Chương 90: Chapter Ninety

"Captain Summers! Given my daughter's inability to adhere to my orders, you are to take control of the flotilla at once and return it to its previously proscribed duties. Tala Blackwater is to be escorted to her cabin and detained there until such time that she accedes to her proper duties – or the flotilla is relieved." Tala could barely believe her ears.

She had ordered the flotilla to set out for home almost immediately after receiving the report about the attack on Blackstone Keep, abandoning the siege completely after recovering their people on the ground. In her mind, there hadn't been a moment to waste, what with three unknown airships seemingly laying waste to the seat of her family's power.

It had been three hours since she'd given that order – two of which she'd spent waiting for the rather tenuous orb relay network they'd set up to clear sufficiently for her to communicate with her mother in the south. The last hour of which, she'd spent arguing – and pointedly not turning the flotilla around.

When the orb finally cleared, the young heiress had expected a brief, perfunctory acknowledgement of her decision to defend their ancestral seat, perhaps followed by a promise of reinforcements, even if they'd be between a week or a fortnight away depending on whether they were dispatched from Blicland or the South proper. Instead, she had been ordered to turn around. To continue her current objective of seizing southern keeps - and the enchanted munitions they held.

Apparently, a few hundred old cannon-balls were more important to Tala's mother than the security of her ancestral seat. Naturally, Tala had refused that order. Vehemently. Which she'd known to be risky – but never in her wildest dreams had she expected this!

"Well, Summers? You have your orders," Eleanor's voice intoned imperiously from the bridge's orb. Tala glanced back toward the stonefaced woman on whose vessel she currently stood and the bridge staff beyond. The ship was part of the Blackstone fleet rather than a vassal contingent, and as such the Captain was a mage-knight rather than a Countess. By rights, the knight should have obeyed. She should have ordered Tala's removal and assumed control of the flotilla without hesitation.

There was none of the politics that might have stayed another higher ranked noble's hand. There was not a hint of ambiguity in the chain here. And yet, the lesser noble did not move. No one moved. The helmswomen kept their eyes locked on the instruments. The communications officer remained frozen with her hand still resting on the orb. Even the bully sailors in the doorway stayed exactly where they were. None of them wanted to move.

And Tala felt little to no relief at that fact – even if it worked to her advantage here and now. Because one of the first lessons her mother had ever taught her was to never give an order she knew would not be obeyed. And she had just done exactly that. House Blackstone had a reputation for being overly proud. Of being insular. Not just the noble family themselves, but the people of the land itself. From the knights, to the sailors, to the peasants. And they were. Because life in the North was not easy. Orcs.

Snow. Animals. The list of things that might kill a woman was as long as Tala's arm. To survive in such a place, people needed not just to be tough – but to work together. When the orcs came trampling down from the mountain, you stood shoulder to shoulder with your neighbours to push them back! And if you fell, you fell knowing that your kin would be looked after.

While many of her southern compatriots were sunning themselves on beaches, Tala had been down in the mud with plebs, hunting down Orcish raiders or damming icy river waters as they threatened to flood. Just as her ancestors had before her. Earning the loyalty of the people whom she would one day rule. But that loyalty was not limitless. Large, yes, as shown by how eagerly they had marched against the South – but it was not without end.

Few things could pull a woman of the North from her duties - but a threat to her family? That was one of them. Something Eleanor seemed to be belatedly remembering as she stared out at the bridge crew. And all the while, Tala could only wonder if this lapse was because the war was going that poorly? She'd suspected such was the case for a while – though it was hard to gauge from the progress reports she received, which remained outwardly positive. They were taking land after all. They were applying pressure.

And though she took umbrage at the methods, Tala could admit that forcing refugees toward the Southern capitals would only increase that pressure. Eleanor's plan was working. The more keeps they seized, the more likely it became that Yelena's vassals would eventually sue for peace as their own personal lands fell under threat. The problem, which was not stated anywhere, was that the North was bleeding ships too quickly in the process. Far too quickly.

Nearly twenty percent of the combined Northern fleet had already been shot down after just two months. Yes, over half of those hulls had been recovered and would eventually return to service, but the other half had been captured or destroyed so utterly that it would be years before they were flightworthy again - if they ever were. Many would simply be broken down for parts to hasten the repairs of the remaining fleet.

Even with those parts though, to repair the ten percent of hulls that had been recovered would require mages. And that was an area in which House Blackstone had always lagged, given their more… Human alignment. They had always made up for the shortfall with dedicated plebeian troops and superior ships – and admittedly subsidies from the Crown to that end. Except the longer the war dragged on, the more the growing threat of the Corsairs loomed.

