Camille X: With Flowers in Her Hair
Camille inhaled slowly, trying to wrap her head around the dismal situation out in the gloom beyond the walls. Captain Whitbey stood at the head of a massive formation of Guardians, surrounding the Great Temple on all sides but the water.
Which does leave me an out, at the cost of some power. It would be a chance to rescue Luce and clear her obligations, moving things into the next phase of her plan.
And leave everyone here to their fate. But if it were a choice between that and eternal servitude or death? Even Luce could probably understand, if it came to that.
My hands are already stained today as it is.
Pierre Cadoudal looked torn between whether to level his pained, judgmental eyes towards the enemy or Camille, and it was hard to blame him. I gathered everyone here, and now they’re here because of me.
At least it made the path forward clear.
“A proposal for you, Pierre. Whitbey’s thugs are here for me, and yet they’re unable to block my escape. What say I lead them on a merry chase? I doubt I’ll be lucky enough to pull all of them with me, but it should give you a much better chance of fighting your way to the tunnels.”
“I have no taste for blood, nor entertaining your self-serving manipulations.”
“Then don’t fight. You can run too, while I distract them. There’s a room I can show you with a tunnel that leads to the room where we’d meet Levian. From there, anywhere is open to you from the sea.”
“Frigid water, and likely to kill half the people here if it’s half as deep as the Torrent of the Deep might desire of a meeting chamber.”
Shit, right. “Ok, we can think this through. I can guide everyone up with magic, and even to shore.” Thinking through the distances, she could probably make a few trips until she ran out of energy, which would mean picking people off to offer in the doing. Not ideal at all, but better than leaving everyone trapped here.
“Do you think we have time for that?” He didn’t sound dismissive or annoyed, just trying to work his way through the problem. “I’m not well versed in these Guardian operations.”
“It hasn’t ever seen battle, but the Temple is defensible. As long as we can present a credible threat, they’ll need to plan a siege instead of just storming in. That could take hours.” Which still might be cutting it close, given how many people we have inside. “We’ll want people on the walls, periodic volleys from inside—Oh, we’ll need to string the bows in the basement first—and a strong first impression can make it look like we have more arrows than we really do. Higher volume with less frequency, so it’s not something any Guardian can just tune out and ignore.”
“Open war with the Guardians? Even if the Prince of Darkness prevails, an organization founded by sages taking up arms against them is not going to be something Avalon can ignore. It’s a threat and a challenge.”
“If we’re doing it in his name, we’re just helping restore the ‘rightful’ ruler.”
“And aiding a failed coup, should he fail. He is already in their custody, is he not?” Cadoudal didn’t look fully convinced, understandably. He’s a man of caution and compassion forced into a position that demands violent action. And it was a plan that depended on a lot going right. “Even if this gets us out of immediate danger, we’re just dragging ourselves back into the muck. There must be a better way.”
If only. “If you have one, I would be delighted to hear it. Otherwise—”
“If we can get a message to Jacques, perhaps he can intercede for the right price.” He scowled. “Even if fifteen years ought to have earned us more consideration.”
“That’s impossible,” Camille said, emphasizing her certainty.
“The skies remain dark. I think a runner could make it out through the sea, provided they’re hardy enough to endure the cold. As to our offer—”
“There’s nothing to offer! Can’t you see that he abandoned the Acolytes? He doesn’t care. He never did.” He deserved it. He had to go. Had to. “We have to deal with this ourselves.”
Cadoudal’s lips pressed firmly together like he’d just sucked on a lemon, but he didn’t disagree. “How long would it take you to - “
“Pierre Cadoudal!” Whitbey bellowed from behind the walls. “In the name of Governor Perimont, I must detain you for crimes against Avalon and Malin. If you surrender yourself, there shall be no need for bloodshed.”
What? “They don’t know I’m here,” Camille realized, shrinking back from the crack in the wall to be sure she didn’t rectify that for them. “I’ll be an even more effective distraction, if we time it right.”
“My ‘crimes’...” Cadoudal muttered. “Does a man not have the right to know what he is accused of?”
“You’re looking for logic where you’ll find none. Claude gives them an excuse to go after everyone else, and they have no inhibitions about it.” They’ve probably been trying to contrive a justification for the last seventeen years.
