Chương 65: Chapter Sixty Five

The queen of a nation stood before a gaggle of barely literate village girls. And bowed her head.

"You have my thanks," Yelena intoned with all the solemn dignity the elven woman could as she stood across from the good two dozen peasants – and the good few thousand nobles, knights, guards and city peasantry that could fit onto the academy grounds beyond them.

"Truly. Deeply. From the bottom of my heart." She took a moment to gaze out, seeking out each of the stunned women's gazes from her position up on the stage.

"You brave souls, despite not being of noble birth, proved your valor in the skies above our fair capital. And though you did not act alone, it cannot be argued that if wasn't your efforts in the most critical hour that carried that day. And in doing so, you have proven once and for all that courage knows no station or blood." Personally, William thought the whole ceremony was a little much.

They'd already gone through about six similar speeches today and he was already quite sick of them – though he made sure not to let any of it show on his face, lest he draw the ire of Olzenya, Xela, Marline, Griffith, his aunt or his little sister. I certainly have a large number of opinionated women in my life, don't I? he thought. Admittedly, the latter three could do little beyond glare at him from their position in the 'fancy seats' with the other guests of honor. The others on the stage though?

Well, at least two were in elbow range. He knew that because Olzenya had already discreetly employed hers once. And none too gently at that.

"So, I, as the sovereign of our fair nation, congratulate you brave women by naming you officially as our fair nation's very first Pilots-At-Arms." As opposed to peasant-pilots, which was what he'd been calling them for lack of a better name. Instead, the new name was supposed to help unruffle the nobility's feathers by associating these new 'not-knights' with an already existing class of soldier. They were not a replacement for existing knights – even if they very much would be if he had his say.

Because every mage that wasn't in a pilot's seat was one he could have in a workshop churning out more planes for him. Which would in turn be piloted by 'Pilots-At-Arms'. … He had been told in simple terms not to voice that opinion. Not that he'd been planning to. Not yet at least. Either way, the name change and the politics surrounding it likely went entirely unnoticed by the pilots themselves and the crowds of peasantry squeezed onto the academy's grounds.

Instead, they roared with approval, the noise hitting the stage like a deafening wave as they cheered for their nominal peers. Something that seemed to startle the women being congratulated as they turned to stare back at the crowd in surprise. Which, again, was unsurprising. They'd been little more than a bunch of village farmers, miners and hunters until a few months ago. And still were in many ways.

As evidenced by the way they'd so easily broken ranks to turn and stare – when real soldiers would have known to remain at attention.

"I'm going to have their asses," he somehow managed to make out Xela's mutters over the noise from beside him – and he smirked.

"Idiots." No doubt the wood elf saw the relative lack of discipline on her trainees part as a poor reflection on herself. Which he thought was a little unfair to her. After all, he'd been the one who'd saddled her with the task of training up the women below – and he'd also been the one to emphasize that he required them to be able to do exactly one thing in the relatively short time frame he'd given her. Fly Corsairs. Which they could do.

So, if some of the smaller details, like 'how to keep your eyes front when being addressed by the sovereign of your nation' had fallen by the wayside during their crash course in flight, well, he considered that a fair trade. Even as he watched some of the nobles in the audience mutter amongst themselves.

"I'm sure you will," he said.

"Though perhaps give them a day of reprieve before you have them running laps. Let them enjoy their moment to shine." Xela huffed, but said nothing as her pilots continued soaking in the praise. Some of them had even raised their medals up in triumph, as if to display them to the world. And William idly found himself wondering how many piloting applicants he'd be receiving from the watching crowd before the week was out. Certainly, more than he had planes.

Though in that regard, just about any applicants were too many. Though hopefully not for long, he thought as he glanced over to where the other heroes of the previous week's attack sat. His two betrothed. The two elves couldn't have looked prouder as they sat there, their own medals gleaming in the midday light. Technically speaking, Marcille was the only one who should have been congratulated for 'single handedly downing an enemy airship' but she'd insisted her sister also be praised.

If nothing else, as a fellow creator of the plane that she'd used to accomplish the deed. Yelena had acquiesced, and as such, both twins were now on stage, each cradling their own medals for innovation and valor. It wasn't too disingenuous, given that Clarice had been involved in the creation of the Basilisk and she had also been involved in the defense of the academy. One could argue that by distracting the attackers, she'd provided an opportunity for her sister to reach their shard.

