The OSTIAD
A fan work of “translation,” written in classical epic form, including tropes and dactylic hexameter, and in an homage to Homer and to
FIRE EMBLEM: The BLAZING BLADE
Chapter E15/H16: Noble Lady of Caelin
Part I: Praepositio, the Three Lords, Battle Preparations

Sing, O Saint Elimine, Lady of Mercy and Light, of the three lords
and their companions, gathered in strength, under one single banner,
steadfast and true to their own in companionship, strongest of tactics
led by the stranger from Sacae: who’d aided the last of the Lorca,
Mark the tactician. He’d aided her twice, even more, in her questing,
claiming her grandfather’s castle in Caelin from Lundgren, his brother—
later again from invaders, driven by allies unlooked-for.

Whence had they come, and for what selfish purpose, these castle-usurpers?
Bauker of Laus, whose own lord had been driven from home by Mark’s workings,
fresh with the loss of young Erik, Lord Darin’s son, pitiful coward—
who, from the vengeance of Mark’s marshalled forces, fled with his freedom—
now stood as guard at her gates, those of Lyndis, the last of the Lorca,
guarding behind them Lord Darin, the Marquess of Laus, in his hiding.
Routed they’d been by Pherae’s young Lord Eliwood, Lycian knight prince;
with him was Hector, Lord Uther of Ostia’s brother. They waited:
Darin had fled, whom they’d hunted for news of Lord Elbert—Eliwood’s father,
Marquess Pherae, who had disappeared—leaving them leadless and stymied.

Hard-handed Hector, pacing the halls of Laus castle, heard nothing;
even his boon-brother, flame-haloed Eliwood, seemed to be restless:
“Hector, my boon-brother, long have we waited for news of my father,
vanished and gone from Pherae for a month with no word—nay, nor rumor.
Seeking Lord Elbert I’d left from my home, left my mother there lonely,
following Mark’s sound advice that would bring me to Santaruz castle,
there to seek allies for travel to Laus to petition Lord Darin,
Marquess of Laus, in whose castle we stand, who’d been building his armies.
Surely Lord Darin’s aggression was no small coincidence, Hector,
not when my father’s own footprints have yet to grow cold in the soil.
I had not known that in Santaruz, they were preparing for treason,
Helman’s own soldiers and bandits together had plotted my murder—
Helman, my father’s own ally, an uncle to me in my childhood,
knew of this treachery, too weak to stop it. You saved my life, then—
fresh from your brother in Ostia, you had arrived to defend me,
carried me through to ask questions of Helman of Laus and my father.
Five days it’s been since we witnessed the death of the old man, Lord Helman,
Marquess of Santaruz, followed his guidance and flushed out Lord Darin,
fled as he had when his son’s ambush failed him, his castle abandoned;
surely by now, such tidings have flown to the ears of your brother,
yet only nothing we’ve heard from Lord Uther, nor took he to action.
What ties his hands and prohibits his offering aid to his ally?”

So spoke the knight prince. Said hard-handed Hector, his countenance furrowed:
“Newly my brother now sits as the head of the Lycian council,
Leading its League from his throne as the Marquess of Ostia, my homeland.
Bern, to the North, is his chiefest concern; King Desmond, its monarch,
armies amasses behind the great walls of his mountainous fortress,
eager to swoop into Lycia, conquering, plundering, killing,
all of his might brought to bear at the slightest suspicion of weakness.
Ostia must be of stone, unmoving, in court as in battle,
Perfect in stature, that spies may report that no weakness exists there—
Else all Elibe will be on us like crows at the first sign of carnage.”

Eliwood, Blaze’s Inheritor, liked not that answer, and said so:
“You, Hector, brother to Uther, are noble in title and bearing;
you are my rock and my shield in battle, unmoving, unyielding,
striking like thunder and stone. Yet you are with me, on my errand,
not with your brother, the Marquess of Ostia, standing together,
walls of thick armor and brotherly blood against Bern’s new aggression,
strong in defense of the bedrock of Lycia, Ostia, you two.
Why do you dally with me here in Laus, thus away from your brother—
surely such distance would signal to Bern that some weakness prevailed?”

Now did Lord Hector approach his companion, his pacing thus ended,
voicing his rueful response to his boon-brother’s question considered.
“Eliwood, boon-brother, friends we have been since our school days in childhood.
You know me well; my manners are not those of courtly discretion.
Uther’s young brother is known to be rude, and a terror to courtiers;
far better suited is he for the fury of barrack and battle,
leaving the intrigues and crowd’s eye of rule to his politic brother.
Had Hector been there with Uther, no eyebrow would be left unlifted,
something I’d rather not trouble my brother, the Ostian pillar.”

More would the Ostian lordling have said had he not been disrupted:
into the hall broke the paladin Marcus, his face wan and ashen,
stopping not even for breath or salute to report his dire tidings.
“Eliwood, Hector, newly arrived is my man from his scouting;
westward he came, bearing news for your search for the errant Lord Darin.
Coward he is, by surprise he’s assaulted and seized Castle Caelin!
No word have we of the welfare or state of its Marquess, Lord Hausen,
nor of his granddaughter, noble by birth from the Plains, Lady Lyndis.”

