indeed," Tauroneo nodded, secretly sending Sothe an extremely pleased smile. "They will direct their focus upon the main army. In fact, I dare say that if the main army advanced far enough, they would be so daring as to abandon the pass and strike out with some of their forces."

"And," Sothe took the wheel of discussion again, "the area beyond the pass is level. They believe their backs to be secure, especially if the main army is camped atop the hills beyond, as can be expected."

"Such foresight," Pelleas breathed. "We shall put our faith in Sothe's words. How fast can we prepare?"

Sothe shrugged, "I took the liberty of explaining my plan to Leonardo and Nolan before I came here. As we speak, they are arming our troops and making sure they are fit for battle."

"You did what?" Izuka seethed, his voice returning to him. "We could have you flogged! How dare you act without your Prince's consent!"

"He acted in our better interest," Pelleas protested. "I thank you, Sothe."

"No thanks are necessary. If any are wanting, thank Micaiah." At the questioning glance everyone gave him, he shrugged, "She suggested I fill the empty role of battle tactician. Apparently, I seemed to have an affinity for it."

"Her suspicions are well earned," Pelleas beamed.

"I saw many great tacticians during the Mad King's War," Sothe protested. "Compared to Soren – the Greil Mercenaries' tactician – I am nothing."

"Even so," Pelleas stated, ignoring the tense atmosphere rapidly developing between Sothe and Micaiah, "your abilities are miraculous, if this was a recently developed talent."

"Sothe thanks you for his praise," Micaiah quickly said, before Sothe could throw in a random quip that certainly would have lacked the desired respect it should have held. Then turning to Jill, she asked, "How quickly can your knights take to the skies?"

"Soon," Jill off-handedly answered. "The wyverns will need feeding and outfitting before taking off – they always do prior to a battle."

"And our horses will need to be fed as well," Tauroneo added in.

"So..." Pelleas looked around nervously for a moment. "... An hour?"

"That shoud be enough," Sothe nodded. "I will let Nolan know, and I am sure Edward will want to be told, so he can pack up the many things he will want to cart off with him."

Micaiah took her leave soon after Sothe did, sighing rather loudly the moment she was free of the tense atmosphere. The sun hung high in the sky and soon dusk would fall over their quaint encampment, meaning they had all the more reason to act swiftly. As hopeful as she was about Sothe's unexpectedly insightful plan, Micaiah knew the disadvantage night would provide Jill and her knights. Palming her face suddenly, Micaiah pressed herself against the side of the tent for support as she massaged her forehead between her index finger and her thumb. Pelleas, who had been leaving the tent not far behind her, Micaiah remembered, looked over at her with concern, "You okay?"

"Fine," Micaiah waved a hand dismissively, forgetting for the briefest of moments who it was she was dismissing and who it was she had just spoken to as she would a regular acquaintance. Suddenly on full alert she frowned. "Sorry, Prince Pelleas. Must be the stress. I'll be fine."

"Don't overwork yourself," Pelleas pleaded. "Dedication is all well and fine, but you shouldn't endanger yourself over it."

"It's my job to," Micaiah groused, dismissing his worry. "I'll consider your words when the fighting is done."

"Remember you don't have to do everything alone," Pelleas soothed. He glanced inside the tent to where Tauroneo was still standing, and then across the field to where Sothe was talking with Ilyana and the other few mages of their small army. "You are invaluable, Micaiah, but you aren't alone. Sothe has proven himself capable, as you saw, and Tauroneo is a fine General. Remember that, will you?"

"I will," Micaiah said sincerely, pulling herself fully upright. "I should prepare myself for battle, though."

"I told you not to stand on such ceremony with me," Pelleas sighed, shaking his head. "Make sure you rest, though. Tonight, I shall leave reorganizing to Sothe and Tauroneo, presuming Sothe's planning ensures we live still tonight. Use that opportunity to rest."

"Shouldn't I..."

"That's an order," Pelleas said, surprising even himself with the force in his voice.

It seemed even Micaiah found herself surprised by it, but it took only a moment for a small smile to cross her face. Nodding in acceptance she said, "Yes, Your Highness."

She took off before Pelleas could catch her for her use of such niceties. She weaved through the many people now rushing to an fro to ready themselves, eager to escape the hectic nature of the camp for at least a few minutes. She knew better than to expect much more, but Pelleas had a point in saying she would be in trouble if she pushed herself too hard. It was her luck, then, that their camp was surrounded by trees. Nothing truly put her at ease better than the relaxed atmosphere of nature itself. Breaches in the folliage above casted eerie shadows around her; shapes of things that weren't there, formed by mixes of various casting shadows. There was something about the shadows, eerie as they were, that was oddly serene. A demented sense of companionship in solitude.

It was solitude like this that allowed her to think. Think of what? Micaiah absently scratched her cheek at that because, really, she had nothing to think about. ... The weather, perhaps? It was sunny, it was moderately hot – as 'hot' as 'hot' in Daein could be, that is – and it was ideal for the battle to come. That was that. So what of recent events, then? There wasn't any that really deserved extensive thought at the moment that hadn't already been aptly torn apart and deduced in their entirety, to the point where further thought would do nothing but disillusion her, plant worries that weren't worth worrying in her mind. That wasn't good at all. Which meant, she had absolutely nothing to think about. Unless the absolutely perfect conditions for a brief rest were worth thought. Wait, wasn't that partial to weather?

Micaiah groaned softly then. She had an hour – an hour – to pack away a couple tomes. That left her with roughly fifty-nine minutes with which to do what she pleased. Which was... absolutely nothing. Micaiah grimaced at her own lack of things to do. Sitting around relaxing, however comforting when it was of her own volition, made her feel useless. She had to be doing something, anything, to keep herself from feeling useless. Usually the times when her schedule was empty had been filled by healing wounded soldiers and paying her respects to those beyond salvation, the latter of which had thankfully been quite rare. But that duty had lost it's purpose the day before, and all soldiers were up and on their feet again, training and sparring and getting their daily drills from Nolan.

"You must go to battle soon, no?" Micaiah slowly raised her head, raising an eyebrow in surprise when she saw the cloaked figure of Kurth looming over her, green strands of hair poking from beneath the brown hood and over his eyes. Even masked as they were, his eyes held an innocence that never ceased to bewilder Micaiah. What was it about him that so easily radiated kindness and sincerity? Like Pelleas in a way, though Kurth seemed to be a wellspring of knowledge, even if he had never left any evidence by which to make such a claim. He was a paradox that Micaiah decided she would never understand.

