Symmetry
Chapter One: A Midsummer Night's Insomnia
Franz stumbled through the corridor of the Renais knight barracks, not registering in his mind that the room he was heading to was already lit within. He stopped to lean against the wall and yawn, but aside from his behaviour few civilians would have thought he wasn't on duty. Cavaliers don't precisely have sleeping clothes, and in any case Franz had an unusual attachment to his shoulder armor (pauldrons, although he couldn't have formed the word at that moment).
He stepped into the small garrison kitchen, doing a respectable impression of a revenant, saw the other occupant, and instantly snapped to attention, nearly knocking himself out on the doorframe. Someone had definitely gone around and lowered all the ceilings while Eirika and Ephraim were out saving the continent from the rise of the Demon King.
"General Seth!" Franz yelped, saluting badly.
The legendary Silver Knight was sitting at a table, staring at the wall with the sort of patience that Franz usually associated with cats and religious statuary. He had lit the lamps some time ago; he wasn't blinking defensively in the brightness. Sometimes he didn't seem to blink at all, although it was only a few uncomfortable seconds before he noticed the cavalier.
"Ah. Sir Franz," Seth intoned calmly. Franz twitched uncomfortably; he had been properly knighted immediately after King Ephraim's coronation, and still wasn't sure the other veteran soldiers of Renais didn't begrudge him the honour. "You're up late." It was the most obvious possible statement, but it was the thing you had to say when meeting someone unexpectedly in the middle of the night.
"Summer heat," said Franz, sinking back down a bit as the surprise wore off. "I can't stand humid nights."
"Rest is essential to proper service," Seth said, but his words lacked any of the admonition that would have been aimed Franz' way a year ago. Official knights were mostly expected to complete all orders directed to them, and could decide the rest of their lives for themselves.
"Then what are you doing up?" the cavalier asked, wondering if he was really going to find anything here that would help him sleep. Chilled water, perhaps…
"Contemplating," Seth replied. He was being unusually quiet, even for the middle of the night, but at least he had finally smirked – if he couldn't read Franz' mind, he at least remembered the initial nervous thrill of delivering a comeback to a superior officer.
"I've had about enough of that for myself," said Franz. "I don't suppose you could just knock me out for a few hours? Your precision in disabling enemies is legendary."
"Many things about me are legendary," said the paladin, without a hint of arrogance. "The important thing to remember about most legends is that they are not true."
Privately, Franz wondered what rank he would have to attain before adults stopped trying to turn every possible statement into a lesson of some kind. He decided to aim for Supreme High Commander of Magvel Allied Forces and go from there.
"What's in need of so much contemplation, sir?" asked Franz, searching the insulated cupboards. Surely they still had some ice left over from last week, when Lute had lost her temper with the heat wave and cast a half-dozen Fimbulvetr spells in the main courtyard. Apparently she only approved of raging fire when it was under her command.
The silence stretched on for a moment; Franz guessed that Seth was trying to decide how much to tell him. "Nothing that any knight need waste time on," the general said at last.
"Except you?" It was meant as a mild joke, and a reminder that Seth was allowed to speak to others without maintaining the persona of the Silver Knight.
"Especially not me," Seth replied, almost smiling – but if a sigh could contain bitterness, his did. "How do you like the re-formed Knights of Renais, Franz?"
"Like everything else in the kingdom, Ephraim and Eirika seem intent on rebuilding the army better than it ever was before," the cavalier replied dutifully. "With our new alliances in the other countries, we shouldn't have any trouble repelling even another surprise invasion." Some people said that was entirely possible, with Carcino grumbling that it deserved a greater share of the continent. After all, it wasn't nearly the only nation without a Sacred Stone any more.
"True, very true," said Seth. Franz reflected that when the general started repeating himself (and how could something be 'very true', wasn't it one or the other?) something was definitely weighing on his mind. "But I was specifically asking about you. It must be difficult, promoted above your old friends – even above some of your brother's friends – but still too young to be accepted by the veterans. I know you've had some trouble with other soldiers."
"I got them all out eventually," said Franz, shrugging.
"…The soldiers?"
"No, the rabbits. The ones they released in my room."
"Ah. …Good."
"I gave one to Lute for helping me with the rest. Artur made her promise not to cook it, but I've heard it has wings now."
"A powerful addition to our forces, those two are," said Seth. "It certainly makes up for their difficulties meshing with the others."
"I enjoy their company, sir," said Franz. "And the others who travelled with us in Ephraim and Eirika's campaign. There's a bond, even between the ones who aren't friends."
"Indeed. And what of that girl from Grado? The lancer, Amelia."
Franz wondered if it was normal for a person's favourite topic to be one they didn't want to talk about with others. "Haven't seen anything of her for almost two months, sir. She's out on training with the other new recruits."
Seth frowned. "What does she need basic training for? We let Ross directly into the infantry, didn't we?"
