Chapter 2: Red Sun
Like breathing for the first time, the young woman felt herself sit up.
"Oh, Naga be praised, you're alive!" remarked a stunned but soft voice from the corner of the room. She identified its source immediately, though her vision was obscured by the shafts of pale daylight spearing the windows.
"Father Libra? What am I... how did I get here?" she scanned the room.
"Why, I brought you here," said the cleric with a faint smile, "Or did you mean 'how did you survive?' Because that I can't answer."
"Why did you bring me here?" she grasped her shoulder as it ached.
"I was out on the streets searching for survivors following that attack. Thank the gods I found you among them," he paced about the room a bit.
The young woman lifted an eyebrow, "You expressed surprise that I was alive when I first got up. You weren't looking for survivors. Tell me the truth: why did you recover me from that... battleground?"
His cheek pulled tautly at the corner of his mouth, "Perceptive as always. I... I must admit, you are correct, I was searching only for you. I saw you going into town earlier and when I heard about the attack... your father, for all he gave us, doesn't deserve to hear that his daughter's body was lost under a pile of ashes. I hope you and Naga both can forgive me my cowardice."
"Your fear is understandable, Father Libra," said the young woman cooly, "I certainly don't blame you for it." Saying this, she got up from the bed and cracked her neck.
"Are you going somewhere?" Libra inquired fearfully.
"Certainly. I'm going to let my father know his daughter isn't dead and to tell him that we need to rally up," the redheaded woman explained, tightening her boots.
"You can't go out there!" argued the blond cleric, "Who knows what those bloodthirsty mercenaries are up to now!"
"You suppose they're mercenaries?" she craned her neck back from the doorway of the modest house.
Libra pondered the question a moment before clicking his lips, "I must certainly hope so. If I am mistaken it would mean... Ylisse would be at war."
"Precisely why I need to find my father," the young woman decided, stroking a lock of her long hair back, briefly scowling at a patch that had been burnt to cinders.
"Will you at least swear not to do anything to endanger yourself?" implored the cleric. The woman opposite him said nothing and raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh, for..." he sighed, shaking his fist a bit, "At the very least, don't do anything rash."
She smiled slyly, mostly to herself, "I don't think I'm capable of rashness anymore, my father drilled it out of me."
"May Naga keep you," Libra prayed, "Morgan."
"Thank you, Father Libra. I wish you safety as well. Are you certain you'll be all right remaining so close to the attack?" wondered Morgan.
He nodded with an assured laugh, "This will be my penitence for failing to protect the other innocents in this bloodletting."
"Father Libra..." her face fell.
"Do not concern yourself with me, my child. I trust in Naga's will to give unto me what I am owed. Nothing more nor less," Libra shook his head, exhaling.
Morgan nodded and walked out of the doorway, shutting the creaking oak door behind her, allowing out a cloud of dust. She straightened her hair once more and continued forward.
[...]
"Father, you look so terribly grave," Lucina commented, raising her brow at the profile of the man that hadn't seemed to blink in well over an hour.
"War's not an exciting prospect to me these days, dear," he sighed, "but we have to be prepared if we must."
"We will be," the young blue-haired woman nodded at her father, smiling despite herself. Her father had told her so many tales of his battles in the days before she had come along. It certainly wasn't a subject about which he tended to prevaricate. Now, he was stone-faced and mute on the topic when it seemed the most pertinent. Lucina shrugged and kept marching alongside her father.
"It may be wise to prepare yourself, milord. We'll be entering the city shortly," provided Frederick, staring into the horizon.
"We'll be ready, Frederick," Chrom nodded at his comrade, clearing his throat.
"Will anyone else be joining us, father?" Lucina wondered, looking down to the hilt of her sword.
"No," he coughed, "small parties will be better for the moment. We don't wish to appear interested in war. We're only here for parley."
"Do you suppose the assailants feel the same?" Lucina frowned at her father.
"Lucina, keep it in check. We need to maintain level heads to prevent this from escalating into anything more devastating," the exalt growled.
"Even after they slaughtered a city full of innocents?" his daughter returned in the same tone.
"Lucina!" her father called, "We need to speak to them first, if nothing else. If we decide we need to retaliate, we'll do as much, but until then, enough!"
