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| ===Chapter 7 - The Polar Cross===
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| Kaede stared in awe at the dense patch of fog that engulfed the center of the stone circle. Even among the mist that clouded their surroundings, the shimmering haze stood out with its fractured, otherworldly light. Within it, space bent to distort the very fabric of reality itself, and one wagon after another emerged through it as they rolled onto the grassy knoll.
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| Her own journey through it had been surreal, to say the least. It was as though gravity had began to shift the moment she had stepped into the fog. Within seconds the pull had reached ninety degrees, accelerating her horizontally through the fog and into a twilight forest at breakneck speeds. There she had flown, her twists and turns guided beyond her control as countless trees of ethereal light rushed pass in blurs.
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| Then, before her queasy stomach could even curse her with motion sickness, she had soared into another fog and decelerated into reality. In the span of but a few dozen seconds, her physical existence had leaped across the country, emerging among the foothills of Avorica near Rhin-Lotharingie's southwestern coast.
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| Had it not been the steady shout of "keep moving", the dazed Samaran who had materialized from the haze would have stop there, dumbfounded, until the next person collided into her. Thankfully, the spectral mounts which now pulled the wagons through were mindless evocations of magic; they would follow their drivers' last order to keep going no matter how unnatural the experience became.
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| But in the meantime, Kaede could sense Pascal's helpless concern as Sylviane's labored breaths grew increasingly erratic.
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| The ''Cerulean Princess'' stood at the edge of the mist, casting white-blue embers adrift from just inside the stone ring. Her entire body surged with ether as she struggled to hold the portal open. She had been aided by Elspeth earlier, until the smaller girl had passed out from ether exhaustion on the other side of the fog patch and had to be carried away by medics. Now, the task of maintaining the arcane bridge that spanned thousands of miles fell squarely upon Sylviane's thin shoulders.
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| "<u>Is there a reason why only she and Elspeth can carry this burden?</u>" Kaede asked over their private telepathy, trying to at least keep Pascal's thoughts busy while they waited.
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| He had explained Sylviane's Autumnborn heritage earlier, much to Kaede's surprise. But then, the Faekissed were humans with just a hint of ancient blood within, so it wasn't surprising for them to effortlessly blend into society.
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| "<u>Well... according to Lotharin legends, the Faerie Lords never had a cohesive system for spellcasting like the Dragonlords' internalized array spellcrafting,</u>" Pascal answered without any change from his worried countenance. "<u>Of course, that may simply because humanity never learned magic from them, and after countless generations even the Faekissed lost such arts.</u>"
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| "<u>Then what did she use to open the path? You said that the stone rings formed a transit ''system''. Doesn't that mean she had to selected where to start and stop?</u>"
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| All Kaede saw when Sylviance first opened the 'doorway' from the other end was the Princess holding onto a tome and concentrating in silence.
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| "<u>One of the founding Oriflammes of Rhin-Lotharingie -- I believe her name was Gwendolyn -- had created a spell that allowed one's conscious to interface with the Faerie Lords' artifacts,</u>" Pascal continued as he watched another wagon come through. "<u>In fact, her mastery of Sidhe Pathways had been instrumental to the Rhin-Lotharingie Coalition's victory over the Holy Imperium. But it also proved to be a spell that only the Faekissed have been able to use, so there must be some sort of magical marker in them that we have yet to identify.</u>"
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| "<u>Doesn't that support the theory that the Fae used a more 'innate' magic that couldn't simply be taught?</u>"
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| "<u>Except 'innate magic' does not explain the complexity of the Faerie Lords' many creations. You see that armor Sylv wears?</u>" Pascal noted the breastplate, spaulders, and other piecemeal plates that the Princess wore over leather patches on her sky-blue to violet battledress. These armor carried the luster of steel except for a faint translucent purple sheen.
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| "<u>That is Fae Dendrite Crysteel -- does not rust, does not shatter, light yet tougher than diamond, and conducts neither lightning nor heat. Best of all, it can self-repair by consuming nothing more than water and stored ether; that purple hue is because Sylv's natural ether color has dyed it over time, and its capacity is at maximum when storing her excess. The Faerie Lords were allergic to the touch of ferrous metal, so they ''created'' an armoring material superior to any other that we still cannot duplicate today. Nothing but the most advanced arcane metallurgy could explain that!</u>"
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| Kaede stared back, astonished. She had known that the Princess' armor was enchanted and of the highest quality, but even she had never expected it to be a relic of ancient, otherworldly beings. It was certainly impossible to refute legends and myths when such ''proof'' of their existence could be found scattered across the world.
