Author's notes: Finally it's ready! Can you believe I had this half finished since Christmas? Then I got an arrow in the knee and a writer's block followed. Well, better late than never I guess. Well, anyway real life is pushing hard now and I think you will have to wait for another chapter for a few weeks. Sorry. Reviews motivate me, but I don't think I can make it much faster.

Thanks for those who reviewed! Normally I'd try to go over them one-by-one, but I'm in a hurry. Maybe next time? Now I'l just settle with saying that:

This will follow canon maybe to battle of Tarbes or a little farther. We'll see. Not everything will be focusing on canon though!

I did get a beta, some might have noticed the slight improvements in chapter one, but there was complications and we'll see if I have to get anoher one.

End notes.

Thinking

"Speaking"

Spells, or setting

Flashback

=Change in POV=

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 4

Engage!

Camp in the forest near La Rochelle

"Good job with the ambush Mister Fouquet, I heard you did quite well until the… interlopers came." The Masked man congratulated Marche after he dismounted his griffin. He hadn't told Marche his name because of what Marche interpreted as distrust, so Marche had pegged him as Masked man in his head.

"Interlopers?" Marche shrugged at the compliment, but inwardly he swore that the man called him Mister Fouquet because he wanted to annoy him with the false name.

"Oh yes. The two with the dragon were not originally part of the escort. According to our informant they are friends with one of the escorts and were curious when he left the Academy without informing them," Marche was sure that the Masked man was grinning when he stressed the next words, "so your ambush failed because of simple bad luck. My condolences."

"Shut up. The ambush failed, no matter the reasons. I'm trying again as soon as I can." Marche went straight into business. He didn't like the Masked man, so he wanted to be done with this already.

"Of course. But this time, I'm joining you. Can't have your luck mess everything up again." The Masked man added the last part with just a hint of mirth in his voice. Marche really felt like punching him in the face now, especially because he was right, even if he didn't know how right. He knew Marche had the luck to run into knight captain when on the run and to have his ambush fail because some guy forgot to tell his girlfriends that he was leaving on a mission. What he didn't know, was that Marche had now fumbled twice with grimoires of unimaginable power and both times they had thrown him into some escapist dreamlands and that he was mistaken for a famous fugitive five minutes after arriving in this world. Truly, Marche felt like some divine being was toying with him and he didn't want to be reminded of it every time he talked to his employer.

"Hmph. Help is appreciated, even if not needed. I take it you have some information about the messengers whereabouts in the city?" Marche waved at the mercenaries who had distanced themselves from the discussion to join in. No reason to keep the information about their target secret. Also, even though he couldn't see it, it would make the Masked man frown. Guy was a noble after all, so he was raised to look down on the commoners.

"Yes. They have booked rooms from the fanciest hotel in town, called the Goddess's Temple, while waiting for their ship to leave the day after tomorrow. The place is a former castle redesigned as a hotel for wealthy travelers. And by wealthy, I mean the most disgustingly rich nobles on the top of the ladder. Place is as decorated as the royal palace in Tristain and has a small army of commoners as the staff." The Masked man explained. Marche wasn't sure if the man had something against the owner –noble no doubt– showing off his wealth or if he tried to provoke Marche and the mercenaries, but he shrugged it off as irrelevant. What mattered was that the place was a castle, repurposed, but still a castle. Bum rush would be a stupid decision, even if there were no professional soldiers patrolling the walls.

"What kind of security does the place have? Some bouncers at the gates and a small guard to keep the quests and their money safe? " Marche asked.

"Something like that, yes. But they can be bought off. Speaking of which, we should hire more mercenaries. There are plenty of them around, most fresh off from Albion." The Masked man proposed. Marche glanced at his employees, who didn't look too happy with the idea of more mercenaries to share the loot with. Not that Marche had planned to let them loot the place. He had nothing against little spoils of war; in fact he had planned to take the swordsman's magic sword as a prize himself. But the point was that the hotel was not their enemy, it was their battlefield. Bad enough that they will wreck the place with their fighting, Marche didn't want to rob them blind too, although owner of this hotel apparently had more than enough money…

"I don't think that's necessary. With you, there's a good dozen of us. With a good plan, we can take them." Marche said, a plan already formulating in his mind.

"Really? Remember that there are five mages, three of which have already bested you twice and one of them is a square class mage knight captain. Not to mention the swordsman who has proven to be capable of subduing a mage by himself. You think ten mercenaries and two mages can handle them?" The Masked Man asked, his voice sounding a bit indignant to Marche's ears. As if dismissing their combat ability was an insult to him.

