Chương 64: Chapter Sixty Four

As William's aether lightened feet touched down on the academy grounds, his teammates landing with similar bursts of aether around him, he gazed up at the Royal Navy's airships. They drifted overhead, their sleek hulls silhouetted against the dim mid-morning sky. Much like his own descent moments ago, many mages of the royal fleet were constantly zipping between the vessels and the still smoking city below – providing aid or working to put out fires.

The fleet had arrived in the early hours, cutting through the night like a blade to once more re-secure the airspace above the capital. Fortunately for him, that had left him with two uninterrupted hours in which the Jellyfish had held sole dominion over the skies. Which was more than enough time for his people to track down the many Corsairs that had been shot down the previous night and either recover them with float-tanks… or incinerate the remains. The same couldn't be said of all the pilots. Living at least.

Most had stayed near their downed birds, but some had wandered away from their crash sites for reasons that were as of yet unknown to him. Possibly to help with the fires? Either way, being plebians and lacking a handheld radio, he figured it would be at least a day before they managed to get the ear of anyone both willing to listen and with the capability of getting in touch with either Xela or himself so that they might be recovered. Absolute worst case scenario, they'd need to trek back to Redwater on foot.

Either way, pocket radios are next on the agenda, he thought as he strode towards the academy itself. He stepped into the academy building that was now acting as an impromptu command post for the Queen, given the sorry state of the palace. It wasn't an unreasonable choice considering that, in the absence of the palace's command center, the academy held more communication orbs than anywhere else in the city.

It also happened to conveniently be the location the Queen had been located at, after her and her guard finished hunting down the Lunite commandos that had been left stranded when their airships fled. His eyes turned toward one airship that had been downed before that happened, the tangled mass of metal having fallen onto a training field after being struck by his corsairs' rockets. … That part of the night still puzzled him.

From the 'mid-air crew exchange', to abandoning ground troops, to the fact that said trio of ships chose to flee the battlefield a full half-hour before the warships over the palace attempted their own retreat. Something had clearly occurred inside the ships over the academy, and it burned him that he still didn't know what it was. Not least of all because they hadn't caught those. Which was… fine, they'd not held the Kraken Slayer samples or recipe…

which again begged the question of why they'd not moved to reinforce the ships over the palace? Putting those thoughts aside, he approached the Palace Guards stationed at the office door. The quartet looked more ragged than he had ever seen them. Their uniforms - normally impeccable - were smeared with blood, soot, and ash. Theater? Perhaps. Plenty of time had passed for them to clean up since the Royal Fleet's return.

Was them remaining in this state a deliberate reminder to all that came to see her that the Queen herself had fought in the battle? One of them stiffened as he stopped before them and spoke.

"Lord Redwater, summoned at Her Highness' earliest convenience." William caught the flicker of widened eyes. A hint of awe. A subtle nod as they stepped aside and opened the door.

"You may enter. Your party may remain outside." He turned, giving his teammates a quick nod, before he stepped through. Inside, he was relieved to see Griffith present, the woman hunched over a desk stacked high with reports of one kind of another, despite the fact that her arm was in a sling. Oh, he'd already received confirmation that she was alive, but seeing her in person was a relief all the same. To hear it told, she'd been shot down in the first wave of Shards sent up.

She'd survived the experience, obviously, but landed on almost the opposite side of the city from the academy and palace both. He also wasn't too surprised to see she was still injured. The academy's many healers could and did heal worse regularly as a result of training accidents during the school year, but with the city in chaos, he imagined their services healers were needed for more critical cases. The same would be true for what stockpiles of healing potion were within the city.

Last he had heard, Yelena had sent what supplies of the alchemical substance she could into the city itself to aid the common man and woman. Sure, they'd likely been lower-grade potions – little more than first aid in a bottle - but it was an interesting gesture all the same. Now, whether it was true compassion or political theater that had motivated her, he couldn't say.

His cynical side leaned toward the latter - but in a feudal society ruled by magic, the opinion of the common man mattered far less than it had back on Earth. It was entirely possible Yelena merely felt… responsible and was hoping to soothe her guilt. The woman in question looked better than her guards as she sat on an impromptu 'throne' in the middle of the room, but her armor was still on. Cleaned slightly, but its presence gave some weight to the reports that not all the commandos had been rounded up yet.

