by Kal Spriggs
“Interesting...” Simonel said. “Do you think she can reach Seraphai?”
“I hope so,” Nanamak said. “And I hope the blade does not corrupt her too.”
***
Lady Amelia Tarken
Amelia looked between the identical faces of the rider and the woman she tried to rescue. “No. This cannot be,” Amelia said. She faced again the memories of the girl's childhood, of her family and her friends, of the peace and love and friendship she grew up with, of the certainty of love and the knowledge that her family and friends valued her.
“I will not let this happen,” Amelia said.
“It is inevitable,” Seraphai answered, her mirrored voice continued from both sources. The girl Amelia protected stepped around her and moved forward towards the rider. “I cannot fight any more. I see that now.”
“No.” Amelia stepped forward. Her she clasped Seraphai by her shoulders and threw everything she had at this vision. She poured her certainty that his must be a deception, that Seraphai could be saved. “I will not let this happen!” Amelia shouted.
The vision shattered. She felt Seraphai scream in pain and anguish. Suddenly they stood in the clearing again. Amelia saw Seraphai drop her sword, then turn into her arms. Amelia held her as she began to cry.
***
Captain Elias Wachter
The Ubelfurst, the Boir Sea
Twenty-Fifth of Igmar, Cycle 999 Post Sundering
“Admiral Tarken, thank the ancestors you are alive!” Guntor said. The beefy windship captain swept aboard the Ubelfurst with all of his normal exuberance. “We thought the entire Northern Fleet lost and so we reported when we returned to Boirton.”
“We have survived and recaptured the Mircea, as you can see,” Admiral Tarken replied. Captain Elias noted the Admiral seemed testy around the other man, almost defensive. “If you and your officers would join us below, we have much to discuss.”
“Of course. There is much news, most of it bad, I'm afraid,” Guntor said.
Captain Elias rolled his eyes at the statement, but he led the way down below to his own cabin, larger than the Admiral's. “Gentlemen, take your seats.”
He sat himself and he noticed how the Admiral managed to set opposite the windship captain and how his normally calm face showed an edge of something else. His hawk-like face had become leaner, almost as if he braced for some unpleasantness from their guest.
“I must say, I think your survival is miraculous,” Guntor said. He waved his arms, “Truly, a terrible disaster, many thought the end of the Duchy had come.”
“Surely not that bad,” Captain Elias said. “We lost the Northern Fleet, but with the ships of the Southern Fleet, we at least can drive the Armen out of the Boir Sea.”
“Then you haven't heard?” Captain Guntor asked, shock on his face.
“Haven't heard what?” Admiral Tarken asked, his voice icy.
“Why, that Lord Admiral Hennings has taken charge of the Southern Fleet, and that he has seized Freeport and declared himself the new Duke.” Guntor looked around the table at the surprise on the officers faces. “It happened just after the attack on the Citadel.”
“Attack on the Citadel?” Admiral Tarken's face had gone pale.
“Yes, the Duke and his entire family died to assassins and many nobles from the other families died as well,” Guntor looked puzzled, “Surely you heard of this?”
“No, Guntor. We last made landfall at Port Riss, almost a month ago,” Captain Elias said. “What happened... who controls Boirton?”
“The Admiralty and what remains of the Duke's Council have declared martial law. They hold the city for now, but several garrisons in the south have gone over to Lord Admiral Hennings. Others have refused to march until a new Duke is chosen, fearful that they will be viewed as traitors by whoever takes Boir.”
Admiral Christoffer spoke and his words came slowly, as if he had to force each one out, “Guntor... my daughter, she has quarters in the Citadel. She... is there any news about her?”
Guntor looked down at the table, “Admiral... I wish I had better news for you... but the city guard found her maid murdered... and signs of a struggle as well as blood. The assassins lit a fire to cover their retreat... there were many bodies we could not identify.”
Captain Elias cringed. He had seen how the confirmation of his son's death had worn on the Admiral. The news that his daughter too had lost her life to this war might well break him.