Once those entered full production - and no one on their side had any idea how long that might take beyond the year it had taken Redwater to develop them in the first place - the South would drag the North deeper into this grinding war of attrition. A war which would slowly eliminate the qualitative advantage of the Blackstone and New Haven's ships. And it doesn't help that we still don't know just how effective those Corsairs might be, she thought. Yelena's – or William's – holding the Jellyfish in reserve.

Yes, the Corsairs had supposedly done well over the capital but that had been against an outnumbered, surprised, partially spent, and distracted enemy. Against a prepared Northern formation, the outcome might be very different. Still, even if they were only half as effective as they hoped, they'd still be twice as effective as the North wanted them to be. Even if all the strange machines did was carry the strange fire-lances the South had, they'd be a threat. …

Though given the lack of them in recent engagements, the hope was that whatever alchemy was used to create them had been spent for the moment. Either way though, they represented a threat. And that was without the possibility of other inventions appearing, like the Shriekers. Tala was well aware that William was still out there and still scheming.

Glancing up at her mother's equally silent, pensive expression, the young woman had to wonder how tempting the calls to simply push south for a frontal engagement were becoming for her. It was, after all, the correct move in the immediate theatre - beyond a shadow of a doubt. Forget this slow grind and strike deep into the South to end the war before any Corsairs took flight. Even if that was pure folly.

The Lunites might have been out of position for an invasion – for now – with their recent false flag attack, but the Solites hadn't made any big pushes to punish their old rival for losing so many ships. Fortunately, fears of a mainland invasion also meant the South were incapable of committing any large-scale strikes too. Unfortunately, it just so happened that William Redwater's presence meant that this slow grind favoured them.

"There will be a reckoning for this," Eleanor Blackstone finally spoke, her voice projecting across the entire bridge.

"Our House. Our home. Our way of life. None of it can survive if our warriors fail to follow orders. It leaves us little better than Orcs. Orcs whom we have triumphed against over and over again, because of the discipline shown by your ancestors. Ancestors who did their duty, and followed the orders of their superiors even as their hearts yearned to act as they believed to be correct.

They did this, because they knew that to act on their own initiative at the expense of their orders was to weaken the North as a whole." There was shame, written clear in the faces and posture of the entire crew. But none of them moved to follow Eleanor's commands.

"You're not wrong Mother," Tala said, returning that burning gaze to herself.

"And perhaps this is folly on my part. Dictated by the whims of my heart, rather than the practicalities of the moment. Yet, even as I try to divorce myself from my feelings, I cannot see how abandoning our home to amass a few more tons of enchanted metal benefits us more than securing our seat of power." Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Eleanor stared at them through the orb for a long moment.

"No, you don't." the Duchess of Blackstone said.

"When you have successfully routed the fleet attacking Blackstone, I expect you to return to the duties you should always have been doing." Tala's eyes widened and for a moment, hope stirred in her chest – which her mother was quick to dash.

"Make no mistake, my heir. This is not condolence. It is simply my attempt to salvage the mess you're leading us into. You are currently beyond my reach – for now, and my focus is elsewhere. So deal with the issue. Discover who attacks us. Then return to your duties. And await your punishment for this… mutiny." The call cut before Tala could respond, the image of her mother dissolving into swirling grey. And as it did, a palpable wave or relief washed over the entire bridge. Though only in part.

Every woman present was aware that there would be a reckoning for this. She turned to the Captain and reaffirmed the order to maintain their heading north. The woman nodded once, relief flickering briefly across her face as a return to something approaching professionalism was returned.

And even as Tala made plans to confirm the continued loyalty of the other ships in her task force – and that they weren't currently dispatching marines to detain her - she realized that this had been the first time she had ever disobeyed her mother. Huh, she chuckled. She had argued before, of course. She had pushed back against strategies she disagreed with. But she had never defied a direct order like this. … She had thought herself better than this. Dutiful. Loyal. Not like William Ashfield.

Of course, the moment that comparison hit, she felt as if she'd bitten into something sour. No, she was nothing like him. Tala's 'rebellion' was born from altruism and a desire to save her people. Not naïve anti-slavery nonsense covering for deep seated mommy issues. No, she was nothing like William Ashfield. For one thing, she'd actually be punished for her rebellion. She honestly doubted William had ever received so much as a slap on the wrist from his limp-wristed mother.

Void, their idea of a punishment had been to simply send him to the Academy! … Tala would count herself lucky to still be the Blackstone heir when this was through. She might have lacked for sisters, but she had plenty of cousins she could easily see mother adopting into the main line. That's a problem for tomorrow though, she thought as she gazed out the bridge's window.

