Burning Fig Trees

This would be her last job. Cordelia had to remind herself of this fact to make the heat and overwhelming stench of burned grass bearable. She had worked months to gain her client's favors, and now the signet she needed above all else was only one short job away. But of all the places, did her client have to send her into Sacae's depths, the place farthest away from any ocean waves, and during a firestorm no less?

The flames roared high into the sky, and the stone pines along the road quivered. Flashes of a burning mansion in Satar came back to her. She had celebrated then, had felt the heat of justice swell her lungs, but she had since stopped believing in justice. At least any sense of justice she didn't carve out with her own spear. Now, the sparks tumbling overhead gave her reason enough to spur her horse in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, Asbel had other plans.

He leaned over the neck of his own horse to follow the noise of a nearby marketplace that crouched in the shade of a few fig trees.

"Do you think they sell roasted dates there?" Asbel asked and leaned even farther in hopes of catching a whiff of the market's fruit selection.

Asbel accompanied Cordelia as her… partner? Companion? Unwanted and unwarranted backup? Her client had insisted on a two-person team, a clear sign that he either doubted her abilities or her loyalty. The latter concern was at least justified. Two years ago, she might have found some comfort in a mage watching her back, but Asbel's bright blue cape had the subtlety of a waving banner in the dry-yellowed landscape. He talked too much as well.

Cordelia pointed down the road. "Ostia is that way."

"Workaholic," Asbel said with a dramatic sigh. He had over ten years more life experience, but no one would have known based on his behavior. "Roasted dates are a specialty of the region; a culinary gift if you ask me. I'd die just to taste one of the Lorca originals. No idea what spices they use, but I've heard the result is unmatched."

"It's cinnamon, mostly."

Asbel leaned forward so far, his horse drew back its ears and threatened to throw him. "You had them? You visited one of the Lorca's camps?"

Cordelia bit into her cheek. Too much information. She needed to stay focused on the job.

"Only once. A long time ago," she said and nudged her mare forward to end the conversation. She let the reins hang lose; a shift in body weight told the animal where to go. Her training, if nothing else, at least ensured she had a steady hand with horses.

"Oh, come on," Asbel said. "We won't make it to the residence before sundown anyway."

He had a point. With the fire raging only a few wyvern flaps away and a thick coverage of smoke clouds, Cordelia couldn't tell the time of day, but looking at the road ahead, even she wouldn't convince her mare into anything faster than a trudge. Farmers streamed along the stone pines in both directions. They pushed carts and herded dozens of nervous sheep, and many more dragged wailing children by the hand. Cordelia avoided the eyes of a pair of Djute tribesmen with their blue-patterned shawls. The majority of the crowd marched, or rather slogged, away from the firewall, but a brave, stupid few steered towards the marketplace to stock up on provisions first. A crying of fresh figs and bags of northern grain lured them. The crowd moved without the noise of panic so far. But the row of carts and cattle wouldn't make room for Cordelia and Asbel either.

"We have a job to do," Cordelia said, but without conviction.

"Uther isn't gonna let you into his residence in the middle of the night, no matter how much you scowl. I'll treat you to a drink at the next tavern. Fair?"

Asbel couldn't manage the coins in his pouch if his life depended on it. Should he leave the marketplace with more than a copper disk, it would border on a miracle. He only hadn't starved to death between the rags of a dusty alleyway thanks to the client's generosity. One could almost mistake him for a good man. But Cordelia had sworn not to repeat her mistakes.

Asbel still looked at her with puppy eyes.

"Keep it brief," she said and earned herself a dazzling grin. "And try not to burn anything."

"You didn't say that last time." Asbel, still grinning, urged his horse along the line of hungry market customers. A small starling made of fire hopped from his right hand to his left before dissolving back into a sphere. "What do you think, would dates taste differently when you roasted them with a magic fire?"

"Like the one swallowing the Ostian farmland over there?"

"Okay, okay, I hear you." Asbel sighed. "And just after I got a feeling for fire. I'm telling you, it's a completely different beast to wind. Far more…"

"Destructive?"

"Shifty. Especially when you have to hand-tame it by yourself because there isn't a half-decent fire mage in a hundred-mile radius from Leonster."

