Clash of Captains

Chapter 2

The click of iron-toed boots echoed across the stone walls on either side of Devyn as she stalked impatiently down the stronghold's main hall. The attack earlier had not gone according to plan; Devyn had needed to call for the Dregian soldiers to retreat when they were almost immediately surrounded by the opposing Ledian forces. The captain ran a hand down her face. She could already guess the rage she would see infested in Chancellor Kemble's eyes when she walked into the throne room. Devyn considered skipping out on the meeting altogether — as she could clearly imagine the complaints she would hear from her commander — but she knew better than that. The last time a leading captain like herself had avoided meeting with the chancellor, they had immediately been expelled from their position and forced into servitude. Devyn shuddered at the mere thought of such a punishment.

The captain swept her short, dark hair into her leather cap as she approached the large wooden door at the end of the hall. Engraved across its dark oak surface were illustrations of past battles. Dragons darted down to ambush enemy soldiers while a sword clashed evenly with another; in the background of the image, above all the other subjects, was a cigian raven: the symbol of Dreg and the chancellor's own coat of arms. The shadow bird's eyes seemed to bore into Devyn's as she stepped up to emit herself into the room.

The chamber containing Chancellor Kemble's throne was spacious, far more so than the rest of those in the stronghold. Tapestries made of deep crimson thread, the color of blood, hung along the surrounding walls, turning the entire room a grim shade of red as the light from outside disappeared entirely. Devyn narrowed her eyes and cautiously approached the throne, crossing the room along the blood-red rug that led to the throne. I get that red is one of Dreg's national colors, the young woman thought to herself bitterly. But Kemble really seems obsessed.

"Captain Devyn," a gravelly voice greeted from the darkest part of the shadows. A few oil lanterns flickered to life in the room around them as servants hurried to light them. Devyn blinked in the sudden brightness — though the lighting was still rather dim — as her eyes adjusted. She turned her attention to the throne in front of her. Despite the grandeur of the room around them, the throne itself was a simple object of dark wood lined with bronze accents. Devyn reluctantly bent at the waist, offering the man a short bow.

"Your latest endeavor has been a failure... hm?" The man continued before Devyn could even utter a greeting. As her eyes finally adjusted, she took in his familiar appearance. Chancellor Kemble was all sharp angles: sharp jaw, narrow face, high cheekbones. His hair, dark like her own but peppered grey with age, stood practically straight up like the bristles of a porcupine.

Devyn clenched her hands into fists, biting back a nasty retort. "Not a failure, Chancellor. It just... didn't go the way we initially expected." She watched the man. He was still mostly in shadows based on the placement of the hanging lanterns around them — an aesthetic choice, she was sure. Her eyes lit upon one of his hands as he brushed it across something she couldn't see. Her limbs went rigid.

"A failure," Kemble repeated. He let out a low scoff that made Devyn flinch despite her attempts at remaining nonchalant. He slowly rose from his perch, moving fully into the lanterns' light. She recognized the object he held right away, for it wasn't an object after all. It was Chysgod, Kemble's own shadow raven. The bird's iridescent black feathers ruffled as it cocked its head, eyeing Devyn with one of its milky white eyes. She straightened up and forced her shoulders back. She was the captain of a powerful army; she wasn't going to cower in fear of a puny little bird.

Cigian ravens — or, shadow ravens, as they were more commonly called — were birds that had originated in the untouched regions to the north. They were rumored to have been made from the shadowy breath of the god Nyswell himself and were blessed with the ability to see someone's aura. While the birds were almost completely blind, Devyn had been taught they saw only wisps of color linked to a person's energy; from that, they could easily see whether someone was a good person or whether they were telling the truth. If used correctly, shadow ravens could be a very valuable weapon.

"I hope you are not making up excuses, Captain." Kemble continued, stroking Chysgod's back. The bird ruffled its feathers at the touch. "Whether you intended for the battle to be won or not, the point is that you were still defeated. We must account for that loss and plan a mission that will not be such a large... failure."

The repetition of that word — failure, failure, failure — spun Devyn's head. She couldn't afford to fail; she couldn't afford to lose the chancellor's support. Whether I like him or not, where would I be without him? She didn't want to admit the answer to that question. Nowhere, that's where. "Chancellor Kemble, you can count on me to devise a better strategy. I won't let you down again," Her voice trembled more than she would have liked. "I promise."

Kemble hummed a noncommittal sound and began to pace. The heels of his boots, Devyn noticed, were taller than her own; however, they were sturdier as well, built to hold the man's weight. She forced her eyes up, up, up his towering frame to meet his. Whereas Devyn's eyes had been called a warm brown by some, the man before her held no warmth in his own gaze — only a cold, seething fire. She clenched her jaw against the shudder that threatened to shake her from head to toe. No fear. Fear is not allowed.

"Captain Devyn, I am beginning to wonder whether you are still of value in our ranks." The words sent a chill down Devyn's spine. She opened her mouth to argue as her cheeks flushed an enraged shade of red, but the man held up a hand. His lips twitched up into a sort of amused smirk. "You do not need to defend yourself with words, Captain. Actions will be the only thing to convince me otherwise."

Devyn straightened up to her full height — though she was still dwarfed by Kemble's tall, lean frame — and shoved her shoulders back. She tilted her chin up. "I will not disappoint you, Chancellor."

The man's laugh echoed through the room as Devyn turned on her heel to make her exit. "I sincerely hope not."