Red-haloed Eliwood, pale, sat to brooding, his countenance furrowed.
“Caelin had no ill-will against Laus, who’d stayed neutral for Lyndis
during her fight for succession last year. I had never expected—
not for a moment—that Darin would vent his aggressions on Caelin.”

Silence then reigned in the hall; even Marcus held fast to his breathing.
All three were thinking one thought: of the veins of Lord Darin’s ambition,
deeply they ran—that ere long they’d need mining from Lycian bedrock.
Finally Marcus the paladin spoke, as his liege lord sat silent:
“Pardon, Lord Eliwood; so, too, Lord Hector; but I am a soldier;
command though I might, I still serve my lord—and it’s his word I follow.
Silent you are, and so still I must be—yet I would share your troubles,
fight for my liege, yes, and die for him too, if the word is but given.
I know you well, as the son of my Marquess, and you, his old schoolmate;
I know the course you would set, and I favor it; still you must speak it.
Break now your silences, lords, and say to me: how should we act now?”

Then did hard-handed Hector, whose blood ran the hottest between them,
even now ready for war on behalf of his comrades and country,
stand up, his fury regained, his convictions as sturdy as iron.
Eliwood knew well the light in his eyes as his boon-brother thundered:
“Marcus, you’ve lived for too long in the comfort of peace. You’ve been lazy,
if—now that combat has come to our door—you would question your duty.
Mine, as is yours, is to Lycia; Lycia calls, and we answer,
burning with fury and clarion trumpets to ride to the rescue.
Caelin has fallen, you say, but say not of the Marquess that rules there;
surely, if even a sliver of hope they can find for survival,
we’d be the ones to deliver it. Thus is our duty no clearer
than if Lord Darin had challenged my brother himself at our doorstep.
I’ll not be caught unprepared by such cowardice; no, not when Marcus
needs me to answer. Only one action is there for the doing!”

Roused by these words, soon Eliwood’s spirit once more matched his hair as
he too rose up from his seat, cool eyes blazing and sinews in furor.
“One year ago I made swift intercessions for that Lady Lyndis,
promised that none of the bordering lands would attend or aid Lungren’s
evil ambitions; now is her need even direr than ever.
I’d be a poor friend indeed if I left her to face down my own foes
without me; it’s my fault she’s fighting them. Now once again must I help her.
Look to your men, my friend Marcus, and see that they soon are made ready;
I’ll not abandon a friend to the likes of Lord Darin’s cruel armies,
not if it cost me my life. We must hurry if we are to save them.”

Then did Lord Hector, the general of thunder, pull on his armor.
First were his midnight-sky greaves, newly polished with filigree golden,
clasped on his shins. Then donned he his cuirass and pauldrons—the armor
Uther had given him once he had taken the throne from their parents—
Ostia’s finest in steel; it fitted him well, and his red cape
draped from his broad-shouldered back. Then he took up his best axe:
long-handled, broad and ornate, with the etchings of Ostia’s craftsmen
graved on its blades; it was heavy and balanced, an axe fit for lordlings.
Wolf Beil he named it; it clove through the thickest of armors and horses,
sundering all foes beneath it. No shield, no, nor helmet bore Hector;
not that he needed them, trusting instead in his armor and allies.
There at his hip Hector carried a hand axe, ready for throwing.
Truly imposing looked hard-handed Hector in all of his armor,
no less did Eliwood, girt in his rapier and garments for battle.
Flame-haloed Eliwood led them outside and, thus mounted with Marcus,
Off rode the lords and their retinue, toward Lord Darin and Caelin.

Nor was their hurry unmerited. Even as posthaste they traveled,
Deep in the forests of Caelin that bordered alongside the castle,
sword-chosen Lyndis looked on as usurpers patrolled and prevented
her from retaking the castle she’d fled, ousted like and by Darin,
Marquess of Laus. She was met by the Crimson Shield, Kent her retainer:
“Newly I’ve come, Lady Lyndis, from scouting the landscape for battle.
None lie in wait in this forest, and yet once beyond the wood’s tree-edge,
there waits two score and a half yet of soldiers ‘twixt us and the castle,
all men of Laus. They’ll be loyal to Darin, and threaten to kill us
if they but knew we were here. If we move, we’ll be taking our chances.”

With her, the Emerald Lance, Sain, her retainer, that lover of women,
liked not that news, and advised he his liege to look after her welfare:
“Know I too well of your plans, Lady Lyndis, to retake the castle,
rescue your grandfather, Marquess of Caelin, the elderly Hausen,
drive out these soldiers of Laus. ‘Tis heroic, ‘tis true, and yet foolish.
Charged as I am with your safety, my liege, I must counsel against this
effort that surely would end with you slain here, murdered by Darin.
Better to flee and regroup than to ruin the chance you’ve been given,
barely escaped with your life from the castle, than fall with no meaning,
blood running cold on the ground like the men who have died for your safety.”

