by Kal Spriggs
Chapter Sixteen
Lady Katarina Emberhill
Southwatch, Ryft Peaks, Duchy of Masov
Twenty-Ninth of Seraph, Cycle 999 Post Sundering
Aerion discovered, after three days of hard labor, that Gerlin had not overstated the state of the road. They had stopped, several times, to clear rock slides from the path and at other times had to bridge gaps with rubble. The work took, long, backbreaking hours, sometimes in areas where the road was just wide enough for them to form a human chain to pass stones along. Yet, on the end of the third day, they had finally reached the last stretch of road that led to the south gate of the fortress.
The massive gatehouse rose above them, the gate open wide. Aerion saw the wall stood sheer out of the mountaintop, and curved around out of sight to either side. Just over the tall wall, he could see the looming bulk of the inner keep.
“Well, then, what now?” Bulmor asked.
Cederic stood at the front of the group. He leaned on his staff, and peered ahead with a look of intense concentration. “Do not advance yet... it is not safe.”
“I don't see anything,” Quinn said softly to Aerion. “Do you see anything?”
Aerion looked down at the stocky young man, “Besides having one less eye than you, what gives you the idea that I might see something you don't?” He heard Josef rumble with a chuckle behind him.
“Well, you are much taller, you know,” Quinn said. “I can't stand with my feet on the ground and my head up there where the air's thin like you.”
Aerion shook his head, “I don't see–”
Gerlin looked back an arched an eyebrow, “What part of quiet do you lot not understand?” The scout seemed more amused than irritated, but still the rebuke was clear.
Aerion flushed. Behind him, he heard Josef mutter, “Quinn started it.”
The scout snorted in laughter and turned back to face the wizard.
“Guardians of this place!” Cederic called out, finally. “Show yourselves! In the name of the High Kings, show yourselves!”
Aerion felt the air temperature drop what felt like ten degrees. A moment later, a harsh blast of arctic winds gusted from the gates of the fortress. Aerion felt the hair on his arms rise, even as the cold wind whipped over the assembled men and women.
“By the High Kings...” Someone muttered.
A looming shadow seemed to draw out of the very air before Cederic. The Shrouded Wizard stood calmly as the shadow grew and then redoubled in size. Soon it hung above him like a black wave. It had a darkness to it that made Aerion's eye ache, almost as if it pulled the light out of the very air.
“Guardians of the Southwatch, you have stood your vigil for a thousand cycles, unbroken, and without relief, bound to your duty and unable to return to the spirits of your ancestors!” Cederic called out. “You have guarded this place faithfully and I ask that you step aside, that those who follow your ideals might stand in your place!”
The dark wave seemed to curl upon itself in response. Aerion gulped as something shaped very much like a hand extended from the wave to claw at the air in front of Cederic. Baleful red lights began to glow within the form.
Cederic turned, “Lady Katarina, I have one last thing to try, but then it will be up to you.” The wizard seemed hesitant to Aerion, almost as if he wished Katarina would step forward first.
“I...” Katarina took a deep breath, “If it is necessary, I will do as you instructed.”
He gave her a single nod. Cederic turned back to face the guardian spirit of the Southwatch. “Guardians of the Southwatch, hear me!” He called again and Aerion heard the wizard's voice deepen and grow louder, so that the echoes of it blasted back from the walls of the fortress. “I am Cederic, Shrouded Wizard and Disciple of Noth. I swear to you that I have come in good faith. I seek that which you guard, to restore that which was taken from you, your Kingdom, your honor, and the principles for which you stood. Stand aside!”
The mountaintop trembled beneath Aerion's feet.
You speak truth, the spirit seemed to speak with the very voice of the mountain. But what you seek is not yours to take. You may enter, but you alone. The heir to Duke Ivan must speak for herself.
Cederic turned. He seemed about to say something but then the black wave engulfed him and he disappeared. Aerion gave a shout of surprise and he stepped forward. Josef caught one arm, and Nakkiki grasped his other. The big man said something in his language, words that seemed to be made entirely of vowels.
