Chapter Text
Meanwhile…
The white wind carries the Pegasus up into the sky. A maelstrom of snow and dirt lifts the mythical animal into the air. Artorias hangs on for dear life as he and Ingrid fly off toward Garreg Mach.
I raise my hand and silently pray. “Sothis, there’s so much I left unsaid. Please let him return.”
Artorias looks directly at me and waves back. Even now, he smiles. Fear cripples my heart. I know he’s the sword saint, but that doesn’t mean anything because he’s more than the sword saint to me.
Claude taps me on the shoulder. “It’s nothing he can’t handle.”
I weakly nod. “Yeah. He comes back. He always does.”
It has always terrified me when Artorias disappeared. There was always some hidden objective. Something only he knew about or thought of. Time has proven him capable. Yet, the thought of him never returning caused my stomach and mind to turn cold.
Byleth and Claude help the knights dig more trenches around the outpost. Leonie and Sylvain build more cheval de frise, while everyone else restrings bows and mounts incendiary jackets to arrows.
The outpost has sustained damage, but it isn’t anything that can’t be repaired. Most of the enemy arrows have been collected. I help Caspar lift a collapsed wall frame of the outpost wall up. Petra and Dorothea wrap twine around the fresh saplings and tie it up. I watch through the gaps in the wall to make sure the enemy isn’t trying to launch another wave while we are in the middle of repairs.
Fletcher finishes painting the buntings. “Byleth? I’m going to go deliver Claude and Artorias’ codex to the trebuchet officer. Permission to assist them?”
“Granted. When you arrive, signal to us when the trebuchets are loaded and ready to go. I want sustained volleys,” Byleth says.
Fletcher salutes. “Understood. It shall be done.”
Byleth dismisses Fletcher and sends him on his way. Byleth grabs some nails and a splitting maul. Wooden logs crack and split as she drives the splitting maul into the nails. Bark shatters off the logs, and the intense smell of pine fills the air.
A muffled explosion erupts in the distance. Everyone turns toward the explosion. People mutter among themselves about what it could possibly be. He didn’t tell me what his mission was, but I know that was his doing. It makes me happy knowing he’ll be back before too long.
Just the thought of how he did it and finished the mission so quickly baffles me. I knew he had some kind of plan, and even still, I don’t even know what it is or how he did it.
“I am guessing that was Artorias?” Petra asks.
“None other,” I smile.
Along the outer wall of Garreg Mach stands Fletcher with a standard. Claude and Byleth grab the colored buntings and climb onto an elevated platform in the middle of the outpost.
“Charley! I need you on overwatch!” Byleth yells.
I jump onto the sentry tower and put the polished glass into my monocular. Metal faintly shimmers and unnatural formations stick out from behind trees and the snow. The enemy is preparing to launch another wave, but they are still in the process of gathering manpower for an assault.
I look back at Byleth. “We got hostiles. Number two. Staggered column. Straight ahead.”
Byleth cups her hands over her mouth. “Everyone inside!”
Sylvain finishes placing the cheval de frise as Leonie guides the other students into the outpost. Everyone grabs a war bow and posts up in sentry towers and murder holes. Squires and healers pass out quivers and bundles of arrows. Claude holds up the red bunting.
Metal warps and wood creaks. The sound of rope fibers being stretched to the point of snapping rips through the atmosphere. Two orbs whistle through the sky and strike within the trees. Clay shatters and spits up a cloud of dust. Pitch bleeds out all over the ground and fire drips down. Soldiers that weren’t caught in the blast radius reposition themselves and try to determine what to do.
Two more pots strike the area and spread more flames over the area. Claude raises the gold bunting. The pots land farther away now. The enemy formation has been split and those that aren’t burning are organizing for retreat. Claude holds the blue bunting up.
“Charley! Keep eyes on that tree line! Everyone else, walking barrage! 150 paces out with 50 paces after each volley! Three volleys all together!” Byleth commands.
Everyone grabs a war bow and loads their quivers with incendiary arrows. Claude raises the green bunting. I scan the tree line and make sure the enemy isn’t trying to sneak up onto our flank. Sylvain organizes the knights and students and marches them out 150 paces from the outpost. Claude continues to raise buntings, and the entire forest in front of us turns orange. The scent of flaming lemons and charcoal fills the black fog.
