Chapter Text
Thank the Goddess no one had removed the arrows. Most of the knights she’d seen hit thus far opted to rip the arrow out or try pushing it through and, since few of them knew where their organs were, it was almost always the worst option. No, at times like these it was the best to heal the flesh around it before the person bled out and hastily transport them to a hospital or infirmary to do the rest.
Unfortunately, in this instance the infirmary in question was just Mercedes.
She was a certified priest and had helped with surgeries in her Church for years before she attended the Royal School of Sorcery. Operating on someone alone in the middle of a battlefield with rudimentary tools was a far cry from assisting the priests with farm injuries.
Annie had sealed the wound before she arrived, so Mercedes couldn’t just rip the arrow out. Really, with the size of these arrowheads and where it had hit, she would need to make a bigger incision, remove the arrow, and then quickly heal it.
If she moved as fast as she had once been the work wouldn’t even require stitches, but she was woefully out of practice. Worse still, Annie’s healing had rendered Leonie fully conscious.
Mercedes pressed her hands together. “Let’s see here.” She leaned close to look Leonie over. “The shoulder’ll be no problem, but the one in your chest is a doozy.”
“How do we handle it?” Out of breath. The arrow had possibly punctured Leonie’s lung, which meant the healing would need to penetrate deeper and the surgery could get complicated.
“I wouldn’t want to fib, really. It won’t be easy. We don’t have any dwale or even pure opium,” said Mercedes.
“What’s that mean?” Asked Belial. She could feel him hovering just behind her shoulder, trying very hard to not be in the way.
“It means someone’s going to have to hold her down while I cut that arrow out. Then I can heal the wound, no fuss no muss.” Remaining upbeat meant a calmer Leonie. Mercedes had a lot of practice keeping her composure under pressure. It had been one of the best ways to avoid the ire of Baron Bartels.
Despite not being in immediate danger, each time she talked it was a struggle and every breath was labored. “Not sure how I feel about…the idea of you cutting more holes into me,” Leonie managed before he body was jolted by a couch that made her wince and her eyes teared up.
Ferdinand kept watch from horseback, but remained close enough at hand to hear most of the conversation. “While I am far from an expert on the subject of medicine, Mercedes is said to be an extremely talented healer. She would not perform a surgery in this instance unless she were sure it were necessary.”
“And we’ll be right here with you the whole time,” Belial said.
Annie had moved the furthest from the scene, tough as she liked to appear she wasn’t a fan of the sight of blood and a wound like this would have had plenty. She shuffled closer as Byleth’s brother spoke to say her own piece. “I’ll do what I can to help, Mercie.”
Mercedes nodded to her. “Right. I can always count on you.”
Everyone watched as she removed the medic pouch from her side and unfurled it to get at the tools inside. There was a small vial of alcohol in a padded slot to clean the various scalpels, scissors, some fresh bandages, and medical needle and thread for sewing up wounds. She removed the second largest of the scalpels and cleaned it with alcohol and then used the rest to sterilize her hands.
“You’re going to want to bite down on this,” Mercedes said as she held up the roll of bandages in front of Leonie’s face.
Leonie stared up at her with apprehension, but took the bandages with her mouth.
“Okay, Ferdinand, come here please. I’m going to need you and Belial to hold her down. At the shoulders please.” Mercedes took a deep breath as the men got into position and checked the blade of the scalpel in one of the shafts of sunlight peeking down through the trees. “Annie, just be ready. This will all be over in a moment.”
Cassandra’s body leaned back with her elbows braced awkwardly against the ground with only the blade of Thunderbrand jutting up through her chest to hold her upright. Lysithea had seen a corpse before and even made a few herself—they had killed more than a few people in the battle at the thieves den in the Oghma Mountains, but seeing one knight kill another sent a kind of chill through her.
The forest changed in that moment, became darker. All of the sounds of life and moving soldiers, of leather squeaking past leather and plates of armor felt distant, hollow. Someone was calling her name, but that sounded so far off.
“Lysithea! Lysithea!” Shamir rode her horse around to get alongside her. “You said that you know where the fog is coming from?”
