Chương 57: Chapter Fifty Seven

"They're moving, ma'am," the Majesty's Orb-Officer announced, her voice steady and professional.

"The Eyeglass confirms it."

"Finally," Tyana exhaled, her relief mingling with anticipation as she straightened in her command chair.

"Direction?"

"Straight for us."

"Of course they are." The elven woman's tone held a trace of irritation, but her orders were sharp and precise.

"Tell Eyeglass to maintain distance and report any changes in their heading or speed. Then prepare the home fleet for deployment. I want all crew at ready stations immediately." She leaned back into her chair, her gaze sweeping across the bustling bridge as it erupted into a hive of activity. Officers called out commands, runners darted between stations, and the rhythmic hum of machinery filled the air as aether shifted in different directions through the pipes – it was a symphony of controlled chaos.

More to the point, Tyana knew this scene was playing out across the capital's fleet, each ship coming alive with purpose as the Orb-Officer transmitted her commands to each ship in turn. Satisfied for the moment, she turned her attention to the horizon, her eyes narrowing as if trying to pierce through the distant haze to the unseen enemy that lurked beyond. The past two weeks had been a test of both patience and resolve for all of them.

For Tyana, Princess of Lindholm and admiral of its mighty fleet, the wait had been nothing short of excruciating. Pirate fleets weren't unusual. Pirate fleets with accompanying airship elements were. Not least of all because it meant they weren't pirates. Not with twelve airships. No, this was just another ploy by either the Lunites or Solites. The only question that came up when they noticed it was who said ploy was aimed at? Which was why they'd waited, allowing the enemy to gather.

Certainly, most of her command staff were of the opinion that the fleet's eventual destination was Lindholm itself, but neither Tyana or her mother were eager to make that theory a self-fulfilling prophecy by striking first. There was, after all, every chance that the fleet's true target was either a Solite or Lunite city – and that it was simply gathering where it was to bypass either side's usual coastal defenses. As for pretending to be pirates?

Well, it would hardly be the first time either side of the old Empire had chosen to cloak their atrocities behind the actions of 'rogue elements'. The gassing of Halmeshare leaps to mind, she thought. An act of horror supposedly performed by a band of outlaws who stumbled across an old imperial weapons lab. Never mind that said massacre neatly paved the way for a Solite advance into Northern Penbelle. And now it seems it's our turn to suffer the predations of 'bandits', she thought.

Either as a prelude to an invasion or some other ploy. Part of her now lamented not striking first, while the fleet was still gathering its waterborne elements, but it was a passing thing. Her and her mother's logic was sound. Had the fleet actually been intended for a destination on the old continent, then the threat would be dealt with without having to expend resources they might well need in the future. After all, isn't that the peak of strategy? To eliminate the enemy without fighting? She thought.

She didn't know where she'd heard the phrase before, some half forgotten Imperial text from her mother's library no doubt - but it seemed fitting in this case. Now though, Tyana intended to meet them in the open water and crush them before they even glimpsed the capital's spires. And yet, that was exactly what troubled her. Twelve ships, she thought grimly. It wasn't a small number - not by any stretch. Yet it was still dwarfed by the number of ships she had on hand.

Even with parts of the Royal Fleet engaged in routine patrols, the capital fleet outnumbered the enemy nearly three times. Their superiority in firepower was unquestionable. A decisive victory for Lindholm was all-but assured. And the enemy had to know that. Likewise, the water-based fleet accompanying the airships gnawed at her curiosity. Those ships weren't built for direct combat in the skies. Their only conceivable purpose was as troop transports, though if this was an invasion force, it likewise was too small.

And again, with too small a screen of airships, the capital fleet would have ample time to crush its opposing flight capable vessels before turning around and sinking the water-based ships with impunity. After all, even if her own fleet would intercept the enemy half-way between their current location and here, that was still hours of sailing time. Her jaw tightened as her thoughts churned. There was too much she didn't know here.

"Inform the Royal vassals of the ongoing threat," she ordered, her tone sharp.

"Order them to prepare for deployment over the capital. They'll form the strategic reserve."

"Ma'am," an officer asked hesitantly, "do you think we'll need them?"

"No," she replied, her voice cool.