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| "<u>You said that the Fae were allergic to ferrous metal, then is the Princess...?</u>"
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| "<u>The Faekissed can contact metal just fine, especially considering their overwhelming human heritage. Though unlike the rest of us, their wounds have trouble closing, especially one made by iron or steel weapons,</u>" he replied, revealing yet another reason of his discomfort every time his fiancée braved combat.
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| ''Iron hemophilia,'' Kaede thought. ''Not exactly a blessing on a battlefield full of steel.''
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| Seeing as red blood cells -- the oxygen carriers of the bloodstream -- all contained iron, Kaede had to wonder if the Faekissed nobility really did have 'blue blood'.
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| ''She still blushes red though.''
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| It was then when final rider emerged from the haze. Captain Ostrowska of the logistics company had waited until the column's end, her hand holding a Black Dragon banner that instantly signaled the end of the task force's transit.
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| "She is out!" Pascal cried the instant Ostrowska stepped clear. "Let it go!"
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| Heeding his call, Sylviane took a step back from the mist and severed her fuel links to the magical portal. Then, as though her strings had been cut, she collapsed butt-first onto the grassy soil.
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| "Everyone made it through safe. You did marvelous," Pascal smiled encouragingly as he strode over to lend a supporting hand for her shoulders.
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| Within seconds, the shimmering haze had lost its otherworldly sparkle. Meanwhile the light mist that had engulfed the entire hill also began to fade away.
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| "Thanks... to Elspeth," Sylviane huffed out in between gasps of air. "She had poured... all her ether in first... so I could conserve mine."
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| "Parzifal said she will recover in a few days," he added in reassurance. "She just needs rest, and so do you."
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| Sylviane gave a light chuckle, as though voicing her doubts of 'like that's going to happen'. Leaning back against his support, she turned towards Colonel von Mackensen who stood but ten paces away:
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| "Any report from the scouts?"
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| "No sign of hostiles yet, or any friendly concentrations," the man stared back with an imperturbable expression under his black bearskin hat. "However, there is a long column of refugees moving down the road, escorted by scattered squads of Avorican light cavalry on both sides. The scouts who made contact could not understand the language; they needed another minute to get their linguistic spells active and attuned."
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| "Remind them that half the people in Avorica speak only Brython, not even Lotharin," Sylviane added. "The nobles should speak enough Lotharin and Imperial to get by though."
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| "If there ''are'' any nobles left among them," the Colonel replied, his voice oddly tinged with solemn reverence. "Captain Müller had trouble just finding an officer."
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| It took a second before Kaede could realize what he meant: ''there weren't many officers left because they had mostly been killed.''
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| For valuable cavalry units to be delegated to mere civilian escort duty, these formations must have been depleted to mere skeletons of their former strengths.
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| As she considered how exhausted such troops must be after weeks of skirmishing, the mist surrounding their hill had lifted enough to reveal the local 'road'.
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| At barely a kilopace away, Kaede's enhanced vision could see the disheveled figures making their way across. In stark contrast to the proud military men and women who just arrived through the faerie paths, these civilian refugees were dressed in dirty, tattered clothing that had been worn down to little more than rags. Their feet and legs were caked with mud from the unpaved, rain-soaked trail. Their hair lay matted with signs that they haven't washed in weeks. Yet with gaunt faces thinned by malnutrition and dulled expressions laden with fatigue, they marched on. Some still pulled children or carried what little belongings they could bring with them, others barely dragging along their own two feet as they clung onto hopes that they might still escape the invasion with their lives.
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| As her vision broadened, Kaede began to make out the scattered carts and wagons abandoned on the road. Many of them had simply fallen into a deep puddle of mud, before being discarded by owners who must have been too exhausted to pull them out. Next to some of them lay the ghastly remains of dead horses, their carcasses barely dragged off the road before they had been carved open for meat by starving refugees. Even now, she could see a desperate mother draining horse blood using a small cup, while her other hand held onto a pallid baby who was likely already dead.
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| "Welcome to Avorica," Sylviane muttered grimly from behind her, undoubtedly seeing this same vision of filth and misery, even if her sight held the blessing of less clarity.
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| ''The unsung battles of war,'' Kaede thought as she bit down on her lips to quell her uneasy stomach. ''The inglorious reality that every belligerent's propaganda seeks to erase.''
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| "Colonel! Your Highness!" A signal officer called back after receiving a new ''Farspeak'' message. "A lieutenant of the 7th Avorican Light Cavalry Battalion reports that Saint de Lyonesse is currently leading the army, deployed just eight kilopaces to the south in rearguard action!"