"Yes, I must," Micaiah responded, gesturing with a hand to a tree across from her. Kurth didn't take the seat offered, remaining in place. "Where have you been?" Micaiah then asked, if only for the sake of conversation.

"Ah." Kurth looked sheepish, as though the necessity to explain his random absence hadn't occurred to him.

"Ah?" Micaiah pressed, undeterred.

"I am a wanderer," Kurth replied, though Micaiah could tell it was simply to avoid directly answering her question. "And the desert heat was too much for me. I took my travelling elsewhere, and returned just this morning."

"I see," Micaiah nodded neutrally. "Where did your travels take you?"

"Talrega," Kurth responded immediately. "I had acquaintances in Talrega I wanted to meet with, and your venture into the desert provided me an opportunity to do so."

They fell into something resembling a companionable silence. Micaiah could tell Kurth was entertaining the idea of saying something, but he made no move to do so, instead letting the easy silence presented.

Which wouldn't have lasted as long as either would have liked. For there were things that needed saying, and little time with which to say it.

"Terin will soon become a battlefield," Micaiah stated idly, though despite all her attempts to fight it off she frowned. "We aren't as prepared as I would like, and I'm not sure I'm ready, but..."

"These are your duties," Kurth concluded with a smile. "You will carry them out well, I am sure."

Micaiah sensed something else on Kurth's mind and, though she had half a mind to avoid doing so, she pursued it, "A coin for your thoughts?"

"What?" Clearly, slang of the streets was lost upon Kurth, though Micaiah couldn't fathom why.

"What's on your mind?" she rephrased.

"Ah." Kurth's expression tightened for a minute and Micaiah began to think he wouldn't answer, but after a moment they softened again and he said, "You remind me of an old friend."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Kurth nodded. "Though I am sure you would loathe being told so."

Micaiah shrugged, "I'm interested." She didn't seem nearly as interested as her words suggested.

"You are reckless, though despite that you never fail," Kurth noted, looking reminiscent. "You concern yourself with the smallest of problems, even when you know you cannot help them. But despite these faults, you are a radiant light to everyone around you. People look to you for hope, for strength. You never back down, and you take the weight of every problem before you upon your shoulders. Caring, ruthless and determined, you are a paradox and an open book all at once." He was beginning to sound like a seer or a fortune teller, Micaiah noted wryly. "You are a hero. Or rather, a heroine, and that will be both a thousand blessings and a million curses upon you."

Definitely sounded like a fortune teller. Or perhaps simply a raving madman.

"Meaning?" Micaiah asked despite her inner pondering of Kurth's sanity, raising an eyebrow.

Kurth smiled, filling Micaiah with a sense of dread she knew she'd only brought upon herself, "You and Ike are far more similar than you would like to believe."

Micaiah was sure Kurth was perfectly aware of the anger quickly building up inside of her, but it was evident that he was either oblivious to the extent of that anger, or simply didn't mind it. That only served to irritate Micaiah more, and it took a lot of effort to keep her voice even as she asked, "Is that so?"

"Ike isn't that different from you, no," Kurth stated with a shrug.

Micaiah could feel her brows twitching with annoyance. "Explain."

"Tell me, Micaiah," Kurth said instead, crossing his arms. "If Crimea had invaded Daein three years ago and you were put through what the Greil Mercenaries went through," he paused to allow the absolutely seething look in Micaiah's eyes to gently subside, "would you be willing to destroy Crimea to restore Daein?"

"Of course I would!" Micaiah cried, before the weight of what she had just said hit her. She scowled moodily and crossed her arms, looking pointedly at the ground, much like a misbehaving child.

"Then why is Ike so horrible a person?"

As Kurth walked further into the forest, no doubt to escape the fighting – Micaiah vaguely remembered having been told he loathed fighting – Micaiah was left to brood over the words of wisdom imparted upon her.

---

"Is everything ready, Sothe?" An hour later, as promised, Micaiah was overlooking the forest before them from a small hill, dwarfed by the cliffs and mountains all around,. Sothe was next to her watching the soldiers take their positions under their respective group leaders. Despite her better wishes Sothe had persuaded Micaiah to abandon the frontlines in favor of trailing with the rear units, as it would make her seem like a more presentable commander while retaining the quality of fighting alongside her troops. In her stead, the small army had been placed under many different unit commanders who ultimately all answered to Tauroneo who, in turn, answered to her.

"Jill has Leonardo and his troops and are ready," he answered, looking toward a cliff where they were resting, watching the battlefield and waiting for their signal. "Zihark and his unit of swordsman are hiding amongst the thickets north of here, in case there are reinforcements waiting to hit us from behind. We have the light and we have the forest for cover, and we have the element of surprise." Sothe nodded, seeming satisfied with their preparations. "This battle is our's once you give the word, Micaiah. Are you ready?"

"Our first true battle as an army," Micaiah sighed. "Here's hoping."

"Here's hoping," Sothe echoed.

With a wave, Micaiah sent a ball of light energy hurtling through the air. It rose until it was amidst the treetops, where it exploded. With a deafening cry the troops began to surge forward, holding their weapons high in the air as they ran. Armor shimmered in the remnants of the magic cast above, setting the entire forest alight with their presence, giving the illusion of soldiers sent by the very Goddesses to fight Begnion. Micaiah and Sothe watched them for well over a minute before moving to join them, giving eachother nods of confirmation. The illumination that lingered still far ahead served as a beacon as they ran, mixing in amongst the knights and cavalry that held up the rear guard, moving in sync with one another, loud stomps and hooves trotting mixing in a cacophony of sounds that resounded through the hills and mountains all around them.

---

The cover of night was just the thing for a mission of stealth. And that, among other things, was all Ike could really hope for to stave off seemingly inevitable extermination.

"The guards will be changing in a few minutes," Rolf's voice hovered to his ears from a tree above.

"That will be our chance," Shinon said, and from the corner of his eye Ike could see Shinon's fingers twitching, eager to have an arrow to wrap around, to place against the bowstring of his bow and let fly into the Crimean camp. Ike's fingers likewise twitched even while grasping his sword, the need to drive that massive sword through Ludveck's skull rising by the second.

