CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT.

The Duchess limped over to pick me up, smokestacks still glowing white-hot and fully a third of her legs on one side damaged beyond repair. I grimaced sorrowfully at the sight of the wounded vessel as it drew closer— crushed gun emplacements marking what I knew would be the graves of the men who’d crewed them. Looking out, much of the caravan was in a similar state, although the Duchess— being the lead ship— had definitely taken the worst beating.

My own injuries were visibly healing as the minutes dragged on, leaving me exhausted, covered in a combination of swamp muck and my own blood, but increasingly hale— at least physically. My nerves still felt like I’d spent the day licking power lines, and whatever power I’d drawn from the runes in my soul was thoroughly spent. Long story short; I was done, and fully content to just lie in the mud in full [Outer Kindred] form until someone could bring me a change of clothes.

Still have to sort out the villagers too. Figure out what the hell was up with Nezzick and Lyr’Rael, and maybe learn whatever Shani did to juice me up like that.

The (relatively) short list still made me feel even more tired, but I waved as shouts rose from the approaching ship.

“Oy! That you, Mister Baines? Need a lift?” Came an unfamiliar voice from an open hatch on the ship’s side.

“Yeah, it’s me!” I shouted back, flicking some rancid mud off my hand in distaste. “Before you bring me up, anybody got a hose?”

Turns out the loading bay did have a firehose set up for emergencies; a quick spray and a gifted swath of canvas-turned-bathrobe later I was human again. My first instinct was to check on Shani, but I caught sight of captain Teadran leaning on one of the observation decks out of the corner of my eye. Sighing heavily, I changed my course.

Might as well get this over with.

He didn’t acknowledge me as I approached, simply looking down at a small booklet in one of his weathered hands.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I couldn’t run.” I said.

He snorted, shaking his head ruefully as he tucked the booklet into his coat.

“You and everyone else on this damned caravan, Baines. I can’t judge a man for something I couldn’t do myself.”

The captain leaned back, staring idly at the still-cloudy sky while he seemed to gather himself up.

“Twenty-seven. Such a small number compared to what it could have been. What it would have been, had my orders been obeyed. Yet it’s still too many…”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and a selfish part of me couldn’t help but wonder how many familiar faces would be missing from the next meal in the galley. A part of me felt guilty that I hadn't known most of them any better, but I pushed it down and stood there silently while Teadran worked his jaw, still looking out at something only he could see. He traced a hand idly along the railing behind him.

“This will be the last caravan for me, and for the Duchess Corinne. I'd wondered who I would pass the captaincy to, but the old girl decided to follow me into retirement. Her frame is warped, there are stress fractures all over her hull, and whatever you two did to the core has melted half the critical systems stemming from it. She'll get us home, but that'll be the end. Generations of service…”

The older man shook himself off, banishing his melancholy expression to give me a serious look.

“I still can’t say I care much for you, Baines. You’re reckless, impulsive, volatile and a magnet for trouble. Somehow Esshani still cares for you, and I honestly don’t know which of the two of you is the worst influence on the other. If I had any sense I’d boot you right over this rail and run this ship straight to Terland with all speed.”

Wow. Tell me how you really feel, jeeze…

“However…” he said, the word lingering like he had to physically drag it past his lips. “When the chips were down, you held firm. No matter your issues, no matter your past. When the time came, you didn’t run. Even against my orders. So against my better judgement, I am going to step back. If you wish to continue courting Esshani, I will not stand in the way.”

Well that was just about the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever received, but you know what? I’ll take it.

“Thank you, sir.” I replied, simply.

The captain smirked, losing some of the weight in his eyes and chuckling dryly.

“Don’t be too grateful, boy. That was the easy part. If you really intend on pursuing Esshani, you’re going to have to get her father’s approval next.”

“Uh… her father?”

Teadran suddenly had an absolutely benign smile on his face, and it was one of the most unnatural things I’d ever seen.

“Yes. Iphrahim Zariah has much in common with myself, only absent my welcoming nature and pleasant disposition. The man’s been fighting a war with the Tyrant for the last century now, but I’m sure once he hears what’s become of the Duchess and his youngest daughter he’ll be rushing straight for Thunderfell.”

The captain patted me on the shoulder and walked past, leaving me looking out over the swamp with dispirited resignation as he made his way towards the nearby hatch.

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

We were both startled by the sudden roar of rockets as Cael shot in for a landing right beside us, nimbly dodging the railing in his armored suit.

“Captain,” he barked out, “we need to move. Now.”

