CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
The captain's hands trembled slightly as he set down the stick.
"We sounded the alarm, began evacuation procedures.
Standard protocol for structural compromise.
But this was no ordinary breach." His single eye fixed on Roran, pupils dilated with remembered terror.
"The darkness moved faster than we could retreat.
The entire seaward wall simply...vanished, taking twenty of my men with it. "
A heavy silence fell over the gathering. Several soldiers stared into the fire, deliberately avoiding Roran's gaze. Others crossed their arms or hunched their shoulders, as if trying to make themselves smaller against the memory.
"And then they came," whispered a young soldier, his face made older by fear. "Out of the black water. Shapes without form. Shadows with...with tentacles, or arms, or—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I don't have words for what they were."
"They weren't creatures as we understand them," Ragnor said, his voice steadier now, as if the act of describing the horror had somehow distanced him from it. "They had no fixed shape, no discernible anatomy. Just absence given form. Void with purpose."
The description sent ice down Roran's spine. He had witnessed the Deep Tide at sea, and Cassia had described them as entities confined to water. He had heard no tales of Deep Ones leaving the ocean to traverse the land.
"They pursued us," Ragnor continued. "Up from the water, across stone and earth.
They moved like...like spilled ink across parchment, flowing rather than walking.
Where they touched, things ceased to be.
" He extended his hand, revealing a missing ring finger.
"Lost this when one of them brushed my hand as I helped a recruit over a fallen timber. "
Roran stared at the truncated digit, understanding dawning with terrible clarity. "It’s not just one entity, or a plague," he murmured, more to himself than to the gathered soldiers. “They’re… they’re beings. And they can leave the water.”
Ragnor's eye snapped to his face. "You know of these things?"
Roran nodded slowly. "We've had reports.
From the Southern coasts, from the archipelago.
But all accounts suggested they were bound to the ocean, following underwater channels.
" He opted not to mention his encounter with the Deep Tide in the archipelago; it likely wouldn’t win him any favor with these Northerners.
"They prefer water," the captain said with grim certainty. "But they aren't confined to it. We saw them retreat back to the ocean once we reached higher ground, but they are fully capable of pursuing prey on land."
Prey. The word hung in the air, stark and damning. Not enemies to be fought, but prey to be hunted. Roran felt a crawling sensation along his skin, a primal recognition of humanity's new place in the natural order.
"How many of you escaped?" he asked, surveying the camp with new eyes, counting tents, estimating numbers.
"Initially, twenty-three," Ragnor replied. "Out of a garrison of one hundred and twenty. And we’ve lost five more men to that darkness between the first attack and now."
Roran absorbed this information, the implications multiplying in his mind like ripples from a stone cast into still water. The Deep Tide wasn't merely consuming coastal settlements—it was actively hunting survivors. And it could leave the water to do so.
"You need to return to Frostforge," he said, leaning forward, urgency threading through his voice. "Your testimony, your experience—the Council needs to hear it directly. They're still debating strategy, still torn between evacuation and defense."
A bitter laugh escaped the captain's throat. "There is no defense against this enemy, boy. No wall high enough, no weapon sharp enough."
"There might be," Roran insisted, thinking of Thalia's experiments with ice-glacenite, of the Wardens' storm magic. "But we need every piece of information, every observation. Your firsthand account could make the difference."
Captain Ragnor exchanged glances with his lieutenants, silent communication passing between them. Finally, he shook his head. "My duty is to these men now. We've found defensive ground here—high, dry, with clear sightlines in all directions. We'll make our stand if the darkness comes again."
Roran surveyed the camp once more, seeing it now for what it truly was—not a temporary refuge, but a last redoubt. These men had chosen their place to die.
"Then send messengers," he urged. "Warn the inland settlements, the mountain passes. People need to know what's coming, what to watch for."
The captain considered this, stroking his beard thoughtfully.
After a moment, he nodded toward three of the younger soldiers.
"Hald, Jorgen, Varic. You'll carry warnings to the nearest settlements.
Follow the ridge paths, stay away from waterways.
" His gaze returned to Roran. "The rest of us remain here. Honor demands we hold this position."
The three named soldiers nodded, though their expressions betrayed a mixture of relief and guilt at being selected to leave. Roran recognized the captain's mercy disguised as duty—giving the youngest a chance to flee while maintaining the fiction of military purpose.
"I should continue north," Roran said, rising to his feet. "There are other outposts I need to check, other reports to confirm."
Ragnor nodded, standing as well. "Travel by daylight only. Keep to high ground. And whatever you do, stay away from water—even streams and ponds. The darkness finds pathways we can't see, follows currents beneath the earth."
The advice sent another chill through Roran. He thought of Frostforge, built atop the confluence of mountain streams, the fjord stretching below its walls. If water was the Deep Tide's highway, the academy stood at a crossroads.
As he prepared to depart, gathering his meager supplies and accepting a small packet of dried meat from one of the soldiers, Captain Ragnor approached him once more. The older man's expression had softened slightly, the rigid military bearing giving way to something more human.
"I judged you harshly," he admitted, his voice pitched for Roran's ears alone. "The word 'abandoned' struck deeper than you knew. We are soldiers of the North. Duty and honor are all we have."
Roran nodded, understanding the pride that sustained these men even in retreat. "Your honor is intact, Captain. No one could hold against what you faced."
"Perhaps." Ragnor's eye drifted toward the distant horizon, where the first hints of dawn lightened the eastern sky.
"But I wonder if honor matters in the end.
If duty has meaning when the darkness comes.
" He looked back at Roran, something like resignation settling over his features.
"Tell your Council what you've seen here.
Tell them this cannot be defeated, only survived. "
With those words, he clasped Roran's arm in the traditional Northern warrior's farewell, then turned away, already issuing orders to his men as if the conversation had never happened.