Aerion gained control of himself and gave them both a nod, but they still held his arms tight. He wondered why, for a moment, until he saw Lady Katarina step forward.
Aerion didn't know if he called out to her or not, but he saw her look over her shoulder and meet his gaze for a moment. She gave him a sad smile and a slight head shake, before she went to stand where Cederic had disappeared.
Aerion tried to control his breathing, yet all he could think of was that the guardian spirit had just devoured Cederic and might now do the same to Lady Katarina.
He watched as she took a deep breath, and then spoke to the sinister dark wave that hung in the air. “Spirits of this place. I am Lady Katarina Emberhill, daughter of the murdered Duke Peter of the Duchy of Masov. I am a direct descendant of Duke Ivan... who betrayed your trust when he besieged this place. Inadequate as it is, I apologize for his actions and I honor your sacrifice and loyalty to your King.” She stared up at the dark spirit, and Aerion felt his heart stop as the dreadful red glow within the wave grew brighter.
“I swear to you that I come to you out of necessity. My father's killer has seized the Duchy, has made me an outlaw, and has brought the Duchy of Masov to the brink of civil war,” Katarina stood tall and strong against the black cloud that hovered only a few feet away. “Until not long ago... I thought the High Kings long dead, the High Kingdom a legend of better times, never to return. I have spent much time thinking about this, thinking of how different things might have been for my murdered family had the High Kings still reigned, thinking of how different my life might be had the High Kingdom remained, and if I could have called upon him for help.”
She paused and when she spoke again, Aerion could hear the raw emotion in her voice. “I do not know, and I cannot know how things might have gone differently,” Katarina said. “But I think that if they inspired such loyalty that your spirits remain on guard a thousand cycles after the death of High King Haden, then perhaps I was wrong before. Perhaps the High Kings might return. And for that return, the Five Duchies must support them and swear loyalty to the individual chosen for that duty.”
Katarina knelt, “I, Lady Katarina Emberhill, heir to the ducal seat of the Duchy of Masov, swear my loyalty to the High Kings and that I will do what I can to restore the High Kingdom, I swear it on my honor, I swear it on your sacrifice, and I swear it on the spirits of my ancestors.”
Aerion heard others gasp in surprise, for an oath like that would allow her no room to escape, she had just sworn every resource she had to the restoration of a nation that died a thousand cycles ago.
The guardian spirit drew in on itself and the baleful red glow entirely vanished. For a moment, Aerion felt hope rise in his breast. He felt the grip on his arms relax, even as his own body relaxed.
And then the black wave rolled over Katarina.
“No!” Aerion shouted. He shook off the grips of his friends and raced forward.
He had only gone a few steps before the darkness swept over him.
***
Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken
Ryft Watch Harbor, Boir Sea
Twenty-Ninth of Seraph, Cycle 999 Post Sundering
“Attention on deck!” The Marine Sergeant called out as Admiral Christoffer Tarken stepped aboard the recaptured Admiral Kommanetz.
He returned the Marine's sharp salute, “Carry on.” Only a few steps took him to where Captain Elias awaited him. “Captain, I see you have things well in hand here,” Christoffer looked around the deck
and noticed the signs of hasty repairs and sailors at work.
“Yes, sir.” Captain Elias said. “Although we are stretched fairly thin on manpower, what with so many prizes.”
“Yes,” Christoffer smiled, “I am certain that it is quite a lot of work, but then again, the prize money certainly doesn't hurt your men's outlook, does it?”
Elias returned his smile, but Christoffer saw something bothered the other man. “I'd like to hear your full report on the action. Let's step below decks, shall we?”
Captain Elias gave a courteous nod, and then led the way down to the Admiral Kommanetz Captain's quarters. One of the oldest of the ironclads, the ship had smaller, tighter quarters, a fact the Admiral noted as he stooped to avoid slamming his head on the wooden support beams.
The Captain's office showed signs of a hasty, if imperfect cleaning. A suspicious dark stain remained near the bed frame, its mattress notably absent. The Captain's desk lacked drawers and both chairs had clearly come from the mess deck, but Christoffer took a seat without complaint. At least he didn't have to worry about striking his head on the ceiling.