Lysithea dry swallowed, fighting to keep her hands from shaking as she pointed to the peak of some shrubbery poking up from the cottony fabric of the fog. “Um, yes. It would have to be there to hide the glow and the runes the user has to employ.”
Shamir knocked and arrow to her bow and leaned back in the saddle of her horse to get the proper angle. She closed one eye and loosed the arrow to let it sail through the air and cut through the highest reaches of the mist to drop down through the shrubbery in the distance. As she readied a second arrow, the fog receded, drawn away like the tides from the shore with all of it pulling toward the bushes Lysithea had indicated. Shamir lowered her bow as the arrow had already struck true.
With the fog gone the full extent of the battle taking place at Magdred Way became visible. The opposing forces had used the obscuring mist as more than cover, they had concealed their scant numbers within them. Much of the surrounding forest in this area grew so thin, probably due to the high traffic, that the underbrush was hardly enough to conceal them. The few Gaspard soldiers outfitted in armor could be easily spotted surrounded by haggard peasants in clothes spattered with mud and ichor.
“You did it, Lysithea!” Cyril clapped a hand on her back in excitement. “You’re amazing!”
She felt her face warm at the sound of his words. It wasn’t everyday someone acknowledged her talents, especially the one’s that couldn’t be attributed to the addition of her second crest. Lysithea pressed her hands into her lap. “Thanks,” she said, lowering her head to hide her eyes behind her bangs.
Lysithea couldn’t see Captain Jeralt approach, but she could hear the jangle of his armor. “You did good, Kid,” he said. “Really. That fog being gone is going to save lives.” He patted the top of her head, mussing up her hair. She’d let it go, this time.
The sound of hooves erupted through the last vestiges of the fog as a white haired knight flanked by armored units rode into view. Troops remaining from both forces turned to witness his entry as he trotted to a stop.
“It’s you!” He pointed an accusatory finger toward Captain Jeralt. “Your wretched zealotry facilitated the imprisonment of my son. You may as well have dealt the killing blow yourself!”
Jeralt walked toward the man, carrying his lance at his side. “Lonato Gaspard,” he said shaking his head. “I had hope that we might resolve this matter amicably, but any chance of that ended when you spilled the blood of my men and endangered Officer’s Academy brats from here, within the Kingdom. Now, if you’ll surrender I’ll spare your people I only ask that you and your men return with me to Garreg Mach.”
Lord Lonato, despite his advanced age looked every bit as fierce and formidable as any knight Lysithea had ever laid eyes on. From his frigid glare she could tell there was no chance he’d accept any condition of surrender.
Turning his horse to the side as if he meant to ride away he stared down at them. “It doesn’t matter,” he said shaking his head. “Now that the fog has cleared there’s nothing left to hide you or the sinful Central Church from the judgement of the Goddess!” He raised a hand and motioned for his knights to advance.
The peasants and knights from around the field resumed their attack, clashing blades with newly reinforced resolve at their mission. Men swarming out of the bushed forced Shamir to work at picking them off one arrow at a time until she had to retreat back toward the main group. Lysithea loosed an orb of dark magic into one of the men that saw his skin go sallow and wrinkly as he cried out and dropped to his knees.
Felix crossed swords with one man and kicked him away to go blade to blade with another villager with a crude axe.
Cyril lifted a discarded spear and sent it sailing through the air to take out one woman with sword in hand as he brought his axe up to block someone rushing Lysithea from the side. She turned back, glad he had been there to protect her with the close call. Then she let her attentions drift to Lonato as he rounded back to ride at Jeralt.
“Captain!” She cried. Without his own mount he would be at a grave disadvantage against Lonato.
She moved her hands to conjure a spell and a circle of runes appeared at her feet. With the correct calculations she could time this to stop Lonato dead in his tracks and maybe even keep him from getting anyone else killed. Black spikes erupted from the ground right beneath Lonato’s stead so that they pierced through the horse bringing it and its rider crumpling to the dirt.
Lonato Gaspard was on his feet much faster than she had anticipated, staggering toward Jeralt with his spear in one hand. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, to clear blood from his busted lip.