“You have five minutes to disarm and present yourself in front of the gates,” Whitbey demanded. “If you are not visible after that, I’ve been authorized to raze this temple to the ground. Think carefully.” Through the crack in the wall, it was just possible to see the barrel of a cannon being wheeled into view.
I have to fix this. “I think if I slice across the beach on a diagonal, I can disrupt them with a big wave without them being able to follow. Double back a few times, and you’ll have some time to get everyone to safety.”
“Safety? Running frenzied across the beach as Whitbey guns them down? You can’t even be sure you’ll hold their attention long enough to accomplish anything. And then we’ll be stuck in the same position: packed into tunnels, or trying to scatter as they pursue us through empty streets.” He shook his head. “No, Levian’s chamber is the safer bet.”
“I don’t think we can get everyone there in five minutes.”
Cadoudal nodded, already starting a brisk walk back towards the inside of the temple. “You’ll make it in time. I’ll see to that.”
Is he willing to defend this place after all? Buying time?
“What happened?” the brigand Ysengrin asked as they returned, and he was far from the only one waiting with bated breath.
“Lady Leclaire will be directing everyone to a secret passage beneath the waves. The Territorial Guardians have decided that they can no longer tolerate our presence.”
Camille wasted no time as Cadoudal kept explaining, waving people to follow her as she ran to the inner sanctum of the temple.
No traces remained of the Great Altar, probably looted years ago, and the tasseled rug that had once hidden the entrance was gone too. Camille threw the hatch open and descended the ladder into the antechamber, still glowing faintly with the light from the pool below.
Someone was right above her on the ladder, so Camille jumped back, bumping into a large crate in the process. Strange. That wasn’t here during the Foxtrap. Even the smallest details of that fateful day were seared into memory, let alone a crucial room on her path to becoming a sage.
And it’s up on stilts, as if whoever put it here expected a flood.
“This is a dead end,” a girl in her teens said, looking down at the pool.
“For the moment.” Camille thrust her hands forward and pushed, forcing the water all the way through the tunnel, expelled in a geyser on the other end that was no doubt making the chamber much wetter, but hopefully not enough to damage the dome.
“There’s a room underwater on the other end. Wait there and I’ll return to lead you to the surface.” Camille paused, trying to think of her next move. “Children first. Then the injured. Jump the queue and I’ll make you answer for it.”
With a shrug, the same girl hopped into the empty pool, something sacred that had stood for centuries as a conduit to Levian, and started walking down the pipe.
Blasted away, the plants in the water no longer did a thing to light the room, leaving only a square stream from the hatch up above.
Careful to keep an eye on the children walking the path to Levian, Camille pried the mysterious crate, hoping and dreading that it contained what she thought it would.
Pistols.
Eloise might have fucking told me where to find them, but I’m not too proud to accept serendipity showing me now.
“You,” Camille called to one of Cadoudal’s new Acolytes, recognizable by the blue streak in her hair. “Make sure everything proceeds in an orderly fashion. Then, once everyone’s safe, open that crate and pass out the contents to the other Acolytes.”
She mostly looked confused at that, but she would just have to figure it out herself. There wasn’t much time left. He said five minutes. It must have been that long by now, but I don’t hear the cannon. What was Cadoudal planning?
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The gates were open when Camille reached the courtyard again, Pierre Cadoudal already standing in front of them talking to Whitbey in what looked distinctly like a parley, rather than a surrender. Wonder how he managed that.
“...Leclaire will turn up, that isn’t the issue,” Whitbey was saying as Camille got into earshot, hidden behind the walls in the gloom of the night. Good thing we kept the fires deep inside. The Guardians had found them anyway, but it was at least accomplishing something now.
“She can’t get out of the city without burning through her life, which would solve the problem just as well. The issue is you and your organization, Pierre Cadoudal.”
“My organization has been nothing but respectful of Avalon and her laws. All the nasty habits of the past have been left in the past. Mister Clochaîne—”
Whitbey cut him off with a torrent of laughter. “Your protector didn’t even show up to his meeting with the Governor. He didn’t even care enough to look out for himself, let alone the likes of you. Given the involvement of one of your order in the assassination of a sitting Lord and Governor, all members must clear themselves of suspicion of promoting or abetting subversive activity.”
“None of the Acolytes were involved. Claude had already been banished from our order long before Captain Stewart got her hands on him. You can drag us in with your suspicions, but a trial will make that more than clear, if this even gets that far.” Does he believe that, or is he just stalling?