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| "Rearguard?" Sylviane stared back, puzzled. Then, as she exerted herself to stand back up, aided by Pascal's arm in support: "Rearguard to what? She's the commander of this entire ''front''! If she has the army with her..."
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| As her gaze fell upon the column of refugees that stretched as far as the eyes could see, her pupils began to widen with anguished disbelief.
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| "''Damn'' that Edith!" the Princess fell to uncouth blasphemy as she gritted her teeth. "This is what happened when you send a ''saint'' to fight a war!"
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| As if on cue, the rumbling of explosions and spellfire that suddenly erupted in the south began to reach their ears. The battle had began, and there was no doubt of its location as a blazing Trinitian cross in bright cyan lit up the distant cloudy skies.
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| The ''Polar Cross'' Oriflamme was renowned across Hyperion as the modern hero of crusading action. Her moniker came from the personalized illumination spell that inspired all from across the Trinitian realm -- a horizontal cross in the sky that always pointed south toward the Holy Lands. Idolized by the army and beatified by the Church, she was the among the few figures entrusted with one of the most powerful relics of the faith: one of the seven holy swords of virtue.
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| But in the pragmatic arts of statecraft and war, a woman 'infamous' for her piety and virtue... wasn't necessarily a good thing.
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| "Armigers!" the Princess called out as avian wings of blue-white flames sprouted from her back, barely missing Pascal's cheeks as he dodged out of the way.
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| "Sylv, do not be ridiculous! You can barely stand!" he pleaded with her to see reason. "Fighting a battle in your condition is impossible!"
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| "It's not impossible! It's ''essential''!" she retorted as Hauteclaire's magic carried her aloft. "I need that army in one piece! Colonel von Mackensen!"
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| "Yes, Your Highness!?" The stern aristocrat snapped his boots together in salute as a ferocious grin of approval lit up his face.
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| "Mount up and stay hidden at least a kilopace behind me. I don't want the heathens to find out that Weichsel has entered the war unless we have to. But if I give you the attack signal, then charge in and unleash hell with everything you have!"
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| <nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
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| "SHOOT AT WILL!"
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| Edith-Estellise de Lyonesse yelled as she flourished her holy sword, calling upon her archers to maximize their shooting speed.
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| Her ambush had been a partial success at best. The heathen light cavalry that screened both flanks had tread too close to the ''Sanctum'' wards that kept her woodland-camouflaged forces from magical detection. Edith had been forced to call the first volley early, leading her archers to shoot high arcs at long range against the crowded heavy cavalry columns still marching up the road.
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| But those Ghulams were disciplined and well-trained professionals. Their alertness remained high as rapid reaction wards sprung up. ''Ether Seeker'' counter-fire rushed out to interdict the incoming arcane arrows, disrupting infused ''Dispel'' spells that would clear the way for the rest of the barrage.
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| Nevertheless, the volume of fire from thousands proved too much for the leading battalions. The deluge of arrows poured through torn gaps among the hastily erected wards. Magic infused into wooden shafts detonated as lightning and thunder ripped through neat ranks of armored cavalrymen. The explosions chained quicker than any drumroll, battering the invasion force in an cacophony of destructive violence.
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| Hundreds of Ghulams had been killed or wounded by the initial bombardment. Survivors were stunned senseless as they stumbled amidst corpses, coughing inside the cloud of static-charged dust. But behind them, tens of thousands more -- wide columns of of steel and flesh that stretched on as far as the eye could see -- began to fan out into battle formation.
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| Waves upon waves of arrows soared out like an unending hailstorm. Edith could hear the magic-capable officers struggling to keep up with ''Legion Smiting'' spells, to channel that extra offensive punch into as many projectiles as they could. Meanwhile the Rangers in front of them directed the volleys with glowing tracer ammunition, blessed with antimagic to crash hostile wards and clear the way.
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| But as the scattered light cavalry converged on the Lotharin battle lines with armor-piercing javelins, they forced more and more Rangers to redirect their fire. These marksmen switched to normal arrows to drop the charging riders with pin-point accuracy. But every shot they sent against those mounted skirmishers represented more firepower that failed to focus down the main threat.
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| ''And here they come,'' Edith took a deep breath as the first ranks of heavy cavalry formed. These professional troops braved the rain of steel with sheer courage and discipline as their armored black chargers began to accelerate.
