42.

A Late Arrival

Pale-skinned Rykaedi sat beneath a marble gazebo, light birch flooring at her bare feet. Her dress fluttered around her in a gentle breeze, though she wasn't sure from where. She lifted her frail, ornate teacup from the table and took a long, long sip. Then she set it back down. Her audience was arriving.

Akvum snarled as he stepped up to her table and roughly dropped himself in the seat across from her.

"How uncouth for a waiter to take seat with one of his customers."

He leaned forward with a snarl. "Go fuck yourself."

Her eyebrows went up in faux surprise, then she had to cover her mouth to laugh. "Even in the deadworld, you've no joy in you."

"I knew joy in a time when Cass was alive, and when you could keep your fucking hands out of my business. Now you've come back, and back with this body!" He shuddered with rage.

"Want to know a secret? It's not just the body. So long as I inhabit this, her spirit is not allowed free to roam the deadworld. Hence why I haven't given it up just yet."

"Fuck. You."

Another laugh from her. She reached for her teacup once it had finally passed, but had to put it down again as another fit of laughing began.

"You've brought many more, here. You've tormented Falskar and Rithi, haven't you? Why does it always return to me?"

"Because you're so fun. You remind me of an old friend… Llestren’vatis. He died in Freiya, just outside of your… oversized paws."

He snarled and growled beneath his hissed breaths. He was becoming more catlike by the second. At any moment he might just... pounce!

"Oh, but! I have actually come here with purpose. For once." She reached down to a golden scroll case on her leg and unlatched it. Then she drew forward the scroll and presented it to the cat. "What do you think about this?"

He stared at the schematic for barely a moment before his rage boiled over. He threw the table over, rushed over, swung his claw through the air…

And just like that, she was gone into ash onto the breeze. Rykaedi was gone. Cass was gone, again.

Akvum collapsed to his knees. He dropped his head into his hands…

X

"Oh, no. Lands, no!"

Faunia Vleren swatted the reins of her sturgoth. She rode fast over the landscape, especially over the forest and plains, where the sturgoth was no longer inhibited by the jungle terrain.

As the thick of the trees cleared, the smoke became even more visible in the Calamity-blackened sky. The smell was rancid, acrid like death. Tents were far and wide all across the clearing before the grandiose, efficacious walls of Calamon. Many tents were laid up next to the wide Gyva River, with their campfires blazing. There were hundreds, plainly. Too many to count. Too many to expect. Did they survive?

No. Faunia, they survived. Don't think like that. If they'd been overrun, the gates would be open. The tents would be in there, not out here. They're okay. Cedric is okay.

Soon as she neared the rapid river, she dismounted. The beast scurried away.

"Cedric…" she muttered, then shook herself. "Not yet, Faunia. Focus. Eson and Lezat come first. Percy is…" She turned away with a whined breath.

Faunia felt sick. She had felt sick since Percy turned north. She had felt sick since calling the sturgoth, abandoning her squad, abandoning Cedric to deal with the invasion. Not that it was on his shoulders to stop it, but…

I should have stayed. I should have helped him with The Twelve. He needed me, and I…

Focus! Focus, damn you!

It didn't take much searching before she came across a weathered old man, and his bandaged cohort, sitting upon halved logs beside a large flame. Their yellow tent was quite wide, just a few paces behind them. Large enough for their squad, now two men less than it had been.

"Faunia!" gasped the old man.

Eson only looked up. One eye was covered by bloody gauze.

"Lezat, Eson… I'm sorry."

Eson stood from his seat and abandoned the campfire. He walked to the riverbank and trailed along it eastward.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Faunia turned a saddened gaze to Lezat, who shook his head. "They thought you deserted. They wouldn't rebalance our squads, so…"

"I'm sorry, Lezat."

"None of it is your fault. Faunia;" his throat creaked, searching for the words: "Ana is dead."

Her heart shuddered. Her chest burned and panged. Her eyes teared up. Guilt. Anxiety. Horror. It's not real. They're not all…

"We're all that's left of our squad, now. Faunia deserted, Percy is…?"

She averted her gaze.

"I thought as much."