"Then do me a favor and save the magic tricks for when things get tight. The last tavern owner was this close to roasting you on a stick when you tried to help him with his fireplace."

"Aye, aye, my lady. No more magic tricks until the old dragons themselves are on my heels."

Cordelia smiled without wanting too. She was growing complacent and worse, trusting. This job needed to end soon. Otherwise she might hesitate to sink a knife into her client's back when the time came.

The cries from vendors and the shouts from their customers reached a new, deafening whirl. Cordelia tied her horse alongside a dozen other pawing animals and spared a few calm words for the two desert mares next to her. The smoke in their nostrils scared them. They liked this place as little as she did.

Asbel near swooned when he spun this way and that in an effort to take in the countless figs, papayas, and peppermint nuts on display. The throng of other customers shouting over one another didn't discourage him, and his eyes went hazy from the faint smell of his precious roasted dates.

"I'll be back in a minute," he mumbled, already half-forgetting that Cordelia existed, let alone any job he should worry about. His blue cape disappeared in the crowd.

She checked her spear but found no need to treat the head to a new whetting stone. Few enough vendors sold non-edible goods anyway. Only two farmers tried in vain to trade their pans and pots for coins; a lighter load for the flight from fire.

Cordelia inspected their goods without real interest. The crudely woven blankets and dotted plates had the dust of sentimentality to them. She clutched her spear, and the white feather brushed against her knuckles. People only parted from stuff like this in despair.

The air grew thicker.

A small, carved figure caught her eye. She choked on an ashen taste or the memory of a throne room door slamming shut, her name, cried out too many times, and blood on the tiled floor. The marketplace ceased to exist, as distant as the island of Talys. She lifted the figure from a basket with wooden toys and stroked its face. It smiled at her. And that smile hurt more than a knife in Cordelia's gut.

"It protects against wizards," the vendor said from somewhere far away. "You can't have enough protection against their fires and their magic trickery. Especially now. It's an image of Naga, see?"

No, the man had it wrong. Cordelia wished it were Naga. But these child-like features, this wide smile beaming towards her from the wood belonged to someone else.

"Her Voice." Cordelia almost couldn't bring the words out. They writhed on her lips. "Tiki."

The throne room door slammed shut again. It was too much.

She dropped the figure and a silver coin into the vendor's basket and fled. Harsh military training forced her heartbeat back into a steady rhythm, steady harp play, after a few steps. But the crowd wasn't thick enough to hide her from her own thoughts. This job needed to end. Soon. She wanted only to feel the parchment with her client's signature between her fingers and then the shingle beaches of her home and forget. Forget while the waves broke at the chalk cliffs where wild snapdragons shivered. But she still stood here in the middle of an Ostian marketplace. And when she looked closely, she hadn't managed to clean the red spots from her spearhead.

She counted to ten and breathed, all too aware that the man who had taught her this technique was dead.

Asbel couldn't have gone far. She would cut his shopping tour short and get on with the job. Maybe Uther would offer them a special appointment post-sundown if she held her spear to his throat. Not that her client would encourage that approach, but he wouldn't have to know the details as long as she delivered results. And wasn't that the essence of Pheraen efficiency they had drilled into her?

Cordelia didn't need to search long for Asbel. He bumped into her, and instead of the half-dozen bags with fruit she had expected him to carry, he wore an expression of deep concern.

"We need to go." He visibly fought the urge to look over his shoulders. "Assassins."

In the middle of nowhere?

"Are you sure?" Cordelia asked.

"I saw the guy's dagger. And he saw me too."

In that case, whatever low profile they were supposed to keep had just burned up in cinders. Cordelia pushed Asbel towards their horses at a forcefully slow pace to avoid suspicions. Assassins always meant trouble, and those who survived in their business long enough didn't hesitate to eliminate eye-witnesses. Maybe Navarre had grown tired of his Pheraen prison cell and had contacted some of his friends at the guild. She couldn't exactly blame him if he wanted repayment for the fingers she had cut off.

She circled a man loaded with crates, and her feet fell into their old rhythm, battle-tense, soft like a plucked harp string. How many more complications would follow before this last job ended?

And that was when the screaming started.

The stench became worse with every minute, and by the time the fire wall conquered the entire view ahead, Ike needed all his composure not to retch. He didn't care for figs in their normal state; neither in Tellius nor during his rebel days had he earned the coin to waste on fruits that provided him with maybe a spoonful of edible material. But fire made their tang ten times worse.