A woman he could only assume was Tyana Lindholm, admiral of the fleet and second in line to the throne stood beside her. The woman certainly had a presence to her as she stood there, her sharp gaze appraising him. Like a leaner looking Yelena, he thought. A wolf compared to a lion. He took a knee and waited. He didn't have to wait long. Barely a second.

"Rise, Lord Redwater," Yelena voice called out without preamble.

"For it is I who might otherwise bow to you. For it was in our capital's darkest hour, you and you alone served to turn the tide - with but a single ship. I, and your nation, will forever be in your debt for that." He had a feeling that, even though those words were genuine, the woman speaking them was merely going through the motions, eager to get to why she'd really called him here today.

"Your words are too kind. I merely did my duty," he said without preamble, eager to do the same. Something she seemed to recognize, both slumping and smiling slightly as he stood up once more.

"Good, because while the immediate threat is gone, we've plenty of others looming on the horizon." Tyana spoke then, the admiral's voice commiserating, as she eyed her mother.

"Make no mistake, Lord Redwater, there will be time for formal thanks and rewards soon. You have my word as admiral on that." Yelena waved her hand dismissively.

"For now though, we need to talk. Really talk. Which is why you're here now while the many others clamoring for my attention are not. Including my many advisors who want to know just how this clusterfuck happened." Hmmm. Did that mean Griffith's presence was for his benefit? Because while it went without saying that Yelena had a soft spot for the dark elf, the instructor's role as academy liaison wasn't nearly weighty enough to be part of this kind of meeting if the queen's immediate advisors weren't present.

"Alright. You want a hats off, honest discussion. I'm game." The elf snorted at his audacity, the sound utterly unladylike, even as Griffith and her daughter shot both him and the queen scandalized looks. Yelena ignored them, tapping a gloved finger against the armrest of her chair as chuckles faded and her expression hardened.

"Good, because before we start, let me be clear, I have no intention of threatening you to attain the answers I want." She leaned backward.

"If nothing else, I believe I've proven to my own satisfaction that threats against you accomplish little beyond engendering bad blood and causing me a headache. More to the point, I'm reasonably certain that if I were to attempt to seize what I think you have - under the guise of it being important for the ongoing survival of our nation – you've already devised some outrageous failsafe to ensure such a move would end poorly for me." Huh… that was… new. And he wasn't sure he liked it.

Respect was nice and all, but he preferred to be underestimated and hard to predict. William shrugged, keeping his feelings off his face.

"You'd not be wrong." The admiral tilted her head.

"Actually, I'm a little curious. While my mother is quite familiar with your antics, Lord Redwater, my own duties have kept me distant from them." He glanced at her, mulling over whether or not he'd answer. Eventually, he decided in the spirit of Yelena's own opening statement, to be honest.

"Many of my shard production facilities are located near, or in some cases, within my territories newly established Alchemist's Guild. Their tools of the trade are notoriously volatile. Accidents happen on occasion. And while the scale might vary, the longer I am away from my estate, the more likely it becomes that an accident capable of destroying not just my production facilities but my research facilities in their entirety might occur." His voice was even. Dispassionate. As if discussing the weather.

To her credit, the admiral didn't back down, though some part of her seemed bemused.

"Some part of me refuses to believe you'd be so callous with your own holdings. Your work. Your people. Your own life."

"They believe it," he said, inclining his head in Yelena and Griffith's direction.

"And they, respectfully, are much more familiar with my… antics." Tyana glanced at her mother, who slowly nodded with a resigned expression. The admiral turned to regard him again, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Well, ignoring everything else you've already done today, I can say that if nothing else, you've impressed me with your audacity cadet."

"Audacity is another word for bravery, ma'am. If an unflattering one." William grinned, sharp and unrepentant.

"And I can't be brave for bravery is choosing to act in spite of one's fear. And I am not afraid. Of death. Or loss of status. Or worldly assets. After all, when one has already seen the other side once, a second visit being premature is hardly a cause for concern." Griffith's expression twisted.

