Chrom held out a hand to Sumia, helping her up the last of the crumbling steps and onto a more sturdy -but no less dilapidated, stone terrace. Behind them, the other Shepherds edged their way along the treacherous ascent from the overgrown, man-made cove their vessel had anchored in alongside a behemoth Plegian warship. The Exalt imagined that -were he to explore the rest of the grounds, he'd find the remains of the once-grand Waystone Manor were in a similar state of disrepair. This was only a guess on his part, as an impenetrable fog clung to every square inch of the island.
Robin was the last Shepherd to make the climb. He was pale, but making an effort not to appear bothered by the long drop to the turbulent sea below. His effected nonchalance wasn't fooling anyone.
"You could have stayed on the ship," Chrom said.
"What could possibly drive a person to build their home in a place like this?" the tactician grumbled. "All the labor and gold that must have gone into construction, maintenance and regular resupply from the mainland, just so you can live on a depressing little scrap of land. I'm shocked it didn't work out."
Chrom chuckled. "I thought you'd enjoy it here. Constant storms, miles from anyone that might want to talk to you, and this mist: a clever tactician's dream!"
"You can't enjoy a storm if you don't survive it." Robin gestured to a corner of the terrace that had long since collapsed into the ocean -along with a chunk of the cliffside. "I doubt this place lasted more than a month of hurricane season. And don't get me started on the fog.
"Cover like this is only appreciated when you already have the advantage of surprise, or are so desperate that any weather that might hinder your enemies is welcome. If -say, an enemy force agreed to a negotiation, was allowed to chose the location and knew exact where we'd be arriving from, this fog would create the perfect conditions to trap us as we came up those stairs." He glanced over to where Panne was standing next to Gaius and asked, "Where are they?"
The Tagul cocked her head. "They have surrounded us," she said, unconcern.
"That is quite the trick, Ylissian!" called a voice from the direction of the manor. A squad of soldiers materialized out of the mist, forming a line in front of the Shepherds. Their leader: a short, grinning man with a ragged scar where his nose had once been, nodded to Panne and continued, "But not so helpful, I think, to know of a trap only after you've walked into it."
Both Robin and Gaius had to jump to restrain Panne as her hackles rose at the grave offense of being confused for a human of the Halidom. Chrom winked at the Plegian commander.
"Makes you wonder though, friend. If you knew where we'd be coming from, then we'd also know where you would be meeting us. Which means…"
One of the Plegian soldiers yelped and spun around. Out of the mist loomed the serpentine head of a larger, jet-black wyvern. It shot out an onyx tongue and tasted the air, brushing a few strands of the startled woman's hair. Cherche, the newest member of the Shepherds: outfitted in jagged armor painted the same shade of night as her mount, her arms draped over the haft of a massive battle axe that she balanced across her shoulders, stepped around the drake and smiled at the assembled groups.
"I thought Plegian's would be tougher," she said in accented Ylissian.
At the other end of the Plegian line, another woman emerged behind them onto the terrace. Cordelia didn't lower her slim spear at the nearest soldier, but one look told the man in no uncertain terms that she could run him through before he so much as twitched towards the hammer on his back.
The man without a nose glanced at the two women who had flanked his squad, then back to Chrom. He rasped out a laugh. "Well, curse me. The Ylissians have finally discovered some imagination. I never thought I'd see he day."
Chrom stepped forward and held out his hand. "Spoken like a man who didn't fight in Gangrel's War. My people have learned a trick or two over the years."
The other man nodded, impressed. He inspected the offered hand for a long moment before reaching out and grasping it.
"Aye, I was on a different continent when the Mad King began his stupid crusade." He continued with obvious sorrow, "You -if not your country, have my sympathy for what that man did to your sister, Exalt. It was a disgrace and a tragedy to any who call themselves true Plegians. But I fought in the Third Invasion, against your father; I suspect. So forgive me if I can't find it in myself to be too broken up about any other Ylissian casualties."
Chrom stiffened at the mention of his father. "It would seem both our countries have had their share of past disgraces. For what it's worth, it was no great loss when we received word of my father's death." The Plegian commander's face was blank as he made to break their handshake, but winced in pain as Chrom's grip tightened.
