Chapter LCVIX: Strategy

"What do you think, Mertron?"

Languidly, the mercenary looked up from the clutch of rocks he was reclining on. Smoke trailed into the air from the rolled tobacco he had loosely balanced between his lips. Sighing, he inhaled and then pulled it away from his mouth.

"What do I think about what?" He replied, barely glancing at Eudon.

The Ranger was standing atop a rocky outcropping. The heavy furs draped over his body were stirring in the winter wind, but if he was bothered by the cold he gave no indication of it. He but watched the horizon, eyes fixed on a single point.

"Castle Oztroja has never fallen to invaders," he went on, "so I'm asking how long you think it will take us to change that."

The Elvaan scratched at his short crop of red hair, looking up into the dark skies overhead. Taking another drag of tobacco, he stretched out and closed his eyes. "How much longer until we get there?"

"Three days," Eudon told him. "Three days to cross the rest of this wasteland and reorganize all of our forces for combat."

A silence passed between them. Mertron reached for and found the hilt of his massive great sword, point down in the ground. It was wrapped tightly in a snowy white cloth, bound to the blade with straps of leather. His fingers tapped against the pommel briefly as he opened his eyes again.

"Three days to get there, huh . . . " Letting his head drop to one side, he looked lazily over at Eudon, still watching the horizon. "Then I guess four days from now the fighting will be over."

Eudon lifted his head slightly, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of ground between them and the castle, an unreadable expression, as always, on his face. "That's what I think, too." He finally replied.

"So what're you asking me for?" Mertron grunted irritably. He sat up with a start as the sound of boots slapping against the ground rushed past him, but settled back down disinterestedly when he saw who it was.

"Eudon," Therin was as excited as ever. Mertron failed to see why someone like Eudon would tolerate such a hanger-on, but his job wasn't to ask questions. "Eudon, it's all in place. Our new ally will be attacking Oztroja ahead of us."

The sharp-eyed archer regarded the Elvaan briefly, and then returned his gaze to the castle in the distance.

"And what do you make of that news, Mertron?"

The mercenary shook his head, flicking away the ashen remains of his tobacco. "I think I take back what I just said. The job will be done before we even get there."

Eudon only nodded. Given the circumstances, he could not help but agree.


The towering spires of Castle Oztroja rang from their foundations with the sounds of war. Everywhere Rykoshet went, the combined forces of Jeuno and the Yagudo were girding themselves for battle. The atmosphere was unrelentingly grim. On the line was nothing less than their very survival. Having practically no chance for victory, Rykoshet noted, was also causing some moral problems.

In the belly of Oztroja, furnaces had come alive, and the hammering of steel on steel echoed around the clock. In better times, skilled craftsmen would have been able to use the power of crystals and perform synthesis, cutting the process of forging weapons and armor into seconds. Without a source of crystals available, they had to do things the old fashioned way, sundering ore and fashioning arms with tools and flame. That was where their newest allies proved their worth.

"Get your mitts off my work!" Bluffnix was shouting, his snorting voice rising above the din. "You, that one's not for you! Hey hey! Stoke those flames! Hey! Put your arm strength into it, man, hammer that steel!" It went on like that, with the Goblin craftsman shouting orders and shooing people away from their work left and right. No one particularly liked having a beastman, especially a Goblin, putting itself in charge of the operation, but the necessity for strong weapons was enough to quiet any voices of dissent.

Rykoshet hovered for a time around the foundry, surveying the work being done. Their lives would soon depend upon what was happening in this forge, hidden deep within the depths of Oztroja. He backed up into the shadows after Bluffnix yelled at him for getting in their way, but remained for some time. He found it strangely comforting to watch this Goblin foreman commanding the work of a small batallion of beastmen and Children of Altana, their mutual survival on the line. In the back of his mind, a feeling very much like accomplishment settled in whenever he saw the different races cooperating.

Before too long, however, he had to leave the massive, belching furnaces behind, and the sound of hammer against steel faded as he ascended the spiraling stone steps which led him back into the upper levels of the castle. Though nowhere near as cramped or suffocatingly hot, they were no less busy. Messengers were running back an forth at a near constant rate, hurrying communications from the different divisions. There were food rations to be assesed, weapons to be assigned, battle plans to be memorized. The Yagudo were even more high-strung than usual, and several times confrontations needed to be defused when they suspected anyone of being less than wholly devoted to preserving their home.

