The Last Red Shoulder

Chapter 5: The Mage General's Mission

"Rosamia! Rosamia! Damnation, woman, wake up!"

Khyron had been banging on his apprentice's (well, she wasn't really an apprentice anymore, but he was still quite used to calling her that) suite door for a minute now with no response. Under other circumstances, he might have been willing to be a little lenient—just a little. After all, she was usually quite punctual (one of her many virtues, though he wasn't used to admitting those) and after a successful conclusion to the Autonomous Company's heroic quests, he could have let her sleep in just this once. However, a servant of the King could never truly rest, and it just so happened they had an important meeting to attend. If Rosamia wasn't willing to get up, Khyron could simply leave without her, but he would not be happy about it, and he'd make sure she wouldn't be, either!

"Blasted, lazy—" Khryon growled to himself, ceasing his banging for a moment to jar the ostentatious golden doorknob. "GAH!" Much to his surprise, the door wasn't even locked, and he almost fell inside.

He was quite mortified—it would look like he was trying to sneak into a lady's room "uninvited," and he really did not want the scandal, especially since he was entirely uninterested in his apprentice anyways. Too tall and mannish for his tastes, though he could see why she appealed to that Ostian freebooter. However, his fears would turn out to be unjustified. Khyron blinked in surprise as he looked at Rosamia's bed—it was not made and its covers had been thrown off as if in haste, and it was also quite empty.

"Lord Khyron, what are you doing?!"

Khyron whirled around to see, much to his immense surprise, the person he'd been looking for standing right behind him. "Gah!" he yelled, unpleasantly surprised for the second time this afternoon. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"My apologies, my lord," came the green-haired woman's irritated reply. If he was paying attention, he would have noticed she was less contrite than exasperated. However, if he was paying attention, he would have also noticed that her eyes were red and her face was streaked with tears—it seemed as if she'd been crying.

Still, he wasn't the type to note such things. "Where the devil have you been, Rosamia!? We've a meeting with the other two Generals in a few minutes! Do you wish me to look like a fool?!"

She gasped slightly. "N-no, sir, I haven't forgotten. I…I'm sorry." Now she did appear to be somewhat abashed. I'll change immediately."

"Good, let's—" Khyron looked her over again—she seemed to have come back to the Palace from outside, judging by the brown cloak she wore. Wasn't she ready? "Wait, what do you mean by change?"

Her face turned red. "Just let me have a moment, my lord!"

She rushed in, pushed Khyron out, and slammed the door behind her. He was left sputtering in the hallway for about a minute or so before his apprentice reappeared, this time dressed in her normal attire of long skirt, tunic, and cape, albeit looking as if she'd put all of it on rather hastily.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, Rosamia? Can you imagine the scandal if people saw you dressed…like that?"

"I apologize, Lord Khyron," she sniffled. "It won't happen again. I was…I was woken up for something I couldn't miss. Quickly, let's just go to the meeting! We still have time!"

"True enough," he agreed. "Come, follow!" With a dramatic flourish of his purple cape he turned away from Rosamia and began heading towards the stairwell leading to the fifth floor of the palace, where he was scheduled to have his obediently followed his orders, though she received little credit from him; he continued to grumble about being late, and he also seemed displeased with the Autonomous Company and most of his old comrades as well. He muttered about Apolli and Lisse, Gafgarion's retirement, and, of course, Renault and Braddock blowing off King Galahad yesterday.

"Where the hell did those two run off to?" Khyron grumbled to himself. "Without even saying farewell! It's not as if I cared overmuch for those sellswords, but a goodbye's the least they could give in return for all I've done for them!"

"They…they had good reasons, milord," said Rosamia, who had overheard this bit of ranting. "Time was and is of the essence for them."

"Oh? How so?"

She bit her lip. "I…I don't know. But I'm sure they're a part of a good cause, now!"

"Hmph! Yes, a 'good cause.' Probably spending all their money on wine and women, as scoundrels are wont to do! And I thought Braddock liked you, too! What kind of a man would just up and leave you like that?!"