"I regret that our two peoples seem doomed to struggle against each other," he whispered so only the noseless man could hear. "And while I expect no forgiveness for what my country did to yours, I do intend there to be peace and respect between us one day. But, today won't be that day if you demean the sacrifices of the men and women I fought with again. Do we have an understanding, friend?"
"Gah! Alright, you've made your point. Get off! You're ruining my sword hand."
The Exalt released the other man, taking some satisfaction in his scowl as he massaged blood back into his fingers. The commander looked back to his troops and gave rapid orders in Plegian. They shifted so that the terrace was divided in half -one side for the Shepherds, one side for the Plegians, with the path from the stairway to the manor acting as a no man's land.
The commander turned back to Chrom, still flexing his hand. "Choose a handful to come along and then follow, lordling." His careless swagger had diminished somewhat. "The rest can stay here with us until the talks are over."
The other Shepherds settled in to watch their opposite numbers as Chrom moved over to where his wife, Robin, Tharja and Frederick were preparing to accompany him into the negotiations. The Exalt waved Virion over to them.
The archer's shoulder length hair -a shade of blue much lighter than Chrom's own, was tied back to prevent any stray locks from interfering when his bow was at full draw. He wore a fitted, leather breastplate; dyed to match his hair, over a crisp, white shirt festooned with ruffles along the collar and sleeves. The quiver on his back bristled with shafts fletched with swan feathers.
"What are your commands, your grace?" he asked with a flourishing bow.
Chrom rolled his eyes. "You're in charge while we're gone. Try not to cause an incident."
Virion's hand shot to his chest, the picture of injured innocence. "Me, my lord? You wound my pride to even suggest such an outcome."
"It's not you I'm worried about. It's your fellow Rosannian." Chrom nodded to where Cherche was trying to bait the Plegians into a conversation. She and her wyvern, Minerva, were positioned just close enough to their side of the terrace to make the guards fidget with their weapons. "She's a bit… aggressive. I wouldn't want any misunderstandings."
"I could say the same about those two brutes," Virion countered, cupping a hand to his ear as the sound of Sully and Vaike composing an impromptu song about the questionable parentage of the Plegians drifting across the terrace.
"Yes, but I also know that in a few moments Miriel will threaten to give them both the lecture of their lives, which will shut them up."
"You don't trust her?" Virion asked.
"You trust Cherche, and that's good enough for me. And the Feroxi think she's a hero for what she did to warn them about the invasion. I'm only saying that I haven't known her long enough to say how far she'll go, and you two haven't seen each other in over half a decade."
"She hasn't changed much," Virion said with a far off look in his eyes. "She grew up with wyverns. That takes a, ah… special kind of person. I'll see she doesn't make any trouble."
Chrom clapped him on the shoulder before letting him move off. The Exalt checked to be sure the others were ready to go, before offering his arm to Sumia.
"Come along, dear," he said. "It's time to meet an old friend. Let's hope he doesn't try to kill me this time."
General Mustafa was a mountain of a man, taller than Khan Basilio and even more bulky -if such a thing was possible. He resembled nothing if not one of the great Ylissian brown bears preparing to hibernate for the winter. Chrom knew from painful experience that little of the man's weight was fat. As the general reached out a hand that could have wrapped around the Exalts entire head, muscles rippled under the plain, canvas shirt he wore.
He was humbly dressed for someone who ruled an entire nation. No crown adorned his clean-shaven head -which made Chrom wonder if the general had made good on his promise to throw Gangrel's golden circlet into the sea. Mustafa also rejected the usual Plegian style of bangles and jewelry. He wore trousers of a make favored by many sailors: loose around the legs, with dozens of small pockets sewn on at random as far down as the knees.
Chrom grasped the general's hand, shooting a grin over his shoulder as the man with no nose was dismissed. The squad leader grumbled all the way to the room's well-maintained wooden doors.
Chrom's initial assumption about the Waystone Manor had proved only half right. Many of the rooms throughout the sprawling estate could be classified as little more than ruins: rotting furniture, rats and the unsettling air of a place abandoned. However, there was a series of apartments towards the center of the structure that could have been taken from any well-to-do merchant's home back in Ylisstol. Their meeting was being held in a spacious dinning hall, complete with crackling hearth.
