Cataclysm War | Chapter 87: A Final Compact (First Draft)

Thursday, August 11, 4 S.E.

Artur heeled Bucephalus toward the flat plain of earth that had been designated as the meeting spot, blue eyes narrowed in wary suspicion upon the approaching part of Fantasies in the near distance. With him rode Gwendolyn and Elijah, bringing only two people with him as agreed, while their erstwhile allies appeared to be comprised of the same number.

As the two sides drew closer, Artur narrowed his eyes as he identified the creatures they’d agreed to work with: three tall, silver-haired, ashen-grey-skinned women with elegant armor on two of them, and a long, light-refractive black dress on the central figure.

When they reached the ten-foot distance of separation, both parties came to a halt, and Artur grimaced as he assessed them. His [Terran Reclaimer] Title flared in his mind as its requirements were met, and he felt himself bristle at the sight before him. All three were knife-ears, with glowing, demonic red eyes that set his hatred to its maximum threshold immediately.

He needed them for the battle to come, certainly, but he’d be glad to inevitably break them when the time was right. Bucephalus pawed the ground and snorted as he sensed Artur’s mood, and the Iron Duke stroked the warhorse’s neck in a soothing manner.

“So, you are the Iron Duke,” the central Fantasy said, her voice cool and austere, with a husky texture to it that would have almost passed as alluring were she not a Godless monster. “It is fascinating how quickly your species ages.”

Gwendolyn and Elijah tensed at his sides, and Artur simply smiled coldly back at the woman.

“We are as God intended us to be,” he replied readily, not hiding the venom in his words. “But we are not here to discuss the inequity of natural age between our species, Svartfar. We have a compact: you will take the [Aetherium], and we will have the City itself.”

The woman, evidently the leader, arched a silver eyebrow at his words—throwing her unnaturally symmetrical features into sharp relief, before lowering it a moment later.

“I would ask why you desire that city, Terran, but I can only imagine the schemes in your mind,” the woman stated mildly, and then settled her hands in an almost feminine clasp before her. Somehow, it managed to look entirely authoritative and not demure at all. “Your people said that there was a Cataclysm imprisoned within it. How can you be certain?”

Artur had expected the question and simply willed his Quest to her, waiting until she accepted it before waving a hand.

“People lie, Svartfar. The System does not.”

It was something he’d heard more than one Fantasy say during interrogation, and it seemed to be the right tactic. The woman’s eyes narrowed after the System confirmed her acceptance of his information, then she waved a hand to dismiss the screen only she could see and lifted her chin.

“That is one question answered, Terran,” she declared imperiously, while her lambent red eyes—aglow even beneath the evening sunset—narrowed on him in consideration. “A more pointed one is why we should trust you to uphold your part of the bargain. There are many threats in this Haelfenn City. It would be very convenient for you to turn on our people once we are weakened.”

Artur smiled mirthlessly at her words and waved a hand idly for calm when his wife and second bristled at them. Given he was planning to wipe them out after the fact, he could hardly blame the woman for her suspicions—inhuman monsters they may have been, but foolish they were not.

“We are as uneasy with this compact as you are, Svartfar,” Artur said congenially, his blue eyes narrowing in amusement. “So let us make a System Oath: I will swear not to order nor permit the assault on your forces by any Terran under my authority during this battle. In return, you will swear the same, and the System will witness our Oath.”

The two armored Svartfar shifted at his words, but said nothing, and only turned to look at the towering, inhumanly beautiful figure of their leader. The woman in the center narrowed her eyes in kind, but after a moment, she inclined her head.

“Very well. With one addition: you will not seek to make war on us for at least three years following this battle, regardless of the outcome.”

Artur paused at that, but slowly nodded his head after a moment.

Three years? You won’t live long enough for that, anyway.

With the information he’d already leaked about their Starhold, three years would barely give them time to lick their wounds once all was said and done.

“Agreed,” Artur said, waiting long enough to look as if he was displeased with the condition before accepting it. “However, you will swear the same.”

