Charry stared out from the balcony, watching the city's wards flare and shimmer under the occasional attack.

The siege had initially been nerve-wracking, but beyond the light show at the city's center a while ago, it had settled into a routine. The Garvan Fleet occasionally probed the wards, adjusting their output and trying to find a weak spot, while the Revolutionaries reloaded their cannons and punished any ship that got too close.

Most of his crew was gathered below in the temporary barracks they'd been assigned. It was a cramped, dusty space—exactly what one would expect from a hurried attempt to shelter as many sailors as possible. Charry had grown accustomed to the freedom of the sea, and he might have typically held a grudge about the conditions, but after his last brush with death, he had a new appreciation for even the smallest comforts.

The official order from the War Council was that the Wavebreaker's crew had earned a reprieve, or at least an option to sit out the more extreme dangers. Charry, however, wasn't alone in his conviction to continue helping—none of them wanted to idle behind walls while the city and the cause they'd fought for were at risk.

He pivoted on his heel and descended a narrow ladder into the old crew rooms. Dust and stale ale filled the air, and the overhead lantern flickered, casting light on rows of hammocks and hastily arranged bunks. The men were gathered near the center, sprawled on crates or leaning against barrels. All eyes turned to him in anticipation.

Rupert beckoned him over. "I just heard through the grapevine that Lady Jean has defeated the infiltrator. It seems David's help was really necessary."

Charry nodded, leaning on the wall. "I'm not surprised; she seemed very determined. But that doesn't mean it's over. There is much to do."

"Hmph," came a grunt from Anton. "What's the next suicidal mission?"

"We need to do something to deal with the blockade," Charry replied, not bothering to refute the accusation. "The ships surround the harbor so densely that we have lost control of the upper river. If this continues, we're not the only ones in danger—any of Garva's captains can simply sail up the Great Slitherer and devastate half the countryside. We might be safe in Treon, but smaller settlements won't be."

"The Duke's cunning like that," Anton agreed, fiddling with a piece of rope. Sometimes, Charry forgot the dwarf was actually from Garva and had fought in its military before being banished. "He'll push the main revolutionary forces back here, then strike at the less-defended towns. Create a wave of refugees, starve us of resources, and force us to decide whether to leave them out of the wards and condemn them to their deaths or risk taking in thousands of unknowns with a subsequent flood of saboteurs."

All around heads nodded. These men were not strangers to Garva's cruelty. Many had lost friends to his scorched-earth tactics up along the southern coasts. There was no question that a blockade was only one part of the noose.

"We can't break his blockade by brute force," Charry continued. "His navy is better equipped and more numerous. If that were possible, Lady Jean would've done it by now."

"We've all seen the charred wrecks along the riverbank. Our own saboteurs must've breached the hull runes, or else those galleons wouldn't have sunk so easily." Another of his men commented.

"That only goes so far," Anton said, scowling. "Eventually, they'll toughen up their security and find all the traps we left behind. We need something else."

A silence fell. In that hush, Charry could practically hear his men's thoughts. They had risked their lives to slow the enemy for months, so how could they stand idle now? But the blockade was formidable—an arm of steel around Treon.

Several "What if" suggestions were tossed around, ranging from dangerously foolish to downright impossible. Some recommended further sabotage—divers sneaking up at night with charges or perhaps stoking a fire in the flagship's powder hold. Others discussed forging alliances with the southern pirates, hoping to pit them against Garva. But each plan seemed half-baked or so simple that the enemy would know to expect it.

Charry listened, allowing them to express their frustrations. It was better than leaving them to stew in hopelessness. "We'll come up with something," he said finally, "but we need more information or a special resource. Blindly throwing ourselves at that blockade will only get us all killed. I'll head to the castle and see what I can get them to give us. Maybe we'll be lucky, and the alchemists will have cooked up something."

His men murmured in agreement, though it was obvious they were skeptical. It was unlikely the alchemists had some secret weapon that wasn't already in use, after all.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

A knock interrupted him, and the door swung open, revealing a tall figure in dark vestments. Torchlight caught the golden trim of his white cloak, highlighting a sword-shaped symbol that glimmered at the collar. The moment Charry's eyes landed on that symbol, he stiffened to attention.

Vicar Damien. Charry recognized him immediately—the War Council's spiritual voice in public affairs, but also rumored to be the Grand Marshal's agent for… less savory operations. He was known as a polite, kind man on the surface, but his name had been whispered in the aftermath of certain incidents.

Every man in the cramped barracks stood to attention with a crisp salute.

Damien smiled disarmingly and waved them down. "At ease. I'm sorry to intrude on you unannounced."

"No intrusion at all, Vicar," Charry said, stepping forward. "We're only discussing, well…" He hesitated. Was it wise to tell Damien about their plans? The man likely wouldn't appreciate rogue actions.

But Damien's pleasant demeanor never shifted. "I have an idea of the subject," he said lightly, "and I've come precisely to share news of a mission I believe you'll find interesting."

Charry's eyebrows shot up. Damien wasn't part of the navy's chain of command, which meant the order came from the highest echelons of the Revolutionary Army. A visit from him meant something significant, probably dangerous. It could be the perfect opportunity for the Wavebreaker's crew to prove their worth once again.

