Chapter Nineteen.

The skips split up into groups of three, though we were all heading in roughly the same direction. We flew for almost an hour through the murky air above the swamp, a miasma of fetid scents and swirling mist stretching out as far as I could see. The wind howled through the open deck of the skip’s cabin which told me we were moving fast, but the denseness of the fog made it impossible to tell exactly. It lent a bizarre, surreal quality to the trip, with my mind constantly attempting to give meaning to the vague shapes that flickered in and out of sight as we passed.

I will (grudgingly) admit that Grafton is an excellent pilot. Even he must have some good qualities, I guess, even if they are buried below a figurative mountain of douche. His hands moved quickly between the complex controls of the skip, periodically consulting a weird-looking display covered in small bars of light that raised and lowered to somehow help him navigate through the soupy air. Between the noise of the wind and the roar of the skip’s wings, it was impossible to have any kind of conversation, and the trip itself was almost disturbingly uneventful compared to how I’d expected.

When we reached a point that Grafton determined (again, somehow) he pulled us up sharply and held it until we cleared the top of the mist, exposing a foggy ocean all around us with the same odd hills peeking through the fog below. On one such hill just ahead of us someone had built a ramshackle tower, and Grafton banked us to circle around this tower while he pulled out a flare gun from beneath his feet. The gun fired off with a loud *pop*, sending out a bright yellow flare that slowly began drifting to the ground. Two other skips cleared the mist behind us and followed suit, each firing their own yellow flare. We circled the tower a few times, and I could see impatience building on Grafton’s face before a return flare came from the tower. I couldn’t hear his derisive snort, but the disdain was plain on his face as we wheeled around one more time before all three skips landed at the base of the tower.

Up close it was in even worse shape than it had appeared from a distance, creaking alarmingly from even the slight wind kicked up by our landing. We all disembarked quickly, and I hopped over the edge rather than wait for the ladder. The marines all had their rifles at low-ready, and the crewmen were all armed with pistols and machetes. In fact, looking around I was the only person without a weapon— though I suppose my magic probably counts for more anyway.

Still, be nice to have something other than magic or going full eldritch horror for self-defense…

Two figures cautiously exited the tower, their stances furtive as they scurried out towards us, eyeing the mists like they were fearful of attack. Their clothes were a strange mix of furs and leather that looked like alligator skin, with patches of dry grass in a makeshift ghillie-style camouflage that left no skin exposed. Their faces were obscured by painted wooden masks and a lion’s mane of woven reeds that covered down to their shoulders, subtle sigils and patterns in the paint differentiating the two. Each of them carried their own rifles, though they looked much older than the ones in the marines’ hands.

“Ho the tower!” Grafton shouted as we approached. “We’re with the Northeast Caravan, looking to trade with the villages.”

The two figures visibly cringed at the shout before one stepped forward and waved their hands in a shushing motion.

“Ay, we know’n ye here! Whole swamp know’n, ward-boys, with ya damn cannons n’ guns n’ magic ta wake the dead. Beasties all riled up n’ pissin’ ta fight, so quiet, ken? Fore we all’n get et.” The man said, his words obscured almost incomprehensibly by a thick accent. “Damned idiot outlanders will be the death of us all.”

The last bit was accompanied by an impressive string of insults and swearing that judging from the non-reaction of the crew around me was in another language.

I still have no idea how that works. Also, it's weird that accents just disappear for me when someone switches to their native language. That must mean the person's intent matters to [Soul Tongue], and if someone speaks a different language poorly then I still won't be able to understand them. Mere magic is no match for human ineptitude… I don't know if I should be proud or disappointed.

"What ya bring'n, ward-boys?" He said once they were close enough to speak quietly.

Grafton shrugged and made absolutely no effort to lower his voice.

"The usual; some bolts of cloth, tools, and my personal favorite—" he gestured to some of the crewmen, who quickly hauled over a long crate and opened it with a loud *crack*. "Guns!"

The crate was filled with rifles similar to what our marines were carrying, gleaming coldly with lethal purpose. Both villagers stilled when they saw them, eyeing the guns with obvious desire even behind their masks. The one who'd been silent so far spoke up suddenly with excitement, their voice sounding much younger than the first's.

