The Crows Cometh

Polished 14. Perhaps put more Elpis in the fight? — 1h13m58s — 2021/08/01

Changed the name of the chapter — 13s — 2021/10/07

Over the years, I have come across numerous reports and accounts of cloud kraken—though I did not believe them for a long time. I thought these tales were nothing but the mad visions of fanciful minds. It was not until I should see the aftermath of such a beast's passing that I could allow for such a possibility. The sheer magnitude of the carnage was most unbelievable. Could it be that such creatures truly do exist?

Some years later, I happened near a city that suffered an attack from such a beast. Most incredibly, the defenders of the city somehow managed to kill the creature. It’d been six months since the vicious battle took place, so the creature’s carcass was well rotted. The stench was most unbearable, and so the corpse occupied an abandoned stretch of town. Yet, to see the beast, even flat and lifeless, was an incredible sight! To think of what the beast must have been when it was alive! Tendrils as thick as tree trunks stretched for blocks! The beast had a maw like two shovels that could fit a small house! The damage and mayhem inflicted by the beast was incredible and stretched for miles!

Though I was never blessed (or cursed) with the sight of one of these creatures alive, after this, I did take the stories quite seriously. The more interesting ones follow.

— Behold Leviathan Heart of the Storm, Aogusta Veribos, page 6

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 14.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

"To arms! To arms!" The voice of the duke carried through the tent. Baet snapped awake, threw off his blankets, and snatched up his weapons. He skittered to his feet and wondered why it was becoming a habit to fight in his skivvies. He reached for the folds of the tent that hid the entrance and found himself staring at Carringten. His captain stood amidst a downpour, his dark face etched with suspicion and determination. "See to the prisoners!" Carringten snapped, then rushed toward the call of their duke. The captain took the threat of Ministrian throat-cutters quite seriously, and meant to hold on to their captives, no matter what else might happen.

Baet braced himself for the cold, threw open the tent, and ran into the pouring rain. He turned from the sounds of fighting and headed for the tent occupied by their Ministrian prisoners. He lifted the flap of the dark tent and entered, sword first.

"Stay where you are,” he said as he entered. “You will be spared."

Meriona believed him. She expected a certain civility from the Saot guards. She knew them to be men of their word, as they’d traveled together from Camp Calderhal to Ebertin. Still, it was scant reassurance to Baet. As far as he could tell, honor only went one way between them. He had it from Toar, who had it from Celesi, that the Jay meant to betray them all in Ebertin. She meant to see them hanged, despite the rescue. And what kind of treatment would he receive from the throat-cutters if the tables should be turned? Indeed, Baet distinctly remembered murdering a man so he might escape prison.

A loud boom sounded. Baet cursed and denied the urge to be distracted by the sound of his very own musket. Sure as day, Cloud Breaker just fired. He wondered where the priestess got her hands on shot and powder, and also how she managed to load it. More surprising than the boom of Cloud Breaker was the sound of a second musket—though it sounded a good deal different from his own. He clenched his teeth. It was a sound he knew well. It was not a good sound.

Celesi screamed. Her wails of anguish played through the heavy drum of the downpour, and forced Baet to wonder what the hell was going on out there! "Run! Run, you fools!” He heard Scurra scream. “Death comes for us all!"

Not even Baet could ignore such a call. He turned from his charges and peeked from the tent, barely able to see anything for all the water falling from the sky. At the far end of the lake, he could see birds. They flickered and reappeared in the gloom, growing as they raced on. The clouds were lit again and again by incessant lightning, and behind the increasingly massive birds came the darkest pit of a storm he’d ever seen, with great writhing tentacles as thick as trees sweeping through the sky!

Baet knew the creature—not from ever having seen one—but from those that had, and their descriptions were always given with a wild-eyed fervor. It was a sky kraken, a beast the size of a village, and it was coming right at them! "Balls..." he muttered as he realized the birds were not birds either, but dragons, as they rushed overhead, chased by the most intimidating thing he’d ever seen!

“What is it?” Meriona asked, and began to approach the entrance to the tent.

“Get back!” Baet ordered and dived from the doorway. He landed on the Jay and crushed her to the ground as a tendril of the sky kraken whipped out from the storm and collapsed upon the tent. A shriek rose from the prisoners and assured the Saot guard at least a few had survived the crushing force of the blow.

Baet stabbed through the canvas of the tent and stuck the long thick tendril that had collapsed it. The tendril flinched and shuddered from the prick, then lifted into the air. It took the canvas of the tent and Baet’s sword with it. He drew his dagger.

