Savior of Arcadia

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  “Like the tunnels that lead t’ that Royal Tower thingy.” Adie guessed.

  “Right,” Garm cut in. “Drake knows of them as well, but he thinks no one knows them like he does. And I happen to know that he’s been maintaining a couple of escape routes for himself in case the war turns against him.” Her expression sharpened. “I also happen to know the whens and wheres of the soldiers and shifts involved, since I put most of them there myself.”

  “So we strike quickly from the tunnels, silence any sentries, and make our way into the tower proper,” Jone said firmly. “We invade and sever his escape routes all at once.”

  “Finally. Took us long enough.”

  She looked around, taking in the faces of her friends, and the full weight of it suddenly struck her.

  This was the end.

  Everything they had done...it all led up to this moment.

  Either Sir Francis Drake, or she and her friends...were about to die.

  “We can’t all go,” she blurted out.

  Everyone turned to stare at her.

  “Jone’s right,” the Lady Bellamy agreed. Jone blinked in surprise. “I can have Morgan’s Nightship return to the Highlands in short order, and that’s exactly what we should do.”

  “Now wait a minute—” Adrienne frowned.

  “Even if we catch him completely off guard, we can’t be trapped between the Drake’s forces and the man himself,” Jone explained. She took her Arcadian lover’s hands and gave them an apologetic squeeze. “Someone needs to return to the troops above, both the ones amassing on the island and in the armada’s blockade. We need communication, leadership...and a distraction.”

  Esmeralda glared at them both in turn. “Screw both of you. I wanted to kill Drake.” She twirled a steamlock on one finger indicatively, a distinctive gold-plated one that she’d carried for years now.

  Jone shook her head. “You should lead the surprise assault from the deck of the New Adventure, while Adie takes command of the Allied Armada. That way I can call on either of you with my power. It makes the most sense.”

  The pirate nodded. “Oh, I agree. I’m the by far and away the best choice. But screw you for thinking of it. I sure wasn't going to say anything.”

  Jone looked at Adrienne.

  “I’m with her,” Adie responded. “Screw ya.”

  Jone shook her head, laughing. “You’ve done fine leading in my stead in the past, and—”

  “Yeah, yeah. And I’m not ‘zactly the best fighter in the world, neither, despite all th’ practice. Don’t wanna be a liability or nothin.” The bubbly Arcadian smiled. “Honestly don’t wanna get killed none either, but wasn’t gonna back out over a little thing like that.”

  Jone smiled back. “Thanks for understanding, Adie.”

  She glanced up as the far door grated open, and everyone slipped out, Stewart brushing past her with a nod.

  “...Where’s everybody going?” Jone glanced back at her two lovers.

  “If I had to guess,” Blackblade mused as the door slid shut, “they’re giving the three of us a moment alone.”

  Jone’s back thumped into the dark stone wall as Adie’s eyes flickered, invoking enough magic to pin her there for a moment.

  “‘Cause if you think I'm just lettin you walk off without somethin’ to remind you what you're fighting for…” Adie leaned in, her soft, plush lips meeting Jone’s, emotion sparking between them like a jolt of lighting. “You’re dead wrong,” she whispered.

  She leaned back slowly, her lips tracing across Jone’s jaw and neck as Esmeralda took her place, grabbing Jone’s long braid and pulling her into a passionate kiss. Their lips lingered together for a long moment, then she slipped behind Jone, pulling the Arcadian’s back against her lithe torso. Slowly, the pirate’s fingers moved across the buckles and straps holding her armored plates to her hips, adroitly loosening them.

  “Hey!” Jone squeaked in protest, trying to pull away as Adie joined in. Armor clanked against the damp stone floor as the two women left her with nowhere to run. “Wait! We shouldn’t—I mean, we should hurry, the night won’t last forever, there are probably patrols—”

  “Don’t worry,” Esmeralda breathed into her ear, sending shivers dancing down Jone’s spine. “We’ve got Bellamy watching the door. Two of ‘em.” Gently, the pirate nibbled at the lobe of Jone’s ear, stealing a little of her breath while her hands roamed firmly downward. “Besides, I’m sure they need some family catch-up time or whatever. You know, in case things go badly tonight and they don’t both walk away.”

