As the Dreadnaught rose up and unfurled her sails, Hanner brought up something heavy and set it down next to the crates of gold.
“Ooh, whatcha got there, big guy?” Setsuna asked, appearing next to him.
“It’s the statue she wanted,” Hanner said, picking his ear.
“But I thought you said there wasn’t time to order one,” Athel said as she walked up.
“There wasn’t, so I made one myself,” came a voice.
Setsuna squeaked with fright and jumped to one side. Alder had been standing right behind her.
“How long have you been there?” Setsuna gasped, catching her breath.
Alder blinked. “I've been here the whole time.”
Setsuna stepped backwards into a gate then reappeared behind Alder, looking him over with her large almond-shaped eyes. “Not too shabby for a little guy. I couldn’t even sense your presence.”
“It’s probably because Wysterian men don’t have souls,” Margaret blurted out as she took up position on her command podium.
Athel shot Margaret a sharp glance.
“What?” Margaret defended, pushing her glasses up her nose. “It’s not my religion that says he’s soulless, it’s yours.”
Setsuna appeared on top of Alder’s head. “So, what, he’s like a homonculous or a zombie or something?”
“Please, I am most certainly not a zombie,” Alder stated indignantly as he stepped away. Setsuna drifted down to the ground.
Hanner snapped his fingers and the cloth covering the statue burst into flames and fell away. Several of the pirates backed away at the sudden flare.
The statue beneath was a dazzling dragon carved from a dark-blue stone. Its long, slender body coiled a bit, making it look like it was swimming through the skies. The sunlight glimmered off the blue armored scales that covered its body.
“It’s amazing Aldi,” Athel breathed as she stepped closer to inspect it.
“Thank you, but I couldn’t have done it without Odger’s help. He was able to remove the impurities from the quarry stone and smooth the surface for me,” Alder explained.
“Odger?” Evere chuckled. “How'd ya get that bag of gravel to do something for you?”
“Half a tray of fudge to start, half a tray once completed.”
“Smart.”
Mina ran her fingers over the surface, which felt as smooth as glass. “The carving is so well done. Where did you learn how to do this? Was this part of your house husband training?”
Alder coughed, obviously a little uneasy at being the center of attention. “No, it’s just something my dad and I used to do together when I was a kid.”
Margaret finished placing them in a nice brisk wind and hopped down from her podium. “I always imagined dragons being a lot, I dunno, thicker,” she observed.
Alder pulled out his sketchbook. “Obviously I have never seen one, but the traditional depiction I referenced describes the head of a camel, body of a snake, scales like a...”
“No, that’s a leviathan, lad,” Evere corrected. “Dragons are broad-shouldered like a lion, and have huge wings like a bat.”
“Don’t they have more than one head?” Margaret asked.
“No, that’s a hydra.”
Hanner scratched his chin. “And why have you given it whiskers like that? Dragons have horns, not whiskers.”
Setsuna began giggling to herself. She placed her hands over her mouth to try and hold it in, but a few snickers slipped out. “You guys haven’t ever really seen a dragon before, have you?” she observed.
“Of course we haven’t,” Athel chuckled. “Have you?”
Athel turned around, but Setsuna was gone.
Ryin flicked one of the statue’s whiskers and was impressed when it didn’t break off. “You know, it’s weird.”
“What is?” Athel asked.
“Well, on your island, Alder is a total nobody, but he knows how to do all these amazing things, and you're like the heir to the throne and you don’t know how to do anything.”
Athel swept his leg with her boot, knocking his feet out from underneath him. Ryin came crashing down to the deck on his rump.
“I know how to kick your butt, Colenat,” she boasted as she stood over him.
Suddenly, the air was alive with cannon fire. Athel and the others looked around. They could see several of the ships from the Homin Guild firing, but they couldn’t see what their target was. Finally, a small ship slipped out into view, its hull already peppered with dozens of holes.
