“I’m going to pay one of these shops to enchant my coat,” Jade said as they neared the Dockyard. “I want the tails to swish behind me when I walk, like there is a constant breeze around me. They do that sort of thing, right? I’m sure there’s no limit to what an enchantment can do if you ask. What’d you think?”
“Sounds ridiculous.”
“Fantastic.”
The dockyard was one of the few open spaces in the capital. Instead of closely packed buildings, thick beams of iron made up the frame of the docks while white and grey cement formed a solid structure that jutted toward the skyline. There were ramps and stairs at various levels to reach the expanse of docking ports that provided the tethering and boarding of ships. Airships retained the shape and structure of their seafaring parents, their hulls groaning as they swayed on the breeze instead of waves.
The Maiden’s Last, formerly under the captaincy of Markos Shepard, currently presented white sails, a merchant sigil, and a hull disguised so that it read Westlain. A disguise was necessary for a pirate vessel in Azlemaine. With Vacua’s Royal Legion Headquarters sitting just a few blocks further downtown, docking was only done when strictly necessary. There was gossip of a very lucrative shipment heading out in a town south of the city. Shepard had been considering intercepting the cargo, but ultimately decided against it. Which is why Jade was glad of the stop for presenting her the opportunity to slip away with Shepard for the evening.
Jade and Liam approached the Maiden’s platform. Night had taken the bustle and activity from the docks and left the lolling ease of crewmen waiting out their scheduled departures. As they neared the platform, seven of the Maiden’s crewmen spotted them and rose from their card game. Jade held her breath. They started down the boarding ramp.
“Shit,” Jade said, she kept her head down and whispered to Liam, “Can you make out their faces?”
“Not in this light.”
“Oi, there. What’re the two of you doing back?” The voice was gruff, raspy. Could have belonged to anyone. His tone had an edge of suspicion, but no hostility. Not yet, anyway.
“I warned you this would happen,” Liam hissed. Jade glanced over as he worked twin knives into his hands. It was going to be that sort of night. She trusted Liam’s sense for a fight. He had never been wrong. Jade readied her muscles for quick action as the men sauntered ever closer.
“Warned me?” She hissed back, “Tradewind Pirates aren’t loyal to their captains...and we covered our bases with that Release you forged.” Her voice was rushed. “This will work, okay? We have his signature. We have the story. They’ll buy it.”
Liam swore under his breath. “My warning was about the men I suspected wouldn’t believe us. The ones walking toward us right now, Jade. Fuck. We should have taken care of them before—”
“Hey now, I asked a question.” The seven crewmen had stopped, close enough to hear and be heard even over the wind flapping into sails. “Shepard said you weren’t supposed to be back till morning. Why’s he not with you?”
“Boys!” Jade greeted with a flourish of enthusiasm while she eyed each in turn for weapons, “You didn't have to come all the way down here just to greet us.” In her mind, she was ticking off faces with what she could recall. The tall one liked guns, the skinny one an enchanted axe, the guy with the odious hat used a…??? “My friend and I were enjoying a bit of the city before we ship out tomorrow.”
The speaker, Raspy Voice, narrowed his eyes, “I said, where’s Shepard?”
“He sent me, actually. Said I could deliver something for him while I was out, since he was a bit too shitfaced to make it himself. Not that I blame him, after a night like we’ve had.” She paused for effect, “See, we got to playing cards, all friendly at first. But the wagers kept getting higher, and well, tonight was just my lucky night. I won.” Liam passed the Release form into her waiting hand.
“Release of Command. Got his signature right here,” she said while maintaining the illusion of ease and confidence in her posture. She sensed Liam tense behind her, confirming the shift in atmosphere. These men were now on alert.
“Let me see that.” Raspy Voice snatched the offered paper and began to read, tilting it up to a street sphere for light. Jade smiled on, working nonchalance into her movements to disguise that she was positioning herself to better draw her new revolver.
“That’s an awful nice jacket,” one of the others—Hector?—commented. Hal. She wanted to say Hector. Henry. No, his name was definitely—maybe Tad?