It hung everywhere over the cornfields and farm huts clinging to the Ostella river, and the sugary smell joined the ash flakes for an especially nasty brew. Whatever mage had cast this firewall, Ike would rejoice to cut off their head like in the good old days. Not because he felt sorry for the blazing crops but because he couldn't wait to get away from here. Maybe Lucina had a more pleasant stay in Ostia.

The closer they came to the cauldron of heat, the more energy Ike needed to direct his horse. The mare liked the smell of burnt plant life about as much as he did; which was to say she put her ears back and reeled more than she trotted. Even Rath struggled with his reins. A sign for every sane person to hurry in the opposite direction, but Ike hadn't earned his reputation as a rebel for his sound decision making.

The heat sent one punch after the other against his face. A few dozen paces later, the crouched shapes of the fig trees screamed out their agony, and hundred-year-old trunks snapped with the ease of matches. All the world boiled with orange colors. Except for the white lines swirling at the firewall's base. Up close, they left no doubt as to the involvement of magic.

Great. All Ike knew about the fine arts had mutated out of hand-me-down knowledge from his rebel days.

And already came the first of the inevitable questions.

"The hand to control the fire, must it be close?" Rath asked while struggling to keep his horse steady.

"Guess it depends on the mage's skill. This is advanced work, it could mean the spellcaster has to stick close." Ike squinted at the flames. Although they roared and reached tall enough into the sky to give even the guards on the Black Wall hot feet, the fire moved a little too orderly. "It's not left wild. Otherwise it would eat through those fig trees faster."

"The cowardly snake behind the fire is cautious. This will be its last mistake. I am hunting on my home plains here, and with the flame sword out of my head, I look forward to the feeling of a bowstring between my fingers."

Ike gave his surroundings another look-over. Wheat heads trembled wherever the cowering fig trees left enough space for useful crops to grow.

"Is there anything nearby where the mage could hide?" Ike asked. "A rock formation or a tower where they can overlook their work?"

"The eagles built a marketplace a short ride away – before they raised an imperial flag. In Lyn's days, some Lorca would trade gazelle meat for fruits or spices here. This mage will hide there if they relish the sight of the destruction they cause. Many hunters do. The spineless ones all the more."

A marketplace. That meant crowds and way too many suspects who might struggle with a slight overdose of fiery passion. Besides, the firewall itself continued to nag Ike. Why not guzzle all of Sacae's crops in one go? Virion would say the mage was only waiting for the brightest star in the ensemble to arrive, all according to the script.

If so, the script should have gotten rid of the smell of boiled figs in Ike's nose.

Then again, every day that promised a chance to shake off Ragnell's rust and roll the nasty fat of peace from his shoulders was a good day. Fighting – that alone was what he had survived for, right? And so he followed Rath to where, between low clay walls, hunched the marketplace.

Merchants were a crazy bunch. Even with the end of the world breathing down their neck, they used every opportunity to sell their goods. And as it turned out, a firewall rolling across Sacae had a marvelous effect on the prices of dates, corn, and even the most wrinkled of oranges.

With a scowl, Ike passed through a hole in the marketplace wall, a crooked thing with no two places of the same height, and dismounted. From open clay huts and stacked carts and a mess of blankets stretching over and across one another, the merchants shouted out their goods. And they needed their hectic shouts to survive against the noise of their clientele. Tribesmen with at least three differently patterned scarfs to show their allegiance quarreled with each other and the Ostia citizens caught in between. Everybody wanted everything, and they fought for it with slurs and coins. A sack of flour traded hands for a price so abhorrent, even the gods would turn up their ugly noses. Everywhere hung the smell of impending famine, and Ike wouldn't be surprised if half the fruits here had developed an ashen aftertaste.

And in this mess, he hoped to find one mage.

Truly exhilarating odds.

"If we split, we will broaden our reach," Rath said, and a moment later his brawny figure slipped into the wrangle.

Although he now wrapped a golden crown instead of a scarf around his head, he had maintained a talent for blending in with the common folk. Usually, the people of Pherae and Sacae loved him for his loud, inviting personality, but here it meant he collected as many stepped-on toes as the rest of the bunch. He, however, didn't seem to mind and chatted with one of the tribesmen, all while moving the man around in such a way that he could observe the people nearby without their notice.