"Which is why I want them ready. Someone's playing a game here, and I don't like it. Should the other shoe drop, I intend to be prepared." The officer saluted and hurried off, leaving Tyana to her thoughts. They flitted, briefly, to one particular vassal. Perhaps it would be worth speaking with him after this battle was won? If nothing else, she was curious as to what he'd done with the Jellyfish. It would also be interesting to meet the man who once upon a time had been a candidate for her hand in marriage.

Her mother had been quite enthusiastic about the topic given his 'genius'. Tyana's own interest had been a great deal cooler. Oh, she'd been fascinated and overjoyed by the man's innovations.

'Kraken-Slayer-Powder' was… otherworldly in its potential applications. Especially when combined with similar principles from the Spell-Bolt he'd created. As the admiral of the fleet, Tyana was very interested in William Ashfield. Tyana the woman however, was ambivalent. As she always was when it came to the fairer sex. Oh, she liked a saucy lad as much as any naval woman, but her true consort was at the end of the day her career and fleet. Marriage… just didn't hold much appeal.

Which was why she'd been more than a little relieved when the topic of her upcoming nuptials suddenly disappeared entirely from conversation but a few months ago. With the same holding true for her sisters. That, more than anything, had made her curious. Not enough to seek the man out herself, and risk the possibility of the topic of marriage reviving itself, but curious enough that she could… meet him coincidentally.

Under a different guise, that of a woman staking out a possible asset to the fleet rather than a husband, she could admit to being very interested in meeting William Redwater.

"Radios operational?" she asked softly, though she already knew the answer. The Radio-Officer stood to her right - a new and temporary role - responded with a crisp salute. Though it felt stilted. …Off.

"Yes, ma'am." Likely because the woman behind her was no true navy woman. The role of radio-officer, for now, was being filled by vetted palace staff, trained in absolute secrecy. Eventually, once the system was fully unveiled, their duties would be absorbed into the Orb-Officer's responsibilities. For now, however, their work remained a closely guarded secret. Looking over at the non-descript woman, Tyana allowed herself a moment of disdain.

These women were undoubtedly part of her mother's extensive intelligence network. Spies, she thought with distaste. And I invited them onboard. And it was entirely possible this woman wasn't even of noble lineage. As effective as the Royal Guard were, their numbers were limited, necessitating her mother's web of informants be made up of both 'regular' mages and even commoners.

"Do you intend to use the radios in the coming fight, ma'am?" the officer asked.

"No," Tyana replied with perhaps a bit more briskness than was strictly necessary.

"I'd prefer to save the unveiling of that capability for a real battle. Still, better to be prepared." The officer nodded silently and returned to her post with another salute.

"All stations reporting ready," the Orb-Officer – an actual officer - called out." Eyeglass reports enemy fleet maintains its course." Tyana nodded firmly.

"Set heading for intercept. All fleet elements, full speed ahead." As the ship surged forward, and her orders rippled through the fleet like a wave, she tried to ignore the uneasy weight in her stomach. The nagging sense that something wasn't quite right persisted. But there was little else she could do now except keep her eyes open and her mind sharp. It was all anyone could do.

"Don't like this. Don't like this one bit," Kanna, pirate queen of the southern shores, muttered miserably from her position on the forecastle, her sharp eyes fixed on the Lindholmian airship that had been trailing them for days now. … The Lunites had made no attempts to chase it off either. Not that they'd succeed. Even from this distance, she could tell the picket ship wasn't a scrapper. It was built for speed. And spying.

Which meant the enemy knew they were coming – and if they were hoping to perform a repeat of the last two invasion attempts, were going to be doing so via an oversea intercept. Her second-in-command, ever the pragmatist, snorted.

"So you keep telling me. And yet you still took the gold."

"Under duress," Kanna grumbled, her grip tightening on the railing. It wasn't as if she'd had much choice in the matter. Not after twelve airships dropped out of the clouds, their massive hulls bristling with weaponry and all too ready to sink anyone fool enough to run.

"Relax," the other woman scoffed.

