Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter Text
Prologue
A woman bustles around a younger woman with long, deep pink hair. She has a rather melancholic look about her as she perches on a stool before the small mirror. She's dressed in a white blouse paired with a light blue, middle length skirt.
"Shame really," she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, "I'll miss it."
A girl, leaning against the wall with a casual demeanor, giggles, "Right. Leila's going off a spying mission, and the biggest thing she's worried about is that we're cutting her hair," she laid a hand over her forehead, drooping in a pretended swoon, "Save her!"
Leila tossed the stool's cushion at her, "Elle!"
The girl was hit squarely with the pillow, but she just laughed at her friend's feigned anger, "Do we really have to cut it though?" Leila's head whipped around. "I mean, Matthew's bound to miss it," the girl finished, a grin lighting her face.
"Adelle!"
The girl grimaced, "Ouch, full name."
She rubs her heart with a wounded air. The woman returns, a pair of scissors in her hand, and Leila frowns. Adelle creeps up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder, and her dark caramel eyes meet the pinkish-red ones of Leila's reflection in the mirror.
"Do be safe Leila," her voice lost the teasing lilt, and is now full-on sincere, "The Black Fang's not anything else we've heard of, and like nothing else you've done," she lifted a piece of the older girl's long hair, "If cutting this keeps you safe and looking like one of the crowd, my brother won't mind. Matthew won't say anything, but he's worried about you."
Leila doesn't speak, but a hint of a smile warms her face, she turns to say something to Adelle, but the younger girl is gone, nothing but a yellow bundle left on the floor where she'd stood.
"Ready to begin, dear?" asks the woman with the scissors, who'd let the two of them talk until they were done. The woman on the stool nodded, and she remains silent until the rain of pinkish hair falling to the ground under the snip of the dancing scissors stopped. Only then did she care to look into the mirror again. Her hair now hugged her head, the right side longer then the left, and a long, angled bang covered her eye. The style was not one she'd pick out, but she had to say she didn't recognize herself, which was the point.
"We'll have to do something about your clothes too," says the woman, "Something with darker colors and less extra fabric to get in your way," she patted the side of Leila's skirt, "You'll be tripping all over this, no good, no good at all."
She moved off without another word, shaking her head as she went. Leila stayed on the stool for a few minutes, feeling like a shorn sheep, until the woman came barreling back, an armful of dark purple material in her arms, and a pair of dark brown boots on top. As the younger woman went through the process of shifting into her new role, one of the many she'd assumed as a spy for House Ostia, she couldn't help but wonder what exactly she'd be asked to do. Standing there, in front of the mirror wearing darker, mysterious clothes that looked like they belonged on a thief. She was longing for color, and only then did she remember the yellow bundle. The woman had left, complimenting herself on a job well done, when Leila picked up the yellow cloth. She shook it out, recognizing it as a short cloak. She whipped it around her shoulders, and a fluttering piece of white caught her eye. She crouched to pick it up, unfolding it as she stood again.
Leila,
I thought you'd be lonely in a mess of blacks, dark browns, and dark greys, so I bought you this. I won't say be safe, 'cause I know there's no such thing, but be smart. I'll miss you.
-Elle
The simple words, written with her young friend's sincerity, made her smile as she looked back at the new cloak. She pulled it off, then twisted it into a long, scarf-like bundle she replaced on her shoulders, liking the effect. She gave one last look into the mirror, and a flash of red filled the edge. She whirled around, hoping that it was who she thought it was, but, like before, there was nothing there but a folded note, though it seemed much longer then the other one.
Chapter 2: Chapter One
Notes:
Hi, CanonSmasher here! As always, I do not own Fire Emblem, any characters you recognize, or any story bits you recognize. Anything you DON'T recognize does belong to Meredith and is 100% my idea. (And maybe in places Elizabeth, my twin's).
Enjoy!
-Meredith A.K.A CanonSmasher
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter One
"Elle!"
"Mm?" the girl turned another page of her book, not really wanting to be interrupted. Elle's sitting sideways in one of the armchairs in Castle Ostia's library, her legs over one arm, her head on the other, and a thick book perched on her lap. Elle's light green cloak is currently hung on the back of the aforesaid chair, all but forgotten.
"Adelle!"
She looked up towards the voice, surprised that someone actually used her full first name, usually, that meant she's in trouble. A woman is hurrying over to the chair Elle occupies, her short yellow cloak she's twisted to be more like a scarf floating slightly behind her. Her short pinkish-red hair with long bangs on on side is very familiar to the girl, and she suddenly bolts upright.
"Leila! You're supposed to be in-" Elle hurriedly slammed the book, an ice tome really, shut. Clipping it to her belt she jumped out of the chair as she spoke, snatching her cloak as well.
"Bern?" Leila offers rather snappishly.
"Well. . . yeah."
"Don't 'well yeah' me Adelle! You're supposed to be in Caelin!"
Elle chuckles, then sink back into the chair, relieved, "Oh, yeah, that. I already finished that one, report and all."
She freezes, "You. . . You're done?" she drops her stern air and laughs, shaking her head, "How? You and your brother work so fast!"
The younger girl's amber eyes twinkling in merriment, "Trade secret. Can't tell you I'm afraid."
She huffs in mock frustration, "Is the information you got sealed too? Or can you tell me?"
"The ailing Marquess Caelin's looking for his granddaughter, a young woman named Lyndis," Elle reports, "Supposedly Lady Madalyn's been living on the plains of Sacae this whole time, and sent him a letter telling of the girl. The letter warmed his heart towards the girl I guess, he's rather exited to meet her," a smile breaks her cold delivery of facts, "He's a kindly old man, having family again will do him good," she added warmly.
Leila thinks for a moment, "Did you get anything on the Marquess' health?"
"Poison."
She nods grimly, "Lundgren?"
"Who else?"
"Can you tell me anything else?"
"Nope, the rest is sealed. How'd it go in Bern?"
"As good as it could go I guess, I'm trying to rise through the ranks without assassinating anyone. Rather difficult when it's a league of assassins," Leila says dryly.
"Seen any of the Fangs?"
She gives the girl a stern look, "Sealed."
"Shame. It'd be great if you could get some info on that Angel of Death guy, he sounds like either a legend or a ghost story."
"I agree. By the way, you seen Matthew anywhere?"
Leila's trying to be offhand about it, but Elle can tell she really wants to know. She resists the urge to tease her and points to the hallway.
"My brother's thataway, take a left, third door on the right," she eyes her critically, "Although last time you were here you nagged me about only being able to use magic. . . And you did promise that next time you came back-"
"I'd spar with you to see how your dagger work was coming along," she sighs, giving a quick glace at the door, "Fair's fair, come on."
"After you talk to Matthew of course, wouldn't want to have him pining away," the brown-haired girl teases.
She looks like she's going to say something, then she stops and turns to leave, "Meet you in the courtyard Elle."
Adelle watched her retreating back and grins, unclipping the book again and settling back into the chair, "Probably shouldn't rush to get there though," she says to herself, "She'll be awhile."
Her amber eyes run down the page slowly, her rather absorbent brain taking in the spells and incantations. A slight chill emanates from the tome, not quite enough the seep through the leggings she wears under the just above knee skirt, but just enough for her to realize it in her fingertips. After awhile, the slight sounds of someone attempting to sneak up on her come from behind her. Their footfalls are heavy, too heavy to be her brother or Leila.
"Milord Hector," she stands and faces the blue-haired young man, snapping her tome shut with a thud and flicking her hand along the hem of her skirt while bowing her head, an informal greeting to a superior.
He looks up and down the empty room before asking, "Where's Matthew?"
"Down the hall aways."
"Good. I brought you a bookmark," he handed Adelle a folded scrap of paper.
"A bookmark, Milord? I must say it looks li-"
"Shh!" he makes a shushing motion, "Not so loud!"
She nods obediently, tucking the paper into the ice tome.
He stands there, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, looking like he wants to convey something else, "Oh, and, Elle?"
She looks up.
He stops the slight bounce, "That. . . bookmark. . . is expressly for you. Not Matthew. Not anyone."
He leaves, and Elle smirks. She and Lord Hector had developed a strange code. Awkward meet up somewhere empty, something exchanged, usually with an order of some sort in it, and he leaves. Elle clipped her cloak back around her shoulders, then exits the sunny openness of her favorite room in the castle. Her footsteps are quick as she hurries off to her room in the spies' quarters. The bustle of the main castle greets her, and the girl exchanged 'hellos' and, 'good days' as she made her way down the halls.
". . . and then whatever do you think happened next?" questions a high female voice around the corner.
She froze.
Serra.
"He didn't ignore you?" another female voice, belonging to one of the servants of higher rank, Maya, she thinks.
"He did! The nerve! I was positively enraged I assure you!"
Elle melted into one of the extremely helpful decorative nooks that line the halls of Castle Ostia, this particular one being home to a rather large suit of armor. Two women walk by, the first dressed in the simple, but rather tastefully decorated and tailored (by the wearer) dress of a cleric. Her pink ponytails bounce slightly as she tosses her head disdainfully.
"This time I'm going to Etruria," Serra pauses for an enraptured gasp from Maya before saying, "On the way back, I'll have a real escort!"
Her companion gushes about Etruria, and the two move away, giggling now.
Elle sighs in relief, then slips out of her nook.
"If it isn't Adelle!"
She stops mid-step, wincing inwardly before turning slowly, pasting a smile onto her face.
Serra is bounding up to her, ponytails bobbing, purple decorative scarf waving, and eyes sparkling with a happiness that would have caused an echo of the same emotion on Adelle's face if she didn't know what was coming next.
"Just the girl I was looking for! How perfect is that? I need a vassal and one shows up!" she pauses to smile even wider as she winds one of her long ponytails around a finger, "I need you to help me with something Adelle, I'm going to Eutruria soon, and I need someone to help me pack."
She says it like she's blessing her with a boon that anyone would jump for. Unfortunately, Elle had to help her pack the one satchel she'll take with her, and man, did she take forever doing the simple task.
Elle sighs in what passes as deep sorrow, "I can't!" she flicked a long piece of light brown hair over her shoulder, "I promised Leila I'd spar with her, and would you know I can't get away?" Inwardly, she praised the large changes she'd given her personality, (Serra's always great for practice when you're a girl who has great need to change beyond recognition for her frequent ventures into enemy encampments.)
The pink-haired woman frowns, her lips turning down into a pout, "And she's your superior too! What a shame! Next time then!" she shrugs and flounces off.
Elle moves away, finally making it into the small room off the main section of the castle she called her own. She closed the door behind herself, the slight creak annoying to her sensitive ears.
I've really got to oil that.
She crossed over to the bed, which is tucked against the short wall farthest from the door. A brightly colored quilt, made by her mother, and taken off her bed back home, is one of two personal items in the room. Everything else is rather blank, impersonal. A tiny desk, all but covered in papers and books, is pushed under the one high up window that sits on the left, and on the right is a row of hooks that house the girl's small amount of clothes, the whole arrangement is covered with a deep red cloth acting as a curtain. The rest of her garments are in the small chest of drawers by the bed, which holds a tiny painting, split down the middle to save her having to use two frames. The picture had been done by a friend awhile ago.
Elle sits on the bed, tosses her cloak gently across the room onto the desk, (it really was a small room) and gave a quick glance at the painting. The occupants of the wooden frame are all smiling, and the bright colors they all wear put a smile on her face. Adelle's parents are in the left side, and her mother smiles, her light brown eyes twinkling with merriment. Her curly, dirty-blonde hair is combed back to over her ears, ready to tumble down again at slightest notice. Elle's father stands beside her, his arm around her waist. He has dark brown hair as well as the amber eyes Elle and Matthew share, as well as his daughter's crooked grin. The right side of the frame holds three kids, arms looped around each others shoulders. On the left is Elle, the youngest in the frame. A book is clutched under her arm, her right hand curling under to mark a page she'd been wanting to get back to reading at the time, and her left arm slung around her oldest brother Matthew's shoulders. Matthew's signature grin lights his face, amber eyes twinkling with mischief. He's the oldest of the three, and even in paint, he holds that manner of confidence that he wears like an aura. He's got one arm over his little sister's shoulders, and the other is pulling his younger brother, Andrew, into the scene. Andrew's hair is an undecided color, blonde in some lights, brown in others, and a length between Elle's long cut and Matthew's short one. His eyes are a brown that's almost gold in some lights. He's laughing, looking like he's attempting to break out of his brother's grip, and the happy scene makes Elle sad.
She brushed her finger over the top of the frame, wiping off the dust that had gathered there while she was away on her last mission. Andrew'd been the first to enter Ostian service, and quickly rose to become one of the best. Matthew had followed his younger brother's path, and after Matthew, Adelle had too. A few years back, Andrew had been assigned a mission that no one would give any information on, and been assumed killed. They all still missed him, but they knew he wouldn't have wanted the family to stop living their lives, and continued to serve. In a way, he'd taught his siblings that every day was a gift, and to be cheery about life, no matter how desperate the situation. The Ostian girl gave one last look at the picture, then unclipped her ice tome, a custom Drivsno Andrew'd helped her with, and pulled out the 'bookmark'. As she'd thought, it wasn't just a slip of paper, but a feat of folded paper with a message inside written in an untidy scrawl.
You spies go on field missions, right? Training and stuff? What d'you say about a 'field mission' in Sacae? Uther wants to know what's going on there, but won't send anyone! I figure a spy specializing in battle tactics would be of great help to a girl traveling to Castle Caelin right now. Especially if that spy left tomorrow to beat whoever else is coming. Just saying.
Elle thought for a moment, read the message over again to memorize it, then tapped it with her finger. A sheen of ice coats the paper, before melting and smearing the ink beyond recognition. She tapped it again, and another coating of ice covers it, this one using the wetness of the damp paper to seep though the whole thing and freeze it solid. She then crossed to the tiny fireplace, trying to remember how to do a fire spell, before snapping her fingers. A warm blaze springs forth, and she smiled, glad that it had worked. Elle give the icy paper a flick, and it shattered into a whole bunch of tiny splinters before landing on the fire with a sizzle. The girl waited about five minuets, overkill for the tiny pieces honestly, before estinguishing it. As she sat down in the chair by the desk, her mind rushed though ideas and things she'd heard in general. The girl would need protection of some sort, that was true. Elle did go on multiple training exercises Leila called 'field missions', also true. Elle's gaze roams around the room, coming to a stop on the large map of Elibe she'd tacked up over her desk. Her eyes flick from the dot labeled Caelin to the dot labeled Sacae as she switched her mindset to speculation.
Lord Uther isn't sending anyone? Because of politics or because he's up to his ears in setting up court? Am I right to intervene? If Lord Hector ordered it. . .
She frowns.
'. . . a spy specializing in battle tactics would be of great help. . .'
That was true. While Matthew was an overall Jack-of-all-trades, Elle was an infiltrator, not necessarily for information per se, but to learn the enemies battle tactics. As a result, she'd learned the tactics of all Ostia's allies, many of their enemies, and spent countless hours pouring over books based on the subject in the library. She really couldn't think of anyone else more qualified for the job. As she left the room to meet Leila in the courtyard, a thought drifted into her head.
This will be an interesting couple of months.
A black-cloaked man stood in the shadows, his odd golden eyes following the path of the larger man in front of him, who was pacing like a crazed beast. After a long journey and a longer conversation, he'd only just managed to talk Maquess Laus into joining his cause.
"You see the beauty of it, don't you," said the man in the hood, "A united Lycia, with you, Lord Darin, as the king?"
The man stopped pacing, "I do," his eyes lit with greed, "Tell me again why I've been chosen?"
The cloaked man waved a hand, as if that was unnecessary, "There's no need Marquess, great men filled with potential simply attract men who know how to shape it," he smiled, purposely playing into the lord's selfishness by using flattery, "You are a man filled with potential, the perfect ruler of the world. My master respects this gift, and as such, wishes only to play the part of mentor, to guide and assist."
The taller man stopped, running a hand over his sleeked back, purple hair, "Then it seems I've no choice but to accept this gift," his oily voice reeked of greed, and his satisfied smile was all the cloaked man needed to know he'd sealed the deal, "Send your master my thanks, Ephidel," he rubbed his hands together, "and tell him I agree to his terms."
The golden-eyed man bowed, his dark garment swishing drily with the movement, "It will by my pleasure."
Notes:
And there's chapter one! As always, leave a review or shoot me a pm if you have any questions!
-Meredith
Chapter 3: Chapter Two
Chapter Text
Chapter 2
When they said 'ocean of grass' I thought the reports were factious, Elle thought, surveying the never ending field, but they were one-hundred percent in earnest.
She sighed, "Grass. Grass. Grass. Would the occasional tree really hurt anything?"
As if in response, a large gust of wind blew down the plains of Sacae, stronger than what the Ostian girl was used to. Her long brown hair whipped at her face, and her cloak tugged at her neck, its fastenings holding it in place. She grabbed a side of it to take off some of the strain.
"Hey easy there, I didn't ask to be surrounded by all this lucous greenery," Elle commented.
No, she wasn't crazy, at least not yet, addressing the plains just made her feel like she had someone to talk to.
"Should be pretty easy to find a tribe of Lorca in all this though. I mean, how can you hide a bunch of tents in this?" she waved a hand as the surrounding field, encompassing the large and small tents far off in the distance, then frowned, "Not tents. Gers. A portable house that the nomadic tribes of Sacae build. Rounded in shape, usually with a flap for a door. In some cases-" she stopped reciting the passage on Sacaen houses from memory, thinking she'd heard something. She whirled around, nothing. Just a world of grass with the distant mountains rimming the edges.
Rule one: When in a strange place, never let you guard down. Ever, she thought.
She crossed her arms over her brown blouse and stared down the greenery behind her.
"You can come out now, I know I'd be tired of crawling in the grass by now. Besides, what's one unarmed bookworm girl against. . ." she thought for a moment, "Three bandits?"
"Four actually," said a voice behind her.
Elle turned slowly, bobbing a slight curtsy, "Forgive my miscalculation," she said as the three hiding in the grass raised out of their hiding spots.
The four grew closer, a maniacal grin on the face of the leader.
"What a catch!" he leered, "Capture her in one piece boys!"
Elle drooped a bit, "Just two days out and I'm already done for? What a shame."
The bandits clearly thought she'd be an easy prize, just a bit further and. . . The girl whirled on the spot, her booted heel making solid contact with the lead man's jaw. There was a grunt of surprise before he fell to the ground, unconscious. She grinned at the look of shock on the others faces.
"Surprise! Who wants to go next?"
The last three men unsheathed their weapons, their faces gone from amused to serous in an instant. They were myrmidons, a fast class of fighter, and exactly what Elle had expected on the plains. The girl nodded, then reached for her personalized Drivsno tome.
Before she could get there, the tallest of them lunged for her. He drove his sword towards the hand that inched towards the tome. Elle spun to the left, ducking under the blade.
She grabbed his wrist. Then twisted it as far as it could go. She wretched it farther.
Snap.
The man howled in pain, backing away as he cradled the limb, weapon forgotten on the ground.
Her gaze snapped up. The other two exchanged a glance, a silent nod between them. Attacking her one-on-one would not be the best idea. They dashed towards herf at the same time, forcing her to dodge blow after blow, ice tome now in her grasp.
Her cloak hindered her motion. She unclipped it. It fell to the ground between dodges.
The men were furious now, their movements unpredictable as they became more wild and erratic. The next swing nicked her skirt, quickly followed by another which she barely managed to roll away from. She recovered, legs planted firm in the ground. Drivsno hovered between her raised hands. A blast of cold hit the men, causing them to stumble.
The ball of magic grew large in front of her, and she extended her hand towards them.
"Catch," she ordered as the ball raced towards them.
A whirl of blinding snow filled the air, and shouts of confusion met her ears, she closed her eyes, then clenched her fist. There was a halt to the spinning snowstorm, then a sound like the clash of ice on ice. The snow disappeared, falling gently to the ground, and she caught the tome in her hands as the spell faded. There in front of her was a frozen statue of a bandit, shock on his icy features.
"Weren't there two of you?" she asked the statue, not expecting an answer.
"There were, you witch!"
Elle spun around, but not fast enough. An axe slashed down her side, and she gasped in pain. The second bandit had crept around her back, and he'd been the origin of the attack.
"Do you think you can stand up to Batta the Beast?"
The mage girl didn't mess around this time, in an instant, the spell she saved for emergencies crossed her lips, "Fimblvetr!"
Shards of ice attacked the man, firing at him like homing arrows. He cried out as the barrage finished him, leaving the girl alone. Elle pulled out a vulanary with a wince, untying the small brown pouch fastened to her belt to reach one of the three small bottles. She pinched the top of the vial, and the specially designed cap popped off. She lifted the healing potion to her lips, swallowing the bitter concoction in one gulp. She closed her eyes as she felt a warmth spread throughout her body. Her side stung, the pain mounting, and she gritted her teeth as the wound knit itself shut. She replaced the empty container in its pouch, and after tying it shut again, the pouch to her waist. A slight chill ran up her spin, and she shivered.
Great, she thought, Fimblvetr chills. I can only hope I can make it to those tents, no gers, before they really set in. Blast! Why'd I use that spell then?
She picked up her light green cloak and tucked her cold hands into it's deep inside pockets after clipping Drivsno back into it's holder on her belt. She began marching, her quickly numbing feet becoming a hinder as she pressed on. The sun, once a friendly warmth, was a chilly fiend, doing nothing but adding a harsh glare to her vision. Elle forced herself to walk, racing the fiery ball in the sky to the edge of the mountains, foraging ahead for hours. Shadows fell on the waving grass, and Elle, now shivering uncontrollably, stumbled, tripping on the flat ground.
How ironic, she thought dully, an ice mage, after dispensing of four bandits alone, freezes herself out.
The thought was distant, a ripple on her lazy mind, Keep walking, you'll stay a bit warmer that way. The thought pressed her forwards, and she plodded on a bit longer, the orange light of the sunset blazing into her vision. She stopped, and a shiver wracked her body.
Keep walking.
Elle stumbled in earnest this time, falling to the ground. Her body felt weak, the continual effort of trying to heat herself these past hours pulling massive amounts of energy from her stamina. She pushed herself to her knees, her shaky arms just up to the task.
Keep walking.
The Ostain girl stood, her head whirling. With one hand, she pulled at the delicate chain around her neck that dropped hidden under her shirt. Her numb fingers fumbled with the long silver strip of tiny links, but she finally found what she was looking for. A blue and silver ring was suspended on the chain, the swirls of the two colors like living waves and the entwining lines that added to the ring's water-like were icy beneath her fingers, not warmed at all by her minimal body heat.