"L-Lord Khyron!"Rosamia's face was red and her voice very irritated.

"What? Don't think I didn't notice how you two looked at each other!" Khyron harrumphed, then blushed a bit. "Besides, you are my apprentice…it's my responsibility to keep an eye out for that sort of thing."

Rosamia sighed, and Khyron was gratified to see she was at least appreciative of his (grudging) concern. "Thank you, my lord."

"Of course! I didn't take you as my apprentice just so you could remain an old maid! Now, we need to find someone else for you. I'd pinned my hopes on Braddock because not many Etrurians like tall girls such as yourself, but—"

"Khyron!"

As it so happened (and lucky for Khyron), this angry outburst from Rosamia occurred just as they arrived at the door to the conference chamber, and its occupants heard it.

"Hey! What's all the noise about?" Khyron and Rosamia both jerked in surprise a bit and stopped their argument when the wood doors opened and Jerid stepped out. He wasn't wearing his impressive General's armor, but he was clad in a very respectable looking outfit—comfortable white pants under a grey jacket with golden buttons and winsome gold epaulets. He was clean-shaven (something of a rarity for him) and his short brown hair was combed back, giving him a smart appearance which matched the intelligence of his clear blue eyes. Combined with his intimidating frame—he wasn't tall enough to loom over others or short enough to be stocky, but he had enough muscle to make him look like a very tough fighter—he looked just the part of a Great General.

"N-nothing!"Rosamia and Khyron said this in unison. "Anyways, Sir Jerid, we have a meeting to attend, yes?"

The former gaoler nodded. "Sure do, and you're right on time. You haven't met the new Knight General yet, have ya? Gafgarion only just left yesterday. He's got a lot o' faith in the man he appointed to replace him, and I think it's justified."

Khyron and Rosamiafollowed Jerid into the small chamber. It wasn't as large as most of the other meeting rooms, and not as lavishly decorated either; it contained nothing more than a large round table (on top of which was a large map) with six chairs set about it. At one of the chairs was sitting a bright-looking young man who was apparently the Knight General.

This fellow was dressed in the same attire as Jerid, save that his doublet was blue rather than appearance, however, was what was really unusual. He was a little on the short side—just under six feet. He wasn't quite as bulky as the Great General, but his frame was well-muscled. Khyron would have described it as "compact;" it seemed as if there was a lot of power in a small form. His skin was a bit darker than Khyron's or Jerid's—olive-colored. His face had a hard-edged, almost bladelike quality to it. Prominent cheekbones, narrow brows, and a small nose framed a pair of almond-shaped brown eyes under short, neatly trimmed green hair, a shade darker than Rosamia's. It seemed as if this man was Sacaen.

"Sir Khyron," he said, in an upbeat, friendly voice which seemed to belie his no-nonsense appearance. "I've heard a lot about you! It's an honor to meet you." He got up and extended a hand to the Mage General. "I look forwards to working with you!"

Khyron looked at him suspiciously, not yet taking the proffered hand. "What's your name?"

"Wayland."

"You're the Knight General? You don't look Etrurian. Have you some Sacaen blood in you?"

"He's a very good fighter, Khyron," said Jeridquickly, hoping to stave off what he thought would be an unpleasant confrontation. "Don't have t' worry a bit about his skills. Gafgarion vouched for 'im."

"I asked about his ethnicity."

"I'm half-Sacaen," said Wayland coolly, withdrawing his hand. "My mother was born in Bulgar, converted to Eliminism, and moved to Etruria, where she served Archbishop Aleffine as an ecclesiastical assistant. She married my father, one of the castle ballisticians. They wanted me to follow his footsteps, but it turned out I was better with horses and spears than artillery. 'S how I ended up as the Knight General. Hope that's not a problem?"

Khyron stared at him for another moment—then extended his own hand. "If I've tolerated Ostians and traitors in my entourage, I can deal with a half-breed. I don't care what kind of blood you've got running through your veins so long as you've loyalty to King Galahad and valor in your heart!"

