Challenge 015: Echoes

The dungeons in the castle were usually quiet.   Misul was far enough out of the way that it was usually undermanned, and what few criminals there were in the area were usually sent elsewhere, where there were enough men that some could be assigned to keep an eye on the prisoners to prevent escape.  But the Etrurians had locked him up in there, nonetheless, and he'd languished in his cell for long enough that he no longer bothered to count the passage of time.

He sighed.  Apparently, the Etrurians had decided to forget about him as well.  The last food he'd gotten was over a week ago, though he had long since lost count.  It was hard to even think in the oppressive atmosphere of the prison.  The irony.  The man once sought after for his brilliant intellect, unable count up to the number seven.  He shrugged to himself.  For some reason, he could not find it in himself to care.

The sound of feet coming down the stairs came as a surprise.  He slumped against the wall.  Perhaps the Etrurians had finally decided that his continued presence was a liability, or had they suddenly decided to continue feeding him again?  The footsteps drew nearer and stopped outside his cell.  There was a grating noise as the deadbolt was pulled back, and the door swung open, hinges squealing from disuse.  He closed his eyes and waited.  There was a dry rasp and a thud as a heavy weight was thrown into the cell with him, and then the door slammed shut once again.

He opened his eyes.  An armored figure - a woman - lay sprawled across the floor, and he shuffled over to investigate.  The armor she wore was obviously expensive, given the high quality of the metal plates which had been welded together, but it had clearly not done the wearer much good.  Many of the armored plates had been scorched, dented, or otherwise marred, and an entire section of the breastplate had crumpled under the force of some gigantic blow.  He winced.  To be able to cause that much damage in a single hit...

She was bleeding from under the armor.  A small stream of red leaked out from the seam between two metal plates, and as he knelt by her side to loosen the straps holding the armor together, the blood pooled on the floor until he could feel its sticky warmth on his knees.  He shrugged off his cloak, tore it into strips, and tried to staunch the bleeding.  The woman's shoulder had been cut to the bone, and there were several lacerations from where the metal of her armor had crumpled and cut into the flesh it had been meant to protect.

Once the bleeding slowed, he tied a compress around the wounds on her shoulder and, unable to muster the strength to pick her up, dragged her over to the small pile of straw that served as a his bed.  Unable to do anything more, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, finally managing a sort of fitful sleep.

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He was awoken by a sharp gasp of pain.  Blearily, he opened his eyes and moved over to examine the wound in the dismal light that the grated window near the ceiling permitted into the cell.  The impromptu bandage he had applied had become crusty with dried blood, but the bleeding had stopped.  Now able to see more clearly, he sat back and examined his new cellmate.

The woman had woken up, and was blearily trying to sit up.  She feebly tried to prop herself up with her remaining good arm, only to fall back down to the ground.  After failing several times to sit up, she lay back down and looked over to where he sat against the wall.  He studied her face for a moment, digging up her name from vague memory.

"You're Count Reglay's successor," he said.  "What has the mighty Mage General of Etruria done to land herself in here?"

She looked at him suspiciously.  "There has been a coup d'etat," she said hesitantly.  "King Mordred has been taken hostage by forces backed by King Zephiel.  I was attempting to secure a base of operations here to act against them when Bern officially took sides.  Zephiel showed up in person, along with several divisions of wyvern knights."  She shrugged.  "There wasn't much I could do with only a regiment."

"How is the state of affairs in the outside world?  I haven't had any news of any goings on in the world for quite some time.  The last I had heard, Bern had sacked Bulgar."

She sighed.  "Sacae and Ilia have long since fallen.  Lycia is slowly getting pushed back, and Etruria will fall soon unless something happens, as I have just said."

"I see."

"Please, if you have any other questions, feel free to ask."  She pointed at her bandaged shoulder.  "I probably would have bled out if you hadn't intervened."

He thought for a while.  "Do you have any news of Count Reglay?"

"He elected to stay neutral in the conflict, caring more for his research than for politics.  I do believe that his children are accompanying Roy's Lycia Alliance Army, however."

"Marquess Pherae's son is leading the Army?  I knew of his poor health, but Marquess Ostia is far more experienced.  Unless..."

"Hector of Ostia is dead."  There was silence.  "You seem rather familiar with all these people you just asked about.  Forgive me for asking, but how..."