"Airships'll focus on other airships. And while they're busy with each other, we slip through the cracks, hit the capital, stir up as much shit as possible, and we're gone. With all the loot we can carry and a bunch of reward money in the hold to boot. Easy." Kanna rolled her eyes. Easy was not how she'd describe things. Still, the plan wasn't bad per se. In her limited experience, airship combat was an entirely different beast to true-blue naval combat. Mostly because it took place in the sky.

Being able to fight in three dimensions changed things considerably. For one thing, formations could now overlap their fields of fire a lot more easily without worrying about another ship getting in the way. Sure, firing up and down got a little more complicated, what with the need to tilt the ship, but that was what harnesses were for. To that end, airships didn't spread out the way sea fleets did. They didn't form lines. They formed arrows.

Giant floating arrows that were designed to punch through the center of the enemy formation before moving on to either side for a defeat in detail. Like two schools of fish attempting to shear off parts of the other's formation, she thought. Or at least, that was the general idea.

Kana was sure there were a lot more specifics and variations on the theme than that, but on those occasions in which she'd been speaking to women who happened to crew airships, she'd been less interested in their vocation and more the contents of their undergarments. Point was, airships were at their most effective when grouped together. Like a clenched fist.

Which theoretically meant the enemy admiral wouldn't be splitting off ships to hunt down dozens of smaller water-based ships until the main threat from the Lunite airship fleet was dealt with. And even if she did dispatch a few ships, they'd only be able to pick off one group at a time. The majority would be safe. In theory. Kanna didn't much care for theory. She cared even less for the idea of being caught alone by an airship with no support around to hide behind.

A few heavy rounds from above, and being the best sailor in the world wouldn't save you. She sighed, leaning on the railing. Fucking airships.

"Got protection, too," her second added, gesturing skyward.

"Lunites have us covered." Kanna grimaced, her eyes narrowing at the low-hovering fleet above. The Lunite airships were maintaining a mere hundred meters of altitude above the water. Which, again, made no sense. Sure, outwardly, it looked like they were shielding the pirates' wooden vessels from the incoming fleet, but that was a stupid move even by her reckoning. Altitude mattered in a fight. Ignoring cannons and shit, it was why a water-based ship was little more than a sitting duck to an airship.

It was easier to drop shit from on high than throw shit upwards. Likewise, it was easier to lob shit further when you were already high up. In short, an airship wanted to be as high up as its aether chambers allowed for. Yet that wasn't what the Lunites were doing. So what the fuck is the plan here?

While one could, and was expected to be able to, launch a shard in as little as five minutes, the onloading of an airship was a significantly more laborious process. Didn't help that while most airships existed at a near constant state of semi-readiness, the Jellyfish was not most airships. Watching as Corsair-M's were wheeled up ramp to join the 'empty' frames already occupying the Jellyfish's hangar space. Beyond, Bonnlyn waited anxiously while Olzenya tried to drag her away.

Beyond, Verity and Marline were talking. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Are you sure about this?" Xela asked.

"If we're going to sortie, I want the Jellyfish as ready as we can make him," William answered dispassionately.

"That means bringing the full complement."

"People are going to ask questions. Like, why we felt the need to sortie with a hanger full of 'useless' frames." William laughed. Going into combat with carrier space full of empty frames when the market was desperate for them? Yes, that would raise some eyebrows.

"No one is going to ask questions because no one is going to find out. You can't see into the hangars from the outside." …Though they might run into trouble if any of the local airfields requested berthing aboard his 'carrier' to give them an elevated take-off position. He considered it unlikely though. Any incoming attack would be visible from miles out, which would give allied shards ample time to climb to their max altitude even if they were launched from an airfield rather than an airship.

"The crew will know they're still onboard. Someone will talk. Someone already has talked," Xela prompted.

"Should that happen, we'll deal with it after the fact." Rumors from a crew member telling tales were both easier to deny and would take longer to circulate. By which point… Well, it might be time for the ruse to come to an end anyway, he thought with muted anticipation. The current word was that, at long last, Lady Summerfield's hair had started to grey. Which, while not exactly significant for a human, was of great significance to an elf – given that they tended to be ethereal and ageless…

right up until they weren't. As if some kind of magic was falling away – and it likely was – an elf could go from looking like they were in the prime of their life to essentially a shriveled husk in little more than six months. Apparently, it was a rather grim process all round. To the extent that the most terrifying thing a soldier could come across on the battlefield was to see an enemy combatant remove their helmet to reveal grey hair.