Firm of resolve, the Plains-princess countered her guardian’s counsel:
“Only a year has gone by since I learned of my grandfather Hausen,
sire of my mother, all of the family left to me now, Sain.
You know too well that his daughter was slain, Lady Madelyn, in Sacae,
she and my father Lord Hassar, the Chief of the Lorca, by bandits;
know you as well of the death of my grand-uncle, traitorous Lundgren,
slain as he was at our hands for attempting to murder Lord Hausen,
likewise myself. I’ll not now surrender my grandfather’s life, though
fled we the walls on his orders. He’s there still, awaiting Laus’ judgment.
I’ll not betray his, my grandfather’s, life—else our lives have no honor.”

Wil, peerless archer, spoke up then, his keen mind assessing the dangers:
“All well and good, but your army is scattered or slain by Lord Darin.
We are the only retainers you have, Lady Lyndis; just us four
set against two score or more as Sir Kent has reported before us.
Odds are against us; to rescue Lord Hausen’s no easy endeavor.”

Now that his lady had made her decision, turned Sain to assist her:
“Yet if our liege has decided, we’re sworn to obey. We are with you.
Still, Wil speaks truthfully. Hard is the battle now laid out before us
save by some luck if there be reinforcements from allies unlooked-for.”

“Whilst I was scouting, my lady, I did overhear some Laus soldiers
claiming they’d fled from Pherae’s young Lord Eliwood, son of the Marquess;
He had invaded them, driven them out, like a fox from its burrow.
More, that the Marquess of Laus had abandoned his son with his castle,
Erik, Lord Darin’s son, pitiful coward—left him unaided.”
So spake Sir Kent of despicable acts and of hope yet for Caelin,
Sain’s, his companion’s, own hands nearly shaking with anger.

Yet clear-eyed Lyndis had turned her gaze inward, old friends recalling.
“Spoken you have, Kent, of flame-haloed Eliwood’s sudden aggression,
Laus castle falling to him. Yet of Eliwood this seems not common.
His is the conscience of princes; he fights like the plains-running wildcat
who, when it catches its prey, will release the infirm or the newborn,
starving itself lest it lose the nobility due it by nature.
Reason he had none of which I conceive to attack Laus and take her—
yet if this hearsay is true, we have hope, for we know now his haven.
Laus is not far, and of Eliwood I can claim his is my friendship;
he might be willing to aid us again, if we could but make contact.
Who among Caelin’s last knights can this journey make yet undetected,
bringing to Eliwood our cry for aid like the breath of a bugle?”

Of those attending her, Wil was most woodsmanly; he then stepped forward,
spoke in a clear trumpet’s tone that spoke well of his courage and service.
“Secrecy cannot be handled by horses who ride through the forest,
crashing through branches and scattering birds to alert any foes there—
Nor can you leave, Lady Lyndis, for fear of your grandfather’s welfare.
I, then, will travel to Laus. For if secrecy’s needed, the forest
gives us advantage, and I travel lightest than horses through foliage.
Not unacquainted am I with the woods, for I hunted for wild game
ere you had met me last year. Though I fear I will not be there early;
moving on foot undetected through forest is no quick maneuver.”

Yet Father Sky had not yet Lyn deserted, though distant from Sacae;
new breath he blew, stoked the bonfire of courage and rallied the spirit,
filled deep the lungs of Florina, the shy knight, and used her voice through her:
“Swiftly we must reach Lord Eliwood, else our advantage forsake us.
Therefore send me; on Huey the forest beneath me’s no trouble;
I’ll travel faster than any of you, flying over those armies,
bringing to Eliwood our cry for aid like the breath of a bugle!
Serving my liege, Lady Lyndis, I’ve spent much more time around menfolk,
grown in my stature. I’m no longer timid, when your life’s in danger.
Eliwood, too, is no stranger to me, for I’ve met him before now,
back when he rescued that boy’s sister, Ninian, slim-ankled dancer,
saved her from brigands who’d captured her, wrested away too her keepsake.
You, Lyn, recovered her bracelet, torn back from the arm of her captors,
back to her hand like the hawk-mother feeding her hatchlings.
Then when your grand-uncle, traitorous Lundgren, had spread for the message
claiming you were an impostor, your brave knights were traitors but last year,
flame-haloed Eliwood came to our aid. He persuaded the nearby
Lycian territories to stay neutral, aiding not Lundgren’s
mad grasp for power, granting you passage unhindered through Caelin
straight to the gates of that castle where traitorous Lundgren you struck down,
clove through his armor and helm like the prow of a ship through a sea squall,
slicing the waves into salt spray and fearing not thunder nor lightning,
sails like a pegasus wing-feathers carrying you to safe haven.
Him, son of Marquess Pherae, I fear not. I am sure I can do this,
I’ll bring Lord Eliwood back here to aid you myself, by my own hand.
I swore an oath that for you I’d be braver, I’d earn my full knighthood.
Weak I was once, but no longer. If trust me you do, Lady Lyndis,
Let me then earn your trust. I’ll return with an army to aid you.”