Following the day's festivities and bloodshed, Soren had rather bluntly stated the need to turn the tables without bringing things down to another drawn out fight between them. Soren seemed rather certain that another fight without tipping the scale would be the end of them, and Ike found himself agreeing wholeheartedly.

It was this worry that put Ike where he was now. Precisely, hiding under the cover of night with Rolf and Shinon, preparing to set fire to and raid the Crimean army's storehouses. Deep within the camp much activity could be heard, and Rolf had already pointed out the departure of a squadron of knights away from the camp and what seemed to be preparations for a full scale assault. Ike had immediately deduced that to mean they were planning a second attack on the Greil Mercenaries under the cover of night, meaning the time frame they had to do the deed was even smaller than initially surmised.

"The guard is moving now," Rolf stated, readying an arrow to fire at a large white tent in the distance. Shinon reached over with a small torch, previously carefully hidden beneath the thick cloak he wore, and lit the tip of the arrow just before Rolf fired. The blazing arrow soared through the air and struck the top of the tent, black smoke rising immediately from where contact was made. The fire quickly spread to engulf the entire tent, illuminating the now chaotic camp with it's orange hues. Rolf reached over with his free hand and took the torch, lighting the tip of Shinon's arrow in order to repeat the process, this time setting aflame a stack of crates, surely storage for many supplies.

Ike didn't miss a beat. As soon as he saw the second arrow fire, he threw a light rune into the air as he broke into a dash, heading off the soldiers he could already see rushing to escape in any direction they could, terror stricken by the flames. The light rune acted as an effective signal, and soon the rest of the Greil Mercenaries were pouring across the bridge, ready to act upon this surefire victory.

Ike brought his sword down on a cowering soldier without remorse, grunting in annoyance when the contact between the tip of his blade and the helmet of the soldier jarred his shoulder painfully. He shrugged it off and gritted his teeth, kicking up dirt with his foot as he spun, blinding his next target long enough for him to be struck dead before his vision returned.

Meanwhile, Shinon and Rolf continued to take turns firing blazing arrows into the camp, setting alight anything that looked like it either held supplies or was flammable. Already several tents had been torn apart by the unforgiving flames, and several crates of supplies were still blazing. The Crimean camp was an absolute mess in the wake of it all,soldiers running to and fro; some with water, others simply with the intent to escape. Many had been trampled dead in the chaos of it all, corpses littering just about every inch of stone in the camp. Shinon had noted Ludveck fleeing north after his knights as soon as the first arrow struck, indicating that he either anticipated such an attack or had a safety insurance for himself in case of the possibility. Given what Shinon had heard of the man, he suspected the latter.

The soldiers Shinon saw Ike engaging looked to be the most frightened of all. Those that could even manage words stuttered hopelessly before crying out something akin to, "It's Sir Ike!" or "It's them!" - who called their enemy Sir, Shinon felt compelled to ask – before inevitably being struck dead by the mercenary's massive sword. Ike seemed to be enjoying himself, justifying every kill with the reasoning that it was a appetizer to the promise of killing Ludveck. "The pathetic duke," Shinon muttered angrily as he took aim once more, waiting for Rolf to light the tip before letting the arrow strike the wooden barricade that had been built around the camp. Soon, it seemed as though the camp were caught in a ring of fire.

Of the mercenaries moving to join the fight, Oscar and Titania arrived first. Ike had just finished beheading a swordsman when Oscar rode by, impaling a soldier on his lance as he went. Titania was just behind, swinging her axe down on the skull of a soldier unfortunate enough to have foregone his helmet. Ike took a moment to gather himself then, finally letting senses other than touch – and that sense had been allowed only out of necessity – pervade him. He could finally feel the brisk night air stinging his cheeks, the slight wind off of the ocean below tousling his hair. He could finally notice the fear in the eyes of the soldiers they fought, the faces of men already dead whom had died with their bowels emptied, he was sure. These details made him feel ill, though he was able to ignore the knot forming in his gut, tightening his grip on his sword for emphasis.

Mia shot him a smug smirk as she passed by and dug her sword into the gut of an unlucky swordsman, a smirk that silently spoke of her insistence in outperforming him. Rhys and Mist were close behind, immediately taking to pointing out places where they could keep themselves safe from enemies to one another. Ike heard Gatrie trailing behind as he turned toward a new foe, shutting his eyes tightly just in time to avoid a face full of sand and dirt. He brought his sword from his shoulder, over his head and heavily down upon the offending soldier's left shoulder, crushing the bone immediately and forcing him to drop the lance in his hand. He brought his shield up just in time to stop Ike's sword from digging into his ribcage, the round piece of metal jarring Ike's arms, threatening to tear his sword from his grasp even as the shield all but shattered from the impact. He held onto his sword with everything he had, waiting for the vibrating sensation in the arm to subside before repeating the motion, taking advantage of the lack of shielding that allowed his second slash to hit home, sending a sharp cry resonating through the air as the man beneath the white suit of armor fell to the ground, writhing in pain even in his last moments of life. He stilled soon after, his heaving chest coming to a gentle rest.

In the blink of an eye Ike had joined his comrades, stopping a soldier in his tracks as he tried to advance upon Mia from the side. His eyes widened and his jaw slacked, his skin paling as he realized just who it was he was now challenging. Ike's eyes narrowed as he set himself into an attack stance, legs shoulder width apart and sword held with both hands in front of him. The initial shock the soldier had faded quickly and he boldly attacked, likely drunk in the greed that surely corrupted his soul entirely the moment his head calculated the worth in being the one to strike Sir Ike dead. Ike swiftly bent his left arm upward and brought his sword up in a powerful backward swing, breaking the lance aimed for his chest with ease. He followed through with a step forward, bringing the sword back down again, across the soldier's chest. In the wake of the fresh corpse was another, whom Ike struck down with a powerful shove to the stomach with his foot followed by decapitation. Behind him, Mia cursed under her breath when she saw his effortless kills.

"I won't lose to you!" Mia shouted over the din of battle, grinning broadly as her sword left another soldier headless. Her next target was rudely stolen from her as an arrow lodged itself in the side of his head, signaling Rolf and Shinon's change of targets from the tents and flammables to the soldiers.