Black ships from the Elictr Guild joined in as well, releasing streaks of green energy at the fleeing vessel. Athel twinged at the sight of it, and felt a cold sweat forming on her neck. She knew what it felt like to be hit by Dread Summoner magic.
“What kind of ship is that?” Ryin asked as he got his feet back underneath him.
“Blast, it’s a tithe ship,” Evere confirmed through his spyglass.
“A tithe ship passed right through a fleet of Guild ships?” Mina asked in bewilderment.
“They probably thought we was Navy patrol ships until it was too late,” Hanner guessed
“If that tithe ship reaches the reserve they'll lock everything down!” Athel almost shouted. “We have to stop it!”
* * *
In the command center for the Federal Reserve, Colonel Jeshrop stood dispassionately before the tank that dominated the center of the room. A gift from the Forgemasters of Ferrus, it was composed of hundreds of thousands of tiny metal bars standing on end, each barely wider than the width of a hair. They were spaced so tightly together that when the creation slept, it looked like a perfectly flat, albeit thick, metal table. When it was awake, the bars would raise themselves up, creating a perfectly accurate topographical map of the entire facility and the lands beyond.
“We've lost all contact with the Navy patrols,” Corporal Brousterlum said emotionlessly.
“Colonel, lookouts in the highlands report a tithe ship approaching,” Private Rumir reported. “It is under attack.”
“Show me.”
The tank rearranged itself, thousands of metal rods changing height, giving the impression that the landscape was sweeping rapidly beneath them. Colonel Jeshrop stood over it like a giant.
The tank resolved itself at the coastline. A battered tithe ship, its crew visibly struggling for their lives fought on the deck against a dozen pirates that had already boarded. Severed grapnel lines and boarding planks hung from the tithe ships’s hull. Three pirate vessels poured fire into the tithe ship from behind, with at least a half dozen more in pursuit.
“Shall I summon the Heshi’sians?” Corporal Brousterlum asked.
“Do they have a valid seal?” The Colonel asked as he watched the fighting.
“Still too far out to tell.”
“Then we wait.”
As the Colonel watched the stricken vessel and crew fight for its life, an aid came in and brought lunch. Despite the quality of the food, the Colonel turned up his nose at it. Cali’ma'ioro, it was in everything they ate. Colonel Jeshrop couldn’t stand the stink of it anymore. It felt like it was the only thing left that he could smell.
The tithe ship’s crew fought like lions. When they came within range of the outer doors, Private Hoferlum couldn’t hold his tongue any longer and spoke up. “Sir, shouldn’t we open up the cliff guns?”
“Private, I am the sixteenth person to hold this position since the reserves were constructed,” the Colonel said. “In all that time, no hostile has ever set foot inside. I would rather die than allow that record to become tarnished. Until we have positive identification, we treat that tithe ship as if it were itself a hostile.”
Private Hoferlum turned around, shaking his head. “There are people on that ship, don’t you feel for them?”
Colonel Jeshrop lifted up his hand and flexed it as hard as he could. The skin had a slight greenish tint to it from years of consuming cali’ma'ioro. “I feel nothing, private. In time, you won’t either.”
>
Against all odds, the tithe ship reached the outer door. Her captain, fighting off a pair of pirates with his cutlass, flashed a royal seal. Even in the control room, they could see it glisten in the sun.
The crystal before Private Rumir changed color. “Seal is valid,” he reported.
“Open the outer door, run out the cliff guns,” Colonel Jeshrop announced.
There was an audible rush of air throughout the facility as hidden doors all along the mountainside slid open, revealing cannon and mortar emplacements ready to fire.
The pirate ships broke off their pursuit, wheeling about in panic. Their crews realigned the sails and deployed smoke screens, but it was too late. The pirate ships were shredded apart by a merciless gale of lead. A throaty cheer arose from the gunnery crews, ecstatic to have fired their first rounds in years. Following standard protocol, the emergency defenses were activated. A jet of void energy shot up into the sky from the mountaintop, then descended in all directions, forming a dome-shaped void barrier around the entire mountain range. Now, nothing could pass in or out until the reserves arrived from Kirdish.