The woman simply nodded in turn, as if she’d expected such.

“Then we have an accord,” she stated, and smoothly spoke thereafter. “I, Matriarch Yvrain, do solemnly swear not to turn upon nor harm the forces under the command of the Iron Duke, Artur Paendrag, during the upcoming battle and beyond, for a period of three years, unless we are attacked first. May this Oath bind me for the specified time.”

Artur listened carefully and then nodded.

“I,” he began himself, “Artur Paendrag, do solemnly swear not to turn upon nor intentionally bring harm to the forces under the command of Matriarch Yvrain, during the upcoming battle and beyond, for a period of three years, unless we are attacked first. May this Oath bind me for the specified time.”

A System chime echoed between them, and Artur grimaced when he felt the Oath take root, coiling around his [Titansteel Core] like a barely-there vise of intangible power. He could feel it, nestled in his dantian like a sleeping viper, awaiting the violation needed to awaken it. Disconcerting, but assuring.

The Matriarch likewise flickered with discomfort when the Oath settled upon her, and then nodded to him once more, like an approving matron to an unruly subject. It made him want to attack her then and there, but he held himself back. The needs of the day to come far outweighed his own desires, on that front.

“The Haelfenn have pulled back their populace and forces to the City,” Yvrain said without preamble, looking between Artur, Gwendolyn, and Elijah. “Our agents in Dawnhaven, as they call it, have alerted us that they are on the watch for a threat against the city. This assault will not be won easily, and I am not so foolish as to trust my flank to you, Terran.”

Artur smiled mirthlessly at her words. On that much, they were agreed.

“Then what is your goal, Matriarch?” he asked with the barest adherence to courtesy.

“We will assault the sally gates to the flanks of the City, while your larger force attacks the main entrance. I will split my Svartfar, and we will take the walls from the Haelfenn at those locations, while you Terrans take the main gate. I am sure you have your own plans to address that, and I leave it to you. I will no more share my tactics than you will share yours, but if we both do our part, it will be irrelevant.”

Artur glanced at Elijah at her words, and his grizzled second nodded slightly.

“We were ready for a frontal assault already. The equipment has been purchased and prepared,” he assured Artur, voice unhappy but compliant.

I wanted to let them engage first and sweep in to butcher them all at the end, but this woman saw through me quite shrewdly. No plan survives first contact, I suppose. There will be opportunities later.

“Very well,” Artur said agreeably, inclining his head in kind. “You will take the sally gates, we will take the main gate. I will issue orders to those under my command not to assault yours. However, it would be best if our interactions were kept to a minimum.”

The Matriarch smiled, just barely, at his words.

“On that, Iron Duke, we are agreed. I will make the same instructions clear to my Nightlanders. I do have a final condition, however.”

Artur arched an eyebrow in silence.

“The Cataclysm,” the Matriarch said serenely. “We want them. Alive.”

Artur lowered his eyebrow at her words and fought not to laugh.

Perfect. That’s what I expected.

Outwardly, he frowned at her words, gripping his reins idly.

“Why?” he asked instead of agreeing, playing at being displeased.

“That is our business,” the Matriarch said in an unruffled manner, “but it is a matter of import to my people. Without that agreement, we will not have a bargain.”

At his side, his wife played her part perfectly, allowing her white horse to stamp forward as she spoke angrily.

“Why should we give them anything, husband? We can still take the City without—”

“No, Gwendolyn,” Artur said flatly, playing at being the regretful husband, and shook his head at his wife. “Without them, the casualties would be astronomical. No. If we have to abandon the quest, so be it. The City is the real prize, anyway.”

He turned away from her when his wife glared at him and affixed his gaze back on the Matriarch.

“Fine,” he said with ire he had no difficulty in mustering, “but that is the last concession I will make, Svartfar.”

The Matriarch simply smiled at him mirthlessly and dipped her head in a bow that was perfectly civil, yet seemed entirely mocking. It was oddly fascinating how the aliens could convey so much with such a simple action.

