Chapter Seven: Red Horizon

Although we began the day's march late due to the previous night's battle, Port Ferox was only a few hours' journey up the coastline. We would arrive sometime in the late afternoon and still have plenty of time to rest and prepare ourselves for what was to come. Because Basilio and Flavia were busy mustering the Feroxi army for war with the Valmese, they already had a sizable camp set up just outside the harbor, so we wouldn't need to pitch our own once we arrived.

My father had been skeptical that Validar would send the ships he'd promised the Ylissean League after sending the Risen to attack us, yet Destin seemed strangely certain that they'd come. As we made our way towards Port Ferox, our outriders on the coastal side began to catch glimpses of the Plegian warships on their way north. Validar had promised the ships and nothing more, claiming that his nation's manpower was too exhausted from the war to spare us any. No doubt the warships were running with skeleton crews.

It looked to me as though Validar would be an issue for another day. I just hoped that we wouldn't regret allowing him time to cement his rule.

The Shepherds rubbed their eyes and yawned frequently on the road, their peaceful slumber a victim of the Risen attack. True to his word, Destin borrowed a horse from someone and let it bear him north as he slept in the saddle. It amused me; I'd heard stories of people sleeping on horseback before, but I'd never actually seen it. Yet the clamor of the army marching north and the shining midday sun clearly had little effect on his nap.

I might have decided to join my father and his companions properly, but I hadn't really thought over all the potential consequences of such an act. Perhaps I'd believed that my identity would be kept a secret by a select few, but I should've known that Chrom didn't work that way; not that it could've been done anyways, since everyone knew that Lucina was the name of Chrom's daughter.

What this meant for me was that I explained a shortened version of the events that had led me here half a dozen times to different audiences on the march north. Initially they were all merely curious to learn about the mysterious swordswoman who they'd seen several times already, but learning that I was Chrom's daughter from a ruined future inspired sympathy and a desire to help. It had been made clear that I already had the trust of the two most important people in the Shepherds, so no one openly doubted my tale.

It was a bit tiresome, but I kept my explanations brief. It was generally accepted that the ramifications of the whole story and the prevention of this catastrophe would fall on the capable shoulders of Chrom and Destin as always, and they did not push further.

I spent the remainder of our time travelling through the rolling hills of western Regna Ferox considering the task ahead. I might have come from the future, but my knowledge of the Valmese war was painfully limited. The Valmese weren't on Grima's side, and had played no part in his return to our world. Consequently, I hadn't bothered to learn much about them. I couldn't help but wish that I'd listened more closely to stories of the war, but it was too late for that now.

Truthfully, I didn't even know what their motivations were. Walhart the Conqueror and his men spearheaded a campaign of world domination, and I had no idea why. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it was nothing more than arrogance and greed, but somehow I got the feeling that there was something more to it than that.

Whatever the reason, our goals were irreconcilable. The peoples of our continent desired peace and freedom, while Walhart sought to rule every living being. The clash was inevitable, and so my thoughts turned to the bloody battles sure to come. The bulk of the Valmese invasion fleet was sailing towards us even now. Defeating this fleet would set them back, but it wouldn't end the war. The Valmese Empire had the resources and manpower to build new fleets if this one were destroyed, though it would take them time.

I did know that the Valm campaign had been fast and brutal considering the size of the armies involved. The war had been concluded in less than a month from start to finish, despite the soldiers of two entire continents being committed. The sheer speed was most likely part of a strategy from our side; the Valmese had solid control over their empire, while the Ylissean League still needed to watch its back for Plegia. Walhart had no compunctions about drafting every able bodied man and throwing them into the fighting, while we would have no such reserves. It only made sense from our perspective to bring the war to a rapid end by forcing a decisive contest and bringing down Walhart. Without him, the Valmese would collapse.

The main army camp established just outside of Port Ferox proved quite a sight. Tents stretched over the hills into the distance as far as I could see. Ylisseans, Feroxi, and even a modest number of volunteer Plegians swarmed throughout the camp. With all the hustle and bustle, it made me think of a great city made of nothing but plain canvas tents.

Chrom had decided that he would talk with the Khans and brief them on what had happened on the journey. A strategy meeting would be held later that night to decide how best to engage the Valmese fleet, but that wasn't for a few hours yet. The rest of us were free to relax and go about our business. Several Feroxi soldiers appeared to escort our weary company to the section of the camp set aside for the Shepherds. It was no different than any other, save for the pennants marked with the crest of Ylisse.