The tendril whipped toward him. Baet stabbed the beast again, to the hilt of his dagger, as the tendril swept him aside. Baet flopped on the ground. The tendril shuddered, recoiled, and retreated as the beast passed overhead. With an earth-shaking shriek, the creature chased after the dragons, toward the east and south, and took the worst of the storm with it.

The rain lightened up immediately. In the continuing drizzle, Baet helped Meriona, Grunther, and Naiphan from the fallen tent as the last cradled his arm and cursed his luck. Baet looked after the last of the throat-cutters, Todehis—but the man was still among the folds of the fallen tent as far too much blood washed from his crushed form.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 14.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!

Homoth laid in his tent, fast asleep. A sharp pain caught in his side. He lashed out as a foot struck him, but it moved quick beyond his grip. He pressed again, but the strong arm of his young brother caught him and kept him from fighting. "Save it!" Komotz roared. "We're under attack!"

Homoth blinked in the dark tent, and his eyes began to see the outline of Komotz, Saleos, and a shaky Elpis as they gathered their weapons and pressed from the tent into the raging storm.

With a deep frown, Homoth shook off his deep sleep, threw aside his blankets, and yanked on a pair of pants. He grabbed his long handled mallet as an explosion like nothing he'd ever heard boomed from the direction of the lake. He flinched at the massive clap of thunder and wondered at the storm.

Homoth rushed from the tent as another clap sounded—this time followed by the immediate wail of Celesi. With a curse on his lips, Homoth bolted up the small rise as his brother disappeared over it, sword held high.

“Run! Run, you fools!” Scurra yelled, as Homoth stepped to the crest of the small rise. “Death comes for us all!"

Homoth could not believe the scene that stretched before him. Celesi was the closest, as she sobbed over the downed form of Toar. The Trohl guide was badly burned and bleeding, as he lay unconscious in sopping knee-high grass. Beyond the apprentice Jay, a melee stretched over the beach of the lake. Men and naga fought as their mingling blood cast the nearby waters of the lake in a red hue.

But all of this was nothing compared to what approached overhead. In the air, a flight of dragons raced toward the melee, chased by a sizzling mass of aggression and vitriol like nothing Homoth had ever seen. In days gone by, he’d sneered and snickered at those that believed in the legendary leviathan. Now, he stood helpless as the beast rushed toward him.

The dragons swerved and streaked as they howled their fury and frustration at being chased. A tentacle whipped out from the dark cloud and slapped one of the dragons into the lake, then dragged the soggy beast from the waters, and reeled it into the electric black vapors, like a trout on a line. The remaining dragons raced overhead as tendrils came down among the bodies on the beach. One swept the crest, knocked Homoth sideways, and wrapped itself around the tree where Scurra nested.

With a pop, the tree ripped from the ground, as Scurra jumped and rolled in the dirt. The tree arched into the sky and was quickly tossed aside. It came down in the shallows of the lake.

The great beast was directly over them, shrouded in cloud that bristled with electricity as it rushed on. A roar like nothing Homoth had ever heard shook the ground, as he rolled to his knees and got to his feet once more. A tentacle smashed the ground nearby and caught hold his brother. Komotz screamed as he was crushed and lifted into the air. Homoth leapt at the tendril and struck it again and again, as did Duboha and Aim. The fury of their combined attack caused the leviathan to release and drop his little brother. The limp form of Komotz dropped to the ground.

Across the field, another tentacle wrapped about the legs of Saleos. His eyes bulged as he shrieked, and shot skyward. "IIEIEYEYEIiieyeiye..yi..ey..e.i...e....!" his scream faded as the tentacle whipped him into the roiling mass of cloud and blended with the sounds of the storm.

Tears ran from Homoth's eyes and mixed with rain as he watched his old friend disappear. Glazed with shock and horror, he stared about the battlefield, saw a naga caught in a tentacle, and the shaman caught in another. Krumpus and the naga swept upward as they were also pulled back into the storm.

Then, leviathan was passed and its tentacles with it, as it continued to focus on the dragons before it. What did it care for a few dozen men and naga scattered about some beach when there was the fine flesh of dragon on the menu? Homoth stared after the impossible beast as it crawled across the sky and took the worst of the storm with it. Several flashes of fire erupted near its center. He could see the outline of a massive beak-like maw as something twisted and swirled in a mad spiral, much like a maple seed, chased by tendrils that couldn’t quite get a hold of it. The form fluttered in and out of its spiraling decent as it dodged the creature's grasp again and again, shrank into a dot, then disappeared, as it was carried away on the whipping winds, to the south and east.

