Chương 58: Chapter Fifty Eight

Yelena had not been sleeping when the first alarm bells had been rung. For while she trusted her oldest child implicitly, rare was the mother that could sleep well knowing her child was headed into battle. It didn't help that the Queen shared her daughter's misgivings regarding the peculiarity of the opposing fleet's presence, but she also held no greater insight as to what surprises their mystery foe might have in store.

Well, now we have our answer, she thought bitterly as she watched through a viewing orb as another skydock fell onto her city. She felt it fall, the vibrations from the collapse of the massive structure reaching her even in the palace's basement command center.

In the background, she watched as what defenders remained airborne traded shots with the attacking fleet, but with the defenders having been reduced to just four vessels in less than an hour and now facing nearly twice their number, the defense was haphazard at best. Still, the command center was a hive of activity as her people tried to organize reinforcements from vassals further afield from the capital or direct those that remained in the fight. All while her city burned.

Yelena's armored gauntlets creaked as she gripped the wood of her command table at that thought. Someone would pay for this. Pay dearly. Even if she didn't survive the night, the Royal Fleet had been informed of the attack and was returning home with all the haste it could muster. And while it might not arrive in time to thwart whatever goal their enemy hoped to achieve here, it would be well positioned and motivated to take revenge on whoever organized it.

And while Yelena was tempted to say that it was the Blackstones, this kind of subterfuge simply wasn't their style. The audacity of it perhaps - and even the method, if this was a city full of orcs – but Eleanor Blackstone would gain little from an attack like this beyond uniting the rest of the country against her. Plus, the tactics aren't right for a Northern fleet, Yelena thought, her lips set into a grim line as she considered the reports coming in.

"Marmaduke reports that it's lost contact with the core-room," an Orb-Operator reported in rapid fire cadence.

"Last report was two minutes ago. Core-Defender reported no less than three attackers. Captain is now reporting Marmaduke is losing pressure in all aether-bulkheads. Propellors non-functional. Core presumed missing. Captain reports that she's likely to go down over the docks. Captain is ordering an all-hands evacuation to parachute and glider muster stations. She… she intends to go down with the ship." Yelena wasn't too surprised to hear that.

Better to go down with the ship than return home as the woman on whom's watch the family's core was lost. Unfortunately for the captain of the Marmaduke, Yelena didn't have time for that.

"Tell the silly bint to get out of there," Yelena ordered in a clipped manner.

"Our capital's under attack and I need every mage I can get my hands on – even if she has to fight on foot from on top of the burning corpse of her family's ship." Nodding her head, the comm's specialist hurriedly moved to convey her sovereign's wishes. Satisfied her orders were being obeyed, Yelena once more turned her attention to her viewing-orb in time to see a series of glow-bolts stitching their way across the night sky. Then once again as dozens of shards clashed overhead.

Once upon a time they'd barely been visible in the night, but with the flames of the city below and moon out in full force above, it wasn't hard to see the small dots as they darted across the skies above the capital. It wasn't hard to see who was winning. And it wasn't the women of Lindholm. Whoever the attackers were, for they were no mere pirates, were good. Damn good. Initial estimates were that the 'underships' had launched about twenty or so shards in the opening moments of their attack.

Those twenty shards had wasted no time in decimating any shards hastily launched from the surprised vassal fleet, and had since moved on to using their altitude advantage to massacre any of the shards sent up by the capital's airfields.

Sure, technically even with the royal fleet gone and the vassal fleet unprepared to launch their own shard complement, the three airbases dotted around the capital theoretically had enough shards to outnumber the twenty or so enemy flyers nearly twice over – but that advantage was useless when the enemy pilots were shooting down her people the moment they left the airfields.

There was a reason why the first order given upon seeing an approaching enemy get within an hour's travel time of the city was for those airfield based shards to climb to max altitude and remain on standby. Except, they'd never gotten that chance - because the enemy literally appeared right on top of them. Rising from the sea, she thought. How absurd. Perhaps if she placed any stock into the myths of Al'Hundra's divinity she'd have thought this the recently deceased god-kraken's revenge.

"Ignoring our issues with the first, do we have any indications of a second wave incoming?" she asked. Was this the vanguard of an entire undership invasion fleet? As absurd as it would be for any of her enemies produce that many vessels of this type without her knowledge. Then again, they built this many without you knowing, her mind niggled away at her. And you still don't even know who they are. Nearby, one of her commanders shook her head.

"If there were, I'm afraid we wouldn't know until they breached the surface your majesty. With the loss of our lighthouses, we're effectively blind as to any happenings in the water." Another woman, the markings of the city guard on her uniform spoke up.