Jerid and Rosamia both breathed sighs of relief, and Wayland accepted Khyron's hand with a grateful smile of his own. "Glad to hear it, friend. I promise I won't let you down!"

"You'd better not," Khyron growled. "Now, let's get down to business. What quest are we to embark on now?"

"Let's sit down, first," said Jerid. All four of them did gestured towards the map on the table—it depicted the Western Isles.

"No point beatin' around the bush," Jerid began. "I'll get right to the point. Khyron, Wayland, the Rebels aren't beat yet. They're hurtin' pretty damn bad, but not down entirely. A few months before he died, Paptimus started scrounging together every unit that hadn't surrendered or been annihilated. We estimate it's about a fifth of the rebels' original battle strength. He sent 'em over to the Western Isles, which nobody had any time to pay attention to with all the chaos goin' on in the mainland. Pretty smart move. In any case, now that we've secured the kingdom itself, we can get our eyes on destroyin' the rebel remnants and regainin' control of our colonies. Problem is, that's easier said than done…"

"What's the situation there?" Khyron asked. "I've been too busy with affairs here to know what's been going on overseas!"

"That's understandable, mil—er, Sir Khyron. Wayland, can you fill him in?"

"Yep." The half-Sacaen pointed towards a large dot on the northwestern side of Fiberniaisland, then another large dot to the east of it, separated by some large mountains. "Those two dots represent our last holdings on the Western Isles—the city of Jutes and Ebrakhm Valley Castle. Those need to be defended at all costs to hold the isles."

"Wait, our last two holdings?!" Khyron sputtered. "We were supposed to own all of the Isles! What about Idina Castle, on Caledonia? This war hasn't lasted that long! How have we lost so much!"

"The people of the Isles have never really accepted Etrurian rule," came Wayland's grim reply. "The moment Nerinheit declared independence, the clans and pirates rose up against the garrisons we had on Fibernia. They fought as well as they could, and inflicted heavy casualties upon the natives, but they were cut off from supplies and reinforcements thanks to the rebels controlling so much of the mainland's coasts. Making matters even worse was the arrival of the remaining Red Shoulders a few weeks ago. Those are battle-hardened, merciless veterans, much tougher than the disorganized clansmen of the Isles. They've pushed our forces back and back. We've only been getting scattered intelligence from the Isles, thanks to our friends in the Church—the Red Shoulders haven't been attacking them, for some reason, and it's been a Godsend for us. From what we've gathered, though, Ebrakhm Castle will fall soon—they've amassed a huge force to send against it. I don't think we'll be able to save it."

"What of Caledonia? How fares Idina Castle?"

Wayland's face grew even grimmer. "It's already been lost, milord."

"Don't call me 'lord,' if you're a Knight General, we're equal now," snapped Khyronirritatedly. He'd have to teach Wayland the same lessons he taught Jerid, apparently. "Anyways, what did you say about Idina?"

"It's fallen."

"What?! Impossible! Were our forces there so weak?"

"Apparently. The commander we appointed to maintain control of Fibernia, Lord Jubal, was not the most loyal man of Etruria's army. From what we've gathered from our sources, he was waiting to see who won the war before truly declaring his allegiance. However, the people of Caledonia had their own plans. His forces were overwhelmed, so he and his men simply abandoned the island. It's entirely in the hands of the natives, now."

"Faithless cur!What happened to him?!"

"We don't know. His ship probably headed to Nabata—if you're a fugitive from the Crown, that blasted desert is a good place to hide."

"So he's out of our reach? Damnation!" Khyron slumped back in his chair. "So, Fibernia's almost lost to us, Caledonia entirely so, and the Red Shoulders have entrenched themselves on the former. Any other bad news you'd care to tell me?"

" 's Bern. I think they're finally making their move for the Isles. We received a message a few days ago from one of our bases in said that a gigantic Bernese fleet was sailing up the strait separating it from the Missur Peninsula."

