Chapter 21
Wounded Shepherds lay everywhere. Severa held Brady up on her shoulders as she walked him over to the medical tent. Except that there was no tent, only an ever-growing number of cots piled together with bleeding or bandaged soldiers upon them. Sumia was pressing a cool rag to her husband's face, though the knight's eyes remained closed. He was one of the fortunate ones, the few healers left among the Legacy Shepherds' small army remarked; he only suffered from exhaustion. Many of those who remained had more than a few lacerations or contusions, and all felt their morale dip into a pit at the end of their successful retreat. And then, of course, there were the cries of those who had lost loved ones. These were anguished and loud, at first, full of horror, but their perpetuation throughout the day drained their owner's voices, and so now the sobs were silent, or, otherwise, raspy. Regardless, however, they were the sounds that made it the hardest for Lucina to lift her head.
In one day, she had lost three of her father's most trusted comrades-in-arms and had an entire allied nation turn against her, or so it seemed. That was the oddest thing about the battle. The princess tried to think about the Feroxi many times during the aftermath of the attack, but her mind always drifted as she heard the droning cries of other Shepherds spill out of their tents. The sound made it hard to think. Nowi's was the worst; she didn't have the voice of a grown woman.
All the same, Lucina tried to retain her focus: why would the Feroxi attack? Who was behind this sudden change of alliance? Naturally, she knew about the difficulty that had arisen in Regna Ferox since the deaths of Khans Basilio and Flavia, but she had understood that Lon'qu had done a serviceable job succeeding Basilio. She still knew little of Khan Vlasis's east Ferox, however. It was then that the princess called to mind her brother, who she hadn't seen in weeks at this point, and remembered his diplomatic mission to speak with Khan Vlasis about relations between their countries. Perhaps the talks had been a trap, and perhaps Inigo was now dead.
That tore it: Lucina could not pick her head up.
Until she heard a shuffling in the room. "Uh, beg pardon, Your Highness," a voice excused itself.
Lucina covered her eyes a moment in an effort to disguise her defeat with some royal dignity. Her cheeks remained red and her eyes wet as she turned around, "What...?"
Kellam had his eyes to the ground, but lifted them as his captain looked in his direction, "Sorry, Lady Lucina... I came to check on you."
"You... came to check on me?" she repeated absently.
"Yes," he assented, "I was worried you'd be in quite a state after a battle like that. I thought you might find use for some company."
The blue-haired lord wiped her face quickly, then countered, "Kellam... you lost your wife out there. If anyone needs to be comforted, it's you."
"I can... mourn Miriel for the rest of my life," the knight grunted with difficulty, "Right now, you need help."
"No, I don't," the princess rejected, "We lost husbands and wife, a mother and fathers today, and it's my fault. I have to own up to this, to acknowledge my responsibility, and grow from my failure. I don't need sympathy; I need to do better."
"Not every battle is a perfect victory," Kellam supplied, "Casualties are inevitable in a war."
"You're right, of course," Lucina shook her head, "I just... I somehow had it in my head that I was better than that. That I could save everyone."
"You were smart enough to have everyone retreat, to live to fight another day. I think Chrom would be proud," the dark-haired knight offered.
"Thank you, Kellam," the princess sighed after a moment of thought, "Now, I have to think about our next step, so, if you would..."
"Right," he began to back away.
"Please check on Frederick for me," she added, "and let me know if anyone needs anything."
"Yes, milady," he saluted.
So long as she'd known him, Chrom had never lost a battle; pride was the last thing she would imagine him feeling at such a moment. The princess glanced back down at her map, outstretched in both her hands, and searched for a route through which to proceed. The unexpected challenge of their Feroxi pursuers made an exit far more difficult, especially since Lucina had no idea the depth of their numbers. Examining a few paths of egress, the sapphire-haired girl's finger froze on the page as she came to a sudden, troubling realization: she had pursued the sellswords attacking her home almost to the coastline, but now the Feroxi were directly behind them. Their northern neighbors had stolen their strategy, and were free to run rampant at the Ylissean capital.