“Never expected this from you, Jeralt. Letting little girls do your dirty work,” said Lonato.
“Heh, and you’re any better, dragging villagers with tools and no armor out here to ambush the Knights of Seiros?” Jeralt asked.
“Lord Lonato!” A yell broke through the melee. “Lonato, please! Just surrender, please!” The words were desperate, ragged, and out of breath. Lysithea recognized the voice as Ashe of the Blue Lions. He came charging between the fighting, dodging around the combatants and stumbling through bushes.
Jeralt and the old knight went at each other, lance ringing against spear and showering the ground in sparks. The two danced back away from each other only to clash again with force that nearly threw them apart. Lonato leapt away to make wide, sweeping slices through the air with his spear, trying to catch Jeralt unaware, but the Blade Breaker parried the first of the swings, deflecting the blow wide, and caught the second with the side of his lance.
“Huh?” Lysithea was too preoccupied with the men fighting to notice the rushing stab coming toward her until they were right upon her.
Cyril’s axe slammed the sword to the ground just as Lysithea fell out of the way to sit on the ground. He brought the pommel of the axe up cracked the attacker across the jaw, sending a spray of blood up from their mouth. He glanced back, reaching out his free hand to help her up. “Miss Lysithea, are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m okay,” she nodded, embarrassed by her own incompetence. She got to her feet to stand close to Cyril’s side.
“Ashe! Ashe, wait!” Boomed the voice of Prince Dimitri. He was charging after the other Blue Lions boy, spear in hand as he wove a path through the pitched battles happening all around them. Behind him Dedue carried Ingrid in his arms, though she looked to be wide awake. One of her arms was in a split while the other held to his axe. Hilda and Sylvain shared a horse with him at the reigns.
“I’ll catch him, Your Highness!” Sylvain said as he pushed his mount into a gallop, trying to gain ground on Ashe. Hilda spun the handle of her axe in hand so that it was upside down like a croquet mallet so that she could beat back unmounted attackers.
“Things are getting messy,” Felix said, shoving a man he had impaled on his blade away. “Ordelia! Get in the middle of the group here so it’s safe,” he barked, but before she could comply or not, Cyril guided her gently so that she was boxed off from the wider fight by himself, Felix, and Shamir.
Dimitri’s legs pumped, hard enough that Sylvain didn’t immediately catch up to him. The Prince bounded into the air and landed in a group of villagers to wipe them out with a single swipe of his spear, like he were merely swatting pieces off of a chess board.
An Arrow took Ashe in the arm and he staggered until he stumbled. Shamir spun and put an arrow between the eyes of the archer who had loosed it and the boy was back on his feet limping toward Jeralt and Lonato.
“Lord Lonato, please!” Ashe yelled. “Lay down your arms!”
“Stay back, Son!” Jeralt screamed.
Taking the small opening left as Jeralt glanced to the side, Lonato slid his hands back up the shaft of the spear and stepped forward into a slash. In a reaction that could only come from a seasoned crest-user, Jeralt arched his body away and jerked back to avoid the point of the spear. As the spear point swung wide there was a thick, wet impact with soft flesh and an arch of blood.
Lysithea dropped to her knees at the sight of Ashe with the spear rammed through the center of his neck. His fingers were coated in blood as he raked at the pole of the spear as he struggled to free himself or move or do anything to survive the clearly fatal blow.
“Ashe!” Growled Dimitri knocked one of Lonato’s knights flying with the side of his lance.
Seeing what he had done, Lonato let the spear fall from his grasp and shambled over to Ashe, his face contorted in mournful horror. “Ashe, no. No, stay with me.” He grabbed hold of Ashe, trying not to disturb the spear as he pulled him close. “No, no, this can’t be.” The old knight let out a deep howl as he held his adopted heir in his arms.
The nearby fights all over the battlefield ceased as they turned to see their leader on his knees cradling someone in his arms. Dimitri reached the center of the battlefield with Sylvain and Hilda dismounting close behind him.