Keep walking!
She closed her eyes, clutching the band of metal and feeling the rush of magic that the Guiding Ring gave her. She wasn't ready to actually wear it yet, the power would be too much, but at times like this. . . Well, she needed a little boost.
The chill that claimed her was a bit more bearable, and newfound strength that coursed through her limbs kept her walking for just a tiny bit longer. She was mindlessly going through the motions of walking, foot forward. Step. Foot forward. Her brain seemed to float somewhere she couldn't quite reach, and hours ticked by in a blur that could have very well been years for all she knew. The silver orb of moon glided endlessly on, mocking her weak progress. The cold grew deeper, the light breeze an army of icy knives that sliced through her thick cloak. The horizon glowed. The sun peeked up.
"K-keep walk-walking."
Her chattering voice was lost in the light breeze of the Sacaen night. She tumbled to the ground, giving in to the darkness ringing her vision as she blacked out, worn down from the self-made cold.
Lyn sat in the front of the flap that was the door to her ger. She pushed out the thought that told her that just a short time ago, it had been her family's ger. A surge of loneliness hit her, washing over her like a wave.
Mother, Father, how I miss you.
Her vision clouded with tears asking to be shed, and she shook her head with a fierce motion.
"No more tears!"
Her voice was filled with a resolve she didn't feel on the inside, and she sighed, her mind racing over the chores she had to do.
Move the teather post of my horse so he can find more food. Gather some dead grass to twist for fuel. Restring that old bow. Can't forget about breakfast, some of that jackrabbit from yesterday? A stew, stew's always good, easy to make. Fetch water. Patch the hole in the ger's roof. Find another large animal to smoke and preserve.
She looked towards the rising sun, up from her lap, where she wove a new sash out of strips of leather her father had tanned and cut, and dyed yarn her mother had carded and spun.
A memory at every turn.
Lyn stood, brushed off the back of her skirt, and reached into the mouth of the ger to gently set the half-finished sash on the small table that sat there. She pulled another colorfully woven cord, this one yellow, red, and green, with small parts of blue, off her wrist, and swept her long deep green hair into a ponytail, letting her short bangs fall where they may. She went about he chores, finishing all but the hunting. As she stood over the cook fire in the center of the ger, stirring the bubbling stew, she allowed her mind to wander. Her green eyes watched the smoke and the steam from the fire and stew trail up through the hole in the center of the ger's domed roof for that express purpose, but her thoughts danced over the glowing floor of the past that seemed so close still. Her father teaching her the ways of the plains, her mother instilling her gentle manner and bearing into her daughter, and the times of joy and fun they'd had together with the rest of the Lorca. Celebrations suddenly were just as valuable as the sorrow and trials they'd all faced. Lyn pulled her head out of the past, and the stew off the spider, a three legged tripod with a hook for a pot. As she set it down, a nagging pulled at her mind. A feeling that something wasn't right. She crossed to the door, making certain that the sheath and sword she always wore now was secured at her waist, then went outside, squinting for a moment against the sun.
Nothing.
Her gaze wandered over the landscape, the ocean of grass, swaying gently in the breeze. She shook her head slightly to clear the feeling, but it remained, refusing to leave. She turned resolutely, marched towards her mount, a fine stallion, and pulled up his tether, meaning to take him to the river to drink. He followed obediently, and when they reached the water source, a clear, slow-moving river full of fish and sweet, cold water, he dipped his head, drinking. Lyn patted his side as they stood there, the low brush that grew on the riverbank hiding them from sight.
"It's been plaguing me, every day," she said, referring to the strange feeling, "It's like a purpose has settled into my soul, as if I'm destined for something," she sighed, and her mount turned his head, water dripping from his muzzle.
"There's nothing here Samir, I think I'm just lonely, waiting for something to happen."
Lyn swung up onto the horse, not minding riding bareback, she was used to it after all. The pair walked back to ger, making a slow journey of it, the rider relishing the feeling of freedom that filled the very air of the plains. About halfway back, Samir halted, and Lyn followed the direction of his gaze. A lump of green caught her attention, and she hurriedly dismounted, rushing towards the sight. Samir followed, as the rope bridle she had on him prevented his leaving her side. She dropped the reins, and he halted, trained to not move when his reins swung free. Lyn dropped to her knees, examining the lump that didn't belong. Curled in a ball on her side, with the bright green cloak pulled tight for warmth, was a girl, just a bit younger than Lyn's eighteen summers. Her long, light brown hair was splayed around her head, mixing with the long grass that brushed her sides. She was dressed strange to a plains dweller, sturdy, dark brown boots that came just below her knees, light leggings, a shortish, flowy, navy skirt, a brown blouse, and of course, the green cloak. A belt was between the skirt and the top, and on it was clipped a blue and silver book. The oddest part of the entire tableau was the way the unconscious girl shivered, an uncontrollable chill that wracked her body with tremors uncommon for the mild day. Lyn turned the girl onto her back, placing a hand on her forehead. Instead of the raging fever she expected, this girl was cold as ice. A thought drifted thought her head as she ordered Samir to kneel next the the stranger.
What's a mage doing in Sacae?
Chapter 4: Chapter Three
Chapter Text
Chapter 3
Lyn rode back to the ger, balancing the smaller form of the shivering girl in front of her. She was surprisingly light, but the more concerning fact at hand was the small bits of skin Lyn could see that wasn't covered. The girl's face was pale, and the tips of the fingers on her right hand showed signs of the start of frostbite. Lyn urged Samir to take it a bit faster, and in what seemed like much longer then it actually was, she'd made it back home. She dropped Samir's reins, and he stood unmoving as she slide off his side, cradling the girl as she did so. Her dead weight was more unwieldy when Lyn attempted carrying her, but she managed, placing her carefully before the fire and pulling off her boots. She then dragged over her bedroll, removing the girl's cloak before gently laying her on top of it and piling on as many blankets as she could find. As if in reaction to the sudden warmth, the girl gasped, shivering harder as her dark caramel eyes opened a slit.
"M-must find. . . wa-warn. . ."
Lyn crossed over hurriedly, hoping to catch more of the chattering words. The girl's eyes filled with urgency at the sight of Lyn.
"Hush," the older girl crouched by the younger's side, "You're safe, rest now."
The girl's head moved just the slightest bit, a weak attempt at a head shake.
"M-My. . . lady! Th-the young. . . mas-ster. . . ordered. . ."
A violent shiver immobilized her, and her eyes drifted shut, leaving Lyn quite confused. Who was the 'young master'? Was the girl a slave? Lyn leaned down, meaning to tuck in the covers around the girl a bit more, when an icy glitter caught her eye. She reached out and lifted the object by it's chain, a ring of some sort, with a pattern like water covering the surface. She set the ring into her palm and gasped, dropping it. It's like holding a chunk of ice! She didn't know what made her do it, but she placed the ring closer to the blaze, to warm it a bit. It steamed, and the ice coating it, giving the ring a glossy sheen, melted, dripping water to the grassy floor.
Is everything about this girl cold? She thought.
Lyn brushed a long strand of light brown hair away from the girl's face, wondering at what could bring such a very young girl to the middle of the plains.
The time that passed was a blur to Elle, her mind fuzzy as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Most of the time, a woman greatly resembling Lady Madelyn moved in and out of her line of sight. She'd called to her once, but her mouth had been unwilling to cooperate. She felt herself stir slightly, feeling the rough confines of the sheets and many-layered weight of blankets over her. Her eyes opened, to be met with the dancing light of a fire. There were rounded walls and a roof, also slightly rounded, and Elle though it made the single room cozy. Boxes and layers of cloth draping the room added a colorful warmth to the walls. On one of theese boxes was her Drivsno tome, her dagger, her boots, and her green cloak. The scent and sound of a bubbling stew met her ears and nose, and she sat upright slowly, the heavy blankets falling away. Dozing by the fire, propped up against a crate, her head slightly at an angle, was a dark green-haired girl, her hair in a long ponytail that trailed down her back. Elle felt like she was pushing her thoughts though a haze or mush, The Lady Madelyn? Did I already find Lady Madelyn, and by sheer luck?
"How-?"
The single word, mumbled as it was, woke the older girl with a start. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and stretched, finally moving her gaze to the Ostian girl.
"Oh, are you awake?"
The green-haired girl stood, and Elle, registered her as a young woman belonging, (by her manner of dress) to the nomadic tribe of the Lorca. She wore a favorite dress of Lorca women. It was light blue, with short black undershorts and a reveling skirt allowing free motion. Thin belts, wrapped around her waist, gave the dress form and a place to fasten items. Before Elle could respond, the nomadic girl had given her a wooden bowl and cup.
"I found you unconscious on the plains," she sat down across from her, "I am Lyn, of the Lorca tribe. You're safe now. Who are you? Can you remember your name?"
The storm of questions, combined with the fact that Elle had just taken a gulp of stew, and that she'd been trying to register the flood of information, rendered her momentarily speechless. Lyn of the Lorca. . . The name was a shimmer of recognition, and Elle's mind whired to life,
"I'm Adelle, of Ostia," she paused, "Please call me Elle though, Adelle is stiff and formal, two things I never intend to be."
Lyn laughed and nodded, her excitement peaking, "I see by your attire that you are a traveler. What brings you to the Sacae plains?"
Elle hesitates, and the eager woman pauses, "Would you share your story with me?"
"I'm a. . ."
A what? Can't really just say, 'spy from Castle Ostia tasked with finding a nomadic girl and her family to understand the situation until (hopefully) some knights bring them to her royal grandfather while avoiding her uncle who's probably evil'.
". . . Mage," she said lamely.
"Ah, I see. . .," Lyn dug around in one of the small pouches tied to her waist, "What's this?" she held up a twisted piece of metal, and Elle winced inwardly, "It feel out of your boot when I took them off."
"A uh. . . magic study tool," or it's a lockpick. Elle reached out and plucked the tool out of Lyn's hand, "I'm looking for someone," she said, continuing the tale as her head dropped, "Traveling around to improve my trade in the meantime. I'd hoped to find Lord Hassar of the Lorca, to offer my skills."
Lyn's eyes went wide, "You're from Ostia! Nobody from the Lycian League ever takes us nomads for anything other than savages!" her smiled dropped, "I'm sure father would have been glad to hear that there was kindness among the people of Ostia."
Her father would have? Her father. . . wait, this is Lyndis! Elle frowned in thought, Would have. . . has he passed? What of the Lady Madelyn?
"You speak of him in the past tense."
"He. . . they. . . my parents. . ." the young woman's eyes drifted shut, her back rigid, "Bandits came. . . they. . . it only took one night."
There's a long awkward pause, in which Elle, unsure what to do, desperately wished for something to do with her hands. She found a vent in the cooling stew she held, taking another sip as she thought. Should I say something? What would I say? Just as she opened her mouth, Lyn drew a shuddering breath.
"No more. . . I will shed no more tears!"
Her eyes snapped open, lit with a fierce flame.
"Elle, if you truly are traveling to hone your skills, take me with you! The Tavelar Bandits. . ." she paused, "I wish to grow stronger."
This would be perfect! I know exactly what path the knights will ride to get here. I can get her to their safety, then deliver a report to Lord Hector. Ostia stays out of it, Caelin gets their heir safely, and I'm home early!
"You can come with me," says Adelle.
The young woman's face lights up, "Will you really teach me? Oh Elle, I'll come!"
"Then what happened?"
Elle frowned, "I don't know, one second, he's saying something about 'Batta the Beast', the next, I'm waking up in your ger."
Lyn handed her another package, and Elle dropped it into Samir's saddlebag. The two girls had been going over Lyn's possessions most of the morning, and now, they packed what little necessities they could in preparations. Elle gave the leather strap one last tug, making sure everything was secure, before ducking under the ger's flap to grab a few last things she'd be carrying. She picked up the rather well-used light blue tome, her fingers brushing the raised silver swirls of metal in the cover as the clipped it onto her belt.
Lyn gave her a rather worried look, "That's an Ice tome," she says, "Is it a Fimblveter?"
Elle shakes her head, "Drivsno, a bit less dangerous, and without the bad side effects."
"You passed out," she points out.
"Yes," Elle tried to think of how to explain it, "Only because I'd used Fimblvetr, a sage level spell. I'm not powerful enough for it yet."
"Then why'd you use it?" Lyn's voice is slightly scolding.
"Because it was the first thing that jumped into my head honestly," Elle gave one last look around the ger, "Ready?"
Lyn nodded, one hand on the hilt of the sword she'd just buckled on, "Let's go."
Elle grabbed her arm, "Not yet," she gave the girl a court curtsy, "Thank you Lyn," she says, with the voice she usually reserved for royals she when she was introduced, "For saving my life. I am ever in your debt."
"It was nothing."
Elle straightened, shaking her head with a suppressed chuckle, "My life is nothing?"
Lyn blushed with embarrassment, "I-I mean you're welcome!"
Chapter 5: Chapter Four
Chapter Text
Chapter Four
The two girls had traveled awhile before reaching their destination. In the few days they spent on the road, Lyn taught Elle so much about nature, setting up camp and surviving off the land, that the Ostian girl wondered how she'd gone so long without knowing these things. When they finally entered the gates of the medium sized town however, Elle was in her element.
"Bulgar?" asked Lyn as they entered. The nomadic girl had her head on a swivel once they joined the throng of people, trying to take in everything, "Why Bulgar?"
"It's the largest trading city in Sacae," said Elle, grinning at the prospect of all the information she'd gain in the next couple of hours, "We'll be sure to find everything we need here," Including, she thought, in a perfect world, two knights. She reached into her small satchel and handed Lyn a piece of paper and some coins, "Here, this should cover everything on the list," Elle raised another piece of paper, "We'll split up, then meet back by that fountain, deal?"
Lyn nodded, then moved off into the crowd. Elle didn't just move off, she almost melted into the group, first a part of one, then another, eavesdropping. She chatted with the shopkeepers as she made her purchases, and after awhile of such movement, she'd deduced that a pair of knights was staying at the inn by the gates, and was leaving today.
"Complete opposites they were," said the grumpy-looking tanner as he handed Elle the leather she'd asked for, "One a picture of knightly standards, the other a picture of knightly poetical empty-headedness," his frowned deepened, and his white beard crinkled into a rumpled mess, "It'd be best for a scrap of a girl like you to stay away from the green one. Right mad he is, strutting about like he does, sighing with romantic nonsensical fancies."
The girl nodded, "Of course sir, thank you for the warning."
She completed her purchase, then stepped out into the bright sunshine, blinking slightly in the sudden light. The man described that crazy cavalier from Castle Caelin. What was his name? Lane? Shane? This could be perfect!
As if on queue, two knights walked around the corner, their horses trailing behind from the reigns in their hands. The first was clad in red-orange armor, with a stern look under his light red hair as he berated his companion, a brown haired knight who had that annoyingly I'm-cool-looking without-even-trying, laid-back look about him. Elle sighed, then walked a bit farther into the street, loosening her hold on one of her parcels so it began slipping out of her grasp. She gave an over exaggerated gasp, then a rather horrid fake fumble that never stood a chance of her catching it. The package fell to the ground, and the rest tumbled after. Perfect. She knelt down, beginning to gather them, when the green knight rushed over, a grin on his face.
"Allow me to assist milady!"
Elle stood up, smiling with what she hoped passed as gratefulness, but was really relief it had worked, as he gathered the packages.
"Thank you," she said, before frowning slightly, "I do hope I haven't kept Lyndis waiting for to long," she paused after the name drop.
"Your servant milady! If there's anything else I can-"
"Sain!"
The harsh rebuke split the air as the other knight marched over, his frown deeper than before.
"What are you doing?"
"Merely assisting a fair damsel in distress Kent! It is our knightly duty after all."
Elle recognized the second knight, in fact, when she'd been in Castle Caelin just a few weeks ago, they'd had a long conversation about the marquess, and their concern. If it hadn't been for Kent, she'd still be there in fact. Kent's gaze finally met Elle's and he took on a thoughtful face.
"Begging your pardon, but haven't we met before?"
Sain whipped around, "Hey, no fair Kent, I saw her first!"
Elle stiffened, she'd known this would happen, but in order to hold her act, she had to pretend it horrified her, "Good day!" she said rather curtly, removing her last paper-wrapped item from the green knight's grasp and jostling him as she stormed off. Now my intervention is riding on Sain of all people, I can only hope he actually caught my name drop. If that doesn't work. . . She pocketed the small pouch she'd taken and hurried back to Lyn, melting back into the crowd as she heard an exclamation of surprise from the knights. The nomad girl awaited her by the fountain as promised, a smile lighting her face.
"I've only been to the smaller towns," she said without prelude as she turned from the glittering water, "This is amazing!"
Elle grinned, "I've always been a fan of cities and towns myself," she agreed. The two set out, Elle leading the way, after they pushed through the crowd, to the gates where less people milled, they came across two brown horses, which were blocking the road.
Lyn walked up to the owner, tapping on the armor-clad shoulder of the redhead knight, "Would you be so kind as to move your horses? You're blocking the road."
Kent gave a slight bow, "Of course," he nudged the mounts out of the way with a tap of his hand to their shoulders, "My apologies."
Lyn nodded, then moved to pass. Kent spoke to Elle, "Hold a moment."
She obeyed, an impassive question on her face. Sain had found Lyn, and the two began a conversation.
"You were in Caelin," stated Kent, "Asking after the marquess' health, if I remember correctly, you were employed as a serving girl at the time."
Elle cocked her head, "I was."
"Serving girls do not travel with missing persons," each word was crisp.
"True."
The knight's gaze narrowed, "And serving girls do not pickpocket knights. Who are you really?"
Adelle grinned, "Someone interested in Lyndis' fate who's got a habit of poking her nose where it doesn't belong," she pulled the small pouch she'd taken from Sain out of one of the small pouches that hung from her belt, dangling the tooled leather from her fingers, where it swung like a pendulum.
Kent tore his gaze from the bag, "Lady Lyndis?" he glanced over to were their two companions chatted, "You mean. . ."
Elle tossed the bag at Kent, who caught it, "Nice catch back there, most knights don't realize such a thing."
There was a slight pause, and the conversation in front of them exploded.
"Shouldn't that be, 'home to callow oafs with loose tongues?'" snapped Lyn, probably in response to something Sain had just said.
The emerald knight smiled wistfully, "You're even lovelier when you're cruel!"
Lyn spun on her heel, her long ponytail just avoiding whipping Sain's face.
"Wait, please! he called, and Elle smiled ruefully at Kent.
"I'll be looking forwards to seeing how you intend to save the situation," she inclined her head slightly as she flicked her hand along the hem of her skirt, a highly informal, even flippant, curtsy, "Good luck!" she joined Lyn, the sounds of Kent scolding his companion following them.
The two of them found Samir waiting patiently were they'd left him. Lyn was silent with glowering the entire time they added the new purchases to the saddlebags. The horse seemed to pick up in her mood, taking a skittish approach to the process. Samir couldn't take a rider with the added weight, so the pair walked. Lyn stopped for a moment to adjust one of the saddlebags so it wouldn't rub as bad, when a sound of heavy footfalls came behind them, as if someone was carrying a heavy weight. A rude chuckle drifted from behind them, and they both stopped, along with the man in front of them.
"Aren't you the pretty one!"
Elle and Lyn whirled, to be faced with an uncouth man with a large scar running across one of his eyes at a harsh angle. He was scruffy-looking to be sure, and his appearance was not appreciated by either girl.
"Your name is Lyndis, is it not?"
Lyn paled slightly, "What did you call me?"
A grin, a sick one, stretched his face unpleasantly.
"Who are you?" Lyn's voice had risen a bit, and Elle's hand shifted towards her tome.
The man didn't chose to respond, instead, he swung his axe, (which Elle now recognized as the heavy weight) so the blunt end tapped his leg. He sighed, "Such a waste," he shook his head, "An absolute waste. The things I'll do for gold. . ." he hefted his axe, "Ah, well. Time to die, darlin'!"
The axe descended, and someone bellowed, "Dodge left!"
Lyn, without a hesitation, obeyed, rolling to the left as the axe met the moist earth. Her sword left its sheath as she did so. Elle realized the genius of the move, the man led with his left foot, and his right side, (Lyn's left) was open, the wild swing leaving him exposed.
"Slash pass the right!"
Lyn did so again, and the villain, expecting her to go for his clearly open left, was caught surprised, gasping with pain as he backed up slightly.
"C'mon out boys!" he yelled, retreating with speed.
Right on queue, a group of men, all bandits, sprang from hiding.
Elle backed against Samir, dreading what was coming. You only get caught once, her brother had warned, and you don't usually get the chance to get caught again.
"Lyn. . ." she whispered, even though she'd meant to talk normal, "Lyn. . .There's-"
"More than I can handle?" Lyn tossed her head, "No matter! I'll not give up!" she assumed a fighting stance, daring the group at large.
"Hey! There she is!"
This voice wasn't the commanding one, nor Elle's own, this one sounded like. . .
The knights! Elle gave a silent cheer as she unclipped her tome, readying herself. Kent led his companion, and another man, and they reigned up next to them. Sain kept going, cutting off the lead bandit with a flourish of his lance.
"Hold! You there! What is your business?"
The bandit sputtered something incomprehensible.
"Such numbers against a couple of girls?" Sain scoffed, "Cowards, every last one of you!"
"You!" exclaimed Lyn, staining at Kent, as the second man slid off from his saddle, "You're from-"
"We can discuss that later," said the crimson knight curtly, "It seems these ruffians mean to do you harm," he drew a sword, "If it's a fight they want, let them look to me!"
Lyn stomped her foot, "No!"
Elle looked at her like she was crazy, "What? Lyn, be-"
"Stay out of this Elle!" she tossed her head, "This is my fight!" she told the knight.
"Excuse me."
The group turned, distantly aware that Sain and the lead bandit had already begun to fight. The man who'd just dismounted was who'd spoken, his grey eyes hiding merriment at this ill-timed fight when they should be. . . fighting.
"My name is Mark, I'm a tactician by trade," he gestured to the field at large, "I was who shouted earlier."
Lyn nodded, "Thank you, truly."
Mark didn't seem to hear, in fact, Elle could already see gears turning, "This is my area of expertise, please, allow me to assist," he paused, "Assuming this is acceptable of course?"
Lyn jumped at the chance, "Yes, it is. You may lead Mark!" she raised her sword above her head, "Let's go!"
Mark smiled, then mounted again and tossed a sheathed weapon at Kent, "Here, I believe Sain will be needing this, I have yet to see him fight with anything but a lance."
"Accursed knights, always tampering in others' affairs," the cornered man spat out.
