Maw of the Devourer, page 42
With that, Calriss departed the tent. Squall looked for Lyrria, but didn’t find her. Lyrria clearly didn’t want any company, if she’d left without a goodbye. All he could do now was find somewhere to sleep.
Hopefully, rest will clear these worries from my mind, Squall thought. I wish…
***
Lyon sat at the large round table in the command room at Fort Serve.
The room held only the table and its chairs. It was hardly a welcoming sight, and the atmosphere of its occupants did not help. Commander Illrath sat opposite Lyon and a troubled frown breaking his grizzled face. Solalyn paced around the room slowly, muttering to herself as she moved. Saris leant against a side wall and her charming lips pressed into a stern line.
A map of the surrounding area rested on the table and markers showed the Dracalian camp and the Lithyan forces in the area. Over the past week since Lyon had scouted the Dracalian camp, they’d had trouble scouting the camp for more information. No one had raised an alarm about the Dracalian patrol he had slain—did they believe the monsters had got them?
While that played to their advantage, scouts had reported seeing more of the weird monsters. The monsters had decimated more than a few patrols; they hadn’t found every scout who had gone missing. But the bodies they had found showed signs of being eaten…
It had taken them far too long to realise the connection between the odd mists appearing around the forest and the warped creatures. Now, patrols avoided any area with mist and they had seen a significant drop in causalities because of that. But it had left them unable to scout out the Dracalian camp, given how often the mist appeared in the woods.
Not only that, but the appearance of the monsters had damaged the morale of Fort Serve. The monsters wiped out patrols, ate the dead, and looked so similar to humans. And no one had ever heard of them before. Not even old tales passed down in surrounding villages mentioned monsters and mists.
Then rumours had circulated about the size of the Dracalian camp. Even if Lyon knew Followers comprised at least half of the camp, the soldiers only knew the numbers. Regardless of how their scouting trip showed how the Followers weren’t a military force, even untrained fighters could prove deadly in great numbers.
Then there were the daily tremors.
According to the soldiers who had served at the fort for decades, the area was prone to earthquakes. But not this frequently. Yet, what could Lyon and the others do to stop the shaking earth? Nothing. To protect the morale of their troops, they had settled on acting as if they weren’t concerned.
Solalyn paused her pacing and glanced at Illrath. “Any news on reinforcements?”
Illrath shook his head and buried his head in his hands. “The same as yesterday, Your Highness. There hasn’t been enough time for the messages to arrive at the other duchies yet, nor would their answers have made it back to us. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. If the duchies haven’t already mustered their forces and sent them marching this way, there is no way they will arrive in time.”
While the commander was confident that the fort could hold out in a siege for a few weeks at least, they needed reinforcements. Unfortunately, the Serchere duchy had spread their forces thin along its border and the same applied to Rarrendis. That left them relying on the other duchies to supplement their forces, and distance wasn’t on their side.
“How about the scout reports?” Lyon leant forward in his chair and stared at the marker on the map that showed the Dracalian camp.
“No.” Illrath had yet to snap at either Lyon or Solalyn for asking the same questions each day, but it looked like the gruff man’s patience had worn thin.
“And we still can’t hope those monsters got them all?”
“Ha! That would make our job easier, the Lord of Light willing. But I doubt the things have done more than make the Dracalians cautious like us. I doubt even those monsters would attack an army if it marched together…”
“Well, that aside. We have other issues, including the Followers as strong as Chosen.”
Solalyn moved to stand beside Lyon. “Commander, my guards and I shall handle these Followers.”
Saris waltzed over to the table and dragged a seat out for herself. “If they are as strong as Chosen, me and the other Rarrendis Chosen can help. Few though we may be.”
Illrath nodded politely at the offers, but he shook his head. “Thank you, but let us hope it does not come to that, shall we? The fort can hold out against a siege until reinforcements arrive. I guarantee that. We have enough food to last us two months, even with our currently bolstered forces.”
The Followers might turn the battle in their favour, Lyon thought. All it’d take is a small force getting our gates open. Let’s just hope none of them are like Horace.