Damn, he was good. Ike needed to step up his game.

He wandered between the stalls for a little, feigning interest in salted mackerels here and shriveled dates there. Although an inter-kingdom law had been discussed at some point, mages unfortunately didn't have a tattoo spelling "dangerous" Ike could look for. But a clawed hand or a hazy gaze could reveal an active spellcaster.

A man with a torn black cape and matching scarf caught Ike's attention. He even wore a tattoo on his left shoulder, but the twin knives at his belt didn't speak for an interest in the metaphysical. Any real mages hid themselves from Ike.

He, on the other hand, gathered a little too much attention. He towered half a head above the average fruit shopper, and although his travel coat hid Ragnell's gleam, people bumped into him from behind on a regular basis in this wrangle. And the shape of a greatsword in a crowded marketplace this far from the capital inevitably raised eyebrows.

When the sixth moron stepped on Ike's heels, he wheeled around to give this whole stinking marketplace a piece of his mind. But the man in the blue cape who had run into him probably wouldn't understand a word.

He mumbled something to himself, and the hazy gaze he threw the fruits around him could make the proudest drunkard jealous. A jolt stiffened his shoulders for a second at most before he mumbled, "I'm sorry," in Ike's general direction and toddled off. He made a show out of his careless walk. With that same hazy gaze he bumped into the next unlucky customer.

Wait…

Ike bent his knees to sprint after the man when a heavy paw grabbed his shoulder and the cold tip of a dagger pressed against his back.

"Well, ain't that a funny coincidence, you maggot."

Ike swallowed a curse. "Shouldn't you be rotting in a cell at the Glass Fortress?"

Linus cackled in his ear. "The prison Jaffar can't break into still needs to be build. I was out in no time. Maybe I'll introduce you."

The dagger poked a little more persuasively. Ike needed something to distract Linus. The borrowed Black Fang dagger at his belt? Bad idea, Linus expected that. The basket with figs to his right? Out of reach.

Ike could grab one of the civilians pushing by and throw them in the line of Linus dagger. That would buy him the seconds he needed to draw Ragnell from his back. He was running out of time. His best suspect disappeared behind a duo of Kutolah tribesmen.

"It's a shame your renewed freedom will be so short-lived," Ike said. Surprise Linus, make him drop his guard for just a second to spin around and grab his dagger. "I'm here with the Pheraen king and his royal guards. Don't you think they'll find it suspicious if I suddenly drop dead on the ground?"

Wrong move. Linus pushed his dagger higher, edging Ike's shoulder blade.

"You don't say. So the Lorca upstart's here after all." Linus cackled. "All as the boss predicted. How about we walk over to His Highness and talk like old friends should?"

Several thoughts erupted in Ike's head at once. They wanted Rath. Of course, he made for the priciest target the Black Fang could hope for on this marketplace by far. How many lurked around here aside from Linus? This Jaffar, and the boss person also? And the mage, did he work with or against the guild?

Ike didn't finish his thoughts. Rath moved through the crowd towards him. At this angle, he wouldn't see Linus until it was too late.

Ike needed to act now.

He kicked Linus' shin and in the same breath twisted his arm to grab the wrist with the dagger. Linus groaned, the blade grazed Ike's shoulder but didn't cut deep enough to loosen his grip on Linus' wrist.

Ragnell gleamed.

And in the same moment, one of Rath's arrows punctured Linus' shoulder. The dagger dropped into the dust.

Linus screamed, and the crowd picked up the scream and scrambled over sacks and melon baskets in a panicked attempt to escape the range of Ragnell. The firewall had numbed them, but this sudden eruption of violence kicked their survival senses back into gear.

With one exception.

And this exception jumped at Rath in a black whirl of cape and scarf. Ike shoved Linus to the ground, but he didn't reach Rath in time to prevent one of the twin knives from burying itself into Rath's arm. The other one shot upwards only to stop an inch from Rath's throat.

The tattooed man with the scarf, who could only be Jaffar, glared at Ike; an unambiguous demand to drop Ragnell.

To the five hells with that.

