Chương 83: Chapter Eighty Three

"How?" Was all Nurin could mutter as she stared up at the Silk Path, as it fell from the clouds above, listing wildly, belching smoke and aether as it started a gradual plummet to the earth below.

"Full throttle to starboard propellers. Full reverse to port propellors!" she shouted almost instinctively, lest the ship that had been supposed to be providing overwatch for her own drop onto it. Fortunately, it seemed the captain still had some propeller control despite the loss of her starboard ballasts, as the other ship was angling away from her own. That still begged the question of 'how?'

As the captain of the Stormy Skies watched, the two small specks peeled away from the falling corpse of a ship, long trails of aether following behind them. Shards. Obviously the same two shards the Silk Path had just reported emerging from cloud cover barely a minute ago. Shards that the Silk Path had claimed were going to be intercepted by their own shard complement. Clearly, that hadn't happened. And for a heart stopping moment she feared her own ship was about to suffer the same fate.

The sensation made worse by the strange unnatural howling she'd only just noticed building with each passing moment. Fortunately, the duo of strange looking flyers merely rattled the windows of the bridge as they shot past, whatever weapon or spell they'd used to gut the Silk Path, clearly spent. The puntguns on the deck fired at them as they went past, but they were about as effective as they ever were, which was to say not at all. No, the only real defense against shard attack was thick armor and other shards.

Neither of which had apparently been effective here, as she watched the four shards that had supposedly been flying escort for her sister-ship flying in pursuit of the unknown craft – and it was abundantly clear from her position that they'd not be catching them.

"Ma'am, we're clear of the Silk Path's descent angle," Her XO said. Shaking her head, Nurrin turned her attention from a doomed pursuit she had no ability to affect to a situation she could. She glanced up the Silk Path as it continued its somewhat ponderous descent, seeing evacuation-gliders spilling out of it. Clearly the order to abandon ship had already been given.

"Be ready to receive Countess Garel and the Silk Path's Mithril Core," she said.

"Recovering it is our top priority now. Comms, forward a message back to the command fleet. The loyalists have deployed an unknown, incredibly fast shard capable of destroying a frigate in a single pass." Receiving an affirmative, her gaze flitted from the falling airship to the submerged entrance to the castle they'd spent the last three days trying to storm. And she had a reasonably good view of it, given how low the Stormy Skies was flying.

All the better to provide air-support in the event of a sally from the defenders. A fairly risky position for any airship to be in. Especially on such a cloudy day. Which was ostensibly why the Silk Road had been on overwatch above those clouds. Using their communication orb, the other ship would have been able to spot any incoming airships long before they became a threat. On a clear day, we'd have been able to see shards too, she thought.

Though the risk of any shards using the clouds as cover to sneak up on either airship had been considered somewhat negligible. Oh sure, they'd heard tales of the Jellyfish and its complement of strange not-shards, but by all reports they still performed like conventional shards, even if they supposedly lacked mithril and had outstated ship killing potential. Even with that, the four shard escort should have proven sufficient to at least give the two airships time to react and retreat.

No, unless half the capital lied about what they saw that night, those were no 'corsairs', she thought grimly.

Staring at the camp down below, she was relieved to see that while the camp surrounding the entrance looked like a disturbed anthill, as the marines and mage-knights they'd brought along for the siege reacted to the sight of one half of their overwatch about to fall just short of on top of them, it didn't yet seem like- And just as she dared to have that thought, she watched as the defenders of the castle sallied out from their underground defences, throwing the camp further into disarray.

Part of her wanted to level firing solutions on the biggest clumps of them, but ultimately she decided against it. She didn't have the time.

"The moment the Silk Path's core is onboard we're retreating," she decided.

"Inform the mage-knights on the ground that we'll be diving low for a 'scoop' but if they're not onboard when we turn to leave, they're staying with the plebs. That goes for the crew of the Silk Path too."

"Aye ma'am," her XO said, immediately belting out orders to the signal woman – and in turn a series of flags were soon raised across the side of the ship.

"The defenders knew this was going to happen. That sally was too well timed. And if they're willing to risk sallying under our guns, that means they don't think those guns are going to be there for long," she said. She was the captain and countess. She had no real need to explain herself to anyone. And yet she felt compelled to do so anyway, well aware she was about to leave a lot of people behind.