It meant they were facing a foe who not only had no plans to see tomorrow, but also nearly a hundred and eighty years of combat experience as a warrior and a mage to call upon. Though he highly doubted that was the route Lady Summerfield planned to take, given her continued comatose state. Still, a final confirmation that her days could now be numbered in months meant that each of the claimants to her seat would now be preparing for war in earnest. For his part, William wasn't too concerned.

His pilot candidates had been under Xela's tutelage for just under eight months now. As far as he could remember, in the earliest days of World War Two, the RAF could have a trained pilot in as little as six – though it was considered far from ideal. To that end, ideal or not, as far as he was concerned, any time beyond this moment was a gift unasked for in terms of preparing his people.

Once the war finally started he'd be able to unveil his new creations in such a way that they could neither be hidden nor his contributions easily swept under the rug. Nor could he be sidelined politically once he had the backing of the new rulers of the Summerfield duchy. With those feats, combined, in one fell swoop, he'd be able to create for himself a third power bloc to challenge both the North and the Crown.

And with Yelena no longer able to simply demand his aid in disarming the North, he'd be able to request concessions that would otherwise be… unthinkable to any ruling monarch. And if she refused? Well, he'd have access to near enough an entire duchy's worth of production power to craft a response that would convince Yelena of the validity of his point of view. At that point, even if he were revealed to be Harrowed, his success in the Summerfield succession crisis would render it moot.

"Make sure the instructors are present too," he added.

"They'll be acting as our squadron leaders in the event… anything happens." Which it wouldn't. The message they'd received said the Royal Fleet had departed to deal with a small taskforce out in the ocean. Some kind of pirate fleet that had lucked its way into an abnormally high number of airships. A number was high enough that a majority of the capital defense fleet was needed to deal with it in a 'risk free and decisive manner'.

So as a precaution, she was calling in support from the Crown's vassal territories to garrison the Capital in the Royal Fleet's absence. An understandable move, if a little annoying, he thought. Honestly, all this fretting was likely for nothing. They'd fly to the capital, float around for a few hours, get the all clear, and return home. Turning, he watched as a few crates of cannonballs – of the non-enchanted variety - were wheeled up the Jellyfish's ramp and resisted the urge to wince.

He'd been meaning to upgrade the ship's armament to something more… modern for a while now, but hadn't been able to free up the production capacity while his workshops were still focused on churning out both corsairs, engines, bullets and… smaller caliber guns. A process greatly slowed by the fact that the final assembly of all those things needed to be performed by him. Again, he had to remind himself that the time for secrecy was coming to an end.

"Already done," Xela said.

"Though you should know the twins have sent a request to use our airship as a berth once the vassal fleet gathers over the capital." William frowned.

"Think I can reject them without looking like an ass?" Xela's smirk was all the answer he needed to that question. He sighed.

"Fine. Permission granted. Just… see if you can't make sure the Basilisk either stays on the deck or gets stored with the M-Class. Under absolutely no circumstances are either of them to be let near the C-Corsairs without an escort. I don't want them getting 'curious' and popping a panel open." Xela laughed.

"Easiest way to do that is to invite them up to your cabin and pop one of your own panels."

"I… you know what, that's not a terrible idea." If nothing else, it'd make the waiting around a lot more enjoyable than it might be otherwise.

"What? No! I was joking!" His second in command shouted after him as he set off in the direction of the Jellyfish's gantry.

The pirate queen was no closer to getting an answer hours later when the Lindholmian fleet had turned from indistinct flecks in the sky into looming behemoths of metal and aether. Shards buzzed around the larger ships like flies on cattle. And unlike the Lunites, they held the high ground - if such a term could be applied to the sky.

It would have actually been a little amusing if her own life wasn't a stake in the fight to come, to see how the Lindholmian fleet seemed to hesitate at the sight of the Lunites hovering so low. It was a momentary thing, barely more than the time it took for them to rearrange their formation, but Kanna imagined she saw it all the same. Then they dove – like a hawk onto a grounded pigeon – the fleet started to descend. Not descending, they're just closing the range, Kanna realized.