“Well, at least we know what to do if it happens,” Saris said. “But I agree; let’s hope it doesn’t come to it.”
Solalyn smiled at Saris. “That would simplify things, wouldn’t it?”
“You can’t come in here!” The shout came from the muffled voice of a soldier outside, and Lyon turned to the door.
“I can!” a familiar voice said.
Lyon frowned and strode over to the door. Before anyone could object, he opened the door and stared at the guards stationed outside. The pair looked at Lyon sheepishly, but Lyon’s eyes went to the woman behind them. Soldiers rushed in behind the woman, drawn by the commotion, and they held their weapons at the ready.
Azure looked travel worn. Dirt and dark stains covered her clothes, and the tears in her clothes attested to a rough journey. A mostly healed cut trace the area under her jaw; if it had been deeper, than it would have been fatal. Her appearance explained the soldiers’ wariness, and she didn’t help herself with the deep scowl on her face.
Despite how she glared at him, Lyon grinned at Azure. “Stand down. She’s a friend.”
The soldiers glanced dubiously at Azure, but they followed his orders and moved out of her way. Azure strode forward without a word and pushed past Lyon to enter the command room. Lyon rolled his eyes and moved to follow her when something caught his eye. A large, grey bird that somehow looked to be made of clouds landed awkwardly on the antechamber’s window. The guards closest to the window stumbled back and drew their swords in surprise. In an instant, the dozen soldiers were alert again.
“At least one among you has a mind about them.” A haughty voice emanated from the bird, though its beak did not move.
Lyon blinked at the strange creature, but Azure pushed past him again with a scowl. “Stop making a scene, Stratos!”
How can she speak to her god like that? Lyon thought.
Stratos’ cloudy form shifted, and he shrunk to the size of a small bird. A somewhat wispy quality remained to his feather, but Stratos flew over Lyon’s head and into the command room. Lyon followed the god’s flight until Azure shoved him out of the way to follow her god into the room. With a sigh, Lyon nodded to the soldiers and closed the door to silence their chatter.
Illrath and Saris stared at Stratos; the avian god had perched on the back of a chair and stared down at the map on the table imperiously. Saris spared a glance for Azure, but the god drew her attention back immediately when he ruffled his cloudy feathers.
Solalyn was the first to recover, and she nodded to Azure. “It is good to see you again.”
“Hmm…” Azure stomped over to the table and folded her arms.
“Azure, this is Saris Rarrendis and Illrath, Commander of Fort Serve. Saris, Illrath, this is Azure, a Chosen ally of ours.” Solalyn gestured between the trio, but Azure ignored the princess. That earned a glare from Illrath, but she ignored that, too.
“Greetings, Azure,” Saris said. “It is my pleasure to meet you.” When she received nothing but the slightest tilt of Azure’s head, Saris surprised Lyon by smiling wider. He hadn’t expected someone to actually like Azure’s surliness.
Lyon gestured to the grey bird. “And this is Stratos. God and ally of Lord Lith.”
“I passed through a couple of villages ravaged by monsters on my way here.” Azure ignored the introductions and stabbed a finger on the map. Lyon stepped up to the table with an inward sigh. Unfortunately, Azure wouldn’t give him a longer reprieve from his headaches. “They looked like people, but taller and stretched out. They were blind and had snout-like noses; sharp teeth and claws, too. Ugly things, only really human-like from a distance. And a pain to kill.”
“Must be those mist creatures we’ve encountered around here,” Lyon said. “You killed one?”
“So, that mist wasn’t just a coincidence, then? That makes sense, from what I saw.”
Illrath’s eye twitched, and the commander kept his face blank. “Ahem! I thank you, Lady Azure, for aiding the villages where you could. But the Dracalian army and the cultists are the more immediate threat we need to deal with.”
“I’m not a lady…” Azure mumbled. She stared at the markers dotting the map and frowned. “What’s all this?”