Lucina's eyes widened, and she dropped her face, "Yes, father." They proceeded through the initial block of commercial buildings, most of which had been spared the damage. As the small party continued, however, the devastation became more apparent, their eyes becoming filled with the dying ghosts of raging blazes and the scarlet-stained streets and walls, finding more crumbling and dilapidated structure as they marched wordlessly on.
It didn't take long for the party to arrive upon a man who walked the streets, dressed in an onyx robe. He wore a cowl that seemed to disguise his face, but the party could see a sort of sparkle in his eye as they seemed to catch his attention. He walked forward to meet them, "Damn me... if it isn't the exalt himself."
"And who are you, sir?" Chrom asked neutrally, bringing himself and his compatriots to a halt.
"I am called Lord Datura, sir," the man tilted his head to bow, "I suppose you are here to speak with those responsible for orchestrating the events that brought this city to ruin."
"That I am," the exalt nodded, tightening his expression.
"In that case, we should begin conversing," the ghost of a smile tugged at Datura's face.
"You mean you claim responsibility?" Chrom raised an eyebrow.
"I do, for this instance, at least," he shut his eyes.
"What do you mean 'this instance?'" Lucina chimed in.
"Exalt Chrom," Datura introduced formally, "Allow me to begin explaining your situation. You are now at the mercy of my men: ships are prepared to lay siege to all the remaining towns along the western coast of Ylisse, Plegia, and Regna Ferox. Further garrisons will be present on the eastern coasts in less than a week."
Chrom gritted his teeth, "You... expect us to take you at your word on that?"
He smiled beneath his cowl, "You are welcome to ignore my warning and allow the soldiers to devastate your nation."
"What is it you and your 'men' want?" Chrom crossed his arms.
"Oh, many things, exalt," the man chuckled to himself, "but, among them... I would like to request your resignation as exalt."
"What?" he scoffed, "Why? Do you so desperately wish my sister to have the position?"
He smiled once more, "Oh, no. Not at all. In truth, Exalt Chrom, the opinion of my men is that no one in the ruling family should own that throne any longer."
"Speak clearly, or not at all," commanded Frederick, leering at the man.
The man lowered his face and murmured, "Exalt Chrom, you fail to understand… let me be very clear: I do not desire any member of your royal family to hold the throne of Ylisse, now or ever more."
Chrom started and prepared to draw his blade, "That makes things quite clear, I suppose. Tell me, though, why does Valm wish harm upon Ylisse? We saved your continent from the brink of ruin!"
"You saved nothing!" growled Datura, a swath of his chrome hair dropping out from beneath his cowl, "...But do not mistake me, I am not your adversary."
"Not my adversary? You said you meant to kill me!" the exalt rolled his eyes.
The man gave up his chuckling and laughed outright, "You still fail to understand. It does not matter."
"Enough of this!" Lucina railed, "Have at you, dastard!" The princess leapt at the man in the cowl, but felt her wrist apprehended, as well as a solid sensation on the back of her head that caused her to collapse.
"Now, we can't have that, can we?" mused Lord Datura, his enormous and broad-shouldered subordinate sidling beside him.
"Lucina!" Chrom shouted after his fallen daughter, "I'll kill you myself!" Much like Lucina, Chrom leapt forward, careful this time to evade the large man and take a broad swipe at the man beneath the cowl. The exalt was faster than Datura had expected, and he cut a ruby streak across the man's cheek, causing him to double back.
Withdrawing his somewhat bloodied hand, the man beneath the cowl only smirked once more, "Now that's an act of war if I've ever seen one." Snapping his fingers, Datura motioned for his subordinate to attack the exalt. Chrom backed up and prepared his weapon, but it didn't seem to matter, in an instant, the mountain of a man was upon him and disarmed him as if plucking a bug from his hair. Chrom tried to thrust Falchion at the hulk, but he only grabbed the blade, letting it cut into his hands and tossed it away, punching the blue-haired man in the face for good measure. Then a burning sensation affected the enormous man's back.
"Forget about me?" Frederick taunted, wedging his lance back out of the monster's side.
"Certainly not," replied Lord Datura with a sneer as a bolt of vicious purplish gas consumed the knight in an instant. Frederick fell to his knees and coughed as the cloud obscured his vision and tightened and set afire his esophagus.
