by Daniel Casey
“Abandoning us.”
Soren abruptly tossed the two great ledgers he had brought in with him onto the stone floor. They landed with a hard, echoing thud next to Kerr each sending up a plume of dust into the bright rays of light falling in from the high ceiling’s windows. The gesture silenced the alders.
“Here.” Soren’s voice was gravely now and boomed through the chamber, “Here are Wynne Landis’s finding about the alm you all had kidnapped by that perfidious corsair. The pirate who then tried to extort you for more treasure—a move only denied by Landis himself who arrived just barely in time to clean up your mess. You had a rapist steal away an alm. Most likely kill a paladin.” Soren looked around the room. “Let that sink in. You did it so that would could have a hostage to ransom.”
Kerr’s face was dark, “We all know why we did it.”
“Do you? Because I don’t think any of you truly grasp just how cowardly, desperate, and stupid that ‘strategy’ was.”
Soren leaned forward over the lectern, “Wynne knew immediately. The man who had been burying the suicides that had been attempting to break The Blockade. The man who had been living in a hovel eating rancid snails and gulls for nearly a year. The man who pulled this city together—for a second time—once we found him. He knew.”
“We don’t need a lecture…” Kerr said.
“No, no you don’t,” Soren cut him off and gestured to the ledgers, “Read for yourselves. That alm wasn’t some casual priestess. She was the adopted daughter of Sinclair Somerled. But you all knew that thanks so some mysterious contact in The Cathedral.” The door to the chamber opened a crack and Qala began to exchange whispers with whomever was on the other side. Soren noticed her slip out but didn’t let on as he continued to berate the alders.
“What Landis discovered was that that alm, Kira Ambrose, was scion to the Parmentier spire in Ardavass.” There was a collective seizure of breath from the alders. Kerr’s eyes narrowed but he stepped back slightly as the weight of this new information hit him.
“She has rights in the assemblage in the Seven Spires; she is an unacknowledged kyrio.”
Soren nodded as Qala slipped back into the room. She moved with serious intent now, Soren could see it on her face. She came up to the side of the lectern and gestured for Soren, he bent down to listen.
“There’s a fleet approaching.” Qala whispered.
“Reinforcements for the Blockade.” Soren suggested but Qala shook her head.
“This is a new fleet. A different fleet.”
“The Merchant Fleet? Another wave from the Spires? What do you mean?”
“These ships, they look…” Qala shook her head baffled, “They look like ancient Lappalan vessels.”
“Lappala?” Soren muttered, “But…”
“There’s thousands of them.” Qala gave her brother a hard long stare, “I’ve never seen this many ships. I’ve never even heard or read of so many.”
Soren rose back up startled and drifted back to the lectern. The alders had been grousing among themselves trying to process what Soren had revealed about the alm and The Cathedral. He raised his hand to regain their attention, “Because of her lineage and the laws of the Light, Landis was sure that the alm was sent forth to be killed or captured by us. Thus allowing The Cathedral to sanction not just the Spires siege of our city but annexation of our nation of Essia.”
The alders irrupted, but Soren spoke over them, “Landis does not believe that Sinclair has the leverage he needs yet to acquit this move. We are waiting, my friends. We are waiting for Landis to unmask Sinclair’s conspiracy to steal away our lands.”
“There will be war.” Kerr muttered.
“Landis believes he can avert it.” Soren quietly replied. Kerr shook his head and disappeared into the throng of animated alders talking over each other.
Qala tugged on Soren’s shoulder, “You need to see this.”
The meeting was over, “Alders! Alders, please.” Soren again tried to bring them to heel. “We need to continue as we have been. We are rebuilding this city one brick at a time. Right now, we need to organize ourselves and stay united. I will soon be speaking with many of you individually as we move into the next phase of Prime Alder Landis’s plan. Please be patient.” There were shouts of dissent and some disgruntled scoffs but most of the alders seemed satisfied with Soren’s words. They certainly didn’t envy him the position Wynne had left him in.
