Chapter Three

"Maybe archery just isn't our thing. We should try something else." Seth heaved a sigh at Dozla's now familiar words and strode towards the war pavilion before Forde could catch up to him and tell him how well he looked today. It was becoming increasingly difficult to rein in his impatience. It was true that if he were to do something unbecoming of a knight– such as knocking a comrade upside the head for instance– no one would remember it half a day later, but the fracas it would cause was, frankly, too much trouble to bother with.

He managed to reach the pavilion ahead of Forde and all was as it had always been. L'Arachel was still berating Rennac. Innes was looking as haughty as ever as he pointed to the map. Lute was still inspecting the pale, twisted staff. It was she who was his target to today. Knoll, Artur, Myrrh, as well as subsequent visits with Saleh, had all proven equally uninformative. No matter how he chose to phrase his questions (and he had gone so far as to propose his exact predicament as a theoretical situation) no one had been able to offer any insight. He had even stooped to asking Ewan but the young mage had only found Seth's idea delightful and gabbled about how wonderful it would be to be able to have no consequences to deal with– no one to berate you for not attending your studies or for pulling a particularly clever prank.

Seth heaved a sigh. It might have been bearable if not for the battle, if not for the way troubles seemed to follow Eirika like a curse.

"Hello there, general!" Seth grimaced as Forde stepped into the tent and came to join him. "You're looking well this evening.

A grunt was all Seth managed as a reply.

Kyle moved to join them. "Sir Seth, are you–"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Are–"

"Yes. Everything is fine." He had taken to avoiding the briefing as often as possible, but since Lute had proven tricky to track down in the evening, speaking to her after the briefing seemed his best option.

Kyle's brow crinkled and Forde was staring at Seth with raised eyebrows. But what did his rudeness mean when all this would be as nothing by tomorrow? What did anything he say matter while they were all trapped in this endless circle?

"I apologise for pressing you, general," Kyle said slowly, perhaps, Seth thought, worried that he'd caused offence. "It's just that I wanted to ask if you've noticed–"

"Yes I've noted the ill-effects of the woods. You can tell the footmen and any others who ask that this is an ill-fated place indeed, that Riev's forces are gathering in the woods as we speak and that tomorrow's battle will change all our fates." If we ever see the morrow...

Kyle was staring openly now but finally managed to stammer a "Yes, general." He hesitated a moment then, but before he could even begin to ask his question, Seth jumped in.

"Commander Syrene will be coming with Princess Eirika and Princess Tana in a moment."

No sooner had he said the words than the three walked into the war pavilion leaving Forde and Kyle goggling at him. Seth heaved a sigh and waited for Ephraim to begin the meeting and for his chance to jump in and speed things up. Briefings were tedious enough the first time around let alone the fifth.

ooo

"And if you position the archers here," Seth said pointing to the map, "then we should have an advantage over our foes. And," he continued before Innes could object as he had on previous occasions when the formation had been suggested by Ephraim, "if we position my unit here, we can protect them from flanking attacks."

Duessel, Ephraim, and most everyone in the room was nodding– as well they should since this was the plan they had all agreed upon every other time, though normally it took twice as long to reach an agreement.

Innes was staring at the map, eyes narrowed in concentration, but finally he too nodded. "I approve."

"In that case I think we can adjourn," Ephraim announced. "Nicely done, Seth."

"Thank you, Lord Ephraim," Seth replied with a bow. If only they would hurry up and leave he could get on with speaking to Lute. By now he had little reason to hope she would know more than any of the others had, but it couldn't be worse than the time he'd run into L'Arachel and decided to ask her on the off chance she had any useful information to offer. What he'd gotten was an earful about the power of righteousness and how it would smite injustice and thwart evil. Nothing to tell him how he'd gotten into this situation or how to get out of it. Unless of course he'd committed a crime and this was some strange form of penance.

"Seth." He turned, his heart skipping as Eirika addressed him. He usually tried to duck out before she could speak to him. "That was impressive."

"Thank you, Princess," he replied, offering a bow. Warning her about the battle was of little use. No matter what he did she always ended up in danger somehow. He'd warned her to check her mare's shoe and though that was taken care of she ended up being waylaid by a sentry and once again attacked by a pair of gwyllgis. He'd tried finding excuses to stay by her side or to have her stay by his through the battle, but somehow they always become separated and the gwyllgis always came as if they had her scent, as if they were tracking her.

"Would you have time to spar with me this evening?"