He was surrounded by the group, Adelle had her Drivsno tome out, her right hand extended towards him. Sain's lance covered the man from behind, and he waited to strike with a heroic-looking stance he and his mount shared that was impossible to duplicate. Kent had his sword drawn still, and was eyeing the bandit leader as one might a worm or a slug. Mark looked thoughtful, his hood long removed and his short, dark brown hair stood on end from all the times he'd run his hand though it in thought. Lyn panted slightly, every fiber of her being poised to strike at slightest notice. There was a slight rustle in the trees behind them, and Elle's head whipped up.
"Someone's in there," she said.
"What do you-" began Kent, before being cut off by a twang of a bow and the whiz of an arrow.
The group ducked, but the projectile wasn't intended for them. The deadly missile hit the bandit leader squarely in the back, and he gasped in pain.
"Blast. . ." he grimaced, "There was only. . . Supposed to be a lone. . .girl. . ." he fell forwards, lifeless.
The group exploded into motion, and before anyone could stop her, Elle was off. She plunged into the small forest that had been behind the bandit, her keen eyes whipping back and forth.
The archer can't have gone that far, she thought, there wasn't enough time!
An arrow whizzed by her head, and she turned quickly, just in time to see the archer's retreating back.She followed, but she wasn't fast enough, in fact, the black-haired man seemed to have almost inhuman speed and agility as he dipped under the low-handing branches and jumped over the underbrush too think to run through.
"Hold!" she shouted.
Did she expect him to stop? No, but sometimes you could get a slight hesitation with the right tone of voice. No such luck this time though, as the black haired man turned on the spot and vanished, leaving Elle with nothing to do but skid to a halt, tome raised as she surveyed where he'd disappeared.
"Blast! He's gone!" she slammed Drivsno shut, clipping it back onto her belt with perhaps a tad more force then necessary.
There was a slight crunch of dead overgrowth behind her, and she spin, ready to lash out at whoever it was. The object of her attack gave a feminine, high-pitched squeal of surprise, and Elle stopped her kick just before it made contact with Lyn's face.
"Sorry!"
Lyn took a deep breath, "It's fine," she looked about her, "Did you find him?"
The Ostian girl shook her head, "No, he's gone."
Lyn fidgeted, "Elle, you couldn't, well, could you help me talk to those knights? The green one makes me feel kind of funny."
Elle nodded, "Of course."
The two left the clearing, and as Lyn picked up her cheerful manner again, Adelle couldn't help but wonder, who'd wanted the bandit silenced? The question sent her mind whirling into overdrive. One thing was certain, this would not be the short journey she'd thought it would be.
Chapter 6: Chapter Five
Chapter Text
Chapter 5
Lyn and Elle were just outside of the group, in the tree line. The nomadic girl was shifting from foot to foot, looking nervous.
"What do I do Elle? I don't know how to address knights! Especially ones who saved my life, I really screwed up thanking you, I don't want to do that again!"
The Ostian spy smiled slightly, "Be you Lyn, treat them like your tribe!"
Lyn hesitated.
"Go on!" said Elle, "Just do it!" she gave Lyn a light shove.
Lyn straightened her shoulders, head high, then strode out to meet the knights and tactician.
"That's the last of them! Fantastic work Mark!"
Mark bowed slightly, "At your service my lady, merely doing my job," his gazed roved over the two girls, taking in the disgruntled Elle, who was still sour at not being able to catch the mysterious man, to Lyn, who was unused to being addressed as a lady and was fidgeting uncomfortably. His grey eyes seemed to laugh inwardly at the picture they painted.
Lyn's mouth opened once, then closed.
"Well your 'duty' as you call it is highly appreciated," said Elle, saving the flabbergasted Lyn, 'But surely there is a reason why two knights a a tactician are traveling the Sacae countryside."
Kent looked briefly at Mark, who gave the slightest of nods.
"Yes," the crimson knight said, "We have ventured from Caelin, in Lycia, in search of someone."
"Lycia. . ." said Lyn slowly, trying to place the area.
"Lycia is the country beyond the mountains in the southwest," offered Elle, "It is ruled by a league of nobles, one from each territory."
Kent looked surprise by the answer, "Correct. We've come as messengers to the lady Madelyn, who eloped with a nomad some 19 years ago."
"Madelyn?" Lyn's face was worth a thousand words, and Elle was extremely grateful that these were not enemies, had they been, Lyn's face would have given them away in an instant.
Mark nodded, "Our lord the marquess of Caelin's only daughter. He was heartbroken his own daughter would abandon him so. Eventually, the marquess simply declared that he had no daughter."
Sain, who'd been silent up until now, cut across the delivery of facts, clearly wanting to get to the interesting part, "And then this year, we received a letter from Lady Madelyn. It said that she, her husband, and their daughter were living happily on the Sacae plains. The marquess was ecstatic to learn he had a granddaughter of 18 years. I remember the smile on his face when he announced that he'd suddenly become a grandfather. The granddaughter's name is Lyndis. This was also the name of the marquess's wife, who passed away at an early age. That she should bear this name thawed the marquess's heart. Now, his only wish is to meet his daughter's family at least once. This is why we're here. We didn't know that Lady Madelyn died a few days after sending her letter. . . We only learned this shortly after we arrived here in Bulgar.
"But," said Mark, with a look that showed his displeasure of being interrupted, "We also learned all was not lost. Her daughter yet lives. We heard that she was living alone on the plains. With that information, will you come with us. . . Lyndis?"
Lyn's posture became rigid, "Why would you think that-"
"Your resemblance to your departed mother is remarkable," said Elle softly.
The girl rounded on her, "What? Did you know my mother?"
Kent frowned at Adelle, "No, she would have seem the portraits in Castle Caelin."
"I did."
Lyn sighed, then gazed back the way the two girls had come from, "I will go with you," she said.
They hadn't traveled far that day, most of them being too tired or, in Lyn's case, emotionally spent, to cover much ground. They'd set up camp around a small fire, and as dusk fell, the knights had gone toward the perimeters to keep watch, leaving Elle, Mark, and Lyn alone in the shimmering circle of orange light.
"Sain told me that the bandits were probably henchmen of my uncle, Lundgren," said Lyn again, "That I was an obstacle to my uncle's ambitions to take the throne," she looked deep into the fire, as if she'd find the answer there, "It's all so strange Elle, one moment, I'm alone in the world, the next I have family, and the next, half my remaining family is trying to kill me."
"It sounds messed up, doesn't it?" agreed Elle, looking to where the shadowy figures of the four horses grazed.
Lyn sighed, "Yes, it does."
For a few moments, there was no sound save the ripping of grass roots coming free from the soil as the horses ate, the crackle of the fire, and the slight scratching of Mark's quill across the paper he'd brought.
"What should I do?" asked Lyn, "I said I'd travel with you Elle, but this," she gestured to the three men, "What do I do?" she echoed.
The Ostian girl had been asking herself that for the last couple of hours, You've done your job, said the professional spy, leave them to get to Caelin, they'll make it, they don't need you anymore, take your leave and give your report back to Lord Hector. But what of the archer? asked the other part of her, Who was behind that? What of the help this small group needs?
"Elle?"
Adelle shook herself out of her reverie, "You need to do what you believe is best Lyn, I can't decide for you," she chuckled a bit, "After all, I am technically still a stranger. My advice is of no importance."
Lyn rose to her feet, "The morning will bring clarity with it maybe," she said, "Good night Adelle."
The spy caught the coldness in Lyn's voice, and didn't discount the use of her full name, Too hard Elle, that was rather heartless of you!
Elle sighed, "Night."
The Ostian girl sat in silence, waiting. At last, a metallic shifting sound came from behind Elle, drawing her attention.
"Kent."
The crimson knight stepped into view, "I do not trust you," he said simply.
Elle grinned, "Ah, right to the point, and honest to boot!"
The knight's eyes narrowed, "I am. Unlike you, you are both a thief and a liar."
Elle's smile didn't drop, in anything, it got wider, "Funny how often a person is both if they are one of the two."
There was a louder sliding of plate armor as he quickly moved forward, forcing the sitting girl to lean back to meet his eyes, "Enough games."
"Games? You call this a game? I was under the impression we were talking," the girl paused, knowing she would frustrate the knight more with her next question, "Does this mean you jest?" said Elle.
Kent's jaw tighteed, "This is no game, nor do I jest," he said kurtly.
"Hmph, here I was thinking that you'd let me bit of fun go."
"Your 'bit if fun'!? You call stealing fun?" Kent suddenly stopped, "We are veering from my original intention," he pinched the bridge of his nose, a motion he usually reserved for Sain, "I do not trust you," he repeated, "and I wish to know what you were really doing in Caelin."
"Gold," lied the spy easily, "You knights in Caelin do a thorough job of keeping the citizens safe and pickpocket-free. I was hungry, tried being honest."
"I suppose gold is your reason for sticking so close to Lady Lyndis as well? Or are you involved for the fame?"
Elle took on a look that made her seem wistful, "Neither, I think I'm going to try being an honest woman for a bit, see where it takes me."
Kent snorted, "Right, only a fool would believe that, I take pride in not helping to fill the ranks of fools," he step back out of the ring of light, "Know this; you may have pulled wool over the eyes of my lady, but you are being watched very closely. I will not cease my vigil of protection, Theif."
He turned on his heel and left, leaving the girl with a bittersweet feeling of satisfaction that she'd caused him to believe her. Elle stood and stretched, throwing a quick glance around the campsite. She crossed to Samir's saddlebags, which lay discarded by the fire, then dug for her blanket. In a rather short amount of time, she'd found it, and was just passing Mark, when he stopped her.
"Elle, hold a moment."
She stopped, feigning frustration, "First Kent, now you! Can't a girl get a break around here?"
Mark's grey eyes met her's, and Elle got the feeling that the man knew that she was not a thief, but something more honest.
"I just have a few fighting questions for you, so I can better understand where to place you in the field."
"Anywhere but the front," Elle paused, and one of the first true statements she'd told the group came out, "I hate fighting."
A note was made a lightning speed on the paper, Elle now saw he carried, "I can do that, you're a mage right? Ice class?"
Elle nodded.
"You can defend yourself close up though, right? I've never seen a mage do that."
"Yes, I can my. . . trade, forced me to be good up close, and solo."
"You're a thief."
The statement held no malice.
The spy nodded, "You could call it that."
"How well can you pick a lock?"
Elle grinned, "Faster then it takes for a guard to come."
"How fast is that?"
"Under a minute, depends on the lock."
Another fast note.
"All right, any questions for me?" asked Mark.
The Ostian girl thought for a moment, The way Mark had taken the notes, the speed with which he'd decided to lead the group. . . High level tactician's tactics. Know your allies. The way he scanned the field, commanded the few trips to rout greater numbers. He was a master.
"How long you been ordering people around for?"
Mark thought for all of two seconds, "Three years, started when I was fifteen."
"Fifteen!" Elle couldn't help the disbelief that wandered into her voice, "Sure Mark."
"I'm from Bern, we're more military-minded then most countries. My mentor taught me as I grew," he smiled slightly, as if remembering, "This small group though, it's easy after the legions of. . ." he stopped abruptly, looking like he hadn't wanted to talk so far into his own background, "The Bern mercenaries. They travel in huge groups. Goodnight Elle. "
He shuffled his notes, keeping the still wet pages free of the other dry ones, and then he was gone.
Elle smiled, "Bern doesn't have large mercenary groups my friend," she told the dark, "The king doesn't allow them to get that large, it's a threat to his power."
Chapter Text
Chapter 6
Mark didn't talk about himself much over the next day as they traveled. Elle was fast learning that the tactician was a master conversation leader. Any time the group talked of their respective homes as the got to know each other, he'd ask questions, comment on the place if he'd been there, but never offer or answer anything about himself. Lyn didn't seem to notice, and the knights seemed to know the young man well, but the lack of backstory was getting to Elle. She had given up asking after the clean cutoffs she'd received twice, knowing that much more would arouse suspicion. Not waiting for an opening to ask questions certainly made her job easier when the conversation turned to her. Kent, she was discovering, was as good as his word, and hadn't let her get anywhere near anyone's gear or weapons alone. He also kept her on her toes when she told anything about her 'upbringing'. She honestly had to give the guy some credit. In the end, the slightly shifted truth, as her brother always told her, was the best option. It was easier to keep straight, as well as giving her real reactions and memories to draw from.
"Elle?"
The girl blinked once, jolting out of her mindless wander in her own thoughts.
"Yes Lyn?"
"Did you see that?"
Elle looked off a bit, other than the group of five, their four horses, and a few small houses, she didn't see anything, except-
"You mean the men going into that fancy-looking building? Yeah, I do."
Lyn's eyes narrowed, "The men bring unsheathed weapons into the Mani Katti's resting place. The shrine is a place of peace, a place to ask for a safe journey from the spirts of the shrine," she picked up her pace a bit, headed towards the front where the men walked, "Mark!"
The brown haired tactician turned his head, "What is it Lyn?"
"Allow me a short detour."
At lightning speed, she told Mark the meaning of the sacred Mani Katti.
Sain, a sucker for a long, dramatic, and interesting story, (with a chance to be the hero of course) perked up.
"We must act Kent! Mark, guide us!" he ordered.
Kent was on the verge of reprimanding his friend, when Mark answered the green knight.
"Right away Sain, if Lyn's right, there could be a priest or a civilian in danger. Lyn, Elle, wait here and-"
"I think not!" said Lyn, "I will fight, don't think for a moment I will wait peacefully here when the sacred blade is in harm's path."
As if on queue, a middle aged woman came running up, skirts and apron bunched into her hand as she ran. She gave the party a quick look before running towards them, cheeks red with exertion, panting heavily, and addressed Lyn.
"I. . . beg your pardon, milady. Are you. . . headed east? To the altar?" she asked in a tumbled manner.
The nomad-turned-heir-apparent nodded, "Yes, we are indeed."
The woman took a gasping breath, then said, "Then you must hurry. . . and help the priest there. I saw a. . . band of local ruffians head in there. . . not too long ago. They seemed intent on. . . stealing the altar's sacred sword!"
"The Mani Katti," said Lyn, looking affronted, "They're going to steal it? I cannot allow this to happen!"
The woman nodded, finally catching her breath, "You look like a virtuous group. Please, help him!"
"It's decided then!" said Mark, "We fight!"
He turned to address the still-panting woman, "My lady, find safety, warn the others in your area of the possible danger."
The woman nodded, the ran off, her loosening bun coming free of it's bindings so the greying brown hair streamed behind her like a banner.
Everyone stood poised, awaiting orders.
"Right," said Mark, eyes growing momentarily distant as one of his hands found it's way through his short brown hair. In an instant, calm, courteous Mark was gone, replaced with calculating tactician. His voice grew official, with a tone of 'don't argue' as he delivered orders, "Right, Sain, I want you overseeing the safety of the villagers, keep them calm and in their homes if they cannot fight. It's your job to protect them should a bandit decide to head towards the houses."
"Right away!" exclaimed Sain, "Come, my equine companion, we ride for victory!" with a flourish of his lance, he rode off.
"Kent."
Kent stepped forward.
"You're with Lyn you'll head around-"
"I think not!" butted in Lyn, "I can handle myself Mark!"
"I have no doubt you can," said Mark with one of his small smiles, though this one Elle was sure masked his frustration, "But against the numbers I believe hold the shrine, two warriors is a better bet. You and Kent will ride into the building, where he will drop you off as he fights from horseback, you are a team," he added.
Kent mounted and offered Lyn his hand to mount behind him, after a hesitation, Lyn took it and swung up behind him.
"One last thing," said Mark, holding up a hand, "There's a broken section of the wall to the Mani Katti's resting place. Lyn, I know this is a sacred building but when lives are possibly at stake. . ."
"Say no more Mark, I understand."
"Kent," the tactician's eyes met those of the knight, "Keep her safe."
Kent nodded, "Of course Mark, ready my lady?"
The green-haired nomad nodded, "Yes Kent," then she and the knight were gone.
Elle shifted from foot to foot, watching the slightly older young man as she swallowed the cold lump in her throat she associated with pre-battle nerves, "What about me?"
"You and I will protect our provisions," he gestured to Samir, who'd taken the brunt of the luggage, "as well as stick to the outskirts and keep an eye on the battle, should someone call for aid or a tactic shift be in order," with a sheepish look he continued, "I cannot yet wield a blade as well as direct the fight," he said, turning to face her, "I assume somewhere in your past teamwork was involved?"
Elle nodded, "Yes!"
"Mount behind me, we should be prepared to fight or flee towards our companions at any time."
Mark offered her his hand, and Elle went to take it, then stopped.
"Wait, you actually kept me away from the fight!"
Mark nodded, then said matter-of-factly, "Did you expected different?"
Elle grinned, then allowed Mark to help her onto the horse's back.
A man snuck into the sacred inner chambers of the Mani Katti's resting spot, his expression greedy. Just minuets ago, he'd overpowered the priest in charge, an old man who hadn't really done more then yell at him and flee.
"Glass."
The brown-haired bandit turned slightly, the bent in a clumsy bow, "Ah, my lord! We have secured the sword, per your request!"
The man who'd addressed him from the shadows stirred slightly, an agitated motion that made his full length, hooded black cloak swish dryly, "The sword? What would I want with a sword you fool! It's a ploy," he came closer, close enough for Glass to catch a glimpse of the man's golden eyes. The hooded man's voice, smooth and refined, had a frustrated tone to it, "You were not employed to get the sword," he repeated, "I want to know who that tactician is!"
Glass cringed inwardly. The man had such a power over his voice that praise from him was better then a rich reward, and anger worse then physical blows.
The hooded man's voice echoed slightly over the stone walls of the chamber, "If he is indeed Mark, he has sided with the barbaric girl claiming the throne. We have spoken of this girl Glass, you know she hails from Sacae, claims to be the daughter of the long-missing Lady Madelyn. . ." his voice was laced with disbelief.
Glass nodded, "She shall not pass me, my lord, I can assure you of that."
Muffled shouts and cries of the battle came from the building's entrance, and both men looked up.
"Remember, the barbarian girl will want the sword. The tactician will be near by," the cloaked man turned on the spot and vanished, leaving Glass alone.
Glass frowned slightly, looking at the spot where the man had just stood.
"Mark, huh?" he said, "Wonder what's gotten into him."
Mark scanned the field, watching the progress. Twice Elle had fended off a stray bandit, and she now kept her Drivsno tome close by and her hands free. Sain had dropped by to check that the two of them were sufficiently protected, telling Mark of an archer, Wil, who'd come from the village and been able to wield a bow with accuracy enough to join the fight. Nearly an hour had passed, and in the distance was the tag-team of Lyn and Florina, a pegasus knight who'd claimed to know her and wanted to assist. Lyn had recognized the young fighter as well, and the two fought with the ease of practice, confirming the pair's claims.
"They've taken the perimeter," said Mark, who'd brought them closer to the fight as the battle went on, "I do not see any other fighters, it looks like a good time to regroup."
Elle nodded, and the pair rode to meet their friends.
Kent was checking his blade, Sain was looking hopefully at Lyn. Lyn stood next to Florina, who was looking anywhere but at the group with a shy face. Wil was recovering arrows that hadn't been damaged in flight or contact, and Mark addressed them at large.
"I've double-checked the perimeter," he said, "I believe the last few fighters are inside, but I am unsure of their numbers."
Kent looked up at the tactician, "You wish us to scout the building's interior?"
Mark nodded, "You and Sain will check the remaining numbers, Lyn, Elle, and I will come behind you."
Each fighter nodded slightly as they were called, a tiny bit of teamwork beginning to build between them.
"Florina and Wil, you're more ranged, keep an eye on the surrounding area, alert us should anything unfriendly stir."
"Of course!" said Wil happily.
Florina just nodded.
"Alright," said Mark, "Kent, Sain, you first, Lyn next, and Elle, you're rearguard."
The group spread out, Sain and Kent dismounting as they entered the slightly dark confines of the building.
A quick search told them nothing, other than the fact that all had fled.
"I don't like this," whispered Lyn to Elle, "It feels like a trap."
"I agree," said Elle quietly.
Kent, who'd been investigating with Sain ahead of the group, suddenly gave a cry of alarm, and a loud sound of a scuffle ensued.
"Wait!" yelled an unfamiliar voice, "Stay your arm!"
Mark, at the first sound of trouble, had rushed toward the sounds, Lyn and Elle just moments behind. By the time they'd gotten there though, the pair had it under control.
The emerald knight held a single man pinned to the wall, his usually smiling face serious, "We found none but this one Mark," he said, his voice clipped.
Mark moved forward cautiously noting that this was the main sanctum of the sacred sword's resting place. The blade itself was still on it's decretive holder, seemingly not moved at all.
"This one claims to be the leader," added Kent.
The two knights dragged the man before Mark, who'd frozen at the sight of the him, "Glass?"
Notes:
Cliffhanger? Ahh, the fun of cliffhangers... wait, you don't agree?
Chapter Text
Chapter 7
Elle scowled at the closed door, the muffled rise and fall of voices coming through the door to those on the other side. Sain had stationed himself before the archway, as Kent didn't seem to mind Mark speaking alone with what had previously been their enemy just moments ago.
"Mark is placing himself in undue danger," said Sain, "What is he thinking?"
Elle gave no answer, she'd been hoping the knight knew.
Lyn's whispered conversation with Florina ceased, "He seemed to know the man. What'd he call him? Glass?"
Florina nodded, then mumbled something. Elle had learned within moments of speaking with the girl that she was painfully shy.
"He did call him Glass," said Elle, "But what kind of name is that?"
"Alias maybe?" offered Wil, who'd just walked into the sanctum with Kent.
"Maybe."
The group fell silent, no sound but the tapping of wood on leather as Sain impatiently tapped the butt of his lance against his booted foot. Elle took the time to appraise the two new fighters, as the battle's movement and general 'fight for your life' atmosphere hadn't let her previously. Florina stood slightly hunched, as if to diminish her slight height further. She had pale skin, and large, sky blue eyes. She had a look of slim frailness about her that Elle had come to associate with new pegasus knights. She wore the usual gear of a pegasus knight, short white dress with slight armor over the top and high, navy blue boots. Florina was the shortest of all of them, though she seemed older then Elle. Standing across the room from her was Wil, who was a stark contrast to the delicate girl. He had short, messy reddish-brown hair, brown eyes full of mischief, and a ready grin. His bow was in his left hand, which was covered in a navy blue fingerless glove, the opposite of his right, which was a brown shooting glove to protect his fingers from the string of his bow. He wore a blue tunic, white pants, and brown boots, all in various states of well-worn. A quiver was buckled around his waist by a strong belt. Although he seemed skilled with a bow, Elle didn't get the feeling he'd had any real training. Wil gave off a self-taught kind of air, as well as an unquenchable excitement.
