20th of Locus

The Siege of Calamon

IV

Troop Count:

~500 Calamonis, ~6,000 Alisan Troops

"And they deployed more, paid for more, and everyone uninvolved eventually found themselves reaching for a weapon..."

"The wall is so far impregnable." said Commander Vorez, blonde-haired, young, and wearing the glistening silver armor of the Hunters once again. He had granted it back to both squads he was in command of, leaving only Lezat's men and the sel wearing the red-scarved chainmail. "We've lost many a good man to this fight. Lezat, your losses?"

The old marshal cleared his throat. "We've lost one Faunia Vleren and one Percival Anuish. Their bodies have not been recovered, I believe they drowned in the Tyvian. During the battle at the wall, Ana Andul fell too, leaving only myself and Eson Uelim in my squad, as for the company…"

He procured a very long piece of parchment. The remaining soldiers in the large yellow war tent stamped their boots and shouted in unison once he'd finished reading the long list of first names for commoners, full names for men and women of renown. The silver-armored ones gave Hunter salutes; it was one of their own rituals, after all. A way to honor the dead.

"The king is dead." Vorez continued, “The council is disinclined to provide alternative orders in his wake, nor in the wake of Kyvir, or the placement of myself in high command. And though I have come to love my place with these peoples in this new world, I am yet a slave to my history with the Hunters, er, the Orphans. In lieu of a better option, in lieu of a better perspective of the fight, I would ask of you all: do we dare continue? I’ve spoken to Commander Wel of the Second Company, and he would follow suit if we were to decide a retreat. Commander Dalimend has already routed his own troops from the frontline — what little remain — leaving us at two-thirds capacity, at very best. At worst, rough estimates as of now, we don't stand a damn chance. Not with the undead out there; one of those bastards has the strength equivalent of ten men. As far as we know, the Hunters themselves, those who have usurped the name from their rightful owners, have nigh fallen completely at the base of the wall, but the dead themselves do not die so easily, even with sel involvement. In the end, I'm leaving it to a vote between us commanders and officers; I will not be so callous to order tens of thousands of men to death to protect my own pride, but I will bear the burden of execution, should that be my decided fate upon our return. Those who would like to retreat to Alisa, raise your hands.”

All of the Orphans raised their hands. The sel and other alisars scowled at them.

“All who would like to stay ‘til our last breaths, raise your hands.”

The sel and alisars raised their hands and paws and all the rest. Vorez counted, then gave a sigh so immense and elongated that it seemed it would never end. “It seems, then, that this company's favoring a retreat. I don't need to tell you lot the damage, do I? Our siege machines never even made it to the walls. Our backup of the frey rising from the sewers never seemed to take off, else the gate would be open. The bombs dropped from the exca only killed our own good men and women… and then the dead rose to kill the rest. We’re up against divine power, lads. And that’s where I say it’s good enough to call it a day.”

Lezat muttered beneath his breath. There was dissonance among the crowded tent of stinking soldiers. There would be no stopping Calamity. No stopping The Twelve, nor Kasian or his sons. Once again, Lezat felt that he was only playing pretend. He shook his head and shuffled out of the tent, into the blackened sky.

There stood Calamon, past the river. Sitting in silent glory, the bulging walls that housed each of eight Petals and the towers that stood up from each of them like the spikes of spears, all veiled under oppressive darkness. He scoffed at the thought.

Eson soon joined the old man without a word.

Lezat sighed. He reached down to his side and withdrew a flask from his leg, popped the top off, poured liquor into the grass before them. He smacked his lips as though dissatisfied. "For Ana."

"For Percy."

"And for Faunia."

X

To Marisol,

You're not going to believe this. We've found two more of those ones that Cedric was looking for, the ones who can call that Dyosius figure and protect themselves from certain death. A sel woman named Tiana washed up outside the sewers after the flush, she picked up a sword and tried to kill some of the men stationed there. Luckily they managed to subdue her, but her story is far from tame. Not only did she channel Dyosius to survive the flush, she was a slave in Llueves, worked with one of the ex-princes after the government collapsed over there. I'm sure you'll get plenty of good information from her if that's what you're after, she seems very worldly. Just say the word if she gives you any trouble.

The other one was named Copper, an orange-haired swordsman. I was sure he was a lady from the name, but I suppose that's besides the point. He was even more perplexing in some ways; he was the only living, breathing thing we've seen with those maggots burrowed deep. Rykaedi's maggots, if that's how it's written. He's some sort of undead in control of himself, I think. I don't know, I'm sure you and Cedric can figure out more than I ever could. This one is as scary as the first one, but in a different way. He's not as riled up as Tiana, but he's 'forlorn' if I had to pick a word. He seems sad, speaks very poetically sometimes. Call me crazy, but he sorta drives me mad in ways I knew no man could. Now that I consider it, that's likely a regrettable thing to pen into writing. Please destroy this letter immediately once you've read it. Thank you, do not hesitate to summon me whenever my time arises.