"With a good plan, yes. True, I've fought most of them twice, but both times I was winning until their reinforcements attacked me from behind. Also, since I have experience fighting them, I know their capabilities, while I'm sure they don't know all my tricks yet. Only Wardes and the blue haired midget are real trouble. The redhead is too emotional, she makes mistakes when others are in trouble. The swordsman has only notable speed and strength, his skill is nothing special. The other man I did not see fighting, but he appeared green as grass. He'll probably panic once a real attack starts. The pink haired girl has firepower, but no aim or experience." Marche listed what he had learned from his fights.

"Hmph. They are still mages. One big spell and we're down." The Masked Man said firmly.

"Yes. But only two of them can hold their own in a melee. If we fight them inside the castle, we can not only restrict their usage of big spells, but force them into a close combat." Marche explained with equally firm voice. The mercenaries were deep in thought, no doubt calculating their chances of survival.

"Also, if there are too many of us, we'll just get into each other's way when we fight." Marche added and glanced at the mercenaries. If he had them on his side, the Masked Man would accept his plan easier.

"You are correct about that. But I still think that we should at least another dozen of soldiers, just in case." The Masked Man decided to compromise. Marche was about to decline, but one of the older mercenaries stepped forward.

"That's good. I think Boss here thinks too highly of us. Sure we are competent soldiers, but it takes incredible skill for a swordsman to defeat a mage, even with the advantages he's planned." The mercenary's voice was rough, but full of experience. He wore a standard chain mail as did all the other mercs, but his upper arm had a red cloth tied around it, probably proof of some sort of rank in his mercenary band. His face was covered by bushy brown facial hair eyebrows included and there were many scars jutting out of the hairy mass.

"Okay then. I have more experience in leading smaller groups, but let's do it like that then." Marche admitted. It was true that he might be overestimating his mercenaries' abilities, since he had only seen one Halkeginian swordsman in action and that one had a magic sword enchanting his ability.

"Good. Since we have that thought out for now, I'll head over to La Rochelle for now. I'll meet you in the market square near the hotel at tomorrow evening. That should be long enough for you to hire more help." The Masked Man said and gave Marche a medium sized pouch of heavy coins. Haven't they invented bills in here? I swear if the nobility had no magic to intimidate others to submission, they could maim the commoners with their wallets! Marche thought as he hanged the heavy pouch on his belt. He then waved his arm to the man as a goodbye when he mounted his griffin and took the skies.

"Okay, you heard the man. Pack the camp so we can leave. If you're fast, we'll probably reach the city after nightfall," Marche commanded the gathered mercs, but he then stopped the one who had spoken, "Wait. What's your name soldier?"

"Ah, I'm just a Wilhelm. I'm what you could consider a sergeant in an army," the man exclaimed and pointed towards his armband, "see? It's simple enough way to recognize us mercs. We had a captain too, but he was killed in Albion. I guess that should make me the captain now, but I'm not interested."

"I see. Well, since it seems we'll be accomplices for a while, you'll be my second-in-command for now." Marche decided and offered his hand to the old soldier.

"Sure thing Boss." Wilhelm said and shook his hand. He had a strong grip, Marche noted the obvious.

"Don't call me that. I have a name and that's–" Marche tried to say, but Wilhelm shook his head at that.

"With all due respect –or lack of it Boss, I don't care. You see, when you live as long as I do in this business, you'll notice how people tend to die. No reason for me to get to know you that well, when you –or I– die in the next battle. You did good last battle, but we'll see how long you last. Or I for the matter, if all your battle plans are like that. You youngsters tend to overestimate yourselves and underestimate others." Wilhelm explained and shook his head and let go of Marche's hand, before walking away.

"I see. A bit pessimistic that, don't you think?" Marche said to his back, not getting an answer.

The next day, port city La Rochelle

"Boss! Wake up! Have information!" Marche was woken up from his slumber by a grumpy mercenary almost kicking down the shoddy door to Marche's rented room. Groggily Marche stood up from his bed and stretched a little to loosen up. His evening had stretched a bit too late for his tastes, after his company had run into some old friends at a bar and then insisted that Marche would hire them there and then. Haggling with drunken mercenaries wasn't the best thing to do before trying to sleep and Marche had found himself rolling in his bed trying to calm down an hour after he and the mercenary leader had managed to agree with the price of their services. Can't things go my way every once in a while? Marche groaned to himself as he got up from his bed.

"What? This better be good", Marche threw a glare at the man.

"Sorry Boss, but Wilhelm said you'd be interested in this", the mercenary answered a bit sheepishly and hurried to explain, "you wanted us to report what the messengers party was up to, right? It seems they had some sort of internal strife during the night. That mage knight and the swordsman started dueling just before I left."

"What! Really?" Marche asked, his voice incredulous, "You sure they were dueling? Not just having a morning sparring session to keep their skills up?" Sure he had just asked for things to go his way for once, but this was suspicious as hell.