So spake the shy knight, Florina, the strength of her courage untested
billowing over her Lady and comrades in waves, like the north wind
fresh off the Taliver Mountains that jaggedly loomed over Sacae,
silencing Kent, who admired her strong sense of duty and prowess,
silencing Sain, who admired her grace and her new forceful beauty.
Sword-chosen Lyndis looked on in amazement, ‘til firmly she nodded.
“Truthfully, you have been as my young sister, tender and timid;
Glad now am I of your new strength and courage, and yet it is tainted,
mixed like sweet wine with plain water. You need a protector no longer,
sad though I am of your growth like a mother whose child has outgrown her.
I will not lie; I am worried for you, boon-sister, Florina.
Dangers you’ll face—you, alone and untried. I’ll not be there to aid you,
nor to protect you as you now demand you can grant me in service.
Yet you remain our best hope. You’ve convinced me, but promise me this much:
Know what your strengths are. Fly you to Eliwood, unharmed return here;
nothing more try. If the task is impossible, do not attempt it.”

Thus bade, Florina, the shy knight, brought saddle and bridle for Huey,
strapped up her mount and armed herself, too, with her Ilian armor.
First she pulled on her high boots, for protecting her legs from the high winds
chafing at skin as she rode through the clouds on the back of her sky-mount.
Next was her breastplate, small and petite, meant to hinder no movement,
meanwhile deflecting the direst of arrows from bringing her earthward—
given to her back in ice-covered Ilia, this by her sister
Fiora, the warrior wing-borne, the captain of Ilia’s Fifth Wing,
once young Florina had left her home, eager to earn her full knighthood—
fitted it close to her form. Then her lance she selected, a slim spear,
lightweight and easy to carry and charge from the skies with; this weapon
suited her well. As a shield she set on her shoulders two pauldrons,
needing both hands for the reins of her pegasus and for her spear,
trusting her flight and her armor to shield her from archers below her.
Lastly she strapped to her saddle a quiver of long-handled javelins,
ready to hurl if by chance she met archers who’d aim for her Huey.
Proudly she mounted her pegasus; bold and determined she seemed then,
lifting away from the earth with his forelegs, his powerful wing-strokes
carrying them through the trees and up into the sky above Caelin,
winging her over the forest and north, seeking flame-haloed Eliwood—
he, embarked newly from Laus with his army, the hope that she flew for.

Wil, peerless archer, had not been wrong in his considerations:
swiftly Florina could travel—yet flying had made her a target,
suddenly seen by the armies aground at the gates of the castle.
Bauker of Laus, subcommander, stood firm there, hunting for Lyndis;
startled he was by a soldier, his lieutenant Gausdal, who pointed,
spotted Florina above, saw her fly from the forest due northward,
ruined her chance of escape undetected, reported to Bauker.
Up sprang the soldier of Laus, giving orders and rallying troops:
“Loyal are we to the Marquess of Laus, Lord Darin, who’s told us:
Let no one into or out of the marches of Caelin, no matter
who they may be, where they’re going. This pegasus knight is no different;
need we no name—no, nor reason she travels. She’s dead once she’s spotted.
Archers! Advance! Bring her down! He who skewers her steed from the skyline
takes home a raise, a spare handful of gold from your captain here, Bauker!”
Bolstered by Bauker’s bold speeches, the soldiers of Laus strung their bowstrings,
took up their arrows and aim at the pegasus knight flying northward,
hoping to swat her back down, like a fly by a frog with its tongue-spear,
ere she could carry her message to Eliwood, bringing them danger.

She saw them not, for her eyes were cast down on the forest below her,
seeking the fastest and safest of sky-roads to Laus, to recruit there
flame-haloed Eliwood’s aid in returning to Caelin for Lyndis.
She, reassuring herself as she flew, guided Huey, her brave mount,
further from Caelin, flew north like a goose, hoping winter had ended,
praying that Spring would her fingers alight on the ground when she landed.
This she confided to Huey, her pegasus, when, past the forest,
saw she a cavalry flying no banner, riding to Caelin—
Eliwood, acting for family, not for Pherae as a province,
bore not his banner, and neither did Hector, acting for friendship,
lacking support from Pherae’s missing knights, or from Uther his brother;
those two companions had chosen their path free of cautious allegiance—
said she to Huey, her mount, and aloud to herself, at observing:
“Fly they no banner, yet certain I am of that man in the forefront;
urgent his spurs are, and steady his posture. He’s noble-born, truly:
princely his bearing, and knightly—and look, he himself is their torchbearer.
Flame-haloed Eliwood, son of Pherae, must he be! Thus unlooked-for,
come to our aid with his army! I’ll not need to fly thus to Laus now;
he’ll hear my message in Caelin, and swiftly make rescue,
once I deliver him our cry for aid like the breath of a bugle,
tell him where sword-chosen Lyndis, intent like a eagle beset by
vultures who circle its nest and its young, who would dive and attack them,
make of them feed who would feed on the eaglets as soon as they let it,
sits in the forests of Caelin, is waiting to retake her castle.”