"Sain," said Kent irritably, "Will you stop that incessant tapping?"
Sain looked at his lance in surprise, "Apologies Kent! I'd forgotten I was doing that."
"I didn't even realize he was still doing that," offered Wil, "I think I tuned him out."
Sain seemed unsure whether or not this was a compliment or not, and settled into confused silence.
After what seemed like an hour, but was in fact just a few moments, Mark came back into the open, Glass trailing behind him looking angered. Kent instantly took up a defensive stance, but Mark waved him off.
"He's with us!"
"What?" exclaimed Elle.
"What do you mean, 'he's with us'?" exploded Lyn at the same time.
"He mean's I've been lied to," answered Glass, his face holding what seemed like a large amount of anger back, "I was told you were a barbaric, blood-thirsty traitor to Lord Caelin, an assassin set on destroying all of Caelin with false claims."
Mark nodded at the statement, then held up a hand to stop whatever raging speech Kent had in mind for him, "I know him, Kent, and I trust him. He's been misled," still seeing the speech coming he added, "I swear on my honor as tactician that he is on our side now."
Kent seemed to swallow his diatribe, and nodded slightly, "If you say so."
Glass shifted awkwardly, "I owe you an apology my lady, it is clear to me that you are not as I was told. I have no right to ask this of you, but will you forgive me?"
Lyn's eyes narrowed, "That remains to be seen."
Wil, who'd been watching the conversation go back and forth, suddenly pointed behind Lyn, "Behind you!" in an instant, he had an arrow on the string, waiting to strike.
An old man stepped out of the shadows, his hands high in the air, "Peace! I mean you no harm!"
"Wil," said Mark calmly, "Lower you bow," at the archer's noncompliance he repeated himself, and Wil lowered his aim.
The old man looked in confusion at the odd assortment of fighters, before his gaze rested on Lyn.
"Ah, your clothing. . . are you of the Lorca tribe?"
Everyone's head turned, and Lyn stood and crossed over to the old man, presumably the priest.
"I am Lyn, the chieftain's daughter," she affirmed, "Are you hurt sir?"
The man shook his head, "Thanks to you, and the relative kindness of that man," he pointed to Glass, "I am unscathed, you have my gratitude."
"And the sword?" asked Lyn, somewhat urgently, "Is it safe?" her gaze flickered to the blade where it rested on it's stand, sheathed.
The man bowed his head slightly, "Yes, I have sealed the sword safely away. Until I remove my spell, the sword cannot be drawn," he moved to the sword, and the air around it shimmered as he lifted it free. He stood before Lyn, who's eyes widened as he offered it to her pommel first, "Now, as a token of my gratitude, I shall allow you to lay hands upon the Mani Katti. Touch the blade's pattern, and pray for a safe journey."
Lyn took it gently, seemingly in awe, "Thank you," she almost whispered, "Thank you very much!"
The nomadic girl placed her hand gently on the pattern of the sheath, her eyes closed. Caught in the reverence of the ceremony, the others watched, transfixed. Just as Lyn opened her eyes, a piercing white light filled the chamber, and the group winced, shading their eyes.
"W-what was t-that?" questioned Florina in a terrified voice, just above a whisper, that was the loudest Elle had heard her speak in.
"The sword!" exclaimed Wil.
"Is it. . . Glowing?" asked Elle.
"The power of the spirits," said Mark, "I've read of such things surrounding sacred blades."
The priest looked impressed by Mark's knowledge, "The spirits have looked into your soul Lyn, and they call out to you."
"What does that mean?" breathed Lyn.
"You are its rightful owner. You are to wield the Mani Katti."
Lyn shook her head, "No. . . I can't. . . I couldn't. . ."
Her hand drifted from the blade as she made to return it to it's stand, but the priest's hand gently guided her hands back again, "It is the sword's wish. If you require proof, draw it from its sheath."
Looking incredulous, Lyn drew the blade, which slide effortlessly from it's sheath.
The priest nodded once, then said, "I never dared to hope that I might meet the wielder of the Mani Katti in my life. I am indeed fortunate to see your sword reach your hands."
Lyn looked up at the man, a question on her face, "My sword?"
The man nodded again, then turned to the door, "It is time for you to go, Lyn. You face a great many ordeals. Grip this sword, and meet your destiny head-on."
Notes:
Oof... That took so long... Writer's block, am I right?
Chapter Text
Chapter 8
Day Three
Glass decided to join up with us. He still is using a claymore as his weapon of choice, and is still willing to cover me in a fight should need arise. It is good to be fighting with a familiar face again.
Day Four
Glass has found horses for those who were without. I can now remove the worry of what to do if we are in need of speed.
Day Five
It is still rolling around my mind. Who wanted the brigand we first met dead? Glass has told me much startling news of the group in Bern. Maybe they are behind this? It seems I was right to leave.
Day Six
Wil must not ride near Lyn, they are to strong-tempered to travel beside each other. Much disagreement arises.
Day Seven
Elle does not think like a thief. Sain says she pickpocketed him in Bulgar with much skill, but since then I've seen nothing. We traveled through a large crowd yesterday and she kept both hands clear of stranger's pockets the entire time.
Do not ask Florina to do anything in a crowd, she freezes.
Wil is the best at finding good vendors.
Day Eight
Do not have Sain cook anything! Entire meal ruined. All hungry
Day Nine
Elle disappeared for a long while last night. No one knew where she was. I am beginning to think she has not told the whole story. Is she a fugitive of some type?
Day Ten
Passed through a ruined town, a sad sight. Lyn told us of her family and how the Talivar Bandits ruined it all in one night with a poisoned water supply and a night attack. I cannot shake the feeling I know who is behind this, yet I cannot believe it of them.
Teamwork is setting in, they work together well now, best setups are:
Sain, Kent, and Wil. Florina and Lyn. Elle, me, and Glass.
Day Eleven
Kent recognized the area. Says we're getting close to the Lycian borders now. Another fighter has joined our ranks, Dorcas, an axe man willing to help should he be paid. I assumed that Marquess Caelin would be willing to pay him, and he now fights for us.
Mark's eyes drifted over his notes, a collection of bullet points really, that gave a day by day account of what had happened after they'd found Lyn. The fire crackled next to him, and his untouched metal plate of food, long grown cold, sat beside his cramped and ink-smeared hand. A map was spread before him, and his blurred eyes, strained with the long hours of thinking and staring at paper he'd done, struggled to comprehend the squiggles and dots of Caelin. He'd been pondering the best way to enter the Caelin borders. Sure, it was still a ways off, but he wanted to be prepared, and with Mark, 'prepared' took a long time.
"Mark."
The young man looked up, his eyes struggling to focus on a farther away target them his own small handwriting and the detailed maps he'd been looking at.
"Glass?"
The older man smirked, obviously he'd been sitting there for some time before announcing his presence. Mark finally took in his surroundings, surprised to see that the fire was dying, and that someone had placed a plate of food next to him. Dark had fallen and set in in the time he'd been lost in his own world, and as he shifted slightly, he became aware of the stiffness in his body from sitting in one place for so long. He picked up the plate, suddenly hungry.
"Who do I have to thank for this?" he asked.
"Elle," said Glass, "She put it there a couple hours ago. You thanked her already actually."
"Oh."
They both fell silent as Mark finished the plate off in a record amount of time.
"You come up with a plan?"
"Yes," said Mark, "as good as I can on limited info, what I need is a spy, or a scout. Usually I'd go myself, good solid info would be worth it, but I'm in no condition to-" he stopped, eyes riveted on the square object Glass was holding up.
It was a magic tome, a handsome, deep red, leather bound book. Thin, gold lines formed flames, which twisted around a single, iron phoenix in full flight.
"Where did you get that?" he almost whispered, his voice urgent, "Tell me!"
Glass smiled slightly, misreading his reaction, "I found it in a Bern, after that big mission. Pulled it out of a pile of ash we all assumed was you. We thought the Ashen Phoenix had burned himself out after sacrificing himself to save the whole legion."
A silence fell, and Glass extended the tome, but Mark ignored it. The book, tilted slightly downward by the offering position it was being held in, glinted in the firelight where the thin veins of gold were. Blackened splotches were now visible, as if the book had been singed, a marring of the pristine quality.
"Keep it," said Mark, gathering his papers, "or use it for all it's good for now, fuel for a fire."
Glass seemed taken aback, "What do you mean?"
"I mean I can't use it anymore!" the fire next to the tactician flared up momentarily, as if in response to his emotion, and he snorted, "There you are Glass, that's all the 'Ashen Phoenix' of old has left. Enough anger to spark a fire stronger for a second."
He stood, papers and maps in his arms, and scanned the ground, checking he had everything.
"Since you didn't die that day," said Glass slowly, "Why'd you leave?"
Mark picked up a paper he'd missed, "Hurricane's list," he said simply, and walked away, leaving Glass sitting there with the powerful custom tome, useless without it's owner.
On his way toward his pack, he passed Elle, who'd been feigning sleep. She'd never been a heavy sleeper, and the hushed voices had wakened her. Her spy's instincts felt sure of one fact now. Mark was not what he claimed to be, a simple tactician hired by House Caelin. She felt her mind whirl to life as she went back over the conversation in her head as Glass remained by the still-dead fire.
Hurricane? she thought, Where have I heard that before?
Notes:
Meredith (signing): BTW, I hate Writer's Block. It also doesn't help that my sister, after reading for plot, didn't save the document so I had to rewrite it twice. Just saying.
Elizabeth: I'm maintaining that you should have saved before handing the laptop over to me.
Chapter 10: Chapter Nine
Chapter Text
Chapter 9
Elle wandered through the crowed Araphen market square, it was a large area, presumably because of how large Araphen was. Second largest in the Lycian League after her home of Ostia actually. Mark had insisted they stop here, claiming that the marquess would help with supplies and such, and the company had scattered, Kent riding off with Mark to give the castle a visit. Adelle had immediately wandered into the crowds, ears and eyes open for any new information or, even better, a fellow Ostian spy so that she could tell Lord Hector about her. . . change in plans. Her mind floating through the tangle of thoughts she had running amok in her head. She couldn't seem to pin any down in an order that made since.
Ashen Phoenix, Hurricane's list. . . Where have I heard those before?
For some reason, her mind drifted to Leila, a fellow spy (albeit with much more experience) who Elle's brother Matthew harbored a soft spot the size of their home of Ostia for. The deep pink-haired girl was probably off on another mission infiltrating the Black Fang at this point in time, and as for Matthew? Who knew were he was now.
"Oooh! We're lost. This makes me so mad!"
The irritated female voice cut through the happy chatter with the ease of one practiced in purposefully causing a scene. The familiar voice made Elle freeze.
Oh no no no, not Serra! Please don't be Serra!
A slightly bored voice answered the first, "You told me you were certain this was the correct road. In fact, we had a long discourse about you being sure this was the right way."
Elle was close enough to see the pair now. The first was a pink-haired, twin-ponytailed cleric with her hands on her hips, the second a young mage with the practiced patient expression of one used to dealing with annoying people. Elle had done enough talking at noble's parties undercover to recognize a master at work. The mask of patience was just perfect.
"What's your point, Erk?" asked the cleric, hands on hips, "What are you trying to say?"
Her gaze immediately fell on a booth selling vibrant cloth that arrested her attention, and Serra (for there was no doubt in Elle's mind that this was the cleric from home) walked over, leaving the mage to mumble about her not being the woman he agreed to escort.
"What?" asked Serra vaguely, now running her fingers over a shimmery blue cloth, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Erk, for so his name must be, (unless Serra'd nicknamed him already, as she did with her other escorts) still seemed to be talking to himself as he flipped through his Fire tome.
"I heard someone was needed to escort a frail Ostian priestess home. . ."
Serra's ponytails bounced as she nodded, "Yes, and I'm that priestess."
The young man rolled his eyes, "Frail? You?" he snorted, a piece of his just above shoulder length purple hair blowing away from his face with the motion, "Serra, you have no need of any escort to protect you. Even the most hardened criminal would flee in terror after five minutes in your company. I'll return your money. Gladly," he placed a pouch was was presumable his payment to escort her in her hand, "Now, will you please go on to Ostia alone?"
Serra looked at the pouch like it was a slug, the flipped her hair, "No!" she tossed the pouch back at Erk, turning from the booth, "You're my escort, Erky! Mine!"
Erk winced with each word, and again at the horrible nickname. Elle didn't blame him.
"You're so clean and tidy," Serra continued, clearly unaware or simply not caring about her 'escort's' discomfort, "A noblewoman like myself can't be seen without a proper escort. Your personality's nothing special, but you're not bad to look at."
Embarrassments drifted over the young man's face, and he mumbled something incomprehensible.
Serra sighed, rolling her eyes, "Now what are you mumbling about? You're so gloomy!"
Elle turned to leave, having seen enough to know it was time to go, and promptly crashed into armored form of Sain with a clatter.
"Apologies Lady Elle!" said Sain loudly and gallantly, steadying the flailing Elle.
Serra's head shot up, "Omigosh! Did someone just say Elle? Like the Adelle the vassal from Ostia? Come along Erky, let's take a look!" she grabbed Erk's wrist and pulled him over.
"Thanks," mumbled the Ostian girl, trying vainly to fins somewhere to hide from Serra.
Sain's head tipped to the side, "Do you know this person Elle?" he asked, before becoming sidetracked by the incoming Serra, "What's this?" he asked himself, "a wildflower?"
Elle took the pause to run away, literally. Five more minutes found her sliding into a presumably empty shop, breathing hard. Something whizzed by her head, thudding into the wood by her ear. A knife! Her tome was in her hand in a second, her eyes scanning the empty, (maybe but at this point unlikely) shop.
"Who's there?"
Her voice hadn't shaken, good.
A whirl of red cloth, and in an instant, a full-blown melee was happening. Elle's Drivsno tome was useless in the cramped quarters, and her opponent clearly knew what he was doing. Elle had to resort to her dagger, which was never good, usually ugly, and always a last resort. It was as if she'd telegraphed the move however, and her opponent twisted her arm around, slapped the knife out of her hand, and had her completely unarmed and pinned against the wall in seconds.
"Blimey, that was a poor showing sis," said a teasing voice with a crisp Ostian accent, "That was all of what, two seconds?"
Elle's panicked mind skidded to a halt, and her life stopped flashing before her, "Matthew?"
Her dark caramel eyes finally met the amber ones of her 'enemy'. Before her stood a very familiar laughing young man with a mop of sandy brown hair, a cocky grin, and a red cape draped over a green tunic.
He gave her a dramatic court bow, slipping effortlessly into a polished Etrurian accent, "The one and only."
He walked over to his knife, yanked it out of the wall, and slid it back into one of his hidden sheaths. Elle was torn, one side of her was furious at her brother, the other side, glad to see him.
Matthew solved her problem by speaking first, sliding back into his usual accent and manner of speech, "So Ellie, mind telling me what you're doing traveling with the Black Fang's missing, presumed dead, and golden Fang, the Ashen Phoenix?"
"That's. . . bloody hell Elle, that makes no sense," Matthew flicked his red, cape-like cloak over his other shoulder, thinking hard.
Elle couldn't help but agree, "If you're right Matthew, why would Mark want to help us? Wouldn't a trap be more likely?"
Matthew nodded, standing from where he'd perched on a countertop and crossing to stand by the window, "Maybe, but you're forgetting one thing."
His younger sister cocked her head to the side, "Oh?"
"The Black Fang don't like powerless servants."
"You think they want him dead," it was a statement, not a question.
"He knows too much Elle, besides, Leila says that the Ashen Phoenix died years ago, burnout. All the expected," Matthew began ticking each off in his fingers, "Over the top power use, large area of ruined battlefield, nothing left but the tome and a pile of ash. Forblaze targeted at an entire regiment supposedly."
Elle's thoughts drifted to that one small word, burnout. The word reserved for a magic user who'd pushed themselves so far magically that they physically stripped themselves of all power. It was usually permanent. A death sentence. Mages and sages alike grew used to magic in their blood, their very soul, and without it. . . well, Adelle didn't like to think about that. It was supposedly a one-way trip to a highly painful and quick death. You couldn't fake burnout, and with a spell like Forblaze? You were asking for death.
"Wait. . . did you say targeted over an entire regiment?" Elle said, "Forblaze is a known power drain when skilled sages use it on a single person! It's not meant for large-scale attacks!"
Matthew grinned, "You see the oddness of the story as well, huh?" he turned from the window, "Supposedly the Ashen Phoenix saved the entirety of his forces that day."
"He faked it?"
Matthew nodded, "Probably. Either that or he actually burned out and then faked his death, knowing what would happen if he stayed as a powerless servant."
It clicked in Elle's head, "Hurricane's list!" she paused, "Who is this Hurricane person?"
"The slime ball who takes care of failures," said Matthew dryly, "Leila's met him," the older spy's hands had clenched into fists, a motion it didn't look like he knew he'd done, "The only reason she's met him is because they wanted her to know he was there if she ever wavered."
A silence stretched, then the siblings both straightened, senses alert. There was something off, a shift in the air maybe?
"Matthew d'you-"
"Smell smoke? Yeah."
The pair hurried outside. A crowd was hurrying by, all chattering with a panicked air.
"Oi!" yelled Matthew, "What's going on?"
A man's wild eyes met Matthew's calm ones, "The castle! The castle is burning!"
"We're under attack!" added a woman.
"The marquess has been accosted!" chimed in a third villager, not stopping.
Elle's Drivsno tome was already in her hand, "Matthew, can't we help?"
The man Matthew'd asked information of shook his head, "You two should leave at once. A blaze has started in the castle, and it's spreading. Don't be foolish!"
Matthew grinned, "Foolish is my middle name, come on Elle."
"You're crazy!" called the man after them, "Just save yourselves!"
The pair hurried towards the castle, pushing against the crowd heading the other way in a mass of panic.
"Hey Elle?"
The Ostian girl slipped between another group and returned to her brother's side, "Yeah?"
"There's three switches we should push to open the gates, that will let us get to the marquess and offer our assistance."
Elle rolled her eyes despite the situation as they scanned the burning building, "I'm not even going to ask how you know that."
"Good, and Elle?"
She looked up slightly at him, "Yeah?"
"I think for now we ignore our tactician friend's history and just get fighting."
Elle gave one look to the burning castle, another to where Lyndis's Legion came hurrying in, followed by yet another fight it seemed, and nodded.
"Great idea."
Chapter 11: Chapter Ten
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 10
Marquess Araphen was in the worst situation of his life.
Trapped inside his own castle.
His own burning castle.
Tied to his own throne actually.
Good times.
The man responsible for it all stood with his back to the marquess, all that was visible to the man tied to the throne his long, black cloak. The cloak that Marquess Araphen had never seen him without. Even in the rapidly growing heat of the burning castle, the black cloak remained.
"I am disappointed in you."
The captive marquess looked up, surprised the man had spoken.
"You could have been the one," the young man's voice continued, the refined tone slipping towards something sharper, "The one that ruled the world. Alas, not to be."
A few steps that sent the long black cloak swishing dryly behind him with a deadly quiet, and the younger man was before the marquess, looking down at him with disdainful eyes that could barely be seen under the hood. He crouched down, meeting the marquess' eyes, "A shame."
"If you wish to win more over with some more talking of treason, your words are wasted," Marquess Araphen spat, spite evident in his words.
The hooded man just tilted his head to the side and gave him a sickening smile, "Oh?"
"I will no longer serve you filth!" snapped the captive, "I listened to your honeyed words for far to long," the marquess' voice grew stronger with each word, despite the growing heat around him that told of the fire's impeding arrival in the room, "I will not harm Madelyn's daughter! I offered aid! I stand by my words!"
The hooded man's smile grew, "How touching. Sentiment will not save you though. In fact, I intend to have you die for it."
A new voice, "Not if you die first!"
There was a swooshing as a dagger flew through the air, headed right for the hooded stranger's head. He simply smiled wider, catching it without even looking, then turned towards the wide-eye guard who'd somehow managed to reach his liege.
The black-clad man tsked, not even turning around, "Never announce yourself, you'll never catch your target off guard," he paused, extended his hand, and a whirl of ice and snow surrounded the young guard, killing him in the clash of ice on ice instantly, "Good bye."
Marquess Araphen's eyes widened at the display of violence, and the man laughed quietly.
"Almost too easy, isn't it my friend?" he leaned closer to the man, enjoying the feeling of helplessness radiating from him.
"You're a monster! Who are you to do such a thing?!"
"That's a new one," commented the man, leaning closer, "As to who I am. . ." he pulled off his hood, something the captive had never remembered him doing before. Light brown eyes, no, more like an unnatural golden actually, met his. Shoulder length, messy black hair was pulled away from his face, loose strands covering his left eye. His pale skin seemed unearthly, an eerie finish against his dark cloak, and a creepy grin, hitching slightly on one side, gave him a maniacal look, "You don't need to know that, do you Marquess Araphen?"
In an instant, the marquess felt an icy blade make harsh contact with his side, and the air left his lungs. Something was forming next to the evil sage, a shadowy figure, but the dying man couldn't make it out past his fading vision.
"You are no use to me alive," said the smooth, refined voice, coming from what seemed like a deep tunnel, "You are more use to me dead."
Mark looked at the singed (well, maybe 'singed' was being generous) castle, thinking hard. Marquess Araphen offered aid, sure, but will he still after this? Lyndis is the reason for his castle being like this I'll guess, and I am certain my guess is correct, as they usually are. His brown furrowed, Assuming he doesn't help we'll need more funds for supplies, and the best-
"Uh. . . Mark, d'you have a second?"
Mark turned, Elle stood there, her face a mix of relief, apprehension, and what looked like irritation. Next to her was the strange sandy-haired man who'd been helping out the whole battle, picking locks and causing chaos with his skilled and speedy fighting.
He sighed, cutting off his thoughts of how to best talk to Marquess Araphen about his small army's part in the castle mess, "Of course Elle."
"Serra told me to report that Lyn's fine now, the cut wasn't that deep. The captain of Marquess Araphen's guard, Rath says the marquess will speak with you. Kent says he and Sain are checking the perimeter as asked, and Erk reports that you were right about the fire spells working in reverse putting out the fire," she paused for air.
"I say there are three chests I've seen that no one will miss," butted in the unfamiliar man with a grin.
Mark was taken aback, "Who're yo-"
"Matthew," said the man with an over the top, almost flippant bow, "Professional in all things. . . acquisitions."