"In addition to those troops fighting fires in the city itself, we've dispatched garrisons to retake the lighthouses, but initial reports show the defenders there are dug in tight. Our own fortifications are working against us there." Yelena wanted to scream and ask why then if her lighthouses were so fortified had they fallen so easily? She didn't though because she already knew the answer. They'd been as taken by surprise as the rest of the capital.

So instead of screaming like she wanted, she kept her tone as calm as possible.

"Have our people on the ground had any luck identifying the origins of our attackers?" In other words, are they dark elves or light elves? The woman shook her head.

"We've yet to claim a body in any shape to be identified." Of course not, Yelena thought grimly. They might have identified the ships, but they were a mix of different vessels with clearly different origins. A majority were Lunites, but there were also two Solite Lineships and Two Lindholmian Galleons. Someone had invested a lot into this attack – and, as much as it pained her, it was paying off.

A burning wreck floated past the tower holding the viewing orb connected to the one she was watching, a somber testament to the ferocity of the battle. The Honorable had been struck amidships by three nearly flawless incendiary javelins launched by enemy shards in the opening moments of the battle. At least one of these projectiles had pierced the steel hull, setting the wooden framework beneath ablaze. The crew had been left with no choice but to abandon the ship as the fire raged uncontrollably.

Now, nearly an hour on, the flaming shell still drifted aimlessly, destined to drop from the skies when either the aether-ballasts ruptured or the the absence of a mage onboard rendered the core inert. Either way, she could only pray it wouldn't happen over the city. The one silver lining was that the raging fire would deny the enemy any chance to salvage the core before the royal navy arrived. After the battle, House Hawkthorne could reclaim it safely.

"Academy is requesting permission to join the fight again," another orb-operator announced.

"No!" Yelena snapped.

"I won't have students thrown into this slaughter for negligible gain. Do you think they'll fare any better than our own pilots?" She refused to sacrifice Lindholm's future for a fleeting advantage in the present. But, as if the fates were mocking her resolve, the situation shifted abruptly.

"The enemy is circling back around," came the urgent warning. Everyone watched in grim silence as the enemy fleet, seemingly satisfied with the destruction of the vassal forces, began to regroup into two distinct formations—one larger, one smaller.

"Heading?" Yelena demanded.

"Us and the Academy," came the reply.

"Of course," she muttered under her breath. She'd suspected as much. Despite the palace and academy being prime targets, the enemy had done little more than take a few cursory shots at the hangars of each in the opening moments of the fight. Now, admittedly, both sites posed minimal immediate threat compared to the sky-docks and their ships, but as the battle had drawn on the lack of bombardment of either site only became more and more curious.

Now though, the strategy was clear—they intended to storm both locations. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. And while conventional wisdom dictated that softening a structure first with a few cannonballs might make it easier to breach, the reality was that navigating rubble-strewn corridors and collapsed rooms would only complicate such efforts. Especially if one was both searching for something and wanted it intact. They're after the Kraken Slayer, she thought.

If any records of its creation existed, an outside force would assume that they'd be housed at the palace or the academy. True, the enemy might also have been interested in her or the political hostages housed at the academy, but such motivations didn't align with the scale of the assault. Lindholm wouldn't capitulate because a handful of noble heirs or even the queen were taken. No, it would instead galvanize them, uniting the nation against the aggressors.

To that end, the enemy would be after something far more significant—something worth this level of risk and investment. Like a way to mass-produce enchanted shells for a nation whose stockpile had long since run dry, she thought. Like a way to salvage cores off their own coastlines. … Still, their attack presented a rare opportunity. If the enemy was so desperate to claim the Kraken Slayer, she'd make sure they got it - on her terms and in her time.

"To the labs," Yelena ordered, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Her personal guard, both visible and shrouded in cloaking magic, immediately fell into formation around her. The command center's personnel saluted sharply, their movements precise, a display of discipline amidst the chaos. Yelena paused at the threshold, her sharp gaze flicking to the admiral.

"Any reinforcements likely to arrive in the next few hours?" she asked, her tone steely. The admiral's lips pressed into a thin line, her weathered face showing the strain of the battle.

"A vassal ship managed to avoid the initial strike by being late to the sortie," she replied.

"A cruiser. It's a carrier-hybrid though."

"Still sortieing?" Yelena's brow furrowed, her voice dipping into suspicion.

"It's been hours since my daughter gave the order for the royal vassals to assemble. Even our farthest vassals would have reached us by now." A cold, gnawing thought twisted through her gut, like a knife being driven deeper with every passing second. Was this latecomer party to… whatever was happening here in the capital?

"The ship in question was undergoing refits and wasn't combat-ready," the admiral explained, her tone flat.