For Rykoshet, sleep had become a precious commodity. Wrestling with the details of organizing the Goblins, Yagudo, and Jeunoans for war had kept him up late into the night every day for the last week. Then when he did manage to sleep, he was constantly being roused by messengers bringing updates on how close the army was now, estimates of their stremgth, and general assesments of their impending doom. His eyelids were perpetually drooping, and his stomach was twisted with hunger. Still, he managed to soldier onwards, doing whatever he needed to ensure they stood as good a chance as they were going to.

"Rykoshet? Hello?"

It took him a moment to realize he was being addressed. With a start, his eyes shot open and found Danienne standing right in front of him. Confused, he looked back and forth, realizing he had climbed his way out of the foundry and almost back into the upper reaches of the castle in a sleep-deprived daze.

"Are you alright?" The Dark Knight pressed a hand against his forehead with concern, apparantly not worrying about the fact that she was still wearing her gauntlets. "You should get some sleep, Rykoshet, you're pushing yourself too hard."

"I'm good, really," he brushed her hand away, rubbing his head. "What's going on?"

"All four of my divisions have finished preparations," she told him. "The Yagudo, Jeunoans, and my personal legion are in place."

He stared at her, and then looked at his hands, counting on his fingers. "That's only three," he muttered, but was too tired to place any conviction in his conclusion.

She tilted her head to the side. "There's four. Didn't I tell you about the other division?" Her frown made Rykoshet unsure of how to answer, so he simply nodded. Too many things were blurring together these days. "Alright, well they're all in place."

"How much is left to do?"

The Hume woman looked skyward, oonsidering the details. "There are still volunteer divisions under Wolfgang's command awaiting weapons and armor, as well as assignments. The Yagudo Priests are also renewing defensive wards around the castle itself to stave off any magic attacks. Then . . . " her expression grew dark, and her displeasure was evident. " . . . the Goblins who will be joining us are hard to keep track of, so I can't really give you an answer there."

"Right, Goblins," he nodded, right before failing to stifle a yawn. "Dani, I'm about to go collapse for an hour, is there anything else I need to know?"

"No - wait, I almost forgot. Bael was looking for you. He should be in the War Room."

"Great," he rubbed his temples, trying to regain his focus. "Danienne," he called as she started to walk away, "thank you. You're doing great work."

She paused at his words, and then allowed herself a slight smile. "You're welcome, Rykoshet," she replied. The two went their seperate ways, she heading back down to the soldiers, and he climbing more of Oztroja's spiral staircases up to its highest reaches.

Danienne was one of only several people he was running into these past few days. Decay would seek him out to talk about the magicite. Wolfgang was always looking to go over troop deployments. Odessa wanted to know how their field hospital was going to be set up. Icon seemed to send a messenger back with intelligence on enemy movements every hour on the hour. His talks with Baeladar, he realized, had been few and far between. He wondered what the Elvaan wanted to discuss as he trudged up the stairs, thinking about all the ways he'd rather be asleep.

He expected, of course, that he would find Baeladar poring over some old map, possibly dictating orders to be sent back and forth to the various units. Assistants would be racing around with books in hand, searching for references to ancient battles at the castle. With a sigh, he grasped the brass knob of the war room's door, bracing himself for the lecture he was about to receive on battle tactics and the necessity of precise planning. Wondering if he'd have the strength to remain awake through it all, he pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Baeladar was sitting alone in the empty room, the desk in front of him bare. He was leaning upon it, chin resting on his thumb as he stared out he sole window. Not a scroll or tome was out of place, or anything to suggest he was engrossed in study of anything beyond the glass in the pane. As the door opened, the raven-haired Paladin turned his head slowly, greeting Rykoshet with a brief nod.

"Bael?" He stepped in cautiously, not expecting this scene at all. "What's going on?"

"Good to see you, Rykoshet," he replied in his standard aristocratic tone. "I would offer you a spot of tea, but regretfully I neglected to have a fresh pot sent up. More's the pity, I suppose."