"It is good to see you, Exalt," Mustafa said with a voice like gravel. "Would that it be under better circumstances."
"Your message said the Waystone Manor was empty. 'A relic of the past' I believe were your exact words."
The general chuckled. It sounded like coals being shoveled into a forge. "There's a lighthouse on the other side of the island. It was built on Carrion Isle long before the manor was, funded back when Plegian rulers fancied themselves a congress. The family that stays their maintains this place as well. They charge exorbitant prices to anyone who wishes to shelter through a storm in comfort. I know, they were quite happy to take my gold to ensure this meeting."
"You have my gratitude to take such a sudden request so seriously." Chrom walked around the large dinning table that dominated the center of the hall to stand next to his wife. "Before we get to business, may I introduce Queen Sumia."
"It is good to meet you, general," Sumia said in her most diplomatic voice. "I would have made your acquaintance sooner, but I have been… unable to travel in recent months."
Mustafa moved to stand in front of her, towering over the queen. Chrom felt a surge of pride that Sumia didn't so much as blink at the general's imposing figure.
"Only, this isn't our first meeting, is it, your majesty?" Mustafa said with a knowing smile. "I am terrible with faces, but I never forget a spear." He pulled open the top part of his shirt to reveal a thin scar just above his heart. "There are two pegasus knights who serve with the Shepherds. One, I'm told, has very distinctive red hair. And the other -I know from experience, has quite the throwing arm and a disregard for the rules of single combat."
Chrom bit back a smile as he watched his wife turn a shade of scarlet not far off of Cordelia's aforementioned hair.
"I… it wasn't I who interfered first," Sumia sputtered. "Your men shot my husband!"
"They believed I would lose the duel. It was a regrettable act, and you have my apologies." The general offered his hand, which totally engulfed Sumia's as she excepted it. "You also have my congratulations. Your husband informed me at our last meeting that you were to be parents. And word is that there is a new heir to the throne of Ylisse."
It was Sumia's turn to swell with pride. "Her name is Lucina. I hope one day she will get a chance to work with Plegia as an ally."
"A dream I share for my own children and grandchildren. But tell me, it must have been quite a change. Shepherd or no, a pegasus knight has no better or worse standing in Ylissian society than any other soldier. How are you adjusting to being called 'queen'?"
"I am not a queen who was once a pegasus knight, general. I am a pegasus knight who happened to become queen. I married my husband in spite of his titles, not because of them."
The general bowed. "Well said, lady. I hope your husband never forgets what you did for him during our duel. He is a lucky man in more ways than one."
Chrom let himself laugh at Sumia's flustered thanks. Stepping over to her, he hooked an arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek.
"She won't let me thank her properly," he said with a mischievous wink. "I wanted to dedicate a statue to her in the royal gardens. A dramatic pose, a plaque that reads something like, 'The hero of Ylisse, savior of-'"
Sumia trod on his foot, tilting her head forward so that her hair hid her embarrassment. "Do shut up, my love," she pleaded. "There are more introductions to be made."
Mustafa only smiled at the couple's antics as he turned to gesture at two armored women who stood off to one side. "My daughters: Hanin and Sara," he said. "Gangrel might be dead, but many of his followers still plague my country. Not to mention the Grimleal. My girls have made it their mission to protect my every move, as if I were the child and not them. You'll have to forgive their… cold demeanor. They take their task very seriously."
"The man in blue is my lieutenant, Frederick," Chrom said. "He suffers from the same affliction."
The three soldiers all shot their respective lords an annoyed look before turning their gaze on one another. Frederick glanced from one sister to the other, taking in their weapons and armor. He shifted his weight and repositioned his lance. The two women did the same with their own swords, better preparing themselves in the event they'd suddenly have to fight.
"And the lad there is Henry," the general said. "He's the ship's-mage of the Bellicose, which you passed in the cove on your way in."
A man with hair the same snowy white as Robin's hopped forward and grinned in a way that didn't seem entirely right to Chrom. Henry wore sailor's attire similar to that of Mustafa, the only difference being the addition of a long, high-collared cloak of black, lined with a deep amethyst hue.
"What's a ship's-mage?" asked Robin, speaking for the first time since they'd entered the manor.