Inside the command room, Colonel Jeshrop turned his attention to the wall tiles. Like a mirror, each one reflected a view from one of the observers mounted throughout the reserves. Every room and corridor was visible to him from multiple angles.
Inside the holding bay, he watched the enormous outer door close shut, sealing away the sounds of battle and screaming pirates. The stricken tithe ship coasted to a stop up against the dry dock, her crew calling out for help.
Dozens of Heshi’sians rushed aboard to help them.
“I've got at least three more still alive below deck,” Captain Luvrouck announced through his long gray beard, leaning against the mast for support. “They're injured.”
Ensign Holibo was freed from underneath a pair of pirates that had collapsed on top of her. She stood up indignantly and straightened her uniform as best she could.
Several of the crates of gold taries had been spilled open, but the Heshi’sians ignored them. Instead, they went about the pirate bodies, jabbing a small hand pick into the neck of each one to make sure they had passed on. The cold, methodical way in which they administered death clearly disturbed first mate Salalyn as she gripped the scaly green skin on her arm to stop the bleeding from her wounds.
Corporal Snasarlig lept back over to the dry dock and opened up one of the call tubes. “All hostiles neutralized, nine survivors from the tithe ship crew.”
Colonel Jeshrop’s voice came back clear in response. “Place the crew in holding, we're getting scattered reports of Navy patrol ships coming under attack by some kind of pirate fleet. A size we've never seen before. I want everyone on high alert.”
“What about the pirate bodies?”
“Take them all to the pit.”
Corporal Snasarlig snapped his fingers and everyone paid attention. With a few silent hand gestures he divided his men into two teams. One began dragging away the dead pirates, while the other escorted the survivors down a stone hallway.
No aid or mercy was given to the injured sailors by the Heshi’sians. When Ensign Norastar fell out of step from his leg injury, he was brutally kicked from behind and warned to keep up.
The holding cell was little more than a brig. Cold, smooth walls lined with observers. The sailors were shoved inside.
“We've got some serious injuries, here,” Captain Luvrouck protested.
Corporal Snasarlig nodded and a few rolls of gauze and a field medical kit were tossed in along with them.
Doctor Yundreck scooped up the kit and looked it over. “I'll also need a...”
“You know the law,” Corporal Snasarlig said sternly.
“Yes, but given the circumstances, surely exceptions can be made.”
Corporal Snasarlig sighed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, I'll think about it.”
“Really?” Doctor Yundreck asked, perking up.
“No.”
With a touch of a rune, the void barrier came to life, trapping the sailors within.
Left-tenant Brusuni stood up and ran her fingers through her short brown hair. “Now, wait a minute, I live to serve and all that, but you can’t just ignore League bylaws. What about the Salzburg Convention, the Turin Articles?”
Corporal Snasarlig leaned in close, as if he savored the cruelty. “Your cell is now airtight, try not to waste it all complaining.”
Spinning on his heel, the Stonemasters left the room and walked down the hardened corridor.
“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I like him,” Doctor Yundreck commented as he bandaged up the first-mate’s arm.
“They're all like that,” First-mate Fitdron said, dabbing a fresh layer of perfume on her neck.
“Why do you lay it on so thick?” Left-tenant Brusuni asked, waving her hand around.
“Because my husband thinks I stink,” she griped.
Everyone glanced at the Captain. “Don’t look at me, my name is Luvrouck,” he defended.
Corporal Darendrat unshouldered his bundled water vase and inspected it. The vase wiggled and gave off a tiny burp and a dart of red fire.
Ensign Doudmuki stood up and craned her head around, as if trying to get a better view of her own backside.
“What are you doing?” First-mate Fitdron asked in irritation.
“Just checking out the landscape,” Ensign Doudmuki said, wiggling her hips back and forth in a sultry fashion.