Sylvain holds his arrow tip out. “Archers ready!”
Everyone nocks an arrow and holds the flammable tip out. Dorothea drags a torch along the fuses.
Sylvain draws his bow back and arches it. “Take aim!” The powder and oxidizer ignite within the linen jacket. Dorothea lights the last fuse and gets clear.
Sylvain takes a deep breath and releases it through his nose. “Release!”
The symphony of war and flames tear through the air. Drawstrings pop against metal, leather, and bare flesh as arrows pierce the sky. Sharpened fire claws through smoke and digs into trees and bodies. Most arrows hit the retreating foes while some almost reach the enemy campsite. Everyone marches forward and prepares to launch another barrage.
Sylvain and all the other archers nock another incendiary arrow. Dorothea runs the torch back and lights the next volley. Sylvain draws back. “Release!”
It’s difficult to see but arrows are finding targets within the wave of retreating soldiers. Some are hunkered down with shields peppered with flames while others hide behind burning trees. Everyone pushes forward 50 more paces and prepares. Dorothea lights the last barrage and stands clear.
“Release!” Sylvain and the archers send the last volley, and everyone returns to the outpost.
Claude holds the tan bunting. The final barrage from Garreg Mach hits incredibly close to the enemy campsite. Pitch splashes onto multiple tents and fire devours canvas, cloth, and flesh. I see the officer’s tent burst into flames. Soldiers pour out of their tents and run away. An ocean of fire and smoke envelops the enemy campsite, and everything collapses.
I look back at Byleth. “Enemy headquarters toppled! They’re in full retreat!”
Byleth nods. “Excellent.”
Caspar raises his axe to the sky. “We did it!”
The entire camp roars with cheer and celebration. The day is won. For now. I continue to watch for any signs of activity or counterattack. There isn’t any movement, nor does there seem to be anything left of the enemy camp.
Byleth draws the Sword of the Creator. “Petra? Take Charley and scout ahead. We’re going to move forward and make sure the enemy is gone.”
I drop down and head to the eastern tree line with Petra. There hasn’t been any activity since we wiped that Adrestian patrol out. The bodies rest under a thin white blanket of snowflakes and ice.
I climb up a tree and push forward. The berm where the enemy was hiding their archers remains lifeless. Broken bows, flames, and fog span across the dirty red snow. Incendiary arrows pinned into the ground, trees, and the enemy hiss and cough up clouds of smoke.
All the melted snow makes the area incredibly humid and hard to breathe. The enemy has been utterly obliterated. A sick sense of dread comes over me. I push it back and try to think about it from a different perspective. Surely they weren’t just fodder for a much bigger attack. It worries me that despite our casualties, it’s only the beginning. I try and rationalize. No general in their right mind would sacrifice hundreds of people just to gain a few inches of territory. Even if the enemy had the manpower to spare, it just isn’t moral in any sense.
Byleth is approaching the tree line with Claude and some other students. I pick up a stained latchet and some bolts. My eyes catch a glimpse of a two-headed animal. I ready a dagger and roll a dead soldier face up. There’s a leather patch that bears the symbol of Adrestia.
I run my dagger into the stitches and pop the patch free. “Why?”
“Charley? You alright?” Byleth asks.
I hand her the leather patch. “Adrestian infantry.”
Byleth examines the patch and hands it to Claude. He runs his fingers over the emblem, and a cold look fills his eyes. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I cannot deny it any longer.”
Claude clenches the emblem to the point his fingers shake like leaves in the wind. “My country is at war with Adrestia.”
We push on to the enemy campsite. Byleth and I check the remains of the officer’s tent for orders or dossiers. Byleth sticks her Creator’s Sword into a locked chest and pries it open. The latch flies off, and she flips the lid.
“You find anything Charley?” Byleth asks.
I snatch the officer’s purse of gold coins from under his cot and shove them in my side satchel. “Nothing we don’t already have. How about you?”
Byleth collects several papers and stores them in her satchel. “There might be something useful in here. I’ll take them back with us.”
I look at the huge stack of papers Byleth has collected. “That’s what Seteth and the scholars get paid for.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll bring the entire chest,” she says.