Ike grabbed Linus, who was still struggling with his balance and the arrow in his flesh, by the collar and hoisted his chin over Ragnell in a mirror pose to Jaffar. Linus made for a worthless hostage, but his broad frame provided a decent shield. If the Black Fang had wanted Rath dead, he would bleed out in the dust by now. Ike had to count on that.

"Where is the sword?" Jaffar hissed.

Ike froze. He had heard the same question before; a day crawling with heat, a spruce twig snapping under his shoe, a different voice.

No sacrifice cripples the determined man.

No, stop, he wasn't in Tellius. The orange hue on Jaffar's face stemmed from the firewall, and in the air hung the taste of ash, not spruce.

The merchants and their customers crowded a few dozen paces away. Some murmured. Others whimpered. Two tribesmen had freed the bows from their shoulders but couldn't decide who to shoot at.

Rath, although the blood darkened his tunic and less than a finger twitch separated his throat from a knife, stood in Jaffar's grip with an eerie calm.

"The dust has slaked its thirst for blood for today," he said. "Whatever the assassin hunts after, the Pheraen crown will provide it."

The murmurs grew louder. A few people pointed at Rath and whispered.

He satisfied their curiosity no second later. "I am Rath of the Lorca and Rath of Pherae. This land is mine to serve. I suggest the assassin takes his knives to a different hunting ground."

At once, the crowd shifted. As one, the tribesmen pointed their arrows at Jaffar, and anyone who had seen a decent Lorca archer on the hunt knew that they would hit their target, even with Rath covering Jaffar's torso. Farmers and women with the flowing gowns of Ostia picked up stones, and more and more voices hurled insults against the Black Fang.

Ike allowed himself an inward grin. In a popularity contest, Rath would always pull ahead.

But his satisfaction over Jaffar's nervous twitching didn't last long. Linus gave up his struggles against Ike's grip, and ugly laughter shook him.

Ike kicked the back of Linus' knee but forced him to stay upright when he threatened to sink. "What's so funny?"

Linus spat out. His grin widened. "You're sitting on a powder keg. And when it goes off, the Lorca king and his little fan club will all be tiny scraps in the air. We'll get the sword some other way."

Ike pulled Linus' head by the hair. "Say that again."

Linus cackled. "I'm just on the B team. If the Lorca king had gone to Ostia first, he would have found a little surprise from the boss there. We already infiltrated the marquess' villa. So, if the Lorca King thought he would be all smarts and send the sword ahead with his guards to Ostia, he'd find those guards a few heads short. Isn't that reason enough to laugh?"

Lucina.

She was riding into a trap. How much time had passed? Had she reached the villa already?

Ike craned his neck east, beyond the cragged marketplace wall and the glittering band of the Ostella river where the dark shape of Ostia crouched. For a moment he focused on nothing else.

A mistake everyone on the marketplace paid for.

Linus yanked his head backwards. Sharp pain corrupted Ike's vision as his nose broke. White stars danced, and he stumbled. Shouts erupted from somewhere, and then Linus shoved him to the ground.

Ike choked on sand, rolled over. A knee slammed into his ribs, and a dagger flashed amidst the pain firework of sprained bones.

Ike grabbed Linus' wrists, and the dagger stopped in its path. The smell of blood covered everything. There wasn't enough air, Ike's arms threatened to give in, and inch after inch, the dagger crept towards his throat.

Linus grinned, leaned all his weight into the weapon.

Somewhere nearby, Rath wrestled with his own opponent. The beating of many feet rocked the ground pressing against Ike's head. With body strength alone, he wouldn't get out of this.

He loosened one hand from Linus' wrist, the dagger sunk three inches, close, too damn close. His fingers found the arrow shaft in Linus shoulder, pulled. And with all the strength he had, he rammed the arrow back into the torn flesh.

Linus howled and started back. Ike kicked him the rest of the way into the dust.

Panting, he swiped the blood from his nose. Maybe it wasn't broken. Although most of his body felt like that by now.

Shadows flickered in and out of focus in front of the firewall; manic people. More people shouted and shuffled all around, and amidst the chaos, Rath was bleeding heavier now. He and Jaffar fought over a knife like the people had fought over a sack of grain before, tooth and nail. Stones flew.