Four sets of eyes were alert here: Florina’s, the shy knight’s, below her,
spying lord Eliwood come for to rescue Caelin from Lord Darin;
sword-chosen Lyndis’s, watching for openings, ready for vengeance;
Bauker’s, whose archers had spotted the pegasus, marched with their bows up
aiming to strike her down from the skies; and Lord Hector of Ostia’s,
general of thunder, whose mind is on battle and shields thus his comrades.
Hard-handed Hector spoke up as they rode, pointed out to the others:
“See there, the enemy! Those are the soldiers of Laus that Lord Darin,
Marquess of Laus, had brought when he fled from his castle, abandoned
Erik, his own son, pitiful coward—advancing toward us, but
aiming up skyward; what have they seen that they’d waste thus their arrows?”

Marcus, the paladin, followed the line of their bows and looked skyward:
“There is their target, Lord Eliwood—flying above, heading toward us.
That can be naught but a pegasus knight, one of Ilia’s finest!”

Hearing this, flame-haloed Eliwood halted, glanced up at the sky knight,
shaded his eyes from the sun and peered closely—then drew back, exclaiming:
“Ilia’s sent down no companies here, unless Darin has hired one—
this knight belongs not to Ilia, though, but to Caelin, and Lyndis;
met her I did but last year in the Caelin inheritance issue,
Sword-chosen Lyndis’s friend from her childhood: Florina, a shy knight.”
Here he dismounted, and Hector did likewise, ready to parley.

Eliwood lifted his throat to call out to her, beckoning downward—
even as man-shy Florina called down of her errand from Lyndis—
ere they converged, a young archer of Bauker’s, the new conscript Pella
nocked to his bowstring an arrow, took aim, and drew back to his shoulder—
better to fell now his target, he thought, than to risk an allegiance
ready to rise against Bauker and, past him inside, his liege Darin;
Eliwood’s army they’d deal with, but not if they knew their formations,
troop-plans the pegasus rider had seen as she flew over Caelin—
eager for glory, young Pella let fly with his sure-sighted arrow,
hoping to swat her back down, like a fly by a frog with its tongue-spear,
ere she could carry her message to Eliwood, bringing them danger.

Saw not Florina the arrow, so swiftly and surely he’d loosed it,
saw not the volley his troop had released in its company at her;
Eliwood, sure of resolve, though, had seen them, had called to fly lower,
yet his heart sank, for she’d never have heard him at still such a distance.
Even now, Father Sky did not desert her; Delphi he sent down,
he who would safeguard all life between earth and sky, patron of sky knights,
bidding him lift up the pegasus’ wings and protect his fair rider.
Racing beneath her the sky god put wind under Huey’s white feathers,
buffeted him and did scatter the arrows like crows from a carcass.
Pella’s lone arrow, shot first, was deflected, a cast-aside thought; yet—
safe though Florina’d been kept from the arrows themselves, she’d not seen them—
one was enough to withdraw her attention and loosen her rein-grip.
Flailing she leaned back, slipped from the saddle and downward she tumbled,
tangled in straps with poor Huey, who struggled his best to stay airborne
clumsily pulled by his rider to earth, both the horse and girl screaming.

Eliwood watched it all happen, aghast, yet he knew he was helpless;
he’d never reach her in time; if he’d tried, they’d have both been caught under
Huey, who fell just a moment’s thought after. Yet hard-handed Hector,
eager for battle, whose blood ran the hottest between them, had acted:
Hector thought not of the consequence, nor of the danger or chances;
acting on instinct, he’d dashed forth, running full-tilt like a boulder
tilted and tipped down the slope of a mountain; he charged to beneath them,
stretched out his arms as his leg muscles burned, put his trust in his armor.
Delphi, who safeguards all life between earth and sky, patron of sky knights,
still graced Florina with his divine favor; he softened the landing,
cushioned the armor of hard-handed Hector, who caught her in one arm,
bracing the other as Huey came hurtling and knocked them all senseless,
breaking the stance of brave Hector, collapsing the three in a burst of
feathers and whinnies and clanking of armor and dust from the landing.

Roused by these actions, soon Eliwood’s spirit once more matched his hair as
he too dashed forth to the pile, cool eyes worried and sinews in furor.
Seeing his boon-brother Hector unharmed, and likewise Florina,
Eliwood knelt to revive the young pegasus knight for her message:
“Wake now, courageous Florina, awake. Can you hear me? You’re lucky;
Delphi himself must have guarded your pegasus’ flight from those archers—
Never more nimble a dodge have I seen, and not once yet while airborne!—
yet, with the wind having scattered the arrows like crows from a carcass,
still you were startled, knocked out of your balance. You’d tumbled and fallen,
somehow kept safe from the earth’s last embrace by some stroke of sheer fortune.”

