The Veldtlander saluted and began organizing a defensive perimeter as the jungle elephant and the other skirmishers tramped up the hill.
The prince guided his elephant through the winding path to very top of the forested hill. The first rays of dawn were just reaching the hill as they came to the summit.
My men are definitely on their way now. I just hope the Shinzens don’t counterattack before the rest of the Elephant Corps arrive. And the Syriots? That shelling must be coming from them. What’s their army like, I wonder?
“Kerchik!” he belted down below, scanning for the man. I need a good runner. “Where are you?”
“Sir,” Guard Captain Ajit broke in. “Kerchik… fell in the fighting.”
The prince blinked for a moment. Seven years he had known the man. Gods, he had been just a boy at the start of the exodus.
“Do you need a runner?” Ajit asked. Kerchik was one of the younger guards and was often used to send messages. Had been.
“I need someone to report to Don Ventu and help guide them in,” the Prince replied, his voice a monotone. When had Kerchick died? I don’t remember seeing that. He felt strangely guilty. If I hadn’t insisted on personally scouting these hills…
“Sir, I could deliver that message,” one of the veterans cut in while the prince was still lost in thought. But I did, and he died because of it. That’s just how it happens with us. The prince nodded at the soldier.
“Good man. Tell him how things went and bring him over.”
The prince looked northeast, seeing the road cutting through the farmlands that they had traveled along last afternoon. Looking north, he could see the cooking fires of the Imperial Army along the thinly forested ridges bordering the river. He frowned, spotting a balloon floating along the northwest, illuminated by the light of dawn.
Damn Syriot spies, they can see the whole army. Still, what a remarkable contraption.
Past the balloon, he was surprised to see the distant marching lines of what must have been the Syriot forces. This was the first time he had actually spotted Syriot infantry though they were still quite a long distance away and only moving against the Hangyul forces. And Kintari, the Prince thought, seeing dark blocks of troops marching northeast. He wondered if the army had enough troops to block the enemy’s crossing there.
If I hadn’t moved, I could have been sent to reinforce the Kintari army. But if I hadn’t taken the hill, I couldn’t have seen what was going on. We don’t have balloons after all.
He scowled once more at the balloon which had seemed to be approaching, but now moved westward. The prince followed the movement, looking through the fields, his vision now resting on the fishing village. He squinted, noticing fires in the village.
Had those been there the last time I looked?
He continued staring, listening to the repeated thunderclaps, and watching a speck of fire spread. The Prince of the Wastes stroked his beard in thought.
What is going on out there?
Chapter Forty-One
Above the Clouds
The translator opened his eyes groggily as the cannons rang out once more. Ugh, again? Already?
Vermilies was exhausted. Ever since the invasion had begun he had been trudging through the jungle to meet with village headmen or the local nobility. It was just a couple days ago that he had bought off Lord Shinzen and his men, camped out on a hill in the bogs nearby, and the Syriot red wine hadn’t helped his exhaustion one bit.
I’ve already done my duty, this war is as good as won. The talking is over and the fighting can go on without me.
Vermilies wormed his head back into his borrowed pillow, grateful at least that the cabin had emptied at dawn, though of course he’d caught stray elbows and knees as Syriots had clambered out of their bunks. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t drown out the sounds of the Hellfire’s cannons. Vermilies sighed and sat up, eyeing the empty bunk beds in the cramped crew cabin morosely.
Well, I suppose everyone else is up.
He put on his ragged emerald tunic, formerly a prized possession, and his stinking leather boots, and then made for the crew’s wash basin. He stared, barely recognizing his weathered and stubbly face through the cracked glass.
Still the most handsome man on the ship, though.
Vermilies rubbed tooth powder onto his teeth, swishing it around glumly, and staggered out onto the deck. He walked to the starboard railing and spat out, just as the cannons fired another volley. Directly below him a gunner cried out in annoyance and confusion, reaching for his hair. Vermilies jerked back quickly.
