Caeden woke with a start and tried to rub the burning tiredness from his eyes. He sat up on the edge of the bed and tried to get his bearings. His muscles bunched tightly in his back. The relief he received from his bath was now completely gone. Everything in his body told him to lie back down and rest.
He looked out the window and winced. It was late, the sky dark and the air misty. He had only lain down to rest his eyes, not sleep into the night.
“Prince Caeden, are you awake?” The knock came again behind his room door.
Caeden wiped the sleep from his face, took a moment to collect himself and stood to don his shirt. “Enter, Oswin. Why did you allow me to sleep this long?”
Oswin entered the room with a flustered look on his face and bowed. “My apologies, Your Grace. After attending to Ava, I was waylaid by Master Bartus and spent the better part of the night trying to allay panic and fear about ‘the hybrid spreading plagues.’ He is also clearly not satisfied with the little information he has received about Spectermere and is attempting to ascertain the full truth of it, no doubt to use to his advantage. I only just managed to excuse myself from his company.”
How irritating. “Send him to me if he hounds you any further and do not bother yourself with the Council anymore. I think the seven Masters need to be reminded of their place. What news of Ava?”
“Well, she is a perplexing creature. Her fever has gone down, and I have given her a draught to help her sleep through the night. There are no signs of an infection, and her wounds are still healing quite favourably,” Oswin reported, pursing his lips as he took a moment to think.
“Well, then what is the issue?” Caeden coaxed.
Oswin heaved a sigh. “It is hard to explain, but as I was examining her, I felt a hint of magic, a lingering sensation both raw and familiar. I tried connecting with it, but it seemed to recoil and disappear at my touch.
“It is only a theory, but I suspect that Ava’s fever was a result of her communing with the Wyvern.”
“Fern’s Breath! Did she tell you anything about the conversation between them?” Ava had barely set foot in the Casimir Empire and the Wyvern was already calling to her? He needed more time to set contingency plans in motion. Will this play out similarly as it did in Spectermere? There were still so many unknowns.
“I am afraid not. She was not coherent during the examination, and I fear her trust in me has diminished. Ava is not as forthcoming as she was before.”
“You seem almost sad about that, Oswin. Has the girl grown on you?” Caeden chuckled.
“Your Grace! Well – I would not say – In terms of – her tales of Spectermere were insightful…” Oswin stammered.
“I only jest, Oswin. She is a bit hot-headed at times, but she does seem the reasonable sort. Once she understands the situation at hand…” Caeden stopped short, interrupted by the tolling of bells across the Manor.
He ran to the ledge outside and watched men run to and from the peer. He squinted into the darkness but could not make out anything. Terrified screams filled his ears from the distance.
“Is the Manor under attack?” Oswin questioned.
“My Prince!” Knight-Commander Morley yelled as he barged into Caeden’s room. “Frogmen are attacking the port!”
Both Oswin and Ser Morley scrambled to assist Caeden into his armour and the three men rushed through the Manor Gardens and up onto the ramparts. He looked at the port below.
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Sailors and guards fought off a mass of darkened silhouettes emerging from the sea waters. He could see white capes fluttering among them. His knights had already joined them in battle.
Merchants and civilians ran for their lives between the skirmishes and banged against the closed gates of the manor. They pleaded for help while a contingent of guards and patrolmen watched fretfully from above. Caeden bristled at the sight.
“What in Holden’s name are you doing? Open the gates!” he yelled at them.
“Your Grace, we are under strict orders from the Masters…” A guard muttered shamefully.
“You are under new orders. My orders! Open the gate and show them inside! If you have no will to fight, then go hide alongside your Masters. I need warriors, not cowards.”
Caeden looked to the airstrip and spotted the Manor’s airships, parked and powered down. “Oswin, get those ships up and running and move each along the north and south of the port. Hurl fire wherever you see an opening.
“I need archers stationed along the ramparts!” he ordered the guards. “Morley with me.”
Caeden readied his shield and Ava’s sword and moved to the gate, waiting for them to open. To his surprise, many of the guards who stood idle joined his formation, along with a cloaked figure who moved silently to his flank. The figure wielded a set of long, curved twin daggers in anticipation. He did not need to see its tail or the clawed, furry hands to know that the tall, lean figure was a cheeteng. A bestial race that inhabited the desert caves of The Motherland.
The cheeteng tilted its head respectfully in silent greeting, its eyes glowing an eerie pale green beneath its hood in the sparse torchlight. Caeden acknowledged him with a respectful tilt of his own in response.
Civilians rushed past them as soon as the gate was ajar, and Caeden's attention was drawn back to the fight at hand. He moved his men beyond the gate to stave off the frogmen chasing the fleeing people. They just needed to hold the gate until Oswin could get the airships into position. Caeden parried one and sliced its neck, it went down with a spurt and a gurgle, before moving to the next and the next.
The rhythmic whirring of engines filled the battlefield, and soon fire rained down from the airships. Both from Oswin and the elemental he had summoned in the second ship. Caeden moved his formation forward.
“Push them back to the waters!” he yelled to his men.
Little by little they took more ground until they reached the dock houses and merchant stores. His formation broke into separate alleyways, hunting down every frog creature. Caeden walked through one, two men at his back, searching for signs of the enemy when he heard a croak from above. He looked to the roof of a dock house and spotted bulbous eyes staring down at him. They glimmered in the moonlight.
It tilted its head curiously and croaked, “Give us dra’on, Shadow King.”
The foreign word swirled in his head, and he quickly put it out of his mind. Nausea would come next, then headaches and nosebleeds if he dwelled on it any further. The ancient tongue was not meant for the minds and mouths of mortals, yet this creature used it without issue. Was the word meant for Ava or the Frost Spirit? “What is she to you? Why do you hunt her so?”
“Dra’on! Dra’on!” It screeched, hopping in place almost manically. “Dra’on is death. Dra’on conspires with the great spirits to enslave our souls. Give us Dra’on. Give us the freedom you have promised.”
“I have promised you nothing! I am not your Shadow King, and you are not welcome in this land!”
The creature tilted its head from side to side, watching as if it were silently considering his words. It leapt from the roof, and Caeden dodged out of the way. The frogman landed on the wall behind him. The guards charged at it. It spat something at one of the patrolmen, and he went down, clawing at his face. Caeden rushed at the frogman with the remaining guard. Compared to the other Frogmen he encountered, this one was far nimbler and more reactive, dodging between Caeden and the guard’s slashes like a dancer. It croaked rapidly and Caeden realised it was calling to others as another leapt on his back, the weight of it slamming him to the ground. Ava’s sword clamoured along the docks before him. The guard coughed and clutched at his throat, wheezing as he fell to one knee.
Caeden rolled the creature off his back, but it jumped back and straddled him. He caught the creature’s wrist in his hands, fighting to stop it from touching any part of his exposed skin. On the roof just above, he saw the glowing green eyes of the cloaked figure. The cheeteng lifted his arm and a twang echoed through the air. A dart appeared through the frogman's throat. He shoved the dying creature to the side while the cheeteng took aim at the first Frogman. Another twang and the dart hit against the wooden floorboard as it jumped away. It hopped onto the roof of a warehouse and down another alleyway, vanishing in between the houses as the cheeteng reloaded his hand crossbow.
The sun peaked on the horizon when they finally managed to push the retreating creatures back into the sea, their shadows speeding through and then disappearing into distant waters. A cheer went up from the battle-weary fighters when the last frogman fell dead on the docks.