Chapter Text
"...Are you sure it's okay if I come to the meeting?" Alm asked Clair.
"Of course!" she said. "My brother values your opinion. You were trained by Sir Mycen himself, after all!"
That was true, Alm supposed. He probably knew as much about war as was possible without having been in one. He wasn't sure how helpful that actually was compared to... well, having been in one. Sir Clive seemed to lean on the connection to Sir Mycen rather a lot considering that the most Alm had done was find one minor problem with the supplies, correct one incorrect figure in Fernand's papers (admittedly, that had been satisfing), and agree with whatever plan was already in place.
Still, at least it let him be close to Celica. She was still rather busy outside of meetings, but he got to see her in them. She often smiled at him and they managed to silently communicate whilst the more knowledgeable people were arguing the details; she seemed tired, but otherwise okay.
“And Celica depends on you a lot,” Clair added. “It’ll be her first time leading a battle, so it’s important that she can focus on that and have someone else to keep up with the tactical decisions.”
“Right,” Alm said.
It must have come out wrong, because her eyes widened. “N-Not that I think she would do badly with tactical decisions, of course! I just—”
“No, I understand!” Alm said hastily. “You’re just trying to look out for her. I appreciate that.”
Clair breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it was because she was in the strategy meetings as a result of Clive’s inability to say no to her, but she was the only noble besides Lukas who had taken to using ‘Celica’ rather than ‘Princess Anthiese’, as Celica requested. Alm knew it meant a lot to her, to still be treated like the same person, and he appreciated Clair being so considerate towards her.
“I do hope she’s okay…” Clair said. “She has a tendency to keep things to herself, I’ve noticed.”
“Ah, yeah. It’s a bad habit of hers at times.”
Clair shook her head. “Well, this simply won’t do. I know! I will distract my brother and Fernand, and you can take Celica away to visit all your friends!”
Alm laughed. “I think they might notice that.”
She smiled a little and blushed, showing that it had been a joke. “Well, I suppose. All the same, I think we will be wise to insist that the princess has some time to make social calls before the big battle.”
Perhaps ‘social calls’ wasn’t the phrase that he would’ve used – these could, though he hated to even think it, be the last time Celica got to speak with one of her friends – but the intent was the same. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ll tag team them.”
“Oh, I’ve never been in a tag team before!”
To be honest, I’d be surprised if you ever needed a second party before. You certainly have your brother wrapped around your little finger…
*
Celica was automatically nervous about being led into the farther reaches of the catacombs, places that not even the Deliverance, with its sprawling network of rooms for mess halls and dorms, regularly touched with their patrols. Alm said it would be worth it for the surprise, but the hairs on the back of her neck were standing stiff, and she felt like she was about to be leapt on by some monster.
Alm turned into one of the disused rooms, brushing cobwebs off his shoulders, and—
“Boo!”
Celica quickly smothered her shriek with her hands, and everyone – Kliff, Faye, Tobin, Alm and Gray, who else – all froze in place, straining their ears. Nothing happened, and gradually they all relaxed.
Faye punched Gray in the shoulder really hard.
He winced. “I know, I know! It was dumb, you don’t have to do that! Celica, I’m really sorry…”
“Oh, you’re such an idiot,” Celica said, nearly in tears, and threw her arms around him.
“Wait, no—” Gray protested, barely managing to catch her. “Oh man they’re gonna be so mad if I drop the princess on her ass—"
She hadn’t realised until that moment how frightened she was of losing them all, how much it had eaten away at her that all her pleas might’ve been for nothing and they’d assume they weren’t welcome, she didn’t want them…
Except Alm, but he’d always been a special case.
“Alm, they’ve obviously been working her too hard if she’s this happy to see Gray,” Tobin said with an air of concern.
“Hey, people can be happy to see me!” Gray said, setting Celica down on her feet.
“But are they, though? Like, ever?”