“Please…Lonato. Forgive me…” Ashe said as his body lurched and he took a final blood choked breath before going slack in Lonato’s arms.
The moment when the light left the boy’s eyes was as Jeralt had always seen it. He had witnessed the same shock that faded into accepting calmness in the eyes of Cassandra and many other enemies and comrades as they breathed their last. Even had Sitri been here right next to him, he was unsure if she would have been able to prevent the boy’s death.
He glanced up at Dimitri with Hilda and Sylvain at his rear and tried to motion for them to get ready to surround Lonato. Left with nothing to lose and driven by little more than rage and grief there was no telling what the man might do.
“Goddess,” Lonato sobbed.
“Lord Lonato,” Prince Dimitri said as he neared the old man. “Call off your men.”
Hilda shoved through Dimitri and Sylvain. “What are you all? Stupid?” Without fear of the repercussions she knelt next to Lonato. “We need to get someone to heal him!” Her eyes narrowed on someone off through the crowd. “Lysithea! You can—someone has to help him!”
Jeralt looked on as Lysithea didn’t move to approach, her eyes wide in horror.
“Child, come away from—”
Hilda cut Jeralt off with a guttural scream as she shoved Lonato to the ground and snatched Ashe away from him. “You did this! You killed him!”
Lonato rolled several feet away to stop face down. Hilda cradled Ashe close. “I don’t think I ever talked with him before coming out here, but….” She trailed off as her voice broke.
Sylvain moved in to try and get a handle on Hilda but she gave him a crest-aided push to the face that knocked him sprawling and laid Ashe on the ground with a gentleness that suggested she had some level of control. Then she snatched her axe up by the handle and got to her feet.
“Hilda, what are you doing?” Sylvain asked, moving to right himself.
“Someone stop her!” Lysithea yelled, seemingly already sure of what she meant to do.
“If Captain Jeralt couldn’t do it, I guess it’s on me,” she stalked toward Lonato as the old man rolled onto his back. “I’ll deliver your head to Archbishop Rhea myself.”
Lonato nodded to her. “Do it, girl. End it. Do it!” He bellowed.
Cyril, the Almyran servant turned squire, had raced across the open field to stare her down. “Come on, Hilda,” said the boy. “You’re no executioner.” Cautiously, he sidled his way around Lonato until he was in reach of the shaft of Hilda’s axe. “What would your brother say to see you like this?”
Hilda stared at him, rage passing over her expression before it faded into a deep frown.
“Just give it to me, please,” Cyril said.
The girl relinquished her axe to him, letting him slip it from her grasp. He tossed the axe aside, letting the head of the weapon thud in the dirt as she closed the gap to hug Hilda close. Jeralt half expected her to knock him to the ground just as she had done to Sylvain, but she sunk into a weeping heap in his arms until the smaller boy was forced to go down onto his knees to catch her.
Dimitri stepped in, towering over Lonato to look down at the broken man. “You’ll have to answer to the dead—your sons and the common folk you lead to their deaths this day, but the living are not done with you yet,” he said. “Your suffering will just have to serve as penance until we reach the monastery.”
“Sothis, you’re like some kind of miracle worker.” Belial was still down on his knees from helping to hold Leonie down during the surgery. Annette felt lucky that he and Ferdinand had been there, because she didn’t think she would have been any kind of effective at the kind of help that Mercedes had needed.
For her part, Mercedes looked spent, but she was beaming with a smile of pride at her work here. “Mercie is really one of the best,” Annie said.
“Thanks you two,” Mercedes said. “But it really is just lucky we got here so soon, you know what they say: they only thing that kills is time.” That might have come off as a little too cheery, even for Annette’s tastes, but she was sure Mercedes wouldn’t notice. Despite being her senior, the woman really didn’t know how to react in several different situations and if she did, she chose not to act appropriately.
Mercedes stayed over Leonie as the girl lay still, her breathing had become steadier now, though she had passed out from the pain of being cut open. Something had to be done, the placement of the wound and the blood loss would have been fatal otherwise.
“Surely, you brought me some time too, Annie. Thanks for showing up like that, both of you,” Mercedes managed.