"Well," Henry said, his voice high and excited as he patted one of the tomes on his belt. "Ships need wind, don't they? That's just one of the many services I provide."
"The man in the coat is the Shepherd's tactician, Robin," Chrom muttered out of the side of his mouth to Mustafa. "He's about to ask a few dozen questions. It's best to let him go until he's gotten an answer that he can chew on for a bit. The woman next to him is Tharja. She's much less annoying."
"Hold on," Robin said, his brow furrowed. "You can create enough wind to move an entire boat? And maintain it long enough to make a difference?"
"It's a ship," Henry corrected. "And I don't make the wind. I… shepherd it."
The mage from the Bellicose looked enormously pleased with himself at the joke, but his strange grin faltered somewhat as Robin and Tharja exchanged a confused look. Without warning, Henry pulled out his tome and took a step towards the two Shepherd mages, breaking the invisible line in the room that had separated the two retinues. Chrom moved his sword hand from around his wife's waist and with a casual stretch, placed it on Falchion's hilt. Next to him, Sumia's grip tightened around her spear as Frederick repositioned again, ready to strike at the spellcaster. Mustafa's daughters recognized the change and shifted in kind.
The general held out a hand to forestall his guests. "Peace, Shepherds," he said with some amusement. "I would never accuse Henry of being harmless, but -at this moment, he is merely excited. He has a habit of forgetting certain social aspects when he gets this way."
"Oh, you two have the look of desert folk. Bet you don't have much use for wind out east," Henry said, his smile returning. He failed to notice the annoyed look on Robin's face, or the hostile glare from Tharja at his words. The ship's-mage turned the tome so the Shepherds could see its intricate spellwork.
Tomes were only called such because outwardly they had the appearance of heavy, leather-bound books. On the inside, however, they contained six -although, the Plegian spellbooks had four, wooden 'pages' each the same thickness as Chrom's thumb. These pages were solid boards connected to the spine by a series of hinges that allowed them to be flipped much like in an ordinary book. Each page was embossed with a different spellwork: a mesmerizing tangle of lyric, forged into bands and lines. Growing up, Chrom had always imagined spellworks as the convoluted network of roads on a mysterious map.
Robin leaned in to examine the spell with frank fascination. Tharja made an effort to appear uninterested, but her gaze traced the lines of lyric with obvious curiosity. Chrom had always been told that an experienced enough mage could understand what a spell might do from its spellwork alone. He only saw a confused spiderweb of odd metal.
"So you… create a funnel," Robin said to Henry after a moment's thought. "And redirect existing winds into your ship's sails?"
"Yes. Yes! You have no idea how refreshing it is to chat with another mage. I can appreciate the tophands' morbid sense of humor, but they don't know the first thing about magic. And the crows haven't gotten the hang of conversation yet."
"Crows?" Tharja mouthed at Sumia, who shrugged; mystified.
"You've used a similar spell, haven't you, Tharja?" Robin asked.
Before she could answer, Henry took a big step towards her. "Really? Neat!" he said. "Do you have to compensate for the-"
Tharja jerked backwards and unhooked one of her own tomes in a manner that suggest it wasn't a simple wind spell she was going to treat the ship's-mage to. Robin quickly got between the two spellcasters, giving Henry a disarming smile at odds with the firm hand he planted on his shoulder.
"Steady, Henry," the tactician said, glancing back at Tharja; who had regained her composure. "That's Tharja. She likes her personal space."
"Oh," Henry said, nonplussed. "That's a silly thing to get worked up about. But… sorry, miss, it won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't," Tharja hissed.
"Henry," Mustafa called with a warning rumble. "Why don't we save talk of magic until after the negotiations. Or, would you rather go back to the boat?"
"It's a ship," he said, grinning and scratching the back of his head. "But, you're right, general -of course. I'll be quiet. You carry on."
"Thank you," Mustafa responded dryly. He turned back to Chrom. "Now that's out of the way, why don't you explain why you think Plegia should even consider coming to the aid of the Feroxi? And, I would also like to know why Khan Flavia isn't here asking this of me herself?"
The Exalt cracked his knuckles. "As I'm sure your aware, Khan Flavia has her hands full in Port Ferox -quite literally, in her case. Last I saw her, the Khan was carrying wounded out of the rubble."