The Admiral stood up. “Captain Guntor, thank you for that information.” He closed his eyes and for a moment, all of his pain lay bare for them to see. The moment passed and his normal calm expression dropped over his gaunt face. “I think that the news of the Duke's murder changes our plans, as does the knowledge of Lord Admiral Hennings actions.” Captain Elias wanted to say something, wanted to find some words to tell the Admiral how he sorry he felt for his loss... yet somehow, he knew that if he brought it up, that might well break the man.
“I am unclear on who the rightful heir is, after the Duke's children and his younger brother,” The Admiral looked around. “Lord Admiral Hennings is the Earl of Trelhaven... is he the next in succession?”
“That's the problem, Admiral,” Guntor said. “He is high in the line of succession, but there is so much chaos and what with Admiral Fenteren's death being suspect...”
“Admiral Fenteren is dead?” Admiral Tarken demanded. The sharp way he pressed his lips together told Elias that the news was worse, in its way, than the death of the Duke.
“Yes sir, the Admiralty received a report that he died from a heart attack just before the North Fleet... well, it seemed terrible timing and Lord Admiral Hennings had just made port, so he took command of the Southern Fleet.”
“The timing...” Captain Elias frowned.
“Exactly, sir. And then the attack on the Citadel not long after. Minister of Defense Richtoffen then suffered an apparent heart attack... and then his guards caught his steward with a vial of poison.”
“So the Admiralty and the Council suspect that the Earl had some part in this?” Captain Elias said.
“Yes sir, and with the chaos of the siege, the assassinations and the loss of the Northern Fleet, no one knew what noble houses remained. Honestly, no one even knew that Lord Admiral Tarken still lived. As the Duke's cousin-”
“I'll ask you not to bring that up,” Admiral Tarken said. “I have no designs upon that title or position. I am certain that I am low enough in line of succession that it will not be an issue, in any case.” Captain Elias saw the haggard look return to the Admiral's face. “Besides, I have no heirs and my wife died five cycles ago.”
Captain Elias bit his tongue. The Admiral, for all his age, was Starborn. He could have other children. Indeed, if he proved to be the successor, he would be required to remarry, and soon.
“Very well, sir,” Guntor said. “In any case, I will relay your survival back to the Admiralty and I am certain they will tell the Council. With Baron Richtoffen incapacitated, they may request you to take the position of Minister of Defense.”
Admiral Tarken shook his head, “At the moment, we are the only two ships, three including yours, that are free and loyal to Boir. I think it more pressing that I be here, where my skills are more useful.”
No one responded to that and Captain Elias felt grateful for that. The Admiral didn't need people calling his priorities into question, not after so many shocks.
“Sir, what about Lieutenant Hennings?” Midshipman Bauer asked.
“Should he regain consciousness, he will be confined to quarters, until we can figure out what role, if any he has in this,” Captain Elias said. He felt some satisfaction in that, for the arrogant First Lieutenant had always irritated him. He somehow doubted though that Lord Admiral Hennings had entrusted his idiot youngest son in any conspiracy.
“Our priority will remain opening the Ryft to passage,” Admiral Christoffer said firmly. “And after that, we will secure the Ryft against Lord Admiral Hennings.”
He looked around the table, and no one doubted the icy determination in his pale blue eyes. “That however, is only a temporary solution. I doubt that all of the sailors and officers of the Southern Fleet are traitors. Most likely the Earl of Trelhaven has a handful of picked officers in charge of key positions. I want all of you to think on means to turn that to our favor.”
“Sir... what if we secured Ryftguard?” Lieutenant Jonas asked.
“The Ryftguard is under control of the Usurper Duke's men,” Captain Elias said cautiously. He thought about it for a moment, “I think it unlikely that he would seek to assist us in putting down another usurper, if for no other reason than it might undermine own seizure of power.”