Solalyn brought Azure up to speed, detailing what they knew about the Dracalian camp and how prepared the fort’s defences were. When Solalyn finished, Stratos ruffled his feathers and scoffed. “You shall need more reinforcements to battle the Followers.”
“The fort will hold against their army,” Illrath said. “Our reports say these cultists aren’t well-trained. It will take more than a mob to break through the fort’s defences.”
“That is where you are wrong, mortal.”
Lyon glanced at Azure, but she scowled at the map and he found no answer there. “What do you mean, Lord Stratos?”
“Stormrider’s Storm is approaching this fort…”
“Huh?” Lyon frowned; he’d heard stories of the Storm, but it had always seemed like something from, well, a story.
“I have not sensed Stormrider in some time. I do not know what has happened to her, but she must be deliberately hiding from me.”
“Wait, what does that mean?” Illrath glanced between the god and Azure. “What does a storm have to do with the siege? Sure, the weather will be a pain to fight in, but it will just as easily inhibit our attackers.”
“The problem, mortal, is that I sent Azure to find Stormrider’s Chosen champion. She travelled to Geovenos and found the boy.” Stratos’ hardened with each word. “There, I spotted a Follower in the palace and ordered Azure to dispatch the filth. But the champion defended the Follower. I do not understand how or why, but Stormrider or her champion must be controlling the Storm. They plan to use it to aid the Followers.”
Lyon glanced at Azure, and she nodded. Lyon shook his head and slammed his fist into the table. “So, we’ve been betrayed?”
“Yes. The Storm’s destructive power shall tear through your walls as if they do not exist.”
***
Squall walked through the Followers’ camp and scanned his surroundings for Lyrria.
Five days. Five long days since Lyrria had learnt what he’d done to Stormrider. He had given her distance to think, but he couldn’t take it any longer. He had to explain himself—but how much could he tell? How much did he need to lie? He would have to work that out when the time came.
General Calriss and her attendants treated Squall like some kind of hero. Even her soldiers treated him differently. Word had spread about how the general held him in high esteem, and the soldiers copied that. But not all of them. Some stared at his eyes and his wave patterns with a raging fire in their eyes. They wanted—no, needed—to destroy him. Their stares frightened him more than the thought of a mist walker breathing down his neck again. No command from their general would hold those soldiers for long, and Squall avoided them.
Rumours spread through the camp of monsters lurking in the odd mists that clung to the edge of the camp at night. Some even claimed that people disappeared if they wandered too far from the camp. Whether they were true, Squall stayed near his tent at night and refused to test his luck.
Where is she? Squall thought. He hurried through the camp and squeezed past a pair of neighbouring tents before he spotted her.
Lyrria sat at the edge of the camp in a flower field. She held a rock the size of her head in her hands and idly Shaped it while the morning sun drifted across the white flowers. Squall watched her for a moment and took a deep breath. Before his courage could flee, he approached her.
“Hey,” Squall muttered. Lyrria’s hands stopped, but she didn’t turn to greet him. “Uh…”
This is going as well as I expected, Squall thought.
“What d’you want?” Lyrria continued Shaping the rock and her back screamed her displeasure.
“Are… are you upset?”
“Of course I am!” Lyrria finally turned and glared up at him. Her shout drew a few curious looks from the surrounding Followers and she lowered her voice. “You… you killed a goddess. That shouldn’t be possible, but apparently you did it!”
“No, uh…” Squall wrung his hands and stared at his boots.
“Did you plan to kill Eoven if they didn’t help you, too?”
“No! Not at all! The thought never crossed my mind. Promise!”
“Really?”
“I don’t even think that’s possible!” Squall’s stomach twisted into a knot when Lyrria narrowed her eyes at him. “Please, just listen to me!”
“Fine…” It wasn’t as if her distrust and—as much as it pained him to admit it—disgust for him had disappeared.
“I don’t know where to start, not really…” Squall could not hold Lyrria’s gaze and he dropped to the ground beside her. He stared at the flowers without seeing them. “I was born in a small fishing village in the Alliance. Ainfell. Not that anyone really remembered it unless they lived nearby. It was a simple life, looking back now, but it was all I really wanted…”
The bittersweet memories of his home emboldened Squall, and he risked a quick look at Lyrria, but she just stared at him with an inscrutable expression. “Go on.”