"Rubble? I had gotten word of the damage to the city, but is it truly so bad?" Mustafa appeared genuinely pained at the news.
"Worse, general. The Feroxi won't even guess at how many died."
"How is such destruction possible?"
"We don't know," Chrom admitted. "The Feroxi in the city think it was a spell. But reports suggest that with this expeditionary force -and from what we know of Valmese troop distribution, there was only twenty or so mages. I can't see even twice that many being able to carry out the massacre I saw."
"And you would ask my country to risk the ire of an empire with such capabilities by aiding the Feroxi?"
Sumia stepped forward. "This attack wasn't unexpected, general. Yes, the Valmese went to great lengths to conceal the movement of their fleet, and the only reason the Feroxi weren't caught completely unawares was because of a lone Rosannian defector. But we knew this was coming. Emperor Walhart has spent the last decade consolidating power and conquering most of his home continent. Once that was accomplished, it wasn't a mystery where he would turn next. You know better than most that a warlord's wants are seldom satiated."
"It is not a matter of avoiding reason to be attacked," Chrom pressed. "Not being under the banner of the Empire is all the reason the Valmese will need to march on Plegia whenever the mood takes them. They've already killed Plegian citizens. Seven of the ships they torched in the harbor flew the Void and Violets."
Mustafa let out a long sigh and folded his arms across his chest, drumming his fingers against one massive bicep.
"Understand, I am not blind or unsympathetic to the Feroxi's plight and the threat of the Empire," the general said, troubled. "But our country is still recovering from Gangrel's War. The fighting was mercifully isolated to the border and surrounding territories, but our troubles didn't stop when the Mad King's heart did. Many Plegians -those who were never personally effected by Gangrel's rule, see me as little more than a usurper."
"I was glad when the Belly weighed anchor," Henry piped up. For the first time, his expression turned a shade serious. "Every city along The Rampart is a little… tense right now."
Mustafa nodded sadly. "The coastal cities were the least touched by Gangrel's madness. He left the merchants to there to their own devices, allowing them to govern themselves so long as they paid his taxes and funded his campaigns. The richest families have gotten used to being rulers of their own little kingdom and have been openly hostile to my attempts at unity. And if I'm seen providing aid to the Feroxi -on top of the war reparations to the Halidom I agreed to with our surrender, I fear I will lose the support of the people. Civil war is not an unthinkable result."
Chrom exchanged a glance with Sumia. He had worked hard to establish a rapport with the general that did away with obnoxious political maneuvering and statecraft. Neither of them were very good at such diplomacy. But to hear a leader state so boldly of his country's troubles was worrying. Luckily, the queen had made sure they were prepared for this.
"And what if this wasn't seen as another concession to the Halidom?" Sumia began, hugging her spear in a way Chrom knew helped her with her anxiety. "What if you could return home able to say that you got the better of Ylisse in these negotiations?"
Mustafa's eyebrows rose. "Explain."
"The Feroxi are desperate," the queen continued. "And so are we. The Halidom has a wealth of healers, but they are decentralized. It would take the church months to recall all of their wandering preachers, and longer to have them make the journey to Port Ferox. Do to the availability of these healers throughout our country, we've always been somewhat lacking in conventional surgeons and medical surplus; so we can't provide any substantial help that way. It's a problem -I've been told, that our more practical neighbor has avoided.
"The Feroxi have all the skills and supplies they need to recover from the invasion, but are as subject to unpleasant logistics as we are. They can come together as a nation when needed, but prefer a society spread out and segregated by clans. Their country is bigger than Ylisse and Plegia combined. It would take even longer for them rally each separate enclave to a relief effort."
"And the Feroxi fleets were devastated," Chrom took over. "Both merchant and military. Your country is in the perfect position to help, and to demand a king's ransom for it."
"I will not take advantage of another people's suffering," Mustafa said with a hint of anger.
"You wouldn't be," Sumia said quickly. "We are the ones asking for aid, and also the ones bringing an offer to the table."
"And just what would this offer entail?"