Linus groaned; he had to have grown sick of Ike by now, but if he joined his Black Fang partner, they might pin Rath down despite the crowd. Ike collected Ragnell and readied himself for the sprint to tackle Jaffar.

A blue cape rustled between the mass of bodies. Ike stopped, whirled around. The mage looked over his shoulder for three long seconds as he fled. Gone was the haze in his eyes. His lips moved for a spell, a warning to his partners, or out of simple fear before the crowd swallowed him yet again.

And Ike, without a look back at Rath, ran after him.

People pushed against him, his ribs creaked when an elbow struck them, but he didn't slow, shoved aside whoever didn't move quickly enough. There, a hem of a blue mage robe.

Ike ran faster.

Someone fell when he pushed them, and panicked feet buried them, already gone by the time Ike blinked. He ran all the same, ran as his father had told him years ago, and no sacrifice crippled the determined man.

Heat washed against his face, but didn't it come from the wrong direction?

The mage sprinted towards the long line of horses tied down at the market wall. Some had already loosened their ropes. Ike couldn't push through the crowd fast enough. And once the mage mounted, he would disappear in the wrangle of panicked farmers and crooked fig trees for good. On an unfamiliar horse, Ike had no hopes of catching up.

He ran all the same.

And then, someone shoved the mage. He stumbled, dropped into the sand. His eyes were wide. A wave of red hair vanished in the crowd, but Ike didn't bother, his target cowered there in the open.

The mage struggled to his feet but barely before Ike's shadow caught up to him. Even if he had carried a sword or a knife, a weapon wouldn't have prolonged his life, not against Ike, and he had to have seen the resolve in Ike's face. The seconds remaining to him ran short.

Panic consumed him, sparks erupted from his palms, and he summoned a fireball.

Only a handful of steps separated them. The fireball grew, the heat slapped Ike, returned him to the snow-muddy streets of Thria where Roy had slaughtered his comrades, and if the fire grew any larger, it would break from the mage's grasp and blaze through the marketplace and everything within its crooked walls, living or dead.

A powder keg, like Linus had promised.

Ragnell gleamed. The mage trembled with disbelief, with… betrayal? He yelped when his own fire burned through his shaking control and bit into his arms.

Maybe he could be reasoned with. A friendly word might break through his spell and convince him to disperse the fire. Lucina would try.

Ike stood an armlength from the mage, the heat threatened to boil his skin. The mage's green eyes looked up at him.

With one stroke of Ragnell, Ike cut him in half.

The fireball shot upwards. It took the shape of a starling, strangely beautiful, and consumed itself until only a small shower of sparks remained, drifting with the wind. People were still shouting, but in Ike's head reigned utter silence. Between the folds of the blood-soaked mage robe on the ground peeked a scorched hand.

Somewhere amidst the crowd, Linus cursed.

Ike counted. He made it to ten, and then to ten again, but the orange hues on the shocked faces hurrying by didn't fade. Neither did the smell of burning figs.

The firewall still ate into the western horizon. The dead mage at Ike's feet had changed nothing.

He shouldn't care. It was done, he should run forward, towards the goal.

Don't look back. Never look back.

And so Ike didn't. He dragged himself back into the crowd, to where people shouted and groaned with pain.

Linus and Jaffar had built a pile of dead civilians around them. They wouldn't run out of hostages soon. Rath, barely able to hold himself upright, stood opposite of them. A few people from the crowd tried to support him and others raised their bows and sabers against his attackers.

Rath held them all back. "Too many have shed their blood already."

"That's a good king, all according to the textbook." Linus increased his grip on the woman he was holding by the throat. She whimpered. "Now, one last time, where's the damned sword?"

Rath jutted his chin. "I carry no sword."

"Don't play dumb with me, Lorca king." Linus thrust the broadsword in his other hand into a body by his feet, and blood sprayed. Then he whipped out a dagger. "The Binding Blade, you better hand it over now, or we're cutting down this whole crowd. Maybe when no one watches anymore, you will change your mind."

Jaffar's murmurs went under in the howls of the crowd.

"I won't call for backup!" Linus shouted. "The boss has been relying too much on her dolls to do our job. We're assassins, not some school for fortune-tellers and spark-throwers. Slitting throats is what we do."

And Linus did just that. A crimson line blossomed at the woman's neck. Her whimpers ceased. Accompanied by the groans of the crowd, her body dropped into a pile of squished figs.