Indeed, the camp was bright as day from the flames rising high all around them, spreading steadily despite the lack of wind influence. The cackling noises of wood breaking under the consistent deterioration provided by the flames or the sounds of things falling as the flames left them incapable of supporting themselves were constant, leaving even the brief moments where there were no loud cries filling the air sufficiently filled with sound. The camp all around them was falling apart, and more and more soldiers were falling into the chaos, trampling their comrades. Many even took the plunge, forsaking logic and reason as they leaped into the ocean below, where they would inevitably drown sooner or later.

Whether or not Ike even noticed the flames was anybody's guess. Ike had since abandoned Mia's side and was fending off three swordsmen at once, exchanging blows with two while leaving the other with nowhere to move, lowering his shoulder to take the blow to the guard resting there as necessity dictated. On one side was a long train of burning crates and on the other a collapsing tent, surrounding him in flames. As they steadily grew they lashed out, some singeing his arms as they came to close to him. It seemed as though, from an onlooker's perspective, Ike was about to be swallowed by the flames. Ike's sword finally struck home, connecting with one of the swordsmen in the hip. He screamed, staring down at the profusely bleeding wound even as his vision blurred and the life drained from his face. He died hearing a similar scream as one of his comrades met a similar fate, the second body falling over the first. The third was more stubborn, remaining strictly defensive, vividly aware of the flames growing on either side of them.

"Your move, Sir Ike," the swordsman mocked, carefully blocking when Ike struck out. He did not press his luck after deflecting Ike's attacking, taking a step back and bringing his longsword up to chest height defensively. One eye swept over their surrounding while the other remained on Ike, desperate to make sure he read Ike's every move in order to buy enough time to drown them both in the flames.

Ike was having none of that, however. The swordsman's first mistake had evidently been his decision to fight Ike in such a manner without realizing how vast the difference in their skill really was. Ike lunged, knocking the sword aside with a sweep of his protected arm, bringing his sword forward to pierce through the swordsman's exposed abdomen. Like the two before him he screamed, though rather than falling over he simply went limp on the end of Ike's sword.

"My move," Ike echoed, pulling his sword back and allowing the body to collapse at his feet. A quick look around confirmed that the camp was now empty. Bodies numbering to at least one thousand lay around, either bleeding from open gashes or bleeding at the bead where they had been knocked over and subsequently crushed by their comrades. Countless others had taken the plunge into the ocean and, Ike guessed, the casualty toll numbered at well over three thousand, a number far larger than what could be expected of an eleven-man mercenary squad.

"We're done here," Soren said, coming to stand beside Ike as he retreated from the burning surroundings. "Ludveck got away, or so Rolf says. And considering there aren't more bodies lying around, it seems he's right."

"Either way," Ike responded, shrugging, "Crimea's army is crippled. Their supplies are toast, and their troops are going to need a serious confidence boost before they dare challenge us again."

"But our situation has not improved," Soren retorted with a frown. He tugged at his robes with one hand while wiping a fresh sheen of sweat from his brow. "We have bought Daein a week at most. Ludveck will have his troops resupplied by then, and with us on the defensive all we can do is sit back and wait it out. We will need something decisive to send him home. If we cannot, we will have to fall back from here. And then Daein suffers."

"Daein suffers," Ike breathed. Once again the thought of Daein, not only his father's homeland but also the country he had torn asunder with brutal force three years ago, suffering even more left a hollow feeling in his chest. "We can't let that happen. We have to put an end to this battle," he paused for a moment to think, "and without destroying Crimea in the process."

"Another battle will be unavoidable," Soren said disdainfully, the concept seeming surprisingly unappealing even to him. "We have enough time to come up with a plan though. Let's go."

---

Contrary to Sothe's battle plan, the battle had taken only a few hours. It seemed, Tauroneo mused, that Sothe had made the mistake of forgetting to include the skill of his own soldiers in his planning and instead acted solely on what he knew of simple logistics. In this instance it seemed his planning pulled through and that forgetting this aspect had not affected them negatively, but Sothe would definitely need a briefing to correct that critical problem later.

"We can do it!" one soldier laughed, holding his shield high in the air in a show of triumph. "We can topple Begnion!"

"Are you kidding me?" another laughed, knocking shields with his companion. "We could get revenge against Crimea, too! With the Silver Haired Maiden, we're invincible!"

"Now, now," Tauroneo chided, though he couldn't keep a measure of amusement out of his tone. "Crimea is not our enemy; Begnion is. Do not direct your hatred where it is not warranted."

"Y-yes, General," both stuttered, their glee suddenly derailing and plummeting to a premature demise.

The abrupt silence, save for the delighted cries elsewhere throughout the pass' expanse, granted Tauroneo a moment to observe his surroundings. The moon still suspended itself high in the sky, casting the rocks all around them a brilliant silvery white. The clearing ahead seemed to have a permanent glow to it. Were he not certain that the enemy was camped up along the mountain he could see rising beyond the clearing, he would have immediately suggested making camp in that clearing. The small channel of water that ran along the edge of the clearing and disappeared into the mountains behind them would aid their dry throats, and the flatland was as perfect a camp as there could be hoped for.

Noticing from the corner of his eye that Sothe was approaching, Tauroneo frowned as best he could given the infectious glee the entire army exuded. "We shouldn't be cheering. Not yet." He looked toward the mountains ahead, taunting them, urging them to fight for every step in what was to be a battle far more dangerous than the one Sothe had just guided them through. And for a split second, Tauroneo knew he'd seen the moonlight shimmer off the side of a blade in the distance. "They are waiting for us."

"And we are still outmatched," Sothe finished, though it hardly needed to be said. "Fighting more today would spoil our spirit though, and Micaiah has already made the decision to stop here for the night. At the least, we can defend this position easily."

"That we can," Tauroneo agreed. "What do you think of the terrain?"

Sothe observed the same horizon Tauroneo had taken to studying moments before, realizing with a start that this was an abstract sort of test. He noted the way the flatland began to arc toward the heavens and the way the rocks hanging to the side of the mountains looked ready to fall, all relevant details in his observation. Not one detail escaped his notice, save for the man-made details to be noted, invisible in the thick darkness of night.

Finally, he said, "We will have to coax them into making the first move."