Captain Luvrouck, Left-tenant Brusuni, and Ensign Norastar sat themselves down in a semi-circle, blocking Doctor Yundreck from the view of the observers mounted in the walls. Inside the semi-circle, the Doctor began emptying his lab coat pockets, creating a pile of surgical and diagnostic tools, along with bits of string, scraps of wrappers, and a handful of dead mice.
“This is amazing,” Ensign Doudmuki giggled as she jumped up and down, making her curves bounce.
“Knock it off, Colenat,” First-mate Fitdron ordered, placing a dab of perfume on her neck.
* * *
Ahhhhh, my leg is cramping!
Inside her square container, Athel did her best to keep her breathing slow and steady. The air was stifling. She could feel beads of sweat running down her shoulders and pooling in a gross little puddle at the small of her back. Slowly she massaged a cramped leg muscle as best she could.
Crap, I really have to go to the bathroom. They always skip over that part in the books.
Carefully, Athel twisted open another breathing tablet and placed it in her mouth, savoring the burst of fresh air it provided. She could hear some of the Heshi’sians talking.
“It’s confirmed, the Navy patrols have all been captured, we're on lockdown until reinforcements arrive.”
Their voices are close, probably here on the deck with me.
“What about this ship? Do we deposit the gold in the vault?”
“No, the Colonel wants to keep the inner door sealed. I want you to check all the crates.”
Oh no.
Athel heard a sharp metallic shriek, a kind of grinding sound.
What is that?
The sound happened again, this time closer. It was more nuanced this time, coins jingling and the piercing of wood by metal.
They're stabbing all of the tithe crates to make sure there’s no one inside.
Again the stabbing sound occurred, this time right next to her.
Athel held her breath, careful to make no noise at all. The Heshi’sian was so close she could hear him breathing.
Athel’s container was roughly moved to one side, and then a blade was thrust straight through the final crate.
Athel’s eyes grew wide.
* * *
The pit was a large shaft that led down into the facility’s rune furnace. One by one, the Heshi’sians dragged the dead pirates up to the edge and unceremoniously tossed them in.
“Is that the last of them?” Corporal Snasarlig asked as he walked up, obviously disappointed at having mis
sed it all. He shoved the man aside and picked up the pirate. As he lifted the body up with his hands, it hung limply.
Corporal Snasarlig’s expression changed. “Something is wrong here.” He looked down at the hallway where the bodies had been dragged. “Why isn’t there any blood?”
The Corporal reached out and grabbed the pirate’s head, it came off with a wooden snap. Suddenly, the pirate’s body seemed to evaporate into a mist. Corporal Snasarlig dropped it to the ground in surprise. What lay on the ground now was a wooden mannequin dressed in pirate’s clothing.
“What is this?” he asked, leaning in close. The chest of the mannequin opened up into a pair of doors, and with a hiss, dark green smoke was shot up into the Corporal’s face, quickly filling the hall.
Corporal Snasarlig coughed. His men covered their mouths, but it was too late. “Signal the colonel...” he gurgled as he collapsed, unconscious, to the floor.
Down in the furnace, the illusion spell sloughed off the rest of the pirate bodies, revealing them all to be mannequins. Their burning wooden chests opened and released more clouds of dark green gas.
Propelled upwards by the heat of the furnace, the gas flooded through the hallways of the facility, forcing its way underneath doors and through ventilation shafts.
* * *
In the command room, all was a panic. Watching the wall tiles, Colonel Jeshrop looked on as his people collapsed at their posts all over the reserve.
“Seal off the contaminated areas,” he ordered in irritation.
“Working on it.”
“The bunkhouse is completely flooded,” Private Rumir reported.
All over the facility, stone hallways become unsolid and pinched themselves tightly closed. Stone doors swung shut without hands and fused with the surrounding material. But it was too little, too late.
Annoyed, Colonel Jeshrop watched as gunnery crews tried to force open the outer doors to escape the fog, only to collapse and hang out the openings like rag dolls. Many of the rooms and hallways were now so polluted he could no longer see into them.
Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen Page 24