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| The initial wave consisted of no less than four battalions, over a thousand mounted combat troops, arranged in two rows that stretched across a three-and-half kilopace front. Thousands of hooves hammered the ground in sync, leaving the very earth to tremble and quake. With armor marked by the Tauheed religion's green and yellow, they swept forward like a looming tide of death.
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| Meanwhile above them, a wall of searing winds had began to form. Trampled dirt pulled into the air dried within seconds, exposing sand that swirled about like a desert storm. The barrier of tornado-force gales rose as high as fifty paces before the air itself seemed to ignite, glowing with a fiery hue as it rolled across the lush Avorican plains.
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| The oncoming assault no longer looked like a wave of mortal men, but an elemental force of nature -- a raw, unstoppable fury that sought to trample all into a desert wasteland.
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| The Cataliyan Ghulams had mastered their ''Sandstorm Ignition Screen'' to perfection. Stretching from caster to caster along the surging wavefront, they formed a barricade that would blow aside any arrow and trigger any spell that sought to shoot through. With the wall continuously refreshed against dispelling bursts, it formed a nigh-impenetrable barrier that protected the advancing army behind them.
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| This would force the Lotharin archers to kill the first wave before they could reach the rest. Yet the average bowmen, forced to shoot over the front ranks of friendly troops, could only shower a general area with arrows. Hundreds of projectiles overshot and were blown aside by the sandstorm, while countless others fell short and struck nothing more than grassy dirt.
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| "ARMIGERS TO THE FORE! VOULGIERS SECOND!" Edith shouted as she altered her glowing cross above them from bright-cyan to a brilliant gold, signalizing the change in formation to the entire army.
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| Her Lotharin archers were hardy militiamen drawn from the forest villages and mountain clans, but they were lightly armored in leather and carried only the longbow and felling axe. Meanwhile, it was the 'urban militia' from Rhin-Lotharingie's towns and cities who had the wealth to deck themselves in chainmail, pavise shields, and the voulge.
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| Yet the problem was: the comforts of life in the city had made these people soft. Too often, Edith had watched an urban militia company break and rout the moment Cataliyan lancers plowed into them.
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| Unfortunately for her, the reliable Highlander infantry of Gleann Mòr had mostly been blockaded in the north by the onset of winter.
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| This meant she had to hold the front rank using only her Noble Armigers, feudal troops who answered the call to arms alongside knights and lords. After all, it was the Holy Father's will for the nobility to set an example for the masses, and where better to start than in the defense of the Trinitian Realm?
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| Yet the aristocracy was not plentiful. After weeks of running battles, she was running out of armigers to form even a single file row.
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| As Edith lead this porous screen of plated professionals forward, urban militiamen filtered through the ranks of archers and Rangers to fill the space left behind. They leveled rows of polearms forward, presenting a wall of blades against the coming foes while officers blessed them with energy-dampening ''Legion Resistance'' in preparation against attack spells.
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| "SEEKERS AND OBSTRUCTION SPELLS! ON MY MARK!" the saint cried next.
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| Arrow after arrow had pierced the Cataliyan chainmail between those horses' armor plates. Antimagic blasts burned through projectile-deflecting ''Repulsion'' wards before explosive penetrators tore the steeds asunder and threw their riders to the ground. The continuous rain of death had broken the first heavy cavalry wave into pieces. But with their lives, they had bought time for the troops behind them to advance unmolested across several hundred paces of open field.
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| In the center, a second wave had already formed their own ''Sandstorm Ignition Screen'' as they trampled over the bodies of fallen brethren. On both flanks, companies of armored cavalry archers had charged forth, forming shooting circles as they peppered the Lotharin battle line.
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| "UNLEASH! ''ETHER SEEKER''!" Edith hurled out a volley with her holy sword before plunging it into the earth. "''EARTH REAVER!''"
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| Her spellcraft sent a ripple of magical energy through the ground and towards the heathen cavalry. Dozens followed her example as they unleashed a multicolored tide of autonomous hunter-seeker spell-disruptors before piling on with geomancy magic. Meanwhile others crafted spells ranging from fast-growing briars to fields of transmuted hard-clay spikes.
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| Behind them, columns of militia grabbed onto the ropes near them and pulled, unearthing rows of staked fences hidden beneath thin layers of camouflage. The soldiers quickly tied them to wooden pegs set into the ground, holding these stakes slanted towards the enemy as they re-grasped their polearms.