"The young lord captaining it claims she's operational now, but…" She trailed off, her skepticism evident. The notion of a hastily refitted airship under an inexperienced commander inspired little confidence. Yelena, however, allowed a sly smile to creep across her face.

"Would that ship happen to be the Jellyfish? From House Redwater?" The admiral's brow furrowed in surprise.

"Yes. How did you-""The name, house and ship are each known to me," Yelena replied, her voice calm, though her sharp eyes betrayed a deeper calculation. The admiral gave a brisk nod.

"The Jellyfish is en route. It should arrive within the hour."

"Good," Yelena said, her tone shifting to one of quiet authority.

"A portion of my guard will remain here to protect the bunker. Maintain command of the defense until… well, until there's nothing left to command or no one left to be commanded." To her credit, the woman didn't flinch as she nodded, giving off a final salute, before she returned to the tactical display board. Yelena turned, her stride purposeful as she resumed her march toward the labs, mage-lamps casting long shadows over polished stone walls.

For the first time in hours, a flicker of hope pierced through the haze of doubt clouding her mind. Here's hoping whatever William was working on with his coven of alchemists will prove as surprising to the enemy as it surely will to me, she mused. It was a slim hope, though. Genius, even of the harrowed kind, rarely turned the tide of war alone. What could one experimental ship possibly achieve against an entire fleet? Still, speculation was a luxury she couldn't afford to linger on for long.

She had her own battles to prepare for.

"My bolt-bow," Yelena ordered, her voice steady. The weight of her family's ancestral weapon - modernized over generations - settled into her hand. Its intricate brasswork gleamed faintly, and its reinforced frame whirred softly as she adjusted her grip. She strode forward, flanked by a platoon of the continent's most formidable warriors, their armor glinting like obsidian in the dim light. If tonight was her night to fall, well, she'd go down spitting death and defiance.

Mary felt the ship roll beneath her feet as she stared at the endless rows of shards before her and the other cadets, the sleek, polished aluminum craft shimmering faintly under the hangar lights. Shards that, by all rights, should have been little more than empty frames, bereft of cores. Yet here they were, loaded into the Jellyfish's side-launch modules, being loaded and tended by… alchemists. In minutes, the lord claimed those shards would be poised and ready to fly. Despite the lack of a core.

Clearly he believed it, because with a single command, each of the shards in those bays would be flung be flung out into the night sky. Of course, any returning shard would need to execute a running landing using the Jellyfish's new peculiar looking 'flat top'- a maneuver Mary had practiced countless times but still feared. Anya was still laid up in the infirmary. Word was that a more skilled healer was on their way, but Mary couldn't help but worry that it was simply a kind lie.

Still, whether a healer came or not, Mary couldn't forget the deafening crash of Anya's shard slamming into the airship's side. The memory lingered, as sharp and unforgiving as the wings of the shards themselves. … Mary couldn't shake the image of Anya's mangled foot when she'd been pulled from the wreckage. The jagged, unnatural shape haunted her. And now, here they were, heading into real battle. Not a drill, not a simulation - real combat.

In comparison, landing the shard safely felt like the least of her worries. She'd once been proud to call herself a pilot. Still was, deep down. But somehow, the gravity of what that meant hadn't fully sunk in. Even now, as the tension thickened around her, it felt like a half-formed dream, something distant and surreal.

"What are you waiting for, cadets? A written invitation?" Instructor Greygrass barked, her gravelly voice cutting through the noise of the hangar. The scar on her chin caught the light as she fixed the crowd of plebian cadets with a withering glare.

"You've been given your instructors. Your shards are assigned. Do not make me look incompetent in front of your lord!" Mary's gaze flicked toward the main platform, where Lord Redwater stood, his impromptu speech over. His team stood behind him, looking just as uncertain as the cadets ahead. Beside him, Lady Tern stood, her sharp eyes scanning the scene. Unlike the others, she didn't seem confused - just deeply unhappy as she spoke in rapid-fire bursts to the distracted lord. The scene wasn't unusual.

Most instructors carried a perpetual air of dissatisfaction, and while the royal navy's trainers were a touch more optimistic than the dour dark elves, that wasn't saying much.

"Move, cadet, or I'll launch you from the shard bay without a shard!" Greygrass roared, her tone sharp as iron. Case in point, Mary though as she glanced around and realized that the rest of the… squadron had already dispersed, making their way over to their assigned bays and shards. Mary followed suit, as she jogged over to clamber up into her assigned shard, the familiar motion oddly jarring.

The cockpit smelled faintly of oil and ozone, and she was a little surprised by how much this 'new designed' resembled the Corsair-M they'd been practicing with. Though she didn't know why that would surprise her. Shaking her head to clear those unneeded thoughts, she began her pre-flight checks, her hands steady despite the knot in her stomach. When it came time to request core activation though, she hesitated. She'd partially turned back, to request it from the instructor there… but there was no one behind her.