He bowed his head. "I don't think that will be possible, my lady." Her brow crinkled and he plowed on before she could ask and before she would begin to wonder again if he was trying to avoid her. "I have reason to believe that Riev's forces are gathering on the edge of the woods and will attack shortly before dusk."

"What? Seth, how do you know that?

"I cannot explain at this time. For now I can only ask that you trust me, my lady." He hated having to ask for her trust day in and day out as if he were reciting lines. Even before asking he knew what her answer would be. Did that not rob his request of all integrity? Even if his intentions were good, it seemed manipulative somehow. Surely human interactions could only be meaningful if there was risk involved, uncertainty...

Eirika stared at him fixedly for several moments and finally nodded... as he'd known she would. "Of course, Seth."

"I apologise, Princess Eirika, but I have something I must take care of. Could I impose upon you to warn Lord Ephraim? I'll join you shortly."

"All right. But Seth, are you sure..."

"Yes, my lady, I'm certain. Please forgive me," he added, bowing his head once again. If he could simply tell her... but she would think him mad. And he wouldn't blame her.

She nodded and then headed out of the pavilion. He waited until he was certain she would not return before walking over to the collapsible table in the centre of the pavilion where Lute was poring over that odd wooden staff.

"I was wondering if I might speak with you."

Lute glanced up and peered at him as if he were a species of insect that she'd not seen before. "Do you have need of my genius?"

Seth's eyebrows arched ever so slightly. "Well yes, I suppose you might say that. I'd like to consult you on matters related to a peculiar situation which might involve sorcery of an obscure nature."

Lute drew herself up. "In that case you're speaking to the correct individual. There's simply no one better than me, especially in matters of esoteric magical knowledge."

"I'm... glad to hear that," Seth said, taking a seat on one of the collapsible stools set around the table. "I wish to ask if you've ever heard of a situation such as the one I describe. A single individual is somehow afflicted with a curse that causes him or her to relive the same day over and over with that person being the only one aware of the situation. Is there any precedent for something of that sort?"

"Oh I'm familiar with that legend," she said in an off-hand manner, her attention returning to the staff.

"Oh?" Seth said, trying to rein in the sudden burst of hope that flared to life, lifting his flagging spirits.

"A man offended the gods and, as punishment, he was tasked with rolling a stone to the top of a hill. But the stone always rolled down before it reached the top and he was forced to begin again over and over. The story you mention is a similar motif, a situation of utter frustration and futility."

"I see," Seth said gravely, his hope turning to ash in an instant. "Was there no succour for the man, then?"

"No," Lute replied vaguely. "But he'd committed a number of unforgivable crimes and was guilty of hubris in the face of the gods."

Hubris. Overweening pride and presumption. Eirika's face flickered before his mind's eye. He had taken care to rein in his words, his actions, but his heart's overleaping ambition knew no bounds.

"Thank you for your time," he said quietly. Lute, her attention entirely taken up by the pale wooden staff, did not bother to reply.

Holding back a sigh at yet another dead end, Seth tried to convince himself that there were yet other avenues to investigate. The woods themselves could somehow be the culprit. They were, after all, rife with evil magic. Surely there must be something causing his predicament. Punishment from the gods seemed an unlikely explanation. If he had done something worthy of such punishment they would surely not be so unjust as to force everyone else into this perpetual torment as well.

For a minute or so he watched Lute as she continued to carefully inspect the staff. Her attention to detail was impressive. "What manner of staff is that precisely?"

"I'm not entirely certain," she replied, never taking her eyes off the staff. "It's very unusual. I've never seen anything like it before, though it does bear some similarities to staves mentioned in the book of Sisyphium, chapter three, paragraph forty-three."

"Is that so?" Seth's replied, stifling a groan. He should have known better than to expect a straight answer from the peculiar mage.

"Yes. It is so. I've been trying to find the time to make a detailed study of it since Prince Ephraim handed it over. He said it was discovered in the treasury in Grado's capital. It's quite peculiar. See these marking?" She pointed to a series of what looked (to him anyway) like scratches on the underside of one of the twists of the wood.

"What about them?"

"They're ancient runic inscriptions. They're somewhat faded, but from what I've been able to decipher the staff is somehow related to time."

"Time?" Seth prodded, perking up at this information.

Lute nodded. "Activating it should be a simple enough matter but I'm not sure yet of its exact effects on the target. It's possible it's meant for battle and freezes the target in place, for instance, making him vulnerable to attacks. Or it might slow down time in the user's area, making him appear to his enemies to move faster."