There was a moment of confusion where my mind refused to accept that after everything we’d just been through, there could still be more. But a horrible understanding hit me, and I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of what he told the captain. Creeping Dread wormed its way into my mind, and I ignored the pain it caused me as I activated my [Flight] spell again to push myself back up into the air, knowing what I would see.

A black stain was spreading out from Champion’s Folly, oozing across the ground like an oil slick of immense scale. Loose clouds of unidentifiable creatures were rising from the darkness of the pit, followed quickly by multiple serpentine shapes— like the monster we’d just killed, but smaller. [Blighted] monsters of every kind, from the infuriating copies of my [Blightlings] to infested beasts, were pouring out of the Folly Pit in an endless wave of black corruption. Even as I watched, lines of [Blighted] creatures stretched like questing tendrils of slime mold towards the corpse of Telm An’Kaa.

They’re going to resurrect him. With that many, it won’t take long. And there’s no way we’re going to be able to stop them, there must be millions.

Frantic signals went between the ships of the caravan beneath me, and I saw them turning in unison to the north. Snarling helplessly, I dove back down; transforming mid-flight to make magic easier and angling my descent for the village flotilla. They had (thankfully) continued moving north ahead of us, although they’d slowed down significantly since the battle stopped. Spotting the old galleon/flagship/town hall, I rushed towards it at a pace that set my nerves screaming in protest.

Villagers were milling aimlessly around the deck when I arrived with a heavy thud onto the old wooden planks, notably avoiding a circular area currently occupied by a glaive-wielding Lyr'Rael and the sullenly kneeling form of Nezzick— who looked like he'd just lost a nasty fight with a blender. The old shaman was absolutely covered in cuts, and definitely didn't look like the freaky wendigo thing I'd seen earlier.

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“What are you all doing?? Get up! We need everyone to keep moving.” I shouted. Instead of obeying, the villagers all hesitated, some shaking themselves like they were dazed and trying to focus while others just stared blankly.

What the hell?

Lyr'Rael immediately took up a defensive posture, stepping back to angle herself so she could keep Nezzick and I both in her vision. The blade of her glaive hummed ominously as she pointed it up at me, my transformed body dwarfing everyone on the deck.

“You. Did you command this… atrocity!?” She growled at me.

“Atrocity?? Wha—” my eyes darted over to the sullen form of the old shaman. “Nezzick. Explain, quickly.”

He glared between the two of us before hauling himself painfully to his feet.

“You could not win. You rushed off to your death and left us to suffer the consequences. I attempted to aid you, but I was prevented by this… woman.”

My mind whirred, processing what I'd seen earlier and the scene around me. Lyr'Rael had a little bit of a tendency to jump straight for stabbing things (based on my previous experience being stabbed), but as I looked around I couldn't help but see a nasty-looking dagger and an unconscious villager lying on a stretcher nearby. It really wasn't hard to add things up after that.

“Nezzick. Maybe I should have been more clear, but there will never be a point where I want, or need, human sacrifices!” I roared, sending some of the villagers flinching back in fright. “Lyr'Rael, I'm sorry it was necessary, but thank you for stopping this.”

She seemed immediately disoriented by my gratitude, like she'd been gearing up for a fight that had suddenly vanished. I didn't pay her much attention though, because I needed to make sure something like this never happened again.

“This will not happen again, Nezzick. There are difficult battles in my future, and I cannot fight them with the worry that you're going to take it on yourself to murder people in the vague hope that it empowers me somehow.”

Staring into the shaman's eyes, I could see that he was still simmering with rage, and I knew that I had to take this a step further.

“You want me to be your protector? To lead? Fine. This is me leading. There will be no sacrifices, and if I can't trust you to follow that order, then I will be leading these people without you. The only person who pays the price for my battles is me, do you understand?”

Nezzick calmed quickly— suspiciously quickly— before cocking his head with a dark chuckle.

“As you wish, Great One, but before you think too highly of your accomplishments, remember…” the old man raised his wrinkled fingers up to remove the hooded mask covering his face, “Some costs cannot be avoided. And you will not always be the one paying them.”

The old shaman's features had changed drastically since the last time I saw him, gaining an unsettlingly perfect symmetry that normal people just didn't have. His skin was now a greyish blue, flecked with small white spots like tiny stars. Most tellingly though, was the faintly shimmering mark of a rune— my rune— spreading out from the skin of his forehead. The way it was imprinted made it almost seem like it shone out from beneath his skin, like the rune had fused itself straight to the shaman's bones.