Secretly, Tauroneo smiled. "And?"

Sothe gave the clearing another once over before nodding. "The bridge to the west is a good bottlenecking location. We draw the enemy in on that side and hold them off with our heaviest infantry while the lighter infantry makes use of the unguarded frontline and begin the climb of the mountain from the east. But that..."

"Is a risky tactic? This time, I don't think it can be helped," Tauroneo retorted, chuckling lightly.

"Soren would have been able to do it," Sothe muttered darkly.

"You are not Soren," Tauroneo shot back, his face contorting in exasperation. "You are Sothe. You are still learning. Do not expect of yourself the results of a master tactician."

"But..."

Tauroneo smiled fondly down at Sothe, "I have confidence that you have the makings of a tactician every bit as great as Soren. And Micaiah has the potential of a leader that may very well surpass even Ike." When Sothe's expression remained solemn and otherwise impassive, Tauroneo sighed. "The Greil Mercenaries are heroes, and we owe much to them. But that does not mean they are Gods, Sothe. Stop comparing yourself to Soren, or any of them."

As his mind returned to it's rightful place of normalcy, Sothe almost laughed at the ridiculous direction their conversation had taken. "Regardless, I pray we never see a day when we will have to see who is stronger," Sothe said ruefully, looking distantly toward the stars.

"If it is for Daein, I would not hesitate to fight even Ike," Tauroneo responded with a shrug. "Between my friend's son and my country, we both know where my loyalties lie."

Sothe nodded in solemn understanding, "I have sworn to protect Micaiah," he noted that Tauroneo's face flickered with friendly emotion at that, "and that is enough for me. Running from the Empire, fighting a seemingly hopeless battle – even fighting all of Tellius, if she willed it. I will protect her, no matter what that means."

"You feel strongly for her." That statement, Sothe noticed, lacked anything remotely questioning.

"Hmm," Sothe hummed in detached agreement. "Tomorrow will be no easier than tonight."

Tauroneo stared at Sothe blankly for a moment before saying, "You aren't confident in your plan."

"I'm better suited for spy work. Maybe assassinating – like Volke, perhaps." Sothe groaned and ran a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Being a tactician is fine – and it is refreshing to feel like I'm pulling my weight – but it isn't something I ever considered doing. Being self-conscious makes sense, I suppose, given that."

"I suppose so," Tauroneo said dejectedly, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. "But you couldn't be the sort of man Volke is. You have too much heart to do the cold blooded work of an assassin."

Sothe pondered that for a moment before laughing dismally, "Not the things a soldier should be hearing."

"Having heart is fine, so long as it doesn't get in your way when you need to be ruthless."

The silence following convinced Tauroneo of Sothe's resignated agreement. With a nod and several exchanged words of confidence to one another, Tauroneo left to round up the troops that were surely still in the midst of celebration, leaving Sothe to stare out at the clearing before him. After a moment's observation he noticed a slight shimmer, so faint he was certain it had escaped Tauroneo's notice. He took one step forward before taking another, and slowly he made his way toward where he had seen the moonlight-on-metal shimmer, ignoring Micaiah as she caught sight of him leaving and called out to him questioningly.

Progressing further into the grassy flatland, the darkness hiding everything around Sothe seemed to slowly dispel as his vision came into focus. And it was then that he could see what had been so cleverly hidden before: a massive ballistae, stealthily hidden by a black cover. And even better hidden was the soldier seated at it, smirking as he saw the realization in Sothe's eyes. Sothe didn't miss a beat in dropping to the ground, shouting loudly over his shoulder, "Down!" just in time to avoid a massive ballistae bolt soaring over his head, and the sound of it loudly embedding itself in the ground was heard a moment later.

Sothe broke into a crouching dash, stripping a knife from his belt and flinging it at the soldier as he ran. When a startled cry followed he knew he'd hit home, and when his lifted his eyes he saw the soldier falling to the side from his seat, the blood from the knife wound in the side of his neck pouring over the grass. Sothe quickly retrieved his knife before turning around, just in time to find Micaiah running up to him.

"They are attacking," she stated seethingly. Her knuckles were turning white from being clenched so tightly into a fist, Sothe idly noted.

"This must have been their plan," Sothe growled, stomping his foot. "The pass was a distraction, to lure us in just so that they could off us here. Only Begnion could be so uncaring of the lives of their own."

"I didn't see this coming..." Micaiah trailed off, shaking her head. "They are probably going to attack. We need to set up defenses."

Sothe nodded automatically, "My thoughts exactly." And then he ran off to do Micaiah's unsaid bidding.

---

The five hundred-man company of cavalry that composed Marado's pitifully small military looked over the mountainside, watching without the least bit of emotion as the Liberation Army easily cut through their standing forces. The Begnion cavalry defending the army's western flank had already advanced, only to be halted by a large man in bulky silver armor who, aided by his knights and a small group of archers, made short work of the company.

Fiona didn't particularly care that her allies were being cut down with such ease, but the speed at which the Liberation Army moved surprised her. They didn't even seem to have any strategy beyond simply luring in their foes bit by bit and taking them out methodically. Even so, Fiona was amazed. Their leader – the silver haired girl whom could be seen amidst her troops, striking down her foes as though she were just another soldier on the battlefield rather than an important commander, seemed especially interesting. It was a shame, Fiona thought sadly, that they were enemies. Were the times different, that girl looked to be the sort Fiona would be honored to serve.

"You, Lady Fiona!" Laverton – the pitiful wretch, Fiona would often add when amongst her own – glared in her direction, pointing down the mountainside, where a winding pathway built into the mountain led toward where the Liberation Army was fording the small channel of water below.

"You want me to join the battle?" Fiona asked, wincing when she heard the disdain in her own voice.

"Would you turn on your allies now?" Laverton asked, smirking predatorially. He knew as well as she what would become of Marado's cavalry were she to do that.

"Of course not," Fiona replied, trying to look as offended as possible at his question. The fact that she secretly didn't find dieing for Daein's revival and Begnion's fall unappealing made that rather difficult. "But the mountainside is unsuitable for cavalry. I would rather I went around and ---"

"--- I care not what befalls your troops. Therefore, you shall do as you have been ordered. Understood?"