"We're practically hugging the deck and with the Silk Path down we're effectively blind to anything going on up-high," she continued.

"I'd put decent odds on those Shards that hit the Silk Path being just the opening move. Even if they can't do that again, they don't need to. A conventional airship would be able to pummel us from on high with impunity."

"Of course ma'am." Her XO nodded – understanding clear in her gaze. Satisfied, she turned her attention back to the view outside.

"Set a course for us to group up with the reserve and command fleets once we've finished the scoop." Hopefully being back amongst a full fleet with hundreds of accompanying shards would protect against another strike from those strange shards. Hopefully.

"Any word from the Silk Path?" she asked.

"The last report from twenty seconds ago confirms that Countess Garel has retrieved the core and is vacating the vessel. She intends to fly over directly with her surviving personal guard." Good, there wasn't time for a full report with the woman's craft literally about to crash down in the next few minutes, but the moment she was aboard Nurin wanted a full report on what the fuck happened up there.

"And Command?" she confirmed.

"Has either Lady Faline or Lady Eleanor received our message?" Normally she'd have sent word to her duchess alone and left the human to swivel on a rusty table leg, but in this case, well, she'd make an exception.

"No ma'am," the comms operator shook her head.

"I've been unable to get through. Something's hogging the line."

"What!? All of them?" Between the two duchies' flagships, the command fleet had no less than eight communication orbs. They'd once had twenty three, but much of the North's stockpile of the valuable crystals had been redistributed in an attempt to recreate the royal wayfinder network – which had unfortunately gone to ground or outright destroyed their orbs after the war started.

Still, even if the orb arrays on both flagships were only shadows of their former selves, there should have been no world in which all eight should have been occupied. Was this also some kind of enemy action? Had the Queen also figured out a way to disrupt comm orb communication? She shook her head. No, that seemed unlikely given that she was still able to communicate with the Silk Path's orb. Now, it was possible distance was a factor, but it was more likely that the flagship's orb arrays were all in use.

Which didn't bode well if that was the case. Because it suggested their flotilla wasn't the only one under attack.

Yelena was struggling not to jump for joy as reports continued to roll in. Alas, she was currently standing in the command room – once the ballroom – of the Summerfield manse and as such was surrounded by her nation's most powerful nobility and leading military officials. Though those two posts unfortunately had a tendency to overlap considerably. As evidenced by the fact that the owner of the second most powerful fleet on the loyalist side was the newly elevated Duchess of Summerfield.

Who was all of twenty-one and struggling not to look overwhelmed. Fortunately, the girl was wise enough not to butt in and had for the most part simply stood back with her sister while the operation unfolded. … Or perhaps she was thankful for the opportunity not to have to be in charge of something for a few minutes. The girl had been more than a little busy in the three weeks since she'd been elevated. Huh, Yelena thought, three weeks, has it only been that long?

That seemed far too short a time, but she realized that was all it had been. Three weeks since William had unveiled the Shrieker. Two weeks since the Rebels had surprised her by moving to besiege the South's outlying territories rather than make a straight push for either southern ducal capital. And three days since they'd finished producing the eighteenth Shrieker. Another number that boggled the mind, but William hadn't been lying when he'd stated that the Shrieker was a deceptively simple design.

Fortunately, they'd had pilots – all royal navy veteran flyers – spending pretty much every spare hour practicing in the existing one. And new craft were added to the training rotation pretty much the moment the mage-smiths finished churning out a new frame. All in preparation for this attack. One she could fully admit she'd spent more than a few sleepless nights worrying about. Because those eighteen Shriekers represented almost the entirety of what she'd recovered by raiding kraken nests.

It was a huge investment. But it was worth it! She thought. Because after being forced to abandon her capital, she'd just gotten to strike her first blow of this war. In a single afternoon we've destroyed seven airships, she thought. In return for a single shard. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. It really had been a perfect storm.

They'd been able to plan out the attacks perfectly because they'd known exactly where the opposing ships would be and how many were present in each location. At least for the castles that hadn't fallen immediately. And there had been a few of those. But not many. And those that hadn't surrendered still had their communication orbs. Though that, they'd managed to strike only where they were weakest, in those locations where the flotillas numbered three ships or less. And in return we've got seven airships destroyed.

In return for one downed shard, she thought. In a single afternoon.

"And it's confirmed they're all pulling back?" she asked her daughter. Who was currently standing over a rather large map dotted with symbols representing both loyalist and rebel forces.