"Khan Flavia has given me the authority to negotiate a marked reduction in tariffs on Plegian goods in and out of Regna Ferox for the next five years," Chrom said. "And, as the Exalt of the Halidom of Ylisse, if Plegia aids the Feroxi now; I will immediately forgive your country of their war debt. You will have paid your dues and the reparations will be considered fulfilled."
Chrom had never seen the general surprised. Even at the conclusion of their duel, when Chrom had been riddled with arrows and Mustafa himself had been impaled by Sumia, the now ruler of Plegia had shown little more than bemused expectance. Now he stood, stunned before them.
Even his daughters -who up to this point could have been confused for scowling statues, glanced at one another and muttered in their own language. Henry glanced wide-eyed at Tharja as if asking for reassurance that what he'd heard was real. The other mage only glared at him in response.
"That…" Mustafa coughed and tried to orient himself. "That is too much."
Sumia looked to Chrom, who nodded. "As we've told you," she said. "The citizens of Port Ferox need this. If you don't help, many more will die. An offer like this will more than make up for the cost of the supplies and ships. And making a deal this lucrative will cause anyone following those problematic merchants to question their loyalties."
"I misspoke, lady," the general said. "You are offering too much -both you and Khan Flavia are giving up vast fortunes, simply for support and relief. No…" He ran a hand along his bare scalp in thought. "You want the Plegian navy, don't you?"
It was Chrom who answered. "What I want is for Plegia to join our Coalition and help strike back at Walhart. I want our two countries to fight side by side for once against a force that is a threat to both of us. But… as you said, your people are still recovering from the last war. I can't ask you send more of your soldiers to die. But the Feroxi fleet is at the bottom of the Archanean, and the Ylissian fleet is out of position. Our armies are in Port Ferox, they only need to be shepherded across the sea. It would be convenient if a hundred or so relief ships could also provide such transport."
"And… if I refuse the use of my ships?"
"Then we make do with the Ylissian fleet and commandeer every merchant ship we can find." Chrom said with a shrug. "We'll lose any initiative we've gained from pushing back the invasion so swiftly, but we'll still take the fight to the Empire. As for our deal for the aid, we'll still stand by it regardless of if you choose to lend us your navy."
"I believe you are confused as to how a negotiation works," Mustafa said. His frown of concentration curved by degrees into a thin smile.
Chrom winked. "If I wanted to hound you for every coin, I would have brought my associate Anna. And I happen to think these talks are going quite well. You are an honorable man, general. But we both know that when it comes to leading, holding ourselves to ideals of honor falls flat when faced with the suffering of our people. We did not come to this gloomy isle to argue the cost of bandages. We came to release the strain on your people and allow their honor -not economic necessity, to choose their path."
"You may come to regret this deal," the general warned. "My people have no love of yours, as I'm sure my commander made no attempt to hide upon your arrival. Talk of honor is all well and good, but it will be hard to convince any of my people to fight for this Coalition. For the simple, but unassailable reason that -after generations of war, they don't much like Ylissians."
"The Ylissians among the Shepherds are, without a doubt, the most obnoxious and patriotic group of rabble rousers I know," Chrom said with a laugh. "If your soldiers haven't tried to kill them yet, I think there's hope for a Coalition."
"I see… little of your father in you, Exalt. I mean that as a compliment."
"And I see it as a compliment. Thank you, general."
Mustafa knocked one fist against his thigh as if to punctuate the negotiations. "The Feroxi will have their supplies. Henry? How long do you think it will take to begin shipping?"
"With the news of the tariff changes, you'd have to pay our sailors not to go," the ship's-mage said with glee. "I'd say we could have the first ships dropping anchor in Feroxi waters within a week. Ten days at the most."
"And?…" Sumia asked hopefully.
"As for loaning the Plegian navy. I only ask for some time to consider."
It was Chrom's turn to hold out his hand. Mustafa shook it.
The entire room jumped as a rapid series of five staccato cracks sounded from outside, muted by the heavy stone of the manor house. Chrom exchanged confused looks with Robin as the Plegian delegation tensed and drew their weapons.
Tharja tilted her head. "That sounded… far away. Too far for it to be us."
"What does she mean?" demanded the general. "What was that sound?"
"It's a Shepherd's signal," Chrom said, drawing Falchion. "It's a warning. We're about to come under attack."