Fiona stared hard at him, both willing the other to openly challenge them. Finally she relented, her senses reminding her of the folly in challenging Begnion as she was. "Yes, Sir," she said, before turning to her troops. She heard the galloping of Laverton's black steed as she wordlessly nodded toward the army below. Her troops understood, following her in making an about-face to stare down the mountainside. There were thickets and bushes all over the place, lined with a thin sheen of frost from the chill provided by the altitude. The groups of soldiers guarding the mountainside parted to the side as Marado's cavalry tore down the wide path, drawing their weapons and holding them to the sky, letting out deafening war cries. Fiona didn't join her troops in the before-battle festivities, instead watching the Liberation Army below as they fought to break through the defenses at the channel.

A swordsman dressed in what seemed to be beggar's clothing – at least, the ratty style and the splotches of dirt all over them suggested so – was leading the pack of soldiers that had already crossed the channel, flourishing two swords with a level of skill that surprised Fiona. He seemed to dance gracefully as he fought, swords going from foe to foe one after the other. Any who he either got caught up with or only left wounded were finished off by those trailing behind him. Fiona's grip on her lance tightened involuntarily, and she felt the primal soldier within her itching for what was sure to be a good fight. Lifting a hand to urge her soldiers to a halt, she rode forward alone, catching the man's eyes immediately. He looked to be little more than a child for all the innocence in his features, which Fiona was disgusted to admit did make her a little reluctant to fight him. She quickly recalled the unchild-like way that he had been fighting seconds ago and steeled herself.

"I am the Stewardess of Marado, Fiona," she greeted, bringing her lance up and pointing it at the man. "I challenge you to a duel. Do you accept?"

"I am Edward, member of the Dawn Brigade," he replied, the grin on his face turning into a determined stare in the blink of an eye. "I accept your challenge!" Fiona hardly had time to react as Edward rushed at her, bringing the sword in his left hand toward her horse while the sword in his right clashed with her lance, holding it still. Fiona quickly brought her horse back before the swipe caught it, all the while studying the way Edward moved. After the first swing, there had been an obvious opening where his guard was dropped. As he came in for a second round, she swerved away from his first slash and hooked her lance under his arm before he could begin the second slash. He looked shocked for a moment, but he shrugged it off and leaped back, apparently ignoring the large gash the sudden movement left on the underside of his upper arm. Fiona couldn't help but notice how he winced every time he moved that arm afterwards.

"Not bad," Edward's voice had a cheerful tone to it, and it was clear that he was enjoying himself, as any truly talented fighter should. Despite that Fiona could already hear the weariness in his voice, even if his actions suggested otherwise, seemingly unimpeded save for that wince when his left arm moved. "Why is someone of Daein fighting against us, though?"

"I will not follow the rumors of Prince Pelleas, nor will I be disillusioned by the miracles of the Silver Haired Maiden. I fight for the safety of my state of Marado." Before Edward could say anything more she took the offensive, knocking his right sword aside with the butt of her lance, twirling it to point at his throat. "And letting emotions get in your way during battle is fatal. Farewell, Edward of the Dawn Brigade."

"My Lady!" one of her soldiers suddenly cried, forcing her to wince at the worry in his tone. "Look above!"

Despite knowing what it would mean to leave her foe to his own devices, Fiona pulled back and looked upward. Along the mountain's edge, soldiers were lined up holding their swords or axes to the throats of villagers – probably villagers of Marado, Fiona thought with disgust. Laverton was at their head, looking down at the Liberation Army – though Fiona felt his eyes upon her for the briefest of seconds – and scowling.

"Drop your weapons, now, all of you!" he shouted suddenly, his voice echoing along the ripples of the mountainside. Fiona had no doubt in her mind that he could be heard as far back as the pass. "You don't, and I will be forced to kill the prisoners!"

---

"Everyone, drop your weapons."

Micaiah had said that without the least bit of worry in her voice. Almost as though, dare he say it, she had been expecting this to happen. Which was possible, given who she was. But that didn't stop Edward from feeling resentful as he took a few steps away from that girl with the dark auburn hair and the piercing blue eyes, dropping both swords to the ground reluctantly. "Well?" he scowled at her, raising his hands in defeat. "Won't you do the deed, traitor of Daein?"

"What did you call me?" Fiona asked, glaring down at him contemptuously. He didn't care one bit for her feelings at the moment.

"You heard me," Edward spat, tilting his head to nod at his swords lying on the ground. "Your precious empire has resorted to such inhumane tactics. So, why not follow his example?" He ran his thumb along his throat, imitating the motion of a sword beheading him. "Kill me."

"You wound insult my honor?" Fiona asked. Edward could see the hand gripping the reins of her steed tighten it's grip, and the veins running up her arm were visible from the strain. Her face looked absolutely murderous, and for a split second Edward wondered if he'd done the wrong thing in assuming the worst of someone of Daein working with Begnion. What if she simply wanted to protect her people? Edward could sympathize with that, at least.

Making an assumption such as that, though, was worse than assuming the worst of her, the latter of which at least warranted consideration given the fact that she was his enemy. "I never thought you to have honor, Lady Fiona. Begnion has none, of course."

"And you presumed the same of me?"

"Should I have done otherwise, given the situation?"

Fiona looked away immediately, seeming almost ashamed to be likened to those of Begnion. "No, you were right to think so." In that instant, her demeanor seemed to change entirely. The bold and level-headed woman Edward had been fighting gave way to little more than a frightened child, looking as though she'd just been scolded for a wrongdoing of some sort. "I cannot condone Begnion's atrocities any longer."

"What was that?" Edward raised an eyebrow, gaping and crossing his arms over his chest. He either looked very dignified given his position, or downright amusing, and Fiona couldn't seem to be able to tell which.

"I will fight for the Occupation Army no longer. Edward of the Dawn Brigade, forgive my rudeness by allowing me to aid you in your battle." With that she brought her horse to an about-face, raising her lance into the air. "We can no longer side with the atrocities of Begnion! We of the honorable state of Marado cannot forgive such injustice!" Her troops cheered in approval and tore off up the mountainside, lacking any semblance of formation whatsoever as they charged throughout the meager defenses Laverton had seen fit to place on that flank. They were helpless, launched off of the mountain or struck dead brutally before they could react to the sudden hasty charge of Marado's cavalry.