I picked out a tent quickly, since they were all the same. It wasn't much, but I had slept in worse in my own time. The last two years had spoiled me in that regard; without pursuing hordes of Risen or the need to conceal myself, I'd been able to sleep in inns most nights. The costs added up, but there were always people willing to pay for the removal of a bandit group or a force of Risen nearby.

I set my small packs and blankets down and simply rested for the next hour or so. It wasn't enough to make up for the sleep I'd missed the previous night, but it was a sufficient refresher that I no longer felt hazy. I intended to be at the meeting later, and I'd need my wits about me.

That was still a few hours away. In the meantime, I decided to assuage my curiosity. Most of the people in this camp I knew well enough from my own time that I could predict or at least understand their actions. Even though I hadn't got to know my father well at all before his death, he was a solid and straightforward person. He wasn't hard to anticipate.

There was only one real enigma here: Destin. I didn't know him at all, and each time I thought I had him figured out he did something completely unexpected. Knowing as I did that he could be one of the key pieces of the puzzle, it was important that I understand him. On the surface, it seemed almost like he didn't even have a personality; he simply went along with whatever was happening, that amused grin permanently plastered on his face. His own skills were among the top of the Shepherds who were themselves a fairly elite unit, yet he didn't seek to advance himself – he seemed content no matter what situation life handed him.

So who was he really? I didn't know, but I was certain that I could find out.

The Ylissean section of the camp was mostly quiet when I emerged from my tent. I supposed that most of the Shepherds were taking the opportunity to catch up on their rest. No doubt some of them would sleep the rest of the day given the chance.

It wasn't hard to find Destin's tent – it was right next to Chrom's, and the Ylissean pennant on it was marked with a unique sign. I don't know what it was supposed to mean, but it made sense that everyone would be able to find the army's tactician easily if trouble arose.

I approached the entrance, pausing with one hand on the tiny bell tied to a string that hung from the flap. What if he was asleep? I didn't want to wake him up just to talk. But then I remembered that he'd slept the entire journey north, so that had to have been enough for him. Reassured, I pulled the bell.

"One moment," Destin's voice said from inside the tent. There was a soft scraping noise followed by the tent flap being pulled back. The black haired tactician stuck his head out and looked at me. "Ah, Lucina."

"I was hoping to talk to you, if I'm not interrupting anything," I said, suddenly feeling hesitant.

"Nothing I can't take care of later," he said cheerfully. "Please, come in."

I did so, taking in the interior of his tent in one quick sweep. His sleeping blankets lay carelessly in one corner, while the other side of the tent was taken up by a small wooden desk and chair. Several books were stacked on the desk, with one open where he had obviously been reading it before I had arrived. An inkwell and quill stood at its side. I wondered if the furniture had been provided by the Feroxi – surely we hadn't been carrying it with us?

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Destin asked, settling himself on the floor near his blankets.

"The future. Rather, the future I came from." I took a deep breath, sitting down opposite him. "I know I've told my tale before, but I want you more than anyone to understand its import. Even to my father I spoke only of events and their repercussions, not what it really means for us."

"I see," Destin said. "Please, continue."

"In my future, almost no corner of our world is safe for humans. Risen swarm across the land as an unstoppable horde. The people cower in terror, helpless before the onslaught. And always, Grima fills the sky with his ebony form to remind us that we cannot win, that we only live because he allows it."

"A fevered nightmare come true. I can scarcely imagine it."

"It is a hell," I said solemnly. It hurt slightly to think of my own world as such, but it was the truth. "The worst part… is the hopelessness. Knowing that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many Risen you destroy or how many people you save, it's all going to come to nothing. Even if we achieved a miracle and eradicated the Risen, Grima would still be waiting for us. He cannot be destroyed, and so our torment is endless. We live our lives knowing that everything we do… is worthless." That was a thought I'd been holding in the back of my mind for a long time, and not one I'd ever dared to share with anyone else. It was just too depressing to say out loud.

"This is why we cannot – we must not – lose this war. Do you understand? My father's role is integral, but I think that you more than anyone else have the ability to avert the catastrophe to come."

"I will do everything in my power to help you and Chrom, Lucina," Destin said. "I swear it. If my sword or my tactics or my very presence can change things, then they will."