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| The charging Cataliyan cavalry then countered with their own magic. ''Dispel Bursts'' hurled out to neutralize the ''Ether Seeker'' wave before they crafted more specific counterspells in response: ''Tranquil Earth'' halted many ''Earth Reavers'' before they could churn the fields with eruptions of earth and rock; ''Sonic Blades'' sheared through pillars and stakes alike before smashing the bones of even warded Lotharin troops; ''Levitation Fields'' created lanes of transparent repulsion forces over brambles and pits, as though invisible bridges built upon thin air.
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| With the second attack shifting their focus to contest over field control, their sandstorm barrier above rapidly dissipated. The third wave behind them soon came under the deluge of arrows, but no more than that as their own wall of desiccating winds blocked the way further.
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| "PIKES READY!"
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| Edith's orders echoed along the line as rows upon rows of infantry braced their polearms. Even the Noble Armigers kept their trusty maces and flails hanging off belts as they raised sharpened pikes thrice the height of man. Yet leading them from the center of the front line, the saint herself only flourished a sleek arming sword in her hands.
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| The Sword of Charity glowed with a brilliant silver as it unleashed three more strands of white light. Curving across the sanctified air like ribbons, they shot out to intercept the agents of death.
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| An arrow true to its mark, a ''Sonic Blade'' about to shatter ribs, an ''Incinerate'' ray bound for a depleted mage. It didn't matter what form they came in, all whom sought the doom of the beloved were dissolved amidst the wind.
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| It was the weapon of perfect defense. Its radiance reached out to cover all within forty paces, shielding the companions for whom the saint cherished.
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| But there was always a price to pay, and Edith grimaced as she felt dull pains slash across her right shoulder and back.
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| ''Holy Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name,'' her thoughts prayed in Arcadian, drawing upon the strength of her faith and the glowing warmth of her merged phoenix Durandal.
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| In this crucial moment, she had to stand straight and confident. With all eyes upon her, weakness could not be allowed.
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| From beside Edith came the tap of a crouching armiger. Green eyes questioned for authority as her gauntlets tightly grasped a metal rod that jotted out from the ground.
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| The saint smiled and nodded back. The girl retrained her gaze to the front, determination ablaze in her sight.
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| The nonstop exchange of arrows and spellfire continued all along the front. The charging second wave was almost upon them, shedding horses and men as those who remained trampled fallen comrades underfoot while leveling long lances tipped with glistening blades.
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| Then, with a burst of magic from the crouching girl, the whole world seemed to come apart.
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| ''...Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, upon all worlds as it is in Heaven.''
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| A massive, continuous explosion rippled across the entire front. Men and beasts were thrown into the air by the dozens as a curtain of smoke and earth erupted towards the heavens, obscuring the rest of the Cataliyan tide. Shock waves plowed across the land on both sides, felling countless more in their wake while shattering the eardrums of the unprepared.
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| The culprit had been a tunnel of mining powder, buried hardly half a pace beneath the surface. With the flash of a lightning spell channeled down a long, iron spike, the entire shaft detonated in a chain faster than any human perception of time.
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| The explosive trap had been sprang just as the forward arc of the third wave galloped over it.
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| It had taken all the powder Edith's army could gather, and the casualties inflicted could not have numbered more than a few hundred at most. But the priceless moral boost it created, not to mention its demoralizing shock impact to the other side, was worth more than every gold mine of Rhin-Lotharingie combined.
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| ''...Give us this day the blessing the mana, and forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.''
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| The shock waves had also sent much of the second and third Caliphate assaults sprawling onto the ground. Only a few meager horsemen of the second attack held fast onto their mounts. Outnumbered dozens to one, they stood no chance against the ranks of awaiting pikemen.
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| Combined with the noxious smokescreen it left behind, the explosion of the powder tunnel provided exactly the cover Edith required.
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| "RANGERS AND ARCHERS! FALL BACK TO RENDEVOUS!"
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| As the exasperated 'tactician' Vivien had reminded Edith repeatedly before the battle, the goal of this fight was not to win. Against such quantitative and qualitative odds, a prolonged battle of attrition was simply ''unwinnable''.
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| Edith had pressed this engagement purely to buy time for the refugee columns' retreat.
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| Battalions of rural militiamen and mountain rangers had just began to withdraw as a fourth wave of Cataliyan heavy cavalry burst forth from the wall of smoke. Its strength had doubled to four ranks and eight battalions, and among them rode individuals bearing the red striped armor of the Mubarizun -- elite duelists and champions of the Caliphate. Unfazed by the earth-shattering blast, the superbly disciplined Ghulams funneled across hundreds of transparent ''Levitation Field'' ramps. They cantered over the wide trench left by the powder explosion before fanning back out into a long, solid line.