"Pretty sure, yeah. I mean, they even asked for the pink haired mage to be a witness for them. Didn't hear what they were dueling for, though", the mercenary elaborated. Marche frowned and massaged his temples, trying to puzzle together what was going on. Maybe the swordsman was angry at Wardes for leaving the rest of the group to their own devices? But is that enough of a reason for him to question the elder man's leadership like that? Stupid Wilhelm, he should have gathered more information before sending someone to get me! Marche thought angrily, but then took a deep breath to calm himself. No. He did the right thing. I'm just being moody because I missed some sleep. Wilhelm's probably going to send a more detailed report after the duel, Marche reasoned to himself. For a few seconds he thought about going to see the duel himself, he might be able to see the finale if he hurried, but then dismissed the idea because he might be recognized. He had after all fought the swordsman and his companions twice already at close quarters, no doubt his shoddy disguise wouldn't fool them for a second.

"You know what? I'm going back to sleep. Wilhelm's probably going to send somebody to report the conclusion of the duel. You stand guard there at my door and then let the guy report to me if the duel ends with death of a participant or if the group breaks because of the aftermath. Goodnight" Marche stated his case and went back to sleep. He wanted to be in top condition for the evening. While he had stated to the Masked man that he had lost against the swordsman's group only because of their reinforcements, they were still losses and that hurt his pride more than he wanted to admit. Thus far he had had such a trouble only with Llednar Twem and back then it was because of the guy's invincibility. These were just spoiled noble kids with no real battle experience! If Ritz –or worse, Doned– heard about this, he'd be teased forever! Third times the charm Marche, he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

Midnight, nearby the Goddess's Temple

"Is everything ready? Are the guards taken care of?" Marche checked the night's setups from the fidgeting mercenaries. All seemed to be in order and the only thing stopping Marche from ordering his men to infiltrate the repurposed castle was, that his accomplice wasn't there. Where is that man? Should I begin the attack without him? Marche pondered. The Masked man was practically his superior, seeing he was the one who hired and paid him. It would be insubordination if he went off without him after he had announced that he would join Marche in the next battle. No such problems when I was the clan leader, Marche thought idly before turning back to the matter at hand.

"Check the neighboring streets once more. You said the targets were having some sort of party, right? In that case we can still wait for some time. With luck, they'll party themselves out", Marche ordered the men and threw a glance at the hotel. One of the rooms that were informed to Marche as being rented by the messenger's party had a silhouette at the window. Marche guessed it was the loser of the morning's duel, who was apparently sulking about the outcome of the duel. Marche found himself a bit miffed that the familiar swordsman had lost, though he reasoned that it was because the duel was not as severe as he would have wished. Both duelists were still more or less capable of combat tonight. Well, at least I get to finish my fight with him and those two girls, Marche thought and rested his hands on his weapons handles, third times the charm, right?

"Boss!" Marche was roused from his thoughts by some mercenaries arriving with the Masked man.

"Finally! What took you so long?" Marche snapped at the man the moment he came close.

"Good evening to you too, Fouquet. I had some business to conduct… Nothing that should inconvenience tonight's battle, I assure you", the Masked man shrugged.

"Don't call me that. Anyway, shall we begin then?" Marche stretched his arms a bit in preparation.

"Yes, let's begin", the Masked man said and drew a black wand from his belt, but Marche caught his hand.

"Not now. If we burst in waving wands, they'll be on guard the moment they see us. Nobody pulls weapons until we are as close to them as possible. Remember that we have the edge in melee", Marche explained, noticing how his magic sense buzzed with the touch. Is he under some sort of enchantment or is it just the clothes? Marche thought idly. He himself was currently buffed up with both of his combat enchantments, it would only make sense that the other mage would do something similar.

"Hmm. Pretending to be late travelers? It could work. But let the soldiers go in first. You would be recognized the moment you step inside. Or did you already forget that rather sizeable bounty you have on your head?" The Masked man asked and Marche shook his head.

"Ah, I'm not going in from the front. You will go in from the front. I will take few men with me and circle in around the back. Cut off their escape route, you know?" Marche explained, emphasizing his point by drawing a circle in the air with his free hand.

"I'm afraid that will not do Fouquet. Remember that our employer's plans require that the messenger reaches the prince. Your job is to take care of the escorts. If we can push them to a corner here, they will probably split their group, leaving most of the escorts to fight, while the Messenger makes her way to the docks. I will strike when she lower her guard, thinking she's safe when boarding her ship", the Masked man reminded Marche, who felt a little embarrassed bout forgetting his mission. It's because I'm essentially playing a decoy here, didn't actually do that in Ivalice, Marche reasoned, I'm used to being the one who has to do the important part.

"Oh, forgot that. Sure, go ahead", Marche let go of the man's wrist and watched him disappear into the shadows. He then turned to his men and commanded them to move, positioning himself in the middle of the group and hiding his hair under the cloaks hood, so that he wouldn't be recognized so easily.