Annette looked out across the forest only to realize something: at some point the fog had burned away. There was no trace of it. Well, fog did only tend to last for so long in the sun, so it was to be expected. The others must have noticed it soon after she did as they began to survey the area around them. Most of the troops has moved up toward the front though some hang back with the supply wagons to avoid those being attacked or robbed.
“Fog’s gone,” Ferdinand said.
“Yeah,” Annette said letting out a breath, “At least the battle quieted. Maybe whoever it was surrendered?”
Mercedes smiled. “I hope so,” she started. “I don’t think that after all that I’ve got any healing left in me.”
They would continue West and finish the ride to Gaspard Keep to lay Ashe to rest, the Knights of Seiros and the Blue Lions students had decided that they owed at least that much to him. After the fallout of the battle was assessed and Lord Lonato’s surrender had been solidified, Ingrid walked the clearing where things had come to a head.
Her arm had been repaired by Lysithea once the girl’s wits had returned to her, though it took her some time as it was the last bit of healing she had in her. She insisted on accompanying Ingrid on the walk, much to Ingrid’s dismay. It was unlikely that Glenn would show up with someone else there so prominently. If he dared to, she wouldn’t be able to speak with him freely.
After their stunned silence had worn out its welcome, Ingrid finally got up the courage to look over at Lysithea. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked. “It must be strange—to see another classmate die like that.”
Lysithea nodded. “He was in your class really,” she said. “So I should be asking you that question.”
“I’ve lost people before,” Ingrid said. “I guess, even when these kinds of things shouldn’t happen, even against people with less training there’s always a chance we could lose someone.”
“I’ve lost people too,” Lysithea admitted. Just beyond that answer Ingrid could feel that the girl wanted to elaborate, but Ingrid wouldn’t push the matter. Lysithea had always come off as so young. Impossibly dedicated to her studies and craft for her age, while at the same time acting very much like a child. She had witnessed Professor Byleth and some others on more than one occasion in the dining hall trying to get her to actually eat a supper and not just gorge herself on cakes and sweets.
But now she was somber, quiet. It made her feel ten years Ingrid’s elder, because if she had any rage at what had happened on Magdred Way she did well not to display it.
“Thank you again, for helping me with my arm,” Ingrid said.
“It’s really nothing,” Lysithea said.
“Well, I know some of the students from the Empire and Alliance wanted to see the Kingdom, kind of wish they had gotten to experience it in a better light, but I am glad you came with us,” Ingrid said.
“Oh it wasn’t really about sightseeing, I mostly came because Cyril—well, he—oh never mind.”
It was at this Ingrid found herself smiling. “What? Do you have a crush on him?” she asked.
“No!” Lysithea answered far too enthusiastically for it not to be a lie. Then something off to the girl’s side caught her eye. “Those bushes there, did you see anyone check them after the battle?”
“What?” Ingrid asked.
“Come on.” Lysithea motioned with her hand for her to follow. “There was a mage out here. They conjured the fog. It seemed far too complex a casting for anyone but some kind of savant. I kind of just want to see who they were,” she said.
The girl’s enthusiasm at the chance to study magic, even under these grim circumstances was unmatched. Lysithea looked like a kid again as she dug into the thicket of branches and leaves, with some of them raking at her pale skin so that faint lavender lines appeared where the abrasions had taken place.
“Careful,” Ingrid chided her. “You’re going to lose an eye or something!”
Lysithea barely paid her any mind as she fought to push the foliage aside to gain access to the center of the wooded area.
“I’m sure if we look around there—” Ingrid stopped as Lysithea broke through and a downed figure came into view. Sprawled out in the small clearing space at the center of the trees there was a mage in black robes with fields of deep maroon and silver accents around the sleeves and the lapels. No visible insignia adorned the clothing and they didn’t have the look of any of the mages from the local lord’s houses. They sure weren’t from one of the surrounding villages. The mask they wore had a beak-like nose and goggle-like holes, tinted red through some strange method which Ingrid could only guess was magical.
