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Don Quixote dramatically joined the battle-in-progress from above, dropping into the front line like a sanguine bolt of lightning.
He swept his lance forward in a graceful arc, blowing away the enemy formation as he charged ahead. Before the weary Zwei defense force could understand what was happening, he had already cut his way across the battlefield.
Sancho stayed in position close behind him, weaving through the resulting chaos. She delivered a punishing follow-up blow to any enemies that were still standing and shoved bewildered humans out of the way before Dulcinea and her Children arrived behind her.
It took a few minutes for the opposing Bloodfiends to realize who had arrived. Once they did, their confused shouts turned to indignant rage.
"Don Quixote, you capricious meddler! You'd turn your weapons against your own?"
He replied without hesitation, "I have simply decided what type of future I would like to see!"
At this, cheers broke out among the humans. For once victory seemed certain.
"This stunt is too much, even for your lot! Curse you! You'll suffer for this!" spat a mid-level kindred. He glared at Sancho with eyes full of rage, clutching a broken arm. She didn't recognize him at all.
"Quiet." She cut through his hardblood armor, lopping off his other arm. If he managed to recover from his wounds, he wouldn't be fighting for a long time.
She turned on her heel to find her next target, but the crowd was thinning. The sounds of combat were starting to fade. The heavily wounded were being carried away by those who had been more lucky.
"Father, they're pulling back!" she called.
Only then did Don Quixote allow himself to come to a stop.
"Naturally, look at who they must oppose!" he smiled.
--
The Manchegans regrouped in the middle of the field. Yesterday wheat had been growing here, but today's fighting had crushed the crop. The still-green grains were trampled into the dirt. The ground was pockmarked with blood.
"We have not lost, and we shall not cede an inch. Let us make camp upon this very spot!"
At their Father's command, Nicolina (who had appointed herself the quartermaster) set up their makeshift bivouac. She and one of her children had brought along everything the Family needed for basic comforts. They spread a carpet on the ground and arranged a few seats while they began work on the tent.
"And Sancho, be so good as to light a fire for us, won't you?" Don Quixote asked, his excitement bleeding into politeness.
"Haaah," she sighed, "for what reason?"
"Our camp shan't be complete without it!"
Sancho borrowed the tinderbox from Nicolina and set about lighting a fire. Just another ridiculous aspect of this ridiculous quest.
She sparked the flint.
They didn't need any light. Their red eyes could see through the pitch-black night just fine. If anything, a flickering firelight might make visibility worse.
She fanned the little flame, coaxing it into life.
It brought no utility to the camp. They weren't about to cook a meal, or brew coffee, or any of the other things that the humans would be doing with their campfires.
She fed it little bits of ruined wheat stalks and dry grass before piling on wood. When it seemed like it could sustain itself, she sat down between her Father and Curiambro. She glared at it, as though she could forbid it from blowing out in the gentle breeze.
Sancho didn't need the fire's warmth anymore, either. She had her Family for that now.
She let their nearness seep into her bones, watching as the flame grew and claimed a foothold on the proper firewood. Her battle-heightened nerves relaxed. It was rather calming, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with everyone.
"See? 'Tis a merry little thing, is it not?" Don Quixote smiled, admiring the fire.
In that moment their camp was the only spot of light that could be seen across the whole plain. In the middle of the battlefield, it shone as bright as a star in the sky.
It was such a foolhardy, rebellious, human thing. They could not announce their exact position to the opposing Families any more loudly.
"This campaign shall now play out precisely as I have envisioned. Another battle or two like this one, and the humans will have their precious peace once again in just a matter of days!" Don Quixote boasted.
Sancho furrowed her brow at that idea. This battle hadn't been a very important one — it was just the first skirmish they happened across while traveling. No one they fought off could be considered a worthy opponent. The higher-level kindreds and combat-adept Families would be somewhere yet ahead.
"Father, our... adversaries... have not lost the fight. They merely retreated." Curiambro put words to what she was thinking much more elegantly. "The other Families will soon hear of your arrival and its implications. At this very moment they must be plotting how they may yet talk you out of this... or else devising how to put a stop to you."
"They can talk me out of it only by agreeing to end this war! And for all they've struggled against the humans thus far, I don't expect to meet much of a challenge. We'll not let this tarry on for long."
"It would be wise to meet with our new allies. We have limited information aside from the maps of the area drawn for us by Ser Bari." Curiambro tapped the maps, folded neatly in his breast pocket, for emphasis. "It won't do to wander the farms and hills aimlessly."
"That would be so much simpler had our 'allies' not all immediately fled," Dulcinea noted dully. She was having Nicolina tend to her hair, re-braiding it to tie it up and out of the way before the next battle.
"Seriously!" Nicolina laughed derisively. "I kinda thought that the humans would be all over us like: 'Aaah! Yay! Thank you for saving us all from becoming bloodbags Don Quixote and his magnificent Children!', but... nothing. They scampered away before we were even done fighting! We're just sooo scawwy~!"
Sancho smirked. Nicolina loved it when people were terrified of her.