  Jone’s tassets fell to the floor as Adrienne stripped her armor. “Esme,” she looked up at the pirate, “shut up already.”

  Esmeralda shrugged and complied, instead putting her mouth to use at other things, like the soft hollows of Jone’s throat, or along the back of her jaw and behind her ears.

  Jone shuddered, her body melting between the two women, regardless of what her logical mind thought was a good idea.

  “Shhhhh, shhhhhhh. Just shut up and let it happen.” Rote paused. “And let me watch. I could die tonight, you know?”

  Please. Not you too.

  Invisible breath firmly stirred the hair at the back of her neck, pressing against her exposed skin like a surprise caress from spectral fingers, and she spasmed again as the honeyed voice in her head laughed.

  Meanwhile, Adrienne caressed Jone’s lips lovingly with her own, and her fingers worked their way under the thin layer of tritanium chainmail dangling between her legs, drawing a surprised moan from the soldier.

  Soon enough, Esmeralda’s strong, agile fingers joined them, running along the lines of Jone’s hips until they found Adrienne’s hand already at work between her legs. Her other hand slipped beneath layers of underarmor and padding until they found the soft flesh of Jone’s large breasts and began to squeeze.

  Really, really hard.

  Jone flushed hot with embarrassment as her voice got uncontrollably louder, but Adie quickly saved her, smothering Jone’s mouth with her own, and only let her up for the occasional breath of air.

  o o o

  The minutes passed like hours, but were still gone all too soon.

  “I wish there was more time, so that I could repay the both of you.” Jone worked at the straps of her armor as she tried to get everything back in its proper place and managed to drop one of her heavy tassets on her own toe for the third time in a row.

  “That just means you owe us one,” Adrienne winked, adjusting her own fluffy bodice—along with the plate-and-mail underneath. “Now you gotta come back, or it ain’t fair.”

  Esmeralda rolled her eyes, picked up Jone’s tritanuim tasset, and fixed it in place with a single deft motion.

  “I swear,” the pirate said. “Sometimes I wonder how you became the most capable warrior in the seven skies.”

  “That’s my bad,” Rote replied.

  “So do I,” Jone responded with a smile. With a glance to the side, she noted movement just outside the cracked door. She struggled not to blush again and utterly failed. “Time to go.”

  They both threw their arms around each other and traded one last kiss apiece. “And you’d better come back,” Esmeralda growled against her lips, just before Adrienne dragged her away. “Or else!”

  Armor and composure finally reassembled, Jone stepped out into the tunnels, to find Lady Bellamy and Lady Grey both ahead in the shadows, deep in conversation.

  “Yeh ready then, lass?” Stewart asked, settling his heavy metal visor into place. “Bloody road ahead.”

  Jone wondered for a moment where her own helmet had gone, but it was too late now. “As I’ll ever be, I think.” She wasn’t nervous, precisely.

  Well, maybe a little.

  It was time for this to be over.

  They waited in silence for a few moments, giving the Bellamy family their space.

  “Yeh sent ‘em away cause yeh love ‘em,” he said quietly.

  There was no point in denying it. Jone
nodded.

  “Yer plan’s good, but we still might've needed ‘em before the night’s done,” he commented. Then he took a massive breath. “But… I had something similar happen to me once, long ago. And I wish I’d done the same as yeh did tonight.” His dark eyes flickered. “We’ll see this over and done soon enough, lass. Then yeh can go home.” He glanced to Garm, to both Bellamys, to the darkness ahead. “Then we can all go home.”

  She’d been a soldier for so long that the thought was almost frightening.

  “Well…” Rote mused, her honeyed voice so quiet Jone could barely make it out. “Maybe we should be scared. Just a little.”

  Oh? How so?

  “Has anyone else considered the wisdom in cornering a Dragon in its own lair?”

  Jone swallowed hard, and with that thought in mind, led them into the darkness.

  5

  Vanguard

  Garm rejoined them and kept pace at Jone’s side as she led them further through the tunnels, guiding them through the darkened twists and turns, past recently unlocked doors and the rubble of ancient collapses. Jone found it was easy to follow the tall, strong woman from the subtle glow of the dark-piercing goggles she’d donned; she glanced back to find the others doing the same.