Eleanor Blackstone scowled as she turned away from the orb – trying not to let her frustration at her daughter's actions show. Did the girl not think that Eleanor cared? That she didn't want to fly home with their entire fleet to protect their home? Of course she did. But she also needed to win this war. A war that was not going well. What should have been a relatively easy victory following the destruction of the Crownland vassal fleet and the North's subsequent capture of the Capital had turned into a slow grind.

Which… wouldn't have been too bad – if they didn't keep losing ships! She'd also not been exaggerating when she'd told her daughter that they needed the munitions held in those castles. They were going through their stockpiles far faster than could be sustained. Tyana Lindholm's raiding was constant, and while she refused to be drawn into a proper fight, ammunition was still expended each fight. Theoretically, that wasn't too much of an issue as the South's ammunition stockpiles should be similarly suffering.

Except there was the ever present possibility that the South had access to some kind of cheap alchemical explosive. Which her people had yet to unravel, despite their ongoing investigations of the residue left by Yelena's – or William's – bombing campaign in the Capital. The casualties for which had thankfully petered out, though not necessarily because they'd gotten better at finding them – they hadn't found one – but because they'd all been triggered.

Rubbing her eyes, she blinked as one of the communication officers strode up to her.

"Report," Eleanor demanded, sitting up in her seat – unwilling to show any of the bone deep weariness she felt.

"Countess Morello reports an attack on her flotilla, currently besieging Greyford Castle, ma'am. After an initial strike by enemy Howlers, she has sighted eight incoming airships and a large conventional Shard swarm. She believes, given the size of the swarm relative to the airship fleet, there may be a carrier in the area." Eleanor's expression tightened as her feigned attentiveness suddenly became very real.

"Are the Shards Corsairs?"

"No, ma'am. Aether-trails suggest conventional Shards." The ongoing absence of Corsairs continued to confuse her. William Redwater's new machines had been the spectre hanging over every strategic discussion for weeks, yet they remained conspicuously absent from the field. It had reached the point where many in her war council were suggesting that whatever alchemy was used to keep them aloft, it had been expended when Yelena was forced to abandon Redwater County. Eleanor knew better.

Her own alchemists had reported what they believed to have been present in the massive vats that had been set ablaze in the county when the Royal Navy fled the capital – and it was some variant of Demon Piss or Bear Blood. An ingredient that was hardly difficult to source. Still, even with the Corsairs missing, it was possible they might yet catch the Jellyfish, as the enemy seemed committed to a proper fight at Greyford.

"Have the reserve fleet move to reinforce," Eleanor ordered, feeling the Brimstone start to move less than a second later as her XO started bellowing orders.

"Launch every available Shard and set two thirds of the flights to sortie toward the engagement ahead of us." If the enemy had brought a carrier, the Brimstone's Shard complement would be more than sufficient to match it. With that and the reserve fleet's own Shard complements, they should have the eight ships outnumbered.

"All Shards, Ma'am?" Her XO asked quietly. Elanor considered it for a moment, before nodding.

"Aye, deploy the Howlers. Tell them to move with all haste." The fast-moving Super-Shards would reach the engagement long before the reserve fleet or any conventional response. And the flotilla would likely need it. The XO hesitated.

"Is that… wise, ma'am? Enemy Howlers were reported." Elanor nodded anyway.

"Then I suppose we'll finally see who comes out on top." They had dick-footed around the issue long enough. The Howlers would have to face their 'older sisters' in the skies eventually – when better than in a fight where the North would eventually hold the Shard and airship advantage. … Though, if the enemy saw incoming Super-Shards and chose to pull back their own for fear of losing them – letting the North's Howlers move through their Shard complement like shit through a goose, well, Elanor wouldn't complain.

Either way, it was finally time to heat this war up a notch.

Marcille was tired. It was a bone-deep exhaustion that had little to do with lack of sleep – though that didn't help – and the realities of playing host to two thirds of the South's nobility while trying to fight a war. It seemed like not a day could go by without one of their noble guests getting into some sort of disagreement with her peers. Disagreements that required either Yelena or Clarice to resolve them as 'hosts'.

Unfortunately for Marcille, she was well known as her sister's right-hand – and as such, she'd often become the one dispatched to resolve said disputes while her sister did 'more important things'. Like actually plan out the war. It didn't help that Marcille knew a lot of the current 'squabbling' amongst their guests wasn't born so much from pettiness – though there was definitely plenty of that – but rather the stress of being stuck here while their homes were under siege.

Yes, the heirs and rulers of many of the counties under attack were now here with their airships, but those same men and women had also left people behind in their holdings to defend them. Marine-knights they trusted. Many of whom would be close friends or family. To that end, the slowly tightening noose of besieging ships from the North was having an effect.

