Chapter Thirteen
Strategy And Tactics

“Did you serve in the war, Master Rubicus?” 

It was clear to Vera that Rubicus was more than a little uncomfortable. Not that she was any more at ease around Clarus — if for reasons that made Aesling smirk internally at her. He seemed not to know how to treat the Prince, who seemed intent on friendly, casual conversation. Rubicus didn’t know where to put himself. 

“Aye, Your Highness,” he said. “Second Draft Company.” He looked over at the Prince. Clarus was wearing his ‘calmly paying attention’-smile, which was one of several smiles Vera had categorized in her head. Clarus had a lot of smiles, and they were all maddening in different ways. This one was hard to deal with because it made you feel like you ought to keep talking even when you thought you were done. 

“It’ll be what makes him a good King,” Aesling pondered. “People have a tendency to say just a little too much around him.” It was true. Clarus had a disarming smile. The thing about disarming smiles, of course, is that they leave you distinctly vulnerable. 

“I was a mercenary ‘forehand,” Rubicus continued. “Your Highness’ father saw fit to pay my Company fair wages in the draft.” Clarus nodded. “Had the honor of riding with t—” He hesitated for a moment. “—with the King. But our Company never saw much battle. Ours were skirmishes in burned-out villages.” Vera remembered. Rubicus’ Company had been the one to fish her out of her own village, after all. 

“Important work, nonetheless,” Clarus said. “I have to wonder if you and I ever stood on the same field, facing Caligon’s hordes.” He shrugged. “Not that it matters. The old fiend is dead, and soon, the Cavean will be as well.”

“As you say, Your Highness.” Rubicus said, bowing his head. 

“Oh, don’t say that,” Clarus said with a hearty little chuckle. “That’s what people say when they disagree with me but they’re scared to because of my lineage.” Rubicus looked distinctly guilty, but completely unsure of what to actually say in response. “Master Rubicus, as long as we travel the road together, I urge you to think of me as Clarus. I may be the only person who has successfully stopped the Cavean once before, and treating me like some frail thing to be tiptoed around will only make that feat harder to achieve a second time. Are we understanding one another?”

Rubicus looked at him for a few seconds. The only thing breaking the silence was the whispering of the wind and the gentle thudding of hooves on the road. Then he seemed to come to a decision and his face split into a wide grin. His hand landed on Clarus’ back with the sound of a shovel hitting sheet metal, nearly throwing the Prince out of the saddle. “Aye then, Clarus. If you say so.”

For a brief moment, Clarus had been shaken out of his usually unflappable demeanor, his eyes watering a little bit, and then he let out a coughing laugh. “E-exactly, Master Rubicus. If we’re to fight side by side, all of us need to see each other as equals.”

For the first time in their conversation, Rubicus shot a glance at Vera, who had been trailing slightly behind them the entire time. “Aye,” Rubicus said darkly. “We ought to.” He jutted his jaw forward and looked back at the road. “We’ll be coming up on the town Flaveo’s liable to be held in, Y— Clarus.” He nodded ahead. The terrain was slightly hilly, and the winter snow had turned the surrounding fields into a murky painting of fog and wet dreck. The hamlet sat on the top of a slight slope, barely more than a few dozen houses and an old windmill. “Thoughts?” 

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a tactical mind, Master Rubicus.” He looked behind him at Vera with an expectant smile. Another one of his, perfect for getting people to speak. She knew what he was doing, of course, and she was grateful for it. He was offering her a way to prove herself to be who she said she was to her old mentor. 

“I reckon,” Vera said, pointing ahead, “someone’ll be stationed at the windmill. They’ll see us coming.” She looked at Rubicus. “And I think they’ll have been expecting us, so they won’t be keeping Flaveo there.”

“Hrm,” Rubicus said, chewing his tongue in silence. She knew if he’d disagreed, he’d have interrupted her. Instead, it was more likely he was annoyed at the fact that he didn’t. Vera decided to push on. 

“But they’ll want their lookout to be within range of their captive, so likely to be close to the center of town.” Vera pointed at the tallest building, close to the top of the hill, next to the windmill. “The Prefect’s house,” she said. 

“How’d you know all that?” Rubicus growled.

“That’s what I’d do,” Vera said with a shrug. “Like you taught me.” 

“Hrm,” Rubicus grumped again, but he didn’t contradict her any further. 

“I think young Vera is likely right,” Clarus said. “So what we need next is a plan of attack.” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “Rubicus, you’ve seen what took him to the village, what can we expect?”

Now that practical matters were at the fore again, it was clearly easier for Rubicus to focus on the task at hand, instead of on Vera. He nodded. “I saw at least two of the Demons that-a-way,” he said, “but I’ve heard tales of what the Cavean’s forces can do. The creatures they’ll bring forth.” Vera shivered. She’d heard those tales too, and if she strained — which she very deliberately didn’t do — she could remember some of them more vividly as well. “And I dread to think why they’d take Flaveo.”

“He’s a magecraft, correct?” Clarus asked. Rubicus nodded. 