Both of us laugh as we collect what we can find and leave. Claude is hovering over a unique-looking soldier. He’s lying on top of something. Claude releases an arrow into the guy’s neck and waits for a reaction. He continues to lie there motionless.
Claude rolls him away and squats down. Underneath the man is a long, strange-looking box. It’s half the size of a spear and shaped like a crossbow. Claude grabs hold and strains. He realizes how heavy it truly is and takes a firmer stance.
“You need help?” I ask.
Claude hoists the blackened block up and rests it across his right shoulder. There’s a section that fits snugly against his body. “Nah…I got it. It’s not so heavy once you get it up here.”
“What is it?” Byleth asks.
I look where Claude found the bizarre weapon. Around him are several rods with drill-bit-shaped tips. At the opposite end is a spool of steel wire that wraps around the rods. I pick up one of the shiny rods and lift it up. The drawstring retracts when it’s fully extended.
“This part isn’t heavy.” I put the rod into the box and slide it back. The rod fits snugly against a spur. It looks a lot like something my grandpa taught me how to use where sharpened darts were hurled.
“It has similarity to a wikilo,” Petra says.
“A what?” Claude asks.
“I think she means spear thrower. Like an atlatl,” I add.
“Correct, Charles,” she answers.
Claude reaches under the atlatl and tugs on the drawstring. He runs it through a gap and pulls it on like a drawstring. The rod within the metal atlatl rotates. “How do you know this?”
“I was a shepherd with my grandpa. We would carve these in the field,” I say.
“In Brigid, certain tribes would only use wikilo. They bear markings on their arms to help them judge distance,” Petra adds.
Petra and I examine the atlatl closer. It’s mechanically simple. The most complex part is the steel cable that acts like a drawstring.
Claude lifts the atlatl and puts it on his left shoulder. The drawstring is within grasp, and it’s possible to pull the drawstring and throw simultaneously.
“Let’s get this back to camp. We’ll figure out how it works there,” Byleth says.
I gather up the rest of the rods and carry them over my shoulder. The three of us head back to camp with the atlatl and some papers.
“What do you have there?” Raphael asks.
Claude lifts it off his shoulder and holds it out. “A spear thrower. Try it.”
Raphael mounts the metal box on his shoulder. “You mean like an atlatl?”
Claude tugs on the drawstring and causes the rod to spin within the box. “That’s what Charley was calling it.”
“Have you ever used one?” I ask.
Raphael takes up a firm stance and acts like he’s going to throw it. “An atlatl? Yeah.”
I look out toward the field and make sure nobody is down range. The nearest tree is about 700 paces away. “Claude? Yank on that drawstring as hard as you can. Raphael? When Claude steps back, try and hit that nearby tree.”
Everyone gathers around and watches. Claude pulls the drawstring as hard as he can. The rod spins within the metal atlatl, and the steel cable detaches. Raphael launches the rod through the air. It strikes the tree almost immediately. The rod punches all the way through and sticks into the snow. A puff of wood shavings mixed with bark flies up and resin sprays out of the clean hole. Nobody makes a sound as we try and fathom the destructive power of this new weapon.
Raphael stares at the atlatl, and the destructive power he just unleashed. “I… didn’t even throw it that hard.”
“You’re telling me the enemy has these?” Claude says.
“Darts flying faster than arrows?” Petra adds.
“And potentially out-throw a trebuchet?” I say.
“The perfect cross between infantry and artillery,” Byleth says. “Sylvain? You and Charley take this to Seteth immediately.”
“Yes, Byleth,” Sylvain and I answer.
“Petra? Tell me more about these markings on the arms,” Byleth says.
Claude hands me the steel cable drawstring. I run out toward the tree Raphael hit and look for the rod. A shiny silver tip juts above the blanket of snow and reflects light. I grab hold and pull. There is no give. I twist it in the opposite direction and break up the hard dirt to try and dislodge the rod. If it can cut clean through a tree and into solid ground, then there’s no way a full suit of armor could stop this. I work the rod free and head back to the outpost.
Claude sets the atlatl on Sylvain’s shoulder as I bring two horses over. We load the atlatl and rods onto the horses and ride off. I gently spur the horse, and it gallops at full speed through the front gate of Garreg Mach.