“So... tell me, have our Marines done as well as expected on their little raid?” Christoffer smiled.
“Better than expected,” Captain Elias said. “And in truth, I thought they got carried away with their initial reports or that Lieutenant Steffan had grown a bit over-exuberant.” The Captain shook his head, “But if anything, he understated their success. They recaptured both the Admiral Kommanetz and the Donnerkinder with no losses and without sounding the alarm. They lost two Marines aboard one of the Armen sloops, but still managed to take all of them intact and without warning the Noric encampment.”
“Impressive,” Christoffer leaned back in his chair. “Very impressive, how did it go with the Norics?”
“The Marines formed up and gave them several volleys of caster fire and then charged in to finish them with sword and boarding pikes,” Captain Elias said, his face grim. “They lost some men there, the Norics weren't all asleep or drunk, but they destroyed them as a force and routed the survivors. They also captured several of their leaders and freed a handful of their prisoners.”
“There were survivors?” Christoffer asked, both surprised and pleased.
Elias shook his head, “Poor bastards are mostly mad, at this point. The Armen captured a merchant ship out of Port Riss, headed back from Freeport. Family ship... husbands, wives and children as crew.” He shook his head. “We found four women still alive, but in pretty bad shape aboard the Donnerkinder, as well as ten more Armen women, in not much better shape. In the Noric camp we found two young boys and one older man still alive. Seeing as they watched what the bastards did to their family and friends, I don't know if they'll ever recover.”
Christoffer shook his head, “Ancestors watch over them and comfort the spirits of the dead,” he sighed. “Have you already performed services for the fallen?”
“Yes, sir.” Captain Elias glanced down, “But I have a question for you sir. I can see why you wanted us to recapture our ships. But what about the Armen sloops and the Noric galleys? We could have destroyed them with a single pass and clearing them of enemies cost us several Marines. My Lord, we don't even have the men to crew them.”
“Any galley slaves aboard those galleys?”
Captain Elias gave a nod, “Yes sir, but none of them are our people. Mostly Norics, some handful of Vendakar, and even a couple Armen. Around a hundred of them.”
“I will send Siara Pall to speak with them, offer them positions aboard ship as crewmen,” Christoffer said. “She'll do a full interview with each of them, and I want a pair of Marines to maintain order. Any she thinks worth trusting you can put aboard the Mircea or the Ubelfurst as provisional crewmen.”
Elias looked uncomfortable, “Sir, we aren't that strapped for crewmen...”
“Not yet,” Christoffer said, “Not yet... but you haven't heard the rest of my orders. I want skeleton crews aboard the Admiral Kommanetz and the Donnerkinder. Get them headed towards Boirton, clear of the blockade, but in position to move to port as soon as they can. I received a message from the Admiralty that they have assembled crews for both ships. The sloops we'll retain here, I have something of a plan of what to do with them.”
“The galleys, sir?” Elias asked.
“Strip them of anything of value and burn them.”
Captain Elias gave a grin, “That'll send those Noric bastards a signal.”
“Indeed,” Christoffer said dryly. “I plan to send the Armen one as well. We have one hundred Marines in total, correct?”
“Yes sir, if you count the complement from the windship and the sailors we've brevetted as Marines to make up for losses,” Elias said.
“And how many sailors do we have who are confident and competent in a fight?”
“Total, sir?” Captain Elias frowned, “Around a hundred more.”
Christoffer nodded slowly, “That is what I figured as well, and if we take the galley slaves as crew, that will leave us enough men to fight the Mircea and the Ubelfurst and put two hundred men ashore.”
Captain Elias paled, “Sir, you can't be serious. There are a thousand Armen and Norics headed east. Two hundred men against that size of force–”
“Will be sufficient for what I intend,” Christoffer spoke sharply. “We will stay along the coast, within support of our ship's casters and with the support of Captain Guntor's windship if we must march inland.”