"The humans are just happy to have us finally fighting their battle on their behalf, just like the little knight they sent wanted all along." Dulcinea checked her hair, then turned to work on Nicolina's in turn.
"Always skeptical of the humans to the last, my dear Dulcinea." Don Quixote looked at her with fondness even as he sighed. "Though it would have been only advantageous to their cause if they had simply invited me to their camp. We could discuss strategy. Battle formations!"
"And then you could regale them with tales of your epic battles of yore? And they would let you eat their biscuits and share their wine?" Sancho supposed.
"...Well, yes those things as well!" he smiled.
"Then we'll just move on over to where they are!" Nicolina joked.
At least, Sancho hoped she was joking. It was a terrible, unserious idea. The map made it clear to all of them that such a thing would be impossible.
"Hmm," Don Quixote hummed.
Sancho's premonition worsened.
"Hmmmmmm," he considered even harder.
"The camp has already been established at the site of our victory, Father," Sancho attempted.
"This is true. There is no need to concern the entire camp with this. That is the role of the commander."
"You are not a commander. This isn't an army."
"However, I am in charge. It is my responsibility. Therefore, here is what I have decided." He stood up and gathered his coat around him.
"You and I shall go and greet the humans. With just the pair of us astride Rocinante, we shall waste no time. Who knows? Perhaps the humans are sitting now by their own fires, wondering who is so rude as to not introduce themselves after fighting alongside them!"
There would be no point trying to dissuade him further. Sancho gathered her things and got ready to depart.
--
They knew what direction they should travel to find the humans. There was only one settlement anywhere nearby: a little farming hamlet to the north named Bell. Rocinante took them ten times faster than a human could ever run until they saw the light of the little town appear over the horizon.
But then they went no further. Rocinante stopped of its own accord.
This was the reason the humans had been holding out against the Bloodfiends in this region.
A wide and swiftly flowing river separated Bell from the rest of the plain.
"Ah. Then it is as the map said." Don Quixote closed his eyes to center himself.
Sancho closed her eyes too, but it was little comfort — Her ears were keen enough that she could still discern the sound of the rushing water from their position a fair distance away. She gripped her Father's jacket a little tighter, trying to summon the strength to remain composed.
It wasn't the most fearsome river in the City, but it was more than enough. There were few Kindred who would dare to come as close as they were now. It was a perfect natural stronghold against their kind.
This was the inevitable conclusion of this excursion. They had both known from the start.
"Tell me Sancho... do you see any humans?"
Sancho struggled to open her eyes. She forced herself to focus on the other bank of the river, on the smoke emanating from little roofs and the pinpoints of light coming from the tiny windows of the village in the distance.
"I can't see them, but they are there," she reported.
Her head was spinning with the sensation of washing away with the gurgling water. She trained her stare on the ground, trying to push off the vertigo tilting the horizon. It was almost more than she could bear. The strength in her limbs was leaking away.
"Do you espy, perchance, that they have lain down a bridge that we might cross? Or sent a messenger to greet us?"
An excruciating request. She turned to him, to ask him to not ask this of her.
But her Father was already looking up and down the river with his own red eyes. There was a deep pain within those eyes that she knew so well, but had rarely seen upon him.
He was looking for a sign that he would not see, and that she would not see either. Perhaps this painful world... wouldn't return a single glimmer of hope, even to those who chose to believe despite it all. To even try was...
Sharing that pain with another was the only way to make it bearable.
So she looked. There was no bridge across the river. There were no messengers approaching them on foot or on horseback.
"...They have not."
"So it seems."
The two of them were quiet for a moment. There was only the sound of the night, the terrible river, and Rocinante's rhythmic breathing.
Sancho wanted to cry. Nothing would be better than getting back to their camp and their Family as fast as they could.
"...Will you cross the river, Father?" Surely he would not, but perhaps he was contemplating...
"No," he replied. "Perhaps this is for the best, for they are the ones that have put this barrier between us."
She let out a sigh of relief.
"...Sancho."
"Yes?"
"Tell me your honest thoughts, as you always do... Do you think that our visit here was... a mistake?"
"...No."
She didn't think it was a good idea in the least from the very start. But that didn't make it a mistake. "Simply being here matters, I think. They will know we were here."
"Hah. Good! I agree wholeheartedly. We must make a certainty of it!" He nudged Rocinante on, and it broke into a full gallop towards the river.
"What?! No!!" She held on to him for her very life as the water got closer and closer.
"Hearken unto me now, humans!!" He shouted as they sprinted along the riverbank. His voice echoed across the water with unnatural vigor. "Thou shalt know that I am Don Quixote, and I have come to thy aid! Tomorrow we shall forge our new path to coexistence! I swear this upon my noble name!"
The message delivered, Rocinante tore away from the town and the river as fast as it had ever gone. Don Quixote let out a delirious laugh as Sancho gasped for air.
"Let this be the tale they tell of the most magnanimous Don Quixote! Where no bridge is offered, I shall ever endeavor to create one!"