She took the moment of distraction as a chance to wipe her eyes, although she was pretty sure that everyone had seen already and were only avoiding mentioning it to be kind.
“You look tired,” said Faye – as ever, at Celica’s shoulder whilst the boys bickered. “They really have been working you too hard. I can give you my supply of chamomile tea to help you sleep?”
“I’ll be fine, but thank you.”
“Are you sure?” Kliff hovered, tapping the fingers of his right hand against his thumb in sequence, something he did as an outlet for agitation. “I mean, you’re supposed to be the big rallying point for morale, right? I think that will be undermined a bit if you topple of your horse and fall asleep at the side of the road.”
Poor Kliff – it was so rare for him to express concern for someone out loud. He was not very well practised at it, either, but it was the thought that mattered to Celica.
“I’m certain,” she assured Kliff. “What about you? I hope they haven’t been working you too hard.”
“Ah, it’s easy,” he said. “I finally cracked that thunder spell from the book – I’ll show you.”
“Uh, wait, no no—” Tobin broke off his argument with Gray to slide between them “C’mon, Celica’s exhausted enough already, and you were dead on your feet when you cast that for the first time. Also, I told you not to practise without supervision!”
“Sorry, Mother.”
Celica smiled, just enjoying the atmosphere and being together with all of them. She hoped to never lose this.
I think from now on, I’ll sleep just fine.
*
The day of the attack dawned bright and early, but it was still uncomfortably cold in the air, and damp from low-lying cloud. Clair knew it was a silly thing to worry what the moisture might do to her hair, given everything that lay ahead today, but… Alm might see her before the attack started in earnest.
Stop it! She scolded herself. You’re a knight of Zofia and you will act like it!
Anyway, she was pretty sure it was a hopeless cause before it had even really begun. If the princess wasn’t head over heels for Alm already, Clair would eat her helmet. And whilst she was not certain Celica would be completely free to choose whom she married, Clair was not ill-bred enough to pursue a man under his love’s nose, nor was she content to be merely someone’s ‘second choice’.
Still, he is so handsome… and kind…
She sighed. If only the other men in the Deliverance were of the same calibre as Alm or Clive.
Clair sighed and pulled her cloak tighter around her, nudging Aero to dip low for a moment. Out of the low-lying cloud, she scanned the road ahead. No sign of enemy movement, but that would change as they got close to Zofia Castle. Hopefully the sun would clear out some of the clouds by then and she would be able to see further. She would also lose some of her cover, but they weren't intending to be totally stealthy anyway, so it didn't really matter if she was spotted.
She assumed her brother must've had this plan in the works for a long time, because it had all come together remarkably quickly after Celica's arrival. Lukas said that Python found the timing suspicious, but she wondered how many of the Deliverance agreed with him. Maybe there had been more in the beginning, but she was sure that Celica had won them over.
Oh, she's such a perfect princess!
Beautiful and kind and brave and noble of heart as well as blood – it was like something out of a storybook. Maybe that was why Clair didn't feel so bad about Celica and Alm; she'd always loved fairytales.
She turned Aero to return to the main army. It wasn't really possible to hide this many soldiers, but Clive had been sending out smaller squads to make their way through the countryside at a more leisurely pace, building up their forces around Zofia Castle unnoticed. With the feint from their forces at Zofia Harbour forcing Desaix to leave the castle under-defended for a few weeks before the return of the bulk of his armed forces from the border... they should have the opening to take back the castle. With it secure, they could proclaim Celica's heritage, and seal the divides in Zofia by uniting everyone behind their true queen!
Clair knew it wouldn't be that easy, of course. Desaix had his loyalists, too, and many might be sceptical of Celica's claim of noble blood. But a decisive victory would make a big difference.
“How does it look, Clair?” Lukas said as she touched down at the head of the column.
“No signs of trouble yet.”