Walking to the table, Rykoshet pulled up a chair and sat down across from the other Elvaan. His eyes reflected a weight within them he had never seen there before.

"Are you alright?" The concern in his voice drew a weak smile from Baeladar.

"Ah, you expected me in another state, I trust? I apologize." Drawing in his breath, he slowly sat straight up, a pain evident on his face. "I have been wounded, Rykoshet. My confidence has been struck an unexpected and rather serious blow."

Rykoshet shook his head, trying to comprehend what he was being told. "Bael, what are you talking about? We need you for - "

"I am rather afraid you don't need me, my friend, that is what I am trying to tell you." Clasping his hands together, he directed a grave stare at Rykoshet. "For the time I have been here, serving as the strategist for Those Guys, our needs have been relatively light. We have fought all manner of beast and beastman, and done so well in small groups or with many against one. This is not such a situation. This exceeds my small talent, Rykoshet, and I am quite concerned with the idea that many people will needlessly die due to my weakness."

It felt like someone was pushing a weight down on top of him. "Bael, we need someone to . . . to do anything. If we just stand out there and go toe-to-toe we'll be eaten alive. Without some kind of strategy . . ."

Baeladar quirked an eyebrow upwards. "I would ask you not take my bout of self-pity as a sign that I don't already have another plan. Please, Rykoshet, I always have a plan."

"Then what - "

He stood, walking towards the window as he clasped his hands behind his back. "This is where your penchant for adventuring will come be useful. There is another strategist out there, nearby. Provided she came through the demon invasion in good health, she should still be in her manor, quite secluded from the rest of the world. However," he looked over his shoulder back towards Rykoshet, "I assure you, if she is alive, she will be there, and it will fall on you to persuade her to join us."

Leaning back in his chair, Rykoshet took a moment to absorb everything. "So." He started, stopping to think for a moment, and then beginning again. "You're not up to the task of coordinating our army."

"This is, regretfully, true," he confirmed.

"But you know someone who is."

"Most definitely."

"And you want me to leave the castle, now, go find her, bring her back to Oztroja, and let her direct our strategy for making it out of this alive."

"Your powers of comprehension are sharp as always."

"Bael, I can't leave now." Rykoshet spread his hands plaintively. "Everyone is depending on me to manage the situation here. We've got enemies on our doorstep, three different races trying to co-exist, no end to the complications that have to be overseen - how am I supposed to just up and leave in the middle of all this? How far away is this supposed secret manor house? How long will it take me to get there? What if she doesn't want to come with us? What if she's not as great as you think she is in the first place?"

"I will draft a letter which will ensure her cooperation," he turned to face the Dark Knight. "As for her qualifications, we speak of a strategist trained by no less than Riggo Hiralda himself, and that is just the beginning of her pedigree. She studied extensively under Lehko Habhoka, Windurst's strategist during the Crystal War. There is speculation she may even be his daughter. Her name is Chatcher, and she resides within the Sanctuary of Zi'Tah. Bring her back to us and we may yet crawl out the other side of this ordeal with our skins intact."

"Chatcher," Rykoshet repeated. "Trained by Habhoka and Hiralda both."

"A greater military genius does not exist on this continent," Baeladar pressed. "I am telling you now, Rykoshet, reliance on my talent in this field will bring about ruin. Chatcher may yet save us."

He threw his head back, letting his arms drop to the side as he stared at the ceiling. "But to leave now . . . "

"Leave Odessa in charge," the Paladin replied. "She is up to the task. I, in the meantime, shall reassign myself to one of our field divisions and prepare to bloody my sword a bit on these ill-mannered intruders. You will have to leave now, however, before they get too close to the castle, and - "

"Rykoshet!"

They both practically leaped from their positions at the sudden shout. Rykoshet had to brace his knees under the table to keep from falling backwards, fumbling to grab hold of his linkshell. "What? What is it?" He demanded, steadying himself with no small effort.

"Rykoshet, you need to get down here," he recognized Konstantine's small voice through the shell. "Right now, Rykoshet!"

"Where is here? Where are you?"