"Oh, wonderful. Isn't this the same trick they tried with Barbarossa? Where is it headed?"

"I'm almost certain they'll make landfall in Caledonia. Bern has wanted to control the Isles for a while, and the smaller island is an ideal stepping stone. Those well-trained Bernites ought to be able to crush the natives—they're a lot more ruthless than Jubal was. They'll probably arrive within two months."

"Uppity Bernites, unruly natives, and rebel scum," groaned Khyron. "We have to crush all of them? No matter! If this is what the King has ordered, it is what shall be done. Where should we start?"

"I don't," Rosamia began, then looked at Khyron. "May I speak, milord?"

"Fine."

"I don't think it would be a good idea to strike out against the Bernese fleet first. It might set off full-scale with them, and we can't afford that right now. Caledonia's already lost, anyways. I think we should consolidate what we have left in Fibernia, and then concentrate on retaking the rest of the Isles."

Before Khyron could say something like "cowardly woman," Jerid lent his support to the idea. "Thank makes sense, Lady Rosamia," he said, scratching the brown stubble on his chin. "Additionally, it's good for us t' let the Bernese bleed 'emselves out on Caledonia. One thing I learned as a jailer is that it's best to set bad guys against each other when you can. The more they exhaust themselves fightin' one another, the easier it is to bag 'em both. Same applies to the Western Isles. Let the Bernites and the Natives knock each other around a bit over there. By the time we're finished with Fibernia and can turn to Caledonia, whoever's left standin' over there will be that much easier to deal with."

"Not the most honorable plan, but a sensible one…I've had to get used to those," said Khyron. "So how can we relieve Fibernia? Who's in charge there?"

"The commander of Fibernia is Lord Ikarus," said Wayland."He is a more capable man than Jubal, and has managed to maintain control of the northern parts of the island with a respectable degree of success. However, even he won't be able to withstand an assault from the Red Shoulders. His men have gone without reinforcement or relief since the Civil War began, and morale and supplies are running very low. The last report we received indicated a large Rebel force was moving towards Ebrakhm Castle, and it will likely fall by the time we get there. However, they'll have to consolidate and prepare their forces for a full-scale assault on Jutes.

"Therefore, I think we should make our first priority the defense of Jutes. We'll dispatch a force from Nerinheit, sail over Dhia, the north and northwestern coasts of Fibernia, and land at the capital. We should arrive before the insurgents do, and we'll break their assault on Jutes.

"This has the added bonus of displaying our strength to the people of the Isles. From what I understand of the islanders, the one thing they respect more than anything else is strength. If we can show them we're stronger than the Red Shoulders, we might be able to get them to turn against Paptimus' leftovers, if not convince them we deserve to rule."

"Another sound plan," said Khyron, mildly impressed. "You know a lot about the culture of these islanders for a half-Sacaen, Wayland."

The Knight General shrugged and allowed himself a bashful smile. "It takes more to be a General than just skill on the battlefield. Gafgarion wouldn't have nominated me for the position if I was dumb. Anyways, what do you think? Anyone have any objections?"

"What if they call off the siege on Jutes?" Rosamia pondered.

"If they do, Jutes is still the best base for us to begin a larger campaign. We'll need the help of Ikarus and his men no matter what, so we might as well link up with them."

"True, but wait," said Khyron. "We'll be launching at Nerinheit, correct? Then what are we doing here?! It took me weeks to get from Aquleia to Nerinheit! It'll take me weeks to get back! Why didn't we hold this meeting at Nerinheit itself?"

"We would have liked to, but the king was insistent on seeing you and didn't want to move himself to Nerinheit," said Jerid resignedly. "Still, it took us a while to set up a detachment to send over the Shield of Durbans. We can't send everything we have over there, most of our army needs to stay on the mainland to restore and keep order as well as discourage Bern from attacking.