“Among other things,” he said. “Flaveo’s a man of… many talents.” That was an understatement. All through Vera’s upbringing, there had been many rumors about Flaveo’s life before he’d joined Rubicus’ company, and Flaveo had done nothing to stop the speculation and he had, in fact, happily fanned the flames. Sometimes he had been a young orphan, raised in a circus. Other times, he’d been a nobleman’s son, escaping after a tryst with the heir of a rival house. Then there were the rumors he’d actually been raised as an assassin in a faraway land. Flaveo only ever giggled and tapped his nose. 

“He’ll be alive for a while longer, then,” Clarus said with a certain nod. “The Cavean’s magic is powerful, but it has its limits.” They slowed their horses down as the village got closer. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Not that Vera had expected any, but it was nonetheless unsettling. There were no bodies. She hoped that meant the townsfolk had managed to run away. “It can create its demons, but they’re monstrous, brutish creatures. In order for it to create its shadowy lieutenants, it requires a magecraft like your friend. Flaveo will be alive as long as he is useful to them.”

“That’s something, at least,” Vera said. “Though… does that mean we’ll be seeing one of those lieutenants?” She felt Aesling shiver inside her. 

“Hope for the best,” Clarus said, “but prepare for the worst.” With that, he got off his horse. They’d reached the first of the houses, and the three of them hitched their horses. Against something like the Demons, they didn’t want to be on horseback. It was too difficult of a position to defend themselves against the Demons’ savagery. 

“The Cavean’s sorcerers,” Ash said quietly, “are malice incarnate. I hope we don’t see them, Vera. The Cavean is a void in the world. It is a horror, to be sure. But its lieutenants are the parasites that fester in the wound their master leaves behind.” Vera shivered at that description. She imagined in her head something like the demons, but eyes glowing with malicious glee, tearing her apart in her sleep. “I will protect you best I can, Vera,” Aesling added, sensing her growing unease, “but I must admit… I’m afraid.” 

“Well,” Vera whispered to herself, “let’s save Flaveo and get out of this town as fast as we can, then.”

“Aye to that,” Clarus said as he stood next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. Then, more quietly, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Vera said, and it was true. His presence next to her, the comforting weight of his hand on her shoulder really was a relief. “I am. Do you see anything yet, Prince Clarus?” He looked around and shook his head. 

“I’ve only ever fought the Cavean’s sorcerers once before,” he said, raising his voice slightly so Rubicus could hear them. The thickening fog was muffling their voices slightly, and they all made sure to stay close together so as not to lose sight of each other. “In direct combat, they’re not all that formidable. Their bodies burn themselves up with magic. It takes little to cause them to dissolve themselves.”

“I sense,” Rubicus said, “that you’re leaving out a very critical ‘but’ there, Clarus.” The two men shared a slightly performative grin, as if trying to reassure, if not each other, then at least themselves. 

“I am,” Clarus said. “The Cavean can’t create, only corrupt. With magecraft at its disposal…” Vera couldn’t tell if the shiver running down her spine was Aesling’s or her own. “Its sorcerers drain the life from around them, releasing it when they see fit.”

“Like we do magic,” Rubicus said, understanding. “That’s… worrying.”

“Aye. And it doesn’t build up in them like it might with us, so we can not just wait them out.” The hand that usually rested on the hilt of his sword now gripped it tightly. “When we see them, we must move and act quickly, or we’ll be dead afore we hit the ground.”

“Let us move and act quickly, then,” Rubicus said, and he turned to look down the street. The hamlet was quite small, but a little denser than Vera had originally given it credit for. From a distance, it had seemed to be a crossroads-town, buildings on either side of the two streets that met atop the hill, but it had clearly grown since its humble beginnings. There were a few smaller side-streets, and more than enough shadows for something to hide in. Her imagination had a grand time of summoning up images of red-eyed monstrosities, grinning unnaturally in the dark, and it took sincere effort to look for real threats, rather than to lose herself in the imagined ones. 

“Up there,” Rubicus nodded. He slowly drew his sword as he advanced, keeping a wall close to his left flank. The Prefect’s house loomed out of the mist, followed closely by the stairs leading up to the town’s one windmill. Even through the thick fog, Vera heard it creaking softly. She squinted, trying to see anything up ahead. She thought she saw movement, but it could have just as easily been the coiling mists. She drew her own sword, and briefly caught a glint of herself in the blade. 

She hadn’t had a lot of time to really reflect on the changes to herself. She was… not all that unrecognizable, all told. She saw a lot of herself in this person. Sure, it was undeniably a woman looking back at her, but then again… it always had been. Now she was just more slender. The biggest difference was how vibrant and green her eyes were. 

Although… it seemed they were losing their color. She looked ahead at Rubicus tunic, the deep red of its fabric slowly draining of life. 

Get down! Aesling said. There was no time to think, only to act. She put her boot against the small of Rubicus’ back, and shoved as hard as she could, pushing herself back in the process. Just a second later, a jet of inky blackness exploded where they’d stood only a moment earlier, crashing a hole through the wall house in horrifying silence. A second later, sound returned to the world, and all Vera could hear was malevolent cackling.