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| Over three kilopaces of bladed lances leveled forward in unison, their armored chargers galloping onto the final stretch of open terrain. The ground trembled anew under the pounding of several thousand hooves as a rumbling chorus chanted their sacred battle cry:
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| 'There is no deity but God for God is greater!'
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| Edith could feel the doubt sweeping through Lotharin lines as aspects of the battle plan began to backfire. To watch the heathens emerge unscathed through titanic thunder and hellish flames, to see them ride undaunted across an apocalyptic wasteland of death and carnage.
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| Surely... these people weren't men.
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| Even the mighty chargers seemed to take on a demonic light as their bulk loomed with the closing of distance.
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| "HOLD STEADY! PIKES READY!" the saint cried again as she raised her blade once more, its radiance shining the light of hope across friendly lines.
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| ''...Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.''
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| Edith readied her steel kite shield as she braced against the coming tide.
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| Compelled by training and magic, the Cataliyan steeds plowed straight into the awaiting wall of steel. Rows upon rows of lances and pikes interpenetrated as thousands of sharpened blades met armor and flesh. Countless mounts were impaled by spears and voulges; their neighing turned to agony as the crushing weight of their armored bulk crashed upon lines of men. Their riders spilled forth onto yet more ranks of metal, dumped into the melee as they began to hack through the forest of shafts with sword, spells, and in some cases -- their own impaled selves.
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| Within seconds, the carefully coordinated battle had degenerated into a chaotic bloodbath.
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| Amidst the frenzy of killing, Edith weaved between the masses of men. Her sword blurred into afterimages as she stabbed left and slashed right, dying her cyan battledress and silver armor in an endless crimson of spurting blood. Parrying thrusts with her shield and dodging corpses with phoenix wings, the saint idolized by the army leaped and flew across the center of the battlefront.
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| Within ten seconds, her holy sword had downed a dozen foes. Within twenty, it had saved scores more as shedding light arced away from the sacred blade to nullify blow after fatal blow.
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| But while the saint remained untouched, while her ''Polar Cross'' continued to illuminate the sky, a trail of blood ran through her lips as Edith bit down to endure the unstopping pain.
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| Before her eyes, the right wing -- which had been hit hardest by the cavalry archers -- had began to collapse. The urban militiamen already started to rout as they saw the great falchions of Cataliyan elites cleave through their ranks. Yet even as Edith headed that way with her Oriflamme Armigers in tow, she could sense the wavering morale of those behind her on the left flank.
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| What choice did she have? They had to buy at least ten minutes -- time for the army to fall back through the sparse woods; time for her light troops to make their way to the dense cover among those foothills. There, they could lay covering fire for the remainder from a position of strength.
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| However, time was the one blessing that the Holy Father would not give.
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| The battlefield had stretched on for too long. Before Edith could reach them, the Duke of Bèucaire's banner fell as his final armiger died with the pole still grasped in severed hands. Alongside it, any lingering resolve on the right wing shattered as thousands of men tossed aside their weapons and fled for their lives.
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| But behind them, the Cataliyan armored cavalry archers -- which had showered them with arrows from the extreme right this entire time -- had already surged forward to massacre those who exposed their backs.
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| At that same moment, a ''fifth'' wave of Ghulam heavy cavalry burst forth from the black wall of smoke. Meanwhile to her right, Edith could hear the screams of combat emerge from a new front.
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| Hidden behind the trees, her retreating archers had ran into yet more hostiles. If she had to guess, it was most likely a flanking maneuver by the screening light cavalry that had vanished halfway into the fight. After all, only their vanguard elements had charged the Lotharin lines; where had the remainder gone?
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| Whether that was the case of not, one truth did stand clear as day: even her army's path of retreat had been cut.
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| For over a decade running, Edith had remained the undefeated champion of Rhin-Lotharingie. Even the Sworn Trio -- the Oriflamme brothers who fought in perfect unison -- could only bring the duel to a standstill. Yet regardless of how skillful her swordsmanship, she was but one person. It was impossible for her to shoulder every burden, to be everywhere at once.
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| The Trinitian saint halted as she felt the warmth of tears rolling down her cheeks. The numbing pain that stretched across her bruised body was nothing compared to the disappointment of her failure, the desolation of defeat, and the desperation of a hopeless struggle as the Lord seemed to turn his eyes away.
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| What possible hope could a mere daughter of the Holy Father have as the darkness closed in from all around?