That depressed Lucina even further, remembering the difficulty of reclaiming her father's castle. Then, too, she remembered the mysterious hooded figure that strategized for her and saved their attack. This figure, she pondered, had been aiding her quite a bit in her journey, and so she wondered why he had failed to appear in this moment, her most disastrous defeat thus far.
It was at that moment that slow footsteps grabbed her attention.
Looking ragged and exhausted, five figures slowly descended upon the camp. Lucina recognized the member at their forefront as her aunt. "Aunt Lissa!" she called out in a voice that surprised even her in its elation. She took off from her seat to embrace one of her few remaining relatives as the group drew closer.
"How are you, Lucina, dear?" Lissa returned affectionately, stroking the girl's hair. The fatigue was present even in her voice.
"What in tarnation happened out here?" Donnel scratched his head, "I thought you were gonna find yer pa and get things fixed down here."
Lucina's eyes fell and her hair cast a shadow on her face. Lissa glared back at her husband severely.
He frowned, "Aw, heck, I didn't mean nothing by it, Lucina. I don't wanna kick you while you're down, but, see... We ran into a spot o' trouble ourselves."
"What happened?" Lucina released her aunt. After having a second to ponder the situation, she had a thought, "No, don't tell me..."
"The Feroxi turned... really fast," Owain relayed without any of his signature grandeur and with a stern scowl on his face, "They got Lon'qu and Panne... both of them saved the five of us."
"Gods..." Lucina whispered to herself, "Yarne, are you okay?"
The taguel stared at the floor, his face somewhere between furious and exhausted. "He... hasn't said a lot since we left Regna Ferox," Cynthia reported with a frown.
Lucina held the side of her head, "How can so much be going wrong all at once? Naga... Am I to be the last of my family to see Ylisse alive?"
"Now, ain't no use talkin' like that," Donnel quieted her. Heads turned to face the farmer-turned-prince as he scratched his head, "I don't claim to know much 'bout you or yer pa, or anything about ruling a big ol' country, but I do know that if ya just give up the ghost in the dead o' winter, the farm won't live to see the spring."
The sapphire-haired princess took a breath and nodded to her uncle, "Thanks, Uncle Donny. That makes sense... I think. I won't ever stop trying to get my father back in control of our home."
"And we'll do all we can to support you," Lissa offered, smiling.
"What fine renaissance is this?" Owain proclaimed, "Truly, ours is a family, nay, a nation of the most indomitable spirit! I, Owain Dark, feeling the holy Ylissean blood course through the veins of my sword hand, do verily pledge my blade to this most significant of conflicts, that the bards may sing of my fervor and of Ylisse's truly awesome power!"
Cynthia blinked his way a few times, then turned to Lucina, "I'd like to help, too, if I can."
Lucina looked past them all to find the young taguel still focused on the ground beneath him, "Yarne... how do you feel?"
"I'll... come with you, but... I... I can't fight, Lucina," he rasped, "It's not within me anymore. I've seen too much death to put myself in the line of fire again."
"I understand," Lucina nodded, "Thank you for remaining with me, everyone. Now, we may need some extra help tending to the wounded. I think your help would be especially valuable, Aunt Lissa."
"Right," the blonde princess nodded, being led away by her niece.
[...]
Chrom placed his hand against the wooden plank and heard the water ripple. He sighed as he gazed out across the ocean, longing thoughts of his home and his family buffeting his concentration, a phenomenon that had increased in its frequency as the dark of night began to wear on the exalt and his wife. Speaking of, he thought to himself, Olivia ascended the gangplank onto the vessel and glanced around at the sails. He followed carefully after her, unnerved by the dark.
The ship's captain emerged from his quarters below deck and saluted them both tersely. Chrom stepped forward and professed, "I really can't thank you enough for what you're doing."