Stunned by what he'd witnessed, Homoth dropped to his knees and added his grief to the sobs of pain and woe that lifted from the desolate field. He caught sight of Baet as the Saot cowered among the prisoners, as far from battle as anyone could be—and more than ever before, Homoth hated the guard for his cowardice.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 14.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

The sun peaked through the broken clouds and laid bare the atrocities of the battle. Bloodied, Creigal stood over a wounded naga that was too injured to escape. If he watched and waited, it was quite likely the beast would bleed out before his eyes.

Duboha approached and hissed as he realized the creature was still alive. He moved to strike it—but Creigal blocked his way and shook his head.

“The fight is over. We have won,” the duke noted. “We shall spare it—unless it wishes to join its fallen brothers. If so, you can give it that honor.”

Duboha huffed, then allowed himself to calm. He turned to the beast and spoke to it in Trohl. “Live or die?” he asked.

Maligno stared at the men, curious that he should be given the option. He answered honestly between shallow breaths, despite his fear and suspicion. “Live,” he finally answered, and wondered if his request would be honored.

Duboha turned to the duke and shrugged. “We have another prisoner,” he noted.

Creigal stripped the beast of its weapons, then ripped his own shirt so he could bandage its wounds. Carringten approached the duke as he worked. “Your bleeding,” the captain noted.

“Play with blades and your gonna get cut,” Creigal shrugged. “But none of them are that bad.”

Carringten snorted, then glanced off into the sky. “I didn’t think I’d ever see a sky kraken,” he noted. “Indeed, I didn’t think they were really a thing.”

“I had my doubts myself,” Creigal agreed. “How are the others?”

Carringten shook his head. “A damned awful mess,” he confessed. “Saleos is gone, along with the shaman. The younger brother is alive—barely. If he makes it through the day, it’ll be a miracle.” He nodded toward the priestess and Meu, who was human once more, as they huddled at the edge of the water. “The boy is dead.”

“Claiten?” Criegal turned and stared at Wenifas as she cradled the corpse of her son and wailed. Naked as a bird, and bleeding herself, Meu hugged the lady. Creigal wasn’t surprised to see Meu was bleeding from several cuts of her own. Indeed, he was surprised she was bleeding so little—considering that the naga slashed and struck at her as she strangled the one with the burns on his face—but then, he knew nothing of her stone form.

“What of that one?” Creigal asked, as he noticed Andrus at the edge of the water. Carringten approached and spoke to Aim as the big man tended his wounded cousin.

“He’s rattled and probably sore as hell, but the big man says his wounds are superficial. He’ll be fine in a day or two.”

Near the crest of the rise, Baet attended Toar as Celesi cradled his head in her lap. Meanwhile, the prisoners looked on, stunned by the sudden and strange violence they’d witnessed.

“Who watches the prisoners?” Creigal wondered.

“I watch them,” a grim smile spread across Carringten’s face. “Besides, they’re shook. A tendril came down on their tent—which is why we’re shy another one. The camp in general is a bit of a mess, but we lucked out. Only a few of the horses managed to get loose, and most are unhurt.“

“Well, there are less of us to ride,” Creigal noted with a morbid shrug. “What happened to our guide?” He asked as he nodded toward Toar.

Carringten went to investigate. He spoke with Celesi and Baet for a moment, gathered something from the grass, and returned.

Creigal hissed as he saw the twisted metal and wood of the the ruined musket in his captain’s hand. “A Pemberton GremSorter!” He stared at his captain in disbelief. ”Where’d they get that?!”

Carringten shook his head. “I didn’t care to ask.”

Creigal snorted. “On second thought, I’d rather not know. To think those things are still out in the world.”

“Doing their job—discouraging others from adopting the musket,” Carringten noted as he inspected the broken weapon. “Celesi had it. Toar ran by as she fired. The powder blew out the side and caught our worthy guide in the face. Looks like he’ll live—but he’ll be lucky if he don’t lose the eye,” the captain explained.

Creigal snorted. “She’s lucky it only blew out the side of the gun, and didn’t explode it back in her face.”

“Must not have used a full pack of powder, which means it wasn’t Baet that showed them how to do it,” Carringten noted.

