The Battle of Lake Town [8]

The Chalicebreaker's camp loomed ahead, its walls casting long, jagged shadows in the eerie violet glow of the Lunar Storm. The swirling mist clung to everything, whispering against the timbered walls and flickering torchlight as though it carried secrets of its own. Daenys approached with her head high, though her legs trembled beneath the weight of exhaustion. The golden sash around her chest and the burgundy robes swayed lightly in the cold wind, lending her a regal silhouette that belied her shaking limbs.

The guards at the gate straightened as she neared, their weapons half-raised, uncertain. "Who approaches the Prince of Crows at this hour?" one of them barked, his voice a wary echo in the storm.

"Daenys Godren of the Accepted," she called out, her voice steady despite the pounding ache in her ribs. "I come to speak with Gahkar Wen."

The guards hesitated only briefly before the gates groaned open. From within, Nergul emerged, his imposing figure cutting through the mist. His sharp eyes—black and unrelenting—studied her from head to toe. "The Heartrender," he greeted, his voice rich with amusement. "Or should I call you the woman who thought herself clever enough to claim the landbridge with a mismatched warband?"

Daenys inclined her head, her gaze locked with his. "The landbridge is mine," she replied. "And soon, so will the Pickette. I've come to discuss our next move."

"Gahkar Godren," a familiar voice called from the gate.

Daenys' head lifted sharply, her white brows narrowing as her gaze swept upward. "Nergul?" she asked, recognizing the commander of the Chalicebreakers perched above, arms folded across his chest.

"The very same," he replied with a sardonic grin. "Swing open the gates! A victorious Gahkar returns." His words echoed through the camp, and slowly, the heavy wooden gates groaned as they parted.

Daenys squared her shoulders and stepped forward, Tengri and Merd flanking her like shadows. Inside, the camp stirred to life. Warriors leaned on their spears or straightened from their tents, their eyes following her progress with interest and skepticism alike.

Nergul descended from the ramparts, his crimson cape flaring behind him as the Lunar Storm's mist curled along the ground. "It seems good tidings follow in your wake, Heartrender. A single battle and a massive victory—most impressive."

"My words hold more weight than hollow promises," Daenys replied evenly, her voice edged with steel.

"So it would seem." Nergul inclined his head slightly, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. He spun on his heel with a flourish. "Come then, the others await. We will see how far this victory carries you."

Daenys followed, her pace measured despite the weariness dragging at her legs. Tengri walked silently beside her, his six eyes scanning their surroundings with a predator's wariness. Merd, on the other hand, shifted nervously, clutching the hem of her robes as if it might anchor her.

"We'll be working closely together," Nergul remarked as they approached the central pavilion. His tone was casual, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed the weight of his words.

"Yes," Daenys said simply, offering no elaboration. She couldn't afford to show hesitation now, not when the Gahkar were waiting to test her resolve.

"And the other Gahkar?" she asked, her voice steady despite the knot tightening in her chest.

"Some accepted the invitation. Others offered their condolences for their… unfortunate absences," Nergul replied, his tone clipped. His gaze flicked briefly to Tengri. "Although some in attendance are more appreciated than others."

Tengri's hand hovered near his blade, but his expression didn't shift. "It means nothing to me now," he said, his voice cool.

The tension lingered between them for a heartbeat longer before Nergul dismissed it with a wave of his hand. They reached the main building—a structure of dark timber reinforced with iron bands. The sound of voices spilled through the cracks in the door, muffled but distinct. Daenys paused, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe, as she caught snippets of the ongoing conversation.

"It will not be long now, Kadikar, Kanna," Wen's smooth voice rang out, dripping with its usual charm. "I know both of you are itching to be done with this."

A voice—low and irritated—responded, though Daenys couldn't catch the words.

Kadikar's booming laugh cut through. "Let Astad come! I'll build homes out of wyvern corpses if they dare."

"You're a fool," a sharp, measured voice hissed. "An absolute fool who doesn't understand the cost of reinforcements."

Another, regal tone chimed in, this one smoother but no less biting. "You killed most of the Sunreachers on the coast. No other reinforcements have come."