I exhaled slowly. "That is what I wanted to hear," I said. "Thank you, Destin. It reassures me that there are people besides me who know what we're fighting for, and why we cannot fail no matter what the cost."

"I may not fully understand the horrible nature of your future, but I have already heard enough about it from you that I know it needs to be prevented. I promise you'll always have my support in that regard. Now, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"Well… do you know where you got that coat?"

"What, this old thing?" Destin asked, looking down at the coat in question with surprise. "Well, no. I was wearing it when Chrom found me. I assume you've already heard that story?" At my nod, he sighed softly. "I don't remember anything from before then. I don't even know why I keep wearing it, except that it's comfortable. Why do you ask?"

"There's a mysterious figure in my future that people call the High Priest of the Grimleal. I've heard he's directly connected to Grima himself. I've never seen him personally, but I've talked to people who have… and they all described to me the hooded coat he wears. It's exactly the same as this one."

I don't know what response I had expected to get from him, but his sudden blanching was a bit beyond what I had imagined. His mouth opened and closed silently, as though he was trying to form a thought but couldn't quite manage it. Finally, he said "So one of our enemies wears this exact same coat?"

"There are few who would know this, but all those strange sigils and such etched around it are all Grimleal symbols," I said. "Particularly the circles drawn on the sleeves – they represent the six eyes of Grima, which I have seen for myself."

"I… didn't know," he managed, shaking his head slightly. "To think I've been wearing the uniform of our enemy the whole time and I didn't even know it. Very troubling." Abruptly, he stood up. "I'm sorry to walk out in the middle of a conversation, but I have some errands that need to be done before the meeting tonight. I'll be more than happy to talk later, okay?" I gave a slightly confused nod, which he replied to with a disarming smile before hurrying out of the tent.

Truthfully, there wasn't anything else that I'd really wanted to talk to Destin about, yet I still felt a little disappointed. I believed him when he said that he'd do anything to help my father and I, just as his claim not to know the origin of his favored coat seemed genuine. Perhaps my suspicions were unfounded, but it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him. It was possible that something would happen later on that would shake his commitment, though I still had no idea how the situation could get so bad that he'd actually murder Chrom.

Left alone in his tent with nothing else to do, I paused to examine the furniture I'd been curious about earlier. The frames were definitely solid wood, though they seemed lighter than I would have expected. Upon closer inspection, a series of concealed hinges allowed both the desk and the chair to fold in on themselves and become a smaller, more manageable package. These would be easy to carry along, even while on the march. I found the design quite intriguing; I wondered if this was something Destin had invented himself, or had appropriated from elsewhere.

The book he'd left open on the desk caught my eye. It was a thick, heavy tome with a plain leather cover. Lines of tightly packed script filled the open pages, with more writing in a different hand lining the sides. I didn't fully understand all the words, but it seemed to be some kind of treatise on military strategy. The writing around the side appeared to be Destin's own – annotations left on the content of the book.

Well, I supposed it was only natural that he'd have these kinds of books. He had to have learned his impressive skill at tactics somewhere. It was interesting that his own notes often disagreed with the original writer of the book. But if he didn't think the writer's advice was worthwhile, why would he bother reading it?

Perhaps that was something I could ask him about the next time we spoke. I certainly wasn't a general, but it would be interesting to learn even a little about strategy from Destin. If there was a tactical mind equal to his on this side of the sea, I hadn't heard of him or her.

Satisfied, I left the tent to find that I'd spent more time inside than I'd thought. The sun was setting, bathing the entire camp in a lurid orange glow. By my estimation, it wouldn't be long before the meeting was supposed to convene. I still had enough time to find some dinner and make my way over to the Khans' main tent, though.

In a camp this vast, any eating arrangement more formal than communal fires and cook pots would be difficult to organize. Every clump of a dozen or more tents seemed to be preparing their own meal, making the air more than a little smoky. I sat down with a brigade of Feroxi soldiers who were happy to let me have some of the stew they'd made. Though the men and women in the camp might have been from three disparate nations, in purpose we were united. I reflected on this idea briefly as I ate.

Once I'd finished, I thanked the men for the meal and set off towards the command tent. An exceptionally tall banner made it easily visible from anywhere in the camp. I passed numerous groups similar to the one I'd just left, sitting and eating while talking about nothing important. When I finally arrived at the large, crimson hued tent, the guards on duty let me enter without a fuss. It seems they'd already had instructions from my father and the Khans as to who was attending.