Sylvain cups his hand over his mouth. “Make way!”
People clear the streets as Sylvain and I rush to the central building. The knights guarding the entrance rush over and guide the horse to a hitching post. I grab the atlatl and rush in. Sylvain follows behind me with the rods.
“Rhea! Seteth! We need to talk! Now!” My voice travels through the empty halls of the central building.
“We have something that needs to be brought to your attention!” Sylvain adds.
We rush upstairs and check each office for Seteth. Sylvain and I fling open the double doors leading into Rhea’s personal chamber. Rhea, Seteth, and some of her knights sit around a table and discuss what’s going on.
“What is keeping him so long? It’s done, isn’t it?” Seteth asks.
“Yes. He should have been back by now.” Rhea notices us come in. She stands up and bows. “Are you okay, boys?”
I put the atlatl on the table for everyone to see. “We recovered this from an enemy encampment to the south!”
Sylvain lays the rods next to the atlatl. “We do not know how many the enemy has. From what I saw, this thing can throw rods faster than an arrow, and almost as far as a trebuchet.”
Seteth picks the atlatl up and looks at it. “Except infantry can use it?”
I pick up the unscathed rod Raphael launched earlier and run the steel cable through it. The drawstring retracts back against the spur. “After our victory, Claude found this underneath a soldier. They are preparing to deploy this against us.”
Seteth hands the atlatl and the rods to a crest scholar. “Deliver this to Rodrigue immediately.”
The double doors scrape against the polished marble floor. Everyone turns their attention to our guest. Ingrid’s visor is covered in ice, and her face has been blistered by the cold wind.
“Ingrid? What’s the meaning of this? You’re supposed to be at the western garrison,” Seteth states.
Ingrid shakes her head. Her gaze comes over me, and she shakes her head no. She struggles to find the words and pushes forward.
“Are you hurt, Ingrid?” Sylvain asks.
Ingrid looks at Seteth and Rhea. “The western garrison has been evacuated.” Ingrid stares at the ground and squeezes her armored fingers. “But…Artorias…”
“What?! What is it?!” I yell. “Where is he?!”
“I don’t know. The captain told me to evacuate the people. When I looked up, Artorias was…” Ingrid pauses for a moment, her tongue tying itself into knots as she chokes on words.
The only audible sound is the flickering of the candles. A feeling I haven’t experienced since my sister was sold off sets in. My mind freezes over, but all the blood inside me simmers. My fists clench out of disbelief. I stand there and try to process what Ingrid is trying to say.
Catherine shakes her head no. “That’s not possible…”
Ingrid wipes her eyes. “He and those men were buying us as much time as they could.”
I grind my teeth. “So that’s why you sent him out there…”
“What are you talking about?” Sylvain asks.
I point at Rhea and Seteth. “You knew this would happen!”
Sylvain hits my shoulder. “Charley!”
“You saw an opportunity to get rid of Artorias, and you took it!” I choke on anger.
Rhea closes her eyes. “I gave him a mission to absolve you both for your wrongdoing. I had no intention of killing him or you.”
Seteth nods. “I chose a mission that would buy Garreg Mach time but allow Artorias to return. Even though I never liked the man, I knew he’d do everything he could to protect the staff and kids of Garreg Mach.”
The smell of burning ethereal sap takes me back to that night my sister was forcefully taken away. Everyone I’ve ever known goes away. Either by the hand of death or a force that can’t be reckoned with. I barge out of Rhea’s chamber and walk downstairs.
“Charley! Stop!” Sylvain yells.
I ignore Sylvain and continue onward. Sylvain’s hand grabs my shoulder. I jerk away and continue walking to the west exit.
“Damnit Charley! Listen!”
“No!” I yell back.
“Charley! You’re not thinking straight!”
“I’m thinking just fine!”
Sylvain forces his way forward and pushes me back. I push back and try to get past him. The two of us shove each other around. I pull back and place my hands together. I warp into the air and grab hold of a ledge. My arms and legs hoist me up toward the battlement gate.
“Charley!” I hear Sylvain’s voice fade as I drop over Garreg Mach’s gate and take off running toward the western garrison…