  Especially Sir Stewart, who turned a little redder each time someone noticed him staring.

  Between both mother and daughter Bellamy, none of the underground sentries lived long enough to lay eyes on them. Instead, the Elizabethian soldiers died silently in the dark, bleeding their last out against the walls of half-forgotten storm drains and sewer tunnels.

  Soon, Jone told herself. Soon, we can stop doing this.

  Their midnight foray came to a stop at the bottom of a shallow, shadowed cistern. Steaming water stirred sluggishly, lapping at the sides of Jone’s boots as gas-powered street lights cast a steady, unwavering glow through the heavy grate above.

  “Why did we stop?” the Arcadian kept her voice to a whisper, just in case. “Are we lost?”

  “No,” the elder Bellamy shook her head, watching Garm unhood a small lantern and use its light to cautiously peer upward. “This is as far as the tunnels can take us.”

  “Yeh said they’d take us to Drake’s tower,” Stewart took the opportunity to rest his massive mace against the wall and stretch, his back and heavy armor creaking after having spent so long stooped over. The Highland Chief made a show of surveying his limited surroundings. “I expected a Dragon t’ lair somewhere a bit more grand.”

  Garm snorted, sporting a thin smirk beneath her goggles. “It’s a handful of streets over. Be happy we made it this close; the patrols are heavy since you signed that alliance.”

  “As well they should be.” The Highlander grunted proudly.

  “And as to why we’re stopping,” Samantha addressed Jone’s question before she could repeat it, “it’s because we’re waiting for that distraction you ordered before—”

  Blinding white light washed over them without warning, stabbed down from above and seared away the shadows clinging to the cistern’s sides. Bellamy pinned Jone and her daughter to the wall in an instant, shielding them protectively with her body as she stared upward. Behind her, Garm cursed and staggered, stripped off her night-piercing eyewear and clutched at her head.

  Stewart steadied her with a huge hand and thumbed down his faceplate. “What—”

  “Shhhhh!” Bellamy hissed.

  “It’s an airship, far above. And it’s definitely not alone.”

  At Samatha’s bidding, they huddled against the walls and shielded their eyes against the intrusive glare as the seconds crawled past.

  Until finally, it moved on.

  “But it doesn't seem like they were looking for us,” Rote finished. Jone could feel the spirit relax, and some of her own tension fled as well. “At least, I don’t think so.”

  As everyone else breathed a sigh of relief, Bellamy straightened her armored corset and looked to Jone. “Push a few pulses of power to Es and Adie. Make sure they know we’re ready. We should move soon, before the airships pass this way again.”

  Jone nodded and did as she was told.

  “And once it begins, I’ll lead us to the Royal Tower,” Lady Grey explained. “We’ll move quickly, but avoid patrols, and as long as we overwhelm the Tower’s door guards near-instantly, we should be able to enter before Drake or the men stationed there become aware. Though how long that will last once we break in, there’s no way to know.”

  “A warning, though,” Garm cautioned, tucking her goggles back into the heavy ammunition satchel that hugged her hip. “The Tower Royal was built before Elizabeth’s time. It’s an old, sturdy, fortified place that has seen more war than all our eyes combined. Royalty and skyfaring war-lords used it as a command center and last line of defense for an age, long before Elizabethia bore the Queen’s name.”

  “So it’s no easy capture,” Stewart rumbled quietly. “Good.”

  “It’s a maze,” she retorted. “And with all the traps, alarms, and hidden garrisons inside? Let’s just say I hope you’re not all size and talk.” She tilted her head back and gave the massive Highlander a stare.

  The cistern rumbled gently with Stewart’s mirth. “I’ll show yeh my mettle soon enough, lass,” he grinned. “Try t’ keep yer small-clothes on when I do.”

  Garm rolled her eyes and looked away, but her thin smirk returned.

  “Ugh. I hope we don’t have to watch the entire mating display. I much prefer yours.”

  Jone shook her head.

  Then she paused.