From this distance, Kanna could already predict where they'd stop - around three hundred meters up. Two hundred meters was the effective range for enchanted cannon fire against steel hulled craft after all. In other words, the enemy fleet was descending just low enough to rain fire down on their foes with impunity. Not that that was her main focus.

No, that was on the six ships that broke off from the Lindhomian formation, descending faster than the others, they peeled away from the coming airship clash as they headed straight for the pirate fleet.

"Six!? You sent six!?" she cursed at the distant fleet.

"Was your brother buggered by a pirate or something!?" One or two would have been eminently survivable, but six ships would cut through the fifty sea-based vessels with ease. Even if they were spread out. There were hours of sailing ahead after all – and for every moment of it, those six would be picking ships off, one by one. Cursing herself for a fool for being roped into this, she clenched her fists as the Lunites finally began to make their own move – and promptly scattered.

Like a flower opening, the Lunite formation turned in all different directions, clearly intending to loop and turn around.

"Fuck," she spat, the wind whipping the curse from her lips.

"This is a trap. They're using us as bait!" A cold dread washed over her. She could almost feel the same panic rippling through the entire pirate fleet – and ironically, through the Lindholmians as well. There was a moment of stunned hesitation, then the inevitable pursuit. Not of the Lunites. The elven vessels, sleek and deadly, were built for speed and boarding actions. Most would have a crew of less than thirty – but of those, all would be mages.

By contrast, a Lindholmian vessel would have a crew of maybe eighty or more. And unlike their sleek elven cousins, the often human-womanned craft weren't sleek at all. Built like bricks, they were designed for ranged slugging matches, where they could get the most of its cannons and plebian crew. No, the Lindholmian fleet wouldn't be catching a Lunite one that didn't want to fight. But the pirates those Lunites had been escorting? Not so fast.

Still, at least with the immediate threat of Lunite retribution finally gone, Kanna could finally do what she'd been wanting to do for the past week.

"Hard to starboard!" she roared, her voice barely audible above the crashing waves. Her first mate echoed the command, relaying it to the crew.

"If we're not headed for the capital, they might not pursue." It was a vain hope. This many pirates in one place? The Lindholmians would be fools not to seize the opportunity to clean house. Though, perhaps they might hesitate? Preoccupied with whatever the Lunites were planning? After all, they'd gathered this fleet for a reason, even if they seemed content to abandon it. Kanna chewed on her lip, her mind racing.

Sea spray hit her face as the ship turned hard, but she ignored it with long practice as she wondered what all this was in aid of? Why bring them all out here? Why risk bringing a fleet over open water, where they were vulnerable? The gold that had lured them out here had not been cheap either. Kanna wouldn't have come for anything less than an exorbitant fee and she doubted her peers were any cheaper. All that gold would be sinking to the depths soon enough – along with the fleet that carried it. So why?

Then it hit her. A distraction. Or rather, a distraction within a distraction. Just as the pirates were a distraction for the fleeing Lunite fleet, that fleet was a distraction for something else.

"They knew the Lindholmians would choose to intercept them over water," she muttered.

"They knew they'd send a fleet out. But to what end?" Was there another fleet out here somewhere? If so, how was it staying undetected? Kanna scanned the horizon, the wind whipping her hair across her face. Somewhere beyond the churning waves, the Lunites were enacting their true plan, whatever it might be. She only hoped she lived long enough to find out what exactly it was – and get her revenge on whoever chose to make her an unwitting part of it.

"Think the fight's going ok?" Tailor asked, leaning against the railing of the lighthouse balcony. Below, the sea stretched out into the darkness, the rhythmic crash of waves against the rocks a constant lullaby.

"Whether it is or it isn't, we'll be the last to know," Sally responded with a wry smile, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Tailor snorted in amusement. Sally wasn't wrong. Guardswomen like them, were at the bottom of the information chain. News, especially about battles raging far away, might reach them about a second before it became common knowledge across the capital. Sometimes it reached them afterwards.

