It was, without a doubt, the oddest tea party I'd ever attended. And considering I'd once traded veiled threats with an infernal power broker over root tea and sceoquel at the edge of an abyss, that was a surprisingly high bar.
My soldiers seemed to think the same. Hundreds of them awkwardly sipped from whatever vessel they could drum up. Cups of all sorts until they ran out, then canteens, arriving eventually at bowls and ladles. The sewer's stench and the strong herbal taste of the brew had already turned several stomachs, and they'd spread out some, away from the grating and runoff, forming impromptu social circles that presented an odd, almost satirical reflection of noble society.
All while the keening voice of a prophet, or soothsayer, caterwauled in the distant outskirts of the city, howling something barely intelligible about death. Or dying. Or something equally grim.
Vicant, our recently discovered and thankfully unoffended regimental Warlock, was nervous. Understandably so. If folklore was to be believed, witches and warlocks spent a great deal of time brewing their concoctions in dark and occasionally subterranean spaces such as basements and caves, valuing the safety such isolation presented. Conversely, plying his craft in the middle of a clearing in the clear light of day, brewing a cauldron directly in view of a wall of soldiers, must have been at least somewhat alarming.
However, after some time, Vicant seemed to be taking a shine to the additional duties. He no longer cringed every time he served the next soldier as if expecting reprisal in the form of a gauntlet to the face. If anything, there was a quiet giddiness beneath his neutral expression. Nothing malevolent.
I stepped up onto a small stone outcropping a few steps from the grate and caught Sevran's eye. He nodded and waved to the rest of the Banner Lieutenants, and within minutes the regiment was assembled and alert, waiting for orders.
So damn organized.
Quickly, I drained the rest of the brew from my stein, grimacing at the taste, then set it aside.
Calm. In control. Confident. My father's voice echoed in my mind. I no longer resisted his counsel as I once had. He was far from a perfect person, and we'd always have our differences, but in this much, at least, he was right.
"There's been a lot of talk regarding the threat we face." I smiled, glancing around. "Yes, I've been listening. Personally, my favorite theory so far is that the notorious Sirens of the Gilded Coast packed their bags, somehow navigated the mainland, hopping upon piscine fins for miles between rivers and lakes, until they finally reached their ultimate destination." I pointed towards the grate. "Our collective shithole."
There was laughter. Nervous, but better than none.
"'Bout the only thing that'd get me excited about goin' in there." A big voice bellowed out, drawing more mirth.
I rested my hands behind my back, waiting until the amusement died down. "I bring up the Sirens, because they are not altogether different from the threat before us. They don't leap from dark waters and drag men to their deaths by force. No. They sing with the voices of angels, presenting their alluring figures just beneath the ocean's surface, sensuous features illuminated by starlight. Out of curiosity, has anyone ever heard one?"
A man towards the front with weathered skin raised a calloused hand. "Aye, my lord."
"In the king's navy?" I asked, surprised to find a sailor in our midst.
He shook his head. "Privateer."
"And during your tenure, how were you counseled to deal with the presence of Sirens?"
The once-privateer crossed his arms. "Short explanation? Ignore 'em. Though it doesn't always work."
"Tell us why."
And every year after, I lit a candle for her.
I cursed internally. Another lapse. We were later in the seasons than I'd realized. My sense of time was terrible, for obvious reasons, but my recall in general had suffered. Minor details slipped through my mind like a sieve. If there was any hope of defeating Thoth, I needed to be at my sharpest.
Which meant snapping out of this haze.
I surveyed the waiting faces, reminding myself of how much was on the line, and how terrible the consequences could be if we failed.
Straightening, I picked up where I left off. "Where our foe and the sirens differ, is that a Lithid doesn't require your attention. It likely prefers otherwise. Over time, it will leech the energy of anyone who sets foot into its domain. Every step taken, every effort made, will be felt tenfold. Which is, of course, the entire reason Vicant's been slaving away." I clapped in his direction, a ripple of applause following my example. "But Vurseng is a supplement, not a replacement. I don't need soldiers who follow orders blindly. What this regiment requires is men and women who understand their own limits. So, whether you were up late last night because you couldn't sleep, out on a discreet rendezvous, or simply hungover, congratulations. You'll be very awake for the rest of the day, courtesy of the tea. But I need you to step aside." I scanned them, imparting the seriousness of my words. "There'll be no honor lost, no penalty given."
Some of them would leave. The picture I was painting was hardly a pretty one, and I was being clear enough that they'd take the mandate seriously. Part of me worried there would be a sudden exodus, halving the available manpower.
But, thankfully, only a few did. A dozen at most, wincing apologetically as they retreated. If anything, the overall number seemed low. I was still waiting for more when Sera asked the obvious question.
"Say it puts someone to sleep. What does it do? Feed on them, like the sirens?" Whatever doubts she held, Sera's demeanor was imperious, confident. She was taking the lieutenant role seriously.
"In a manner of speaking." I nodded, not entirely sure how best to explain it. "Its ultimate goal is possession. In theory, it's capable of controlling hundreds, possibly thousands."
That drew a din of alarm, and I raised my hands for calm.
"Possession is not as straightforward as in the tales." I assured them. "Even if you fall asleep, and it snares you, the outcome is uncertain. In the brief window between unconsciousness and possession, the Lithid will attempt to break down your mental defenses. There are countermeasures in place, should that come to pass. If you fall asleep, your fellow soldiers will attempt to carry you out of the Lithid's domain. If that fails, there are other alternatives. Even if the worst comes to pass, all you need to do is resist until we can find its form, and end it.”
"The sirens use a song of seduction to trap their prey. What does the Lithid use?" Sevran asked at the front of his division, seemingly unbothered.
This was the part they wouldn't like.
"The Lithid—"
"—THEY ARE UPON US! THEY ARE HERE! THEY ARE HERE!" The herald screeched, loud enough that he could have been less than a wingspan away.
"For the sake of the gods, does the man never shut up?" I spun, furious, trying to catch sight of the speaker and finding no one.
"Quiet!" Maya said. Her head was tilted, as if she was straining to listen.
Seconds later, I heard it too, saturating the ambient noise from the city. Horses whinnying in fright, the frantic crashing of panicked movement, distant screams, forever echoing across the city as the cacophony grew louder, and louder still.
What the hells is happening?