"I see," Seth said quietly. "You said it was discovered in Grado?"

"Yes. It seems to be very rare and quite ancient. It's an amazing discovery. In fact–"

She broke off and started as Knoll paused at the entrance of the pavilion. He asked something of one of the sentries and then disappeared into camp. "Excuse me," Lute said hurriedly, leaping to her feet, and strode out of the war tent before Seth could so much as formulate a question.

Though he waited a good ten or so minutes Lute did not return. But then he supposed there was not much more that he had to ask her in any case. Her theories about the staff were interesting, but there was still nothing to suggest it was the cause of his predicament. Except... hadn't she said that one time around the campfires that her staff had been missing?

"Sir Seth." He turned as a foot soldier appeared in the doorway. "Lord Ephraim is asking for you."

With a nod, Seth rose but then paused for a moment, looking back at the pale staff. He supposed he could return here later. And if that didn't work there was always tomorrow... so to speak.

ooo

It was not the first time he'd had to convince Ephraim of the reality of the imminent attack. By now he knew exactly what to say and what to avoid. He felt very much like an actor in a tired play and it was difficult to summon enough enthusiasm to be at all convincing. All the while, Eirika's eyes were fixed on him and he could see the concern in her features. He felt a pang knowing that he was forever worrying her so.

By the time he was able to tear himself away from the battle preparations, the sun was precariously low. He arrived at the war tent in time to see Garcia and Dozla exiting, the latter gripping the staff and then swinging it over his shoulder as one might an axe.

"Just what we need to practice with," Dozla was saying.

Seth groaned. It seemed Lute was mistaken in her assumption that Knoll was responsible for her staff going missing.

Hesitating a moment as the two bury axe-wielders-turned-mages strolled away, Seth made up his mind and set off after them, remaining at a discreet distance. There was still time before the battle; after all, he had the timing down almost perfectly by now.

"Sir Seth!" he didn't slow as one of the soldiers called out to him and had to set off at a trot to catch up to him. "Sir Kyle was asking after you. You're needed on the battle line."

"I'll be coming shortly," Seth replied without bothering to turn and look at the man. They were players, all of them, it seemed, all known to him from performance after performance. He had heard it all before and he knew his lines well by now."Tell everyone to have the archers ready behind the front lines. And ask Princess Eirika to check her mare's front left shoe. I thought I saw a limp in her stride earlier."

The soldier hesitated a moment before giving a curt nod. "Yes, general."

Ahead of him, Garcia and Dozla were chatting merrily about their endeavour of mastering conjuring as they headed towards the outskirts of camp. Whatever they'd been up to this evening it seemed they'd not been made aware of the impending attack– a fact which only made things more complicated. They came to a halt when they reached a glade by the eastern edge of camp and began their "training".

It was with a mounting sense of irritation that Seth watched the men swinging the staff around as if it were an axe; their voices, too, had become grating after all this time. When the inevitable finally happened and the staff thumped Garcia quite soundly on the head, Seth could not help but roll his eyes.

"My apologies," said Dozla as Garcia, rubbing his head, straightened and glowered at his oafish companion.

It was getting late. He needed to head back to camp to prepare for battle, yet the lure of something new and possibly helpful to his cause kept him rivetted to the spot, watching the two men as they blundered about.

"Here I'll use the staff to heal that in a jiff," Dozla announced. He began waving his arms wildly and muttering something Seth could not make out. But this time, instead of whacking a much warier Garcia, the staff began to glow. "See? It's working!" A pale light emanated from the staff in slow pulses and then suddenly a jet of flame blazed towards Garcia. Garcia cursed as he smothered embers in what was left of his badly singed beard.

But all at once the angle of the sun set Seth's heart racing. It was time to go. The attack would begin soon and he must play his designated role as he did day in and day out.

It was when he was saddling his horse that he realized something was terribly wrong for there was Eirika's mare and Eirika herself, nowhere to be seen. By now she should have been inspecting the mare's shoe, but she was nowhere in sight. "Have you seen Princess Eirika?" he asked the nearest soldier, a young man who'd lost his left arm early in the war but insisted on continuing with them as groomsman and general aid.

"Aye, general. She was here not ten minutes ago. Her mare's thrown a shoe though so she decided to go afoot. I offered to saddle another horse for her ladyship but..." He shrugged.