  “...What’s that sound?” she whispered.

  Everyone fell silent; in a few moments, she didn’t need Rote’s enhanced senses to hear the distant whistling sound as it grew swiftly closer, louder.

  Her eyes went wide.

  “Down!” Jone bellowed as she tackled both Bellamys to the steaming stone.

  The whistle hit a fever pitch as something big detonated violently on the street above. The ground kicked beneath them, spasming as cobblestones split and cracked. Overhead, dust rained down and the rusted steel grate rattled in place as more impacts echoed through the city streets.

  “I think the fleet got yer message, lass!” Stewart rumbled urgently, trying to stay on his feet. “Maybe we should leave ‘fore yer friends bury us in here?”

  Jone nodded and picked up the pair of damp, displeased-looking Bellamys. She glanced to Garm. “You heard him. Go!”

  The Elizabethian soldier nodded sharply and braced herself, reaching for the rusty ladder lurking in the shadows, but paused as Sir Stewart simply straightened, reached up, and flipped the grate open. Then she blinked sharply in shock as he took her by the waist and tossed her through. “Next?” He held out a hand to Jone.

  With a smirk of her own, she handed him one Bellamy, then threw a protesting Sam through on her own and leapt out after her.

  Jone landed in a crouch and held out a hand to the Highlander Chief. Samantha and the Lady Grey both flipped over midair, landing lightly on their toes beside a stumbling, cursing Garm. The Arcadian dug in her heels as she gripped Stewart’s massive gauntlet—

  —then winced, watching as a cannonball the size of a horse landed on a two story building a few streets away, crushed it flat and set the rubble alight.

  She froze, staring.

  I can’t… Those are my ships. Bombing houses. What if civilians… Rote, this isn’t right.

  “Not now!” Rote’s urgency hit her hard, started her body moving before she realized it. “Drake! The bigger picture! Focus!”

  Mechanically, she helped pull Sir Stewart through the almost too-small grate, then heaved him to his feet after the huge man tumbled gracelessly onto the cobblestones. Her eyes fell on the sturdy whitestone spire that poked above the other buildings and threw her mailed fist out toward its silhouette. “Tower!” She commanded. “Now!”

  “Follow me!” the Lady Grey didn’t bother to lower her voice as she darted toward a nearby side stree
t; already, shouts rose all around them, both near and far, soldier and citizen, but all of them were dwarfed by the deafening rain of artillery that fell on the city.

  My artillery.

  “Not. Now.” Rote pushed her into a sprint that swiftly overtook everyone but Lady Grey herself.

  Jone couldn’t help but look around during their mad dash through the shadowed side streets and back alleys. The spires of steel, gold, and brass were still there, their colors muted by ash, dust, and lack of light. The once-abundant steam and spirit generators were mostly shut down, as were half the steady streetlights, leaving pools of untouched night to match the globes of glowing gas. But most striking were the people—or the lack thereof. While most goodly folk would never be awake and out of doors this late anyway, these empty streets still felt abandoned from where dust and debris had accumulated against doorways and the boarded-over fronts of once-fine shops that lined the marketways.

  Elizabethia had certainly changed since her last visit, and not for the better.

  Vaulting over a shallow, sagging roof gave her an even better view: so many homes boarded over, with darkened, shattered windows staring out at the world. She ignored the squads of soldiers and militia that rushed along the cracked city streets, hastening to defensive positions or to put out fires. Instead, her eyes found the crumpled spots in the dark between buildings: houses and libraries and arcaneums long reduced to rubble at her command. Defending against invaders, driving out occupying forces, that was one thing. But this...

  Rote hissed in frustration. “It’s not just you, okay? Drake could end this at any time. He could surrender, like his own Council of Lords wanted, instead of executing them. He could protect his people instead of taking their resources, instead of hunkering down in the middle of a residential district. He could come to us and fight instead of—”

  A stream of white light slammed down, bleaching the color and shadow from their surroundings. Jone cursed, spots dancing across her vision, and fell. She slid along the cobblestones, her tritanium breastplate threw up sparks as a siren blared its warning into the night, and a second piercing spotlight stabbed through the haze of steam to join the first.