“Good. Take some time to rest yourselves.” He nodded to Aero too, but kept a respectful distance. His courteousness towards Aero had always pleased her. Her brother was truly lucky to have such a thoughtful deputy. “We’ll need your insights when it comes to the battle, too – if the tide turns against us at a crucial moment, we’ll be relying on you to sound the retreat.”
“I know,” Clair said. She wasn’t a greenhorn anymore—she was no longer incapable of recognising her limits, and Aero’s, and pushing herself too far too early, ending up useless later. “I’ll be fighting fit, you’ll see.”
Lukas seemed satisfied with this, seeming more cheerful. What a difficult man he was to read. She couldn’t tell if he was as nervous as she at all.
As the day wore on it grew hotter and hotter, as temperamental as ever for springtime. Clair took to the skies a few more times, but it wasn't until they were stopped for a break and food at noon that she spotted any sign of the enemy.
"A patrol," she told Lukas. "A large one - a force of fifteen. Footsoldiers only. They must have spotted the dustclouds."
"They won't be the first," Lukas said, getting to his feet.
He glanced around at the soldiers, considering. He seemed to have a special consideration for Python and Forsyth, so Clair wasn't surprised when he tapped them on the shoulders, urging them to come – but she was surprised when he called over the new recruits from Ram, including Alm.
Gray gave her a friendly wave, which she returned. She had not spent that much time with Alm’s friends as of yet, but she was looking forward to getting to know them better.
She watched anxiously as they left to engage the enemy squad, keeping to the trees, because it was more important not to be seen this time. Mother Mila, please see to their safety.
There was the faint noise of hoofbeats, and Clair tensed, but it was only Celica riding up to meet her on her old warhorse – what did she call it, again?
"Is something wrong?" she said.
"Oh, no." Clair tried to sound reassuring despite her own nerves. There's only a small scouting party down the road. Lukas has taken a party to engage them."
She thought she had been quite successful in sounding unworried, but still Celica seemed melancholy. "It feels wrong," she said, to Clair's questioning look. "To be fighting our own people – if we had escaped their notice until after the battle, would they have welcomed us with open arms?" She sighed. "Clive and Fernand said a lot of the soldiers here are Desaix's most loyal, so perhaps not. I still can't help but think..."
Clair’s heart swelled with pride, which was a strange thing when she’d had no part in making Celica the woman she was, but—how wonderful it was, to be fighting for a ruler who truly cared for everyone. Clair had never felt more at ease with all the necessities of being a knight of Zofia, the fighting and killing, knowing that it would be worthwhile when Celica could make the happy and just kingdom they were all fighting for.
*
Gray flexed his fingers, trying to control his nerves. Not that anyone would blame a guy for being nervous before his first big battle, which also happened to be the most important fight for the Deliverance yet, and… someone put him in the first charge, for some reason? Who had that bright idea?
He wished that Tobin was here. He more or less seemed to know the right things to say to make things better, but he wasn’t even with their archers – he’d been assigned to the diversion on the weak eastern wall. They, meanwhile, were waiting at the back door to the Palace (that is, the least grand entrance used by merchant caravans, which was still pretty grand, with two enormous oak doors set into the wall with perfect symmetry).
Gray hoped Tobin was okay. Actually, he hoped everyone was okay. Well not literally everyone, Desaix was a pretty evil dude so he could jump off a cliff so far as Gray was concerned, and some of the guys on the other side seemed to support him and they couldn’t all be misguided, right—
Clair’s pegasus took to the skies suddenly and his thoughts came to a screeching halt. His mind was oddly blank as he watched her dip below the wall and disappear. The whole thing had taken maybe a few seconds but his mouth was dry with fear. What if someone saw her? Or the inside man the Deliverance was supposed to have had been found out, double crossed them, or—?
Maybe it was for the best that none of his friends were nearby if he was this worried about ‘cute pegasus girl’, who’d been a knight for years, probably, and had definitely seen more than one battle.
The only sounds were those of the distant battle taking place at the east wall and the sound of Gray’s heart pounding loudly in his own ears. When the signal went up, he was incapable of doing anything about it until the soldiers around him started to move and his brain caught up to what his eyes were seeing.