"So it's true, you are…"

"Harrowed?" He turned, his expression turning a little sympathetic.

"Yes. Though before you all go thinking the worst, I would remind all of you that I've been Harrowed for as long as you've known me. For as long as anyone has known me. Including myself." Griffith and Yelena both looked unsettled by his words, but the admiral? She looked fascinated.

"As intriguing as that is - and it is - for the moment, the precarious balance of your mind isn't our primary concern." The admiral tilted her head slightly, watching him like a scholar studying an unpredictable alchemical reaction.

"Not least because we've already established that any attempt by me to leverage your condition as grounds for incarceration would see everything my mother hoped to gain from such an act go up in smoke." William inclined his head, pleased that had been made clear. Because his status as a harrowed individual did give the woman across from him legal precedent to have him declared unfit for… just about anything.

"I'm glad we can be rational about that," he said, lips curling into a small smile at the joke. Yelena exhaled sharply.

"So, the question now must be asked. Were those really artificial cores powering those shards last night?"

"Out of curiosity, why are you so certain they were artificial?" The admiral snorted.

"Beyond plebeian flight times being limited to ten minutes?" She leaned forward, fingers drumming against the armrest.

"There was no aether when they were shot down. But fire instead. You know who I think of when I think fire? Alchemists. And as you so helpfully pointed out, you have them in abundance." A pause.

"Because they were one of the things you requested from me in exchange for the Kraken Slayer." William said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. The queen's voice was quiet, but firm.

"You've developed an artificial core. I don't have time for you to play coy. My city is in ruins, my vassal fleet is crippled, and I need power. Military power." He exhaled, considering.

"You still have the cores for the craft shot down last night. More cores than you had this time last week even, with those undership wrecks." Yelena's expression was unreadable.

"I am the first queen in history to have more shard cores than I can use. The issue has always been frames. And I have even fewer now. Shards are easier to produce, but at every turn, noble houses resist me - because every frame shaved down feels like the death of a dynasty to them." William nodded. It was an old battle - one that, given recent events, seemed increasingly outdated.

"And as we've established, shards can kill airships just fine," the queen continued.

"Given enough numbers. And the right armaments. In the past, that meant expensive alchemical cocktails or slow-to-replace enchanted munitions. Which is why cannons remained the weapon of choice for anti-ship combat as it allowed for captains to bring down airships with conventional ammunition." Her gaze pinned him.

"But the Kraken Slayer changes that. No more do we need to see entire generations' worth of enchanting time be used for a single battle. Nor small fortunes spent on expensive alchemical reagents for a similar effect. You proved as much last night. Though only those of us in this room know that you weren't using enchanted munitions." William let the silence hang.

"Fair enough," he finally said.

"If I'm to part with the method behind artificial cores, I'll be wanting something in return." Yelena steepled her fingers.

"Name it." He met her gaze evenly.

"I want the Blackstone lands. You know, once they're all dead." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Tyana smirked.

"Audacious. Laying claim to territory we've not even won yet. A dukedom at that." William smirked.

"As we've established, I'm not afraid of aiming high. I either succeed and reap the reward, or I fail… at which point I'll be dead. At which point, there's no point in worrying about it." The admiral let out a quiet laugh.

"I wonder if that's a harrowed thing or a you thing?" William shrugged.

"Given I've always been harrowed, I doubt there's much of a difference." Griffith looked like she wanted to interject, but Yelena cut her off.

"Aren't you planning to marry the Whitestone girls?" the queen asked, her tone unreadable.

"With your aid, the eldest is set to become the next Lady Summerfield, with you as her consort. Now, if in addition to that, you seize control of the Blackstone title, I'd simply be trading one threat to my rule - New Haven and Blackstone - for another: Blackstone and Summerfield."

"You're not wrong," William admitted.

"Though, if it puts your mind at ease, I'd gladly swear a geass that I have no designs on the Lindholmian throne. Nor any desire to see my descendants sit upon it." The silence that followed that statement was palpable. The gauntlet had been thrown.