Oh yes, there are cannons down there.
The translator paced the deck, blinking at the scene. The three ships in the small flotilla were pounding the fishing village that straddled the river. He walked up to a musket-armed Syriot marine who didn’t seem busy and tapped him on the shoulder.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re bombarding the village!” The man shouted to be heard over the din of the cannons. “The army is about to cross the river upstream!”
“Oh,” the translator replied, staring at the fishing village that was cut in two by the Irragonda River. That’s right, we’re naval support for the army as they cross the river.
“Is that even a military target?” He asked skeptically, pointing at the village. Several thatched huts were blazing away though Vermilies couldn’t see any villagers. They probably fled or are hunkered down as best they can.
The man shrugged dismissively, as though it were a philosophical question that had no relevance to the real world.
Together they watched the bombardment for several minutes when a cry from a lookout alerted them to new arrivals. Vermilies moved over to the stern, and saw an emerging crowd of Shinzen soldiers milling around the river, watching the bombardment.
“Oh, what the hell is this?” he asked to himself in irritation, looking at the growing group. I just paid you lot off to keep away from the Syriots! Lord Shinzen, you greedy bastard…
“What are you doing over here!?” Vermilies yelled to the Shinzen soldiers, though it was drowned out by another cannonade. The more he observed the men the more confused he grew.
That one barely looks dressed. Over there, the man has a fresh bandage. And they’re sprawling on the beach with no order at all. Where is Lord Palani Shinzen?
“I see you’re up, Mr. Vermilies.”
Captain Salassi had strolled over, looking irritatingly refreshed, his eyes fixed on the far shore.
“Care to explain what this is all about?”
“I have no idea, Captain. I was assured they would remain on the hill.” The translator pointed at it, a tall hill with a shimmering carpet of green foliage lit by the early dawn. “It’s a fine hill,” he added. “I don’t know why they would leave it.” Vermilies squinted but it was a distance away. Is that… smoke from the hill?
“Are you sure you said ‘hill’ and not ‘river,’ Mr. Vermilies?”
“The words are quite distinct,” he replied stiffly.
They watched the crowd milling about in confusion.
“Well, anyway, it’s fine as long as they stay out of the way,” Captain Salassi concluded, heading back to the helm. The translator joined him as they walked back.
“Pardon me, Captain, but why exactly are we bombarding this village?”
“Orders,” he replied, as if that explained everything. “There might be some soldiers around, anyway.”
“Possibly…” Vermilies said, skeptical of the possibility, but his attention was distracted by shouts from the lookouts heralding the appearance of a balloon drifting toward them.
The captain noticed it as well. “Speaking of orders… Mr. Vermilies, please accompany me to Saint Garander’s Gift. Let’s see what command has to say.” Captain Salassi stuck his head over the railing. “Gunnery Chief! Hold fire!”
“Aye sir! Holding fire!”
After a final volley, the other ships followed suit, taking their cue f
rom the Hellfire. The balloon began to descend onto Saint Garander’s Gift. The captain hurried to the port side, readying a raft for transport. Vermilies and two sailors joined him, the sailors grabbing the oars and rowing quickly to the Garander. After the short ride, Captain Salassi climbed up the side of the ship, the translator lagging behind.
He reached the top to find the same major lecturing Captain Giardi. The major turned to look at Captain Salassi.
“Ah! You see, Captain Giardi? Captain Salassi here pays attention to his duties! I see you only took two tries to notice the balloon floating above your ship, which was designed specifically for such duties.”
Major Ribaldi nodded at Captain Salassi. “Good to see you’ve pounded the village. No need to stop the firing on my account.”
“I believe they’ve been subdued.” A woman’s distant wailing sounded from across the water. “I’m not sure they had much of a force present,” he added.
The major shrugged. “Perhaps not. I didn’t notice any units on the way over here.” His eyes found Vermilies. “Is this the translator?”