No second seat. Merely cockpit glass. Then she remembered. The lord had said this new design didn't need a mage to activate it. That it wasn't limited to eight minutes of flight time… but thirty. Some part of her still didn't quite believe it. How could a shard even function without a mage? Cores needed mages to produce aether - everyone knew that. But here it was, this sleek, enigmatic shard, defying everything she understood. Mostly because she wasn't being given the opportunity.

She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. They were being thrown into battle in shards they barely understood that defied comprehension. Deeps, she didn't even know how to turn this thing—"Flip the switch there," a calm voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

"Turn it for a second, then let go." Mary nearly jumped out of her seat. The lord was right next to her - right there - his face far too close for comfort for a girl who'd never even spoken to a boy. She wasn't used to boys, especially not noble ones. Too tall. Too plain. Destined for a lady-marriage with her gangly frame, marred by a scattering of acne. At least, according to her mothers. … What was worse, was that they weren't even being deliberately unkind. Merely realistic.

She'd secretly hoped that becoming a pilot might change her luck in that department - maybe even help her find someone decent once she got away from a village that was now full of them. A trip to the city had been on her mind for a while now; she'd been saving her coin for it. But that was a distant dream. And now there was a boy here - a noble boy - standing right next to her. Fae above, she could feel his breath on her cheek.

"Cadet?" Right, the switch! She snapped back to the task at hand, frantically searching for the spot he'd indicated. Her fingers finally found the small, unassuming lever. She flicked it on, and a deafening roar erupted beneath her, making her jump as though the machine had bitten her. She let go instinctively, her heart hammering in time with the growl of the… thing below. Did I break it? she thought. The old Corsair-M always started with a soft hum, like the comforting purr of her family's tabby cat.

This sound, though- it was jarring, more like the deep, guttural groaning old Davy made after the Bevin's horse had kicked him in the ribs. She still had nightmares about that horrible wheezing. She turned to the lord, panic in her eyes, but he remained unfazed.

"Good," he said, his tone steady, as if nothing had happened.

"Now, I know I mentioned this before, but it bears repeating. The design was made to mimic the Corsair-M you're used to- same flight profile, same control layout, same weight distribution. But there are differences." Mary nodded, trying to focus on his words and not his lips as he continued.

"For one thing, this engine's a lot more powerful. Be ready for some kick. And by kick, I mean it might try to flip you." Flip her? Her stomach churned as her mind flashed to that one time-"Yeah, you get it," he said, as if reading her thoughts.

"We added that 'defective thruster valve' on the underside of the M for that reason. To imitate this. You'll feel it on the right wing; it works like that valve, so keep your balance." So that's why-"Got it?" A little annoyed at her thoughts being constantly interrupted, instinct nontheless took over, as Mary snapped to attention.

"Yes, ma'am." The words slipped out before Mary could stop herself, and the realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. She'd just called the lord—a boy, a man —ma'am. Her cheeks burned, and for a moment, she wished the shard would swallow her whole. But instead of taking offense, the young lord laughed. A light, easy chuckle, as if her blunder had made his day. Without another word, he hopped off the ladder and strode to the next shard, where another cadet sat, looking just as bewildered as Mary had moments ago.

The roar of her 'core' was no longer alone though. Across the launch bays, dozens of craft had come to life, their cores growling in unison. Mary glanced around, noticing instructors and alchemists perched on ladders beside her fellow cadets, offering the same hurried guidance she'd just received. She also noticed that the air suddenly smelled acrid, like burning metal and scorched oil. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but it was sharp and foreign. Are the alchemists the reason these shards can fly without mages?

she wondered. Alchemists were different from traditional mages, or so she'd heard. They created things, mixed potions, and dabbled in flames and fumes. Maybe that's why everything smells like it's on fire. She shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside. No time to dwell on what she didn't understand. Her hands found the familiar controls, and a sense of calm settled over her as she ran her fingers over them. The layout felt right. Comfortable. I can do this, she told herself.

I've flown the Corsair plenty of times, and this is just another Corsair. A voice crackled through the comms.

"Launch in twenty minutes. All units will deploy at max altitude. Expect enemy contact within thirty minutes." There was so much she didn't know, so many unanswered questions. But this much was clear: someone had attacked her home, and she now had the means to fight back. Mary gripped the controls tighter. I won't let my Lord down. I won't let Lindholm down. …Now, if only she could slow the wild thrum of her heart, though she took some small solace in the way it seemed to be echoed by the machine beneath her.