Mark felt one of his eyebrows raise, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Matthew cut him off.
"Look, if you want to win, you've go to use every means at your disposal. That's an ironclad rule!"
Mark tried to speak again, but he was cut off.
"Yeah, I know stealing's bad," Matthew waved a hand like it was of no concern, "But Elle here tells me we just saved the marquess. Shouldn't we call this an. . . advance on our reward?" he finished with a grin.
"He's already got an Angelic Robe on him," Elle supplied.
"Hey!" Matthew turned to face the girl, "You have the Aromorslayer, don't think I didn't see that!"
Elle crossed her arms, ignoring him, "Really though Mark, does it matter? We need these things, and the marquess will probably reward us anyway."
Mark sighed as the two fell to bickering, he'd hoped they'd be able to not steal anything.
"Look," he said, "I'm not responsible for you or your actions Matthew, as you're not part of the-"
"Oh?" Matthew ceased his 'conversation' with Elle and looked the tactician in the eye, "I was actually hoping to join you!"
Mark looked at Elle, who nodded slightly, "Put that back. Then we'll talk," his gaze became stern, as Elle moved to leave, presumably still with the Armorslayer, "Both of you!"
The pair of thieves mumbled something incoherent, but moved to obey. Mark turned towards the remnants of the castle, meaning to talk with the marquess. Lyn would probably insist on coming, so he'd better take her along as well. As he walked back to the group, he past a small pile of wood that was still blazing, and waved his hand idly, a habit he'd picked up after years of being a sage. He'd tried to stop the way he just automatically used spells, but it had stuck, and he kept doing the motions powerless. After all it wasn't really going to do-
The flame went out.
Mark's eyes widened, "Did I just. . ?"
He looked at his hands, as if expecting the to fall off. Curiously, he snapped his fingers. Tiny sparks fell from them, then flickered out and died. A tiny smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and he looked around quickly, to see if anyone was there to see him. No one. Perfect. His hand went to the pouch on the back of his belt, and his fingers met the once-glossy cover of his old personal tome, Fiendfyre. His fingers traced over the cool metal of the phoenix, then the thin gold lines of fire. Mark's fingers came away with a fine coating of ash, and he paused, then opened the tome, flipping through pages of spells memorized long ago. His fingers faltered at the last pages, but he turned them anyway, slowly, as if they might break. There it was. The spell that had broken him.
Forblaze.
He traced the words on the page, memories flying back.
Mark stood on a field of desolation. Ash surrounded him and his men in the large cave they'd been pushed back into, whether it was from his own spells or apposing mages he didn't know and didn't care. Helplessness flooded him. He'd failed his army, men would die today because of him.
"Mark!"
Mark turned, a soldier stood there, one of the older recruits. Fear was displayed openly, an expression Mark had never seen on his face.
"What are your orders?"
Mark looked out over the field, "Tell the others to hold the line for a bit longer," his fingers traced over the cover of his tome, "They'll be safe soon. When you see an orange flash, order your men to head deeper into the cave system, as fast as you can."
The tactician turned to walk away, but the man stopped him, "Why? Why run?"
"Do we have a choice? Basic tactics say that the less casualties there are, the better. This removes the factor of more of my men dying. Just get them deeper into the caves Glass."
The older man looked at the younger, and something seemed to click, "Don't!"
"Don't what? This is the best way forward," Mark turned and hurried off, afraid that if he stayed longer the older man, a mentor to him, would talk him out of it.
Mark's fingers stopped tracing over the page, Fiendfyre's very last.
Forblaze.
The page was half burned, crumbling at the edges. The pages behind it were destroyed, as were the ones to the immediate left. The power required for the spell had been enormous, and he remembered drawing from what felt like his very soul as he modified the spell to cover more distance. He remembered the heat that'd come with the spell, the burning, the pain. The way the enemies' lines had fallen before him, their weapons twisting and warping in their hands, the finial explosion of power that'd pushed him away from the area, separated him from Fiendfyre, and knocked him unconscious. After that he remembered nothing besides waking in a place of desolation, tome gone, weak and injured. Mark's fingers brushed the broken bits of page out, and the burnt pieces fell like ashes to the ground.
"Mark?"
The tactician whirled, hand extended and Fiendfyre balanced in his opposite palm. A reflex he'd never quiet been able to get rid of.
Glass looked surprised, and hurriedly raised his hands in a surrender motion.
Mark lowered his hand, berating himself for think he'd be able to do anything with the old tome. There'd been no feeling of flames dancing just under the surface, waiting for his command, no rush of magic coursing through his veins. If anything at all, he just felt drained, more so then usual. A tiredness that never left him since burning out. He'd been stupid to think there would be a change.
He slid the tome back into it's pouch, "You startled me."
Glass shrugged, "Sorry."
There was an awkward pause.
"I haven't seen you with that in-"
"Drop it."
Glass tried again, "Did anything happen? Can you-"
"I said drop it," Mark's voice didn't leave room for argument, "It's as I said Glass, I have fragments, bits and pieces, that's all," he walked over to the older man, "What did you come to report?"
Glass survived Mark for a good while, "Lyn's asking for you," he said finally, "Says that she spoke with Marquess Araphen."
Lyn talked to Marquess Araphen alone? That can only end two ways, really good or-
"The marquess wants us out of his city," Glass finished, "But Kent thought that maybe if you talked to him. . ."
Mark was already moving, "I'm on it."
Notes:
Meredith (signing): Ha! Two chapters in about four days! Take that Writers' Block!
Elizabeth: You've defiantly been on a roll Meri, although this story seems to keep getting farther and farther from the script. . .
Meredith (signing): That's the whole point sis! It's more interesting this way.
Elizabeth: That does make sense...
Meredith (signing): Exactly!
Chapter 12: Chapter Eleven
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 11
Day 12
Talked with Marquess Araphen, he is not what I remember. His personality is frigid, distant. I understand he is a sage, but the magic around him seemed. . . different, off-balance. We were forced to leave Araphen.
New Recruits:
-Matthew? Not sure if I trust him. His sole mission seems to be to steal anything that isn't nailed down.
-Serra, an Ostian Cleric. Talks a lot, so much so that she missed one of my orders last time. Healing very good, almost as good as she boasts.
-Erk, a Etrurian mage. Quiet, extremely smart, trained well, understands orders. Was unsure if I should place him on the battlefield and he proved quickly that he belongs there.
-Rath, the former captain of Araphen's royal guard. I don't know what happened to shake his loyalties so quickly, so I will keep an eye on him.
Day 13
Rode a good distance today. Lyn and Wil arguing again, this time over archery practices. Lyn maintains that the short bow is more versatile, Wil claims that the long bow is.
Matthew seems to have a habit of disappearing whenever Serra's around. Most thieves don't like the clergy though, so this might just be a waste of ink, which I am fast running out of. My other bottle seems to have 'disappeared'.
Rath and Lyn get along well, and Florina tolerates him, so the three of them will be tried as a team.
Day 14
Mark's hand hovered over the paper, unsure what to write next. He'd been chronicling their journey the whole time, adding maps, commentary on people and places, and notes on supplies as was his habit. They'd stopped in a small inn, The Black Boar, and last night's rest had certainly been better then their more recent sleeping on the ground. The tactician now sat in the inn's pleasantly crowded common room, a cheery place filled with light chatter and flute music. His eyes took in the peaceful scene. Matthew was talking animatedly to a group at the bar with Sain and Glass, gesturing wildly to more laughter. Florina was buried in a book in the corner, Erk next to her, nose in a magical theory book, mumbling bits of complex spells he was trying to understand under his breath. Lyn and Wil were not present, but Mark knew them to be outside with Kent and Rath, probably bickering as Rath and Kent sparred. Elle was sitting on the floor before the empty hearth, occasionally assisting Erk when he got to a hard part, and arguing with him about the tome-mind-magic connection. Patrons were sprinkled here and there, and in the far corner of the room was a pair of what had to be siblings. A graceful, willowy girl danced with a simple, innocent joy to the music of her little brother's flute. Both had crimson eyes and teal hair, the elder's lighter then the younger's.
What happened of importance? Mark asked himself, rubbing a hand across his eyes before running it through his hair, The team of Rath, Lyn and Florina worked, I should note that. The empty space under 'Day 14' seemed to mock him as his small, messy handwriting wrote out the note. Mark's handwriting was small out of necessity, paper wasn't an endless resource after all, and carrying large amounts was heavy. As to messiness? Mark liked to say he wrote messy so other people couldn't read his notes, when in reality he just had messy handwriting.
"Omigosh Mark!"
Mark jumped, his uncorked bottle of ink swaying dangerously. He quickly grabbed the bottle, saving his page of notes. Serra had materialized by his elbow, her light purple eyes alight with happiness.
The tactician released his bottle of ink slowly, "Yes Serra?"
The cleric, much to his annoyance, slid into the chair across from him, propping her chin on her fist. Mark tried to ignore the fact that her elbow was on his notes that he'd pushed to the other side of the table.
"I just came over to inform you that I'm taken," she said.
Mark blinked in confusion, "Taken? You have a contract with someone you forgot about?"
Serra laughed, a bright sound, and patted Mark's hand where it lay on the table, "Of course not silly! I mean that if you want me, you'll have to get in line."
Mark's tactical mind, impressive as it was, struggled through her statement, "What?"
Serra waved a hand as she spoke, the motion dangerously close to the ink bottle, "I mean, you'd have to fight Lord Hector, Matthew, and Erk just to get near me!"
I'm sitting right across from her, thought Mark, What in all of Elibe is she talking about?
"I don't know how to break it to you gently, but Lord Hector and I are almost official, and you do not want to cross him."
During her monologue, her hand had come very close, on multiple occasions, to tipping over the little ink Mark had left. He reached over and saved the small vessel from certain doom as he thought over Serra's words.
"Wait, Serra, are you implying that Mark fancies you?" asked a new voice.
Mark looked towards the source of the voice, and there stood Matthew.
"I am Matthew, it is quite clear to me," said Serra with a toss of her pink ponytails, "Last battle he kept me off the front lines, and when we traveled here he made sure I was always well protected."
The bewildered tactician was too surprised to tell her that that was just basic healer protection.
Matthew burst out laughing at Serra's statement, or maybe it was Mark's usually composed face with a wide-eyed look of disbelief. Honestly, both were worth a good laugh.
"You may laugh Matthew," said Serra, "But I for one feel bad for Mark, I mean, imagine the emotional turmoil he must be feeling right now. He's speechless!" The cleric stood and patted Mark on the shoulder, "Don't worry, it never would have worked. I mean, I am a noblewoman."
With that, she left.
Matthew smirked, "Well then," he said sarcastically, "If you need a shoulder to cry on, don't pick me mate, I know nothing of 'emotional turmoil'," he walked off as well, leaving Mark in relative silence.
With a sigh and a still-confused shake of his head, Mark pulled the cork out of his inkwell and wrote one line.
I need to be careful with how I assign Serra. Do not pair her with Erk or Matthew. It'll save them a conversation they'd rather not have.
Notes:
Meredith (signing): There you are, a little mood lightener after all the dark stuff!
Elizabeth: That was a polar opposite of the last chapter sis.
Meredith (signing): Yep! I felt we needed a little Serra being Serra! It was either this or Mark and Glass doing a sparring session, with Mark essentially hating swordplay.
Elizabeth: . . .and I told her that if she did more unasked for Mark backstory show-and-tell, I'd delete the doc.
Meredith (signing): Well. . . maybe slightly because of that as well.
Chapter 13: Chapter Twelve
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Moonlight streamed over the wooden boards of the inn's floor, a strip of silver on the aging wood. The peaceful night sounds of crickets and gentle wind through the large tree behind the inn the only sounds heard. Elle stared at the ceiling in the darkened girls' bunk room, alert and awake. She'd taken one of the top bunks, and her eyes, adjusted to the dark, could make out the wooden beams above her. With slow, precise motions, the Ostian girl slid out from under her covers, pulling her Drivsno tome out from under her pillow and dropping to the floor. Her sock-covered feet hitting the floor in silence as she landed in a half crouch. She picked up her boots, then became a silent figure that stole through the shadowy hallways of the Black Boar, boots in hand to prevent sound. Her destination was the front porch, which she reached in silence. She curled up in a chair by the stairs, pulling her boots on one at a time as the night breeze toyed with her long hair.
"I can see you Matthew," she said quietly to the shadow against the wall.
The shadow straightened, then leaned against the wall again, "Better, but I wasn't exactly hiding was I?" came Matthew's voice.
"Right."
Matthew snorted, "It's the truth Elle, and you know it."
Elle did know it, but her brother's ability to hide freaked her out sometimes.
"Well?" she asked, changing the topic.
"You're almost," he stressed the word, "forgiven for going against all of Lord Ulther's orders and listening to the young master and joining up with Lyn."
Elle raised an eyebrow, though he probably couldn't see it in the dim light, "Almost? So the master isn't throwing me out of service then?"
"No, he hadn't quite grasped how big this is," Matthew said, ". . .But he still is displeased with the young master."
"Understandable."
There was a pause that stretched into a comfortable silence. Elle frowned, something pulling at the edge of her magic's sense. As a mage, she could feel Serra's resting but still chaotic light and healing magic, Erk's cracking lightning magic, and. . . was that fire magic? She pushed the internal sense outwards, trying to be sure of it. There it was, an inferno of magic, pulsing and growing by the second.
"Alright Elle?"
Adelle shook her head to clear it, then looked at her brother strangely, "I feel magic, the same one that keeps showing up and then flickering out," she said, unsure how to explain it.
"So?" asked Matthew, who, not being a mage, didn't really understand what she was feeling, "We've got a mage and a cle-"
His sister waved a hand at him, "Shh!"
Matthew shifted with what was clearly frustration at being interrupted, but remained silent.
Elle closed her eyes, just in time to feel the surging mass flicker and go out, and her eyes popped open in confusion, "Never mind," she sighed, "It's gone again."
The two spies talked awhile longer, going over what they'd seen, possible next steps forward, and the safety of the group.
Finally, Matthew straightened and stretched, his cape-like cloak shifting with the motion, "We're just going round in circles now, we should get some proper sleep."
His companion stifled a yawn, "Probably."
The pair reentered the inn, opening the squeaking door with a silence that was rather impressive for the badly in need of oil hinges. Candlelight surprised them, a single flame on a table in the darkest corner. Matthew slipped up the stairs in an instant, going both unseen and unheard, but Elle stopped, hesitating for just a moment. In the corner was a young man, his face pale, almost pained in the candlelight as he flipped the pages of a book slowly.
Mark.
A sudden rush of the same fire magic from before, more wild now, whipped across Elle's mind, and she gasped at the same time the tactician did. His eyes shut, and his hands clenched into fists as he bowed his head. Elle quickly passed him, and as if feeling her passage, he looked up, but she was already gone. Elle caught up to her brother, who'd stopped near the top, head cocked slightly to the side. The Ostian girl opened her mouth to say something, but he silenced her with a finger.
"I heard something."
Elle started to ague that it had just been her, but stopped, knowing that her brother had a sixth sense when it come to things like this. Years of service and sneaking where he shouldn't be had given Matthew an uncanny ability for knowing when something was off. Adelle strained her ears, trying to hear what her brother clearly did. He moved in the direction of the sound he'd heard, silently following it. Finally Elle could hear it, a frantic shuffling sound, along with muffled thumps. Elle walked right into Matthew, who'd stopped abruptly.
"Ouch! Ma-"
Her brother clapped a hand over her mouth, "Pipe down!" he whispered.
Elle accordingly shut up, after awhile though, she whispered, "Why are we spying on a guest room?"
"It's not a guest room," answered the older spy, "This is a common area, and it's locked."
How does that make this suspicious Matt? thought Elle, It could be-
A muffled scream came from the room, sounding loud to the pair outside who listened with straining ears. Before Elle could react, Matthew was already in action, lockpick slotting into the lock on the door. After a few well-practiced turns and wiggles of the slim, twisted metal tool, there was a soft click, and the pick was back in Matthew's boot again. The pair shot through the door, just in time to see a dark shape slip out the window, a long form in its arms. There was a scuffle in the corner, where a small figure wiggled against his captor, and Elle pinned the taller figure to the wall with two quick blasts of Drivsno. The ice shackled the man's wrists to the wall, and Matthew was at his side in an instant, dagger against his throat.
"Talk," he said simply.
Elle had already crossed to the boy's side, "Are you alright?" she asked gently.
The boy's eyes, an odd crimson color, were wide with fear as he ignored Elle and ran to the window, "Ninian!"
The child looked ready to climb out and go after her, but Elle laid a hand on his shoulder, "Wait! Matthew has this under control, Ninian will be safe," though she kept a calm exterior, Elle was panicking inside. Will she really be okay by the time we get there? Where are the parents? Is this 'Ninian' a sister? Relative? Friend?
She led the boy away from the window, then crouched down slightly to look him in the eyes, "Tell me about Ninian."
She was treated to a rushed and confused telling about his sister. How they'd traveled around preforming, and how the innkeeper had offered for them to have a bed for the night if they preformed for his customers. The stalling tactic worked, as by the time the boy, who was now identified as Nils, was finished, Matthew was finished with his 'conversation'.
"They took her to a fort a couple miles from here," Matthew supplied, turning from the now-unconscious man.
Nils nodded, now tearful, "Please! You're with the mercenary group right? You have to help her!"
Matthew looked at his sister, then walked over to the window, "Elle, you stay here, tell Mark and get the Legion together."
Elle suddenly realized what he was doing, "You can't go alone!"
Matthew grinned, "Well I am, if I don't come back, tell mum and dad I loved them."
Despite the weight of the situation, the little sister in Elle kicked in, "What about me?"
Matthew waved a hand airily, "Too annoying," he looked at the boy with that grin still on his face, "Don't worry kid, your sister'll be fine," with that, he was gone, out the window and into the night.
Notes:
Meredith (signing): I have a really good excuse for the late update. . . I've been under the radar, running from the Black Fang's Angel of Death- No? Not good enough?
...
Yup, you're right, I'm just busy.
Elizabeth: We are dropping two chapters at once this time around though. . .
Meredith (signing): Yeah! Figured it'd make up for the long wait.
Chapter 14: Chapter Thirteen
Notes:
A.N: Quick warning for a bit more then cannon-typical violence. Not too graphic though, and no blood.
On a lighter note, this is the first time we released two chapters at a time, so drop a comment on if you like a long wait for two chapters or a short wait for one. . . Okay, okay, we'll be quiet now and let you read. :)
-Liz and Meri
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It hadn't taken long for the group to gear up and catch up with Matthew, or at least the fort Matthew had headed to. Elle couldn't help but be in awe of the structure, tall, thick stone walls rose above the party, looming against the night sky with an imposing presence. Glass and Mark were huddled together, and Elle could make out bits and pieces of the conversation, though both men seemed to wish to remain unheard.
". . .Remember it from Legion Four . . ."
". . .Back door still broken?"
". . .old way still work. . ."
". . .Matthew got in. . .clearly there's a. . ."
Elle sighed, now that she and Matthew had pieced together what they believed to be Mark's past, she couldn't help but wonder how she hadn't realized before. Leila, who oftentimes oversaw Elle's missions, would probably say it was just her inexperience, but Elle wished that she could learn faster. Times like these especially made her feel out of touch with her trade. Here she was, a spy like her brother, and she was unable to see whatever means he'd used to sally right on into the. . . wait.
A sally port, she thought, Matthew must've used a sally port to get in! Congratulating herself on the discovery, Elle smiled, Of course Matthew would use that! The door is often left open when not in use, and they normally are hidden so well they aren't guarded!
As if on cue, Mark shook his head, "How could I forget!" he said, louder than before, "The sally port!"
Elle frowned, Never mind, Mark's got it.
"Excuse me?"
The gentle voice startled Elle, who whirled around to face the sound. The owner of the voice was a young man with blonde hair who was dressed in the manner of a monk of the Araphen church. He'd introduced himself as Lucius awhile back on the road, and joined their quest to assist Nils' sister. Though what in all of Elibe he'd been doing traveling at this hour she wasn't sure.
"Does your tactician often talk this much before a battle Adelle?"
"Just Elle," corrected the Ostian girl, "and no, he doesn't. Mark's usually got a plan by now."
"I see," Lucius surveyed the fort with calm blue eyes, "I do hope he comes up with an idea soon, that girl is probably terrified," with that, he drifted off, leaving Elle standing by herself again.
Elle blinked once, then twice, before shaking her head to clear it. Every time the monk talked to her, he'd say something obvious in a way that sounded deep, then leave you there, confused for no reason. Personally, she was starting to wonder what the seemingly frail monk would do in a battle, and wondered why Mark had agreed to letting him fight as well.
Mark called the group together, and began explaining what they were looking for to the non-military-trained, who had no clue what a sally port was. Sain, Kent, Glass, Elle, and Florina were already looking as he talked to the rest.
"It'll be a small door, it's used for sending out a messenger during sieges, so it'll probably be hidden well-"
After a bit more searching, which lasted until sunrise, and one scare when Serra shrieked like she was being murdered, (it was just a big bug), they'd found the door, an unassuming stone outline.
"Mark, over here!" called Dorcas, the discoverer.
The tactician hurried over, his brown cloak fanning slightly with the motion. The group gathered around the door, with Mark giving orders about formations and groupings, and Elle was struck again by how pale he looked. The sharp eyes and alert face were still there sure, but they both seemed dimmed somehow, and Mark kept pressing his lips in a tight line, as if he was in pain of some sort.
"Elle, with me and Glass," Mark ordered, cutting into her train of thought and effectively breaking it, "Scan the whole fort everyone, stick with your groups, and be ready for anything."
Hours later found a much different picture, the party had battled through the fort, which was mostly mages in matching red cloaks that seemed to be a uniform of some type. Mark's tactics tore through the crisp, clearly practiced ranks and formations with a deadly ease. Every time the enemy reformed, he already had a plan for a counter-attack, often before they'd finished reforming.
"Go for the second to the left mage!" he called, "The one behind the front row! He's charging a large spell! Taking him out will break the shared power chain!"
Sure enough, the mage was, and his removal broke the mages' shared energy.
"Pull back!" Mark yelled urgently, as a mass of unbridled power that had been circling the mages twisted and stretched wildly, "Erk, Elle, with me. Get ready to form a shield!"