Ingrid followed Lysithea in, using her gauntleted hand to break the twigs away until she could fully step into the clearing. “I’ve seen someone dressed like this before,” she said.
Lysithea knelt beside the mage, her expression becoming grim. “So have I.”
The arrow that had killed the mage had taken him right through the neck, in another cruel bit of irony. It made her think back on Ashe. Lysithea ripped the mask away from the mage’s head and pushed back his crumpled, steepled hood to reveal pale, yellowish skin that looked almost a sickly color. The man looked as if he could have been dead for days and not merely an hour.
For a long time she watched as Lysithea studied his face, then the girl let out a growl. “I don’t know him. He’s not—oh never mind.” At first Ingrid hadn’t noticed the way her breathing became shallow, rapid, almost panicked. When the girl toppled onto her bum to sit next to the mysterious mage, she used the heel of her boot to kick him in the head.
“Lysithea, what’s going on?” Ingrid asked.
“You said you saw a mage like this before? Where?” Lysithea demanded.
The words had left her own mouth so quickly she hadn’t really considered it. Where had she seen someone dressed like this before, someone wearing a uniform that fit no location she knew of in the Kingdom or nearby. Then she remembered something written in the records that she and Glenn had been reading, something about black clad mages that Jeralt himself had noted.
But that note would have been at least three years old by this time.
“That day at the thieves den in the Oghma Mountains,” Ingrid started. “There were some mages like this among the dead and in the dungeons. Claude and I killed one of them.” It seemed too strange a coincidence. “Could they be from the Western Church?”
Lysithea shook her head. “There were mages like this that spilled over into our lands from the Empire and now we’ve seen them in the Kingdom and near the Central Church,” she said. “Why kind of organization would have interests in all three of those places?”
“From the Empire? It seems too brazen to be the Western Church. But maybe they’re part of some mercenary group?” Ingrid suggested.
“Now that’s just ridiculous,” Lysithea shouted. “Oh, there’s still too much I don’t know. I can’t form a clear hypothesis if I’m not even sure where they originally came from!”
Ingrid knelt beside the girl and put a hand on her shoulder. “Just calm down, let’s get out of here and report what we’ve seen back to Captain Jeralt. He might have a suggestion on what to do.”
There was a way out of the clearing straight across from where they had entered. It would have been out of sight to them from either side or from the direction which they had entered the forest and it was still a bit overgrown. The two had to stoop low just to avoid the branches, though Ingrid felt some of them snag on her hair.
By the time Lysithea was on her feet again her arms were crossed and she had already begun to ponder on the matters of the black clad mages. “They were coming from the Empire, but they were not of the Empire. At least, that’s the impression that I always got. The whole thing reeks of something else going on, but the answer is out of reach.”
“Where did you see them before?” Asked Ingrid. “That might provide some clue. Maybe you missed something that connects the places?”
“It’s not important,” Lysithea said dismissively.
“Alright,” Ingrid started. “Let’s just find the Captain.”
The Blade Breaker had made a stool of an old stump near a pond at the roadside. He was sitting looking out over the still waters. The shafts of light that cut down through the trees reflected off of its surface like they were hitting a sheet of glass. As they neared him the faint aroma of tobacco smoke hung in the air.
“You need something?” Jeralt turned to look at them, though it seemed he expected someone else entirely because of the shock played across his face as he saw the pair of them. “Oh, there you two are. I was wondering where you got up to earlier.”
“You were looking for us, sir?” Ingrid asked.
He plucked the pipe from his mouth, holding it between two fingers as he brought his hand down to rest on his knee. “Not like you’re in trouble or anything. I just wanted to see how everyone was doing. It’s been a hard day.”
Ingrid probably should have felt worse about all that had transpired than she did. Sure, a sadness had welled up inside of her and this sense that if she could only take back the things that had happened, do them over again with more preparation, everything would be different. But she knew better than to dwell on that part of the grief.
“I’ll be fine, Captain Jeralt,” Ingrid said.
“I’m alright,” Lysithea admitted.
Jeralt stared at both of them as if her were trying to see through them to something deeper, like if he looked at them for long enough he could discern their true thoughts.