S’not a jacket you horse-faced choking hazard. Aloud she said, “What a gentleman, that Markos, allowing me to use it despite his loss.”
Maybe-Tad shook his head, “Yeah, don’t think so. That doesn’t sound like Shepard.”
Raspy Voice finished his inspection, looking up with a grin that sent warnings blaring throughout Jade’s gut. “This doesn’t look like the Captain’s signature.”
“Well, that is odd. He signed it, but, you know, he was rather drunk. Is there, perhaps, anyone else on board that might recognize his handwriting? His drunken handwriting?”
“No, I was the one that handled the papers. I got an eye for it, I know a forgery when I see it.”
“And no one else, aside from you, would be able to tell?”
“That’s what I just said.”
Jade sighed in relief and drew her revolver in one, fluid motion. “Wonderful, I was honestly worried for a second.” She aimed for his head.
Liam shoved her just as she fired. The shot caught Raspy Voice in the ear. His wails echoed off the surrounding buildings.
“You can’t kill them, moron.” Liam used the seconds of confusion to knock one of the men clean out with a punch.
“Why not—oh, yeah. Right. We don’t want to be arrested for murder, just piracy.” Jade focused on the gun and thought of non-lethal rounds. The enchantment began to glow. Rounds clicked in the chamber, cycling through as the enchantment obeyed her thoughts and fabricated new ammunition. “This not-killing is going to make this difficult.”
The five remaining men were now on the defensive, drawing their weapons and backing up a few paces. Liam was at her side. Five against two. And no killing.
She took aim and blasted the man with the terrible hat in the face. At that range, even a non-lethal would be a serious injury, but she really hated that hat.
CHAPTER TWO
PLANS ARE SET IN MOTION, PLANS HIT A SNAG, PLANS GO TO FUCKING PIECES
1
There was no alternative. It had to be him. This mission was everything. His plan. His initiative. His career. Commander Tallius chose to trust him and Dian’s promotion was riding on that trust. A recommendation from Tallius would thrust Dian another year ahead of his schedule. With the credit for capture Dian, would finally have command.
He’d been given the reins for the duration of the mission. Awake since before dawn, triple checking every detail, it was now...some ungodly hour. A dark sky was speckled by stars overhead and an unseasonably warm breeze wafted through the docks. Still, his two airships were nearly prepped. The men were set to their tasks like clockwork. There was only one obstacle in his way.
Dian Faer hated flying.
Not just hated, he barely stomached air travel. Even as a boy, toted back and forth in the giant Genesis class airships from his mountain home to functions in the capital or to ceremonies at Legion HQ with an infant sister to entertain and rigid expectations to abide. Dian’s stomach couldn’t settle once in the air. His insides would squirm and roll in that semi-nauseated state that meant he couldn’t sleep through the worst of it. His mother and sister passed the long journey in dreams instead of sitting quietly under inspection by the Major while trying not to vomit.
This wouldn’t be like those long ago trips. He was an adult, for one, and—he hoped—his thoughts would be too occupied for him to dwell on airsickness. As a child, he learned to chew mint leaves plucked from the window sill garden his mother grew in their kitchen. He’d sneak the
leaves into his pockets and suck instead of chew so his father wouldn’t see his jaw moving. Now, the anticipation of air travel made his mouth water for mint. But he had run out ages ago and his visits home were infrequent.
At his side, Amir Jesiah was eyeing him with a raised brow. “You know, there were plenty of other volunteers for this,” he said, “It won’t matter that someone else goes undercover. Still your plan. You’ll get the credit either way.”
“But they might fail,” Dian countered, “I can’t take that chance. If things go wrong I need to be there, personally, to correct the error. I can handle it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can handle it. I’m not doubting your ability. Just your composure. You’re a little green around the cheeks.” Jesiah smiled, a natural gesture that molded seamlessly with his features. Jesiah was solid in build and character. A reliable, good-natured man though not an ambitious one. He was as close to a friend as Dian could claim. The two of them had followed similar career paths since their training at Ravencross. However, Dian continued to Oxbridge to become an officer while Jesiah claimed he was happy enough with steady pay and insurance.