The two young mages ran to the front, and Elle grabbed Erk's hand as they prepared to powershare. The link of connection snapped into place between them, and the wave of unbridled magic from the enemy that no longer controlled it hit the pair like a tsunami of power, washing over them with a force that threatened to overwhelm them. Elle could feel the oppressive heat of the fire spell against their barrier, hear the screams of the enemy mages as their own spell ended them, smell the ash. Erk's hand shook in hers, echoing her fatigued state, and she could feel their shield cracking, threatening to shatter at any moment at the onslaught. A new hand grabbed hers, snapping into the powershare with a quickness that told of great skill. A roaring inferno of power raged into the two younger fighter's reach, begging to be used. Erk and Elle drew from the newfound strength, able to repair the shield with a frantic struggle aided by the new force. The last bit of rampaging spell fizzled out with a whipping wind and a rather anti-climactic 'pop!' Elle dropped Erk's hand, and the second hand slid from her grasp. Erk and Elle turned to face their helper, surprise on their faces when they recognized the panting brown-haired young man.
Mark.
Mark had been the source of power.
Notes:
M and E: *gasp* Who saw that coming?
Meredith (signing): Not Elle, despite us dropping like a thousand hints. . .
Elizabeth: Hahaha, yup!
Meredith (signing): Seriously though, it was so hard writing Elle to be so clueless. . .
Chapter 15: Chapter Fourteen
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The shield's bubble of magic faded as the connection between the three magic users broke. Tension filled the heavy silence, everyone's eyes on the pale tactician. The magic that had filled the air around the three was gone, leaving an almost chill behind without the sudden heat of the spells. Mark's grey eyes drifted from Elle to Erk. He offered them a small smile, more along the lines of a wince.
"Good job," he said simply.
The two young mages just nodded, still in awe at the spell they'd just managed.
"Omigosh!" Serra shrieked, shattering the silence, "That was. . . Omigosh!"
"We're alive!" cheered Wil.
In an instant, the group erupted into a cheering mass of chaos. Lyndis' Legion was in a state of joyous disorder. Florina actually joined in the yelling, her quiet voice raised in a merry cry. Lyn and Wil, who'd been known to severely disagree when left in close quarters, were smiling at each other and chatting away. Sain hugged Serra and managed to say it was completely by accident, and even Rath, who Wil had commented had 'a rock for a soul' was smiling. In the middle of the eruption of noise, Matthew reappeared with a redheaded young man who introduced himself as Eliwood, and the two of them steadied a limping teal-haired girl between them.
"Ninian!" yelled Nils, hurtling across the space and throwing himself into his sister's embrace.
The two mages and the newly discovered sage still stood where they'd been left, all breathing hard and looking strained.
Erk and Elle finally looked at each other and laughed.
"We did it?" whispered Erk, eyes wide with the question.
Elle grinned, shaking ash out of her messy brown hair, "We did it!" she cried, punching the air with her fist.
The beaming mages both turned to Mark, and in an instant, their smiles dropped off, shifting to concern.
"Mark?" Elle asked, her voice urgent.
At the same time, Erk asked, "Mark, are you alright?"
Mark nodded, then straight out lied, "Fine."
The tactician swayed where he stood, and Glass materialized by his side, steadying the younger man, "You're not fine, Mark, you're an idiot," he said, his gruff voice masking concern.
Erk nodded, his purple hair bobbing with the motion, "Glass is right Mark, as a magicless person joining into a powershare-"
"He's not a magicless," cut in Elle, looking like she knew more than she let on. In her hand, she held Fiendfyre, the gold and crimson tome looking strange in her hands, "You dropped this," she said simply.
Mark took it, and the two mages left, leaving him with Glass.
"I won't say I told you so lad. . ." began the older man, "But I will say that clearly your power's back."
"Fragments. Not what it was. But based on that it'll-" he broke off, wincing, "Blast! My head. . ."
Serra popped up with her staff, "Erky said I was needed?" she caught sight of Mark, "Eeep! You look terrible! I told you pining for me wasn't good for you!"
Matthew had wandered over, and his face was unreadable, "Serra," he said, "Do us a favor and shut up will you?"
Serra frowned, "How rude! I'll have you know Matthew, that there is nothing I can do for Mark here. He just has to ride it out!"
The tactician groaned slightly, "Lucky me. Look," he straightened, standing away from Glass, "I need you all to get into groups and scan the castle. . ." his mind drifted, and he struggled to keep the plan clear in his head, "Have Urs- No, that's not right- Elle, go with Lucius and Erk. Sain and Kent on the perimeter with. . . Rath, and the rest of you group up as usual. I need to know we're all clear here."
After another concerned look, they did as told, all except for Glass.
"What are you waiting for?" asked Mark.
"You never gave me an order," said Glass flatly.
"Oh."
The two men looked at each other in an awkward silence.
"You're making me feel like I'm nine again," offered Mark, "I did something you deemed dumb, and now you're going to lecture me, aren't you?"
Glass shook his head, "No lad, I was going to compliment you."
Elle scanned through the fort with Erk and Lucius, who'd been joined by Nils halfway through. Nils chattered and explored with a childish manner that made Elle nervous at times, especially when he disappeared from sight altogether. The trio of magic users was mostly silent as they went about their task.
"Adelle," began Lucius, as Nils darted into another room, "Was it known that your tactician was a mage?"
Erk and Elle exchanged glances, and Nils came running out, looking out a window before showing Elle a weird rock he'd found.
"No," answered Erk, seeing that Elle was occupied.
"He pushed too far," commented the monk.
"Mm," agreed Elle, as Nils dashed off into another room, poking her head in after him before saying, "Empty."
The three continued their scan, and as they neared the last room, Nils let out a shout of surprise that had Elle running to his aid. The two men followed to see Elle looking disgruntled and relieved as Nils placed a beautiful ring in her hand. It was silver, with veins of icy-looking blue twisting to form two tiny dragons in flight.
"This is Ninis's Grace!" he exclaimed, "It was Mother's, but it's Ninian's now Mother's gone," his smile faded, then reignited, "Ninian will be glad to know it isn't missing like she thought!"
"That's good Nils," said Elle with her own smile, "Let's get back to Mark now, he'll come after us it we take too long, no matter how beat-up he is."
The boy nodded energetically, then pulled out the scroll of paper that was clasped in the ring's band, tossing it on the floor. On instinct, Elle picked it up, then followed the child as they met back up with their companions.
Erk's face was stormy as they made their way back, and he kept jumping whenever Nils' voice rose in excitement.
"All right there, Erk?" asked Elle.
"Hmm? Oh," Erk nodded, "I'm fine."
Lucius, who walked ahead with Nils, called back, "I hope you don't have the same idea of 'fine' as Mark, Erk. One stubborn mage is enough."
Elle smiled at Erk's frustration, then whispered, "I want to correct him and say Mark's a sage."
Erk nodded, "Not worth it though," he paused, "Nils reminds me of one of my employers I had before, terribly loud and energetic. He is kindhearted however, unlike the other child."
Elle gave him a sympathetic smile, "You must've hated that. No time to study, right?"
He nodded, "None at all."
They met back in the room where they'd left the tactician, who was speaking with Eliwood. Glass hovered in the background, one eye on Mark and one on his task, looking almost like a parent with his concern. His worry seemed properly placed too, as Mark still occasionally pressed his lips into a thin line of pain, or would lose his train of thought, having to be reminded of what they were talking about. His relentless note taking still remained though, his eyes flicking between who he spoke to and the stack of paper on the loose board balanced across his lap. His hand flew across the pages, taking his efficient notes at lightning speed as always.
"So," Mark said, grey eyes scanning the paper, "you'd recommend continuing on the path I have charted, my lord?"
Eliwood nodded, "Yes, and though Pharae must remain out of the inheritance dispute, I will depart to talk with the lords of the surrounding areas. Maybe I can convince them to remain neutral at the very least in this mess."
Mark nodded, then rubbed a hand across his eyes, "That would be most appreciated, my lord."
Eliwood stood, his long blue cape swirling as he did, his rapier catching the light, "I wish you success in your mission Mark, and safety on the road ahead."
The Lycian noble left, and Mark sagged back in his chair, eyes closed. He didn't even realize that the four had returned until Nils came barreling up to him and pulled at his green tunic's sleeve.
"Mark, look!"
The tactician's eyes opened slowly, and he sat a bit more upright, "What is it Nils?"
Nils showed Mark the ring, explaining the whole story again, ". . .and I want to give it back to Ninian! Where is she?"
Mark's brow furrowed, confusion evident.
"You sent her with Florina and Lyn," offered Glass.
"Right."
"She'll be back Nils," added Elle, "We just have to be patient, right Erk?"
Erk had already settled down with a book, and missed his name being called.
Lucius answered for him, "Right, your sister will be back Nils, don't worry."
Notes:
Meredith (signing): Yes! On a roll!
Elizabeth: Well, seeing as the other documents were just sitting on the laptop for about three days, and you worked on this. . . I don't consider this 'on a roll'.
Meredith (signing): Let me have my moment, sis! After a long and bloody war, writers' block is defeated! We're back in business!
Elizabeth: *smiles* Fair enough!
Chapter 16: Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Text
Fog rolled over the dreary fields, cloaking the passage of all in its misty embrace. The silent morning was broken with birds' cries and calls, a cacophony of sounds and songs. The camp in the midst of all the fog was just waking, a bustle of those already awake, and those half-awake or still asleep being roused, and preparations being made for the day's journey. Adelle stood in the midst of it all, Drivsno in hand as she and Erk looked at each other sheepishly.
"You want to tell him, or should I?" asked Elle.
Erk looked at the ground, then at the Fire tome in his hands, "I think maybe we should go together?"
The Ostian girl nodded slowly, "D'you reckon he'll be mad?" she asked as the pair made their way to the center of the camp.
Erk shrugged, but he looked nervous.
The two mages weaved between Kent, who was helping Rath pack up supplies, and a half-awake Florina, who chatted with an alert Lyn. At last they found Mark sitting by one of the last remaining campfires, looking distant as he finished what looked like a hurried breakfast. He still looked off, not quite the Mark they knew, but he didn't have the almost deathly tiredness and confused manner about him that had been his companion for the past two days. His back was to them, tin plate balanced on one knee as he sat bent over his notes.
"Erk, Elle," he said without looking up, "Am I about to find out why this fog rolled up overnight without any natural reason?"
The young magic wielders exchanged guilty looks, "Yes. . ." said Erk.
Mark stood, plate now empty, and gathered his notes. He picked up his cloak from the ground, fastening it around his shoulders and extinguishing the fire with a wave of his hand. Adelle looked at Erk with a confused glance, why wasn't the tactician mad at them?
Erk cleared his throat and continued, "I left Fire on top of Elle's Drivsno overnight," he said, "The two do not mix well, and when we woke," he jerked his head at the surrounding fog, "This was here."
"So you were careless," said Mark with an empty tone that made both of them flinch, "I will not say do not worry, nor will I say that it is fine," his grey eyes fixed first on Erk, then Elle with an intensity that made them squirm, "Because of your foolishness, we are at a disadvantage today. I cannot come up with strategy for what I cannot see. Florina cannot scout ahead. One of your friends could get injured or killed if a fight breaks out because of you both. Understand that if that should happen, it is you who hold responsibility for their death or injury."
Elle could feel hot shame creeping over her face as the magnitude of her and Erk's carelessness hit her, "Mark, I'm sor-"
"Don't tell me that," snapped Mark, "Save it for someone who will listen. I hope that you will not need to explain a death to anyone's family after today."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the two mages wishing that the earth would open and swallow them and the fog their tomes had created overnight.
Mark's harsh telling of the facts turned out to be true. Florina was forced to remain grounded, unable to aid them from the air, and the density of the magical fog made it almost hard to breathe. It was about noon when the cloud of fog, which was blowing with the wind in the same direction they traveled, began to lift. The two young mages had remained silent the entire distance, heads drooping slightly though they remained alert.
"So you've come. . ." rumbled a deep voice.
Weapons were unsheathed with a uniform whisper of steel on leather, magic hummed to life in the hands of each able to use it. A large form blocked the path, clad in the armor of what Elle recognized as a general of Caelin.
Sain caught sight of the emblazoning on the armor and gasped, face becoming pale as if he'd seen a ghost. Kent's reaction was much different though, his face registered surprise, as well as what looked like hesitant joy.
"You! You're. . . Lord Wallace!" he said, his usual calm reserve slightly broken.
Lyn, who rode next to Rath, spoke up, "Kent, who is this?"
"He used to be the commander of the knights of Caelin."
Sain joined in, cutting Kent off as usual, "Aren't you supposed to be retired? I heard you were sowing fields now."
Elle couldn't help but realize that despite the conversation, neither the general nor the Legion had lowered their weapons.
General Wallace shifted slightly, his helmeted head tilting slightly to the side, "I am, and I was. Then I received orders from Lord Lundgren. I was told to capture an imposter and a pair of rouge knights."
With this, the front of Lyndis's Legion bristled, "Lord Wallace!" exploded Kent, "Surely, you don't believe us to be oath breakers, do you?"
Wallace remained where he was, "Bring me the girl that claims to be Lady Madelyn's child."
By this time Mark had reached the front, and he stepped between Kent and Sain to stand before the taller general, "Wallace," he said, not bothering to call him 'lord' or bow, "Your actions are bordering on threatening. Tell me, what are your intentions?"
"If I don't like what I see, I will take her."
The group all silently shifted into their battle formations, Lucius, Elle, and Erk stepping to stand behind Sain and Kent. Close enough to hit the general and use his armor as a conduit for their magic, yet protected by the knights ahead of them.
"Should it come to that," said Mark calmly, "We will prevent you."
The general chuckled, "You? Prevent me? You must be–"
"Enough!" everyone turned to face Lyn, who'd run up the front, "I'm right here! I am Lyndis."
Mark's face registered frustration before the expression was hidden again behind the cold face he'd worn when talking to Wallace. Lyn was unabashed as she stood there, wind tugging slightly at her long dark-green hair, blue eyes set in a face that told that she wouldn't back down. Their antagonist seemed startled, or lost in the past as his eyes roved over the young woman's face, finally settling on her eyes. He pulled off his helm to better see her, displaying his bald head and black eyes, and his brow furrowed.
Lyn stood straighter, "I'll understand if you don't believe me. But I've had enough of you and your foolish posturing!"
Her bold speech didn't seem to bother the older man, if anything, he seemed to almost smile as he said, "Hmm. . . Such beautiful eyes. . ."
Sain seemed to swell with outrage, but Kent stuck his arm out to stop his friend.
"Pardon?" asked Lyn, bewildered.
"I've been a knight for 30 years, and here is one thing I learned. A person with eyes as bright and true as yours is no deceiver," suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed outright, causing the more timid in the group, (Florina) to jump, "Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ah, yes! I like you, girl! Why, I believe I'll even join your little band of mercenaries!"
Mark looked from Wallace to Lyn and back again, "You speak truth?" he asked.
"This old bull's pledged his loyalty to Caelin. I would never allow an usurper on the throne. Let's march!" he stepped forward and slapped Mark on the back, "Where do you want me Ashen Phoenix? The frontlines again?"
Mark froze, but Wallace didn't seem to realize, "I remember you of course Mark, one of the Black Fang's finest right? Me and my knights owe you for your legion's assistance a couple years back. Although where Lady Lyndis got the gold to hire you I don't know. The Four Fangs weren't cheap if I remember correctly."
Chapter 17: Chapter Sixteen
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sixteen pairs of eyes fixed on Mark after Wallace's statement, all with various states of surprise, concern, and in some cases, fear. Nils and Ninian looked terrified, and both had backed behind the others, eyes wide. Elle and Matthew had just exchanged a look of, 'told you' and nodded once. Kent and Sain looked affronted, unsure of who their companion of two years truly was. Wallace just seemed confused as to why his question had gone unanswered. Glass alone seemed to feel bad for the tactician, he alone realized the cost of what Wallace had just said, as well as the domino effect that would come tumbling down with the comment.
"Black Fang, huh?" said Lyn, recognizing the name from the group who'd kidnapped Ninian and Nils, "Slip your mind to inform us Mark?" her words were laced with venom, and her eyes flashed blue fire.
"You didn't need to know," said Mark, immeadiadly wishing he could take the words back as they hit the air, "I mean-"
"We understand you loud and clear Mark," said Kent icily, "As a spy, why blow your cover? Why tell the people you lead to certain death about your true colors?"
"I don't know what you're planning Ashen Phoenix," said Lyn, "But I will follow your lead no further," she stepped away from Mark, Kent followed, Sain not far behind.
"I have heard of the Black Fang," whispered Florina, "They wipe out corrupt nobles. Isn't that what Lyn is seen as?" she stepped over to Lyn's side, head held high.
Mark, the brilliant tactician, fearless in the face of odds that would make a hardened soldier shake where he stood, was struck dumb, unsure what to say. What could he say?
"The Black Fang were behind the group who hired me originally," said Dorcas slowly, "I walked away from them for the same reason I walk away from you Mark," he stepped over to Lyn's side.
With a toss of her head, Serra walked over to Lyn's side, "I never would have believed it of you Mark," she said, "But here we are! I take Erk back, after all, he's my escort."
Erk followed her after throwing a hurt look at Mark.
Rath didn't say anything, he just slipped over to Lyn's side with an air of finality about him.
Wil shook his head, "Wouldn't have believed it of you Mark, you played your part well," three quick steps away from Mark told his choice.
That left Glass, Elle, Matthew, Wallace, and Lucius with Mark.
For now.
Lucius stood between the two sides, head bowed, "Before I chose, Mark, tell me your tale. A choice made in haste is most often the one that causes regret."
Mark looked up, the monk's words making him feel that maybe, just maybe, he could resurrect the rapidly declining morale of the team. Glass gave him a slight nod, encouraging him to tell the tale.
"Why did you join the Black Fang?" prodded Matthew.
"I didn't," said Mark slowly, "It found me. I was eight when bandits attacked my village. They burned, killed, and plundered as they wished. My world went from a boy in a good house with a loving family to an orphan in a burnt village, left alone. The Black Fang came to assist, but they were too late for many of us," he paused, his pained voice growing stronger as he continued, "Glass found me. He'd known my father, and took me in as his own. The Black Fang was different then, it ran off of honor, acting when nobody else would step in to see justice served," Mark smiled slightly, "My upbringing was rough, sure, but I had more 'uncles' looking out for me than an army of kids needed to be kept safe. I was taught fire magic by the mages, and I'd always had a mind for strategy, before I knew it, I was a Fang, rising through the ranks," he hesitated and took a deep breath, "Three years ago now I stood on the verge of becoming the youngest Four Fang ever. I challenged the man known as 'Hurricane' and won, earning my place among the elite. I was given the moniker, 'Ashen Phoenix', and my Ashen Legion was known for its red-cloaked mages that fought with the largest powershare used amongst magic legions, as well as its tactical soundness. Two years ago I found myself backed into a corner, my men and I on the verge of defeat. I pushed myself and my magic as far as I could to save them, and I burned out. I'd been looking for a way out of the Fang for awhile, it had changed too much, and I knew Hurricane would kill me for my now powerless and useless state. I ran."
Mark dared to face the group again, unsure of how his words had changed the group's desertion.
Matthew and Lucius had both slid over to Lyn's group. Elle stood as if on a blade's edge, teetering back and forth.
"I see that you've delivered Lady Lyndis this far safely," said Wallace, "But she has decided to part ways, and my loyalty is to her," Wallace looked at Mark as if he'd never seen him clearly before, then clanked over to Lyn.
Glass stepped closer to Mark, a silent agreement, "Elle?" he asked.
The Ostian girl seemed torn, looking from her brother to Mark and back again, she stepped up to Mark, inches from him. She reached out and picked up his hand in hers, "I can't," she whispered, and Mark felt something slide into his hand before she dropped it, "I'm sorry."
She stepped back and joined the others as they walked away. Mark could do nothing but watch as his former friends left him standing there, marching to reclaim Lyn's throne without him.
Notes:
Meredith (signing):Sooo. . . I lost my plot reader in my sister. *Looks back at what she wrote* She's not dead! She's still alive! She's just swamped right now and can't read my work, so she's taking a break. If you realize an increase in mistakes. . . that's why. I apologize in advance.
(Oh, and before anyone gives me credit for releasing these back to back, I'd like to admit that I broke these up for max cliffhangerness (Which, no, is not a real word))
Chapter 18: Chapter Seventeen
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Rain drizzled down from an iron-grey sky, dousing Lyndis's Legion with unwelcome wetness. The group was mostly silent, just shuffling onward towards their goal. They'd dropped their conversation a while back, the members' outrage quickly changing from verbal to a quiet simmer of tension that hung over them thicker than the fog that had blanketed them earlier. Adelle walked next to Matthew, head down and hood of her green cloak up to provide a shield, albeit feeble, from the cold rain. The dreary march ended when it became too dark to see the road, with the members of the Legion tired, wet, and hungry.
"We'll make camp here," said Lyn, her wet hair plastered to her face.
Everyone moved to obey, but the usual smooth process seemed disjointed and confused. Multiple people assisted with tasks that only needed a few hands, and others had too few. A few sniping comments flew between Wil and Lyn, as well as Matthew and Serra. Dinner was a dismal affair, though Florina's cooking was as good as usual, and two small holes gaped at them from the ring of soldiers huddled around the fire, a testament to the missing pair.
Elle's eyes kept wandering around the group, who all handled the gap differently, Kent and Sain were deep in a conversation with Lyn and Wallace, trying to decide a plan of attack for tomorrow when they'd come in striking range of the castle. Serra pushed her food around and around her plate, not complaining about the poor quality of the tin dish as she usually did. Erk didn't toy with the fire, testing spells while simultaneously keeping Nils entertained. Chatty Wil had joined Rath in a moody silence. Dorcas, Ninian, Matthew and Florina were giving a gallant effort to keep the atmosphere light, though their attempts fell flat. Their forced cheerfulness felt exactly like what it was, forced. Lucius alone seemed unfazed, calmly eating and going about his business as normal.
This is silly, thought Elle, Mark's led us through so many places where he could have killed us all. All he had to do was let our shield collapse back in Khathelet and we'd all be dead! The only thing we've achieved is a massive disadvantage.
She watched as Serra stopped pushing the food around her plate and began offering it to those around her.
Blast! If it weren't for keeping cover or Lord Hector's orders, I'd still be sided with Mark now!
She sighed and rose, hoping that maybe tomorrow would see them in a better position. Adelle grabbed her blanket from the pile of supplies, then found herself a spot a distance from the others and resumed sitting. She wrapped her blanket tightly around herself against the rain; it still fell, though the trees above their camp blocked most of the wetness. After a long while of thinking, she still could only see one outcome as a tiny band of tacticianless mercenaries.
Defeat. What can we do against an army?
"Hey Elle."