Oh, he thought. This is it.
He tried not to think of Tobin, or Faye or Kliff or Alm or Celica, because thinking about what they would do if he did something stupid and got himself killed was nearly as bad as thinking about them dying. Instead, Gray concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, the adrenaline running through the army and crackling like thunder in the air, or maybe that was only Gray’s nerves being made tangible—
They poured through the leftmost door as it opened before them. Gray saw Clair leap onto her pegasus and take to the skies again, heading for the other door to let in the other half of the main army. An archer patrolling on the walls, attracted by the noise, took aim at her and Gray opened his mouth to shout – but an arrow, then a second, punctured the archer’s chest and he toppled off the battlements and plummeted to the floor without nocking a single shot.
“She can thank me later,” said a familiar voice near Gray’s ear – he glanced over to see that it was Python, who looked almost bored.
Python winked at Gray when their eyes met. “Don’t stop and gawk, greenie, you’re going to get shot yourself.”
Gray took his point and let himself get swept up in the surge of bodies moving forwards.
As they’d expected, the resistance this near to the gates was nearly non-existent. There had been a few guards in the gatehouse, but they were all dead by the time Gray got there; he spared them a glance to be sure, but there really was a lot of blood and also that guy was missing a head which would make backstabbing difficult, so he kept going.
As they pushed closer to the inner walls – the last barrier between them and the keep – that was when they did start to run into trouble.
The barracks burst open and soldiers started to pour out, most of them armed with spears but a handful brandishing swords and axes – no one mounted, no knights, as of yet, but dozens of ordinary soldiers, more than Gray could even estimate at a glance. And this place was supposed to be the least defended.
Gray was starting to get an idea of why Alm had called the Deliverance’s plan “ambitious”.
Still, he pressed forward, because going back at this point would’ve been impossible. Desaix’s soldiers had been taken by surprise and the first wave went down under the Deliverance’s swords and spears, but after a few minutes of exchange they started to centre themselves and push back. Some of them – archers, again, made their way to the stairs to mount the walls and shoot down on them; some of them were cut down on the way but several more made it up the stairs. Python took another before the man could take a shot – he was still near Gray – but the others—
And then Gray was pushed into the fighting himself and he lost track of everything else that was going on, catching someone’s sword with his, kicking their knee to unsteady them; someone else stabbed them in the back and Gray nodded, mindlessly, not even directing thanks in their direction, and moved out of the way of a stabbing spear. He grabbed it and pulled and the soldier stumbled forward, and Gray cut him down.
It was a series of exchanges and barely time to breath, let alone think, for what seemed like days but was probably only a few minutes. Gray was breathing in great, heaving gasps, even though he didn’t even feel that tired, his entire body singing…
Then the man next to him went down with an arrow in his throat and Gray thought, Oh, those guys.
He was an ally but Gray didn’t know his name, couldn’t pause to close his eyes or hear his last breaths or even to wipe away the man’s blood, which trickled uncomfortably down Gray’s neck and under his shirt, as an enemy moved to fill the gap and Gray was forced to parry, thrust, riposte – all those old words he’d learnt from Sir Mycen which had sounded strange and alien on his tongue translated into movement that came to him like blinking.
He had a sinking suspicion that he stepped on that ally’s face at one point in the struggle, and hoped the poor guy was already dead by then.
One of Desaix’s soldiers had a shield; Gray stole it off him when he killed him, even though it cost him a few precious seconds of exposure, and then charged the staircase whilst holding it above his head—
Wait, what am I doing? This is a stupid idea!
But it was too late by then and Gray was, as he was often told, fundamentally an idiot, so he probably shouldn’t have been surprised when two, three arrows thocked into the shield with enough force to make Gray knock himself over the head with it, but he kept going and just straight up pushed the first archer over the wall. As soon as he disappeared, Gray whirled around only to get an arrow in the thigh, where he didn’t expect it at all; he gasped and hunched over as he staggered forward, which might have saved his life as another arrow went sailing over his head.