“Yes, sir. Enbo Vermilies, at your service.”
“Mm. Well tell me something, young Vermilies. What the hell are Shinzen forces doing next to the river?”
The major pointed in frustration at the distant milling crowd.
“Perhaps they… came for provisions, and to watch the shelling,” Vermilies hazarded.
“Perhaps. In any event, General Eben has need of your services. Do you know the Marquis of Thieslepunt?”
“Yes, sir. A fine diplomat as well as an accomplished linguist of the finest caliber. I met him myself, a very inspiring man, he does the empire proud. My mentors would often speak to me of him as though he were the very paragon of diplomacy and charismatic grace and exhort me to follow the man’s example.” Vermilies let out a wry chuckle. “Do I know of him, major? Why, the man is a veritable legend.”
“Mm. Well, it seems he entered some failed negotiations with the enemy, and his severed head was delivered, his mouth stuffed with his own… well, never mind that. So we’ll be needing you. I also plan on surveying the hill, and you can explain to me exactly why the Shinzen troops are no longer in possession of it.”
The translator smiled awkwardly. “Splendid.”
Captain Salassi clapped him on the back. “See? He’s quite the diplomat himself.” He smiled at the translator. It wasn’t particularly reassuring.
“Now Captain,” the major addressed Captain Salassi, “General Eben expects the village to be secured. The river turns to shallows not far to the north, so I doubt you’ll want to sail past the village. Be sure to keep an eye out for enemy forces along the east bank of the river and shell any you see. Though I suppose not, presumably, the Shinzen bunch. We will likely be back before too long to relay the enemy positions and ask for fire support.”
Captain Salassi nodded. “Yes sir. We’ll give them hell.”
“Translator,” the major beckoned Vermilies over and then made for the balloon. Vermilies did his best to hide his reservations as he joined the party of aeronauts crammed around the wooden platform.
So I will be floating in the air above a battleground in a burning crate with skins in order to negotiate with ruthless despots. Fantastic.
The crew inside relit the interior fire, and the bag began to expand once more. The crew filed around the wicker compartment, and Vermilies felt an odd sensation as the platform began to lift off.
“First time aboard a balloon?” inquired the major. “Ah, it’s an exciting time to be alive, isn’t it? All these gases the eggheads back home are grabbing out of thin air with their beakers and canisters and gizmos and what have you.”
The balloon rose with stately grace above the fleet, the milling crowd of Shinzen forces looking like dots, and the air whipping around as Vermilies clenched his hands tightly around the railing.
What am I doing here? Man wasn’t meant for this. Gods, I feel like I’m going to hurl.
Beside him the major pointed to the hill and Vermilies did his best to follow the motion without pissing himself. Gods, it’s windy. A few of the crew made adjustments, and the balloon drifted in that direction, keeping to a steady altitude.
“I really am quite perturbed by the Shinzen activities, you know,” the major said in a disapproving tone.
Vermilies took a moment to gather himself and when he spoke it was as though defying gravity was not a particularly troubling or unusual event.
“I was quite clear on the directives,” the translator said. “They were to remain on the hill, camouflaged from the enemy. In return for their neutrality, Lord Palani Shinzen was given several cartloads of gold and silver, and was promised the continued governorship of Shinzen territory.”
“Yes, those were the terms,” the major allowed begrudgingly. “So it seems that didn’t slip your mind.”
Vermilies remained silent, looking down at the hill. There were wisps of smoke rising from the trees but that was all that could be spotted below the dense foliage. He leaned back in, still uncomfortable with being so far up in the air. The balloon remained above the trees for several minutes, circling the hill. The major finally grunted.
“Well, I don’t know what happened here. We’re needed elsewhere.” The major stuck out a hand over the enemy’s position to the north. “Let’s see their positions.”