“Then we are in accord,” the Svartfar said smoothly. “We will begin the attack at dawn.”

Artur did raise a genuine eyebrow at that, frowning faintly as he did.

“Why dawn? I thought your kind preferred the night.”

The Matriarch smiled at him with chilling confidence.

“We do,” she said softly, “but we also study our enemies. Dawn is when the City will be at its most wearied and exhausted. They will expect an evening attack if they have guessed at what we are, which I must assume they have. A dawn strike will catch them off guard.” Her eyes rolled over them, and her smile widened. “Besides, night would be disadvantageous for you, Terrans. It is better to attack when we are equally capable of doing our part, is it not?”

Artur felt his [Titansteel Core] accelerate with hatred at her words, but only nodded tersely. “Very well,” he said simply, and gripped Bucephalus’ reins. “Dawn, then. Agreed.”

The Matriarch inclined her head a final time and, without a word, turned to glide away with her red-eyed accompaniment, drifting across the flat plane of grass at staggering speed.

“She’s probably an Ascendant,” Elijah muttered after they were specks in the distance of the approaching evening. “At least.”

“Likely,” Artur agreed as the three of them turned their horses and began to canter back toward where the Legions were encamped. “Is all the siege equipment prepared?”

“One tower per Legion, a battering ram, and ballistae for the menders and logisticians to man. I doubt the City will charge out to meet us. The fantasies attacking the sally gates work in our favor,” Elijah said, his tone begrudgingly appreciative. “It’ll mean we can attack the largest section of the wall, and get first access to the main thoroughfare of the City in kind.”

“The maps we were able to gather help immensely,” Artur concurred. “Sending those merchant spies was the right move, Gwendolyn.”

“I know,” his wife said with self-satisfaction as they crossed the distance toward the Army. “But we still need to make sure we find Leonidas, husband. If they try to use our grandson as a hostage—”

“If they do, I’ll wipe them out down to the last child,” Artur said decisively. “I’ll make that very clear, too. If they want any chance of surviving after all is said and done, I’ll want proof he’s alive and unharmed.”

Elijah and Gwendolyn were silent for a moment after he spoke, and it was his second that eventually broke the silence as they crested the rise and began descending toward the encamped army.

“They might try to leverage the boy knowing your attachment to him, Artur.”

“Even if they do, I won’t relent,” Artur said with a growl. “If those knife-eared scum kill my grandson, I’ll slaughter them to the last. We have preliminary numbers on the Svartfenn?”

“Ten thousand,” Elijah reported. “Give or take.”

“Twenty-Five Thousand in total, then,” Artur said with a nod. “That’s no small army. If those Haelfenn want any chance of escaping this alive, they’ll need to make a deal of some sort. When they’re desperate, I’ll give their ‘Nobles’ the chance to flee the city, in exchange for my grandson.”

“You think they’ll go for it?” Elijah asked with doubt.

“If there is one thing that is universal across cultures, Elijah,” Artur said as the Army started to rally with their return, “it is the cowardice of a nation’s government. Just look at our own.”

Elijah nodded to that, but Gwendolyn seemed less convinced.

“It’s a terrible risk to take with our grandson’s life, husband,” she murmured, her voice worried. “We can’t lose him. Not again.”

Artur glanced at his wife, and his expression softened, slowing his mount as Elijah tactfully cantered ahead, bellowing orders to the Army.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he said to his wife, reaching out to take her hand as their horses drew to a slow walk. “Come hell or high water, I won’t give up our grandson without a fight. He’s the only one worthy of being my heir. Trust me. After all this is said and done, Leonidas will be safe, and we’ll be reunited properly.”

His wife softened in turn at his words, and her pale blue eyes warmed.

“I trust you, Artur,” she said quietly, squeezing his hand in turn.

Artur lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, then turned toward where Dawnhaven lurked over the rise, seventy miles away.

Only a few hours to go, my boy. We’re almost there.