"And yet," the sharp voice replied, "we'd be fighting a war on three fronts if we're not careful."

Daenys pushed the door open, silencing the debate with her arrival. The Gahkar turned their eyes on her, the weight of their scrutiny nearly suffocating. Their presence filled the room like a storm ready to break. Eleven chairs encircled the table, though two sat empty. The ones who had come regarded her with varying levels of curiosity, disdain, or indifference.

Daenys stepped inside, her back straight and her face unreadable. "I've only met most of you once or twice," she began, her voice firm. "It seems we have much to discuss since last we saw one another."

Wen's grin widened as he leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes glittering with amusement. "Much to discuss, indeed. And I believe I owe you something, Gahkar Daenys, for upholding your side of the bargain."

"I appreciate the acknowledgment of our deal, Gahkar Wen," Daenys replied, inclining her head slightly before taking a seat. Her gaze swept over the others, noting their subtle shifts in posture, the glint of distrust in their eyes. Her heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to let it show.

Kadikar was the first to break the silence, slamming his fist on the table. His chitinous armor groaned with the motion, the grotesque mix of bone and blackened steel catching the light. "Get on with it, girl," he snapped. "I've no patience for theatrics."

Daenys' jaw tightened, but her tone remained sharp. "You would do well to remember that we are equals, Kadikar. I am a Gahkar, as are you."

"A Gahkar who has won a single battle," a softer, almost mocking voice cut in. Dres reclined in his chair, a lazy grin playing on his lips.

"And yet," Daenys countered, her white eyebrow arching, "I hold the landbridge. I can choose who passes through—or who doesn't."

The room erupted in murmurs, some incredulous, others openly hostile. She let the noise rise and fall, her expression unwavering. When the room finally stilled, she raised a single finger.

"I bring terms," she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Terms that leave no room for uncertainty. I will allow the other warbands to pass through my camp if my demands are met."

Mox snorted from across the room, his muscular arms crossed. "And what demands would those be? You and your ragged warband have little to bargain with."

Daenys allowed herself a faint smile. "I have Wen's support," she said. "That is enough."

Wen leaned forward, his grin widening. "Ah, but that's not all, is it? Tell them the rest, Gahkar Daenys."

Kadikar rose abruptly, his weapon clanging against the table. "If you hold me from battle, girl, I'll rip through your warband myself."

Daenys didn't flinch. "Talk as you will, First Deadite, but we both know I hold the title of Heartrender. You'll do no such thing."

Kadikar hesitated, his rage simmering, but he said nothing.

Mox's voice broke the silence. "Perhaps," he drawled, "you could regale us with the tale of your battle. It seems you've acquired a new scar to match your boldness."

Hannibal leaned on his sickle, his sharp features glinting with mirth. "The Reavers have no use for stories, but I must admit, the thought of a Heartrender bleeding is quite entertaining."

Daenys ignored the jab, her gaze sweeping the room once more. "My terms are simple," she began. "I seek the Pickette."

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of her words crashing over them like a tidal wave. Then, chaos erupted. Shouts of protest, indignation, and anger filled the room. The Gahkar clamored over one another, their voices blending into a cacophony of dissent.

Daenys sat back, her expression calm as she watched the storm rage around her. This was what she had expected. It was time to weather it.

"Enough," Nirme's voice finally cut through, sharp and commanding. The room quieted as the Warmaster's single gloved hand rose. His Deathless stood motionless behind him, their presence a silent reminder of his authority. "A vote will decide."

The first votes fell as Daenys had predicted—Wen and Augustus supporting her, Kadikar begrudgingly aligning out of impatience. But the others were less predictable. Mox and Hannibal openly rejected her claim, while Dres feigned pragmatism to mask his opposition.

Finally, it came to Nirme. His gaze lingered on Daenys, unreadable and cold. She held her breath.

"I cannot support this claim," he said evenly.

The words struck like a blow, but Daenys forced herself to remain composed. She clenched her fists beneath the table, her nails biting into her palms. Nirme, the man who had raised her to this station, had turned against her.

"Then the Pickette is denied," Mox declared with a triumphant sneer. "The other Gahkar are not here so they can't support or deny the claim."