"Done," Yelena said at last.

"Though I certainly won't be announcing that as your reward until after the war starts in earnest." Which, given the state of the Royal Vassal fleet, would likely be sooner rather than later. William inclined his head.

"Which means that should the day come where I call in that favor, this conversation might never have happened should that prove more convenient for you? Words are as wind after all." Yelena's expression darkened, while Griffith shot him a scandalized look.

"Are you questioning my word?"

"Merely your survival instincts." He smiled.

"When we first met, you suggested tying me to an interrogation chair so as to gain access to the secret of the Kraken Slayer. The only reason you didn't follow through on that threat was because I installed failsafes to protect myself against it." Specifically, he'd ostensibly given the secret to the Kraken Slayer to a third party, with instructions for them to release it to the Queen's enemies should he go missing for a prolonged period. He hadn't actually done that. It was a bluff.

The parchment that currently sat in the vaults of the Dwarvish banking clans held little more than the recipe for a particularly good chicken soup. Because even were the worst to happen to him, he'd sooner see the weapon in the hands of his torturers than a band of slavers. Still, as a threat, it was an effective one. And it set a precedent. Which was why his gaze was steady as he regarded the Queen.

"The reason you're not threatening me now? It's the same." The queen's fingers drummed against the armrest.

"So what? You want my promise in writing?" He shook his head.

"We've established that if I can't rely on the power of public opinion should you renege on your promise, there's exactly one other method that's guaranteed to be binding. And given I'm already swearing on it. Well, it only seems fair that…" He trailed off deliberately. Yelena blinked, then let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

"You're insane." William grinned.

"…Fine." The queen said abruptly.

"I'll swear your oath. But I want more than just artificial cores. I want all of it. That includes whatever method you used to make Kraken Slayer powered repeating bolt-throwers." Ah, so she'd figured out the concept behind gunpowder weaponry. He supposed that shouldn't have been too surprising. The bolt-bow already existed after all. And he'd practically spelled out the idea of chemical propellent when he 'came up with' the spell-bolt in his first year of the academy.

"Your Majesty-!" Griffith began, alarmed. The admiral, however, remained silent. Watching. Calculating. Yelena exhaled slowly, hand raised to cut off the dark elf.

"I nearly died last night," she said, voice softer now.

"Many of our people did die last night. If the price of keeping that from happening again is risking my magic on a deal I intend to fulfill, then so be it." She fixed him with a sharp look.

"But, I repeat, I want it all. Everything." William inclined his head.

"Of course. The method behind everything currently aboard the Jellyfish, or present in my territory, will be yours." Inwardly, he grinned, positively gleeful. The deal was struck. And war was coming. At last.

"Are you sure about this, chieftess?" Olga asked, arms crossed, her sharp gaze scanning the disapproving faces of their tribemates as they stood on the Blood Oath's deck, watching over the rail at the view below. The former Royal Navy woman turned free orc wasn't blind to the tension hanging in the air like the charge before a storm.

Yotul, for her part was ignoring it, instead watching as the rag clad humans strode stiffly down the ramp of the newly acquired and newly renamed Green Fury, their movements rigid under the watchful eyes of orcish warriors, each armed to the tusks. The moment was not one anyone could call friendly, even if the orcs were technically freeing the women. It was understandable though.

Her free orcs hated humans as a rule of thumb, and once it became clear that her people were rebels from the North and had been working with the Lunites to attack the capital, the humans opinions of their 'saviors' had likewise shifted. There was just too much bad blood there. Orcs had fought for their freedom for generations and humans had fought against them for just as long. Said rivalry had existed since long before the elves had ever deigned to invade.

The enmity between their peoples ran deep, and she knew full well that many of her comrades would rather have put these captives to the sword - temporary enslavement as a point of sympathy be damned. Then of course, there was the information they were letting walk free. Information that would soon make its way to Lindholm at large. Releasing these prisoners meant spreading news of orcish involvement in the attack. Which wasn't bad, but would certainly garner more notoriety for her people.