The balloon angled north, flying over rice paddies, farmlands, and a narrow road. The major scanned the road but only a few wagons trundled along it. The major grunted again. In the thickets to the north, a few puffs of gray smoke blossomed.
“Dammit,” he swore. “The bastards are shooting at us again. Take us west! We’ll follow the river north.” The balloon sailed west through the air until it floated above the river. Vermilies unclenched his hands by degrees and licked his lips.
Well, this isn’t so bad. Just takes some getting used to.
The river was much thinner here than it had been to the south. The balloon began heading further north again, and Vermilies kept a searching eye fixed on the flat fields of grass along the west bank. Lines of Syriot infantry marched with steady purpose toward the river. They were a mix of musketeers in blue uniforms and armored swordsmen, whose gleaming armor reflected the morning light. Noticing Vermilies’s interest, the major pointed toward the marching figures.
“General Eben’s headquarters is just past there. The boys are moving to cross the river. As you can see, the enemy has possession of the far bank. Well, our boys will sort them out soon enough. Yesterday we saw that their northern contingent was quite weak and the river up there is really more of a shallow stream. Three whole regiments are crossing there as we speak. Once the northern army scatters, our boys will wrap them up down south as the main army fords the river. Those gunboats you were on will shell their main army as our boys cross.” The major frowned for a moment.
“Lord Shinzen’s men were supposed to occupy the hill to cut off their retreat. Due to their native duplicity I’m not sure that will happen. General Eben had hoped to wrap this war up by the afternoon, but we may have to pursue them some distance.” He shrugged. “Well, that’s conquest for you. Something always crops up to delay the inevitable.”
There was a thin forest along the eastern bank but in certain parts it faded away into meadows. In these open areas the balloon crew were able to see a double line of Hangyul swordsmen. Occasionally puffs of smoke would momentarily give away positions of musket-armed units, but the enemy seemed to clearly be more of an infantry force. One musket ball suddenly pierced through the wicker covering, between the legs of one of the crewmen. The major cursed and ordered the balloon to drift farther to the west. The crewman stood transfixed, staring fixedly at the hole for some time.
The balloon eventually drifted north past the enemy lines, approaching the Syriot regiments crossing through the shallows, where the river was just a collection of several conjoining creeks and ponds. Below them the Syriot soldiers let out a scatte
red cheer as the balloon passed overhead, but by and large they were just focused on keeping their footing.
The first regiment crossed to the east bank as the second reached the first stream. At a much longer distance than Vermilies would have supposed, Kintari archers loosed their shafts. Vermilies watched the flights pass up and then fall amongst the troops. Several cried out, but most struggled forward at a brisk pace. Another wave of arrows were loosed.
“We need to gain altitude,” the major announced, and several crewmen increased the flames. The balloon rose into the sky as the assault continued underneath. The second regiment had crossed, and the first had now begun firing at the Kintari forces. After a short engagement at distance, the Kintari forces began forming up for a charge. The translator watched in fascination, urging the Syriot regiments onward. The Kintari forces streamed forward, closing with the first regiment which seemed to stop in isolated black groups surrounding by puffing clouds of smoke. As the battlefield became mired in smoke, Major Ribaldi gestured at the crewmen to stop.
“Take us west,” he said. “And down.”
The balloon descended at a gradual pace over the river. The translator craned his neck over the side, growing used to the shifting view, and catching glimpses of the advance through the blossoming clouds of smoke from the musketry. Most of the crew did the same, leaning out and watching the third regiment as it crossed the shallows and joined the billowing clouds of smoke.
“What I wouldn’t give to be stuck in there with our boys,” mused the major.
The translator and crew hid their skepticism with varying degrees of success. The balloon was now at a lower height, hovering over the river. One of the aeronauts pointed forward, his arm extending over the wicker basket. One of the first signs of movement came in the far distance, as distant blobs began exiting the powdery gray cloud. The translator blinked for a moment and then realized the blobs were Kintari soldiers running away.
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