Blearily did young Florina awaken, her eyes gaining focus;
seeing Lord Eliwood, Blaze’s Inherator, quickly she sat up,
saw she the truth in his words. Thus she summoned her courage and answered:
“Always a bother have I been, Lord Eliwood; trouble I’ve caused you.
Hear my apologies, bear me no ill-will. Yet still I wonder:
such a great height did I fall, yet I’ve come to no harm. How it’s happened,
I cannot fathom. I should not have lived. Did some miracle happen,
that I’ve been saved from the earth’s last embrace by some stroke of sheer fortune?”

Then underneath her, his cuirass her cushion, spoke hard-handed Hector,
grimacing under the weight and ignominy of his position:
“Lucky you were to escape from that fall, but no miracle happened;
your luck was taken from mine. I was standing beneath your mad tumble,
such that your landing—as graceful as herons who stalk the great rivers
flutter and flap as they flail to get airborne—was onto my body!
Grateful I am for my backbone and armor, though ill it has served you;
nothing I’ve done here bears merit. Lord Hector’s saved no one; I gave you
only a soft place to land, if my armor be soft. Just a hay bale
might have done more for your landing and safety than Hector has granted!

Flame-haloed Eliwood, hiding his mirth with aplomb and a snicker,
tactfully lifted Florina from where she had fallen, informed her:
“Lucky you were to escape from that fall, and Lord Hector did save you;
had it been me standing under your tumble, I’d not have been able,
lacking the strength and the poise of my boon-brother Hector, to catch you.
No, nor to stand underneath long enough to have caught your mount also,
kept your poor pegasus safe from the earth, with the both of you falling!”

Once again, Hector spit forth his annoyance, still under poor Huey:
“Nor should you credit me catching your pegasus—both of you tumbled,
one on the heels of the first like a hound and its tail! There was no time,
after you fell and before did your mount, to retreat from that battle,
not to remove my poor frame from your flying horse falling right after!”

This he indignantly cried at her mount. Poor Florina, the shy knight,
mortified—red like a deep wine, unfiltered, led Huey off him,
stammered a timid reply, kept her gaze out of sight from the two lords:
“First you catch me, keep me safe from the earth’s last embrace with your great strength;
then you catch Huey, my pegasus? Truly am I in your debt now,
poor and inept though my ramblings may seem to repay your heroics.
Once more a bother have I been, Lord Hector; much trouble I’ve caused you.
Hear my apologies, bear me no ill-will; I seek your forgiveness.”

Free of the pegasus, hard-handed Hector climbed back to his feet and
glanced at Florina, his eyes no less angry than hers, if embarrassed,
spoke from his chest and extended a hand that, too shy, she did not clasp:
“Sturdy I am, and of good health. An impact like that could not hurt me,
not if it came from a siege weapon, fired from the walls of a castle.
You owe me no such apology. Yet you have debt to repay still:
bidden you must have been by your liege lady to tell us a message; deliver
what news you have, or your mission has not yet concluded, your tumble
all come to naught. Why have you come, and what news do you bring us?”

Finally, done with his mirth had at Hector’s expense, Pherae’s scion
now interceded, conciliatory, the words for a friendship:
“Glad we both are that your fall has not harmed you. You’ve made quite the effort
finding us here under dire circumstances like these; you have done well,
made you your liege lady proud. And of Lyndis I speak, she of Sacae;
were you not with her before you left flying to seek out my army?”

Doubly thus reassured, spoke up Florina, the shy knight; the message
bidden she bring them their cry for aid like the breath of a bugle:
“I’ve not forgotten my duty, my lords, and for you I’ll convey it.
Mark now my words, and consider what aid you can bring to my lady:
deep in the forests of Caelin that border alongside the castle,
sword-chosen Lyndis looks on as usurpers patrol, thus preventing
her from retaking the castle she’d fled, ousted like and by Darin,
Marquess of Laus. Past the forest, and just once beyond the wood’s tree-edge,
there waits two score and a half yet of soldiers ‘twixt us and the castle,
all men of Laus. They’ll be loyal to Darin, and threaten to kill us
if they but knew we were there. If we move, we’ll be taking our chances.
Inside those walls stayed Lord Hausen, her grandfather, captured by Laus men;
Odds are against us; to rescue Lord Hausen’s no easy endeavor.
Lyndis has said she will not now surrender her grandfather’s life, though
fled she the walls on his orders. He’s there still, awaiting Laus’ judgment.
She’ll not betray his, her grandfather’s, life—else our lives have no honor.
Once we had heard of your presence in Laus, we determined to send word.
Yours is the conscience of princes; of you can my lady claim friendship;
you might be willing to aid us again, as you did but one year past,
back when you rescued that boy’s sister, Ninian, slim-ankled dancer,
saved her from brigands who’d captured her, wrested away too her keepsake.
Then when Lyn’s grand-uncle, traitorous Lundgren, had spread for the message
claiming she was an impostor, her brave knights were traitors but last year,
flame-haloed Eliwood came to our aid. You persuaded the nearby
Lycian territories to stay neutral, aiding not Lundgren’s
mad grasp for power, granting her passage unhindered through Caelin.
Now, when you saw me above, you remembered me; so too remember
Lyndis, your comrade and ally. You’ve surely come not empty-handed,
come all this way having ousted Lord Darin of Laus just to watch him
murder the Marquess of Caelin, your close friend’s own grandfather, have you?”