"You can thank me by paying me when we get there," replied the captain.
"Er, right," Chrom scratched the back of his neck.
"How long did you say the passage would take?" Olivia wondered.
"About three days, if the wind's kind to us," the captain answered, disinterested.
"Be strong, Lucina and Inigo," the rose-haired queen of Ylisse whispered to herself.
"We'll try not to get in your way," Chrom provided, reading the captain's face.
"That'd be preferable," he grunted before leaving to secure a rope for the mast.
"Not the most personable fellow, is he?" the exalt chuckled to his wife.
She breathed into a smile, "No, but I'm sure such high-profile clientele have him feeling serious stress." Chrom laughed.
"How long has it been since I last told you that you look radiant in the moonlight?" the exalt murmured suddenly, cupping Olivia's cheek.
The queen blushed and hid her face, "Chrom, what's gotten into you?"
She was separated from him immediately by the vast distance in his stare, "Just... reevaluating priorities."
Sensing the need, Olivia pressed herself into her husband's chest, "We'll make it, Chrom. We can, we have to, for our children."
He mumbled affirmatively into her hair, "You really do make anything feel possible, Olivia." She smiled pleasantly back and sustained the embrace.
Their momentary happiness was broken up, however, by a voice shouting, "No, no, no!"
The sound caught Chrom's attention first as his head turned on a swivel to face the sound. Out of the murky darkness came the gleam of a weapon, the end of a sword. Fortunately, the exalt had a moment to duck his head to the side and avoid the thrust. The sapphire-haired lord gritted his teeth with a grunt of anger as he stepped back and withdrew his sword, looking for the assailant while Olivia shrieked and jumped back.
"Damn you! Are you made of smoke? Just die already!" the exalt found his mark, a young woman dressed in all black, save for a blood-red belt and a curious emblem on the shoulder strap that supported said belt. He didn't have much time to evaluate her appearance, however, as she thrust her blade toward his face again. This time, however, the woman's thrust was easily knocked aside by Falchion. With more than a hint of vitriol, Chrom followed up his guard by planting his boot squarely in the girl's stomach, hearing the wind be knocked out of her. The young woman collapsed, panting, to the deck of the ship.
"Who sent you?" Chrom demanded, leveling Falchion threateningly toward the assassin's neck.
She scoffed, trying to push herself up, "You could rip me in half down the center and I wouldn't tell you."
"Then begone," Chrom replied simply, impaling her stomach and watching the blood seep out.
"Chrom, watch out, there's a...!" the exalt turned to find a familiar face, or rather a familiar lack of face: a crimson-hooded figure stared back, arm outstretched.
"You again?" Chrom replied, "Did you send her?"
"No," the figure answered, "As a matter of fact, I was trying to warn you about that."
"Something about this situation feels unpleasantly familiar," Chrom proclaimed quietly.
"I'm surprised you managed to bring her down so easily," the figure observed wit amusement in its voice, "She was ducking me for days..."
"Well, I suppose I ought to be grateful for your trying to save my life," he sighed.
"Woulda been better if I'd succeeded, huh?" chuckled the figure, "I guess it's good you're as strong and sharp as they say."
"You did already save us both once, so I guess that counts for something," the exalt added, looking back to ensure that his wife was unharmed.
"Huh? Er, right," the figure stammered, "I... uh, shouldn't impede you any longer, Exalt Chrom. Get home quickly, your daughter will need you."
"Have you seen her?" Chrom's eyes glowed.
"No," the figure dismissed, "Just an assumption, one I'm sure you've also made."
The exalt nodded, "Indeed. Will you not come with us? I could use a companion of your skill and vigor."
The figure laughed quite sharply in the exalt's face, "That's quite a choice of words... Really, Chrom, you flatter me, but I can't hang around, I've more business to attend to."
The slightly unsettled exalt cocked an eyebrow and shrugged, "Well then, thank you for your efforts, at least."
"Not at all," the figure nodded, stepping off the boat and back into the dark.