He stabbed the next man in the gut, and then, because that was a really mean and slow way to die, slashed his throat. He brought the shield up to race at the next one, feeling like it was his arm itself that was made of iron, only to blink stupidly when the archer was already dead on the floor.
“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” Python demanded. “Are you an idiot, charging up here all my yourself?”
“I think I stepped on someone,” Gray blurted—oh, is that why I did it?—but that wasn’t really a proper answer so then he added, “Yeah, yeah I kinda am an idiot.”
Python blinked at him, and then started laughing. “Well, at least you’re a self-aware idiot.” He pulled the shield off Gray’s arm in two swift movements, and then picked up the enemy archer’s bow into his hands. “Can you shoot?”
“Yeah, I’m alright,” Gray said. Tobin and Faye were the only ones who were actually good at archery, but Sir Mycen – and, later, Faye, who thought it was a practical skill that everyone should know, the little drill sergeant – had made sure everyone was competent with a bow.
“Alright then.” Python nudged him. “Psst—it’s time to start shooting.”
Gray realised that the shield he’d borrowed had been handed over to Forsyth, who was occupying the stairs like a very overexcited boulder, stopping a surge of Desaix’s soldiers from getting to them.
Oh. Oh, they came up here after me, didn’t they?
He felt a little bad about that, but he couldn’t afford to think too hard about it then, so he just nocked an arrow and made sure to aim well clear of anyone wearing the Deliverance’s colours. He wasn’t Tobin, and now was really not the time to try making those stupid trick shots to show off.
Luckily the battlements were well-stocked with arrows, so when he and Python ran out in their quivers, they restocked from there. A few other archers fought their way up in Deliverance colours, and it was sort of companionable, the steady rhythm of draw, aim, release, even if Gray’s arms started to feel like puppets that he was merely directing instead of his own flesh-and-blood limbs. If only it didn’t give him a perfect view of the field of battle. He tried not to look at first, but soon found that that was actually worse, catching people going down out of the corner of his eye and then thinking, wait, but maybe I could’ve…
So then he started scanning the field, firing off shots to get Deliverance folks breathing space or to take an enemy down for them, and that felt good and all but there were still too many times that he saw someone fall.
Still, after a while, he began to realise that the Deliverance colours outnumbered Desaix’s people, and then a little while later he noticed that there were very few of Desaix’s people left at all, and many of them were just throwing down their weapons or just trying to barricade themselves in the barracks.
“Looks like the first part is over,” Python said. “Now we just have to take the keep.”
Gray was about to say something sarcastic, like ‘oh, that simple?’ but then Forsyth said, in a loud, booming voice, “Come, comrades! Let us join the rest for the next stage of the attack!” and really, what kind of tired sarcasm could stand up to that?
By now, obviously, the soldiers in the inner walls had realised something was up, but also the Deliverance were due reinforcements from the aborted attack on the eastern wall at any minute now.
“How’re we getting through there?” Gray said. This part of the plan had been explained to him before, but like hell he was able to remember it right now.
“Same way we got these gates open,” Python said, and then his expression turned grim and uncharacteristically serious as Clair took to the air. “Bugger shit fuck she’s supposed to wait for the signal! Go, go!”
Then it was a race to catch up to Clair, dodging arrows in the sky and all the while circling lower and lower, looking for a landing site on the other side of the wall. Python took out three archers by himself but Gray wasn’t even confident of being able to fire an arrow that far, and his leg was starting to seriously ache now, slowing him down, so he shouldered the bow for the time being and drew his sword again.