So spake the shy knight, Florina, the strength of her courage now tested
billowing over the lords and their army in waves, like the north wind
fresh off the Taliver Mountains that jaggedly loomed over Sacae.
Flame-haloed Eliwood, firm of resolve, stood as tall as did Hector,
sharing their strength and their will to attend to the needs of their ally.
Fiercely did Eliwood sigh in relief, and fiercely reply her:
“Gladdened I am that the Sacaean princess is safe and yet breathes free;
reckless I think is her cause to recapture the castle without us.
Hector and I are of like minds in this—my boon-brother would tell you:
duty we have to assist your liege lady; she calls, and we answer,
burning with fury and clarion trumpets to ride to the rescue.
I’ll not be caught unprepared by such cowardice; no, not when Lyndis
needs me to answer. Only one action is there for the doing!
One year ago I made swift intercessions for that Lady Lyndis,
promised that none of the bordering lands would attend or aid Lungren’s
evil ambitions; now is her need even direr than ever.
I’d be a poor friend indeed if I left her to face down my own foes
without me; it’s my fault she’s fighting them. Now once again must I help her.
Look to your men, my friend Marcus, and see that for battle they’re ready;
I’ll not abandon a friend to the likes of Lord Darin’s cruel armies,
not if it cost me my life. We must hurry if we are to save them.”

Thusly resolved, they made ready to ride to the fray—not unchallenged,
blocked as they were from the halls of the castle by Darin’s man, Bauker,
guarding the gates, who had ordered his archers to shoot down Florina.
He’d not seen Pella’s sure-sighted arrow, not seen her dodge it,
tumble down earthward, fall from the clouds, saved from death by Lord Hector.
Waiting for news of the death of the pegasus knight, he demanded:
“Orders I gave that our archers advance, bring the flying pest downward!
Yet there’s no sign of her, flying or earthbound. Is there not one man
willing to take home a handful of gold from your captain here, Bauker?
Send up a scout! We’ll see if the pegasus knight is yet breathing;
take up your blades and prevent her from drawing more breath if you find her!”

Then spoke up Gausdal, Bauker’s lieutenant, who’d heard from the front line—
Pella, whose sure-sighted arrow had missed, like the rest of the archers,
he’d seen her dodge it, tumble down earthward, seen her make parley
with men with no banner. Certain they were of that man in the forefront:
Flame-haloed Eliwood, son of Pherae, must he be! Thus unlooked-for,
come to continue attacking Lord Darin. This Pella thus relayed—
Gausdal reported this to his commander, Sir Bauker, and spoke thus:
“Bauker, my lord, news has come from our archers. They’ve not slain the sky knight;
further, Pherae’s son, lord Eliwood’s, come from the west to attack us!”

Grimly did Bauker then grip his steel lance, his voice bellowing orders:
“Eliwood’s here! He, who’d driven us out of our home with our Marquess,
kept him from taking young Erik on his escape, pitiful coward.
Loyal are we to the Marquess of Laus, Lord Darin, who’s inside;
this is our chance now to prove to Lord Darin how loyal his men are!
Soldiers of Laus! Your opponents are here, yet they’re flying no banner!
Honorless rogues are they all; they’ve no leaders, a motley collection—
surely no match for us, well-trained in Laus. We will crush them with great ease,
bringing Lord Darin the word of our victory here in his conquest!”
Bolstered by Bauker’s bold speeches, the soldiers of Laus gripped their sword-hilts,
took up their lances and closed in their ranks, all preparing for battle.

Now, ancient champion, Roland the hero, Lycian founder,
bid me recall thus the forces arrayed on the field of battle
fighting for comrades and seeking ambition, thus stirring your home-soil
full of unrest and of war—lest my tongue fail, lacking the needed
focus to speak of the ties that bound ally to ally on this day.

Bauker there was, subcommander of Laus, who had come with Lord Darin;
he stood as guard at her gates, those of Lyndis, the last of the Lorca,
guarding behind them Lord Darin, the Marquess of Laus, in his hiding.
Loyal and zealous he was, full of rage for his foes who’d invaded,
routed his lord from their castle in Laus, to the doorstep of Caelin.
Long had he served Marquess Laus, since his teenage conscription; a soldier
born of a soldier, he had no wife waiting; his life was for Darin.

Gausdal was there, Bauker’s aide-de-camp, cavalry captain, lieutenant;
Two companies he commanded: one loyal and one mercenary:
Eliwood’s hunch was not wrong, as Lord Darin brought with him to Caelin
Ilian soldiers, three pegasus knights who worked only for money,
each who directed some cavalry, too—new recruits who were learning,
served through these Ilians: Leigh, Sparre, and Arken, all soldiers of fortune.
Loyal to Laus was one more, led by Lundeby, stationed with Bauker.

