Legion of Honor

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

00. Escape

The girl called Lyndis was worth ten thousand gold alive. That was why the mercenary leader had the tactician killed first.

"Mark!" Lyn cried out, reaching out to him as he jerked back from the force of the arrow that sunk into his throat. Catching him, she settled him onto the ground, his head supported by her lap, and watched helplessly as the tactician she had sworn to fight for struggled to live. One of her hands worked long fingers through his thin brown hair as the other held him down, lest he hurt himself more with his thrashing around. She twisted around, staring at her companions with a silent plea shining in her eyes.

What should I do?

They stared back, horror and sadness etched onto their faces. There was nothing they could do; Serra had fled west two days ago, when word of Lord Hausen's death came to them in the form of a regiment of Caelin's army.

The hand on Mark's chest twitched upwards, towards the arrow shaft. "Lady Lyndis, it may be poisoned!" Kent warned, reaching out to her from the saddle as if he could stop her in time, but even as he spoke she knew it was too late. She felt Mark expel one last breath, his body quaking all the while, and that was it.

He was dead.

"No," she whispered. She wanted to shake him awake, just as she used to do to Wil and Sain just days before, when the future seemed so clear. The promise of family was just before her, of reuniting and leaving those lonely days in a small ger on the plains of Sacae behind. She was going to be Mark's peerless warrior, so he couldn't be dead. He was going to help her meet the grandfather she had never known, so he couldn't be dead.

He couldn't be dead. They couldn't be dead. Her grandfather, Mark...this wasn't what was supposed to happen.

It wasn't, she believed, but when her tears fell onto Mark's face, he didn't move.

"T-they're coming c-closer..." she heard Florina whimper, and she cringed as she heard the pain behind her best friend's soft voice. Florina already had an injury on her shoulder that prevented her from attacking as well as she could. Unfortunately, Lyn saw that Florina was right; the mercenaries had already surrounded them. Beside the leader was the archer who had murdered Mark; he was already reaching for another arrow.

Hate, deep and dark, welled up inside of her.

"Never fear, sweet Florina!" Sain cried. When Lyn glanced at him, she saw that he was already brandishing his favored weapon, a spear that looked as if it had seen better days. "Your dear Sain will protect you with every ounce of valor in his body!" A ghost of a smile crept up on her face at Sain's usual braggadocio, before she remembered that, during their first battle while trying to escape Caelin, he'd had his leg sliced through as he took the blow meant for her.

"Sain, be serious!" Kent snapped. Lyn pursed her lips as she softly moved Mark off of her lap, favoring her left leg as she stood up. She didn't want Kent to fight; he'd been stabbed just above his hip by an overzealous thief yesterday, and even their last vulnerary hadn't helped the wound heal as much as she would've liked.

So as to not alert the others, Lyn caught Wil's eye, then cut her eyes towards the opposing archer. He blinked, still disoriented from the last battle, when an axe-user slammed the wooden part of a simple half-axe against his head. Even now, he couldn't remember what had happened during that battle. After she repeated the motion, he seemed to understand, even giving her a small half-smile as he casually reached for his quiver.

They're all being hurt because of me, Lyn thought, self-hatred darkening her demeanor. She reached for the hilt of her iron sword, wincing as her shoulder protested at the movement. We're all being hurt.

With Mark, we were lucky to get through our battles without receiving worse injuries. Now...now what should I do? Mark was calm, always rational, but I cannot claim the same.

Father Sky, Mother Earth...what do I do?

She noticed the mercenary leader shift slightly, pulling a halberd from where it had been strapped on his back. He looked like nothing more than a scruffier version of the halberdiers that Caelin's foot soldiers were comprised of, but she wasn't blind. The way he held the weapon stated he could bar any attack and promise a devastating counter in return; his footwork suggested a sturdiness that would not be foiled by more agile opponents.

If she had been well-rested and fresh, the battle would be hard. On the run, with injuries that had yet to heal, however...

"Surrender, girl," he said, all quiet dignity with just a pinch of disdain. "Your plot's been foiled, you've nowhere to run...just give up. Execution at the castle's much more than your lot deserves, but it's better than dying like dogs here."

Lying bitch!

"No," she whispered. The days blurred together. The battles, the words...they were all the same in the end.

Filthy savage!

"What?"

Stinking outlaws!

She should have never come here.

"Go!" she screamed, a roar of anguish bursting from her, a plea to Father Sky and Mother Earth to survive one more battle, one more, just one more! As she lunged forward, she heard the familiar twang of Wil's bow, and watched in satisfaction as one arrow thudded into the enemy archer's shoulder. The next arrow sunk into the archer's eye, avenging their fallen comrade.