“What a nasty bit of devilry,” Creigal frowned. “I can see how these GremSorters have been so persuasive, but I can’t say I’m proud of my father for commissioning their creation in the first place.”

“An imperfect man in an imperfect world—but is it so sinister to sell faulty weapons to your enemies?” Carringten shrugged. “Still, it’s never good when the old demons return to haunt those that created them. Shall I rid us of the evidence, or would you like me to approach Baet with it?”

“I think you are quite right in your appraisal. Baet would not knowingly load such a weapon, and I am quite sure he knows all the bad brands,” Creigal gave a wave. “Do ask among the others and see if they have any more of these faulty weapons among them.”

Carringten nodded and launched the shattered musket into the lake. With a sigh, he turned and looked over the wasted beach with a frown. “What a ruinous day,” he noted. as he stared about those still gathered. “What has happened to the sister?” he asked.

Creigal could not answer. He gave a shrug and turned his attention back to the captured naga.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 14.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Scurra walked through the woods at the edge of the lake and searched among the undergrowth. She berated herself for allowing the others to set camp at the edge of the lake—yet she’d given them all the warning she could—and when they still wouldn’t listen, she perched herself in the tree and waited.

But this calamity wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was that yet another calamity had come to pass, just as Scurra expected—and if this was real, then the touch of death in the darkest of dark must also be real. She shuddered to think of it. She’d suffered the dream too many times, and always in the same fashion. There was a darkness upon her, a darkness like none other, and death lurked in that shadow. Despite her quiet, despite her caution, it always found her; and as soon as it touched her, she always jolted awake—her heart racing, her mind screaming. Out there somewhere in the world was a wickedness so dark and foreboding, it scared her more than a leviathan, and one day she was sure to find it.

Or worse, it was sure to find her.

Scurra continued through the woods at the edge of camp and looked for any of the plants or mushrooms her brother had taught her over the years. He’d shown her a hundred different plants, and each seemed to have a dozen different applications—but she could only remember a fraction of them. She searched for the ones she could remember and figured she’d stepped over a number of plants that could have done exactly what she needed—if only she remembered them—and not the twisted nightmares that plagued her.

If only her brother had survived the Leviathan. How had he not seen the beast in his own premonitions? But then, his dreams were always light and easy on the other side. On this side, he squirmed, and foamed, and looked like he was about to die with his eyes bugged, his body wracked, and his breath coming in sharp gasps. At least he never suffered visions of the dark place. She asked him about it once, how it was her that always suffered the dark dreams while he played with angels. He’d said he’d never needed nightmares to know of the evil that stalked the waking world.

Scurra shook her head. All too often, she stepped into her dreams and found herself unable to do anything to change their outcome. She seemed fated to know the darkest moments of her life long before she should ever encounter them—though she had to admit it was not all her darkest moments. Why were there no dreams of her worthless husband and the beatings he gave her before she left? Was it because such a thing was all too avoidable, if only she had an inkling of his true character? At least he only lasted a few years, and at the beginning it was all bliss.

Scurra chanced upon a colony of numb root. She took several stocks and thanked the plant for showing itself to her in her hour of need. Undoubtedly, Komotz, Andrus, and Toar would love to have it. A few steps more and she found sugar petal, which among other things would keep a wound from getting infected. She thanked the delicate flower and took nearly half of what she found. There were a lot of cuts among her friends.

With these two medicines in hand, Scurra felt it was time to return to the others. She gave Andrus a healthy dose of numb root, and the duke a half a dose as he had a good number of superficial cuts. Komotz was given a double dose as she prayed for his recovery. She did not like the look of him, and cursed the fact that Krumpus and Saleos were both gone. She asked Creigal if either of his men were trained in the healing arts only to have him confirm the only one of them with any real talent was Toar. Poor Komotz. The only treatment he’d get was numb root until they arrived in Excergie, a day's ride away. At lest the Oak and Beast had many friends and a fine house in the border town. Once there, they'd find someone of skill to treat him.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 14.6 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Creigal marveled at the numb root as Wenifas stitched his cut with meticulous attention. She too wondered at the numb root's power as she pulled thread through the duke’s skin in a neat fashion, as if she were mending a favorite dress. "You do not feel it at all?" she asked.

"I feel it," Creigal corrected. "I feel the needle puncture and pull my skin. There is simply no pain to it. There is no sharpness, only a dull tug."

With a nod and a frown, Wenifas said, "I think I should like a piece of that root."