If you sort of squinted a bit, he thought. Though by that logic, just about every student at the academy should have been eligible for their own medals. Not just the two girls he was betrothed to. Which, even if Yelena was willing to do, would require a good half to receive them in absentia, he thought wryly. As he looked out over the crowd, it wasn't lost on him that the number of students present were less than half what should have been. More to the point…

"Griffith wasn't lying. There really is no red or blue," Marline murmured next to him, the dark elf having clearly noticed the direction of his gaze.

"No, there's not," he responded somewhat inanely. Because what else was there to be said? Given that those colors represented students originating or aligned with Houses Blackstone and New Haven, it was abundantly clear that they'd used the confusion in the week following the attack to leave the city. Either with their Shards, on ocean bound ships, or simply on foot.

And while it was possible it was of their own volition – a good third of the students not aligned with those houses had also returned home following the attack – it was more likely they'd been ordered to leave. Which didn't bode well. Because while it was an unstated reality of things, the fact of the matter was that attendance at Blicland Royal Academy provided the Royal family a steady stream of ready access to political hostages in the form of the many heirs that attended.

Hostages that could be threatened in the event of poor behavior. … Though that was very much a weapon of last resort. Because the moment it was used, well, even ostensibly loyal houses might suddenly find themselves leery of making use of the Royal Academy. And the fact it had happened regardless meant Yelena either hadn't been able to or simply was unwilling to stop the exodus. Given the Royal Navy had been overhead for the past week, he was leaning on the latter being the more likely.

And he couldn't even argue it was a foolish move on her part. Because the Royal Academy had been attacked. Students had died. Many noble houses were quite within their rights to return their precious heirs home citing that the capital simply wasn't safe. Attempting to stop it happening would have squandered goodwill the Queen would desperately need in the days ahead. Faith in the Royal Family was going to be at an all time low. The capital, their seat of power, was in ruin.

Sure, they'd managed to rebuff the attack, taking down eight skyships in the process, but the fact of the matter was that the city had been thoroughly mauled in the process. Things were better just over a week on, with much of the rubble cleared from the roads, but that was very much a relative statement. And now with the entire Blackstone and New Haven contingents absent?

Well, it doesn't imply good things about whatever the two rebellious northern houses might now have planned following the mauling of the Royal Navy's vassal fleet, he thought. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Sure, the actual Royal Navy itself was untouched and even now floating protectively overhead, but the only ship present from the lower houses sworn directly to the Royal Family was his own. The Jellyfish.

The others were strewn amongst the rubble getting ready to be towed home once their ballasts could be patched and reinflated. The work of actually getting them battle ready once more would take many weeks – if not months. And while he was rightly proud of his own vessel and its growing notoriety, he wouldn't like it or the royal fleet's odds if the Northern Houses were to attack right now…

"Quit shifting about, you're going to make people nervous," Marline hissed.

"They should be nervous," he scoffed, even as he did as the dark elf asked.

"We should be getting ready for war, not holding awards ceremonies. You really think House Blackstone is going to let this attack go uncapitalized?" Or they could soon find themselves on the receiving end of a Lunite invasion. Because it was abundantly obvious who'd sent those ships, even if Lindholm was in no position to call them out on it. Which was why they were still being labelled as 'pirates'.

"This is us getting ready," his friend murmured.

"Morale is as important to any war effort as airships and Shards – and the city needs some of it now. So sit still and look heroic." He wanted to argue, but he knew it was sound. Even if he wanted to be anywhere else. He felt his hands positively itching to do something. To make something. Or break something. With a force of will, he remained still though. He even managed to smile as he was called up to get his own medal. And be officially sworn in as Lord Redwater by Yelena.

"At last, we come to the true star of today's celebration. For though I mean not to cheapen the efforts of any of our other heroines tonight, it is undeniable that one noble's efforts were the driving force behind the defence of our fair capital." William stared out at the watching crowds, eyes roaming over each of them as he'd been instructed to do. It was almost familiar in a way. He'd once stood upon a similar stage for not entirely dissimilar deeds. … Or had he? William certainly hadn't. George had.