Heyerdahl, too, was the captain of footmen, all armed with strong sword-arms;
under him served many companies, led thus by Jakob and Henrik,
Skole too, and Oluf, and Hoel. These men led the heavier bladesmen.
With them were Anker and Gilje, who led their two harrier squadrons,
swift blades who’d charge in and clear thus a path for the regular army.
So, too, was Bernt, who cared not about Laus but for money and fortune;
he was from Araphen, jealous of Caelin, signed with Sir Bauker,
eager to take from the castle and villages nearby what wished he,
leading a handful of troops who were trained in guerilla to battle.

Last there was Aulestad, archery captain; led he the bowmen
charged with disrupting Florina’s swift message to Eliwood’s army.
Under him served four: Peter and Ring, who had sorcery mastered,
leading magic corps; with them were two squads of eagle-eyed archers
led thus by Holter and Follebu, him also called Benedicte,
in whose command was young Pella who’d fired the wind-slighted arrow.

Great and formidable, too, were their foes, under Mark’s firm direction.
Eliwood, Blaze’s Inheritor, son of Pherae, led his own men:
Marcus the paladin, great in experience, lance standing proudly,
brought with him Lowen, the swift knight, camp’s cook and a promising horseman;
with them, Rebecca, the magistrate’s daughter, a huntress and archer,
wildflower plucked from Pherae who had asked to repay her lord’s scion.
So too was Dorcas, a warrior calm and composed, who’d served Lyndis,
moved to Pherae with his wife; it’s for her he fought, earning her treatment;
Bartre the Brave, wild axefighter, rival of Dorcas, stood by him,
seeking great thrill from the battle his liege lord had called him to fight in.

There stood Lord Hector, the thundering general, fierce in his armor,
leading his own men who freely agreed to find Eliwood’s father:
Oswin, impregnable knight, the right hand of the Ostian Marquess,
stood by Lord Hector to guard him, stern like a watchtower’s walled sides;
never his armor or shield had yet faltered when guarding his liege lord,
nor was his spear-arm yet weaker. He’d sworn to seen Hector to safety.
Hector’s sworn man, the mysterious Matthew, was there with his keen eyes,
dragging behind him the outspoken cleric, young Serra, the healer.
So too beside them had mounted Florina, whose speartip them guided
back through the forest to where clear-eyed Lyndis their ally sat waiting.

Ready to join them was sword-chosen Lyndis, who like a great warship
straining its ties to the dock in the swells of high tide in a wind squall,
chafed at her flight from the castle, was eager to take back her new home.
Proud at her sides were the knight sub-commanders of Caelin, her sworn men:
two boon companions were Sain, emerald lance and the crimson shield, Kent,
ready to ride to defend their liege lady and rescue their Marquess.
Sat with them Wil, peerless archer, who knew the ballistas that Darin
brought to the battle would bode ill for Lyndis—unless he could reach them,
fire them back at their foes if but swiftly they moved to retake them.
Deep in the forests of Caelin they waited, these brave men and Lyndis,
eager to meet on the field of battle and join with Lord Hector.

Newly recruited to aiding their cause was young Guy, the Sacaean,
swordsman who called the Kutolah his tribe, who’d owed Matthew a favor,
standing by flame-haloed Eliwood’s army, awaiting new glory;
studious Erk with his spellbook stood ready, protecting Priscilla,
princess secluded, from Cornwall to Caerlon; she’d promised to heal them.
She had determined to stay further back from the front lines with Serra,
giving the wounded their strength back to fight on for Lyndis and Caelin.
Lastly, kept back from the fracas of battle were Mark the tactician—
by his direction the battle would flow, for foresaw he the movements,
down to the strengths of each man on the field. He’d studied with Lyndis,
honed he his craft by conducting her home to her grandfather Hausen
one year ago, machinations evading by Lundgren, outfoxing the traitor:
like when debaters tear down the strawmen constructed for theses,
so did young Mark overrule thus the strategems desperately schemed by
traitorous Lundgren. Not a fair chance had he had against Lyndis—
and, to keep track of their ledgers, the tent of the merchant Merlinus.

These were the forces who soon were to battle for Caelin and glory;
thus were they readied, preparing for battle. Though it would end with
victory yet for young Mark, with the lady of Caelin advancing
into the castle to drive out the remnants of Laus and to rescue
Hausen, her grandfather, dire his condition—even this knowing,
held Father Sky his own breath, as he does before loosing his fury,
sudden and swift, as they say, in the Western Isles, where rests the war-mad
hero of legend, one day bestowing his prowess and weapon;
so did he wait for his adherent Lyndis of Sacae to swoop down,
diving upon the usurpers from Laus like a warhawk, her talons
gleaming in sunlight— as she had done to the traitorous Lungren—
now for Sir Bauker, her allies recruited, resolve reasserted.