Linus ripped the next hostage out of Jaffar's hands and held her out to Rath like a gold-stuffed prize. Thunder shrieked in the distance. Or…

"You're out of warnings, Your Highness," Linus growled. "Your crown and your decrees didn't save the last woman, and it won't save her. How many of your precious subjects will you offer up before you give in? We're all dying to find out."

Linus' dagger flashed with the hues of the firewall. Ike shoved through the crowd, Ragnell poised for assassin heads, hostages or not.

Rath raised a hand. "Halt!"

And in the same instance, a shriek boomed above the marketplace, and those who didn't freeze screamed in terror.

Leather wings beat the air; sand struck Ike's face. He twisted his neck backwards all the same, even as dizziness threatened to trip him.

In front of the ash-laden clouds hovered a wyvern. Its gray tail whipped the air, the intelligent eyes narrowed on its target. It plunged towards the marketplace with a battle shriek. And on the back of the damned oversized lizard sat Cherche and brandished her axe.

Those who had witnessed enough divine madness today, between the firewall, their king wrestling with assassins, and now a lizard from the sky, took to their heels. Another shriek sufficed to send even the bravest merchant stumbling for the safety of the nearby fig groves.

Jaffar fled first. Two jumps and the carts and clay huts stole him from view. Linus cursed, and he looked like he would pounce at Rath and snap his neck just for the sound of it. In the panicked crowd, Ike lost sight of him for one moment, two moments. He wrangled with someone who tried to flee in the opposite direction; another shriek from above.

Then Linus reemerged to run after his partner. The red gleam on his dagger didn't stem from the fire.

Ike pursued him, but he didn't get far before a scaly snout knocked into his side and pinned him to the ground. A hot breath attacked his face.

"Get off me, Minerva!"

The oversized lizard, better known as Cherche's wyvern Minerva, nudged Ike's shoulder and ruined the progress he had made in climbing back to his feet.

"We need to work on your manners, Ike," Cherche said and hopped from Minerva's back. "That's not the kind of greeting you give to the people who saved you."

"I didn't notice any saving. Only a devious attack at my back. I've had enough assassination attempts for one day." Ike took Cherche's outstretched hand and stood. "Where are those Black Fang bastards?"

Cherche's expression spoke volumes.

"You let them get away." Ike wanted to scream or punch someone. Preferably both.

"Hey, I was trying to help you out while there were still some people standing."

"Collaterals always happen. That's the price you pay for winning." Ike cut himself off before he fell deeper into his rant. He swallowed, hard, to clear his mind. "How did you find us?"

"The massive fireball that exploded over your head. I thought only you could stir this much trouble. It's a good thing Minerva spotted the sign, otherwise I would have flown straight to Ostia. Is Lucina here too?"

Ike tensed. A bad idea: his sprained ribs voiced their discontent with a sharp pang. "It's just Rath and me," he pressed out. "Unless Minerva knocked him straight into the afterlife in her attempt to save us."

"Worry not. Pherae will not have to search for a new king quite yet."

Seeing Rath as he stumbled towards them, Ike had doubts about that claim. He looked horrible. One side of his tunic was covered in red, and he struggled to raise his left hand, let alone close it. Under specks of sand and blood, his face had turned a color that would make the heart of any Lorca healer sink.

"He caught me off-guard when the wyvern arrived." Between the fingers Rath pressed against his side blood poured out.

He fought another step forward and stumbled. Ike caught him.

"I meant to ask the loud stranger," Rath mumbled, "if he caught any traces of the mage."

"Only dead-ends." Ike slung Rath's arm over his shoulder. His breathing jolted too often. "You've got to get out of here. The Black Fang could still be around."

"I have not fulfilled my duty. The firewall still ravages my land. My people…"

"Need you alive, that's right. So you better hang in there."

Cherche shifted from one foot to the other. If anyone had even clumsier hands than Ike when it came to applying bandages, she won the award. Nursing Virion hadn't done enough to cure her lack of talent. A wonder he had made it out of his sickbed in Persis.

"What are you doing in Sacae anyway?" Ike asked while he attempted to patch up Rath. At least he didn't lose consciousness. Yet.