"Rykoshet," this time it was Odessa's voice, "come out to the outer wall. Hurry."

Baeladar and Rykoshet exchanged a glance, and then both were rushing out the door.

Even before they reached the outer wall, he could hear voices of panic rising from all around him. Bodies were rushing past him in a panic, some trying to stop and talk to him, others barely even acknowledging he was there. Baeladar pushed them all aside as they ran, making at as near a run as they could towards Odessa's location. Now shouting was plainly evident from the halls beneath them, and he could hear soldiers rushing into positions all around the fortress. When they finally reached the small entrance leading out onto the walls, Odessa, Fated, and Konstantine, were waiting for them.

"What do we do?" Fated asked when he saw them. "There are too many."

"What? What is it?" Rykoshet pushed past them, staring over the parapets as a chill wind rushed past him.

"Look out there, Rykoshet," Odessa told him, pointing in the distance. "They appeared, just now, but look who's with them."

He did not have to look hard, even in the darkness, to see what she was pointing out to him.

The vast tracts of barren land surrounding Castle Oztroja were usually the ruddy color of dust and clay. With the freezing temperatures they were having, it had grown darker as the ground froze, the dirt becoming hard and densely packed. Today, they had turned white. White, the color of the ocean of bleached bones now making their way directly towards the castle.

Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of the dead had risen from their resting places. Skeletons, reanimated by a malevolent spark which filled their empty sockets with baleful intent and let their long-dead hands grasp weapons once more, were filling the valley and marching inexorably forward. The undead were coming towards them, all shapes and sizes, from human shapes to beasts large and small to the clawed bones of beastmen. Some were blackened with age and decay, others so freshly dead that bits of skin and sinew still clung to them. It was an army, one they had never seen before, closing in on them at a dead run.

"Look," Odessa urged, "there, towards the back."

Straining his eyes, Rykoshet could just barely make out another figure, towering above the rest. A crown rested on its bleached skull, and tattered blue robes that may once have been majestic covered a body of thick, barren bones. It was another skeleton, far larger than the rest, and even from a face which could not change expression, hatred and bloodlust were clear. Gripped within its fleshless fingers was a twisted staff, and a retinue of blade-wielding skeletons were wrapped around him in a circle at his feet, guarding his every step.

"By Altana," Rykoshet swore, "it's the Corse King."

"It's Xolotl," Odessa confirmed, "and I'd say his intentions are pretty clear."

"They'll be here in minutes," Konstantine was biting her knuckles. "What do we do?"

"I say, this introduces a bit of a snag in our plan," Looking over at Rykoshet, Baeladar put open his hands helplessly. "We must extricate you from the castle, but they'll be upon us too quickly. What shall we do?"

Rykoshet looked from face to face, his previous exhaustion forgotten. Things were happening too quickly for him to worry about sleep. He had to make a decision. But how could he? An army of the undead was bearing down upon them. He had to stay and fight, but he had to leave just as urgently. But how could he even get away now, with the Corse King swarming down over them?

He ground his teeth at the thought of his presence. The blight of Attowha Chasm, Xolotl had for ages untold been a scourge upon the living. However, he had remained content to haunt the night within the Chasm, unpopulated by all but the fiercest monsters. In this new world of endless night, his range was greatly increased, and it would appear his ambition as well. Xolotl was an enemy of all life, a slap in the face of everything good in Vana'diel. A crime -

Rykoshet lifted his head. He knew what to do.

Lifting the linkshell on its leather cord from around his neck, he deposited it over the head of a surprised Odessa. "Rykoshet, what - " she started, but he was already grabbing her arm and leading her away.

"I'm going to leave soon. You're in charge. Fated, Konstantine, you're with me. Bael, go find Betrayil and Hiraiko and tell them they're coming with me, too. Then meet up with Dani and get back to work."

"But where are we going?" Odessa demanded, even as he pulled her forward, racing down the stairs.

"Somewhere I'd rather not," he responded, the small entourage racing after him, "but given the situation we don't have a choice."

Odessa continued to protest being dragged along as she was, but she did not truly start screaming at him until they reached the dungeon.

The door to the dimly-lit chamber groaned as it opened, and a smile spread across the prisoner's lips.