Oh no…

Whirling around, I looked at all the villagers and saw signs of similar transformations on everyone. Every villager that had taken my rune had been changed by it. Seeing Nezzick, some began removing their masks and feeling numbly at their own faces.

Damn it. Just… damn it. I should have known a boost like that couldn't just come from nothing. Instead of manifesting my magic through my own body, it must have used theirs. That's why the runes burned out so quickly, these are just normal people.

“Alright. I'll fix this if I can. But right now we've got millions of [Blighted] monsters heading this way, we need to get moving now or we might as well have just let the freaking snake eat us!”

That at least seemed to galvanize people into motion, but as the flotilla quickly got back up to speed, I couldn't help a sinking feeling in my gut as I watched people furtively continue to examine themselves and the changes wrought by my magic.

What have I done to them?

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I crashed into the Duchess's observation deck, utterly uncaring for the fact that I crushed one of the handrails irreparably. Twice now, the swarm of [Blight] had resurrected Telm An’Kaa, and each time we put him down (with Cael doing the heavy lifting) he just came back… worse. The damage we inflicted on the Kaiju's body was never really healed, just replaced by a spreading mass of [Blight]-infested tumors. It actually made the fights with him a lot easier with a soft target to burn, but—

One of my leg tentacles lashed out reflexively, snatching a diving bat-thing out of the air and shredding it to pieces with the hooked barbs lining the underside.

There's just so many…

It had been a day and a half of constant assault by the faster contingents of the oncoming horde— mostly a collection of infested fliers like the bat and a few lesser flying snakes that were more bus-sized instead of skyscraper-sized. At least they died easier than the big one.

And they’re called couatls, Ray. Couatls. Much easier than flying-snake-kaiju-thing.

The horde on the ground was slowly catching up as well, to the point they were almost in range of the Duchess's longer guns. It was a toss-up whether we'd reach the border first or the swarm of [Blight] would catch us, but we were all universally exhausted, and the Duchess wasn't doing much better. An alarming shake had developed in the vessel's rocking gait, the entire ship shuddering with increasing violence as we sped forward. Despite all this, we had a single ray of hope.

Half a day, maybe less if we're lucky. We'll make it, and the ‘border guard’ had better be freaking amazing.

I might have passed out for a minute there, as I was startled awake by a fresh barrage of cannon fire from the caravan. Groaning, I dragged myself upright, only to see a bloated, creeping mass of ruined flesh slithering towards us.

Well, you're certainly looking worse for wear.

The serpent was barely recognizable under a fresh batch of oily growths that reached out in all directions, its head now twisted at a disturbing angle from the blow that had killed it originally. The kaiju’s wings dragged limply on the ground, bones shattered by repeated battles and leaking corrosive [Blight] like a stain behind it. Looking at the ancient Couatl now, I couldn't feel fear like I had before— just disgust, and pity at the broken husk of a creature that had once been called a god.

Now if only we could burn you to ashes so you could stay dead.

Well, it certainly wouldn't be for lack of trying, I thought to myself as I dragged my aching body upright to fight again.

“No need, kid.” Leigh's voice startled me from behind, though I was too tired to do anything but a mild flinch. “The ridgeline might be the official border, but there're treaties much older than that at play here.”

“Huh.” I grunted tiredly in acknowledgment. “Where have you been?”

The priest smirked at me.

“Around. Had some arrangements to make.”

I glared flatly at him.

“You're the wrong personality to pull off ‘mysterious’, Leigh. On you it just comes across as annoying, and makes me want to hit something.”

His smirk widened into a full grin, and he pointed out toward the tortured kaiju with a single nonchalant finger. I didn't see anything at first, until a sudden flash of light blinded me and sent me reeling backwards. A sound like the world's most enormous bell being rung echoed around us, and a wave of blue-ish light flashed across the ground.

Telm An’Kaa’s huge body had slammed face-first into a giant, glowing sigil that floated in the air above the barren ground. The mutated corpse accordioned almost comically with its momentum, one of its wings finally shearing off entirely in the tangled mess its body became. It snarled and wailed angrily, but the sound was somehow muted as a tiny figure materialized in the air with a prim ‘tut-tut’.

“Oh dear, now what's gone and gotten you all upset? You know you're not allowed across the border.”

The voice was young and musical, speaking in a sing-song tone of crystalline perfection that would be almost hypnotic, except for one tiny detail that made me want to crawl back into the ship and hide.

I know that voice.

Adeline Haethram, Archwitch of Terland, generally scary lady and wife of my old friend Veris, had arrived.