"We've kept Lord Barim Reglay setting up an expeditionary force at Nerinheit. It'll take him about two more weeks to get everything ready…which should be about as long as it takes you to get back there, since only you, Wayland, and your entourage need to travel. Everything else should be ready up there. You ought to be able to make it in time, at least with the help of another pair of Warp staves."

"That sounds reasonable," said Khyron. "Wait, you said only Wayland and I. What are you going to be doing?"

"Someone needs to stay on the mainland to watch over the reconstruction of our defenses. Like I said, Bern might just take an opportunity to kick us when it thinks we're down. We can't let that happen." Jerid shook his head. "I'd love t' come along, but I'm needed here. You two will be responsible for takin' care of the Isles."

"Damned Bernites," Khyron grimaced. "And if both Wayland and I leave to fight in the Western Isles, what will become of our lands? Caerleon has been leaderless for some time, though Landez is an adequate overseer…"

"Hmm…" Again, Jerid scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Khyron, why don't y' leave things in Rosamia's hands?"

Both he and his former apprentice nearly fell off of their chairs, and both exclaimed "WHAT?!" at nearly the same time.

"I'm serious. Gafgarion mentioned he worked with Rosamia a lot back b'fore the war, when he was helping you run Caerleon. I'd wager Rosamia probably picked up a few things about governance from him. Am I wrong?"

The woman shifted uneasily. "Well, no, but still…"

Jerid sighed. "Your humility's admirable, along with your loyalty to Khyron, but we don't have time for it right now. As you can guess, our kingdom's got a major personnel shortage, and that'll likely be the case 'till we get things back in order. We need every capable man—or woman—available. Nobody else is as qualified to maintain control of Caerleon as you, m'lady. Besides," and his voice grew a bit quieter and more sympathetic, "I bet you're getting tired of all this fighting. If anyone's earned a bit of rest, it's you."

Rosamia looked at him gratefully, and though Khyron scowled, he had to admit that perhaps she did deserve a bit of kindness for her resolute service all this time. It was much more than he'd expected from a female. "So be it," he said. "Rosamia, I expect my lands to be in perfect condition when I return victorious from the Isles."

"I'll do my best, m'lord."

"In that case, all seems to be settled. Is there anything else, Jerid?"

"Maybe," he replied. "I probably shouldn't need to tell you this, Khyron, but…be careful. The natives and the Red Shoulders might not be the only problems we have over there."

"There are always more problems," came Khyron's bitter response, "I know that quite well. What are they this time?"

"It's probably nothing," said Wayland, "but there are a lot of bad rumors floating about Lord Ikarus on Jutes. At first glance, he seems more loyal than Jubal, but we haven't had much opportunity to keep an eye on him, with the war and all. But the natives hate him something fierce, even more so than they hate everyone else, and though the Isles are a profitable gig, he seems to be richer than he should be from just mining. He might be up to something…or maybe I'm just paranoid. Either way, don't let your guard down over there, Khyron."

"I never have, and I never shall!"

"Glad to hear it. In that case, I think we're done for today. Rosamia, you probably want to start getting your things ready for your return to Caerleon. Like Khyron says, Landez has been doin' a good job over there, so there's no rush. Your lord and Wayland on the other hand…well, I'd like you to get started on your journey tomorrow morning. Spend the rest of the day getting your supplies together, and we'll also give you some Warp staves for the trip. Me, I've gotta head south…we need to fortify the border with Sacae in case Bern decides to attack through there."

"You attend to your duties, Wayland and I will attend to ours, Come, Knight General! No time to tarry!"

Khyron got up and swept out of the room, almost leaving Wayland behind before the other man hastily followed. He didn't even bother saying goodbye to either Jerid or Rosamia, though it would be quite a long time before he saw them again.

He would later write, in his account of the events that followed, that it was probably for the best.

::Linear Notes::

This takes place right after Ch. 39 of Wayward Son. Also, for those of you reading this, I have a new FE4 fic out, "The Confessor!" Please give it a look if you're so inclined :D