It was Kogar, she wanted to say. But her throat was lumped. She coughed and choked. This is unbearable. Why… why do I always make the wrong choice?

"The Calamonis have made a fierce defense, most… unexpectedly. Lyros was sure they would roll over. A dry coup. We haven't even broken the damn walls. All of our siege engines collapsed by fireball or vile magic before reaching one hundred paces of the gates. Our ladders were burned. You know how those bastards can see in the dark? They've countered it. Somehow. No more dark vision. Then, those who reached the walls dealt with the same thing we dealt with before the lake; fucking undeath magic."

Cedric is alive. And… Rykaedi is helping him?

Or not him, but helping Calamon. She's protecting it, for some reason.

"Why did you come back, Faunia?"

Her mouth dropped open. She didn't know how to reply, at first. But she knew why all along. It gnawed at the back of her mind, though it was ever harder for her to admit.

"My home is here. Cedric is here."

"Castelbre, the Sylvet?"

"He's no Sylvet. He's fighting The Twelve. He's protecting these people."

Lezat's face turned to a glower. "Fighting the Twelve, protecting the people… of Calamon?"

She recoiled in fear. They're not on my side. They never were. They would have killed Cedric and strung his intestines up along the highest church walls, all along the Petals. I'm sure I knew it all along. I just didn't want to believe…

"Faunia — they've created a new group. The ones defending Calamon. Guess their name? The Hunters. The Hunters of Calamon. What a sick fucking joke."

"You're the fucking joke…" she mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"I said you're the fucking joke! You run away from Freiya'kara without so much as standing your ground, take twenty-odd men and women with you who are 'playing pretend' in your own damn words, then you get queasy because me and Marisol and Cedric are beating you back when you're trying to ransack a beautiful city, a place where the people… the people prosper! Unlike your filthy capital of…"

The eyes of the azar milling around gave pause to her words. She froze up.

Lezat stood. "Faunia Vleren. You know the punishment for desertion."

His blade hissed as it slid from the scabbard.

Faunia reached for her own rapier — missing. Broken in the Capillary. Not to mention, she'd have little chance at all of fighting her way out of this, not this many men.

She looked to the torchlit walls of Calamon. She made a silent plea for help. Her lips quivered.

Then Lezat hissed in a shocked, startled breath. His body tensed up and lifted slightly from the ground — then down he went.

A black robe revealed itself from behind him. The air seemed to warp around the dark figure.

Faunia's shakes quelled. She stared in stunned silence. The man ripped the hood from his head.

"I didn't kill him. But he was going to kill—"

"Cedric!"

She felt the tears coming on. He only managed one step forward before she lunged and threw her arms around him. Her body tensed up to cry, and… she instead let out a loud, forced and desperate sigh. All of her muscles relaxed at once. When his hand rubbed her back through her armor, she realized that her tears had vanished completely. She was safe. Comforted. All felt… right. Though, looking over her shoulder, she wondered if it might be the effect of the teal-haired girl smiling brightly at her.

"Tirolith!"

The healing weight of the Etherian entered her mind.

Welcome back, Faunia.

"There's much to tell." he whispered.

Her lips twisted into a smile against his robe. "I know. I feel the same."

"The gate will open for us. Come, witness the strength of our Calamon."

A pang rattled her mind and body. His speech was different, slightly… more commanding. More authoritative. He was no longer the crook from Dreslon, the bandit from the Sylvet, the prisoner of the Hunters, nor the vagabond from Calamon. He was…

"Commander Cedric!" saluted Marisol at the northern gate, a bright smile filling her face to the point that she looked uncomfortable.

"...Commander?" Faunia elbowed his ribs.

Cedric shrugged and gave a meager smile.

"We've captured a few groups — the sel mostly, as you had ordered. There was something strange, though; a man in white and gold appeared as the western gate with an entourage of golden guards. He's requesting an audience with the king."

"Which king?" he mused.

She gave him a sardonic grin. "King or council. I suppose you count as council, at the very least. He's from Aeon, named Rosgir."

"A diplomat from Aeon?" Faunia lifted her head in interest.

Then Marisol bobbed forward and held her hand afore her mouth as though telling a secret: "Oh, and, welcome back, Faunia."