“Not to mention that Lord Admiral Hennings might have already purchased an alliance of sorts,” Admiral Tarken said. Captain Elias saw the Admiral's eyes narrow in consideration. “Seizing the Ryftguard would secure the passage, I doubt even a fleet of our ships could force their way past its defenses. However... It would be an act of war, and open us to a fourth front.” He shook his head regretfully, “We cannot fight the Armen, their Noric allies, the Southern Fleet, and the Duchy of Masov. No, we must focus on what we can accomplish, and that, as I see it, is the destruction of the Armen force at the neck of the Ryft and a blockade where the larger numbers of the Southern Fleet will be unable to be brought to bear.”
Captain Elias nodded in agreement. Even so, he felt a twinge of disappointment that they wouldn't attack the Ryftguard. The fortress and the tolls that the Duchy of Masov charged for ships passage, marked the only coastal area of importance that the Fleet of Boir had yet to raise their flag. Though, he thought, I must admit that our current predicament certainly has proven a major setback.
“Very well, Captain Guntor, please brief me on your windship's capabilities and current status,” Admiral Tarken said.
“I am in communication with the Admiralty as well as those garrisons who have supported the Duke's Council. One of my ship's wizards made slight adjustments to the Signifier and it now transmits at a different frequency from before. I can advise Master Lorens on the changes. It makes us unable to monitor the old net, which might have proven disastrous earlier today.”
“Would it be possible for your wizards to put together a second signifier, to monitor any transmissions sent by the old network?” Captain Elias asked. “For that matter, we had modified our own to track those aboard the captured ships.”
“That's a marvelous idea!” Captain Guntor said. “I wish I had thought of that... but with all the intrigue and suspicion, we focused on securing our own transmissions first. If nothing else, we sighted a number of merchant ships on our patrol. We can secure signifiers from them and use them as you have and retain our own for our transmissions.”
“Very well,” Admiral Tarken said. He hesitated, and Captain Elias saw something like worry flicker across his face. “I must admit, Captain, I am not well versed on your ship's capabilities. Could you explain them to us?”
Guntor gave a broad smile, “Of course, Admiral! I love to talk about the Winddancer.” He sat back in his chair, “We mount twelve heavy casters, in three underslung turrets, as well as six more in two topside turrets for air defense.” He grinned, “The topside casters are a mix of electrical and force. The bottom are electrical and fire. In addition, I have some experimental weapons, to include the newest model of Wizard's Shot, the same that the Ubelfurst mounts and my middle turret has had its heavy casters replaced with some newly designed ones. I have a crew of fifty enlisted men, three officers and seven Artisan Wizards, including myself. We have a good mix of long casters and hand casters in case we must close to short range or are boarded.”
“Why the air defenses and the hand weapons, sir?” Midshipman Bauer asked. “I would think there are no other windships, so why the additional weapons?”
“There are all manner of flying beasts which can prove a threat, from mad dragons to sorcerer's and mage's get. There are also flying golems of which we carry two, and the mageborn Angelus, should they find it amusing to attack us or simply chose to take offense at our intrusion into their skies.” Guntor shrugged, “And then there is the possibility that someone else might decide to construct a flying ship of their own.”
“And there's the rumor of the flying castles that sailors claim to see off the coast of Marovingia,” Captain Elias said dryly. “But I agree, better to have the weapons and never need them rather than to need them and be forced to do without.”
Guntor shot him a suspicious glance, almost as if he thought he was being made the butt of a joke. “I had not heard of these flying castles... though it would prove an interesting project.” He gave a broad shrug, “In any case, Admiral, we have three ship's constructs that move us at eighteen knots standard speed and can propel us at thirty knots under battle conditions. Our biggest issue is fuel. We feed the constructs coal and without sails or rigging, they constantly consume it. We have a limited range without support, only just over six hundred miles radius at normal cruising speeds.”
The Admiral nodded, “We have solid reserves of coal, we can augment you with. In addition, I plan to make use of your ship primarily for scouting and support. With your speed and your vessel's ability to avoid combat, you will be essential to our goals of striking the Armen and securing the Ryft.”