Ever Your Eyes and Ears,

Ayla Leidholdt

Marisol sat back at her dimly candle-lit desk with a deep, chuckled sigh of relief. It was cool in her bedchamber in the old museum, especially after having visited the warm bathhouse, brought back to life by a group of hired frey. She pulled her bathrobe tightly around herself.

A thin smile crossed her lips. It stayed even as she took the quill, dipped it into ink, and began to scrawl across a page of parchment before her.

Dear Ayla,

She thought of where to begin. With Cedric?

Cedric will be most pleased to receive these survivors. I'm sure they've already been transferred from the infirmaries to Cedric's possession.

What about Dyosius, the Etherians?

I must admit, I know just as little about these Etherians as you do. Cedric is the expert on these, and seemingly the expert about everything else these days, too.

She dipped again. And, of course, she couldn't neglect to tease her.

No, I will certainly not be destroying this letter. The thought of you swooning for an undead swordsman with a pretty-boy's tongue is far too delectable. I wonder if Cedric might get a laugh out of it too, though I'm not even sure if I've ever seen him laugh...

She dipped the quill again. She looked over the letter, unsure of whether to continue, or whether to conclude. And she realized, in looking at it, it always returns to Cedric, doesn't it?

Then there was a thud in the room behind her. Something shifted, like a broomstick sliding down a wall through a curtain, though it did not clatter to the floor.

Marisol put the quill down, turned to the dark room behind with a carefree call: "Cedric?"

A figure moved in the shade.

"Always sneaking around, aren't you? Come on out, I won't bite." She smiled meekly, but her hand had begun to shake. She pulled her bathrobe tighter around herself. "Cedric?"

Then came the figure, walking at a frantic pace. A long rondel dagger fitted his left hand. His face was covered in a black steel mask, his eyes suddenly glowing in the candlelight. The candle flickered, as though he was drawing power from it.

Marisol leapt from her chair. It was a small room, not much room to escape, barely any room to fight.

Not much space needed to be crossed for her sword, she yanked it hard from the wall-mounted sheath.

But then the figure was there, in her space. He reeled back his rondel.

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Marisol's throat had seemed too tight to speak just a moment ago, but quickly turned into an endless scream of panic and fear. She pulled into the corner as far as she could go, pulling her sword close enough that it cut her arm just slightly. She didn't feel it.

The dagger plunged. It stuck into the wall beside her, giving her just a heartbeat to flee back into the center of the room.

The assassin spun. He wiped the dagger on his sleeve, held it out at her again.

Marisol finally got her fingers wrapped hard around the hilt of her sword.

Remember your training! Deep breaths! Focus! It's me or him, me or…

The assassin took a light step forward like a dancer. He sprung and lunged.

Marisol moved her weapon downward to parry. His dagger went at her fingers—

She released her blade just in time. It fell clumsily at the man, who grabbed it by the blade and threw it aside into the room, clattering against the wall beside her bed.

"Cedric! Cedric!" she howled, wailed and screamed.

The assassin made his third advancement. His dagger went back, he stepped, time felt like an eternity…

Marisol's back was against the wall, beside the door. The doorknob was too far to reach. The opposite corner, an umbrella rack. She grabbed one.

The dagger bit into the wall again, sliced her arm bloody as she passed.

The umbrella had a good weight in her hand. She swung it at full strength.

Krch!

His head reeled back just slightly, enough to block the umbrella with his metal mask. It snapped in half, splintered into the air. Marisol shuddered and screamed again.

He grabbed her by the throat this time. She wouldn't get away. There was no escape.

If it was just sharp! If it could just be sharpened!

She looked to the umbrella through watery eyes, still gripped deathly tight in her hand. It was sharp, but not enough to kill. Probably not even enough to incapacitate him.

She swung it. That time, it struck his head with a dull clap, broke again and fell apart into detritus.

The assassin winced that time. He tightened the grip around his dagger.

Marisol took the last piece of her umbrella, now just a handle, and rammed it at his eye. She looked away as the blood squirted across her skin, let out a gasp as his hand fell away. Then she fell to the floor.

The man was staggering back. There was only a heartbeat, maybe two before she could end the fight. She was to her feet, then to his fore. Her hands overlapped his, grabbed the dagger with the strength of all the worlds, all the gods…

A strange sound shook her mind, just for a moment. The air warbled and swooned around her. She thought she saw herself, like a mirror, somewhere in the dark room.

And then the dagger went up, and impaled his jaw upon itself. The blood ran hot down her fingers. She gasped and panted. His body fell.

The door was quick to open after that.

"Mari!" voiced a familiar cry. Cedric was there.

She stumbled backward into his arms, weeping.

Cedric grit his teeth at the body sprawled out on the floor. "An assassin. Someone doesn't like what we're doing here."