The ship's captain sidled up, grimacing at the corpse bleeding out onto the deck. He glanced up at the exalt: "You're paying for that, too."
[...]
The quartet gathered to observe the map laid out on the table, gazing at the lay of the land intently, nervous to speak. "Well," Virion uttered, a shudder of hesitation in his voice, "Monsieur le Tactician, this would be your time to shine."
The grandmaster moved a lock of hair out of his face and nodded, "Then let's not beat around the bush, we need a clear plan of attack. Our numbers are few, but not insignificant; we won't beat General Argent in a head-on assault, so that's out of the question. We need a more creative solution, any ideas?"
"I thought coming up with creative solutions was your job," Inigo folded his arms.
"Awfully hard to do when I know so little about the upcoming area," the grandmaster rebuked, "I need more information, give me some thoughts. Come on kids, there are no wrong answers."
"What about this mountain ridge, here?" Morgan tapped on the parchment, "We could descend from here and scale the wall under cover of night, catch 'em off-guard, and end this battle before it begins."
"But it's impossible for most of our troops to scale to that point, especially those on horseback," Robin cut her off, "No dice."
"Perhaps something more... beguiling, then?" Inigo supposed, "The castle has rear and front gates, we could divert attention to the front and then flank in the rear."
The grandmaster shook his head, "It's a bit too obvious, and we don't know how well guarded each entrance is. Aside from that, Argent knows how few we are, he'll suspect treachery if we appear to engage him head-on."
"The forests nearby offer much cover," Virion shrugged, "We might sneak close that way and pick the enemy off a few at a time."
"Better," Robin nodded, "but we could still get stuck in dense woods like that, and speed would really behoove us in a battle like this."
"So what's your plan?" Morgan tapped her foot impatiently.
"A fight with no good options..." the tactician murmured to himself, "Well, we do know that the Liebenese forswear magic, so our first priority should be to make this a long-range conflict."
"But how can we achieve victory like that?" Virion piped up, "We cannot hope to lay siege and wait out the Liebenese, can we?"
"No, but we don't need to," Robin continued, "Our objective is to lure out General Argent and put him down. When the Liebenese soldiers see their revered commander fallen, they'll give up the ghost."
"You're sure about that?" Inigo stroked his chin.
"Completely," the tactician nodded.
"So, how do we lure out the general?" his daughter prodded.
The grandmaster smiled, "We'll give him exactly what he wants."
[...]
"Status of ballistae?" the commander demanded.
"Operational, loaded, and manned, sir," came the reply.
"The front and rear guards are readied to my expectations?" their tactician pressed further.
"Of course, sir," his subordinate replied.
"Good," he released a breath of relief, "General Argent, you're prepared?"
"As always, Lord Nihilus," the mountainous man nodded, bowing slightly.
"Then let's discuss overarching strategy," the amethyst-haired man unrolled a map on a nearby table, "Dahlia, you too. Now, the duke's tactician is well aware that Liebenese troops don't use magic, so he'll want to drain and slow down your men by miring them in a sea of ranged attacks. He forgets or is ignorant of our advantage, however; utilize the ballistae and platoons or archers to repel this stratagem and we will have cornered our foe."
"And what's our endgame, sir?" Dahlia requested.
Nihilus shook his head, "It won't be over that quickly. Grandmaster Robin is a persistent man, and a little damper to his first plan of attack won't frighten him, he'll try something new. Ultimately, his goal will be to kill General Argent, as such a symbolic victory will assure him a more tangible one among the impressionable Liebenese."
"The tactician will not kill me," the massive Silver Soldier announced definitively, "I have judged his strength, and it is not alarming."
"I've made judgments of my own, you know," Nihilus glared at the general, "Whether he could kill you or not, that's his goal, and I will prevent it. I'll trust you to lead the rear guard so that he can't pull any fast ones, Dahlia."
"Understood," the rose-haired swordswoman bowed.