Seth cursed under his breath. He hurried to finish saddling his horse who snorted in protest as he tightened the girth with a jerk. His mind raced as he traced her steps and calculated the timing of it all. He should not have lingered so long watching his comrades make buffoons of themselves.

His heart leaped into his throat when the sounds of battle washed over the camp. He was late.

Seth heeled his horse and charged. The gwyllgis that had so often attacked her here, on the outskirts of their camp, were nowhere to be seen. His heart pounded, for neither was Eirika.

When he arrived, their forces were already heavily engaged with the first wave of monsters that had emerged from Darkling Woods. Scanning the battle line for the distinctive crimson of her tunic, he tried to locate Eirika in the fray. Panic gripped him as he was unable to spot her.

He drew his sword and cut a path through the ranks of gwyllgi and bael before him. There were Kyle and Forde hacking away at a scuttling bael that had nearly broken through their lines. A trio of gargoyles swooped low but were shot down by archers in short order. The triple howl from the three heads of a dying gwyllgi carried through the air like an ill wind and still he could not find her.

He should never have left her side. He should never have let her leave his sight. It was his duty to protect her, to watch over her as he had sworn to King Fado, to Lord Ephraim, and to Eirika herself.

Through the battle cries and the monsters' shrieks, the sound of Eirika's scream pierced Seth's awareness like an arrow.

Seth turned his steed in the direction from which her cry had come and any tore through the beasts that dared come between him and his princess. The pounding of the blood in his temples was almost deafening and he found little relief when he finally caught a glimpse of her through the mayhem. Once again a group of enemies had sectioned her off from the rest of their troops, but, to his horror, he realized that this time there were three gwyllgi and Eirika had been struggling alone against them. Two lay dead but the third, though badly wounded, two of its three heads drooping limply like broken limbs, had taken her to the ground. Her sword, dulled with the creatures' rusty blood, lay on the grass out of reach. Seth arrived in time to watch the third beast leap towards her, knocking her flat against the earth while she tried to fend it off with only a dagger in hand. She jabbed the dagger into its side but it only snarled and its jaw plunged towards her throat. She managed to get her left arm up in time to block the blow, ramming her forearm into the creature's maw. She screamed as its jaws clamped down on her forearm.

"Eirika!"

But even as he was leaping out of the saddle, she managed to use her good arm to jab her dagger up into the gwyllgi's exposed throat. Its teeth still buried in her flesh, it gurgled a final breath and slumped forward, collapsing on top of her just as Seth reached her side.

His pulse thrummed in his temples so that he felt his skull might burst. She was so pale and the blood that splashed her armour was as bright as her tunic. "Princess," he managed, his voice hoarse as he reached towards her.

She opened eyes glazed with pain to look at him. "Seth?"

"I'll get you to the healers' tent, my lady," he assured her, "but I must free your arm."

She glanced down to where the slain gwyllgi's jaws were still clamped on her forearm, and what colour remained in her face drained away, but she nodded. He tore a swath of material from his surcoat; though the wound only oozed now, once he freed her arm it would bleed copiously.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he said and then grabbed hold of the gwyllgi's jaws and pried them open. She cried out as its fangs slid out of her flesh.

Seth heaved the gwyllgi's corpse away and immediately wrapped the torn strip of his surcoat around her mangled arm, trying to staunch the flow of blood that gushed from the wounds. It was more than just punctures from a simple bite. The beast had clamped down on the limb with the full force of its powerful jaws and Seth grimaced as he caught sight of splintered bone. He removed his belt and tied it around her upper arm. A half-stifled cry escaped her as he yanked it as tightly as he could and tied it off like a makeshift tourniquet. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. "I'm sorry."

Without further delay, her lifted her into his arms. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her skin, pale and clammy. "Stay awake," he said as firmly as he could but his voice quavered. His knees had turned to water.

"It hurts," she breathed, burying her face against his chest.

"I know," he whispered. "It won't be for long. I promise you."

As he lifted her onto his horse he knew she was biting her lip to keep from crying out again. She managed to stay upright long enough for him to swing himself up into the saddle behind her, but it seemed to use up the last of her strength for she slumped back against him then and was still. He jabbed his heels into his horse's side mercilessly as he tore over the battlefield, heedless of the state of the battle, of how many of the woods' infernal brood remained alive, focussed solely on reaching his destination.

Though it was a distance of only a few furlongs to the healers' pavilion, it seemed the longest ride of all his life, longer even than the night they'd fled Renais together, when it had been his own blood staining his armour as they rode into the darkness.