Lyn heard the flutter of wings, the heavy hoof beats, and fire raced through her in response. Jumping in front of an axe-wielder with the sort of girth that screamed 'target', she ducked the first wild swing, the force of the blow audibly carving through the air. She dashed forward, pulling out her sword from its scabbard and slicing up through the fighter's belly in one fluid motion before spinning around, the blade of her sword wetly tearing through his flesh perpendicular to the first wound. The mercenary screamed, sinking to his knees as he dropped his axe in favor of holding together his stomach, and Lyn moved on.

'Be the wind.' That was the rule of the Sacaean sword arts. Her father had taught her that a lifetime ago.

Twisting around, she narrowly avoided losing an arm to a sword-bearing mercenary. Her footwork off, she raised her sword to block the next blow, an overhead slash that forced her to her knees. With a grunt, she pushed up on the sword bearing down on her, then shifted to the right, forcing the other sword-user on the defensive as she stepped forward and swung vertically downward. The tip of her sword cut into the mercenary's thigh, eliciting a grunt and a wild counterattack that had her jumping back to avoid the gleaming steel. He followed her, and she could see the veins on his arms straining with the exertion of wielding the larger sword as he brandished it, his moves telegraphed just enough that she could sidestep his attacks, but not enough to give her another opening.

Hoof beats were her only warning as a javelin flew past her, glancing off of the mercenary's hip. As he jerked back, Lyn followed, her blade carving a path into the man's side. He toppled over, coughing blood, and her blade tore open his throat as she moved past him. She smiled tightly as Kent rode up to the discarded javelin and retrieved it before returning to the fray of the battle. Glancing around, she saw the mercenary leader standing off to the side, observing the battle.

Their eyes met. She couldn't see anything in his eyes. It was as if he was beyond the battle already, beyond victory or failure, living or dying.

To him, she was already dead.

Anger throbbed through her, as well as a deepening sense of fear. It was one thing to spar with the other children of the Lorca, and another to fight to the death. It was one thing to kill bandits for the crimes they had already committed, as well as the ones they would commit to keep living their pathetic lives. It was one thing to fight arrogant fools who bumbled around and underestimated her, and another thing entirely to fight a professional.

Be the wind, she told herself. She couldn't let any more of her friends die.

She charged forward, her breaths short bursts, her muscles and bruises protesting.

She charged forward, all adrenaline and spiking nerves.

She charged forward. She might have been screaming.

The mercenary leader stood his ground, and she knew there was no way she could break his defense with one blow, her favorite way of attacking. Committed to the attack, she lunged, the iron blade screeching against the handle of the halberd. His knee came crashing into her stomach, and she twisted as soon as she hit the ground, narrowly dodging the blade of the weapon as it sank into the spot she had just fallen. Coughing, fighting the urge to vomit, she struggled to stand, and only her reflexes saved her as she sidestepped his thrust. There was no conscious thought, just movement, as she hacked into his arm before moving to duck under it and sink her sword into his heart.

The other end of the halberd swept up, connecting with the underside of her jaw. Her world brightened with the force of a rupturing sun as sharp flashes of light exploded in her head. She collided with the ground, her jaw aching, tears streaming down her face.

"Lyn!"

Oh no oh no Florina don't--! Lyn screamed in the depths of her mind as she fought to stand, loosely holding onto the hilt of her sword as she used it like a cane. She looked up, fully expecting to see the bladed end of the halberd rushing towards her face, but instead she saw Florina swooping down at the mercenary leader like an eagle towards its prey. Her best friend spun the slim lance once, thrusting it into the man's shoulder and ripping it out on her climb upward. Lyn felt relieved for a single moment before Florina regained enough altitude to begin another dive; after all, the mercenary leader was still upright. Cautiously, she stood, pure agony throbbing seductively from her jaw, calling at her to fall asleep and never wake...

Florina dove, but this time the mercenary leader was ready. As Lyn watched in horror, he raised his weapon; as he sidestepped Florina's attack, he swung the halberd. Red ribbons of blood erupted from Florina's arm as the tip of the blade tore into her arm from wrist to elbow.

Florina screamed, and Lyn screamed with her.

Later, Lyn would only be able to shake her head in confusion over what happened next. All she would remember was anger, brighter and hotter than the Sacaean sun, as it overwhelmed her with its embrace. The hate from before blossomed, petal after petal enfolding her. And yet, there was something else, something pure, something that made it all okay as she lunged at the mercenary with a sword that gleamed red with blood.