“Sir, might I remind you that his... contraption has never seen battle? It's proven useful for scouting, but for real combat...”
“I feel confident that it will suffice,” Christoffer said. He peered out the back window of the captain's cabin, his eyes distant as his thoughts. “I can feel it, Elias. This wizard, this enemy who has done so much damage to our Fleet, who is responsible for so much death... he has those Armen moving east for some reason and its vital to his plans.”
“Vital or not, sir, can we fight that many of the enemy on land, when we're so outnumbered?” Elias asked and Christoffer saw the doubt and concern on his face.
“Elias, we have been through much, together,” Christoffer said, his voice calm. “My orders might seem...” He shrugged, “Truthfully, they appear mad. But I swear to you that I have thought through every action. We stand on the brink of not just taking a thousand of the enemy out of this fight, but destroying them.”
“Sir,” Captain Elias said, his face tight, “I have followed you from what seemed like the very brink of the precipice, when I thought our Duchy was doomed, again and again you've turned the tables on our enemies. I don't see how this can be so important... but I'll still follow you.”
Christoffer gave him a smile, “Excellent. Make the preparations. I want the Admiral Kommanetz and the Donnerkinder to sail immediately. We'll start the foot march tomorrow morning.”
“We, sir?”
“Well, I will, you will be needed to control the Ubelfurst and Mircea and to coordinate with Guntor's windship,” Christoffer spoke briskly. It was best to override any objections.
“Of course, Admiral. Might I ask where Carpenter's Mate Brussels and Coxswain Jenkins are?” Captain Elias asked. Christoffer winced at the reminder of his two normal bodyguards.
“They volunteered to assist the Marines,” Christoffer said with a wave.
“Well, I'm certain when they hear of your plan to join the land force, they will immediately volunteer to provide you with a proper escort,” Captain Elias said.
Christoffer opened his mouth to argue, but shut it at a glare from his subordinate. Some fights just cannot be won, he acknowledged.
***
Spirit of Southwatch
Southwatch, Ryft Peaks, Duchy of Masov
Twenty-Ninth of Seraph, Cycle 999 Post Sundering
There was only duty.
That thought suffused it, sustained it. Duty gave it strength when all other things fell away. It lost its memories, it lost its very name, but
it retained its duty.
For a time, it felt despair, caught in the knowledge that duty had no end and that nothing and no one would ever come to relieve it of that terrible burden.
But it pushed back that emotion, for it had no other choice. It was Southwatch, it watched and waited in the very stonework. It defended in spirit that which its component parts had defended in life.
Men came, over time. They ignored its warnings. Some sought information in its halls. Some sought riches. Some looked for weapons. Some even came to seek its greatest treasure. All died. It was Southwatch and it would guard its post until properly relieved.
Then came the stranger... the Herald. He came with a duty of his own and Southwatch had seen a core as dedicated to his task as the implacable stone of the mountains. Southwatch had given the Herald the information he sought and he alone, in the long centuries, had left the halls alive.
Now came the wizard, a man who followed the Herald's footsteps. He came in search of the Southwatch's greatest treasure... but he could not take it. He could not guard it, not as securely as the Southwatch. But he could enter and after they melded, Southwatch saw that they could benefit one another.
At the same time, there came the child of the enemy. Southwatch did not remember the time before, but it understood that her ancestors had killed the men who once walked its halls. It knew and a part of it hated her for it.
But then she did what it thought impossible. She gave the Southwatch back the emotion it had shed before the flesh of its living defenders had rotted away.
With her oath of duty, she gave Southwatch hope.
So it melded with her, as well. Southwatch tasted her determination, and it felt her spirit, and it found her, whatever her heritage, worthy to enter, to use the minor treasures it guarded to further her cause. And it released her, to tell her people that they might enter under her protection.
And then came the boy.
It sensed his approach, and something of his fire stirred memories long buried.
The boy, sworn to serve the woman, yet bound to her by something stronger than oaths, bound to her by a bond of friendship and attraction. Southwatch tasted that, sensed in that some measure of its own unflinching duty.