"Damn you!" grunted Chrom, still in the grip of Datura's subordinate, "Truly, what is your purpose?!"
"That look on your face, Exalt Chrom… the scowl of pain, confusion, and, above all… defeat… That is, in truth, my purpose," Datura laughed to himself, then sighed, "Now, I was hoping this wouldn't have to come to violence, but you forced my hand. I suppose all that I can do now is allow the invasion to proceed so that your nation can be ravaged."
"Why?" Chrom choked, "You have me, isn't that what you want? Why must you attack the innocent?"
A glimmer caught in Lord Datura's eyes, "Are you willing to… volunteer yourself, exalt?"
"If it'll keep you from harming my people, yes, I'll do as you ask," the exalt sighed, short of breath.
"Then I suppose the invasion could be postponed for… oh, perhaps a week, maybe a month, so long as you are complicit," the man beneath the cowl smiled to himself.
"Milord…!" Frederick endeavored to caution him, sputtering in the cloud, losing consciousness.
"Don't trouble yourself with it, Frederick. I've made my decision. We have to… be ready," Chrom assured himself, swallowing.
"I understand," Frederick growled.
"Then I believe we're finished here," concluded the man beneath the cowl. He called to his subordinate and they traipsed away. Frederick was released from the cloud, but couldn't be kept from fading into blackness.
[…]
Sully stood at the door and rapped on it lightly. She could hear noise from within and waited a moment as sounds were made approaching the door. She looked aside as it took a minute longer than she had expected, glancing casually at the abandoned space. After that moment had passed, however, the door cracked open, and from it emerged a face. It was a face that Sully scarcely recognized, more wrinkled than could have been predicted, with deep purple and black ridges beneath the eyes, dead capillaries practically a feature. The eyes, now appearing almost gold, flashed on seeing her and a small smile crawled across the lips, which seemed to have only recently been adorned with a small mustache and beard, one that clung to either side of the lips, and dropped to the chin, where it was apparently shaved to a halt. This, too, was an unexpected color: silvery, as if covered with frost. Looking up, Sully realized that this, too, was the color of the hair of the man who bore it.
"Sully. What brings you this far out?" the man asked, his throat needing to be cleared.
"Robin… that's you, right?" she raised an eyebrow at him.
He laughed, "Do I really look that old? Ha… damn me."
"Er, sorry, what I meant to say was," Sully coughed, "Sir Robin, Ylisse is in need of your assistance once more."
"Did they rein you in that much, Sully? Come on, you know you don't have to talk to me like that. Where's the Sully I know?" egged the former tactician.
"Robin, if ya'd shut yer mouth for a minute, I have somethin' pretty important I hafta say," the redheaded knight grumbled.
"That's more like it," Robin smiled, "What's the news?"
"Ylisse has been attacked," her face fell into concern.
"I know," Robin shrugged.
"You know? And you were just sitting here?!" Sully railed.
Robin leered at her with amusement, "I don't think I'm going to be much help in war anymore, Sully. No sense in going off half-cocked to twist my ankle or hurt my hip on some march and act like I'm the greatest man in the world."
"Still, you didn't even think to talk to Chrom?" Sully couldn't let the issue go.
"Chrom is… a long way from here," the former tactician coughed, "and, recently… I don't make many journeys." Sully regarded her silvery-haired former strategist and began to notice the fatigue in his eyes and the harshness of his stare. "Now, it's getting cold out," he muttered, "do you have something to discuss, or did you come here expressly to waste my time and chastise me?"
Sully sighed, "Robin… I came to tell ya'… 'cause Morgan was in town when they attacked."
The former tactician's eyes widened, "…M-Morgan?"
Sully nodded.
Robin stared at the floor and heaved a sigh. Without another word he tugged at the collar of his old Plegian cloak which had seemed to grow darker with age and draped the cowl over his head. He pushed past Sully and out the door.
"Now where are you goin'?" Sully walked after him.
"First, to find my daughter," he growled, "then I'll speak with Chrom if I have time."
"If you have time?" Sully repeated insinuatingly.