Swords, axes and lances glistened in the moonlight as the knights of Marado dared to hope against hope. Their movements were spastic, moving with such sudden jerks that it seemed as though they were all spasming. As more and more cries filled the air, Begnion's soldiers falling like dominoes and Marado's cavalry falling nearly as readily in the desperate battle for the summit that neither truly particularly cared about. Fiona quickly swept in between two swordsmen, killing one and striking the other in the face with her foot before grabbing a small child off the ground and forcing him into her lap, tightening her thighs around his legs. "Are you okay?" she asked indifferently, focused as she was on getting around the troops now desperately trying to stop her knights from retrieving the children and other civilians, to no avail.

"I... I'm fine," the boy responded quietly, shakily. "You are Lady Fiona, aren't you?"

"I am," Fiona replied evenly. The boy shook slightly as she brought her arm up, clashing lances with a bold soldier. She struck her leg out, the steel plating lightly coating the toes slamming forcefully into his chest. As he staggered back she struck her lance forward, impaling him through the chest. The boy uttered a soft cry and shook more violently, small tears falling upon Fiona's breast. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I will get you to the Silver Haired Maiden, where you will be safe. Alright?"

"What about mama?" the boy asked, his eyes wide with frighteningly inquisitive curiosity.

Fiona chanced a glance over her shoulder to her entourage of knights. One of them in particular had a woman behind him, her arms wrapped around his torso tightly. Her eyes were wide with fear, and Fiona could see her glancing over toward her every few seconds. "Your mama is fine, child. You will both be safe soon."

"My friends?" he then asked.

"Child," Fiona said sternly, not looking at him, "I will not allow my people to die. Your friends included. Alright?"

The boy beamed, suddenly all smiles at Fiona's promise. "Thank you, Lady Fiona!"

---

"Is this what you were waiting for, Micaiah?" Sothe asked, directing his attention to the fleeing cavalry, carrying the civilians that had previously been hostage.

"Yes," Micaiah responded, her muscles tightening suddenly. "Grab your weapons! We move to aid them!" she cried. As the soldiers all around them suddenly took up their weapons again, a deafening war cry resonated through the air. As one the mass of black-clad soldiers rushed forward, splashing through the small water channel in their enthusiasm. The urge to strike a blow to Begnion was overwhelming even to Micaiah, and she couldn't begin to fathom the extent of her soldiers' hatred for their oppressors.

When Micaiah noticed her every movement being followed by Sothe's over-protective shadow, she frowned without looking back, "Go help Tauroneo and his knights advance from the other side." When she saw the shadow of his head do no more than tilt to the side in a questioning gesture, she explained, "Those knights can't put up a fight while protecting the civilians, and we are outnumbered. If you can take out their commander, we can try to convince them to surrender."

From the corner of her eye, Micaiah could see Sothe looking moderately insulted at her blatantly obvious attempt to rid herself of the unnecessary protection, though his face swiftly fixed itself with a neutral stare, evidently aware that she was watching him. "I got it, Micaiah. Be careful."

"I will."

Reluctantly, Sothe took his leave of Micaiah, who immediately breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Perhaps if she got him acquainted to this now, it would be easier for him to be willing to do things that involved leaving her side later. The army would suffer otherwise, naturally.

"My Lady," a swordsman next to her was frowning, pointing toward the summit. Looking up, Micaiah saw Fiona locked in a furiously violent duel with who seemed to be the enemy commander. Both their horses were moving around one another, stalking eachother, while their riders clashed lances over and over again. Initially it seemed to be a relatively even match, but that was before Micaiah became dreadfully aware of how Fiona's assaults were soft and that one of her arms was wrapped around the child in her lap, protecting him. Surely she was unable to fight at her full strength while caring for that child.

Micaiah gasped loudly as Fiona was forced to abandon her horse, flipping off of it backwards and giving it a soft smack to the side, urging it to run. She pulled the boy to hide behind her, bringing her lance up to protect herself as her foe advanced.

In the blink of an eye, however, Fiona was safe. Micaiah's eyes widened as she watched Edward slip in between them, swing his swords in rapid succession and swiftly throwing the commander from his horse. Where had Edward learned to fight with a ferocity like that?

---

"You," Edward growled, his voice low and frighteningly dangerous, "need to die."

"And just who are you?" Laverton asked, pulling himself to his feet with a bitter cackle. "One of the Maiden's curs?"

"I am Edward, of the Dawn Brigade and Prince Pelleas' Liberation Army." Edward swung with a speed that surprised even himself when Laverton tried to thrust his lance forward, throwing the offended polearm off course effortlessly. "Using innocent people..."

"It is human nature to make use of the weak!" Laverton protested with a laugh, undaunted by the rage in Edward's eyes. "And they are the weak. They should be honored to be used by us."

"That's disgusting," Edward spat.

"Daein did it to Crimea, three years ago! Would have done a good bit of damage to Begnion too, given the chance, I am sure." When Edward was unable to retort Laverton laughed, bringing his lance to attention once more, eyes narrowing viciously. "You so called heroes are hopeful rebels, trying to revive a kingdom guilty of more crimes than I can count on my own two hands! And your precious Maiden is a dictator in the making! A facade of false niceties, working her way into your Prince's good graces. And when all is said and done, he will be a figurehead to her ideals. She will hold your precious kingdom between her fingertips, and bend it to her will."

"Micaiah is not like that!" Edward cried, swinging his swords outward frantically. One lucky slash connected at the tip with Laverton's cheek, who hissed quietly as blood rolled down the side of his face. "But you, Begnion's occupational dogs, are the tyrants! You say you are caring for the land you have won, but you strip anybody remotely proud to be from Daein of their rights! Our soldiers are in prisons!"

"You are the servants of Mad King Ashnard, after all," Laverton shrugged dismissively. "It should not be any other way."

"I should have expected the likes of you to be so judgmental," Edward spat. From there, no more words were spoken. The two clashed violently, limbs moving all over the place in fevered attempts to stop the other and strike a successful blow. Edward brought the sword in his left up just in time to shrug off Laverton's lance, though the effort was enough to send him reeling, his shoulder jarred painfully from the blow and his limbs quivering with unrelenting exhaustion. His vision blurred several times in his effort to remain conscious, driven only by his determination to kill his foe and his subsequent desire to protect Fiona. He wasn't completely sure which had led him to intervene in the first place.