“A simple life, fishing and living, you know? I would go out with my dad each morning and help him. Then we’d come back in and I’d help my mother and my siblings prepare what we’d caught while my father went to work on another boat. Simple, like I said.” Squall took a shaky breath and his lungs burned with unshed tears. “But then, one day, the boats saw a storm approaching and had to come in early. But it wasn’t just a storm… it was the Storm. She’d come. No one knew why. I didn’t even know—not for a while, at least. But she claimed me as some kind of special Chosen, apparently. Everyone else is Chosen when they are a babe, but not me. Instead, Stormrider rode her Storm right into the village.”
Squall glanced at Lyrria, but he couldn’t make out how she reacted through his watery eyes. The memories came unbidden, horror and all; his mind relieved the entire experience in excruciating detail. Death and destruction. All wrought by the Storm.
When Squall continued, he spoke in a detached voice. “You’ve heard how destructive the Storm can be. Well. Just imagine a small fishing village built right on the coast. Ripped right through Ainfell like a wave through a sandcastle.” Squall fell silent for a moment, the next memories threatening to undo him. But he cleared his throat noisily and forced himself to continue. “And they died, you know? One by one… right in front of me… My brothers… My sister… My parents… One by one…”
Lyrria shifted beside him, but Squall didn’t dare to look at her. If he found disgust or anger on her face after telling her this, well…
Squall pushed the heart-rending memories back deep inside. “And I fell unconscious at some point. Woke up in Melta and I met Riti. The Chosen tasked with taking care of me while Stormrider roamed the sea like nothing had ever happened. But how was I supposed to deal with that? Just ignore and forget everything that happened? No, that wasn’t possible. But Riti tried her best to give me a new home, you know? She didn’t know what happened—still doesn’t, I think. I was told to go to lessons, so I did. I was told to learn all about the responsibilities a Chosen has in the Alliance, so I did.”
A bee flew to a flower in front of Squall, and he watched it for a moment. Life went on, just like it had back in Melta. The world didn’t care what had happened to him.
Squall’s tone shifted to something that was almost wistful. “You know, my rage cooled after a while. It was Riti, thinking back on it now. It was like I had gotten a big sister, one that awkwardly tried her best to make me feel at ease. But thankfully, I met Ceptin. And he made me remember what I needed to do and promised to help me. Ceptin showed me it. An odd, white-grey dagger. One capable of killing a deity. After that, I called Stormrider to Melta.”
Squall fell silent and finally found the courage to look Lyrria in the eyes. She stared at him, a rapt audience. Her eyes hid her true feeling, but at least she listened. Even if she ignored him, he couldn’t stop the torrent of words. He needed to finish the tale.
Squall continued with a calm voice that defied the raging emotions inside of him. “Ceptin gave me the dagger, and it seemed like everything would go according to plan. But then Riti came and tried to stop me. But it didn’t matter. I drove the dagger right into Stormrider’s chest and watched her die! Everything had worked! I actually got my revenge. But then I heard her screams… Riti collapsed and screamed in such pain… I-I didn’t know she would feel that kind of pain! I didn’t know the Chosen would die with Stormrider!”
“What?” Lyrria stared at Squall with wide eyes, but she shut her mouth and nodded for him to continue.
“I was distraught, and I begged Ceptin to do something, anything. And he did. He helped me absorb whatever was left of Stormrider. It hurt and some kind of power seeped into me. And Ceptin did something with the leftovers. But that doesn’t matter. I thought absorbing Stormrider would save Riti, but it didn’t. It only helped me, apparently. But Ceptin saved her. Which is why I’m helping the Dracalians, so you know. I owed Ceptin, and he asked me to do that.”
Lyrria nodded slightly. “Okay.”
“I regret how the other Chosen died because of what I did. I didn’t really even think of them for weeks after Stormrider’s death, but now I know their deaths are my fault…”