"In the places we've hit and some we haven't," Tyana confirmed.

"Not all though. Any location with four or more ships seems to have been commanded to remain in place." Well, that was somewhat expected. Any location with more than four ships present was important enough to the rebels that they'd not give up the siege easily. And the many ships and shards present would likely leave them feeling more secure. Still, the fact that ships they hadn't even hit were retreating was a good sign as it boded well for the next phase of the operation.

Recovering the downed hulls of the ships they'd taken out. Which was no simple task, but far from undoable. There was no world in which one could get a downed airship operational in just a few hours, but patching one up sufficiently to fly? That was far simpler. Just get enough mage smiths down there to patch up the ballasts, slot in a new core, and then get two other ships to tow the resulting floating wreck home. The question now was whether or not they'd get the hours needed to do that.

The Shriekers had been sent out with airships trailing just out of sight behind them and now those small flotillas would be moving in to retrieve the downed wrecks. And cycle fresh troops into the besieged castles. … Though those replacements would be pretty much entirely plebian in nature. Every mage would be needed in the fight to come, not manning frankly doomed positions. Because even if they beat back the Northerners now, they'd return. No, the South would need to trade territory for time for a bit longer.

But so long as they could keep whittling the rebels down with Shriekers – or even just delay them long enough for William to start churning out more plebian-shards, they'd win eventually.

"And from that, do we have any idea where their reserve fleet is?" she asked. That was the true worry. Based on the number of ships reported from castles under siege, it was clear a decent portion of the enemy remained in reserve. And it was those ships she was now worried about complicating the recovery efforts for the hulls.

"We've got some idea of which direction it's in, but less idea of how far," Tyana said. Nodding at that, Yelena settled back into her chair. And it was a chair. …Honestly, she regretted not bringing her throne with her when she left. At the time, she'd made a point of doing so as a promise that she would return to the 'seat' of her power.

"Mother, do you want me to send someone to inform Lord Redwater of the operation's success?" Palmer asked – and Yelena smirked a bit at the way Griffith perked up a bit from her position over the queen's shoulder.

"I'm sure he'd be gratified to learn of his design's success." And unstated was the fact that he was owed some of the glory from today because of it. Not notifying him could be seen as a snub. And Yelena had to resist the urge to smirk at that. She leaned back in her chair, a faint smile playing across her lips as she regarded her eldest daughter.

"Feel free to," she said, waving a dismissive hand, "but he'll probably just get annoyed at you for interrupting his work on the Corsair lines. I get the feeling he's frankly disinterested in the Shriekers." Palmer blinked, clearly caught off guard by the assessment.

"Really? After all the work that went into designing it?" Yelena nodded, her gaze drifting toward the large map spread across the table. Markers representing loyalist and rebel forces dotted the parchment like pieces on a game board.

"Work? It took him a week. And after he got what he wanted out of the thing, he passed it off to me like an afterthought." A move Yelena frankly attributed to his harrowing. For all that he wasn't a typical example of the breed, he still very much was harrowed. And the Shrieker, for all he'd based it on a design from his world, likely had too much of this world's tech in it to truly satisfy his compulsions.

Which she was ultimately thankful for, because it meant she could put ace pilots in the machines instead of barely trained peasants. Because that would have been the outcome if William wanted to retain control of the designs. As evidenced by the small incident where he got himself imprisoned in his own house because he didn't like his guards having mixed loyalties. The boy didn't like having anyone with mixed loyalties under him. Palmer shifted slightly.

"If you think that's the right move then Mother." Yelena shrugged lightly.

"I do. I really do think he sees the Shriekers as little more than a means to an end. A stopgap measure until he gets his Corsair production up and running." Which was not something she was against. The first production line took him just under a year to create back in Redwater. Here in Summerfield he claimed he could do the same in four months.

That seemed optimistic to her – though she could admit that it was possible given he now had an experienced workforce, the specialized tools needed, and a sizable influx of veteran shard designers she'd 'lent' to him.

"Flotilla Three has made contact with the downed airship," Tyana reported from her position over the map, her voice steady and professional.

"It's a cruiser. Initial reports on time to recover are pending further investigation." Either way, there was little she could do now but use the tools he'd already given her to the best of her ability.