More importantly, it meant word would soon spread that the Free Orcs had seized three underships. The Blackstones would start hunting them in earnest once more once that secret got out. … Then again, the Lunites would likely spill that secret themselves once captured. So that reason to see the prisoners dealt with in a more permanent fashion was moot from the get go. Probably.

"No," Yotul admitted at last.

"I'm not sure. But we're doing it anyway." Olga raised a brow. Yotul exhaled, watching the last of the humans vanish into the forest beyond.

"I've lost my taste for spilling the blood of those without the means to strike back. I'd sooner save my wrath for worthier targets." There was also the fact that there had been orcs amongst those humans who had just left. Some had chosen to join up with her people, but many had remained with their former crews. Some might argue that they were even more deserving of death than the humans themselves, race traitors that they were. Again though, Yotul had lost her taste for it.

Fortunately for her, despite some grubbling and glaring, there'd been no argument against her decree to see the former crews of the underships freed. None would gainsay her. Not now. Sure, once her position had been fragile - in the lead-up to the attack, her rivals in the tribe had watched her like a predator eyeing wounded prey. But with two more underships now under her command? Her standing had never been stronger.

Hopefully, that respect would carry over to the tribal council when she arrived at their war camp with replacements for the very ships they had so shortsightedly lost. Either way, the Blackstone Demons would soon be reminded of the might of the Orcish people. They thought the war was at an ebb, that their successful ambush of the former Free Orc fleet had broken their enemy's back. Yotul intended to show them just how wrong they were.

The Empress regarded the severed head of the noble responsible for this most recent debacle, her expression unreadable. None among her command staff so much as flinched at the execution - likely not even the woman herself before the blade swiped out.

"Clean that up," she said, voice cool, dispassionate as she flicked the blood from her blade before resheathing. The servants moved swiftly, dragging the body away with the efficiency of long practice. Another knelt beside the bloodstained marble floor, working methodically with a cloth to erase the last evidence of failure. Such was the price of incompetence in the Khanate. Especially a failure of this magnitude.

Duchess Slenn's gambit had consumed vast amounts of resources and manpower - both of which would be sorely needed once winter passed and the summer offensives began anew. Oh, the Khanate wouldn't fold - nothing so dramatic as that. The empire had stood unchallenged for generations; the loss of a few ships and commandos wouldn't change that. But it was a loss. And now, the Lunite Empire was on the back foot in the Great Game. A minor setback, perhaps, but an irritating one nonetheless.

The only silver lining to this whole ill-thougth expedition was that she had little to fear in the way of reprisal. The Lindholmians would know exactly who had orchestrated the attack, but their hands were tied. Domestic strife plagued their lands - enough that they could ill afford a military campaign against her in return.

Just as she couldn't bring her full might to bear on the wayward colony without the Solites seizing the opportunity, the Lindholmian Queen couldn't march on Lunite territory without her own northern duchesses smelling weakness. And that - more than any other reason - was why the Empress had allowed the dearly departed duchess's attack to go ahead in the first place. If the rumors surrounding the Kraken Slayer's power had proven true, the rewards would have been immense. The risks in the event of a failure, however?

Tolerable. With a sigh, she turned back to the great map sprawled across the table before her, watching as one of her advisors discreetly plucked the silver undership token from its position on the Lindholmian coast. Her gaze lingered for a moment. Then, with a flick of her fingers, she gestured to the western front.

"We shift our focus westward," she said, voice decisive.

"We have wasted enough energy on distant colonies when the true war is right in front of us."

"Seems your words were prophetic," Duchess Blackstone remarked as Tala came to a halt before her desk. Tala inclined her head.

"Pardon, Mother?"

"The capital has been attacked," Eleanor Blackstone said, voice smooth but laden with intent.

"A fleet of underships - of remarkably similar design to those employed by the orcs and under development by us - laid waste to the royal vassal fleet and much of the capital itself while the Royal Navy was being led on a wild wyvern chase." Tala's breath caught.

"The c apital?" Alarm shot through her.

"How many dead? How bad was the damage? Was the academy attacked?" She still had friends there after all. Her mother merely arched an eyebrow.

"Does it matter?" Tala's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

"Yelena has just lost nearly a quarter of her fighting strength - more, if we consider the dubious allegiances of her southern allies," Eleanor continued smoothly.