"Yes, sir, but he has three advantages," Franz explained. "He has muscles like an ox, his father is the brigade commander, and he's not a girl."
"I see." The paladin's frown deepened. "Rather unfathomable objections, but I see. How do you think she fares, then?"
"Amelia?" Franz hoped Seth didn't notice the way his ears twitched when he had an excuse to say her name. "Basic training isn't anything like the troubles we had battling Grado or the monsters of Darkling Woods. I'm sure she's fine."
Fifty-three and a half miles away, Amelia staggered in the waist-deep marsh. She caught her balance and looked up to see the sergeant, standing on a patch of dry ground, with his spear sticking into the bog – that was what she tripped on.
"Recruit!" the sergeant barked. "Where is your lance?"
With a sinking feeling not unlike the one her weapon must have felt, Amelia realised that the pack on her back was slightly lighter than it should have been. It was an easy mistake to make, since it usually felt like she was carrying a stunned wyvern.
"Don't know," Amelia gasped.
"I can't hear you, recruit!"
"I don't know, sergeant!"
"What is your weapon, recruit?"
"My life, sergeant!"
"Well, guess what, everyone: tonight, you are a team! One soldier's life is everyone's life! Now turn around and form a search chain – we have a lance to find before we make camp!"
It turned out that, with enough care and diligence, marsh can in fact be packed into balls. Several of them splashed around Amelia, along with groans from the rest of the recruits. They whole group turned, and she tried to put her hand on the next soldier's back to form the night-navigation chain, but he shrugged her off. She would have to depend on the occasional projectile to make sure she was still behind the others.
"I said search, recruits! Now move!"
"Indeed," Seth said. "They should return in the next few weeks, then. We must hope she won't have to take the course again."
"She's too good for that," Franz insisted.
Seth shook his head. "Whether from your surroundings or history… or mere tradition… do not underestimate the power of a total lack of support." He looked at Franz' empty glass – the cavalier was now crushing the remaining ice with his teeth. "If that was any help, you should get to sleep. No knight would stay awake all night merely to prove a point."
"I'd still rather be knocked out," the cavalier muttered, rising from the table. "You're certain that two people can't contemplate twice as fast as one, sir?"
"You don't need to call me 'sir', Franz," said Seth.
"Of course… General."
The cavalier was gone before Seth could even roll his eyes. Even with his best friend from the war away on training, and with the heat of summer that even Seth sometimes found insufferable settling onto Renais, Franz was an upbeat protector of the kingdom. In the paladin's estimation, he had good reason to be, and in particular would never face the dilemma Seth had right now.
In the knightly service, Seth was held in great esteem and had a certain level of what might be called honorary nobility – he was an ordinary citizen, but at the top of the only civilian hierarchy that most nobles cared about. He was a known hero of war, and welcome in the upper social circles, or strata, or whatever shapes they were forming now. Cumulonimbus, for all he knew.
But knights were also expected to hold to their duty above all else; that was the source of the respect they earned. Nobles liked to see people willing to die to protect them, especially if those people survived to do it again. And civilians liked the people who did all the fighting and let them get on with their lives. Seth was very good at both, but it meant he could never truly be in either group. Technically, a civilian could rise to nobility through a king's proclamation or noble marriage, however rare it might be. Seth could not rise to the upper levels as a knight, when he was expected to give his life for his country, but if he resigned, he would lose any respect that might have helped him be elevated.
So he knew he had to stay where he was. The people of Renais depended on the legendary Silver Knight. He would not cast it aside for anything… excepting one. And there was no way to those royal heights for him, so he would do the only thing he could, and be the loyal protector of Princess Eirika for the rest of his life.
And on nights like this, when the air was too thick to breathe comfortably, he would stay awake – lie in bed, or find an empty room like this one, or walk the battlements of the castle – and remember that one desperate ride, when he had been allowed to hold her as he wished.
He would stay until the sun rose, then put out the lamps, and return to his duty.
Charcoal scraped across paper in quick, sweeping strokes as Forde added shadow and depth to his sketch. He enjoyed these night watch shifts, if only because he had little other time for artistic pursuits these days, with the entire continent rebuilding itself and capable leaders in great demand. Technically, he was supposed to be keeping a careful watch of the horizon at all times, but between occasional glances through the barred window and all the other soldiers on watch, he felt he deserved the extra leisure. Not that he needed an excuse – he was all too famous for painting in the middle of major combat, although the story about killing a Gwyllgi with his #8 brush was certainly a reputation-booster.
Thunk, thunk, thunk. Someone was knocking on the guard tower door from outside the castle. How completely bizarre. Forde set aside his rendition of the Third Battle of Hamill Canyon, in which a careful observer would find what appeared to be Vanessa in four different places, slaying a slew of the sorts of monsters that ate buildings to get at the things inside faster.