Bonnlyn was glaring at Verity so hard she was surprised the orc hadn't spontaneously combusted – igniting the tent they were in and killing them all in a fiery conflagration. Not that the other girl noticed the rising possibility of imminent fiery death. She was entirely focused on William. Verity had effectively replaced Marline as William's permanent shadow these days, hovering close enough that the two might as well have been glued together. And that was precisely why Bonnlyn was glaring.

The orc had finally gotten William to fuck someone who wasn't practically going grey - and now the lucky bitch refused to share! It had been about three weeks since she'd arrived in Summerfield to discover that fact. She'd been elated! Not just to finally get off a ship that was frankly far too crowded – but also because she might finally get dicked down by something that wasn't made of whale bone. But no. It wasn't to be. Bonnlyn hadn't gotten so much as a sliver of dick.

What was worse was that she had no allies in her righteous indignation. Olzeyna was too much of a priss to admit that she wanted a good dicking as much as any red blooded woman – and Marline… well, Bonnlyn was reasonably certain the dark elf was playing for the other team. She'd certainly caught her staring at the dwarf's tits enough. Which, while flattering, was of no use to her because she preferred dick! … Though at this rate, she was halfway tempted to start licking clam just to get her own clam licked.

Bonnlyn crossed her arms tighter, leaning against a support beam inside the large tent, glancing out the flaps at the work going on outside. Workers and magesmiths were hard at work in the nearby warehouse they'd set up, moving about in controlled chaos, tools clanging and voices overlapping as they labored on the next wave of Corsair components. Or rather, the tools to build the next wave of corsair components. Slowly, she allowed her attention to drift back to the argument that had been going on for a while now.

William was sitting at his desk in the centre of the tent, arguing with a senior magesmith who was clearly quite adamant that including some enchanted materials in the Corsair could only serve to improve its performance. William didn't disagree. He still didn't want it.

"Every enchantment cost is one less charge for mage-smithing," William repeated for what felt like the third time.

"And that means less Corsairs."

"And more sub-par Corsairs that are as much a danger to the pilot as the enemy. You're ignoring enchantments that have been industry standard for generations. Even a single flame-killer enchantment would-""Take up mage-charges. And our Corsairs don't have to be perfect. They just have to be good enough to be able to achieve near parity with the rebels. Which they can do through pure performance metrics alone." William leaned forward, looking the other woman in the eye.

"So all we need to do is keep churning them out as fast as we can. The other side will eventually run out of shards and pilots. We won't." The woman, an elf with just the barest hints of grey in her hair, looked deeply offended.

"I understand. I suppose I'm simply not used to treating shards or their pilots as… disposable. I should have known better, I suppose, working with William Redwater." Her bit said, the woman turned and left. Bonnlyn was about to say something pithy, but paused as she saw William… frowning. Huh, normally that kind of thing basically just rolled off his back. He'd never made a secret of the fact that he fully intended to 'use' his first batch of plebian pilots. Honestly, she respected that about him.

He never shied away from the cost inherent in trying to accomplish his goals. Yet this time he actually flinched, a shadow crossing his face for a brief moment. Honestly, she kind of wanted to say something. … Though she didn't get the chance, because Verity immediately placed a comforting hand on his arm. And before she knew it, the two were sharing a sweet little lovey-dovey moment right there in the middle of the tent. It was sickening! They weren't even saying anything! And why couldn't she have sweet moments!?

"You should get rid of that old bag," Bonnlyn said, if only to interrupt the pair. And she felt not a hint of shame in doing so! William blinked, then turned toward her as if he hadn't just been eye-fucking the orc.

"Can't. Idiocy aside, she's a very good mage-smith. And as I just spent the last thirty minutes arguing, I need all the mage-smiths I can get. Nevermind ones with management experience." Bonnlyn glanced down at the reports the woman had just submitted on retooling the workshop she'd been assigned for her part of the production line. The elf was ahead of schedule. Impressively so. I suppose that's the power of nearly a hundred years of experience compared to the eager newbies we had before, she thought.

At this rate, William might actually make the insane four month deadline he'd set.

"So, what'd you call me in for?" she asked finally.

"Need me to find another supplier?" That was what she spent the last three weeks doing. Ensuring the work sites got what they needed when they needed them. Though truth be told, most of the 'negotiating' she'd been doing came down to saying 'the queen needs' this and then letting people trip over themselves to comply.