"Faith in her has never been more shaken. While I doubt this alone will drive her southern duchesses to side with us, a number of counties in our path may well reconsider their allegiances if we march now." Tala's pulse quickened. So it was finally happening.

"I'm surprised the queen survived at all if the damage is as severe as you imply," Tala rallied.

"Did the Royal Fleet manage to return in time?" Eleanor frowned.

"No. Her daughter was as slow as ever. Our 'queen' might well have perished - if not for the timely intervention of a single ship." Tala blinked.

"A single ship?"

"A royal vassal vessel that managed to avoid the initial ambush by virtue of being tardy to the sortie." Tala resisted the urge to shake her head at the dark irony inherent in that. Still - for one ship to turn the tide…

"It seems our Brimstone is no longer the sole carrier in Lindholmian airspace," Eleanor continued, her tone cool.

"And worse still - not the largest either. My sources estimate that this'Jellyfish' that swooped in to save the day housed thirty to forty shards within its hangars." Tala's stomach clenched." Forty?!" That was nearly double the Brimstone's complement.

"Which house did it hail from?" she asked.

"I wasn't aware any of the royal vassals were even thinking about developing a carrier." Her mother's gaze sharpened, her voice heavy with pointed disapproval." Redwater." Tala's breath caught.

"Seems your former fiancé is maintaining his track record for both innovation and irritation." Eleanor's lips curled, though it was not a smile.

"If nothing else, he's been busy." Tala barely heard the words. Her stomach had sunk.

"Still," Eleanor continued, as if the revelation was of no real concern, "this at least proves that last year's failures were not entirely your own. The boy is a newly risen noble - he should barely have his affairs in order, let alone be constructing the largest carrier the world has ever seen and a shard fleet to crew it." Her voice turned cool, calculating.

"No, if we needed proof that he was little more than the Queen's catspaw, we now have it. If nothing else, the fact that his shards were launching javelins with enchantments potent enough to beggar an older house for generations proves that his house is little more than an extension of the Crown." She paused.

"Likely sold himself into her service to escape your marriage." The words stung, but Tala didn't let it show." Fool," Eleanor muttered, almost to herself.

"Willingly placing a leash about his neck in an attempt to slip another." Tala said nothing, eyes on the floor. Her mother's eyes gleamed.

"Still, this means the time to strike is now." Tala hesitated.

"Now? Right after the attack? You have no interest in who orchestrated it? It could be the continental powers in preparation for an invasion."

"Oh, undoubtedly." Eleanor waved a dismissive hand.

"They were likely the ones who supplied the orcs with their initial designs - certainly they're the only ones with the resources and desire to orchestrate something of this scale." A contemplative pause.

"Though to what end, I couldn't say." Tala watched as her mother's fingers tapped idly against the polished wood of her desk.

"Perhaps they hoped to take both Yelena and a number of heirs hostage to force a surrender from us?" Eleanor mused.

"If so, either the Solites or the Lunites must be getting desperate." A quiet chuckle.

"Still, such a plan might have worked if half the country weren't already eager to see Yelena replaced." Tala's gut twisted at the almost casual way her mother dismissed the continental threat. Had victory in her youth made her too assured of a repeat in the future? Had she convinced herself that history would repeat itself? The young woman swallowed that thought down.

"So what's the plan?" she asked instead. Eleanor's gaze sharpened.

"We rally the fleet. Gather the admirals. Our vassals, too. It is clear the capital is unsafe and in need of protection in the event of a 'follow up attack'." A smirk played at her lips.

"Protection that the Royal Navy has proven itself incapable of providing. So the North, as ever, shall step in." And there it was. Their excuse for marching on the capital. Paper-thin. But then – good excuses did not win wars. Fleets did. And there was no denying that House Blackstone had the bigger fleet. Tala's lips curled, slow and sharp as a smile slipped over her face. Oh, she had her doubts about all this, but she couldn't deny her joy at her overdue reckoning arriving sooner than she'd hoped.

"As you command, my duchess," she bowed, before turning to leave.