"I'm aware that your prior service would justify a less hazardous role in logistics. But your consistent valor has gained attention. And I know breaking the blockade is close to your hearts." The Vicar offered a gentle smile. "I can't force you, but I have reason to believe this mission might change the situation on our waters dramatically."

Charry exchanged glances with Anton. The entire crew seemed to lean forward as one. There was little hesitation in Charry's mind. "We're listening, Vicar," he said softly.

Damien nodded. "Good. Then, gather your gear. We'll speak more en route."

—

Damp stone and slow-dripping water clogged Charry's nose as he led his men deep into Treon's underbelly. Their footsteps echoed across slick stone floors, illuminated only by the occasional glow of a half-dead lantern or flickering mage light. The faint roar of a far-off subterranean current occasionally rumbled around them.

"This is… much grander than I imagined," Anton murmured, walking under an archway.

Charry nodded, equally impressed. He had lived in Treon for months but never suspected that the city's sewers ran so deep. The architecture was ancient, with each tunnel lined with broad stones smoothed by centuries of flowing water. Occasionally, runic carvings appeared near intersections—perhaps remnants of the old wards. However, the city had clearly abandoned these depths, as they seemed to have gone unused for centuries.

Damien had escorted them part of the way before quietly vanishing after giving him a few pointed instructions. Charry was not entirely certain he appreciated the secrecy, but he trusted Vicar Damien's authority. If the War Council required discretion, so be it.

The route was marked on rough parchment: a maze of lines, cross-hatched passages, and scribbled warnings about cave-ins or underwater channels. The group followed it carefully, stepping over collapsed columns, decaying wooden bridges, and brackish puddles. Every so often, Charry glanced back to ensure none of his men were lagging or lost.

They pressed on for miles. The tunnels gradually transformed from purely man-made corridors into more uneven, natural passages. In some areas, the stone gave way to raw earth, exposing roots snaking down from whatever forest or farmland lay far above. The air became heavier with moisture and a subtle magical hum.

"This must be at least seven centuries old," Anton mused after stopping to check a cracked runestone sticking out of the wall. "Probably built back when Treon was wealthy off of the southern trade and didn't have competition in Garva and Nevielle."

Charry nodded. "You might be right. It feels like we're walking through the bones of a dead empire."

Before they reached their destination, they had to traverse a final stretch where the brick arches ended abruptly. The path sloped sharply downward, flanked by slimy walls that glistened under their lanterns. A swirl of cold, dank air drifted up, prickling Charry's skin. He couldn't help but wonder how many living souls had ventured this far in the past century.

At last, they emerged into a cavernous chamber. The darkness within was oppressive, and the flicker of their lanterns was barely enough to illuminate their immediate surroundings. Dripping water echoed from unseen recesses in the ceiling. Then, as they climbed a short ledge, an ethereal glow began to illuminate the chamber's depths.

Charry and his men beheld a sight that stole their breath. Far below, a crystalline lake stretched out like liquid silver. Pale luminescent algae clung to the walls around it, creating waves of shimmering light that danced across the rippling surface. The air here was warmer.

"Light above," Rupert breathed, staring at the hundreds of silver stalactites hanging above, reflecting the lake's light.

The spectacle was almost hypnotic—beautiful, yet somehow foreboding. They had not come merely to admire the scenery, though. According to the Vicar, beyond these waters lay a hidden reservoir where the older, more intelligent Water Elementals could be negotiated with. If they succeeded, they would become a crucial asset in undermining Garva's blockade—or at least shifting the balance at sea.

He stepped forward to the edge of the ledge, the water shimmering below. "We shouldn't all go," he declared. "I'll take Anton and Rupert with me. The rest of you should guard the path to make sure nothing can interrupt the negotiations."

"They say Water Elementals can be fickle," Bollard said quietly. "They might just drown you."

Charry met his gaze. "Better to try and bargain than let Garva strangle the revolution. We came all this way, so let's see it through."

Thus, Charry and his chosen men began to make their careful descent. I can't say I ever expected to be sent on a diplomatic mission, especially one where I'd have to speak with water spirits, but it's better than sitting around and doing nothing.

As they neared the bottom, the silver glow of the lake rippled across their faces. The cavern's vast expanse loomed overhead, and a silent tension settled on them.

Charry steadied himself, inhaling the moist subterranean air. He set his jaw, guiding his men forward until they stood at the water's edge.

Taking a handful of the sacred ashes the Vicar had given him, Charry sprinkled them in the water, "A representative of the Lands of Men has come to ask for parley." He carefully intoned before falling silent.

That was the extent of the preparation he had been given. Everything else would be up to him since there was no reliable account of successful negotiations with the Great Slitherer's spirits.

Some men might see it as an impossible task, but Charry hadn't hesitated to take it on. Ever since that day at Margì, when they defended against the subterranean advance of the enemy, he'd shed his fear of death.

If the Light wanted to claim him, he'd welcome it, but until then, he'd fulfill his duty to the Revolution.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.