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| Staring up towards the heavens, Edith eyed the golden cross that continued to shed light across the devastated battlefield. It represented everything that was pure and holy, everything that she struggled and fought for.
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| She would gladly give her life for such perfect beauty, if that was indeed the Holy Father's wish.
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| ''The Lord must be testing me.''
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| "Milady?"
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| "Form up," Edith ordered her concerned Armigers as she grasped the holy sword with renewed strength. "We'll burn our way through that attack wave using everything we've got!"
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| With ether pouring into her flame wings, she kicked off from the ground and soared straight towards the charging row of lances. Behind her followed seven armigers in chevron formation, channeling Durandal's flames through the phoenix feathers woven in their enchanted capes.
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| ''For thine is the kingdom, for eternity and glory. Noblesse Oblige!''
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| "Flamebreak -- Aurora Blade!"
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| White-blue flames poured out from Edith's unison form and ignited the very atmosphere she flew through. Leaving a trail of blazing cyan in her wake, the ''Polar Cross'' Oriflamme dove headfirst into the charging lancers and smashed her shield into the covered face and armored torso of a captain.
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| The head-on collision had killed him before screams of agony could emerge. However, his mount and neighboring men were not so lucky as the saint's burning field roasted them alive.
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| Using the pushback force from the impact, Edith braked her trajectory into a sharp left turn. She then charged down the line in an enfilading assault, fronting with her shield as the purifying flames torched ranks of cavalrymen.
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| The 'Flamebreak' was a phoenix's trump card, and over the years Edith had learned to temper its release into a scything blade. Now, she drew an aurora of cyan across the battlefield, a tribute to the Lord's own magnificent artwork in the polars skies.
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| Yet even as Edith slashed across the converging lines, felling hundreds in her wake, it was the direction of her armigers that truly rekindled her hopes:
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| "Milady! Look! To the east!"
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| The light in the distant skies was unmistakable. A burning blue chevron just shades darker than her own had flown in from the northeast. It then dove straight into the forest where her light troops fought desperately for a road to safety.
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| The sign was nothing short of divine: the Holy Father had not abandoned them after all.
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| <nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
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| With his eyes closed, Parzifal concentrated on reconnecting the nerves in his patient's arm. He had been impressed; the Ranger from Garona had retained enough composure to bring her own severed arm back as she withdrew from the battlefield. There were even rumors that she clobbered her assailant, a Cataliyan light cavalryman, to death with it before departing... which of course was ludicrous.
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| Her arm had remained in good shape. It was her shortsword that drew blood in repayment.
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| Focusing on the surgery spell, Parzifal did his best to ignore the noise of battle. The makeshift hospital had been established close to the edge of the 'safety zone', on the backside of a forested hill which the Rangers held with their lives. The location had been chosen to render the fastest possible aid for wounded soldiers withdrawing from the battlefield. But he only had to look up through the trees to see action unfold, as Weichsel Knight Phantoms plunged into a formation of Cataliyan Aerogyros that harried the Lotharin retreat.
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| It was only on moments like these when he disliked his profession. Here he was, providing aid to complete strangers while his own fiancée risked life and limb beyond his help.
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| He could only pray that the Holy Father kept her safe in his stead.
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| "It's the ''Polar Cross''!" Parzifal's concentration almost broke as he heard his patient exclaim, a proud voice that began with reverence and ended in apprehension.
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| "Stay still!" he berated even as cries of "Milady!" began to echo all around.
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| But the awe in their voices soon passed away to anxiety and desperation. Even the worst of patients, as grievously injured as they were, paid heed to the Oriflamme and saint.
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| "Lady Estelle!"
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| "Healer! HEALER! ''WE NEED A HEALER''!" Parzifal heard the tearful cry.
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| "No, don't mind me and go help her, ''please''!" his patient plead.
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| "Five seconds!" he held fast onto her arm. "I'm almost... DONE!"
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| Without pause, Parzifal spun around as he stood and reopened his eyes.
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| At the center of this medical camp, surrounded by anxious Lotharin troops like a mother by her children, was an unconscious woman carried by two armigers. Their faces were barely recognizable beneath the grime and gore; their clothes and armor were drenched in blood. But there was no doubt whom the unconscious individual was, from the burning cyan long hair to the blue-white wings that continued to shed embers across the air.
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| Two Lotharin healers had already rushed over. With the help of everyone else, they lowered Estelle to the ground on top of a clean stretcher. Wasting no time, the healers and armigers began to pull off her armor plates and tear away the bloody clothing.