He decided not to think about it as Yelena turned towards him.

"William Redwater, you stand before us as a Cadet of the Academy, your studies interrupted by the shadow of an invasion unprovoked. Yet, when the skies darkened and our enemies descended, you did not falter in your duty. Like so many others, from the humblest villagers to the bravest knights, you stood up to be counted. In that critical hour, you chose to act." It was funny, despite knowing this was all for show, he could almost swear the elven woman was being authentic as she looked into his eyes.

"Yet the reason I honor you here today is not because of those actions you took that night – even if they alone would be deserving of them. No, I honor you for your actions leading up to that attack. The long hours you spent preparing your Countship, crafting new weapons and stratagems. So that when the time came for you to do your duty, you were not ill-prepared to do so." That was definitely a not so subtle dig at the nobility of Southshore and Summerfield.

"Let it be known, Lord Redwater, that even before your graduation, you have achieved more than many nobles who have held their titles for their entire lives. You have not waited for ceremony or sanction; you have acted, innovated, and led. In you and others like you, we see the future of Lindholm." A page stepped forward, cradling a box not dissimilar to the others he'd already seen, opening it to reveal the star shaped medal within.

Actually, now that he thought about it, it was kind of funny that medals took the same shape as in his own world. Then again, he supposed pinning bits of expensive metal to one's chest – where they could be easily seen – held a certain amount of obviousness that made it rather universal.

"William Ashfield, for your unwavering courage, your unparalleled ingenuity, and your selfless service, I bestow upon you the Order of the Aetherial Vanguard. May your example inspire us all to stand taller, think bolder, and defend our home with unyielding hearts." He smiled, bowing gratefully to his monarch.

"Do you have any words you wish to say at this juncture?" Plenty, but he'd follow the script he'd been given all the same.

"I am both humbled and gratified by this honour Your Grace…" he began the long winding speech he'd been politely instructed to follow. All the while wishing to be elsewhere. Doing something actually productive. His hands twitched.

"Is it true they run without aether?" a noble asked, her voice laced with a mix of curiosity and scepticism. William stood on the ground of the academy courtyard, the grass still trampled from the earlier crowds that had filled the space to bursting. The air carried the faint, savory scent of roasted meats from the food carts that had been wheeled out onto the nearby streets to appease the departing peasants. It wouldn't do for the nobility to be forced to rub shoulders with the peasantry after all.

At least those not explicitly present to be rewarded for their acts of heroism. Peasants he had already instructed Xela to keep a close eye on. His own reputation was currently rather bulletproof at the moment, but his newly formed pilots-at-arms lacked similar protection. Heroes they might be, but they were still just peasants. Even if they didn't mean to offend, there was every chance one of them would step over a conversational landmine while the local nobility grilled them with questions about the Corsairs.

Lower nobility, that is. Those who didn't have the notoriety to gain access to the 'creator' themselves. The group surrounding him were Countesses. Specifically, from the same vassal houses that he'd inadvertently 'saved' by defending the capital.

"That is- ah," he started to say, only to pause as he noticed Bonnlyn and Verity arriving from their brief foray to the academy's runways.

"Perhaps, rather than hearing it from me, you could ask someone who's most recently experienced it? Bonnlyn! Verity! Care to give your thoughts regarding my Corsairs?" The dwarf and the orc stiffened slightly as attention turned to them and they were allowed to push through the small throng around him. Truth be told, he was genuinely curious about their opinions. It was their first time flying the craft after all. They'd flown conventional aether-shards in defence of the city, not Corsairs.

Oh, they'd asked once or twice about taking the aether-based training Corsairs up before now, but given the training models had been in near constant use for the peasant pilots to practice with, none of his immediate circle had really had a chance to fly the new craft.

"They're awful and I hate them," Bonnlyn said casually. The sudden intake of breath from the crowd at large was audible.

"Bonnlyn!" Verity the orc said, scandalized by her friend.

"What? It's true," the dwarf said.

"They're so loud. They stink like an alchemy lab. And piloting one's like sitting atop an ornery mule. With gas. In an earthquake. It's nothing like an aether-shard." William supposed it wouldn't be. An aether-shard's 'engine' was effectively silent when powered up. Aether was also quite odorless. The only real noise came from the thrumming of the propellers, which also tended to be positioned behind the pilot. To that end, flying a local Shard felt a lot more like flying an electric glider than any 'real' plane.