"Yes, if I have time!" the former tactician barked an echo once more, "And if you're wise, you won't distract me from my purpose." Sully stood in silence as Robin strode slowly away from the house. There was certainly no arguing with that man. She looked back and noticed he had left a fire burning in the house's small fireplace.
[…]
Anna picked herself up, wiping the dust from her clothes. She had been stranded out here for two days without word from anyone. While she had waited out the attack, a mercenary had drifted into her hiding place. Having no other choice, she had dispatched the man as silently as quickly and silently as she was able, but to avoid giving herself away, she had to leave the corpse nearby. The stench of death that choked the room and mob of flies that surrounded the pile of flesh were now unbearable, and Anna was running low on food and had next to no water. She would have to make her escape now, she decided, but where to go? The nearest village was at least twelve miles due east. She shook her head, that would be her only choice. Inhaling and holding her breath, she hazarded a glance outside the collapsed structure in which she had tucked herself away. Seeing the coast clear, she softly stepped outside.
Daylight was scalding to her retinas when she moved forward into the break of day. The place now looked less like a war zone, as when she had first observed the chaos, but now appeared more to be silent and still, like a memorial site. A gray-and-brown, dusty mass grave of some tens of thousands of men, women, and children. Anna grimaced. She had been in war, but at least some parts of war had been civil. Whatever this was, it wasn't something she was used to. Anna pulled her hand down her face and wiped the sleep from her eyes, then touched her hair to determine whether or not it was at least salvageable. Satisfied, she exhaled and moved forward: it was going to be a long march.
[…]
Stahl sidled up on the ridge and called his horse to a halt, looking over the house. He was disturbed: another party was gathered in front of the small earthen building, rapping on the door and calling for something. Wondering what the problem could be, he rode down around the ridge and approached the group: two men and a woman, all of them wearing strange clothing and scowls.
"Excuse me," Stahl called at them in his most authoritative voice, "I'm a knight of Ylisse. Is there a problem here?"
"No, no problems sir," prevaricated one of the men, "we just need to have a word with our tenant." He indicated the door.
"Your tenant? You own this land?" Stahl put a hand above his eyes to block out the sun and survey the area.
"'Sright," nodded the second man, "and all we want to do is have a little chat about payment, nothin' serious."
"Maybe I should talk to her for you?" Stahl offered, preparing to step in the way of the door.
"Aw, lands' sakes, just kill him!" ordered the first man, hucking a knife at the surprised viridian knight. It grazed his arm and drew blood, but Stahl was undaunted.
"The hell're you doing, you idiot?!" barked the woman standing in back.
"Bad move," reported Stahl, producing his sword.
"Dammit, Kel'din," scolded the woman, "Attack!"
The three rushed Stahl all at once. The knight recognized that he was less limber now than he once had been, but could detect that these troops were amateurs; no trouble. The first, the one that had been called Kel'din leapt at him with an overhead slash. Stahl blocked the strike with ease and, flexing a bit of muscle, followed up with a swipe that knocked the blade from his adversary's hand.
The other man thrust his blade straight at Stahl's midsection. Stahl only grinned and turned slightly to make the man miss his mark. Stahl brought his blade down on the man's spine as he sailed by, carried by the momentum of his attack.
Stahl now realized why the woman had stood in the back as she trained an arrow between his eyes. Without another thought, Stahl dropped himself flat to the ground, the projectile managing only to let a few olive locks of hair part from Stahl's head. From that position, Stahl rolled toward the woman and kicked to sweep her off her feet. When she had fallen, he brought his blade down onto her chest.
Kel'din had watched his comrades dispensed before him, and so screamed and fled for his life. Stahl stood an watched, panting, deciding he wasn't worth the pursuit. "I don't think I'm cut out for un-mounted combat," Stahl chuckled to himself, wiping his brow.
Apparently hearing the silence, a blonde woman with an indefatigable air of nobility opened the door slowly, then pushed it all the way when she saw the Shepherd, "Stahl! My word, are you harmed?"
"They just nicked my arm," Stahl sighed, gripping it, "Agh!"
The woman pushed his hand away, staring at the wound, which looked purplish. "Poison, the rapscallions," muttered the woman, "Let me fetch my staff."
"Thanks, Maribelle," Stahl stifled a groan as he held the wound in pain.