"Well, what you walked in on is a pretty good example of what I called you in for," William said.

"I'm appointing you my… go-between for the project leads. I mean, you're already handling the supply chain. So now I need you to manage the production chain as well." What?

"It's taking up too much of my time. I need to focus on other things," he said casually as if he wasn't just casually dumping half the war effort on her shoulders.

"What about Piper? Or Xela!?" Bonnlyn asked not at all frantically. William had the audacity to shrug.

"Xela's been stolen by Yelena to help train more plebian-pilots using our remaining corsairs. Along with most of my actual pilots. And I need Piper fully focused on getting fuel and ammunition production up and running."

"And you can't do the one job you've been assigned because?" she asked. He casually shifted a few design documents on the table.

"I am. I'm not just abandoning you. I'll just be working on some other stuff too soon and won't always be around." Ah, that actually made her feel better.

"You feel like telling me what it is?" she asked. He smiled. It was not a nice smile.

"Something I think we'll need if the North decides to go for the throat before Corsair production comes fully online." Ok, she could understand that. Still…

"Okay, I understand that – but even if I was willing to sub for you, I'm just a cadet. And only a mage-knight beyond that," she pointed out.

"If they're arguing with you about this stuff, you the war hero and genius designer, they're going to flat out ignore me. I don't have the rank to even be talking to a lot of these gals." Frankly, it didn't help that she was a dwarf either. Ironically, she'd likely be more respected than a human back on the old continent, but here in Lindholm dwarves were barely a step above orcs on the social hierarchy. She didn't think it was a coincidence that there weren't any dwarven countesses kicking around.

"Right. Right. Feudalism. Forgot about that," William muttered. He stood up and searched around until he found a small crate in the corner. Reaching in, he pulled out…

"Is that a fucking ship core, William!?" Bonnlyn gasped. Neither of them had been able to feel the magic because frankly the entire worksite was saturated in it from all the shard cores knocking about. But now it was right in front of them, there was no mistaking it. He was holding a full-sized airship mithril core.

"Here," he said, tossing it to her.

"I dub thee, Lady… something or other." Bonnlyn stared at the glowing sphere in her palms. Silence filled the tent. Then Verity, who the dwarf had honestly forgotten was present, started clapping. Slowly. Bonnlyn glared at the orc, who just smiled at her.

"I'm happy for you, Bonnlyn," Verity said sincerely.

"Even if he's doing it on a whim, being a countess will help your family's business a lot, right?" Bonnlyn opened her mouth to argue, before she paused, then nodded shakily and turned back to William.

"Alright, I'm very thankful. You're insane. But I'm super thankful," she made sure to look him in the eyes and convey her genuine gratitude.

"But it doesn't solve our problem because I'm now an unlanded noble. That's barely a step up from a mage-knight in most people's eyes. If anything, I'm now more worried about them trying to rob me instead of listening to me." William frowned in thought, then smiled.

"Alright, I get that. I hereby grant you Redwater. You're landed."

"…You can't do that!" Bonnlyn shouted - as did Verity at the same time. She wasn't clapping now.

"Pretty sure I just did," he said casually.

"It's not like I need the territory anymore if I'm going to marry a duchess and a countess. At least one of the latter. Plus I've been promised some other stuff." That caught Bonnlyn's interest. Because there was only one person on William's level who could 'promise him stuff'. The Queen.

"What stuff?" He just smiled infuriatingly.

"Just stuff. Don't you worry about it, Lady Redwater." Bonnlyn just stared, before sighing.

"Technically, as the first of my name I get to pick my own name. And I also get to rename my territory like you did." William was entirely unbothered, as he stood up and started guiding her out by the shoulders.

"Great. Do that while you find Xela. She'll tell you where the, you know, physical deed to the territory is." Bonnlyn had a feeling Xela would have some questions why she'd want that. And then many more questions when she found out.

"Right, I'll get on that," she said instead. William smiled as she left – and Bonnlyn pretended not to hear Verity hurriedly hissing something at him. Bonnlyn just shook her head. Perhaps being left out of the sex wasn't so bad. There was a saying about crazy dick. She sighed. Nope, she still wanted to get laid. … Maybe that'd be easier now she was a countess. Apparently. This had been a strange day. And she was right, when she found Xela, the woman had a great many questions.

Fortunately, pretty much all of them could be answered with one word.

'William.'