"As for us, Argent, the objective is simple: lead our forces to bear down on Rosanne's as quickly as possible, culling the advantage of range, and therefore securing our victory," Nihilus recited.
"And what shall we do with the enemy officers?" Argent began to rise.
"I don't care about the duke, his wife, or his son; do with them as you will, but try to keep your men from killing Grandmaster Robin or his daughters, I have a great many things to ask of them," the tactician began rolling up his map.
"Thy will be done, Lord Nihilus," Argent excused himself, bowing. The amethyst-haired man sighed as the last guest vacated his chambers and picked up a sword and tome.
[...]
The grandmaster hand his hands balled into fists, swinging purposefully alongside his prized cloak as he continued forward, the clinking of thousands of feet behind him. "I can't believe I'm letting you do this," a small voice complained.
"You don't need to worry, Sylvia, I can handle myself. I know exactly what I'm doing," he declared with confidence.
The girl mumbled with uncertainty and tightened her grip on her staff, moving toward the back of the line as instructed. Once she was safely removed from the front lines, Robin withdrew a fire tome and waited, listening carefully. In a few minutes, the clinking had stopped, and five rows of archers, encompassed by a few columns of mages readied their weaponry. Robin examined their faces, seeing many uncertain, but more nonplussed and straight-faced, as if resigned to their fate. That was the attitude he needed.
Counting down from ten, the grandmaster threw up his hand as his lips whispered zero and a ball of flame whistled into the sky, exploding in a small burst. Seeing the signal, the ranged troops surged forward, shouting in waves that seemed tangible and electric through their sheer energy. Shaking his head in self-deprecation, the grandmaster smiled as he jogged to keep up with the spring-loaded vanguard. Before long, they were in range of the castle walls and arrows flew into the necks and faces of a few unsuspecting guardsmen.
Concentrating, as he needed to do more and more recently when conducting magic, Robin cast his hand forward and detonated the castle gates with a plume of fire. As the smoke settled, he peered inside. The area was dark, however, and the aging strategist could see little. Where were the soldiers with which Argent intended to fight this battle?
His question was answered by an unfamiliar voice booming above him like thunder, "All units, open fire!"
The creaks of wood and metal could be heard from the same direction and, all at once, Robin realized what was happening and charged for cover. He would only have one chance. Seconds later, a hail of fragmented rock, burning pitch, and harpoon like projectiles fell onto the Rosannien vanguard, crushing, burning, and skewering many. Robin swallowed as he lifted his head from the dirt: his attack had been anticipated and decimated. Some of the Rosannien archers clung to life, kneeling and firing up at their assailants, but now armored knights, cavaliers, and small squads of myrmidons poured out of the castle gates.
The killing of these troops depressed Robin greatly, but he had a more pressing thought on his mind: How had Argent prepared so well? The general had seemed decently intelligent, strong, and honorable, no doubt, but he didn't strike the tactician as a strategic genius, and the Valmese's defense thus far had been nothing short of clairvoyant. The grandmaster searched the castle roof, currently overrun by reloading catapults and ballistae. Wherever his answer lay, it was within that castle at this moment. Not to be put down, Robin threw his hand to the sky and, relying on a gift from Laurent, cast a small, shimmering ball of purple-black light into the sky.
More than a hundred yards back, Virion, Cherche, Gerome, Morgan, Inigo, and Sylvia all felt their hearts sink as they watched the phenomenon. They had seen the devastation of their front line, but the tactician's signal meant that contingencies would have to be put into place. Morgan stepped forward, "Inigo, you're good with leading these troops up to death's door?"
"Danger is what I live for, my darling," the Ylissean prince put his hands on his hips, smiling haughtily.
The redheaded thief smiled bemusedly at him and shook her head before embracing him, "Just be careful."
"I'd never fail to return to you," he assured. After they parted, the prince held his sword aloft, earning a series of cries from the Rosannien soldiers who followed after him as he charged ahead.