The Ostian girl looked up, Matthew stood over her, hood of his red cloak over his head, face serious.
"Oh. It's you," said Elle, resuming her bleak view of the world at large.
"That bad huh?" said Matthew, silently sitting beside his little sister.
Elle nodded, but remained silent. Matthew didn't push her to speak, knowing that if he did, he'd just get more silence, Elle would talk when she was ready.
"We're bloody dead," she finally said, "Without Mark we stand no chance against an army like Lundgren's."
Matthew didn't discount her use of 'bloody', Elle wasn't one to use expletives, if she did, she'd stick to 'blast'. Their mother had taught her to be ladylike, and she usually adhered to her teachings. The silence stretched, long and rather gloomy, until Matthew broke it.
"Can I have that tiny scroll you found in Ninian's ring back in Khathelet?" he asked, "I remember that you said it had that letter on it, from some girl named Ursula, right? It had the whole insider coded message about battle formations for the coming battle on it."
Adelle looked at the soggy ground, "No."
The older spy frowned, "What d'you mean 'no'? I want to take a crack at it and see if I can figure it out."
"I don't have it Matthew," clarified Elle, now picking at a loose thread on her blanket.
Matthew shifted in a frustrated manner, "Don't tell me you've gone and lost it!"
"No, Mark has it."
Her brother blinked a few times, before a slow smile pulled at his lips, "You gave it to him when we just left, didn't you?" he voice dropped. "Smart. You think he'll decipher it and come back?"
Elle held up a copy of the note, written in her own neat handwriting, then gave it to her brother, "No."
Matthew took it, eyes scanning the slanted script, "What're you thinking then?"
Adelle smiled wistfully, "I don't know, it just felt like the right thing to do. Y'know when you just feel like you should do something? That it's the right move?"
"Dad calls it 'spy's instincts'," said Matthew.
She nodded, "It felt right," she repeated.
Mark and Glass hadn't abandoned the Legion entirely, they'd waited a good while, then began to follow. They were close enough to assist in due time should a fight break out, yet far enough that they couldn't see each other. It was only when they stopped for the night that they could make out the tiny glittering dot that was the group's fire. The pair had settled under a large tree, to shield them from the rain, and they'd prepared a small meal that had disappeared quickly. Mark's hood offered a small reprieve from the moisture of the rain, and Glass had pulled his blanket over his head to keep most of the rain off.
"Bunch of blasted idiots," began Glass, gesturing at the distant campsite, "Can't they see that-"
"Peace Glass," said Mark tiredly, "Yelling insults at people who hold as much blame as I do in the matter won't solve anything," he adjusted his hood slightly, "Besides, they can't hear you. If it makes you feel better to shout though, I'm sitting right here."
Glass clapped his mouth shut mid-insult, "If you say so."
It was only now that Mark remembered the note, which had remained tight in his fist the whole time. Mark's eyes roved over the note Elle had slid into his hand, his mind translating the coded message with a familiarity that had been born of many missives and dispatches sent in the same code he now read.
I knew you'd find this. The note began. By the time you read it, the small section of the Ashen Legion I sent out to meet your group in Khathelet will have been destroyed. I don't have much time, but I need to tell you what I know of the plan. Formation 3 on the west, Ploy 10 in the south, Grouping 1 for the gate's defense, Formation 7 in the mountains on standby. I know I shouldn't be telling you this, but I begin to question the commander's orders. The Marquess of Caelin doesn't seem as corrupt as I've been told, I still question with authority as you taught me. I believe your cover remains intact throughout the ranks, I am the only one aware enough to read the signs telling that you live. Use the information well, teacher.
-Ursula
"What do you make of it, lad?" asked Glass, peering over his shoulder as he read.
Mark took one last look at the distant small fire of Lyndis's Legion, then looked back at Glass with a wide smile, which earned him a concerned look.
"We have a new way forward," he said, standing and beginning to pack his things, "Can you travel any further tonight? We have need of haste."
"We're joining up with the Legion again?"
"Oh no, we're joining back up with the Fang."
Notes:
Meredith (signing): You know when you're at the end of a fic and everything is just falling into place, making it incredibly easy to write it all out? That's where this story is right now. . .
Chapter 19: Chapter Eighteen
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Adelle crouched next to her brother as the pair hid behind a rise that kept them out of sight of the enemy encampment. Many small fires were sprinkled throughout the small city of tents despite the increased rainfall, their cheery glow fueled by the magic of the mages in the army.
"I still don't see why I'm the one doing this," Elle mumbled, "This is more your thing then mine."
"I'm not a mage though," said Matthew, unclipping his red cape as Elle removed her green cloak and handed it to him.
She whipped his cape over her own shoulders, fumbling with the buckles the garment had instead of the catches she was used to. Her brother, nimble-fingered as always, reached over and fastened them for her with quick motions, then slid the cape a bit. Now it hung on her so that Elle's right shoulder was exposed, her white blouse and navy skirt showing in the large slit, while her other side was completely covered.
She snorted, "Really?"
Her brother smirked at her, "Only way to wear it Elle."
Adelle caught the seriousness in the comment, "Why?"
"More mobile in a fight. Your dominant side is free of the fabric."
The mage girl experimentally tried a few movements, "Huh, you're right."
"Always with the tone of surprise. You still have that Fire tome Erk let you borrow?" said Matthew in a low voice, knowing that a whisper would carry further.
The Ostian girl patted the red leather book sitting where Drivsno usually hung on her belt, "Mm-hmm, but it feels so backwards compared to what I'm used to. Fire's so very finicky."
Matthew shook his head back and forth slowly, "In a perfect world, Elle, you don't have to use it, it's just a prop. You get in, scout around, get out," he paused, concern for his little sister overriding his professionalism, "You do have your dagger though, right?'
She took a deep breath, "Yeah, I've got it."
The pair moved in closer, slipping through the shadows with a silence they'd honed after years of practice. When they were just a few steps from the sentry, Matthew stopped. He unbuckled the sheath from his arm that has previously been hidden by his cloak and handed it to Elle.
"Here, be careful."
She smiled, copying the phrase he'd said awhile back, "Careful is my middle name."
"No," he said, shaking his head slightly as her words made him smile, "Your middle name is chaos."
Before she could respond, he was gone, melting into the rainy shadows of the woods behind them. Elle smiled, strapped the sheath onto her own arm, took a deep breath, and approached the sentry.
It was wet and cold, and the single sentry standing by the outermost point of the Black Fang camp was quite sure he'd never been in dampness this unbelievably uncomfortable before. Of course, he'd also thought that of the one outpost in Sacae, and that icy time near the Illian border. This one takes the cake it does. Right brutal it is out, not a soul would dare be out in- What's that? There's someone prowling around here. . .
"Hold! You there!" he called out in a clear, ringing voice full of command.
"Peace, peace, cripes you scared me," the slim figure slipped into the light of his torch, red cloak identifing her as one of the Ashen Legion. Her long, light brown hair was soaked, and she looked as miserable as he felt, "Tim right?" she asked, her crisp Ostian accent laced with tiredness.
"Greg," he corrected, still taken back at her sudden appearance.
"Right, knew it was something short," she nodded, then shivered, suddenly looking sheepish, "Look Greg, I uh. . ." she stopped, looking at the ground, "This is so embarrassing. . ."
Greg's curiosity was piqued, "What is?"
"Well, I was supposed to be here for the previous guard's shift, get in with the rest of the Legion y'know?" she shuffled her feet slightly, her boots leaving lines in the mud, "I got lost. First real mission, and the like," she looked left, then right, "Look, I need to get back in without raising a fuss."
Greg's mouth opened slightly, but before he could finish she cut him off, "I know, I know! Against code and all that," her voice lowered, "I heard about your last. . . escapade shall we say? I know people, I can get you out, free and clear."
"You heard about that, huh?" the sentry said, sounding unsure now.
She nodded, smirking, "Quite a scene it was too."
Greg stepped aside in an instant, "Go ahead, but remember, you owe me."
The girl gave him a tired smile, "Thanks Greg, I won't forget this."
Adelle slipped by him and into the camp, internally cheering herself on her small victory in getting past the guard that easily.
Thank you Matthew, she thought, remembering all the times her brother had drilled her on broad swooping comments that almost everyone had an answer to. They made you seem believable, like you knew what you were talking about even when you didn't. For the brawn over brain jobs, like sentrys, the majority of the comments worked like a charm. As she got deeper into the heart of the camp, the babble of the just-waking army began to fill the air along with the smell of food. For the next couple of hours Elle wandered around, accepting a plate from a cook before assisting in small tasks and participating in a drill that she faked her way through. By noon meal, she was fully in spy mode, starting to ease into a comfortable place with her current location.
"Hey, hey you! Recruit!"
That voice. . .
Elle stopped dead in her tracks, pivoting slowly. A mage was hurrying up to another soldier, his red cape fanning slightly with the motion. His uniform was worn with the familiarity of one who wore it day in and day out, something Elle couldn't fake even if she did have the uniform. Trousers tucked neatly into the tops of his boots, red cloak clipped neatly with a legion standard gold colored clasp beneath his throat, and an Elfire tome glinting on his belt.
"The commander wants you," he said, addressing the soldier, "It's about the security of the sentry line around camp. Something about someone getting in. Better hurry."
"What do you mean, 'someone got in'? No one sneaks into our camps that easily. We do have security," the soldier sounded frustrated.
The mage's voice rose slightly, the tone the very same Adelle had heard just two days ago. Last time she'd heard that cold anger in a voice, it had been directed at her and Erk, though they'd gotten a much larger dose. This shift in tone was more to say 'don't argue' then, 'your actions are unforgivable'.
"Tell Commander Kyle that. He seems to think differently. He wants a full sweep of the army to find the intruder."
The recruit rushed off, and the mage turned towards Elle, who hurriedly turned her back, hiding her face. There was a long pause as Elle walked away in a nonchalant manner, trying to sell the fact that she hadn't just been shocked.
"Mark!" the second familiar voice confirmed what the Ostian spy had just deducted, "Mark, lad, Commander Kyle has ordered you to relieve Greg from duty. The fool of a sentry let some will-o-the-whisp into camp."
"I'm on it Glass, thanks."
Notes:
Meredith (signing): Filler chapters, gotta love them. I figured if I just went right into final battle it would be all confused and rushed, so here's my quick 'who's where doing what' chapter.
Chapter 20: Chapter Nineteen
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Elle had returned to the Legion before the Black Fang camp had erupted into a swarming mass of red cloaks, and as such, she went unfound. Her hurried steps traced the path back to the others with almost distracted urgency. Her mind spun, Mark's betrayal in the forefront of her mind. The midnight moon, once shielded from view by the rain clouds, peeked out at the wet world. She delivered her report to Lyn and the others with a detached and detailed efficiency, more so then she usually used when she delivered her reports to Leila back at Ostia.
"I see," said Lyn simply, when Elle had finished, looking worn and tired.
Elle undid the fastenings on the red cloak she still wore, then removed the extra sheath and knife Matthew'd given her from her arm. Lyn's comment didn't require an answer, and she was in no talking mood.
"You're sure," asked Matthew as he took his knife back, "You're dead sure you saw Mark? That he was with them?"
"Yeah," Elle's voice was soft, hurt, "It was him alright."
She took her green cloak back from Matthew and left the others standing there, just wanting to get away from them. Adelle hurried to the small clearing she'd seen earlier, on her way back, and slid into the tiny area with a sigh, sitting on a rock that seemed destined to be a seat. The voices of the others drifted through the chilled morning air, continuing the conversation she'd left.
". . . tomorrow morning," said Kent, "What do you think, Lord Wallace?"
"Aye, that would be best."
"Attack moving out of the sunrise?" asked Lyn, "That was one of the things that-" she stopped, not wanting to say that it was one of Mark's tactics, "I think it's a good idea," she said hastily, covering the awkward pause.
Adelle sighed, her fingers tracing over and over the gold flames on the cover of Erk's Fire tome. The younger mage was sleeping, something Elle found impossible at the moment, and she didn't want to wake him.
Lyn was right, she thought, Mark would have just led us to our deaths after all. He knows all our weaknesses as well. After guiding us for so long, how could he not? We all fight in his formations too, probably part of his plan, we can't just change those overnight.
"You fear the morning."
Elle jumped, "Ma-Matthew! Don't scare me like that!"
The older spy was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, looking out over the tops of the trees that were visible from the rocky outcroping that they sat on. The view would have taken Adelle's breath away, had she been truly looking at the wondrous sight. Castle Caelin stood out in the middle of a large plain, pennants waving lazily in the evening's gentle breeze. The twists and curves of a river sparkled in the field, which was dotted here and there with trees and the occasional cottage.
"Well?" he asked, not at all phased by her annoyance or the avoidance of his question.
At last, she answered, "I do. I'm not really ready for this," her statement ended with a whisper, a child-like fear in her voice, "I've never been in a full out battle, I can barely stomach a small fight. The ones up until this point. . ."
Matthew placed a hand on her shoulder, the weight a small comfort against the giant of terror that threatened to swallow his little sister whole, "What's courage?"
She looked up, confused, "Huh?"
"Well. . ." Matthew wrinkled his nose slightly, "Blimey I'm bad at this. . ." he thought for a moment, "Good soldiers are people like you Elle, the people who are scared to face their foe, but go anyway. They know people will suffer if the enemy is allowed to run free. They despise spilling blood, it sickens them, but they understand it must be done at times, and defend those who need it," his hand squeezed her shoulder slightly, "Courage isn't being fearless, it's about having enough in you to work with that fear and push it aside. In this case, to push it aside so no one else has to feel it."
Elle gave him a small smile, only slightly ruined by the twinkle of amusement in her brown eyes despite the gravity of the situation.
"Cliche?" asked Matthew, looking sheepish.
"Very," she said, "But true, and I do feel a bit better now. Thanks Matthew." Her face darkened a bit as she looked away, "I still can't help but think about-"
"Andrew?" asked Matthew.
She nodded, "I wonder if this is what he felt like, before. . ." she stopped.
"Before his last mission," finished Matthew, "I think about him at times like this too."
Ephidel stood on the battlements of Castle Caelin, his golden eyes appearing more like a natural color in the dim light. They seemed an undecided color, between dark brown and amber. His hood was down, and the wind pulled at his just past shoulder length black hair. With a gesture of annoyance, he flicked the long bangs covering his left eye out of his face.
"Well?" he asked.
The soldier who'd been hesitating behind him, unsure if he should interrupt or not, jumped.
"S-Sir?"
Ephidel turned slowly, enjoying the fear the soldier radiated, "Your report. What is it?"
"The Marquess has been taken care of, Sir."
"Good. What about the others? The advisors and such?"
"Taken care of, all by that. . . " he struggled for words.
"The Angel of Death, yes?"
A nod that seemed undecided between respect and fear.
Ephidel nodded, a sick smile crossing his features, warping them. His eyes seemed to shine golden for a moment before returning to the brown they appeared in the dim light, "What of Lyndis's Legion? That tiny army sitting over on the rise?"
The soldier swallowed hard, "W-well, they uh. . ."
"I see, they still live, don't they?" without waiting for an answer the cloaked man continued, "I'd hoped that they'd be removed by now, but I suppose it's better this way. A bigger stage means a bigger defeat."
"Yes sir," said the soldier, clearly relieved that his master was taking the news so well.
"That's what I would say if I couldn't read the signs. There's a traitor in our midst. Tomorrow's battle will end with this castle in the hands of the nomad's daughter," he smiled, "All as it should be."
"My lord?"
"Oh I planned the entire thing, and all the pieces have fallen exactly how I intended," he smiled, "A young and inexperienced marchioness, without any advisors, is exactly what I'd like. She'll be easier to manipulate than the stubborn late Marquess Caelin. Prepare yourselves for a battle at dawn," he turned, his cloak swirling, and left the man standing there, bewildered.
"Wait! Sir, aren't you leading us?"
"Why would I? I know when I'm beat, and a good tactician knows when he needs to save the valuable pieces of the army. In this case, I'm the valuable part, you're all expendable. I'll start fresh somewhere else, with a better plan."
The soldier's face was filled with rage, "You! That's-"
"Oh don't worry," said Ephidel with a smile, "The plan will still work. This battle will generate enough quintessence for me to accelerate the bigger idea in a year or so."
Notes:
Dun dun duuuunnn! The plot thickens! I promise the next chapter will actually be the battle.
. . .
Yes I am dragging my feet because I don't want this fic to end! I do still have Hector's Story that I could do, but I feel like the two tales are separate fics, so I split them up.
(Oh, does anyone remember who Andrew is? I feel like I kinda sorta forgot about him - Oops.)
-Meredith
Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty
Chapter Text
Elle was locked into combat with three enemy mages, the air around them charged with crackling magic. Her long hair and cloak were both singed in places where fire spells had come too close, and a cut ran down her shoulder from a wild swing a myrmidon had intended for her head. She danced around yet another fire spell, the heat of the magic flaring as it flew by her. Adelle responded with two quick ice spells cast with an accuracy she hadn't thought she'd had in her. The first mage fell as the icy barrage tore through him, the second dropping to the muddied ground in a similar manner. The third mage began attacking with a vigor born of desperation, his two companions now dead. Around her, shouts and sounds of metal on metal rang out, the horrific cacophony of battle all around her. Her breath came in pants, both from fear and exertion, and her eyes stung from the smoke in the air. The last mage lunged at Elle, and she spun, releasing a kick to his temple that sent him to the ground, unconscious.
"Elle! Move!"
The mage girl mindlessly did so, trusting Erk's voice. A swooshing sound came from beside her as a large axe sank into the earth. Erk threw a Fire spell at the axe wielder, who stumbled before Florina swooped in from the sky and finished him. The Ostian girl's eyes frantically scanned the field, registering the fact that they were losing, and badly. The entirety of Lyndis's Legion was still alive.
For now.
Elle scrambled back up, her heart hammering against her ribs, and saw Erk standing a few feet away, his brow furrowed in concentration, his hand still glowing faintly. He gave her a sharp, assessing look, and she returned it, a silent moment of shared terror and grim determination passing between the two young mages amidst the chaos.
"Thanks," Elle gasped.
"We should stay together," the younger mage replied. "I've been narrowly missed as well."
A group of Fighters and Myrmidons caught sight of them, and Elle's breath hitched. "Powershare?"
"Y-Yeah."
The sheer number of Black Fang soldiers was overwhelming. Lyn, usually a graceful whirlwind of blade and speed, was battling fiercely alongside Kent and Sain, but even their combined might seemed to be simply holding a small section of ground against the relentless tide. Wallace, a solitary bastion of defiance, roared as he cleaved through enemies, but he couldn't be everywhere at once. Archer arrows, presumably from the high ground of the castle, rained down with chilling precision, forcing the Legion to constantly break formation. Florina was forced to stay away from the front lines, and one of her pegasus's wings flapped in a strained manner, clearly hurt.
"We're too exposed!" Rath yelled, his deep voice swallowed by the roaring melee.
Erk and Elle instinctively pressed back-to-back, using the contact to share their magic. The two opposite elements met in a swirl of fury, enough to keep the immediate attackers at bay. They tag-teamed those who dared to break through their makeshift barrier. Elle would pin the attackers down with Drivsno, Erk using his Fire to finish them. Their combined efforts still weren't enough. Lyndis's Legion struggled to stay together, their ranks breaking again and again. Serra's healing magic was becoming sporadic as her strength wore out. Rath had been forced to dismount, his horse shot from under him, and he now fought with a sword. Sain fended off a blow meant for Florina, who'd grounded herself and now fought alongside them, hurling her javelins with precision. Wil had run out of arrows, and he'd resorted to throwing things. Matthew was a whirlwind of motion, darting here and there as his mismatched daggers flicked out at the enemy.
"There are too many!" Kent yelled, audible above the din. His eyes flickered to Lyn, who was now fighting a desperate rearguard action, clearly trying to manage a retreat. "We need to fall back!"
As if in response to his words, the large group of mages that had been the main problem suddenly erupted into chaos. A twisting mass of energy rippled through their formations, along with screams and a heat Lyndis's Legion could feel from where they stood. A golden-red explosion of flame ripped through the back half of the enemy mage's formation, and their shouts of confusion met their ears.
"Don't cast any more!" a gruff voice yelled.
"It's taking my energy!" added a frantic voice.
"Stop casting!" ordered another.
The confusion and suddenly useless and backfiring spells weren't an accident. Far from it in fact. The mages were the backbone of Castle Caelin's defense, without them, more then half the forces would be useless. It wasn't a ploy by the Black Fang either, it was a real reaction. An internal collapse, a betrayal from within. The disaster occurring in the ranks of the enemy gave Lyndis's Legion a short reprieve. Even the harsh rain let up a bit as magical attacks of the Fang mages died in the air.
"Now!" Wallace shouted, the first to regain his senses, "Push those curs back! Charge!" he roared.
The Legion gave a loud shout as they charged forwards, tearing through the Fang with ease. It was a surprising turn of events for everyone on the field. Everyone except for two fighters in the Fang's ranks. Glass smiled as he saw the payoff of their ploy, and ceased to fake fighting Lyndis's ranks, now barreling through the Fang's side with his claymore flashing in the watery light. Mark, hidden in plain sight among the Fang's mages, allowed himself a tiny nod, it had worked. The powershare he'd taught to so many of these fighters years ago still had the very weakness he'd never been able to iron out. It had been a gambit, and a desperate one, but it had worked. Mark had snapped into the powershare, not to assist, but to siphon. The others hadn't realized the parasite in their midst, casting small Fire spells that missed or did no damage when they made contact. The parasite who'd been taking increasingly large amounts out of the pool of power they shared, filling his massive reserves. Every spell cast he'd subtly absorbed a bit of, speeding up the recovery that had been painfully slow since the Foreblaze incident years ago. It hadn't been comfortable sure, but it had worked, the ranks were now tired and worn out around him, panicking at the sudden changes in their strength. It was an act of pure, desperate genius, draining his enemies with every one of their attempts to cast, feeding his recovery and simultaneously crippling their offensive. The golden-red flame that had torn through their ranks was the first burst of his true level of skill, a test that had worked. The Ashen Phoenix's power had returned.
The tide had changed.
The revitalized ranks of Lyndis's Legion surged forward. Wallace was a wall of furious fighting prowess, his battle cries striking fear into the now-fleeing Black Fang. The previously struggling soldiers of Lyn's army were now routing the enemy with a speed and fury that was in stark contrast to the overwhelming odds just a moment ago. In the ranks of the Black Fang, bursts of flame tore through the formations with deadly accuracy, adding to the chaos. Kent, Sain, and Lyn, along with Rath, led the charge, cutting down the few who dared oppose them. Shouts of terror came from the fleeing army as their disjointed and unorganized retreat occurred.