"How do I know them so well?"  A smile.  "I travelled with them around twenty years ago, when I was still a naive teenager who believed that I could truly make some sort of difference.  I don't think...  No.  I'm fairly certain that most of the people I le- I fought with are no longer alive.  But that's all in the past now."  He shrugged.  "The events of twenty years past are hardly relevant to our present circumstances."

"Might I have, at least?  I do not enjoy leaving blood debts unpaid."

"My name?  My name is of no consequence."

"I wish to know it regardless."

"How about this, then: if we both are still alive by the end of this war, then I will tell you who I was."

"I will hold you to your word, then."  Cecilia smiled faintly.  "I have little else to look forward to."

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"Why are you locked up in here?"

There was no reply.

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"What was it like, travelling with Eliwood and Hector?"

"Terrible."

"Can you stand, Cecilia?"

"Barely.  I was unhorsed during the battle, and I landed somewhat badly."

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"Roy should be here soon."

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"How long have you been in here?"

"Longer than you think."

"And why exactly were you locked up?"

"Roartz is to blame for that."

"Why?"

"I refused to work for him."

"Oh.  What did he do?"

"He killed my companions and locked me in here."

"I..."

"It had nothing to do with you. There is no need to blame yourself - if you knew who I was, I suspect you would have done the same."

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"Where are you from?"

"I call no land my home."

"But surely you come from somewhere."

"Where I was born has no bearing on who I am, does it?"

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"I think I can hear the sound of fighting."

"Perhaps.  It's hard to tell for sure."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Two weeks, perhaps?  Not much more, for sure."

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"It's them.  Can you hear the sounds of battle outside these walls?"

"No, but I can remember them all too well."

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"I'm sorry, but these are my orders.  In the name of Bern-"

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The castle walls still bore the tell-tale signs of heavy fighting, spattered here and there with scorch marks from errant fire spells and streaks of red.  And amidst the ruin and chaos, a young boy just turned man searched frantically for his former teacher.

The door to the dungeons was open.  Inside, the individual cell doors opened to blank walls.  Roy ran through, sparing only the briefest glance to make sure it was empty.  He tripped while running around a corner and fell, skidding across the floor and landing with a thump against the stone corridor walls.

"Roy?  Is that you?"

He looked up and stood slowly.  "General Cecilia!  It is good to see that you are safe.  The coup d'etat forces here have been driven off.  Would you like me to accompany you upstairs?"  She looked troubled.  It was the first time he had seen her like that, and it was a surprising change to Cecilia's normal placid countenance.

"It is nothing.  I... I wish to be left alone for a while."

"O- of course.  Whatever you wish."

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After Roy left, Cecilia looked down at the letter gripped in her hand, broke the small paper seal bearing the crest of House Caerleon.

To the Three Generals of Etruria:

Sacae has fallen in the face of Bern's aggression, in Ilia is sure to follow.  Etruria herself is not safe.  We come bearing this letter in the hopes of help, and, if none is forthcoming, in the hopes of offering aid should Etruria rise to arms.

King Zephiel has long since gone mad.  Any promises he makes cannot be considered to be genuine.  The flames of war, once ignited, are not easily quenched.  The Lycian Alliance is preparing for war.  Why has Etruria not yet mobilized?

For the third time we come before you to warn you thus: no nation is safe against Bern.  City walls and the vast plains did not protect Bulgar and Sacae against their Wyvern Generals.  Ilia's snow and mountains are not likely to do so either.  Drive back Zephiel!  Act now, before it is too late, or all Elibe itself may be consumed by the tides of war.

Lyndis,    Marchioness Caelin.

Priscilla, Countess Caerleon.

Mark,      Sage of Arcadia.

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The desert sand crunched beneath her feet, sliding down the high dunes.  She gazed off into the distance for a long time, and then lowered her eyes to the ground, cupping a handful of sand in her palms.

She let it fall betwen her fingers and drift away on the wind.

"Mark...  Cecilia of Etruria owes you a great debt."  She smiled, almost wistfully.  "I go to Arcadia.  Let it not be said that I leave my debts unpaid."

She walked off, leading her horse, following the trail of Roy's army.

"Rest in peace, Tactician of Elibe."

Author's Notes:  I suspect that this feels unfinished and rushed.  I am going to blame this on college life for removing my ability to focus on anything other than homework.  Whether this is entirely justified is another thing entirely.