Rune and Ruin

16 - Loyalty of Traitors

391 B.C.E. - Ruins of the City of Caere, Island of the Fyrrin, Coast of the Tasurian Peninsula, Spring, Month of Maius

Falx

I walk through knee-deep water and mud as the skies rain down. I keep my scales and my wings to ward off the bitter chill and to be able to take flight if the ground were to fall away from my feet.

"Warlord!" three of my belators, some of my best scouts, make their way through the muck and floodwaters to my side.

"My females?" I ask when they hesitate, my voice low and harsh from the weeks-long rain and humidity Caere has been suffering from.

"Good, Warlord," one of the belators answers quickly, realizing his mistake.

I nod abruptly, the hackles rising on my demon, subsiding as soon as we know our family is safe. "The road?" is my next guess.

Another belator nods, his face set in grim lines of fatigue. "Aye. Ulster's Flight keeps providing escorts over the crevice."

The ground under my feet shakes. A muscle twitches in the belator's cheek, making his scales ripple.

"The tremors aren't as bad as before," he murmurs, convincing himself, not me. I know the wave won't return because my priestess has assured me the worst is over.

"Herrenius Dennati?" I ask, feeling my demons flex his claws at the male's name.

"Still no sign. Ulster may have helped him escape, but there's no way of knowing if he died in the tremors or not."

I watch the trash-strewn water as I think. The disappearance of most of the Tasuri nobles rankles, especially since they could have looted my city before fleeing, and I would never know.

"This sludge will cause disease and further damage if we don't clear it," I point out as I scan the ruined city surrounding me. Several buildings behind me survived the wave, but the tremors damaged them. Where I am standing, the entire neighborhood vanished. The harbor has moved. The docks are obliterated. Most of the elitist hill has turned to rubble. The temples have suffered damage, too.

And yet, the Basru temple set a thousand paces away from the rest of the Temple Mount, is strong and secure, as are the graves of the dead.

I inhale slowly, taking in the scent of rot and brine as another tremor sends ripples of water trembling around my calves.

"Food is scarce," the third belator continues, "but the stores that we're recovering are growing. The priestesses are doing a good job of doling out portions," he praises my female and her brethren. I can see interest spark in his eyes when he mentions the priestesses. He will have to remain patient. My plans for the Arthe priestesses have been thoroughly scuttled by this disaster.

We continue our slog through the mud, trying to pace out how much of the ground we've lost. The citizens of Caere are, naturally, uneasy. The gods have leveled their city, and my people have looted any valuables they could get their hands on.

"What is the word on the other cities," I ask the belators.

The one who oversees the road, now known as the crevice, scowls. "Several have fallen. Many are in a full state of panic. They are preventing anyone from going in or out. Several demons have Changed, making the countryside unsafe."

"Rune?"

"No word, yet."

I nod grimly just as another tremor hits. "Fuck!" I swear out loud as I instinctively spread my wings to take flight. My belators echo my curses as the ground shakes, then give way with an eerie groan, as if the city has given up its fight against the water and muck.