"...And Gerome," she turned to the marquess of Rosanne.
He was already pulling the reins on his wyvern, "I'll take care of it."
"Right behind you, dear," the duchess took off after her son.
Morgan watched the twin wyverns dart toward the castle tower, en route to its defenses. It would be a dangerous goal for the fliers, but one worth pursuing. "Virion, you know you're headed around back with the stealth group, right?" Morgan breathed to the duke.
"Naturelement," he nodded, "We will succeed in your father's name, Dame Morgan."
"Don't call me that," she replied, "And how 'bout winning in your own name, since it's your war to begin with."
"That too!" the sky-blue-haired archer took off, shouting, "Enemies of Rosanne, die with magnificence!"
Morgan applied her palm gently to her forehead before looking up, "And now, Sylvia..."
"I've got daddy," the thief's sister nodded, "Get those numbskulls moving the right direction. We'll bring Argent down no matter what!"
"Right," the redhead smiled, shaking her sister's hand, "Break!"
[...]
"Did you hear that?" the assassin clambered out of the trees.
"Of course we heard it, that's why we're out here," his brother scoffed.
"Bite me, you gray-maned dandy," his sibling bit back.
"Boys!" their mother shouted, "Can we do this later?"
Steven rolled his eyes, then cast them forward, "Mercy me... It looks like the whole plain is on fire! And there's a castle out here..."
"A castle means we're somewhere pretty important," Anna surmised simply, "I say we check it out, get our bearings. Maybe we can get some help finding your dad."
"That flag..." Leo observed a tapestry hanging loosely over a ledge on the castle, flapping in waves from the wind, "It's... Liebenese. That's where we are, Lieben."
"You're certain of that?" Steven glanced back at his brother.
"For once, just gimme the benefit of the doubt," the assassin threw up his hands. His older brother shrugged and made a conciliatory gesture with his hands.
"Someone's standing before the door," Anna pointed out, "Maybe we should try to speak with her."
"I concur," Steven assented, "but I suggest caution. The Liebenese seem to be in the middle of something. Possibly something big."
"Can't hurt to try," Leo hopped forward and took the lead. Nettled, his brother quickly fast-walked ahead of him. Anna shook her head and followed her sons. As the trio came into view, the rose-haired woman before them drew her sword, but did not engage as she glared at them, analyzing their intent.
"Beg pardon, milady," Steven waved his hand as they drew close, "We mean neither you nor your master harm, we are only lost and searching for someone. May we speak with the owner of this castle."
The woman grunted and put on a distressed frown, "If your words ring true, you've very unfortunate timing, travelers. You find yourselves at Lieben Keep in the midst of a battle against Rosanne."
Leo smirked with satisfaction at his brother. "Oh, dear," Steven sighed, "We beg you for sanctuary, good woman. Perhaps we may pledge our service in exchange for your protection?"
She cocked an eyebrow, "I don't normally enlist fighters from nowhere, but a rogue element might be just the edge we need. My name is Dahlia, and for now, I'll be your commander. If you've got a weapon, get it out and get ready. The Rosanniens will most likely be headed this way soon."
The trio complied and retrieved their weapons, facing the open plain through which they had just traveled. "I wonder what prompted Rosanne into this fight?" Anna mused aloud, "Virion's not the warmongering sort."
"Wait... red hair, the constitution, and those clothes... you!" Dahlia shouted from behind them. In an instant, she was bearing down on Anna, pointing her sword, "I know who you are, you wench! I'll tear you apart!"
Before the swordswoman could make good on her threat, an arrow flew past her head long enough for the trio to skitter out of her range. Virion, accompanied by a number of assassins and mercenaries, stepped into view. "Take advantage of my good nature, will you?" Dahlia snarled, staring daggers into Anna, "You're more treacherous than even these Rosannien scum. I'll enjoy cutting every one of you to ribbons!"
Anna shrugged, lamented her luck, and held her sword at the ready, "Try me."