“Mother always says stale crackers for uneasy flying,” Jesiah offered—and Dian had never had reason to doubt Mrs. Jesiah’s wisdom—but it was too late for that now. The cargo was about to be loaded and departure would be underway as soon as the clearance for the shipment arrived.
A corporal approached with a clipboard in hand, sauntering smartly. “How’re you doing today, sir? I have the final tally of cases here for your approval. The Commander cleared us for twelve.”
More than he anticipated. Twelve cases of Glint—though heavily fluffed with sand to minimize risk—was sufficient for Dian’s purpose. It was only a lure, anyway. Glint was the sort of temptation few pirates could resist. They needed it to maintain their ships and weapons, but a plentiful supply meant they could sell it to corsairs for a sizable profit. The supplies of Glint were strictly regulated by the Vacuan government. Not easily obtained outside the law.
The lure was for the capture of a pirate ship, but Dian had his sights set on a singular quarry. He would not count this mission a success unless it ended with the capture of the Maiden’s Last. He took the offered clipboard from the Corporal and added his signature.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll tell them to start loading up the Henrietta.”
They were docked in a small village outside Azlemaine, in the southern shadow of the Hassvian Mountains that bordered the Tradewind Route. The wind currents were optimal for coasting with large payloads and were trafficked mainly by merchant’s vessels. The Henrietta was an Empire class, smaller than Genesis, but faster and more likely to be transporting large stores of Glint along the Route. The airship appeared well maintained from a distance, though closer inspection showed the mismatch of paint used to cover damage or the brilliant shine of new parts contrasting older parts.
The docks were busy that day. Four airships were tethered to the few available platforms, a grid work of thick beams exposed so that he could see straight through to the rest of the village while the ships bobbed overhead. Next to the Henrietta was the Peregrine, named in the tradition of all Legion airships, after a deceased member of the royal family. It was resplendent in the waning sunlight with polished metal catching the rays and a neat grid of Glint running in tracks of golden light along its hull. It was built for air maneuvering and pursuit with a streamlined build and narrow sails. Painted in the bold Legion colors of white with purple trim the Peregrine was conspicuous, but it would be able to follow without difficulty and catch up when required.
As the time to departure neared, Dian wished he had taken more heed of Mrs. Jesiah’s stale cracker advice.
“Did you hear about the Chanters in Helvik?” Jesiah had idled by Dian’s side. Dian hadn’t checked the news in weeks, too consumed with his plans. Jesiah’s role in this was simply to board the Peregrine and wait. Dian would be aboard the Henrietta, keeping track of the cargo. He would signal when he had made the transfer of goods and the Legion would track the pirates’ airship until they landed and apprehension was more feasible. Dian and Jesiah would be departing for their respective ships once the crates were loaded. A distraction would be welcome.
“Chanters?” Some called them magicians, whispers and gossip from the uniformed. People born with the ability to enchant freely, without Glint, formulas, or any visible limitations. They started popping up here and there years ago, Dian might have been just a boy or even before his time—he wasn’t versed in the history—but now more and more had the ability. It made everyone else nervous.
“Chanters, with possible ties to the Free Chanters.”
“In Helvik?” Dian hadn’t thought anything could touch them behind their walls. But then, this wasn’t the sort of issue specific to a region or nation.
“Crazy, I know. They always seem untouchable up there.”
Dian traced his lips with his finger while he listened. Things were progressing toward dire if a country stronghold like Helivk had stirrings of Free Chanter activity. Helvik shared the northern border of Vacua and was known for its seclusion. They were the smallest nation by a large margin, though no one would question their strength. One only needed to hear the rumors of Helvik’s Iron Spectres to feel chilled. The Free Chanters were gaining too much momentum. There was known activity and organization throughout Vacua, Rowm, Rosewall, and Harrowind. But Helivk?
“What is Inquisitor Pyre’s official statement?” Dian asked, curious if their leader would make any announcements, however unlikely.
“None. We heard about it through their ambassador and Queen Havinnia released a statement.”