“Alright,” he started. “And it’s Professor. I don’t need this Captain business out of the two of you,” Jeralt said.
“Right. Sorry, um, Professor,” Ingrid said.
“Actually Professor Jeralt we wanted to ask you about something. It might be a bit strange, but do you know of an organization of mages that dress in all black with weird masks?” Lysithea asked.
Ingrid reached up, holding her hands over her eyes as if to acknowledge what she were talking about. “The lenses of their goggles have these darkened tint to them and their skin is all pale—”
Jeralt’s eyes went wide. “Where did you hear about this?”
“There was—” they both started in unison before stopping to let the other person speak. When neither of them continued the story, Ingrid motioned for Lysithea to take the lead. She would be the one more well versed in magic to speak about what it was that was going on, plus the more that she revealed about the black clad mages the more Ingrid could figure out what it was Lysithea knew.
“You go ahead,” Ingrid said.
Lysithea nodded her head. “We went looking for the dark mage that conjured the fog and he was dressed like that. I removed his mask and his face—”
“It was all haggard and gaunt, wasn’t it?” Asked Jeralt. “They probably had white hair, too.”
So he had for sure seen something like the mage they found. The description he gave, while succinct, was eerily accurate.
“I told Lysithea that I saw someone like that at the thieves den in the Oghma Mountains,” Ingrid said.
Jeralt slipped the pipe between his lips and leaned forward as he considered something. He was quiet for a long while before he sat up. “There were some of them there and I’ve seen them in other places too, though not usually more than a handful of them.”
“Do you know who they are?” Ingrid wanted to get straight to the point and she knew that was the kind of answer Jeralt liked to give
The old knight stared out across the water with the pipe dangling from his mouth. “No. But I can tell that they’ve been showing up in various places for all my life, maybe even centuries before that,” he said. “If some of the things in the records are to be believed.”
“What kind of group has that kind of reach and what would they even be hoping to gain?” Lysithea asked.
Jeralt shrugged. “The Eight-Handled Sword. Blades of Liberation. The Witnesses of the Sovereign…there are all kinds of rumored secret societies throughout Fódlan, but that’s part of what makes them rumored. They leave behind no trace except whispers of their hand in things.” He exhaled a cottony puff of smoke that obscured his expression.
“It sounds like you think those groups are more than rumors,” Ingrid said.
“Well, rumors that persist across centuries usually have truth to them. At least there’s been enough strange happenings for people to suspect something greater going on behind a lot of it,” Jeralt said.
Ingrid remembered Bernadetta’s words all those weeks ago in the dungeon of that thieves den: “It’s kind of odd how things always happen in threes in Fódlan.” She had mentioned it as a statement of fact, just an aside others had realized as a coincidence.
What more could the academics, the peasants, or even the normal nobility hope to do? Their daily lives were laid out before them, plotted from dawn to dusk in meticulous detail. There was the harvests and lectures and lands to be managed. Bandits roamed the fringes of society and beasts in the wilderness. When did they have time to ponder on the happenings over the centuries?
Ask the average person in Uathach or Láeg what they thought of the death of King Lambert and they would call it a tragedy, they may even speculate about those who did it, but they would return to their lives all the same. The rule of Regent Rufus might not be popular, the King was a distant monarch. Even if their lord in Ifan or Charon or, her own home, of Galatea passed there was still work to do.
Lives to be lived.
No one was going to cancel nuptials or close down shop for longer than mandated by Royal Decree. The fields needed tending and someone had to watch the children. And if a strangely dress mage passed through town asking weird questions people would be polite, but they would also keep to themselves.
Lysithea turned to her and then looked at Jeralt. “Someone at the battle had to have known of the mage if they employed him for such a vital part of the ambush.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but I was going to question Lonato once there’s time,” Jeralt said.
Ingrid couldn’t help but take a step closer to him. “I think I speak for both Lysithea and myself when I request that we be included in the interrogation?”
The old man let out a chuckle. “You are some tenacious brats, but it wouldn’t feel right for me not to include you what with all the work you’ve both put into this thing,” he said.