The Acolyte girl from before approached from the inside of the temple, holding one of the pistols in her hands. “What’s happening with Pierre?”
“Parley,” Camille answered, watching as other Acolytes followed behind her, each of them bearing one of the horrifying weapons. “That was fast.”
“There weren’t that many children or injured people,” the girl answered. “Wasn’t easy getting a couple people down the ladder, but they should be secure in there now.”
“Wait, what about everyone else though?” Did you really take my instructions so overly literally that no one else escaped?
As if in answer, the last of the Acolytes made it out the door, but the flood of people continued. Aside from the evacuees, it looked like this was everyone who had sheltered here, some with pistols but most of them just as desperate as they had been this morning, fleeing the tunnels or sheltering at Cadoudal’s temple.
“All I’m asking for is a list of names,” Whitbey continued outside. “Then you may return to your business until such time as your services are required again.”
“As I said, there are no names I could give that were involved.”
“Your best guess will suffice, then. I want the ten least loyal to Avalon, whose motives are most in question. Along with yourself, that will make for a good start.”
“There’s no other way? What if I gave you Leclaire?”
“You don’t have her, and it doesn’t matter. This hive of sedition cannot stand, and any who persist in illegal activity will see the consequences of their actions. I have my orders.”
Cadoudal dipped his head, a performance of submission that bought more time. He’s good at this. “I should speak with Lady Perimont. I have no doubt that the truth will become clear. The Acolytes are a weapon of Levian no longer. We seek to help, that is all. We have sheltered and warmed those without a hearth in this eternal night. Lady Perimont’s people, if she truly wishes to govern Malin. The truth is clear, but first—”
Almost too fast to see, Whitbey pulled a dagger from its sheath at his side and plunged it into Cadoudal’s neck, spraying blood on the sand.
No,no, no. This is not… Fuck!
“I’m alright,” Whitbey announced to the Guardians behind him. “You all saw Mister Cadoudal attack me unprovoked, during parley no less, but fortunately my reflexes were faster. As he was so kind as to leave the door open, I believe the time has come to deal with the rest of them. They serve the spirits, so do not underestimate any attempting to resist. Act first in your defense. You have your orders.”
“Close the gates!” Camille shouted, feeling slightly dazed. She scrambled up to the walls as fast as she could manage and turned her focus to the water.
Push and pull, swell the tides. This was going to take almost everything out of her, but there didn’t seem to be another option. She lifted her hands as a great wave began to rise, ready to engulf the beach, and walked into Whitbey’s view.
“Ah, you were here. Lady Perimont will be most pleased. If you would be so good as to—” He was interrupted by the wave crashing down, sweeping through the Guardian’s ranks.
“Bastards,” the Acolyte girl nodded in approval. “What now? How many of those can you do?”
“Maybe half of one more, at best.” ‘What now?’ indeed.
Looking outside, about half of the Guardians were already getting back up, shivering and clutching at their sodden winter wear.
Lucien always said that the terrain should shape a battle far more than any individual skill, and in this cold darkness, even just a disruption like that wave could be devastating. Provided they don’t have the chance to recover.
Camille turned back to everyone assembled there. The dispossessed and the desperate and the disowned. Unlike the Acolytes with their pistols, most had little more than a knife or a club, whatever could be scavenged or improvised from within the temple. All of them were looking to her. “This is our chance. Avalon will grant Whitbey no justice for his horrific crimes, so it falls to us. They don’t want us here, but this is our city! If we do not fight for it, we will be eradicated.”
An arrow loosed from a bow, they were off, streaming out through the half-open gates to prey on the Guardians while they were still off-guard.
Camille directed most of the Acolytes to their places on the ramparts, forcing herself to trust that they’d figured out how to use their new weapons in time. The aim didn’t really need to be true with a sea of people like that; they could still serve the same tactical purpose as clout archery might, thinning out ranks and deterring advances.
Once everything was in place, Camille spared a moment to look out over the beach and catch her breath.
One army meeting another practically never descended into the sort of anarchic mêlée tapestries sometimes depicted, not unless the whole affair became a rout. But that was because soldiers were trained not to, disciplined and drilled and commanded by their officer.
Not just scrambling to do something in a fight for survival.
Despite the cold and wet, Whitbey was already reorganizing some of the Guardians into their formation, though stragglers on the edges were being stabbed and bludgeoned and slowly chipped away as the tide of Malin’s people rolled over them.