There wasn’t the same surge, this time, as the gates opened, more like a gentle wave, apart from all the swords and spears which made it not very gentle at all—alright, need to work on that metaphor if I’m ever gonna write ‘The Epoch of Gray and Those Other Guys’—and Gray just had a moment to see Clair’s pegasus being physically held down, a spear in its side, as Clair was hauled from the saddle by her hair—
Python’s arrow took someone straight in the eye, so that Clair was able to get to her feet, lance in hand with her back to Aero the pegasus, and Forsyth dashed forward with frankly demoralising speed from a guy wearing so much heavy armour.
Gray found himself moving forward, too, momentarily forgetting about his bad leg, even forgetting for that moment about those ‘saving the girl’ jokes he’d made at the Outpost; he just moved, and someone’s head was separated from their shoulders, he did that and oh wow gross too much blood but there were more and more people piling in and he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Forsyth and they just wouldn’t stop, but then they were next to Clair.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said, sounding like she’d never been worried at all. Gray wasn’t sure whether he ought to be impressed or if he should strangle her.
Then the faces of Desaix’s men turned fearful as the ground under Gray’s feet began to rumble with the pounding of hooves. Gray expected to feel triumphant at the arrival of the Deliverance’s knights, but instead he just felt exasperated. What took them so long?
“Votes for giving them the difficult job next time?” he said, exhausted.
Forsyth spluttered indignantly, but Python smirked and said, “Seconded.”
Clair shook her head, but there was a tiny smile at the corner of her mouth. “Motion carried, then!”
*
Berkut had never had much confidence in the abilities of Desaix – a slimy, grasping character if ever there was one, and cowardly to boot. Berkut was sure the man had no intentions of staying outside with his men as the tide of the battle turned against him, the battle having surpassed even Berkut’s meagre expectations to turn into an utter failure.
Against the wall was the dracoshield which Berkut had gifted to Desaix on behalf of his uncle. Berkut snorted and picked it up, testing the weight. Made from necrodragon skin, it was surprisingly light for its size and toughness, but still, he worried that…
“Rinea, my dear?”
The door to the room opened and Rinea slid inside, an anxious expression marring her beautiful features. “Lord Berkut, fighting has broken out in the castle!”
“So soon?” This was much worse than they’d expected. No wonder the Chancellor had come crawling on hands and knees to Rigel, offering such generous terms of surrender. They should’ve just rode right over him and taken whatever they wanted.
“Yes, my lord,” Rinea said. “The castle servants have decided to help the rebels, and have been opening all sorts of doorways into the castle.”
“The peasants are only doing their duty, I suppose, if the rebel leader really is the missing Crown Princess.” Given Desaix’s incompetence today, it no longer surprised Berkut to learn that at least one royal child had survived. Perhaps she would prove a worthy adversary to him. He gave the shield to Rinea. “Will you be able to carry this? I would hate for any harm to come to you.”
She struggled with it for a moment, and Berkut could see that the weight of it was greater than she could bear for any length of time. “I… I think I can manage it, my lord.”
“Rinea.” He stepped closer to her, brushing her cheek and smiling when she leaned into his touch. “How many times have I told you? You need not keep up these formalities when we are in private.”
“Of course,” she whispered, smiling. “Berkut.”
He loved to her his name in her sweet voice, and despite the dangers, he could not resist pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth and laughing gently when she blushed. “Let us away then, my dear.”
She nodded. “Your men are making their own way out. I’ve spoken to the maid Maria, and she’s secured us a secret route behind the kitchens, which comes out near the stables.”
“Well done, my dear.”
Rinea seemed to hesitate. “I said you and your men wouldn’t hurt anyone as we were leaving. You will show mercy, won’t you?”
“If you ask, of course I will,” Berkut said, taking her arm and guiding her out of the room, sword in hand. “Besides, I know you were fond of her.”
They hurried away, leaving Desaix to whatever fate awaited him. Berkut thought the man would probably manage to get away; preserving his own life seemed to be only thing for which he held any talent.
Cries of ‘For the princess!’ rang throughout the castle, creating a demented echo in the servant’s passageway behind the kitchens.
I wonder when we’ll meet again, Princess Anthiese?