They were silent. Jesiah emanating unease while Dian preferred his own thoughts. It wasn’t good news, but it had provided the distraction from a queasy stomach Dian needed. It was time to board.
2
Jade dropped to one knee—which fucking hurt—so that Liam could jump over her in a quick, surprise maneuver that was more style than practical.
The five remaining crewmen scattered as Liam’s knives began slashing. They were driven backward, attempting to keep out of range, but that was a mistake.
Liam threw a knife. It caught one of the men in the shoulder, his sword dropping to the ground with a clatter. Liam’s blade had sunk into flesh right to the hilt and while the man wailed and gripped at his arm, the knife began to wiggle. The motion twisted the anguish of the victim’s screams into alarm, his cries echoing throughout the docks until the blade had pulled free with a squelch and spray of blood. It hovered, then flew back into Liam’s waiting hand. The entire weapon shimmered green-gold light as enchantment was spent.
One crewman—the smallest and with, apparently, the smallest balls—had turned his back on the fight and sprinted back to the ship. Jade aimed and fired. One more non-lethal smacking into his spine and propelling him to the ground, where he crumpled and lay still. She looked at the weapon in her hand, impressed. If he did survive, a hit like that to the spine...the damage from such a blow would still be substantial. But, it was the thought that counts.
One pirate—no, two if she counted Liam’s victim who was curled up on the ground sniffling—were adequately dispatched. Which left three remaining. Liam was opposite the axe wielder, dodging each mighty swing of the colossal weapon like a combat ballerina. If Liam had an art form, hand-to-hand would be his medium. Jade checked for the other two. The shadows were heavy where the light from street spheres was obstructed by the bulk of the docks. Maybe-Tad was in sight, trying to coax the shoulder-crier into standing, but the last one...where, oh, where could he—
Jade’s head cracked sideways. Adrenaline stunted most of the pain, but she could feel blood welling in her mouth from the blow. The unaccounted for crewman had managed to sneak up on her, using her blind spot to land a decent shot to her face. She spit onto the ground, taking great care not to get any blood on her new coat.
He raised his arm for another strike an
d Jade scattered out of range.
Her senses were shaken by the cheap shot, but her vision had narrowed and focused squarely on her attacker. Instinct and habit took over. She raised her hands, one as a fist the other still holding the revolver, and started swinging.
He was faster and Jade wasn’t so much a savant of hand-to-hand like Liam, but more of a punch-it-until-it-stops sort of fighter. He was faster, but she was more passionate. He deflected blow after blow, but Jade had the advantage of a pistol. The pistol was landing hard against his attempts to block and soon enough she struck one too many times. Her adversary dropped his arms, lending her the space she needed to punch once into his nose then sweep across his skull with the butt of her revolver. He dropped to the ground.
Winded, Jade returned to assessing the fight. The axe wielder was on the ground in a widening pool of crimson. Blood spurted from the socket where an eye had once been.
Liam was now engaged in a fast exchange with Maybe-Tad. Jade flexed her jaw, running her tongue over her teeth to check that none were missing. She raised her revolver to help, but it was impossible to get a clear shot with them moving so fast.
Maybe-Tad wielded an enchanted mace, each swing causing flashes of light and a sizzle of electricity whenever it connected with something solid. His gaze shifted past Liam toward Jade, now unoccupied and ready to double-team his ass. He backed off.
Jade grinned, readying her revolver.
But the retreat had been tactical. Maybe-Tad dropped down and picked up his comrade’s fallen weapon. He lifted the sword near his face and the entire weapon began to glow.
Mother of Vall. Maybe-Tad was a Chanter.
It was a mesmerizing display. Maybe-Tad seemed to pull Glint from the very air; light and energy pulsing around him. A Chanter crafted enchantments from pure instinct and desire, or that was the story. Jade had never seen one firsthand. He released the sword handle and it hovered for an instant before rotating mid-air. It spun like a compass needle until it found its North: Jade. She stared directly down the pointy end. It flew straight for her.
Catalyst (The Second Cycle Book 1) Page 2