"Those are from the Coalition Armory! We need these guns, we could—"

"Shut up. They might be idiots but even an idiot can see you drooling over that crate like a starving lizard. Now we're going to get a worse deal and the headman will be angry.” The older villager cut him off.

“Ay, we interested. Head-mans’ on his way heah, ken? He gon deal wit’ ya.”

Grafton smirked smugly as the two men scurried back into the rickety tower.

“That’ll be that. No chance they’re not signaling the headman right now to bring out the good stuff.” He looked around at the cloying mist surrounding our hill and began barking out orders. “Spread out, teams of two around the skips. Watch the fog.”

The marines acknowledged and I gave a grudging nod before joining up with corporal Tibbs as the only person I actually knew out here. He seemed relieved to have me close by, shooting nervous glances at the murky air around the hill.

“Bloody villagers might be more skittish than a fieldmouse in an owl’s nest, but they’re not exactly wrong about the swamp either. Glad to have a proper mage with us for once— though I wish Mister Grafton would rein himself in. Man’s got no fear.”

“Yeah, he really is… something.” I hedged, trying unsuccessfully to hide my dislike. Tibbs laughed at my reaction.

“Aye, he’s not exactly the friendliest sort.”

“What’s his deal anyway? In between kicking puppies or whatever he does in his free time.”

The corporal just shrugged.

“Some men are built differently. He’s a damn good first officer, regardless. Ain’t a soul on the ship more loyal to the captain.”

I sighed with frustration, but ultimately let it go.

You can’t be friends with everyone.

We mostly just stood around after that, watching the swirling fog and listening to the distant roars of angry monsters. At one point I swear I could hear cannons firing off from the caravan and a spark of worry lit up in my chest, but Tibbs waved it off with a chuckle.

“No need to worry, Mister Baines. You and the young miss have been a great help this round, but we marines know our trade. It’ll take a damn sight more than what this swamp can throw at us to bring down the Duchess.”

“You really think I’m helping though? I don’t feel like I’m doing that much…” I said with a frown.

“You’ve been out on the platform in the thick of things, which is a damn sight better than we usually get from travelers. Normally we can’t drag a mage from their cabin until the damn monsters are crawling through the bloody hull, and then we have to worry about them snagging us in the crossfire. Although… would you mind a suggestion, sir?”

"Go for it." I shrugged.

"Perhaps you could try to get on better with the captain? Speaking for the crew, we'd all rather the heads of the ship were going in the same direction, as it were. A divided vessel won't survive in the wilds for long."

Reluctantly, I considered what I'd have to do to get in Teadran's good graces. To be fair, I had gone a little overboard when he'd warned me against hurting Shani. The first counter-argument my brain came up with basically boiled down to, 'well he started it' which just felt… childish. I could apologize for that.

I'm only here for a few weeks. I can swallow my pride for that long.

“I wouldn’t mind getting along better with Teadran. I just wish I knew what I was doing wrong, he’s basically hated my guts from the moment he met me.”

Tibbs eyed me uncomfortably.

“Well it’s not helped by you courting Miss Zaraiah but… How much do you know about the Highlands?”

“Uh… nothing?”

“Alright, well… alright.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “It isn’t a very pleasant place. The old Storm Lords were famous for being the only ones to never submit to the Achorai militarily, because they’d spent generations stubbornly spitting in the face of one of Haven’s most brutal environments. When the Achoran Empire marched in they found a people ready to fight tooth and claw for every scrap of ground, every last one willing to die out of pure stubborn spite. It breeds a certain… harshness of character in folk, to be born there amidst the legends of your ancestors. The caravans are an extension of that; the cores might be from the old kingdoms, but the metal? The men? Highlands’ stock and trade. Terland blood built this ship, and it’s our blood that’s kept it running since. So we come out here and we see the pampered, sheltered lives of the ward-born— especially the nobles— and it gets infuriating, more so for the old guard families like the captain’s.”

“So… he doesn’t like me because he thinks I’m a spoiled noble and he’s just generally grumpy? That’s it?”