[...]
"We've moved on to phase two," Nihilus observed simply, descending the staircase, "The Rosannien forces are scrounging, trying to find a point of attack now."
"You sound almost disappointed," General Argent kept his hands folded behind his back as he followed.
"No," the amethyst-haired man said wistfully, "I expected this. I was hoping to be wrong, but... Well, my intuition hasn't failed me yet." The Silver Soldier glanced at his liege curiously. "Anyway... Argent, this will be your opportunity. Put this trifle of a skirmish to an end."
"I'd be glad to," the general hefted his axe onto the shimmering silver of his shoulder plated and marched slowly out the door. Into the brightening daylight that halted him for the briefest of moments, the general saw something slightly unexpected: the Rosanniens had managed to move forward despite being harried by the castle's defenses and were now firmly locked in combat with the royal guard and the soldiers enlisted for this battle. Argent marched slowly into this melee and tossed several Rosanniens aside with a few quick swings of his axe.
"Not so fast!" a voice seemed to address the general, prompting him to turn his head. A young man with sapphire hair pointed his blade at the general. "My name is Prince Inigo of Ylisse," the youth proclaimed, "You attacked my homeland and my father, prepare to die."
"Cut the theatrics!" a ball of lightning whizzed past the general's head, he pivoted toward its source and found a redheaded girl in loose, tan clothing and a scarf scowling at him.
"And you?" General Argent roared over the crowd.
"My name is Morgan," she shouted back, "You know me as Grandmaster Robin's daughter. I plan to end you and your war."
"Amusing," scoffed the general.
"You haven't heard the best part," came yet a third voice. Ash-black, scraped, bleeding and wearied, the glowing eyes of the Grandmaster appeared from within the crowd and locked themselves onto the general. "General Argent of Lieben, I'll be your opponent."
The Silver Soldier folded his arms before gripping his axe, smiling.
"Argent, I need reinforcements!"
The fighters all turned their heads. Dahlia rushed through the castle's back gate, visible through the front and hall like a portal to a different dimension, "Something's gone wrong! We have interlopers!"
The general scowled, muttering, "Useless... Alas, Grandmaster Robin, it seems our battle is not fated to take place today." The Silver Soldier turned to the door an reentered the hall, the doors forcibly shut behind him before any of the combatants could interrupt.
"No...!" Robin cursed, "I can't let Argent get away, he has to go down. Inigo, Morgan, can I...?"
"As if you have to ask," Inigo chuckled, knocking a cavalier off his steed and gutting him, "Get this ugly business finished."
"We'll be fine," his daughter concurred, "you do what you have to."
"Thank you..." he sighed, then faced the door and frowned anew: heavy iron locks braced the door shut and soldiers would be covering the remaining paths around the castle. Robin couldn't afford to waste time, but he seemed to have no choice, the strategist's greatest nightmare, he lamented.
But in a moment, the locks unhitched themselves and the doors flew open, "Lemme get that for you," a sweet voice giggled. The grandmaster turned to find Sylvia pointing her staff at the door, beaming. "Like it?" she shouted over the rage of battle, "Mom said it was a very rare, old staff, to be saved for special occasions. It's called 'Unlock,' and, well... I think this qualifies."
"Thank you, Sylvia," her father said humbly before rushing through the opened way, taking care to use a wind tome to smash any stragglers inside the castle up against its walls.
As he broke through to the castle's rear, the tactician felt himself completely overwhelmed, paralyzed by a rush of conflicting emotion and thereby rooted to the ground: before him lay his two sons and his wife.
His wife, who looked weary from travel and, presumably, all manner of painful, sordid emotion, as well as all the effects of whatever battles had led her here.
His wife, who, he had been assured was dead, whose ghost he had seen, but who he could tell even at a glance was his betrothed despite all her familiar similarities.
His wife, who was half-collapsed, bearing up her sword unconvincingly so as to guard, as her head was within the range of General Argent's raised axe.