But she could only reply in a sputtered gasp, "I — I killed him! A man, I killed a man!"

A chill ran through Cedric's body. "That's… the way of war, Marisol. This is what our Hunters do, at our command. This is what some of us were trained to do. And some of us were born to do."

X

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Ithlo'vatis, leaned against the wall beside a black door.

"No. But there's a reason I was looking for those ready to die to protect Evra."

"To protect Calamon, you mean?"

"Ah — yeah." Cedric nodded. And then he entered the chamber.

They were all there, knelt upon the floor surrounding a large white cloth. Cedric winced at the thought of what would happen next, though he knew it was… necessary.

Tyverius Lancewood, Hunter of the Harrow Wood, sat quietly in place with his hands atop his knees, his knees tucked beneath him.

Tiana Lluevin, Ex-Lluevi Slave, sitting in a similar pose, grumbling and hissing curses beneath her breath at her two peers.

Copper Ivilos, Paladin of The Jinn, sitting carelessly with his legs splayed out beneath him.

Marisol Ruin, Hunter of Calamon, matching Tyverius' posture, but not his somber look. She smiled. She waved.

Cedric managed a thin smirk. The four of them would do. He looked to Marisol with a pained glance.

You’ll be the one I protect, if any.

The others had already surrendered their lives once. She was… special? No. Not quite. She’s apparently been by my side for some time, now. I’d like to keep it that way. And she’s proven herself more than capable, more than important… Invaluable.

That’s the extent of my feelings. There's no time left for friendship, for companions. Thank you for all that you've done, Marisol.

Marisol put a flat palm atop her fist. The Hunters’ salute.

Cedric ushered Ithlo into the chamber. The white-frost Etherian shut the door behind himself.

“I don’t know the words to this damn thing. Ithlo has heard it once or twice, he’ll take care of things from here.”

“So long as you understand what you’re getting yourselves into.” Ithlo said.

Tiana stopped grumbling. Copper gave a low sigh, while Tyverius and Marisol began nods of varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Cedric watched them all somberly.

Is this what I want? To do to these men what Rithi did to Falskar?

I suppose it doesn’t matter much, with what we’re up against. I can only hope that none of them will receive such unwieldy power that we're left helpless to fight back.

Those schematics may finally prove useful, if this technique works.

Yeah.

Ithlo stood before them all and let Cedric stand by the door. The Etherian kicked the white cloth away, revealing a red communion circle drawn in the center of the dark room. A circle drawn of Serkukan's blood, that it may reach the furthest, deepest depths of Etheria.

Then, he began, with his hands raised supine before himself: “O, sea of seas, sea of the dirac, sea of eternal esera… Open your gates and hear our prayer.”

The circle began to glow. The ley barrier shifted. Then, so too did the eserian ley barrier. There was a gap in the ley. Tyverius and Tiana shuddered.

Ithlo looked to Cedric, who nodded for him to continue. “These four; Marisol, Copper, Tiana, Tyverius — they’ve come to request your aid, that we may forever protect Her, in our fight against chaos eternal. Order, is our decree. Order is our station, and our mission. Order, is our…”

Marisol screamed. Her head shot backward and stiffened up. Her whole body became tense.

Cedric held his hilt.

“Order. Order is our destiny. Evra is our goddess, our power divine.”

Tyverius gasped and keeled over to the ground. His forehead bled sweat against the tiled floor.

Copper winced and began to choke. He grasped desperately at his throat.

“Should you doubt me — I’d ask that you rip these four asunder, send their souls to the deadworld to rot. Should they fail you, I'd have you do the same.”

Then went Tiana, collapsing silently to the floor. Her body writhed slightly, then stopped moving entirely. Her mouth drooled out foam.

Marisol gasped. Her eyes shot open and her body relaxed. She stood, excitedly.

“I’ve done it, Cedric! Look!”

She reached a hand forward. Out from her form stepped a woman in shimmering orange scale armor. Wings were adorned to either side of her helmet, burning reddish hair ran down the back and sides. The woman smiled confidently, like a cocky fighter, yet still a fighter who had earned every right. “Cedric Castelbre? Good to meet you. I go by Helag, in my immortal plane.”

Tyverius lurched up from the ground. A figure masqueraded in vibrant green leaves pulled him all the way to his feet. “Sie’uel. But you may call me Sie.”

Tiana rustled slightly. Her shadow stretched toward the center of the room and appeared to linger, almost humanlike. It did not speak.

Finally, Copper finished choking. A purple mist appeared over his shoulder and revealed a pale-skinned man with purple lips and black hair, dressed like he was going to an exquisite party. He bowed, “My name is Vrail, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Cedric breathed a sigh of relief. "It worked. Let's hope that we haven't now brought upon a fate worse than death…"

Two of those four Hunters saluted him. Their Etherian's all vanished within themselves.

"Very well, then. Welcome to the fore, my Etherian Knights."