I mean he basically said that outright already, or was that Grafton? Eh, from the sound of things, the overgrown neanderthal thinks whatever Teadran tells him to so it’s probably the same thing. Well at least I can say I’m probably not doing much specifically to piss him off, he just dislikes me on principle. Yay?

A sharp whistle from one of the marines heralded a group of people breaking through the fog, all of us instantly going on alert as a group of villagers hurried towards our position. Most of these people didn’t have the elaborate headdresses of the two from the tower, instead clad in simple leather that was barely a step up from rags— though it did still keep their skin hidden. There were nearly twenty people in the group, grouped up to haul what looked like oversized sleds made from lightweight woven reeds and covered in a load of full baskets— also made from reeds. Leading the group was a taller man dressed similarly to the tower guards, but with a suitably more ‘poofy’ headdress to let everyone know he was the boss.

Grafton sauntered over to the headman with a shark’s smile plastered on his face.

“So nice to see you this morning, Ishy. Headman now eh? Color me impressed.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The headman had been slightly puffed-up when he first approached, but with every word from Grafton’s mouth, he seemed to shrink in on himself.

“I am Ishirkaleigh’Telm, ya ken? Not ‘Ishy’.”

“Now now, don’t be like that Ishy. We’re friends! A man’s likely to remember things that’re… inconvenient, if we’re not friends. Ya ken?”

The ornately-hatted villager wilted as the enormous first officer loomed over him, and I heard the younger guard from the tower mutter quietly.

“I don’t think we were getting a good deal anyway.”

He was shushed by a lightning-quick elbow from his partner while Grafton and the headman got down to haggling over the trade goods. Well, I say haggling, but it was mostly bullying as our aggressive XO seemed to have something over the villager, and was thoroughly in control for the entire process. At the end he went over to one of the sleds and lifted the lid off a wicker basket inside, pulling out a wilted flower that showed obvious decay.

“What the hell is this shit, Ishy? You trying to cheat me?” Grafton demanded angrily.

“No, no big-man. Is all we got! Beasties all riled an’ spirits be’n angry, only tha Great Telm’Urka keepin’ it all back. We can bare leave home ‘less we bring—” The villager protested, but Grafton cut him off.

“Spare me the sob story, Ishy. If this is the best you got then we’ve got no deal. Pack it up! We’re moving on to the next village.” He barked out and the crew hurried to re-load the cargo onto the skips. Desperation flashed across the eyes of every villager I could see, many of them reaching tentatively for the crates like they were just a step away from either begging or stealing outright.

Something is going on here…

The headman was trembling in place, clenching his fists and audibly grinding his teeth before muttering something I didn’t catch.

“What was that, Ishy?” Grafton said condescendingly.

“I sayin’ there are no more villages ya bastard big ward-boy! We all’s left now ‘less ya can pull trade with tha dead.”

Silence fell over the clearing as the crew froze at the headman’s shouted words. The first officer's smirk vanished.

"What are you saying? There's half a dozen villages within ten leagues of here."

The village leader kept shaking his head.

"No anymore, ken. They gods be dead, they spirits be scattered and all's left of tha people be here. How ya think I got Head-man, ward-boy? Ain't no-one left else to do it."

Grafton chewed on this for a moment before seeming to come to a decision and addressing the milling crewmen.

"As you were, lads. Corporal! Send up the white flare. The other skips should've reached their target villages by now, so if Ishy here is telling the truth they'll be coming back empty-handed."

Tibbs nodded to acknowledge the order and rushed off to launch the flare. We waited tensely for the next few minutes until I heard the familiar roar of approaching skips. Nine more of the flying vessels broke through the fog and pulled in to land around us in the same groups of three, like our own. An older man hopped down from the first to land and began shouting toward Grafton.

"The hell is going on here mate? None of the coordinates in my logs are good. We checked three towers and didn't see a damn thing before your flare."

The first officer swore, waving the other crews forward only to repeat the same message— empty villages, abandoned ruins, and not a soul to be found. The different crews started to argue while the villagers huddled together, fearfully eyeing the fog. Unease crept through my gut, a bizarre sense of pressure emanating from the swamp that grew with every moment we stood here.

“Quiet!” Grafton barked, looking around distastefully. “Make the damn trade, and let's get the hell out of here. If something is wiping out the villages then it’s a threat to the whole trade corridor— the captain needs to know.”

