The Cerberus Rebellion (A Griffins & Gunpowder Novel)

by Joshua Johnson

  Lord Ridley’s harbor was the largest in the newly formed nation of Westgar. It was said that a hundred deep-hulled merchantmen could dock at the piers in White Ridge and there would still be room for smaller vessels. The harbor was also home to one of Westgar’s two warship building facilities. The dry docks had so far been inactive, but with the formation of a regular navy, those slots would soon be filled with hulls.

  Lord Croutcher, as the Westgari foreign minister, had been quick to give Raedan the responsibility of overseeing the mission across the Vast Sea. Raedan had been hesitant to accept the responsibility. While he had read much about the nations across the sea, he had not learned much of the art of diplomacy and he had been unsure of how he would be of help to the more experienced diplomats.

  Hadrian had reinforced the suggestion by pointing out that Raedan’s unique abilities made him the perfect choice to lead the envoys. While he couldn’t speak any of the languages of the lands across the sea, except for the elven tongue, and he lacked the experience of negotiating a treaty, he had the ability to influence people’s feelings and he could read people better than anyone ordinary man. The fact that no one would even suspect a mere man would have the same abilities as an elven Shadowmage made his advantage even more pronounced.

  Raedan still harbored doubts that his abilities and his skills as a battlefield commander wouldn’t be better used in fighting the loyalists. He would have his limits, but the element of surprise would be a powerful ally. Raedan had tried to convince Lord Croutcher to reconsider his choice, but Dalton has made it clear that the decision was made and there would be no changing it.

  He was happy that he would have time to study the books he had collected. He wouldn't be able to learn everything that they had to offer, but he believed that he could master some of the more basic spells during their month-long journey across the Vast Sea. He was especially interested in expanding his ability to influence feelings and actions.

  The book that he had recovered from the Ewan Armory had an entire section devoted to such things.

  Raedan shook his head as the caravan started up the last set of hills, and the fortress at its peak, before they descended toward the coast. The city of Falmere had been built in a cleft in the high cliffs that lined much of the coastline around it. The terrain had been a defensive asset throughout most of the history of Ansgar and the positions around the city had been well maintained.

  As they climbed the ridge, a mounted patrol emerged from the fortress and galloped toward them. Raedan was impressed that even with the massive banners declaring their identity, the fortresses had been ordered to challenge those approaching their city. Losing Falmere would be a crippling blow to the economy and war fighting capabilities of Westgar, and he approved of any measures necessary to ensure the security of the city.

  “Good day,” the leader of the patrol shouted as they reigned up in front of Raedan. “Sir Ewan Holloway, of Fort Preston.”

  The golden star of the Order of Tyro that joined the pair of vertical bars marked the man as a knight-captain. He wore the blue uniform with red accents of House Ridley and wore a pair of revolvers holstered on his hips. The men around him, fifteen of them, carried revolving carbines and had the rank markings of enlisted soldiers.

  “Good day, Knight-Captain,” Raedan answered for the group. “Raedan Clyve, Baron Broken Plains.”

  “What brings you to Falmere, my lord?” the captain asked. His troops spread out between Raedan’s convoy and the road.

  “We are on orders from the Assembly to board a ship here,” Raedan answered. The captain didn’t need to know where they were going, or who the other members of the party were.

  “Do you have orders to that effect?”

  “Indeed,” Raedan said as he pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. He handed it to the officer and waited while the man read it.

  “This looks to be in order,” the captain said. “I apologize for the precaution, but we had a regiment of loyalists march right up to our gates last week. We didn’t even realize they weren’t friendly until they started shooting.”

  “That problem should be resolved shortly,” Raedan reported. “The Assembly of Nobles has decided on a uniform that will be rather unique.”

  “That’s good to hear,” the captain said with a somber nod. “We’ll escort you as far as the fort, if you’d like.”

  “I can’t see why not, Captain,” Raedan said, and followed behind.

  Even from the bottom of the hill, Raedan could see that the fortress perched at the top of the hill was a newer structure. The palisade was all wood and was built low to the ground with dirt embankments. An older fortress would have been made of stone and would have its artillery batteries placed on the walls or on barbettes behind it. Fort Preston’s artillery emplacements were cut low into the walls to allow them to fire directly down the hill.

  As they approached the fortress, the trenches and breastworks came into view and, except for a handful of watchful sentries, Raedan could see two full infantry companies milling about. He wondered if any of them had seen battle before the loyalists’ brazen attack. Many of them looked like boys or men too far past their prime to be useful.

  “You’ll forgive the quality of our troops,” Captain Holloway said as if reading Raedan’s mind. “They’re a solid bunch, and they train well.”

  “Everyone has to start somewhere,” Raedan agreed as they reined up in front of the fort’s massive gatehouse.

  “This is where we part ways, my lord,” Holloway said. “I wish you luck in your mission.”

  “Thank you, Knight-Captain. Good luck.”

  The patrol rode through the open gates and Raedan turned toward the coast. The hills dropped sharply from the peak of the ridge for a thousand feet from Fort Preston to the city walls of Falemere. Those walls were one hundred and fifty feet tall, fifty feet wide and were marked by massive towers at regular intervals. The city had long ago spread beyond its walls, and Raedan followed the road as it wound through low hovels and what appeared to be a lesser merchant district.

  The city inside the walls looked much older. Stone houses with timber upper stories lined the main road as it trailed toward the harbor. Castle Ridley sat in the far corner of the city. Two sides were pressed against the harbor, a third faced the city, and the last side butted against a small peninsula that jutted into the harbor.

  Two networks of piers and warehouses made up the trade juggernaut that was Falmere. On the south side of the city, the docks for the deep-hulled merchantmen from across the vast sea spread past the city walls and into the outer city. To the west, the drydocks and smaller piers lined the shore.

  Raedan scanned the docks to the south, past the massive merchantmen and deep-hulled frigates, but couldn’t see anything that looked like the dragonships he had been told of. Then he saw her.

  A long, sleek black figure bobbing at anchor in the harbor. She had three masts and furled sails that were black as coal. Her oars were made of ebony and slapped at the water as the ship pushed toward the docks. The only color Raedan could see was the banner of House Seward that whipped in the wind from the main mast.

  “The Dragon’s Breath,” Damon said quietly.

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