So dealing with Whitbey falls to me.
Camille jumped from the ramparts, pulling water up from the sand to cushion her fall, and began running towards the vile Captain, sweeping Guardians aside with a blast of water whenever they got too close. Behind and around her, Malinoises punished any Guardian caught shaking themselves dry or picking themselves up from the ground.
But some were ready.
One man stabbed in the leg, another in the chest. A woman bleeding from the throat, another crying on the ground. More. All around, crying and wailing and filling the air.
And then the thunder began, that awful sound echoing across the beach as the Acolytes began to use the pistols.
Camille saw Whitbey’s cluster of organized Guardians and rolled a wave towards them from the water’s edge, trying to pull as much as she could manage without exhausting her energy entirely.
The moment it crashed down over them, Camille had an opening to take Whitbey out and damage the discipline of the assembled soldiers. Perhaps even more, depending on the chain of command here.
Though her lungs felt aflame for it, Camille ran behind the water as it crashed down once again, as much force as she could muster straight to the legs.
Whitbey remained standing, of course.
Caught up in her own momentum, Camille crashed into him, tackling him to the ground.
He headbutted her for that, sending her sprawling over to the side. By the time she regained her footing, most of the Guardians around her had too, and Whitbey was gone.
I wouldn’t think you’d run. But perhaps that would be good enough. If the commander turned and fled, it could mean a full rout. A chance to properly regroup and—
Camille felt her face slam into the sand, stinging with pain. When she put her hand to it, it came back red.
Rolling as fast she could, Camille saw the face of Captain Anya Stewart glowering above her, bloody sword in hand. “Disappointing.”
Camille raised her hand to call up the water from the wet sand again, but Stewart managed to step away with perfect timing, not so much as a drop even catching her coat.
“This has been a day of nothing but disappointments, really.” She swung her sword through the rush of water Camille directed at her as she jumped over it, landing with a clean blade. “It’s a good thing I’ve got a deserving-enough target to work out my frustrations on.”
Camille drew her knife and settled into a fighting stance, but Stewart disarmed her with a single circle of her sword, sending it to embed itself uselessly in the sand. An instant later, Stewart’s sword was leveled at her throat.
“The blade, or the noose?” She pressed the point against flesh, forcing Camille to think very hard about not swallowing or moving too much. “If you can locate Harold’s foolish progeny for me, perhaps I’ll even allow you poison.”
She’s talking about Luce! Somehow, he must have escaped. Maybe Charlotte had helped get him out, since she wasn’t doing anything to help over here, and most of the city was locked down by this point.
Regardless, it gave Camille some leverage, if perhaps not much. “You’ll never find him if you kill me. What will your king say then?”
“There is no escaping my pursuit. Not forever. If you don’t want to tell me, I’d consider it a kindness. I would much prefer an excuse to conduct a field execution.”
Only problem is I have no idea where he actually is. “I can take you to him.”
“I doubt that, and at this point, I don’t much care either.” Stewart traced the underside of Camille’s neck with her blade, looking almost bored as she did it. “Goodbye, Leclaire.”
Fuck. Drawing on herself would be really bad, considering how much of her life was already lost. And that might not even work. A pirate-catcher would probably be better than most at keeping her footing in wet conditions, and she’d already dodged more direct attacks. She was even standing on the balls of her feet, ready to move at a moment's notice if a layer of ice formed on the ground beneath her.
Camille called the wave anyway, sensing the futility of it. It was hard to make out much of the beach at this point, but the Malinoises had definitely made it to this end of the beach. The discordant echo of the pistols continued to sound, driving daggers into Camille’s ears, and the sand was bathed in red.
“In the name of King Harold, stop! Guardians, lay down your arms, I command you!” Luce?
Anya turned to face the caller, Camille leaning her head back to follow.
He was standing on a hill at the edge of the beach, Charlotte at his side. More or less the same face, same regal face and brown hair, but it was longer. How could he have grown his hair out so quickly?
Captain Anya sheathed her sword as many of the Guardians did the same.
Clutching at her throat, Camille stood to get a better look.
“Prince Harold commands you,” he shouted as more and more of the Guardians began to take notice. And all of them were obeying. Listening more closely, it didn’t quite sound like Luce’s voice either. Maybe it was a ruse, but if not…
What could Prince Harold possibly be doing here? And what does it mean for Malin?