Brief protests were silenced under the brute’s harsh glare, and the crews began quickly swapping out our crates for the villager’s baskets. The collection of goods in the baskets was… motley, to say the least. The villagers were definitely getting the better end of this trade. But seeing the way they practically sagged with relief as the crates changed hands made me pity them.

The pressure from the fog spiked through my awareness like a burning knife, jerking my head to the side with alarm. But there was nothing, just mist… and shadows. And one particularly tall shadow was new.

It struck with a speed that was blinding even to my enhanced senses, stabbing forwards with a rush of displaced air. A sickening *crunch* echoed through the clearing, and blood sprayed on my face. I had the briefest glimpse of Tibbs dangling in the air, his head speared through by an enormous beak before his body was yanked back into the mist.

For a moment, everyone was frozen in shock. Then all hell broke loose.

Men shouted and started firing blindly through the mist. I summoned my shields and spread them out, nearly on autopilot as my brain struggled to process what had just occurred.

He’s dead. Just like that. Standing right next to me and I let it happen.

I could hear the wind rushing around us as the attacker moved with impossible speed. Another spike of pressure jolted me, and I hurriedly moved my shields into place. It didn’t matter, the beak tore through them like wet paper, and a short scream announced another death. The villagers scrambled towards the tower, and in the back of my head, I could hear them screaming in fear and confusion. But I stopped listening as my shock gave way to fury blossoming in my chest, burning out any other emotions under the incandescent light of rage.

How… dare… you.

The next time I felt the pressure before it attacked, I was ready. Annihilation filled my shields and I sent a dozen of them spinning through the air like buzz-saw blades. The beak slammed into them before tearing backward with a deafening shriek. A vicious smile broke out on my face as I snarled after the retreating monster until another wave of pressure wiped it off when I realized I’d made the thing shift targets.

It came at me like a freight train out of the mist, a black blur still moving impossibly fast. I pushed my reflexes to the utmost limit just to hurl myself out of its path, but I wasn’t fast enough to dodge completely. Pain shot out from my left arm as the immense beak clamped down on it like a crushing vice and ripped me bodily out of the clearing, hurling me through the air like I’d been launched from a trebuchet. I went straight through a tangle of withered trees and brush before slamming painfully into a small hillock. Groaning painfully, I pushed myself to my feet.

Holy shit, if I’d been a regular human that would have probably torn my arm off.

As it was, my whole shoulder was throbbing painfully and several cuts were bleeding through my clothes, which had been completely ruined by my trip through the trees.

Screw this.

Transforming with a roar, I ripped through what was left of my clothes and flared out my aura challengingly. A piercing shriek answered me, along with a steady blast of wind that pushed back the fog. When the air had cleared, I got my first look at the attacking monster.

It was a heron-griffon— taller than me, even transformed as I was, but thin and spindly. Black feathers covered its back and white on its underside, splitting evenly along the graceful s-curve of its neck. Its wings were raised up and spread out threateningly, adding to the creature’s already impressive height. Prowling forwards on its long legs, the griffon's black beak parted.

—Challenge—

The word drew out with a deep hiss.

—Accepted—

The feathered monster drew itself up on its hind legs and shrieked so loudly it shook the muddy water around us.

Activating my [Flight] spell, I rose up weightlessly into the air, uncoiling from the mud in a mass on spiny tentacles and chitin to threaten the griffon right back. I still couldn’t fully activate the spell, but I could definitely feel more power flowing through it. My evolution to stage II had made me grow, while streamers of golden light now pulsed under my skin like shimmering veins. Annihilation hexes snapped into existence around me by the dozens, thrumming in the air with the promise of impending violence.

“Bring it.”

It did.

The monster blasted forward with a lightning-quick snap of its wings, the pressure I felt from it seeming to weigh down my movements even as my black hexes spun into the griffon’s path. This time though, the creature was ready for my magic, and a cone-shaped barrier of swirling wind howled into place ahead of it. The wind bored through my shields like a drill, the hostile magic cutting through my own with frustrating ease. It slammed into me with its full weight, but no longer restrained by human form, this was no longer the issue it had been.