"Lucina asked me to bring her this as soon as it was ready." Cherche fished in her saddlebag and presented a red, perfectly smooth stone to Ike.

The Lifesphere, cut from the Binding Blade. It looked small in Cherche's hand, but Ike felt the heat crawl through his veins regardless. Too well did he remember the fire spirit that sprouted from its red depths.

"Why would she want the stone out here?" Ike asked.

"No idea. She seemed kinda busy with her own thoughts when she gave me the order, so I didn't press for explanations."

"I thought we agreed that fighting fire with fire is a bad idea. And all by itself it's of no use to…"

Ike closed his mouth. He was such a moron. Of course Lucina had dragged her goddess-given task with her to Sacae. Hadn't she held her saddlebags unusually close during their journey here? Even while on a mission to help out Rath, she couldn't help but carry the Binding Shield with her. And yet, and yet…

He snatched the Lifesphere out of Cherche's palm and ignored the burst of heat that charged up his arm. "I'll get this to her. You take Minerva and bring Rath back to Lycia."

"I will not—" Rath began, but Ike cut him off.

"The Black Fang is after the Binding Blade. For the moment they still believe that you have it. I don't know what they want with the sword, nor do we have the time to guess. Maybe a sword collector with too much gold on their hands. Linus said the guild infiltrated Uther's residence in Ostia. He was probably bluffing. But if not, you returning to Lycia will distract them, maybe for long enough so that we can deal with the firewall without their daggers flying at us."

Rath choked out a laugh. "So I will fly as your decoy thrush."

He had visible trouble keeping his eyes focused on Ike. He slurred too.

Ike needed more effort than he liked to admit to keep his voice light. "And you'll be a great thrush. Just don't let yourself get eaten by Minerva."

Rath let out a shaky breath. He pushed himself to stand on his own feet and squeezed Ike's shoulder. "Good hunt."

Minerva spread her wings and snapped at Rath when he approached her. During their first meeting, Rath had shot an arrow at her, and she refused to forgive him the tears in her wings. The smell of his blood and the blood all across the marketplace further roused her. But as long as Cherche gave no other orders, the oversized lizard contended herself with a hiss.

Cherche made a move to help Rath onto Minerva's back, but Ike grabbed her arm.

"If you can," he said, "don't stop until you reach Lycia. No delays."

Cherche shot a look at Rath. "How bad is he?"

"Bad. Adrenaline is keeping him on his feet at the moment, but it won't last. He'll pass out soon. If that happens, knock him awake. Don't let him slip."

"I know. Soren gave me the same lectures."

Ike swallowed a curse. If only Soren hadn't decided to ditch them at the darkest hour.

"The Black Fang is serious this time, aren't they?" Cherche glanced at the bodies scattered around until she stopped at the lump of a bloody, blue cape. She bit her lower lip to stop it from quivering. "I thought I would never have to see sights like this again…"

Ike said nothing. What could he tell her? That he longed to close his fingers around Ragnell's hilt the moment he strapped the sword to his back? That he breathed for the battlefield and couldn't sit still in the gleam of Altea's peace because the shadow of the Black Knight always loomed ahead of him?

"Be careful, Ike," Cherche said when he wouldn't talk. "I swore I wouldn't hand you over to the flames. We have done that too often for our comrades. So don't die. And make sure the others get out of this too."

Ike felt no need to tell her that he had left Rath alone with two assassins for a chance to chase after the mage. But he couldn't swallow the ashen fig taste on his tongue either.

By the time the wyvern and its two riders disappeared between the clouds, the sky had darkened into night. The fire wall raged on, no closer to its extinguishment than before the blood of peddlers and their king had stained the ground.

Ike closed his fist around the Lifesphere and trudged through the splinters and squished dates in search for his horse. From the sky drifted ash flakes. It was enough to believe in gods. Only they could continue unmoved in the face of all that they had sacrificed to their whims and goals.

Gods and determined men alone could march forward.

Ragnell rattled on Ike's back as he galloped into the night where Ostia cowered.

Notes: Oh yeah, Cordelia is back, and she is still a magnet for trouble. I changed her role (and its size) in this book like three times. Hopefully I went with the option that works best, but my beta at least seemed happy with her part. In the the next chapter, Lucina will dig too deep for answers, and someone operating in the shadows will finally reveal themselves.