I won't let anyone else die!

It was beautiful, whatever it was. It was as right as the way she felt when she drove her sword across the man's chest while he was still distracted. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she pivoted, pushing up from her toes as she slashed through the mercenary leader's back. Blood flew in rivets as she continued to tear into her enemy, spurred on by the furiously pounding hatred in her head and the quiet need to protect in her heart.

Her wounds were screaming when she skidded to a stop, long after, moments after she began her assault. The mercenary leader slumped to the ground, his blood soaking into the earth from his multiple wounds. All she could do was stare at his body as she struggled to remember how to breathe.

She had been the wind, she thought. The vicious, slicing gales that tore through everything in their path without a care. A cruel wind, a wind of destruction and disaster.

I don't know if I like that.

A muffled whimper brought Lyn out of her thoughts. She turned to see Florina, who had landed, holding onto her wounded arm. Crimson ran down the length of her arm, dripping onto the pegasus' pure white coat. "Ah! Florina!" Lyn cried, and with a quick swipe downward to get rid of the blood on the sword, she sheathed it and hurried to her friend's side. "We have to stop the blood flow..."

"Here, Lady Lyndis," Kent said, riding up to the both of them, a strip of dark cloth in one hand. Taking it, Lyn was about to ask where he had gotten it when she noticed the clothing of the fallen mercenaries, as well as similar strips tied to Wil's upper arm and Sain's calf. Everyone is hurting, she thought as she nodded her thanks and turned to work on Florina's arm.

Everyone is hurting, and I don't know what to do.

As Florina offered a small, tremulous smile to her, she could hear Kent dismounting behind her. "Milady, we must leave immediately."

She whirled around, ready to agree, when she caught sight of Mark's dark green robes. His body had somehow been left undisturbed during the battle, and seeing him lay there, the arrow still sticking out of his throat, formed something thick and heavy in her own throat. "Kent, I understand, but we can't leave Mark there..."

Kent closed his eyes in the same way he had in Khathelet, lines of stress marking his brow. There seemed to be more now than there had been when she had decided to delay their journey to help Nils, and it pained her to see his disapproval etched upon his youthful features. "I urge you to reconsider, Lady Lyndis," he said, his voice soft and tinged with only the faintest cracking of his stoic demeanor. "Although I understand your concern, we must cross into Santaruz before reinforcements arrive."

Will we be safe there? Lyn didn't ask. She was naive to the Lycian ways, but she thought that the bonds between the cantons were stronger and more complicated than those of the tribes of Sacae. This was obvious to her since they had left Araphen; Marquess Araphen broke his word to protect himself. If Lundgren asked of it, Araphen would actively turn against them. All of Lycia could. But, for now, Kent was right. In the future, they might not be safe anywhere, but for now they were only unsafe in Caelin.

The difference between life and death could be in the time it took to dig a grave.

"I understand," she tried to say around the thick lump of self-loathing stuck in her throat. Turning to Florina, she attempted a smile. "Florina, can you fly with that arm?"

Her friend managed a small nod. "Yes...i-it doesn't hurt too much..."

"Good," she said, trying to sound strong. "We'll get it properly treated once we're on safer ground, I promise."

As Kent helped her onto his horse, as they departed for the Caelin-Santaruz border, Lyn did not look back. Caelin may have been the home of her mother's family, but there was nothing left for her now. The Lorca, Caelin...both parts of her heritage were now lost to her within half a year.

Where could they go? What was left for them?

I don't know what to do.

-to be continued-

It's my birthday, and I'll post what I want to--

To be honest, I like the tutorial chapters the most. Lyn's personal quest to discover her roots of her mother's side, exacerbated by the loss of her parents and the months of loneliness, strikes me as very touching and compact. However, the story behind the failure to reach her grandfather in time seems to me like it could do more for Lyn and the others in the terms of character growth--and they will have to come to terms with these new circumstances, or they will die. If this interests you, welcome!

Please spread the TacticianDeath!meme! I know everyone else's Mark was something very cool and secretive, but mine was a pervert who forced people together and took up precious battle time so he could peep at their most intimate moments.

01: Lyn, Kent, Sain, Florina and Wil...this is all that remains of Lyndis' Legion. With little in the way of supplies, worsening wounds, and nowhere to go, they decide to go see Eliwood in Khathelet. But, in the wake of Lord Hausen's death, old allies may yet become new enemies...