Hooked tentacles wrapped around the griffon the moment we made contact, pulling me in close and stubbornly refusing to let go. I dug into its flesh with every one of my natural weapons, slashing with my claws and even biting at its slender neck. The creature’s body was weirdly dense, resisting my attacks with startling resilience that belied its spindly looks. A blast of wind tore me off and hurled me back towards the swamp, though my active [Flight] spell let me quickly loop back for another attack.

As I approached I glanced over the bird-creature’s form, noting that while my attacks had stained a number of its feathers with blood, none of the cuts I’d made were particularly bad. Even as I watched the smaller ones had already stopped bleeding, and I snarled in frustration.

What the hell is this thing made of??

The griffon glared hatefully at me before vanishing with a thunderous *boom* as it abruptly accelerated, cutting a circle around me with blistering speed. Even transformed I couldn’t keep up, and the monster smashed into my back, nearly slapping me out of the air. It crowed triumphantly at me as I fell, but a swarm of annihilation hexes quickly silenced the hateful bird as they cut into its feathered chest.

Even those aren’t doing much…

Several feathers were cut through by the attack, but the odd denseness of the griffon was present even there. My magic impacted the creature but dissipated far too quickly, and the pressure coming off of it refused to let up— slowing my movements and sapping my strength like I was fighting through mud instead of air. It felt like the monster was just more… there than I was. Like the world itself was reinforcing everything the griffon did and dragging me down simultaneously.

It angrily shook off my hexes like they were wasp stings instead of lethal magic, letting out a rage-filled cry and slamming into me again and again. I wasn’t given time to latch on again and do more damage, the griffon flying literal circles around me and pummeling me repeatedly.

I need to slow it down, but how? And even if I can, how do I kill this thing?

My existing spells weren’t doing enough damage. Natural weapons were out, and there was no possible way for me to get close enough to use them even if they weren’t. I was fighting an apex predator in its natural environment, and I was getting my ass kicked. A particularly nasty strike sent me careening towards the ground, and looking at the muddy water below gave me an idea. Cancelling my [Flight] spell, I let myself plummet downwards and hit the water with a tremendous *crash*.

It wasn’t hard to fake being injured from that— my bell was thoroughly rung— but I played it up anyway, forcing myself to slither painfully towards a stretch of deeper water.

Come on you stupid bird. Come get the poor little hurt eldritch-abomination.

It dived on me with a victorious screech, and I barely jerked my head out of the way of its stabbing beak. It reared back to stab at me again, but in coming down to the ground we had just traded our environmental advantages. The creature was now standing still, and I was gonna make the damn thing pay for that screw up.

Only got one shot to end this, it won't fall for this trick twice.

The beak came down like a spear, and resigning myself to pain, I let it. Burning agony spread through me as I let myself be impaled through the shoulder, which on a human would be a crippling wound.

I'm not human.

My whole body contorted around the griffon's head, winding myself around it like living barbed wire and clinging with all my strength. The beast screeched with surprise, and I roared in pain as the motion spread open the wound in my shoulder. But even as pain blurred my senses I jammed a clawed hand straight through the gap in its beak and down its throat.

Now I might not have much control over my latest Ideal, but if there's one thing I can manage? It's volume. So I flooded every drop of superheated plasma I could wring out of my battered body straight down the griffon's skinny neck.

Panic filled its amber eyes for a split second while its throat ballooned up almost comically. Then it exploded.

A thunderous *boom* heralded a fountain of [Stellar Flame] that launched me backward— still impaled on the monster's beak like the world's most morbid rocket— and sent the rest of the now-headless griffon tumbling into the filthy water. I laid where I landed, staring into the empty eye of my defeated foe for minutes before summoning the will to pull myself off the beak. Black blood quickly pooled in the water around me, though I noted idly that there were now little flecks of golden light in the inky mess.

In the abrupt silence of the swamp after our battle, I could hear the distant shouts of the crew and the villagers. The sounds echoed oddly through the mist, and I could feel my awareness fading rapidly as shock started to set in. With my last thoughts, I transformed back into a human and sent a string of glowing hex shields up into the sky.

Hope they see that…