Admiral Christoffer looked around the gathered officers. “We have all had significant shocks today, but I expect you all to remain the excellent leaders and officers you have shown yourselves to be. I am confident that with your help, we will be victorious once again.”
***
Captain Kerrel Flamehair
Near Fort Isolation, The Lonely Isle, Duchy of Masov
Twenty-Fifth of Igmar, Cycle 999 Post Sundering
Kerrel stepped into the clump of woods. She gave one last glance behind her. She tried not to notice how the campfires seemed so inviting and yet so distant.
The darkness under the trees seemed absolute. Kerrel stumbled over tree roots and bit back a curse as she twisted her ankle in a hidden hole. She barely kept her sense of direction, now and then she had to stop and glance back at the lights that barely reached through the tree trunks. She fought the temptation to draw a lightstone from her belt to show the way. With Hector's current suspicions, a discovery of her in a secret meet with parties unknown might well prove a fatal mistake.
She shivered at his earlier statement of how he intended to kill her, should she prove a threat to him. It bothered her most because she saw how easily he could accomplish it. She knew that he valued her... but he'd killed his uncle and his cousin and their entire families.
Her feet found stone and she eased out into what seemed to be a small paved area in the middle of the wood. The starlight gave some faint light and she made out the shapes of tumbled walls and overgrown ruins.
“You are late,” A cold voice said.
“I had difficulty slipping through the sentries,” Kerrel said. “If you haven't noticed, Lord Hector seems suspicious tonight.”
“We noticed,” A woman's voice responded. “But we expected the Red Fox to be more resourceful.”
“How do you know that name?” Kerrel asked.
“We know many things, including the oath you purport to follow,” the first cold voice hissed. “Though we have reasons to distrust your dedication. Even so, the Herald vouches for you.”
“You've had dealings with the Heralds?” Kerrel asked. The idea almost made her sigh in relief. Our forces continue to gain in strength, she thought. She only hoped that someday soon they could bring this silent war out of the shadows.
“One came, several months ago. He is the first we have met, in many decades,” the woman said. “But he said that the reasons for your exile stem from your dedication.”
Kerrel frowned, “That is true, but I don't know how he might know that, I haven't met any Heralds.”
“They seldom travel openly in these times,” the cold man's voice said. “And they have a
lways operated most safely in the shadows.” As if on cue, several figures stepped out of the shadows of the ruins. They wore white robes over their armor, which made them seem like spirits come to life. She counted at least five of them, but she saw hints of movement in the deeper shadows that suggested more.
“We have heard that you swore an oath to match ours,” the woman's voice said. Her tone suggested this to be a favorable thing.
“Yes,” Kerrel said. “I gave my oath to a Knight of the Order ten cycles ago.”
“Then you will have no problem giving it to us, again,” the woman said, and before Kerrel could open her mouth, she held out her hand, “On this.”
A sourceless gray light rose up around her hand. It glowed just bright enough to illuminate the stone in her hand and to show that she and the man closest to her wore concealing hoods to hide their faces.
Kerrel stared at the round oval of obsidian. She felt a shock of recognition. “Is that an Oathstone?” The devices were ancient relics, runic magic of the most arcane. An oath sworn upon one would bind the giver and wrought terrible consequences upon an oath breaker.
“It is,” the man's cold voice seemed leached of humanity. “And you will prove your dedication to us tonight with it... or you will never leave this place.”
Kerrel turned her head to face him, “You might find that threat more difficult to carry out than you think.” She snorted, “But also unnecessary.”
She stepped forward and rested her hand on the oathstone, “I, Kerrel Ingail, daughter of Lady Rachel Ingail, Baroness of the Northward, Captain of the Flamebrands, also known as Lady Red Fox, swear my loyalty to the High Kings. I swear to follow their concepts of justice, to serve their ideals, and to uphold their laws to the best of my ability. I swear I will do everything in my power to work towards their return, and to assist the cause of the Luciel Order.”
The woman withdrew the oathstone and the light faded, “Very well. Welcome to our Chapter of the Luciel order.”
“So what now?” Kerrel asked.