The Goddess's temple

The words "epic fail" echoed in Marche's mind as he evaded a flying spike of ice by a hairs breadth and dived behind an upturned table. He knew it wouldn't stop bigger spells, but it obscured his movements from the enemies while he assessed the situation. The knight captain had recognized him almost immediately and before Marche or his men could get even halfway across the room, they were bombarded with wind, fire and ice. Quick glance around the table revealed that the enemies had too taken cover behind a table and Marche buried all thoughts about getting close to the enemy mages when two metal constructs shimmered into existence before the cover.

"Get back and use your bows!" Marche ordered his men and spun the Terre rod in his right hand, "I'll cover you, Blizzard!" Icy blue energy flashed before the rod and as Marche pointed it towards the closing female shaped constructs, a large ice spike appeared and launched itself towards the farther one, impaling it brutally through the chest. He then leaped out of his cover and sliced the remaining one in half with the Manganese saber, crouching immediately when his saber met no more resistance and rolling to the side, evading an angrily crackling fireball. Marche recovered from his roll and countered with a Fire of his own, sending the noticeably smaller fire orb straight at the overturned table that his enemies were using as a shield much like Marche too had a second ago.

Getting their cover set ablaze seemed to cause a brief panic amongst some of the enemy mages as their bombardment stopped for a moment to put out the flames, allowing Marche to take cover again. It also allowed the mercenaries to take positions with their crossbows and the next attempt to throw a spell at Marche was answered with a hail of bolts, locking the battle in a stalemate. Neither side could advance without the other one opening fire.

Let's see them handle this, Marche thought as he crouched behind his own cover, yet another upturned table, and prepared one of his more unique Blue magic spells. In a flash of light Marche conjured a mass of yellow gelatinous substance, which he then propelled in an arch to land behind the scorched table the enemies were using as their shield. Acid was not appropriately named nor very destructive spell since it couldn't dissolve living material or any material at all. The gelatin merely seeped into clothing and other objects, covering them in a rubber like membrane which while not really movement impending, made most weapons useless until they were either cleansed or the membrane dried and fell off. Also it tended to freak out the more sheltered type of girls; it was, after all, weaponized Flan drool. Girls here did not know that bit of trivia, but the feminine shrieks that followed the dull splat of the projectile hitting the ground, told Marche that his attack was successful. Marche smirked as he peered around his table and saw the Messengers cover covered in yellow jelly. One of the mages actually jumped up and tried to clumsily brush the jelly off of his clothes, but his companions pulled him down, before he was turned into a pincushion.

Marche's joy was short lived, however, when a sudden blast of wind threw his cover, him and all airborne bolts into the air. During his brief fly, Marche saw the Messengers group split up, with the pink (now decidedly more yellowish) haired runeseeker escape towards the kitchen along with the knight captain and the swordsman. Leaving no melee support? Oh right, one of them can summon golems better prioritize him, Marche thought and sought out the male mage with his gaze, just in time to see that the formerly red haired mage had taken advantage of the wind barrier and started to chant for a spell. What little Marche remembered about this world's mages screamed at him that long chants equaled more power, so he should stop the chat as soon as possible.

Unfortunately Marche's landing was anything but gentle and when he got back on his feet, the fire mage was already waving her wand as the chant neared its finale. Marche knew he was too late to stop the spell, but he still sprinted towards the mage, trusting in his boosted abilities to see him through.

The spell, a lance of flames, burst forth from the mages wand and tried to impale Marche, but thanks to his enchanted performace he managed to barely dodge it, but thanks to his Mighty Guard it didn't really damage him. The fire mage seemed surprised that Marche could dodge the spell and he was all too well prepared to deliver a crippling blow to her with his dragonbone rod, when a blue blur suddenly flew -Marche saw it literally did- onto his path and redirected his overhead strike to the ground, crushing the floorboards as if they had the same sturdyness as a potato chip.

Marche did not care though, he had already focused his attention to the new threat. Last time a blue blur had surprised him, it had turned out to be his ex-crippled little brother Doned. It had not been very pleasant or even friendly meeting. This time the blur turned out to be a girl. In fact, it appeared to be the diminutive beastmaster-ice mage that Marche had faced a few times before. Except this time she had apparently chosen a new class. She had donned a highly artistic, but still surprisingly functional bronze mail, topped with arm and legguards. The hand that did not hold the staff, was holding a simple shortsword, that appeared to have some small ornaments on the blade and handguard. Unlike most of the mages that Marche had met, she held the shortsword as if she had prior experience with such a weapon. It was intriguing, since Marche had found out that most nobles abhorred martial weapons as commoners tools. Only elite knights trained in both, even then they usually focused on magic. This will be interesting, Marche thought as the girl charged at him with unnatural speed.