Ignoring the influx of displaced commoners playing merry hell with their food stores, whispers of the possibility of surrender had already begun circulating among the lesser nobility. Which was inevitable, really. They were winning - on paper, at least - but it was hard to see when the map kept shrinking. Marcille knew she'd felt… something, when she realized that the Whitemorrow lands would almost certainly be next on the chopping block if the current southern push continued.

Beyond that, the current defensive strategy had resulted in plenty of accusations of cowardice being bandied about. A lot of the south's nobility were pure-blooded Elves. Which meant they were old. And slow to adapt to the fact that their vaunted wooden warships were proving more and more to be practically useless in modern combat.

Not entirely, their armament could be effective against more modern steel-hulled vessels at the right range – but getting there was impractical in the extreme without an overwhelming numbers advantage. Which required the exact sort of large-scale fleet battle both sides were trying to avoid. It also didn't help that the Jellyfish was still sitting almost entirely idle in its berth.

A lot of the lustre of its performance in the Capital had started to wear off while it sat in reserve – and she'd heard more than one rumor that its performance on that night had been overblown. Which was moronic – what, did the attacking Lunites shoot down themselves? – but not entirely unreasonable given most of them had yet to see it or the new Corsairs in action. No, all they saw was a bunch of plebians strutting about playing pilot, while the 'actual' pilots were fighting and dying to support the Royal Navy.

Because for all that the South's airships were being held in reserve, the same wasn't true for their Shards. No, with Drake losses mounting, the Royal Navy had started providing berthing for noble pilots to sortie with them. Marcille collapsed backward onto her bed with a sigh.

"And of course William's completely blind to all of it," she thought. Ok, that was a little unfair. She knew he was… tangentially aware that morale was a factor in this war – he could even be quite insightful at times - but for the most part he was measuring the current conflict in machines, not minds. His many ongoing projects meant he was rather insulated from the growing defeatism in the nobility's ranks.

"Hopefully Tyana's plan works," she murmured.

"Now that she's got the Exodite." Originally the plan had been to keep the refitted Greygrass carrier in reserve alongside the Jellyfish, for use as a training platform until its full complement of Corsairs could be embarked. Instead, William had barely confirmed the ship was operational before Tyana stuffed it full of conventional Shards and dispatched it to accompany the most recent raid. The thing had barely touched down in the Duchy before Shards were being rolled into it.

Though she could understand why Tyana was so eager, given that this raid was aimed at actually eliminating a Northern flotilla – not just seeing it off. A raid that was likely taking place even now – and for which Marcille had never been more glad to have foisted the role of Duchess onto her sister. Even now Clarice was probably sitting in the command room, surrounded by women far more experienced in the matters of war than her, while pretending to contribute. …

Though perhaps she might, given the Basilisk was being deployed – equipped with one of William's 'bombs'. She'd almost asked to go too, before realizing the folly of such a request. Mere Countess she might have been, she knew she was too valuable to her sister to play fighter pilot. So instead, she was here. In her room. On a soft bed. Waiting for her man to shower her in gifts. And at that thought, she giggled as she rolled onto her side.

Oh, he'd tried to hide it, but she'd already received word from the guards that he'd stepped off the Exodite with a number of cages full of exotic birds. A little strange as a choice in gift, unprompted, but hardly unheard of. Lots of nobles kept exotic birds. Of course, her man was likely trying to keep the whole thing a secret to surprise her, which was typical of him. Also kind of sweet.

And though she and Clarice were pipes-and-aether sort of girls at heart, that didn't mean they were incapable of appreciating something pretty from time to time. Of course, it was still a little odd to be on the receiving end of gifts from a guy instead of giving them, but, well, they had some insight into why William might think differently. And she'd gracefully be present to accept said gifts. Again, even if birds were something of an odd choice. Such a shame Clarice can't be here, she thought.

Alas, looks like I'll get to savor the moment all by myself. So sad. Too bad. … That'd teach her to finally shut up during 'movie nights'. Giggling once more, she turned, waiting expectantly as the sound of rolling wheels finally reached the hallways outside their room. Honestly, what had taken him so long! The Exodite had arrived this morning and it was practically dusk now! She'd been waiting all day! The sound got closer – and the soft crooning of birds accompanied it. Growing louder louder. Moment by moment.

Then finally, William appeared outside the doorway, pushing a cart piled high with bird cages covered by white sheets, from which continued to utter the chirps of the birds within. And William kept walking - wheeling the entire contraption straight past the bedroom without slowing. Or even glancing inside. Marcille stared at the empty doorway. Verity and Marline each appeared a moment later, pushing identical carts.

Marline walked past without slowing too, but Verity actually noticed the half-Elf and stopped for a moment to give a sort of… awkward apologetic look, before scampering after her two teammates. … What?