"It's him!"
"Our old commander!"
"He's returned!"
"No, it's a ghost!"
More men fled, fire chasing them as they left the field. The remainder of the fighting was fierce but brief, the last desperate stand of a broken army. When the final enemy fell, an eerie silence descended, broken only by the panting breaths of the victorious, the distant cries of the wounded, and the persistent patter of rain.
"We actually did it," breathed Lyn, panting heavily.
Elle looked over the field, the ruined smoking remains of the once-beautiful plains steaming slightly where the heat of the flames still lingered, "We did, barely."
"You don't think that sage was actually-" began Wil.
Florina pointed wordlessly behind them all, and the army turned as one.
Limping heavily, short brown hair plastered down by a combination of sweat and rain, was Mark. He approached slowly, his tattered red cloak fanning a bit with the slight breeze. Matthew moved forwards, the first in action as usual.
"Let me help you Mark," he offered.
The tactician waved him off with a warding hand, "Don't!"
Mark's tired voice held a note of urgency that stopped the spy in his tracks, still a few feet from him.
"I'm still. . . hot."
The group looked at him like he was crazy, but he hadn't been lying. Steam floated off of him where the rain hit his cloak. Elle knew that it was a residual magic thing. Her out skin was frigid to the touch, and Erk kept touching things with a pop of static electricity, a testament of the Thunder magic he'd switched to mid-battle.
"I suppose it's better than becoming an ice cube like Elle," said Matthew finally, "Sorry I can't give you a hand, mate."
Mark smiled, his gaze roving over the battered Legion before him. He looked utterly exhausted, his cloak scorched, Black Fang uniform torn, but there was also a profound sense of completeness about him.
"Don't worry about it Matthew," he said.
Then, as if nothing had ever been between the group before him and himself, he limped through the ranks, making sure they were all there, "Is everyone here? All in one piece? The cut looks deep Will, better have Serra look at it. . . Sain, there had better not be a 'good reason' behind that bent lance you have. . ."
The group fell into their usual after battle banter, with Glass making an appearance halfway through, "I scouted around the field like you asked Mark, nothing left."
"Good, that leaves just the castle now,it should be empty from what I've gathered, but one can never be too careful."
Lyn walked slowly up to the pair, her usual fierce pride replaced by a humble, almost shy expression. She stopped a respectful distance away, waiting for the conversation to end, not just butting in like usual. When Mark and Glass had finished, she spoke.
"I was wrong," she said softly, "I should have trusted you. Forgive me."
Mark shook his head, "No need Lyn, forgive me, I am the one who should have trusted more."
The Legion, who'd been listening in, let out a collective breath, as if in relief. The rain had slowed to a mere drizzle, and the morning sun, though still hesitant, began to break through the clouds, casting a golden light over the newly won castle and the reunited Legion.
Lyn smiled, "What next, tactician?"
Chapter 22
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Legion all stood in the courtyard of Castle Caelin, each with varying reactions. Some looked like they were returning home, and it wasn't how they'd expected, (Kent, Sain, Lyn, Wallace.) Others were in awe of the scene of destruction, (Florina, Ninian, Erk). The others were milling about nervously, waiting for orders. The acrid scent of smoke drifted in from the open gates behind them.
"Right," said Mark slowly, his voice echoing off the cold walls of the courtyard. He still wore the battle marked Black Fang uniform, a stark difference against the personalized clothing and armor the rest of the Legion wore. "Right," he repeated, trying to pull the younger soldiers' thoughts from the gruesome sights and sounds of the ravaged field behind him, "Serra, I want you to do what you can for the wounded on the field, treat them all as you would our own. Lucius, I know you have some knowledge of the healing arts, assist her please, Wallace, protect them both. Florina, take to the air and tell me if there's any other reinforcements coming in..." he carried on giving orders, sending the others off to secure the castle, check for supplies, and gather the survivors of the castle attack. Soon, only Elle, Erk, and Lyn were left, along with Ninian and Nils. His gaze softened at the collective look of horror on their faces, Lyn had a far-off look of pain, clearly reminded of her slaughtered tribe in the terrible scene.
"Lyn, you're here with me, Nils, and Ninian. Elle, could you join Matthew in his scan of the castle? Erk, you're waiting until Florina gets back, then see what you two can do about food."
Elle nodded and, after a slight hesitation, turned and left, her green cloak swishing as she left. Erk disappeared up the ramparts, where he could see a pegasus returning easier.
Lyn looked at Mark with an inquisitive look on her face, "Would I not be of more help scanning the castle?"
Mark knew she'd say that. Unfortunately, he could only think of three possible reasons that Marquess Caelin hadn't appeared, and none of them were good. Fortunately, he had a good reason to keep her from wandering around and stumbling upon anything in one of the rooms.
"Nils and Ninian need a guard," he stated.
"I know," said Lyn slowly, "But Ninian isn't hurt anymore, she can walk with surely we could-" she suddenly stopped, realizing something. Mark wasn't standing tall as he usually did, he still favored his right side. Lyn's blue eyes narrowed, "Ninian isn't the problem, is she Mark? You never asked Serra to heal your ankle. You can't move that well, can you?" she accused.
Mark held her gaze, and if almost seemed as if he would deflect her question like he usually did, until he sighed. "Sharp as ever, Lyn," he conceded, shifting his weight slightly. It was mealy a sprain, one that Serra could have fixed in a heartbeat, but it was enough to keep Lyn close, away from what Matthew and the others might find. "And yes, you're right. Ninian and Nils are perfectly capable of moving around. I, however, am not." Seeing that Lyn was going to cut him off, he continued, "Serra's magic is best reserved for actual life-threatening injuries, not a tactician's temporary inconvenience."
Lyn studied him for another moment, and whatever argument she'd queued up melted away as sigh escaped her. "Alright, Mark. We'll stay."
The tactician gave a small nod of thanks, his attention already shifting.
Before he could fully switch to tactical mode though, Nils interrupted him, "How'd you hurt yourself? Was it a bad guy?"
To Lyn's surprise, Mark actually looked embarrassed, "No Nils, I turned it in a foxhole."
Lyn couldn't help it, she laughed. The thought of the powerful sage and genius tactician foiled by a hole in the ground was just funny.
"You should pay attention to where you walk," said Nils.
A rare smile pulled at Mark's lips as he ruffled the boy's hair, "You're not supposed to think about your feet in a fight Nils, you'll get hyper-fixated on it and-" he stopped, "Never mind it. You're right, it's a good idea."
Nils, ever optimistic, even now, actually grinned, "Thanks! Ninian, did you hear tha-"
Ninian placed one of her hands on her little brother's shoulder, "Let Lord Mark think, Nils," she said gently.
Mark gave the young woman a grateful look before slipping into analytical mode.
Now, if I were Lundgren, he thought, What would I have planned next?
Meanwhile, in the far, topmost living quarters of the castle, Matthew and Elle combed over the eerily silent rooms. Elle was decidedly pale, the last hours still playing on a repetitive loop in her head, but Matthew was in full-blown Ostian spy mode. Gone was his cheery teasing and flippant view of danger, and in their place was a shadow-like silence and thoughtful efficacy. The siblings had come across empty room after empty room, and by this time, Matthew's sneaking suspicion was that the marquess was no longer in the castle, be it literally or metaphorically. The two slipped into what looked like a royal bedchamber, and instantly, a chill hit them. Icy bursts of Fimbulvetr coated three dead enemy fighters, and cold shards were embedded into the wall behind them, as if someone had tried to stop somebody from entering. The rich aroma of incense filled the room, a common thing to find in the room of a sick noble, but the undertones were wrong to the trained spies. It was hidden well, but they both picked up the cloying scent of disguised poison, and the siblings immeadiadly drew parts of their cloaks over their noses and mouths.
"Open a window," ordered Matthew, already looking for one.
Elle found one, and had it unlocked and opened in an instant, while Matthew pushed open another one to create a cross breeze. Warm sunlight poured into the dark, chilled room.
"My guess is that this is Lord Hausen's private quarters, if he's not here then-"
Matthew was interrupted by his little sister's gasp of surprise as she darted forwards. The sunlight, spilling in through the windows, had cast golden beams onto the floor, where it had illuminated the silver accents on a midnight blue tome laying dropped there. It lay pages down, opened as if it had been dropped.
"Gelideir," Adelle said quietly, picking it up, "Andrew's tome... does that mean? I mean he's gone. Missing for years after that mission, he can't-" her words trailed off, disbelief entering her voice.
"Focus Elle," prompted Matthew, though the familiar tome had caused a rush of excitement in him as well, "Can you feel any magic users in the area?"
The younger spy closed her eyes, hugging the medium-sized tome against her chest as she reached out with her magic, feeling around the surrounding area.
"Over there," she pointed, "There's a sage in that room, his power's weak though, like he's hurt."
The two hurried into the other room, their search becoming more urgent. The room was smaller, a study from the looks of it, with papers stacked on the desk, parchment neatly rolled on racks, and large, handsome books on large built-in shelves. Splotches of ice magic clung to the walls, and four more dead Black Fang were sprawled on the floor. They bore marks of a sword fight, a contrast to the magic in the other room. In the corner, slumped like a puppet with all its strings cut, was a startlingly familiar figure. Messy hair, longer and darker now, fell partially over his face, covering one of his eyes. A long dagger lay next to his open hand, it seemed he'd fallen defending whoever was in the next room. He was dressed in the manner of a lower-class noble, or maybe a well-to-do scholar, and though time had changed his features a bit, there was no mistaking the young man.
"Andrew," breathed Matthew, his usually upbeat voice wavering with emotion.
Their middle brother, missing for months, presumed dead for years, was here.
Elle was already on the ground beside the prone figure, fighting tears as she kneeled next to him, giving a once over, "He's alive," she said, her hands shaking slightly as she worked,
Matthew joined her on the ground, "Andrew?" he ventured.
No answer. Andrew's shallow breathing was the only sound in the eerily quiet chamber.
"The poison in the air must've incapacitated him," said Matthew, tearing his gaze off his younger brother and moving to open another window, "Stay here Elle, it's likely that whoever's in the next room is in worse shape." He didn't want to leave, but his training pushed him to see if all the occupants of the area with the deadly air have lived. The Ostian spy pushed open the glossy door with little effort, instantly assailed by a higher concentration of the same scent in the other room, he coughed as he pulled a bit of his red cloak over his nose and mouth again, filtering out most of the deadly gas. The fumes seemed to be originating from the fireplace, where a few logs had been laid despite the mild day. Instinctively, Matthew knew that this was where the poison's source was. He swiftly extinguished the fire, throwing open all of the room's four windows as soon as he could.
"Milord Hausen?" he asked the quiet room, casting a rushed look over the entirety of the large quarters.
He hadn't really been expecting to hear an answer, not with the amount of fumes filling the room, and it was with a grim face that he ripped back the curtains on the poster bed that dominated the room. The old man lay quiet in the bed, looking asleep, but with a peace that seemed beyond earthy rest. With a sinking feeling that what he was doing would be worthless, he grasped the marquess's cold wrist, searching for a pulse that didn't exist.
Marquess Caelin was dead.
Notes:
...I can't believe I just did that. This story is getting out of hand fast. I mean logically it makes sense, but still... poor Lyn.
No, I didn't forget about Lundgren. He just plays a different role in this version of the story.
Also, for Loremaster: Andrew's tome's name is taken from 'Gelid', which is Latin for icy or frozen, and 'Eira' which is Welsh (a given name I think?) for 'snow'. Consider it close to a Fimbulvetr tome, but like a leeetle bit better.
Chapter 23
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A week had passed since the death of Marquess Caelin, and his funeral had been an affair attended by many mourners. Lord Hausen had been loved by his people, and their show of affection was truly heartwarming. Lyn had stepped into her role as Marchioness of Caelin as well as she could, and the people found in her an earnest, thoughtful leader, though occasionally a piece of etiquette or decorum might confuse her. Almost all of her grandfather's advisors had disappeared, but the few remaining supported her the best they could, guiding her through the finer points of her new role. Lyn was surprisingly adept at the role of ruler; it seemed her mother and father had taught her best they could for such a position, though admittedly it had been for the Lorca, not Caelin.
Now Lyndis, for so she must be called, stood at one end of the main hall of Castle Caelin. She had just finished speaking to her Legion, the men and women who had helped her regain her birthright. Her words had been heartfelt and touching, filled with genuine appreciation for their sacrifices. They were all there, milling around the hall. Her long, deep-green hair was pulled off her face, two braids leading into a twisted bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a gown of black, with a white underskirt decorated with subtle silver embroidery.
"What you have done for Caelin, what you have done for me... it is a debt I can never fully repay," she said, bowing her head. "Many of you have homes to return to, families to reunite with, or other duties that await," Lyndis continued, her gaze sweeping over them, her expression filled with gratitude. "You have fought honorably, and you leave with my deepest thanks."
A murmur of assent ran through the Legion.
The speaker smiled before continuing, "Know this, as Marchioness, my first pledge is to you. You are more than soldiers, you are my family. If you are ever in need of anything, know that all you must do is ask for assistance, and it shall be given."
The hall erupted into polite applause, quickly followed by the rising hum of conversations. People began to mill about as future plans were discussed and farewells were offered.
The Marchioness sighed as she moved to walk through the crowd. A few faces were missing already. Rath had disappeared the night after the last battle; no one was sure where he'd traveled, or what his goal was. Dorcas had returned to his wife, and Lucius had already received a summons to somewhere else. Matthew had quite simply vanished, no one knew where he was now.
Lyndis swept through the hall, making sure everyone was comfortable and content.
Wallace, Sain, and Kent were talking over by a long table. Joining them was Wil, and to everyone's surprise, Florina. The pegasus knight and archer had both pledged themselves to the service of Caelin, and Florina was making a valiant effort to banish her shyness, with what was hailed as a brave but futile attempt.
"Training? Bah ha ha ha! I'll be teaching you both personally!" boomed Wallace, slapping Wil on the back with enough force to make him stumble slightly. "You'll be a proper fighter by the end, make no mistake!"
Wil, eager as always, grinned, "I can't wait!"
Sain groaned dramatically, but thankfully, Wallace didn't catch the motion. If he had, the emerald knight would have been in for a scolding.
"G-General Wallace," began Florina, "C-could... could y-you..."
"Speak up, lass!" cut in Wallace. "No need to stutter! A true knight of Caelin is resolute in their speech and steadfast in their actions!"
Shy Florina stood a bit taller and nodded. "Y-yes sir!"
Lyndis giggled as she passed them, stifling the motion with her hand. She caught Kent's eye, and the two exchanged a look of amusement.
Nearby, Nils sat perched on the edge of a table, playing a cheerful melody on his flute. Ninian stood beside him, her gentle voice soaring over the notes as she taught the lyrics to Elle, whose singing voice wasn't much, though she was going about the task with much vigor. After a particularly bad note, Andrew, who'd recovered enough to join the others at this gathering, laughed outright. This earned him a glare from his little sister that made him laugh harder before coughing heavily, a lingering effect from the poison he'd breathed in.
In an instant, Elle was by his side. "Are you sure you're alright, Andrew?" she asked for what must have been the hundredth time.
Her older brother smiled, shaking his head as he caught his breath. "I'm fine, Elle," he said. "Honestly, stop worrying. I'll tell you if I feel like I'm going to keel over dead."
Elle's lips twitched into a smile. "Fair," she laughed.
The watching Lyndis couldn't help but smile at the sibling banter.
"Lady Lyndis!"
The Marchioness turned to face Serra, who was sniffing dramatically, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "I've come to say farewell," she said with obvious dramatic enjoyment. "I simply must return to Ostia, so Erky and I will be taking our leave now, to get a head start." Serra paused, and then, with a surprising surge of genuine warmth, hugged Lyn. "Be safe! And don't you dare forget me!"
She hugged Serra back. "I won't, Serra," she said. "Travel safe on the road."
"Oh, I will! After all, I've got an escort, what could happen? Come, Erky, we're leaving!" She spun and flounced off, Erk offering a goodbye to the new ruler before drifting in his employer's wake.
The Marchioness watched them go, hugging herself as she turned to the hall again, watching the gathering. Her eyes narrowed and she counted the members assembled again. Two faces were missing from the group she expected to see. She excused herself from the cluster of well-wishers, her brow slightly furrowed.
She found them near a less-used side door, half-hidden in the shadows of a large archway. Mark stood there, his back to her. Glass stood next to him, and his hand reached for the door as Lyn approached. They were clearly trying to slip out unnoticed.
Lyndis' long dress swished around her legs as she hurried to catch up, her shoes tapping on the stone floor.
"Are you leaving, Mark?"
Mark turned, his expression unreadable.
"We are, Lady Lyndis," the tactician said. "Our work here is done. There's no longer a need for my... particular skillset."
Glass nodded. "Aye, the same holds true for me."
The newly appointed leader looked from one friend to the other. "You two can't just leave like a pair of fugitives! Come say goodbye to the others."
Mark shook his head. "It's better if we just go. Besides, keeping me here in Caelin is not something you want, Lyn." His eyes met hers, and the polite smile faded.
Lyndis crossed her arms, waiting for an explanation. "What do you mean?" she prompted.
Mark sighed, a sound of vulnerability rarely heard from him, before shrugging slightly-something he never did.
"Mark's supposed to be dead," offered Glass, seeing that the other man wouldn't say anything. "But word of what he's done here has surely reached the Black Fang by now. A man named Hurricane will hear of this, he's never forgiven Mark for taking his place as a Four Fang, and he'll want to see Mark actually dead."
"Legault," said Mark. "His true name is Legault. He's relentless, swift, and ruthless. I don't want to lead him here. I'll go and cause a scene somewhere to divert his attention, then disappear again."
Lyn's face fell. She wanted to tell him to stay, but the cold logic in his words, the genuine concern in his eyes, silenced her.
Mark took a small step back, a gesture of farewell. "Goodbye, Marchioness Caelin."
Lyn took a step forward, closing the small distance between them. She reached out, a fleeting, almost imperceptible gesture, then let her hand fall. "No, Mark. Don't say goodbye. My heart tells me we'll meet again."
Mark smiled. "Perhaps," his next words were teasing, "Though I hope you'll all be better at coping without me this time. You were quite dreadful at it before."
A snort of laughter escaped Glass, and even Lyn couldn't help but crack a small, surprised grin. The tension in the air lifted slightly.
"See?" Mark continued, a light shrug. "You're already proving me wrong."
Glass clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, lad. Roads to travel."
"I wish you well, Mark," Lyn said, hesitating slightly, as if she struggled for words. "Thank you. For everything."
Mark smiled and gave her a full court bow. "May your reign be long and just, Lyn," he replied.
FIN
Notes:
That's a wrap for The Quest For Caelin! Thanks so much for sticking with Elle until the end, hope you enjoyed the story! As for what's next for our favorite spy siblings? Well... there's a Hector's Tale right? I can't just stop here!
I've got some questions for you now...
What was your favorite/least favorite part?
Anything you hate or love this fic for?
Anything where you just wanted to yell at me because, "DEAR AUTHOR WHYYYYYYYY????"
And to end... a weird question for you now. Who would you ship in this fic based off of the changes I gave their personalities?Can't wait to hear from you!
-CanonSmasherWant more of this story? Check out "The Secret War", part two of the adventure!
Chapter 24: Character Endings
Summary:
Thought this would be fun to do... After all, what's a Fire Emblem story without a proper Fire Emblem ending?
Chapter Text
Kent, Knight of Lycia
Kent is named Knight Commander of Caelin. Though many originally doubt his ability to hold the title, he fast proves his worth. He inspires many recruits to uphold the Knight's Code with honor and justice.
Sain, Knight of Lycia
Sain has been named subcommander of the Caelin knights. Though he is well-suited for the role, he still scoffs at authority and woos the village girls. He is fast becoming the people's hero, and is much loved by the citizens.
Florina, Pegasus Knight of Ilia
Florina remains in Caelin, training rigorously to attain her goal of becoming a full-fledged pegasus knight. She is fast climbing the ranks, and battles her shyness with varying success. Her fear of men has lessened, but…only slightly.
Dorcas, Fighter of Bern
Dorcas returns home to Bern, where he cares for his wife, Natalie. He forms a small band of mercenaries and spends his days making honest money fighting bandits, much to the delight of his wife.
Serra, Cleric of Ostia
After much mental suffering, Erk succeeds in seeing Serra safely to Ostia. The cleric has made a promise to be less irritating, though many are skeptical of its truth. She is sorely missed, and her acerbic tongue has become legendary.
Erk, Wandering Mage
After completing his contract with Serra, a much relived Erk sets off for Etruria. His time as escort was merely a portion of his training, and he's glad to see the end of it. He has since returned to his guardian and mentor.
Rath, Sacaen Nomad
No one knows where the silent nomad's path has take him, though many think of him and wish him a safe journey.
Matthew, Enigmatic Thief
Matthew's whereabouts remain a mystery to those of Caelin. To those in Ostia, his return is looked for, and he is greeted with much enthusiasm. He still treats danger and pressure as jokes, a fact that bothers a certain deep-pink haired spy.
Adelle, Ostian Shadow
Adelle returns to Ostia, where she is welcomed back and thanked, not scolded, by Marquess Ostia for disobeying orders. She continues to hone her skills, though her dagger work remains shaky at best.
Andrew, Long-Lost Brother
Andrew eventually recovers and returns to Ostia, where he is greeted with many tears of joy by those who love him and many questions he can't answer. His memory remains foggy, and he retires early from Ostian service. Still feeling guilt for being unable to protect Lord Hausen, he returns to Caelin and offers his service to Marchioness Caelin.
Nils and Ninian, Mysterious Performers
Nils and his sister Ninian remain in Caelin for a few months before taking their leave. The pair may well be traveling Elibe, mastering their skills.
Lucius, Traveling Monk
Lucius studies in Caelin for a time, but he departs after receiving summons to another land. Reports place him in the employ of a hard-eyed mercenary.
Wallace, Caelin General
Wallace, though 'retired' remains at Castle Caelin to train new recruits. His booming laugh often echoes through the training grounds, where his is both bane and much-respected mentor to aspiring knights.
Glass, Loyal Fighter
Glass followed Mark when he left Caelin, and like the tactician, disappeared without a trace.
Mark, Ashen Phoenix
Mark disappeared after the last gathering, true to his word, rumors and tales of a sage with extraordinary abilities reach the castle a week later. Though nothing more was heard of him Lyn remains steadfast in her belief that they will meet again.
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