The paladin set aside his brush, selected his favourite steel blade, and unlocked the door. The figure on the other side made no sense for an entire host of reasons. "Rennac?"
"Forde, my friend, it's good to see you," said the rogue in a rush. They had got on well from the start, having much the same views on life and how to enjoy it.
"What are you doing here? Escaping Queen L'Arachel again?"
"I have bad news," Rennac explained. He seemed jittery, suggesting to Forde that the Carcino merchant-prince had broken his vow of foreswearing coffee again. "Is anyone else here?"
"No, I volunteered to work this shift alone," said the paladin. "What's the problem?"
"I've been hired by your enemies," said Rennac, and his fist introduced Forde to a world of blackness.
Ephraim and Tana lay motionless on their bed, staring at the ceiling. "My great-great-great grandfather was a military genius and architectural idiot," said Ephraim.
"Maybe the climate was different back when he had Castle Renais built," Tana suggested.
"That doesn't excuse putting the royal bedchambers directly above the boiler furnaces," Ephraim stated fervently.
"Something should definitely be done about those," she agreed.
"Or to them," said Ephraim.
"Like Vidofnir."
"And Siegmund."
"We could sleep in the courtyard fountain."
"Can't. Not kingly."
"I could sleep in the courtyard fountain."
"Not queenly."
"Neither am I. Watch, I'll challenge you to a pillowfight."
A rather clumsy clunk at the door suggested that someone was trying to determine how to knock without actually being heard, lest an annoyed warrior be awakened down the hall and decide to fan himself off by hurling tomahawks.
"Did you order a glacier from northern Rausten?" asked Ephraim, hopefully.
"I would have, but the ink melted off the requisition form," said Tana, rising to her feet. "I'll get the door."
"I'll keep the blankets warm." Ephraim closed his eyes and tried to think of the biting winds of storms and the blizzards he had sparred in with Innes when they were younger. It would have been strange to think that his childhood rival in all things was now his brother-in-law, but he didn't think about that because it took time away from imaging stingingly frosty autumn rain.
From the other room came a drawn-out crrrrack. Apparently the hinges weren't doing well in this heat either. He'd have someone in to work on them in the morning, if all the skilled artisans hadn't been incapacitated by heat-stroke. Those workshops of theirs had to be at least as bad as this, especially the ones that did their own smithing.
"Tana?" Ephraim called. What could be the matter? He forced himself to sit up, and caught a whisper that was slightly louder than it was meant to be.
"There, see? One down, one to go; I told you." Definitely not Tana.
"Who's there?" Ephraim demanded, wondering where the nearest lance was. It didn't much matter – a slithery sound drew his eyes to the doorway, and a sight that had been perfecting its hideousness for almost a thousand years. Crrrrack!
A few solid kicks turned the dew-laden tree into a localised rainstorm, as well as being a quick way to rouse all the recruits who had thought it would make good shelter. Amelia groggily recalled, as the branches drenched her to wakefulness, that she had been the first to think of it, and her choice had been copied by the others. There was no chance that this wouldn't mean trouble for her soon enough.
"Rise and shine, ladies!" the sergeant shouted. He noticed that, for the first time in his career, this accurately described one of his recruits. "And… uh… gentleman?" He shook it off. "It is another beautiful day in the infantry! I love the infantry! You love the infantry! We will have a fine governmentally-funded meal! It is healthy! You are healthy!"
Amelia was willing to concede that, once the sun rose and they could see more than ten feet away, it might indeed be a beautiful day. The events that would fill it, if they were anything like the last month of this field training, were likely to be less enjoyable.
"I said rise, recruits! Do we remember what that means?"
"We were out searching the swamp until past midnight, sir," one recruit protested.
"Do-not-call-me-sir-I-work-for-a-living!" the sergeant screamed, a blitz of reprimand so fast it was practically a single word.
"Yes, sergeant!" the recruit agreed instantly.
Amelia ignored the loud whispers and outright offences aimed at her by the others, and hopped over their outstretched feet without obviously noticing as she re-packed her ridiculous rucksack. She had checked when it was first issued – when empty, Amelia herself could fit inside the bag. Why on earth was it necessary to haul about all this gear? Generally speaking, an inventive soldier could solve any problem with the right use of a lance; thankfully, she had recovered hers at last, and it hadn't gone missing in their few hours sleep.
"This morning we will be marching to the Grado border southeast of our beloved Castle Renais! It will be an invigorating twelve miles, and the corporal has informed me that we may be relieved of some of this heat by hurricane conditions!" The sergeant's eyes glittered gleefully. "Breakfast one hour past dawn, recruits! Form ranks of two and… march!"
Amelia sighed and started trudging down the path. She stumbled on a tree root that had been wrenched slightly out of the mud by a careful kick somewhat up the line, but managed not to domino-topple half the group like last time. Whatever you're up to, Franz, I hope it's better than this.