After all, being stationed out in the bay, the lighthouse wasn't exactly easy to reach even for the most fervent gossips. No, there was a decent chance the first news Tailor would get of the distant battle was when she knocked off for the evening. Still, she could live with that. As long as she got her silver each week, she wasn't one to complain.

Sure, being a guardswoman wasn't the most glamorous job in the world given that, in a world of mages who could conjure fireballs with a thought and pierce their enemies with automatic bolt-bow fire, what use was an ordinary woman with a sword? At least the sailors aboard airships had served some purpose in a fight by crewing the ship's aether-cannons. For troops garrisoned on the ground though, their options were a lot more limited without a mithril core to tap into.

Not non-existent - a few ballistae were mounted on the parapet below the lighthouse, but everyone knew they were mostly for show given that any attack ship's aether-cannons could easily outrange them even without an altitude advantage. No, the most Tailor could likely do if an enemy airship happened to fly overhead was hurl insults at it. Creative insults, mind, but still just words at the end of the day. Well, that and I could shine a light on it, she mused.

Which would ostensibly give defending ships an advantage by illuminating their targets – but at the end of the day that meant Tailors's contributions to any given fight relied entirely on-"There's something in the water," Sally interrupted her friend's thoughts, her voice sharp.

"Lights." Tailor followed her gaze and saw that sure enough, there were lights moving through the gloom. Now, that in and of itself, wasn't entirely unusual. The sea was teeming with biolumin- glowy creatures. Kelpie leapt to mind as the most immediate example. These aren't no kelpie though, she thought. Glowies tended to be blues, greens, reds or purples. And they were… softer. These… These lights reminded her of the lighthouse above her.

On another night, she might have dismissed it, perhaps making a note in the logbook of the sighting. But tonight, with the tension of the ongoing battle hanging heavy in the air, her instincts screamed danger.

"Get the searchlight on it," she instructed, her voice tight with urgency.

"Quickly." She listened as Sally moved to obey, but a sudden gurgle cut through the night. Tailor reached for her blade, her heart pounding, only to be struck by a wave of warmth spreading across her chest. She instinctively brought her hand up – it came away wet with blood. She tried to shout - to do something! - but no words came out. Her legs gave way, and she stumbled. Then she fell. The stone beneath her wasn't cold. It was warm. Like her chest.

Through blurred vision, she saw Sally crumpled on the ground nearby, shadowy figures standing over her.

"Sentries are down," one of them said in a gruff accent that Tailor vaguely recognized from the docks.

"Signal the fleet." Tailor watched with a strange sense of detachment as one of the figures moved to the lighthouse and began flashing the shutters strangely. She needed to… stop that… She needed to… do something… Her body refused to cooperate. So she could only lie there as her vision darkened by the moment. Her last thoughts were of her family, and a silent apology for failing to protect them.

Yotul's tribe hollered as the Blood-Oath surged to the surface, water cascading off his barnacle-encrusted hull. Moonlight pierced through the magically reinforced windows of the bridge, flooding the space with cool warmth. The glass, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, was the result of days of work by skilled mages layering enchantments to withstand the crushing weight of the ocean's depths.

When submerged, these windows were the only means of seeing outside, and even now, above the waves, they remained the sole vantage point – and they gave her a perfect view of the enemy's home. A city, of a size she was stunned to believe could actually exist, lay sprawled out before her. Even at night, it wasn't hard to see with so many lanterns lit and the moon shining overhead. More important than that though, were the many airships present, most still tethered to the city's massive skydocks.

Like guard dogs left chained to their post when the wolves came roaming – they were practically defenseless. Yet the tethered ships refused to move – even as those few that were in the air finally started to turn. Already one was burning towards her craft. That was fine. There weren't enough of them. Not to stop the nine other underships that Yotul knew were rising behind her. The capital fleet still had them outnumbered – but what use were numbers when half of them were sleeping?

The orc grinned as down below, the lighthouse's spotlights spun as one, not to illuminate her craft, but that of the incoming defenders. She could practically hear the confusion and panic of the crews aboard.

"Seems that the slaver wasn't all talk," she muttered to herself. She'd promised that the fleet wouldn't be spotted as it maneuvered into the bay and she was as good as her word. In this, at least. Yotul doubted any of the other promises that had been made would be worth the air used to utter them. That was fine. Neither were Yotul's. They were here for their shared enemy and nothing more.