Qala’s tug became a firm grip as she escorted Soren through the crowd of alders to the far end of the chamber where they exited through a tall, skinny door that lead to a thousand short stairs. She pulled him along, “The best vantage will be Crown Apex. I’ve men there now gathering information.”
Soren pulled his arm free and continued up the stairs behind Qala. “How many?”
“Several. Each with a monocular recording details of the advancing fleet’s ships. Well, not advancing really.”
They had moved to a brisk trot as they ascended and soon the spiraling stairway opened to a wide walkway that overlooked not just the Rikonen harbor but also the Novostos Sea. Soren saw the black line of linked ships that made up The Blockade.
Qala nudged him to look beyond out over the Novostos. As he did, he could make out a dark wide mass. Qala handed him a monocular and as he brought it into focus, the fleet revealed itself to him. These were Lappalan ships, as though they had jumped right out of the storybook pages.
But there were other ships, huge ships that were so mammoth Soren could barely believe it, “What the…”
Qala nodded, “They’re some kind of new vessel. I’m just guessing but they seem to be at least three hundred yards long. We don’t know yet if they’re cargo vessels or something else.”
“What cargo though?” Soren muttered as he stared through the monocular, “They’re not moving. They’re anchored?”
“Seems so,” Soren put down the monocular and turned to listen to Qala, “When my people spied it coming they kept quiet, not sure they were in their right minds. Once they got close enough to make details out, then they came and got me. Apparently, they’re in range to see The Blockade and that must be why this armada has stopped in its tracks.”
“But something this size,” Soren gestured toward the sea, “could surely bully its way through The Blockade. There must be a thousand ships there.”
“We don’t know if it’s a military fleet or a trade fleet. Maybe they don’t have the personnel to attack.”
Soren shook his head still in disbelief, “Still. Still.”
“I know.” Qala guided him along the walkway to a different vantage, her tone softened as she asked, “Do we know for certain Lappala knows about The Blockade?”
“How could it not?” Soren said incredulously.
“I know, I’m just saying. News travels slowly, especially when it has to cross the Ragan Mountains or travel the Novostos and Avostos before getting to trek across the arid Aral to Lappala.”
“You think that they…”
“Thought maybe it was going to be a short-lived thing? Decided to pick a side and constructed this armada to aid that side? I don’t know.” Qala shrugged, “But not knowing...”
“This changes things.” Soren squinted trying to see the fleet without the aid of the monocular.
“Yeah, but what things?” Qala asked.
“Everything,” Soren turned jogged back towards the stairs, “for everybody.”
The Blockade
Admiral Lesur was not a fat man, but he had grown soft these pass three years. He had come to realize that his appointment to command The Blockade had not been a boon. At first, in Elixem he had been damn eager to not just make the shortlist but also be the admiral. Lesur had poisoned the right kyrios in Ardavass against his only real rival, Vivao Paternii, by revealing the marshal’s overly affectionate relations with the Cathedral’s novices.
The young Kyrio Knowles was easily disgraced by encouraging him to use heavy-handed tactics to quell an agrigy
protest over crop pricing. Finally, a wicked bargain with Kyrio Alois gave him the commission. He should have known when Alois had refused to barter with him and gave in to his request immediately, he wasn’t asking for anything of value.
No one thought The Blockade would last. Either the Cathedral would step in to put things right or the Spires isolationist factions would end the siege calling the marines home. Lesur thought taking command would fast track him to a landed position; he would be one of the new lordlings. Instead, The Blockade had calcified. His dispatches were progressively ignored. He oversaw new marines, always inexperienced and barely trained, and waited. There was no opportunity for glory here.
Lesur rose from his chair and shuffled to his cabin’s bar cabinet. Taking up a crystal carafe, he poured into a tall glass far too much Elixem gin. He caught his reflection in the mirror above his glassware. His face was fatter than when he had left. It wasn’t age, but boredom. He turned away in disgust. Crossing the room again moved toward his cabin’s window, which looked out over the Novostos.