Those three principals were already inside, looking over an array of maps and lists spread out across the long wooden table that dominated the center of the tent. Frederick was there as well, standing behind Chrom's shoulder and examining a length of parchment with his trademark thoughtful frown. Destin, however, was not.

I approached the table slowly, still feeling slightly hesitant. Chrom had indicated that I would be welcome at the meeting, but I was still adjusting to being part of the group. I couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious. Flavia looked up from a report and gave me a warm nod, which hastened my steps. I had just reached the side of the table opposite my father when the tent flap opened again.

"Sorry if I'm late," Destin said. "There were a few things I needed to take care of."

All eyes in the tent turned to the tactician as he strode inside. I blinked in surprise. He had changed.

The black coat he'd always worn that we had talked about just a short time ago was gone. In its place he wore a coat of a similar style and length, but it was a deep, dark blue. Instead of the sinister purple Grimleal symbols that had dotted his old one, this one had gold thread that laced along the edge and the sleeves in simple, clean lines. As he walked calmly past Chrom, I saw that a crest of actual gold had been set into the back where the hood had been. It shined brilliantly in the bright torchlight.

No one could have failed to notice the difference, yet no comments were made. They all settled in to begin the meeting as though it was of no import; and to them it might well have been, but I felt differently.

Had he changed because of what I'd said? It was understandable that he wouldn't want to keep wearing a garment that marked him as one of our enemies once he'd learned what it meant, but it seemed a sudden thing to do. That must be what he'd gone out for earlier when he'd left the tent. Or perhaps he had another reason to change his usual style, and my own words hadn't meant anything?

I stopped that train of thought there. I was putting far too much consideration into a minor thing. It was a coat, not some grand symbol of allegiance. The others were giving it no regard, and nor should I.

Still… I couldn't help but feel a little touched by the thought that he'd gotten rid of his trademark garment just because of me.

"…We have a report from the non-combat ships we sent out looking for signs of the Valmese fleet before you left," Flavia was saying, passing the document in question across the table to Destin. I gave a small start; the conversation had proceeded while I'd still been lost in thought.

"They'll make landfall in approximately four days at their current speed. We have until then to intercept them."

"I'd rather not leave it that late," Destin said, examining the scout report. "Better we face them early so that we have room for contingencies. Was there anything else?"

"They left it off the report because it wasn't hard fact," Flavia replied, "But they estimated that the Valmese fleet numbers around eight hundred ships. Also, every one of their warships appears to be packed stem to stern. If they didn't bring any more soldiers than this for the invasion, it wasn't for lack of trying."

"So they have even more ships than we do," Destin mused. "And all of them full… that's troubling."

"What are your thoughts, strategy-wise?" Chrom asked.

Destin raised one hand and rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. "The Valmese are experienced in naval battles, while we are not. Plegia might have loaned us their ships and barely enough men to sail them, but that's all. We don't have the skill or sufficient warships to face them in a straight naval encounter. Boarding them and engaging their soldiers directly would offset that, but if the report of their numbers is accurate then it's still a bad prospect."

"Further, remember that this is only the first stage of the campaign. If we're to win the war, we still need to have enough men and ships left over from this battle to invade the Valmese mainland. I doubt we'll have that if we fight them on even terms."

I traced one finger idly over the edge of the map that took up most of the table. Destin explaining the situation highlighted just how much of a disadvantage we were at. They had more men than our entire army in just this invasion force, and there were more Valmese armies waiting in their homeland. They had better equipment in the form of warships, and were quite used to using them. How were we supposed to overcome such a gap? If only I'd asked more questions, I could have remembered how it was done in my time…

"So if we can't fight them straight out, what do we do then?" Basilio demanded.

"We have to find another way… what else do we have? Are there any other resources we're not considering?"

"Well actually…" Flavia paused to lift another document from the heap and pass it to Destin. "The Plegians sent supplies along with the ships. Most of it is ordinary stuff or junk we have no use for. But I checked most of it out myself and the numbers there are accurate."

Destin scanned the list quickly, reading each item out loud as though thinking to himself. "…twelve hundred clay pots containing oil," he finished, and then blinked slightly. "Well, that's something."

"Oil?" Basilio said, leaning forward. "What, do you think we should try to launch a fire attack on them?"

"How would we facilitate something like that?" Frederick asked. "We'd have to board their ships to pour the oil on them, then somehow light them on fire and withdraw. I think we'd be more likely to set ourselves aflame than the Valmese."