He supposed that compared to that experience he wasn't too surprised that his stocky teammate wasn't too big a fan of a variant of the same vehicle that continuously belched noxious fumes while effectively being powered by an ongoing series of small explosions in the front of the craft. Though it was still amusing to see the looks on the faces of the pilots-at-arms who happened to hear the dwarf's words.

They were understandably quite proud of their new rides – and had any of them had a hint of magic in their blood, William might have worried for the safety of his teammate. The stares the peasant girls were leveling at the dwarf might otherwise have been capable of causing the redhead to spontaneously combust. The nobles were likewise exchanging glances, some murmuring in disapproval, their brows furrowing in genteel outrage.

He didn't doubt some of them agreed with the dwarf, but that kind of blunt summary just wasn't said. William didn't much care though. It wasn't like he had any plans to sell the design to anyone. If people considered the Corsairs to be 'lesser' than real Shards, well, it'd only serve to help him when they underestimated them.

"Ah, good to know," he chuckled.

"But for our friend here, can you confirm that there's no aether involved?" Bonnlyn turned to the woman and nodded.

"Not even a hint."

"But how!?" the noble asked.

"What powers them if not aether? Clearly alchemy is involved in some fashion, but how?" Yes, that little fact was impossible for him to hide. Mages could sense magical enchantments, and as such could sense the alchemically-treated fuel he'd been using in place of having to get a proper refinery set up for proper high octane.

"Never mind how they fly! How do the repeater-cannons function without aether?" another noble hissed. The first noble nodded, turning almost frantically back to William.

"Please Lord Redwater, I would never dare to ask another noble his secrets normally, but this is simply too outlandish. We must know. For the good of the nation! A discovery like this, well, it could change the very face of aerial combat!" William opened his mouth to respond when another voice called out, cutting through the air with authority.

"I would also like to know the answer to those questions, if you would be so kind Lord Redwater?" An elven woman with simply far too much jewelry – and that was a feat in current company – had somehow pushed herself through the throng to reach him. Or rather, the two armored mage-knights accompanying her had cleared the way for her. The woman's gaze swept over him as he turned to her, expectation clear in her eyes that he would answer.

More to the point, she was looking at him like she was expecting him to recognize her. And he really didn't. Elf. A little plump. Blonde hair, he thought. Unfortunately, those traits described about half the nobility of Lindholm. She looked vaguely familiar, but not enough for him to even guess at who she might be.

Which was strange, because for all that he'd somewhat divorced himself from politics over the past year as he focused on getting his county up and running, he'd still made sure to keep abreast of the big movers and shakers in his area. For example, the noble who was so interested in his alternate method of developing 'cores' for the new aetherless shards was Countess Blenia – who held a rather sizeable investment in a number of Shard producing workshops here in the capital.

Hence her rather obvious desperation to get in on the ground floor of a new design paradigm. The other noble had been Countess Kellin, who served as a patron for a small workshop that produced cannons for airships. … Yet this newcomer remained a total mystery to him. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing one of his more politically savvy entourage members was present. Olzenya. Marline. His aunt. Griffith. The Whitehall twins. Hell, even Olivia would have done in a pinch.

Alas, they'd each been pulled in different directions as the party continued. And a glance at Verity and Bonnlyn showed they were just as ignorant as he was. And while clearly most of the nobles around him knew who this woman was, none of them were speaking up. Well shit, nothing for it but to bite the bullet, I guess, he thought. It's not like I've not already got a reputation for being a bit of a political dunce.

At least now I can swing it as me being more focused on scientific matters now that the Corsairs are out in the open. Which at least had the advantage of being mostly true.

"Please milady, you'll have to forgive this young lord's ignorance… but who are you?" he asked as politely as he could. The small smile the woman had been wearing melted with all the haste of snow on a summer day, turning into something decidedly more oily.

"Are you a dunce, lad!" one of the knights growled, hand gripping the handle of her sword.

"You speak to Princess Solana Lindholm! Fifth in line to the throne!" Ah… a princess. A new one. That could be a problem.