These days drink was sating his depression, but he found his anger required more and more to stay muted. He raised his glass and drank deep, closing his eyes, he saw an even red as the light reflecting off the water outside bathed over him. The Spires had its knee on Rikonen’s throat but his superiors wouldn’t allow him to put the city out of its misery. Slowly choking Rikonen to death was draining him of his resolve.
There was a knock on his door. Before he could respond, Baxter, his valet, entered, “Sir, Commander Moxley is here. He claims it’s urgent.” Lesur didn’t turn around or respond. Baxter nodded and disappeared for a moment into the dark the hall.
There was a rattling as Moxley entered, “Admiral.” He stood at attention but Lesur carried on ignoring him. He finished his drink, and then held the glass out to his side. Moxley was becoming uncomfortable, toying with the idea of speaking when Lesur wiggled his glass. Moxley came forward gingerly taking the glass and stepping back. He hesitated, wondering if he should set the glass down or refill it. Lesur betrayed nothing as he gazed out the window.
“Sir, if I may…” Moxley stuttered. He held the glass like it was a foreign object. “Shall I get you…?” He muttered.
“You’re not from Ardavass are you Moxley?” Lesur said evenly.
“Yes sir,” Moxley spoke slowly, “I mean, no, I am not. My family seat is in Bandra. But I have lived in the Spires since I was a boy.”
“Bandra,” Lesur scoffed, “The only city more zealous than Sulecin.”
Moxley said nothing as Lesur turned slightly, “Are you some religious nut? One of those Bandran puritans with the gold fetish.” Contempt filled his voice, but it was clear he was merely using Moxley to entertain himself.
“Admiral, we have spotted something that demands your attention.”
Lesur flicked his wrist at Moxley, pointing wildly at the bar cabinet. Moxley didn’t understand at first but them realized. He poured a finger into the glass from the open carafe and brought it to Lesur, who scrunched up his face in disappointment when he saw how little was in the glass.
“Go on then…”
“Sir, we have discovered an approaching fleet of ships.”
“Is there any other kind of fleet, Moxley?”
“What? Well, no, but…” Moxley shook head. “The point being Admiral that this fleet is not ours. It is not Silvincian.”
Lesur raised an eyebrow, “Merchants then?”
“No, sir.”
“Essians?”
“Absolutely not.” Moxley was adamant.
“So then…” Lesur twirled his fingers at the Commander.
“We are unsure.”
“Well, that’s helpful.” Lesur turned and moved closer to the window. He peered through the glass, gazing this time with purpose. On the horizon was a thick black blob. He couldn’t focus his eyes well enough to make out the ships, “Now that’s queer.”
“Would you like to view it better, sir?” Moxley stepped forward holding out a spyglass to him. Lesur snatched it away from him, flicked it out, and raised it to his eye.
“A fleet of what? Warships? Transports? A sea caravan?” Lesur asked as he focused the monocular. The fleet filled the iris, huge black vessels next to which sailed dreadnoughts, frigates, and galleons.
“Yes, I believe so.” Moxley said flatly.
“Lappala.”
“Sorry, sir?”
“There are Lappalan junks out there, the pennants are of the cartel.”
“How do you…”
“I’m a damn admiral.” Lesur snapped, turning on his heel, thrusting the spyglass into Moxley’s chest, brusquely brushing him aside. He made his way through the narrow hall to a stairway. What drunkenness he had been allowing himself to wallow in was quickly dissipating. He flung open the doors at the top of the stairs stepping out into the blinding light of a pristine blue sky. Moxley was fast on his heels, followed as well by Baxter.
“Sir shall I…” Baxter asked just behind Moxley, barely outside.
“Go.” Lesur barked. He pointed at Moxley, “We need three ships readied. The fastest bylanders we have. And we’ll need to send a proper ship out to that fleet.”
“How many men?”
“Skeleton crew and pick a fireteam you feel comfortable with, you’re going to the Seven Spires as soon as we figure out who they are. I need one of those ships sent east within the hour, simple courier.” Moxley was startled as Lesur bellowed to another commander, “I need a ship readied to head out to meet that fleet, and I need it fully manned.”