Scurra shook her head. "It does not affect the emotions, my dear. It works only on the nerves."

Wenifas wiped her tears as she paused from her stitching.

"If you should like, I can finish..." Scurra began, as she reached for the needle and thread.

"Then what shall I do?" Wenifas cut her off. "Evereste sleeps. I much prefer to busy my hands," she said through her tears.

Komotz settled down a good deal once he was given the numb root. He could not chew the numb root on his own, so Scurra chopped and crushed the root until there was a good deal of juice extracted. Then she forced Komotz to drink it as well as she could. The younger brother was in such a condition that Duboha and Aim were forced to use their first aid skills as much as they dare. They set his bones as well as they could and bandaged his various cuts. Mostly, they simply worried for their friend. As Komotz relaxed under the influence of the numb root, his companions were also able to relax.

Scurra also had to chop and crush the numb root in order to administer it to Toar. Once he had the numb root in his system, Celesi gently wiped the blood and powder from Toar's face under the direction of Baet. He was the expert as far as muskets were concerned, and also the injuries they inflicted. Celesi followed his direction, though she resented his expertise. Indeed, the barrel of the musket fragmented and blew shrapnel out the side, and a couple dozen shards required removal from Toar’s face. The largest was the size of a half bit, while the smallest were nothing more than the heads of needles. Celesi was slow and meticulous as she proceeded. Often, as the others were turned away to attend other business, she'd lean over Toar and kiss her sympathies on the smooth, uninjured right side of his face. The worst was a small sliver of metal that was caught at the bottom of his left eye. She argued with Baet about whether or not she should leave it.

“It has to come out,” Baet assured her. “The longer you leave it in, the more likely it is to get jammed in further, or jostled, which will also cause more damage. I’ll do it if you don’t want to.”

“No,” she said, not wanting to trust Toar’s fate to anyone else. “I’ll do it.” Then, she took a solid minute to build up the courage, plucked the tiny sliver, which brought a hiss from Toar, then gently covered his face with fragments from another dress.

While the injured were attended, Carringten rounded up the horses. Andrus, Komotz, Toar and Maligno were placed in the wagon with the remains of Traust, Apulton, and the small shrouded body of Claiten. It was a crowded affair, one that Andrus immediately opposed. “I don’t want to ride with that snake!” he hissed as he stared at the injured naga.

“Well, we ain’t got the horses to ride, and since you’re the worst off, you have to watch and see that he does nothing to Komotz or Toar,” Duboha told the man as he gave him a dagger. They argued for a second longer, but the argument ended as Elpis drove the wagon from the edge of the lake. A somber mood hung over the party as they finally departed. Baet was the last to leave the beach. He kicked about the detritus left from the fight and noticed Claiten’s knife. With a sour face, he picked the blade off the sand and put tucked it under his bealt.

As they rode, Creigal felt more and more nauseous. Twice he stopped his horse and purged violently. He looked to Scurra to see if he should be worried. She shrugged. "It is normal to purge after taking numb root. Although it is easy on the nerves, it is hard on the digestion," she explained. "Do not worry. It is rarely fatal."

"Rarely?" Creigal frowned. Although he was sick four or five times on their way to Excergie—and with a mighty force—the duke did not die.

Wenifas sat up front of the cart with Evereste in her lap. Several miles before the pass, Wenifas turned to Elpis and noticed that tears streamed freely down his face. For a time she pretended not to see it; then, with tears of her own, she adjusted Evereste in her lap, pulled close, and wrapped an arm around the sad Jindleyak.
As Wenifas settled against him, Elpis leaned into her and confessed his emotions. "It is poor of me that, despite our losses, I think only of the Lady Yandira?"

Wenifas shook her head. She held Elpis for a long time as she thought of her own lost lover. Derris seemed so long ago and so very distant, even though it was—what? Just over a month ago since the last time she saw him? It felt like forever as the same sharp emotions welled up in her once more. Still, it was good to think of him and not Claiten.

But then, she did think of the boy, and the tears came in unrelenting waves. She buried her face in the Jindleyak’s shoulder, then his lap, and as the tears finally subsided and exhaustion took over, she fell asleep.

So it was that the party entered Jindleyak lands. Despite the somber mood, everyone was pleased when Toar woke—except Toar. He was not pleased, as the numb root given Komotz had proved too much. Like the duke, Komotz also spilled his guts, only without all the pomp and circumstance of Creigal's pyrotechnics—and so Andrus and Malgno both missed the incident since it did not touch them.