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| What amazed Parzifal as he knelt down to help was that her armor was entirely undamaged. He couldn't even spot a scratch on them, or a single tear in the fabric of her battledress. But as the cover peeled away to bare, naked skin, he could see that her body was black and blue all over. It was as though she had been dragged out and beaten by a gang of hoodlums bearing wooden clubs, leaving her with severe internal bleeding that easily threatened her life.
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| "Lord have mercy..." he couldn't help but breath out. "Just how many hits did she take?"
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| "None! Those were hits she took for everyone else!" an armiger cried back.
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| "Lady Edith-Estellise..."
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| Parzifal had barely noticed when Pascal appeared on his left. The ''Runelord'' had been with the Rangers on the hill's western face, setting up wards and defenses. Perhaps he mistook the light of the Oriflamme for the Princess before rushing back.
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| Just as he thought that, Sylviane herself landed with her armigers in tow. Bloodied by combat including several gashes across her cheeks and shoulders, the Princess breathed hard as she collapsed onto the nearest rock.
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| "Edith... just, ''WHAT THE HELL'' were you thinking!?"
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| Even exhaustion couldn't stop the royal fury as Sylviane lashed out before her breath could even catch up.
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| "You are the ''front commander'', not the town imbecile who can only see the bread laid before her eyes! Your obligations are to the entire Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, not just a few thousand pitiful peasants who happened to stand before you!"
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| Parzifal could see the armigers and medics bite down in concentration, suppressing their urges to retort while the princess raved on. As he looked up to send back a warning stare, it became clear to him that Sylviane couldn't possibly see the unconscious Estelle through all the bodies gathered around her.
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| "Pascal," the healer turned to interrupt as he suddenly remembered. "Do you have a ''Sanctuary'' rune set?"
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| "Always."
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| "Well deploy them then!" He exclaimed before appending a quick telepathic note: "<u>and do ''something'' about that fiancée of yours!</u>"
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| Realizing a few seconds late, Pascal hurriedly opened a tiny belt pouch to release twelve rune-engraved stones that could only have fit by magic. They flew out to form a large circle on the ground before activating, creating a hemispherical barrier of translucent, crystal-blue ether that encapsulated the triage group. Inside, the air soon took on a turquoise hue as the curative magic began its work.
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| ''Sanctuary'' was the perfect example of an ancient spell that did not modernize well. While it offered powerful regenerative boosts comparable to the best healing spells, it also required a ritualized casting process with a long setup time, including the creation of a ring from which the containment field formed. Combined with the glowing barrier that exposed its position on a battlefield, ''Sanctuary'' had been deemed 'obsolete' by the Aura Magic users. However, as ritual spells could be inscribed into rune sets, it was the Runic Magic users who still held onto this time-proven spell.
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| But even such an obvious sign of desperate emergency care did not stop the Princess as she berated on:
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| "...This is the only army stopping the Caliphate from breaching our defenses in the west. Just what do you think would happen if you lost it all! Yet like an ''idiot'' you insist on gambling before your reinforcements could arrive, reinforcements that ''my father paid his life'' to send you!"
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| "Power to ''Regeneration'' spells," the senior Lotharin healer spoke in a suppressed tone. "She's lost way too much blood. Avril, help me close up the internal bleeding."
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| By now, it hardly mattered to Parzifal whether the Princess was right or wrong. He was rapidly approaching the limits of his endurance and the same could be said for everyone else. Such verbal abuse was no way to treat a patient whose life hung by a thread, even if she were too unconscious to hear it.
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| "Sylv! Stop it!" he heard Pascal's voice try to bring sense to the raving girl, but the Runelord might as well been pouring oil onto a wildfire.
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| "Are you taking her side now too!? Just because she's..."
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| "''Mental Blackout!''"
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| Parzifal's eyes bulged as he couldn't believe his ears. Even the ''Runelord'' should know the limits of his transgressions. Surely, knocking out a ''royal princess'' with enchantment spells went beyond illegal to outright taboo.
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| Yet it did the trick as the Princess' voice stopped at once. With her own ether reserves depleted, her body and mind offered almost no resistance against his hostile ether injection.
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| "You're going to pay hell for that later," came a quiet, astonished voice from Sir Robert.
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| Pascal however, replied with only a resigned sigh:
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| "She can blame me for it then... In fact, you all can. I would much rather you blame me than her, at any rate. Surely those of you who lost loved ones can understand -- the past few days have not been kind to her."
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| <noinclude>
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| {| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
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| |-
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| | Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]
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| | Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
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| | Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_8|Chapter 8]]
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| |-
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| |}
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| </noinclude>
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