Then, with a speed that surprised even himself, Edward ducked beneath a thrust of Laverton's lance and lunged. While his head connected painfully with Laverton's face, his swords both dug themselves into his chest. Blood sprayed in massive spurts from the opening wounds, drenching both men in the sticky fluid. Edward felt absolutely revolted as he felt what might as well have been a stream of Laverton's blood run down the side of his face, but when he pulled away and saw Laverton's already lifeless corpse, any revulsion was replaced with immense satisfaction.

Nolan was standing beside him seconds later, smirking as he observed Edward's handiwork, "May that be a message to them, eh?"

"Mmm."

---

She was overlooking a valley of some sort. A ravine or chasm, perhaps? Really, it hardly mattered. The soldiers around her were of Daein, lance-bearing soldiers and swordsmen and mages and archers, numbering in thousands more than what she would ever have thought possible of Daein's remnant military. It was then Micaiah realized that surely this time, the vision playing before her was not of the near future. Rather, it seemed to be of the distant future. A grim future, dare she say. One that she wouldn't have wanted to wish upon anyone, even Begnion.

The mountainside leading down to the ravine-chasm frightened her beyond words. It was glistening brown, like shining mud. It was rolling down the mountainside at a steady pace, leaving trace amounts of the thick substance in it's wake. It took her only a minute to realize it was oil. But why would someone try to set fire to the mountainside when the Daein army was above it? That made absolutely no sense.

That was when she noticed the massive army lying helplessly below. They numbered at least ten times as many as her own, bearing flags of Begnion, Crimea and their respective Holy Guards. They numbered at least fifty thousand. Micaiah, not herself but rather her vision of herself, didn't seem daunted by the massive army. In fact, she seemed to be condescending of them. Not arrogantly so, but she certainly wasn't afraid of them. And she didn't seem threatened by the pegasus knights they had, whom were actually capable of assailing the Daein army.

Suddenly Micaiah cried out, "Fire!" as she waved her arm to the side. Fireballs and flaming arrows struck the oil-covered mountainside, following the oil trail all the way to the bottom where it struck the waiting enemy. Hard. The screams of burning men, trapped and unable to escape and forced to watch their inevitable death advance on them, made Micaiah wince in disdain. She chanced a glance toward Sothe standing beside her; he looked equally, if not even more disgusted as he watched. That only made her feel worse.

Micaiah brought her hand up in preparation to issue another order, but the words never left her mouth as Sothe was suddenly torn from the ground, and in the blink of an eye was being suspended over the blazing mountainside by what seemed to be a member of the bird tribe of Laguz. His wings were broad, their span likely longer than his body was, and his already narrowed eyes were filled with a rage so unspeakable that it had Micaiah frozen in fear. All she could do was helplessly cry, "Sothe!" as she watched him try in vain to escape the Laguz's grasp.

"T-Tibarn..." Sothe gasped out desperately.

Tibarn ignored him, keeping his eyes set on Micaiah. "You make another move, and he gets a lesson in flying." For emphasis he dropped Sothe, ignoring Micaiah's cry of distress as he swooped down, catching Sothe by the throat and returning to his previous altitude.

"Hey, Ike!" he called suddenly. "Looks like those bastards were a decoy after all."

Micaiah seemed ready to ask why he was calling out to Ike, but didn't get the chance to as the mercenary strode past her, peering over the cliffside at the damage below. "Awful," he muttered, seeming surprisingly unconcerned. "Ranulf and Titania already have this area surrounded. These guys aren't going anywhere."

"Good," Tibarn replied through gritted teeth, involuntarily tightening his grip around Sothe's throat. Sothe clawed helplessly at the claw around his throat, gasping desperately for air all the while. His skin was paleing. "This is disgusting."

Micaiah invaded their disturbingly casual conversation suddenly, crying desperately, "Tell him to let Sothe go!"

Ike spun around to face her suddenly, freezing her in place with his eyes alone. Micaiah herself could feel the nervousness radiating from her envisioned self, and all she could do was pray that the nervous feeling came from fear and was not born of yet undetermined factors, as her every sense was indicating it to be. Ike looked over his shoulder at the burning mountainside before replying in a dangerously low tone, "Absolutely not."

"W-why?" Micaiah found herself asking, as though she didn't already know the answer.

"You didn't seem to care about their lives," Ike replied, tossing his head back. "Why should I care about his?"

Micaiah shrank away, the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified by that fierce look Ike was giving her. Micaiah again prayed to all known goddesses that the sudden knee-weakening sensation was out of fear. "B-but..."

"I'm offering you a choice," Ike growled, ignoring her feeble attempts at disuading him from killing Sothe. "Return to Daein, and keep your lives. Or, you can stay here and die. After seeing this, I really don't care if Tibarn drops Sothe into your mess."

"We can't," Micaiah replied, suddenly firm. "Think us insane if you will, but our only option is to fight."

"Ike," Tibarn laughed, waving the arm holding Sothe as though he were a toy for his amusement, "looks like you and Elincia have an ally in insanity."

"Hmph," Ike scoffed, thoroughly annoyed.

"Ike, it seems to be a lost cause." A frail looking man, perhaps a year or two younger than Ike, pushed his way forward, surrounded by a small entourage of beast Laguz, strands of raven black hair flying every which way as he walked. "They are determined to die. Drop him, Tibarn."

"Stop!" All eyes suddenly flew to the ravine, where a circle of pegasus knights were rising, the Apostle seated behind the rider in the center. "Please, Ike... No more. No more fighting..."

Ike sighed, palming his face and shaking his head. "Fine, we'll retreat." He sent a warning glare Micaiah's way and, as he passed her by, said, "I suggest you do the same. I don't know how long I can hold my men back."

"But I...!"

"Fine," Ike shrugged. He waved a hand over his head, "Drop him, Tibarn."

---

Odd way to end the chapter, I know. But this is important for my plan to repair the mess that was Part 4, so bear with me. This sort of ending will only happen every now and then, so don't expect it to be a consistant thing.

On another note, this chapter was far longer than I anticipated: forty-three pages, and over twenty-five thousand words long. Longer than a small children's book... huh. Hopefully they won't drag on this long too often, but in my defense there was a lot to pack into this chapter.