Destin's head snapped up at that last. I could practically see the plans flashing through his eyes. Chrom had clearly seen it as well, as he immediately turned to his friend.

"I can see that you have a strategy, Destin," Chrom said quietly. "Just tell us what we need to do to make it work."

"To start, we'll need to sacrifice a few ships as a decoy so that we can get an elite strike force onto their flagship. We'll need to take out the Valmese commander if this is going to work properly." Destin turned to face my father. "I think that'll have to be us, Chrom."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he replied. "So we break the enemy's chain of command, induce a little confusion. What then?"

"We'll send up a signal once we've finished and are in a position to extricate ourselves from the rest of the Valmese fleet. Then…"

"That's when we'll strike?" Basilio asked eagerly. "We dump the oil on them and light their ships on fire?"

"No, that's when we light our ships on fire," Destin corrected.

There was dead silence in the tent for a full minute as everyone present gawked at the raven haired tactician. For his part, he simply stared at the map as though it held the answers he was looking for.

"Err… not that I'm challenging this army's appointed strategist, but how exactly is lighting ourselves on fire going to help?" Basilio demanded.

"As Frederick noted, it's simply not viable for us to board them and try to set fires before retreating. But our own ships pose no such problems." Destin looked up and swept his gaze across each person at the table. "Our ships will be lined up in pairs, making it look like we intend to engage them in a direct naval battle. Once the signal goes up, we'll begin sailing at the Valmese fleet. And when we've gotten close enough, the crew of every second ship will pour oil onto their own decks and light them afire before jumping to the spare."

"Remember that even with every soldier in this army aboard, our holds are only half full. We can lose half of our fleet and still have enough ships left to transport our entire army. The same cannot be said for the Valmese. Without a commander to make a clear decision, they won't be able to react to something like this. They'll never expect it. Once the fire starts spreading they'll have to abandon thoughts of battle and simply try to survive."

"But we'll still be losing half of our ships," Flavia pointed out reasonably. "If enough Valmese warships manage to escape, we'll still be at a disadvantage. Just how much of their fleet do you think we'll be able to take out with this… plan?"

"That depends on how quickly their individual captains react… and the fortune of the Gods," Destin said, flashing a slight smile. "At the very least, half of their fleet will go down in flames. If we get lucky, we might just take out every ship they've got."

"Minimum half…" Chrom shook his head. "And they'll have lost four hundred ships' worth of men, while we sacrifice only ships. It's risky, but this is what we need to even things out."

"The Plegians might not appreciate us using their ships as flaming missiles," Frederick said. "Not that they can do anything about it, but…"

"Plegia contributed those ships to our cause, to do with as we see fit," Destin cut in. Suddenly he was not smiling. "If King Validar has a problem with how I choose to utilize them, he can take it up with me once Walhart isn't breathing down our necks. I admit I'll have a few things to discuss with him at that time as well."

"At the point of a sword, no doubt," Chrom said dryly. "Well, I don't deny you've the right of it. In the meantime, I think this is more or less decided. Unless anyone has any further objections…?"

Basilio and Flavia both shook their heads. Proud and stubborn rulers they might be, but they were both well aware that Destin knew strategy on an instinctive level far greater than they ever would. It was only natural that they provide counterarguments, but when it came down to it they would do as he said.

"We'll still have all of tomorrow to drill the crews in preparation for the plan," Destin said. "It's best we set sail the morning after, so that we can maneuver and intercept the Valmese at an advantageous time. I think that's all that needs to be said for now."

We emerged from the meeting to find that it was fully dark, and only an array of torches set at regular intervals gave us enough light to see where we were going. Basilio and Flavia left to find their own tents while the rest of us headed back to the Shepherds' section of the camp. The others were uncharacteristically silent on the walk back.

I said nothing myself, thinking of what had just passed. Really, I had contributed nothing to the meeting. Chrom had made sure I'd be able to attend, and I had just sat there like a lump while all the decisions were made. It wasn't a pleasant realization. But I wasn't a leader like Chrom or the Khans, neither was I a strategist like Destin. My area of expertise was the future I'd come here from, which wasn't very useful considering how little I remembered about the Valmese war.

But I could change that. I wanted to earn the place I'd been given, and I would. I had time and determination. The next time I sat in on a meeting, I would truly be part of it. I would be part of this army.

The certainty of it pleased me.