The commander hurried off as Moxley continued to stand behind Lesur. “Sir, what exactly is your intention?”
“We need to find out whose fleet that is and what they want. We need to ready The Blockade because it cannot be broken. And we need to notify the Spires as quickly as possible.”
“I’m going to the Spires?”
“After I come back from that fleet. And even if I don’t.”
“But sir.”
“They’ll listen to you in the Kyria; you’ve been groomed for the assemblage since you were a boy.” Lesur began to button his coat as he looked out toward the mysterious fleet shaking his head, “They’ve nothing but disdain for me there, but you’ll fair better.”
“I don’t think it’s wise for you to go, we have no idea of what that fleet is capable of.”
Lesur turned and slapped Moxley on the shoulder, “Exactly. Finally a bit of drama.”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate…”
Baxter had appeared again seemingly out of nowhere, holding the Admiral’s sabre and gloves. Lesur began to further straighten himself, “You will take command should something happen to me. If nothing happens, then I will send you to the Spires to with all the information I’ve been able to glean.”
“Admiral Lesur, I have to protest. I should be the one going to meet this Lappalan fleet.” Moxley asserted.
“If it is from Lappala, meeting with the second-in-command will yield us nothing. They will feel slighted, and we will be in no better a position than we are now. I must go.” He waved Baxter off; the valet disappeared down the stairs to the Admiral’s cabin. “The Aral hasn’t set to sea in centuries. This…happening,” he waved his hand, “has no precedent. We need to approach this carefully and confidently and, my apologies Kieran, you aren’t there yet.”
Moxley smiled despite himself when Lesur used his first name. He understood, pulled himself to attention, saluted, and went to organize the ships and men needed. Lesur walked to the edge of the ship, he put on hand on the railing and let his other rest casually on the hilt of his sabre.
He remembered back when he was a boy and his nan use to tell him stories. Always of brazen adventurers who through some witchery were granted their fondest wishes and deepest desires. They got what they wanted when they had reached their lowest point and when their dreams came true they invariably twisted in such a way to be a nightmare. Those adventurers always
learned a valuable lesson. Yvor Lesur smiled as he imagined the lesson he would finally learn.
CHAPTER Two
17th of Samhain
North of Midhalm
Two riders on unsaddled steads burst from the forest. They raced into a large, open glade pulling up around the middle. One of the hooded riders spat as the other fought with limited success to bring its horse around. Once the horses were near to each other, the second rider pulled back his hood.
“What was all that about?” Goshen shouted.
“Fuck, you ride like shit.” Declan said casually as he slowly pulled his hood down. Not looking at Goshen, he stared back into the woods from where they had emerged.
“You didn’t say anything about stealing horses.” Goshen was trying to sound furious but it was clear to Declan that he was only going through the motions of outrage.
“We had no coin.” Declan replied flatly. “I think we lost them, but we shouldn’t stay here.”
“I’m going to fall off this damn beast.” Goshen was desperately trying to situate himself on the horse. The animal could tell he wasn’t a competent rider. Declan reached out grabbing Goshen by the upper arm to help straighten him.
“There’s no real trick, just hold the mane and the damn rope and use your legs like you would in a saddle.”
“I’m not in a saddle.” Goshen protested.
Declan scowled, “You need to get better at this.”
“Do I?”
“Don’t get snippy. I doubt this will be the last time we might need to pinch a few items.”
“These aren’t items. These are horses.” Goshen righted himself seeming for a moment to have stabilized.
“Of the two of us, it’s clear I’m the one that most knows just what they are.”
“Only just barely escaping farmers,” Goshen muttered.
“You think you’re better than that?” Declan chuckled and Goshen cracked a smile. “Those two boys nearly overtook you. You’re lucky their steads wouldn’t jump the fence.”
“I think this horse was just trying to buck me off.” Goshen mumbled.