"Make ready for air combat!" the captain bellowed into the ship's internal comm system. The command echoed through the corridors, sparking a flurry of activity among the crew. The ship's transformation into an undership had been an arduous process, months of reinforcement both mundane and magical were invested to make the vessel seaworthy. But while those modifications had allowed it to dive into the depths, they were less than ideal for aerial combat.

Every gun port and every hatched had needed to be fused shut, the metal molded seamlessly through magic until no trace of a seam remained. But what magic could seal, it could also unseal - and quickly. All it took was a single thought: hole. The same arcane techniques used to shape metal were now used to create holes. Gun-holes. And unlike the precise work required to shape a cannon or blade, this task required no finesse, only raw intention.

Yotul knew from experience, both as a defender and an attacker, that Saboteurs often used similar techniques to breach walls and bulkheads when boarding ships – which was why she knew the method had limits. The larger or more complex the hole, the greater the drain on the user's magical reserves. A breach larger than a few meters in diameter was almost unthinkable without a few minutes of uninterrupted thought.

Not something often found during a boarding action, she thought wryly as the controlled chaos around her continued. And not easily found here either, as their ship continued to climb up towards the hated invaders. Fortunately, a few dozen gunports were quite easy with the entire tribe's spellcasters at work. Metal fell away in sheets, revealing the madness of the outside world to those beyond the bridge. She wondered if they too salivated like she did at the thought of vengeance.

If they too thought of burned villages and empty caves. Were it not for the fact that she had more immediate targets in mind, she'd have been tempted to order her ship's many cannons to aim at the city below – to give the people sleeping within a taste of the terror her people had endured for generations. No, that would come in time. For now, she had a better target in mind.

She could still hear the soft tinkle of metal plating falling as the last of the gun ports unsealed themselves, revealing the ship's hidden arsenal. Likewise, she heard and felt the first clangs of rounds slamming into the armored hull before exploding into fireballs or cascading webs of lightning as the first of the defenders' shots rang out through the night. The armor held though. For now.

"Cannons ready," came the report from her second at last.

"Port guns concentrate fire on the supports of the closest sky-dock at two eighty five degrees. Starboard guns concentrate on the one at seventy five," the captain ordered, her tone icy with resolve as the bridge crew set about relaying her orders.

"Fire on my mark." For a moment, it seemed the entire world held its breath as they drew abreast of the first first skydock – the four ships tethered to it by steel umbilical gantries still lifeless and unmoving. In a few minutes, she knew that would change as the crews within reached ready stations. Minutes she wouldn't give them.

"Fire." The Blood-Oaths forty guns fired as one – sending enchanted metal lancing through the air on flutes of aether. Near enough in timing so as to be indistinguishable, four of the other underships in their formation fired too. Each shot, enchanted through decades of mages multiplying spells on top of one another over and over, struck the support posts of both airdocks before exploding into cascades of ice, fire and lightning.

Smoke and aether filled the night sky, but the beams of the light-houses in the bay managed to pierce through it. The first skydock held, either enchantment or good engineering allowing it to survive its first volley. The second did not – as Yotul watched with rising joy as the great concrete structure started to crack and then crumble.

Like a child's snow castle, it came away in clumps before it started to sag and fall, stonework dropping down into the city below as the massive structure fell – dragging with it the four airships that had been tethered there. Like fish caught on a line, they were dragged down to the ground and smashed upon it, one of the vessel's bows splitting like dry firewood as the component parts of the ship were spread across the rubble.

Rubble that was comprised of not just the skydock, but had also once been houses, stores, restaurants and warehouses. All gone in a single breath. Yotul stared, something shifting in her stomach. Some part of her absently wondered just how many people had been in those buildings. Not just marines and sailors… but men and children. Then smoke and dust obscured the view entirely – becoming so dense that not even the lighthouse's beams could pierce them. Not that they tried to. They'd already moved onto new targets.

Like the second of the five skydocks that had yet to fall. Licking her suddenly dry lips, Yotul got ready to give the order to fire again. Every skydock they downed now was four less ships the taskforce of ten wouldn't have to deal with in open combat.